#WHICH I GET i do that too but the translator is bad at picking up umgangssprache
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the acrid smell of acetone permeates the room as you gently rub away the chipped black polish on sukuna's fingers. in hindsight, you really should've worn a mask, but when sukuna asked if you wanted to 'paint his nails or whatever', you jumped at the opportunity before he changed his mind.
"hurry up brat," sukuna scoffs, clicking the roof of his mouth. you squeeze the hand held in yours in annoyance and meet his gaze.
"patience kuna, you can't rush art!"
"what art, you're painting my nails black?"
"just shush and let me paint them."
"don't tell me to shush, i've beaten people up for less."
"okay big guy, anyways i'm done. gonna start painting them now."
sukuna only grunts in acknowledgement and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. he's had a long day today, and the gentle rubbing of your hands on his calmed him down. he'd never admit it, but he finds it relaxing when you play with his hands. your soft skin pressing against his.
he missed you today. he doesn't understand why because he comes home to you every single evening, but he felt uneasy the whole day. at first, he thought he might've eaten some bad meat, but he realised he was unlocking his phone just to see the picture of you he kept as his background. he found himself scrolling through his gallery on his lunch break, which consisted of pictures of his nephews, car parts, and mainly you.
sukuna felt lovesick.
he just wanted to come home, leap straight into your arms, and stay there until he had to leave for work the next day. was that too much to ask for?
but of course, his avoidantly attached tushie would never admit it or verbalise it. it's a miracle you're fluent in sukuna and recognise his need for your touch and closeness. which is why you were taking as long as possible painting his nails. even giving him a little hand massage whilst you did it.
he hummed and sighed in relief when feeling your lips press against the palms and backs of his hands. he loved you so much.
"love you too kuna."
his eyes fling open at your words, and he realises in his hazy state of mind he said those words out loud. you giggle at the look on his face and start painting his nails, finally.
your boyfriend watches your every single move, drowning in how beautiful and majestic you look. your gentle strokes when filling his nails, the tip of your tongue peeking out in concentration and the firm grip of your hand.
before he knows it, you're already moving on to the next hand. sukuna frowns at how fast the time seems to be going. he knows he told you to hurry up, but he wanted to savour the feeling. you look up, feeling the intensity of his frown and grin at sukuna.
"we can cuddle whilst watching a movie if you'd like?"
"only if i get to pick the film," he huffs. your smile only widens.
you finish painting his nails and gently blow on all of his fingers. his hands are so beautiful. strong, veined, with calluses from working so hard all day. the paint will probably start to chip away again, in a week or two, but you'll be right here to paint a fresh new layer on.
"beautiful," sukuna whispers above you. you nod in agreement, appreciating the black on his nails. it suited him so well, but maybe you could convince him to let you choose a different colour next time. you glance up at sukuna to tell him and realise he's staring at you.
not caring if his nails have properly dried or not, he lifts his hand up to your face, gently kissing your nose, your cheek, and finally, your lips.
"beautiful," he whispers once more.
i am taking requests and writing fics and matchups for gaza. check the linked post out to find out more !!
© ffsg0jo 2024 — do not plagiarise, repost, modify, or translate any of my work, in any way shape or form; i will piss in your cereal if you do. all work belongs to me and me only.
#🌻.sunspell#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#sukuna#sukuna ryomen#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk fluff#jjk writing#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#sukuna ryoumen#ryoumen sukuna#sukuna smut#jjk smut#sukuna ryoumen x reader#ryoumen sukuna x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jjk x gender neutral reader#꩜— interstellar communications
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ok so i have an au floating around and it is not going to be one comprehensive storyline... so hypothetically which one would yall want to see first?
no promises but i wanna see what you think
translated options, because there will be a lot of mando'a in the au but ill translate it there too
Yoichi's rescue from his ex-brother by a couple of commandos
Eri is reunited by a couple mandalorians
How Clan Kara* earned money for En's beskar armor
How Clan Kara's youngest child ended up with the darksaber
*Kara meaning 'star', but the clan is also named for the Ka'ra, the stars as a ruling counsel of fallen kings
"Stop it! Do not choose [this option], fools!"
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oh yeah another tidbit from hugo's stream yesterday is that he was Baffled foolish thought he was smart. like once he was alone after the whole convo with yd he was rewatching a clip of the moment where foolish hugged him and called him smart and he went "I can't believe that one motherfucker thought I was smart. I'm going to reinvent myself. gonna start making content in English and become a new person on this server"
#the smart clip was also funny because the translator kept missing that he was saying “nicht”#so it was translating that he was saying “i'm smart” while he was actually very much denying being smart#that's the mumbling being an issue though. bc he said “nich” instead of “nicht”#WHICH I GET i do that too but the translator is bad at picking up umgangssprache#echo.txt#qsmp#letshugo
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What would happen if gojo has 2 babies? And they both start crying at the same time and poor gojo has to find a solution in this situation 🥲 his younger baby that is only months old starts crying which makes the older sibling that's 2 years older wake up and starts crying 😭
little voice — gojo satoru x f!reader
you’re on a girls’ vacation. it’s okay. it’s cool.
but it isn’t.
throughout his entire life of fighting curses, emotional trauma, technique training, and unending migraines, he has never felt so much stress like he does right now.
his two kids are truly angels: full of kindness, compassion and—as expected of a child of gojo satoru—full of mischief.
they also share the same amount of love he has for you and, of course, even more. so separate two kids who adore their mother and you get chaos.
satoru just found out that the one who keeps the balance in the house is you, and thinking back about it, it should’ve been obvious because everyone in this house listens to you.
for example, one time when you were out on a simple visit to nanami to take some of the sweet bread he has, you had strictly told satoru to put the two kids to sleep at 8:30 exactly.
he thought it’s too early, but then you explained to him that s/n sleeping gave him time and freedom to look after your baby daughter who was, admittedly, a handful that would not sleep unless she was carried.
so satoru obediently listened, or at least he tried to.
a shameful failed trial at that.
in his defense, what was he supposed to do when s/n gave him puppy eyes asked for a mere 10 minutes more, say no? of course not!
so, like the great father he is, he gave him a couple more minutes, and nothing will make satoru regret his decision since to him his son’s smile is worth the world.
…except maybe the chandelier that is now on the floor and his precious baby daughter who just took one the biggest poops he has known of and his son who is panicking about how to clean this mess before you come home.
and come home you did and to all this mess.
swiftly, you picked up your daughter and changed her diaper, even making her giggle and squeal in between.
then you hugged your son and cleaned up the shattered glass together and disposed of the chandelier. lastly, you stood in front of your husband with a big frown after you’ve put the kids to sleep.
satoru could swear that he couldn’t fall more in love with you. hell, he could even twirl you around and kiss you breathless, but he feels like that would just lead him to the couch.
so he works to butter you up first before trying anything, “hey my sweet cute honeypie—“
you simply quirk an eyebrow.
and he falls to his knees, “I am sorry! I just couldn’t resist his puppy eyes! you should’ve seen them; he looked so cute!”
“I saw them a million times before he was even born, ‘toru.”
your husband gasps, “how!?”
“our son is an exact copy of you, sweetie.”
so yeah that was one of too many times, and if it isn’t apparent that you are the mediator then satoru wants to let the world know that even his students listen to you.
like that one time at school when the first years were caught up fighting with each other, the second years were trying to pull them apart, and satoru was too busy cackling at them while holding d/n that no one noticed panda’s little tail being—god knows why—on fire, not even panda himself.
that was until your precious son tugged at your husband’s shirt and pointed at panda, saying a simple sentence (phrase), “papa, panda fire.”
satoru’s eyes zero on panda then they widen, before he gapes, “oh shit, you’re right!”
“bad word!”
“sorry!”
however, despite satoru almost bolting to put out the fire, panda was finally able to smell it and hummed, “something’s being cooked.” then he looked at his tail, “oh it’s me.”
hit the panic button.
“I am being cooked!” he screams and starts running around, “panda meat doesn’t taste good; I promise!”
the rest start running after him with the intention to help, but panda could only translate it into one thing as he screamed, “don’t eat me!!”
“no one is gonna eat you, dumbass!!” maki yelled but to no avail as no one could get to the panicked panda.
your husband is running as well, half taking photos and videos and half ensuring that d/n does not fall from his hands—considering how she keeps giggling, squealing, and wriggling her entire body.
ijichi took matters into his own hands and called the only person he knows will be able to solve this.
“hello?”
“panda is on fire, the kids are running after him, and gojo is just recording!” he wails, eyes frantically following said people then straying to a particularly small person, “also s/n is trying to eat the grass.”
“what?!”
and like lightning, you’re on the field. you lightly scold s/n and tell him to cover his ears.
you turn to the walking fire hazard and scream, “everyone stop! and panda get over here!”
“yes ma’am!”
he stands still in front of you, almost ignoring his ‘fiery’ tail. you effectively put it out and ruffle his fur until he calms down. the others take turns in greeting you and getting their daily dose of motherly hugs.
your son sprints to you and holds onto your leg, refusing to let go.
and they all make way for the star of the show: the all-mighty gojo satoru.
he beams, “wifey, yet again you save the day!”
he easily picks up s/n and pulls the four of you into one big hug. he rubs his cheek against yours, “have I told you how much I love you?”
“I was gone for 3 minutes.”
“I haven’t?!” he gasps, completely ignoring you, “I am a terrible husband!”
he sobs and starts slowly melting to the ground where he believes a ‘disrespectful, good-for-nothing husband who doesn’t tell his wife just how much he loves her’.
anyway, back to the present. the kids have been miraculously put to sleep—a process that satoru does not have the time nor the energy to describe.
when he stops ‘reminiscing ‘, he starts paling at the fact that all of these were mere examples of things going wrong without you, and you were in the freaking area.
now, you’re not 10 steps away, and satoru is feeling very threatened.
he is sprawled out on the couch, eye bags ever so prominent. he sighs and lets his head fall back, grateful for the silence that fills the house, but he hates it at the same time.
satoru was never fond of silence—the type that feels so heavy on the heart—even when he was a teenager. it gives space and time to think about all the things he is desperate to avoid.
he did eventually come to love silence but only the silence that accompanies the times he spends with you, but that’s a story for another time though.
opening his eyes, he looks around and his gaze lands on your recent family photo. his smile is almost instantaneous.
if there’s anything he will rub in suguru’s face when they meet is that he managed to score himself such a lovely wife and an adoring family, a real family. he mentally writes a plus one on the score chart between him and suguru then relaxes.
he would like to scurry to the bed where your scent still lingers, but his fatigue has simply chained him to the couch—he is overreacting you’re only gone for three days.
so, he decides, it’s time to rest and hope for a dream where he gets to hold you and live with his longing until he can feel your lips against his skin again.
the great gojo satoru closes his eyes and welcomes his slumber.
that is until, his little sweetheart decides to breakout into a wail, effectively causing her dad’s eyes to snap open.
he jumps to his feet and sprints to her room, “d/n, what’s wrong, honey?”
he softly cradles her in his—gigantic—arms and starts rocking her slowly. “it’s okay; papa’s here,” he murmurs in hopes of calming down, but his daughter doesn’t register his voice yet.
she can, however, feel his all too familiar chest against her cheek, so she grips at it tightly and continues crying.
satoru’s expression is full of distress, and his heart contracts painfully at how his daughter’s cries. then it’s almost like the entire world is against him right now because he also starts to hear small little sniffles from the door of the room.
your husband looks back to find his son dragging his teddy bear with him in one hand and in another, trying to wipe his tears as much as possible.
your husband quickly shifts d/n into one arm and leads s/n into him with the other. your son nuzzles into his dad’s chest and murmurs, “I want mama.”
almost like she understands the mention of you, she calms down a tiny bit and her hands start reaching for the air—reaching for you.
satoru slides down to the ground and pulls them both into his chest, and he starts rubbing s/n’s shoulder and kisses the top of his head and sighs, “me too, s/n, but, hey, we are strong and capable, so we have to hold on until she comes home, right?”
a little sniffle escapes s/n as he nods before saying a soft, “yeah.”
satoru smiles and ruffles his hair, “that’s my champ.”
s/n lets out a little smile and snuggles into his dad’s embrace.
so satoru shifts his attention to the sniffling baby in his arm, he frowns, “now what are we going to do with you, little missy?”
your son purses his lips for a moment, before placing the teddy bear in his hands into his little sister’s tiny arms. curiosity takes over for a moment, and she starts exploring the new item.
then s/n presses on the teddy bear’s chest and it plays a little voice message from you:
“hey sweetie! mama loves you, so don’t worry about those nightmares! I am always here.”
your daughter’s eyes shine and she hugs the teddy as much as possible and utters a small, “ma!”
satoru blinks owlishly then looks at s/n with smile, “so you had that all along?”
s/n nods slowly and holds into his father tighter, obviously getting tired and getting ready to sleep. satoru would love to say the same about his other angel but—oh she fell asleep.
looks like all it took was a little listen to your voice.
he will probably make you record a thousand voice messages when you come back and make you get him his own special build-a-bear as well cause what the hell? what about your husband?
he shakes the thought away, realizing that he can finally fall asleep, albeit on the floor.
with no blanket.
no pillow.
not even his favorite cushion.
but he wasn’t raised to be ungrateful, so he will take what he can get. he will simply make up for lost sleep when you’re back. it will feel better that way in any case.
taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1 @sad-darksoul @ko-fi-heart @pumpkindudeishere @suyaaachin @babyqueen17 @chaosguy352 @murakami-kotone @sukun4ryomen @yumieis @hearts4itoshi @sleepyxxhead @dunixxd @sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08 @spacebaby1 @arabellatreaty @viscade
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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported
#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk x reader#gojo x you#jjk x you#gojo imagine#gojou satoru x reader#jjk imagines#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x you#jjk x y/n#jjk gojo x reader#jjk gojo x you#jjk gojo x y/n#satoru x you#satoru x reader#satoru x y/n#gojo fluff
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man im just like. thinking about egg signs and how they've evolved over the course of the qsmp and how the qsmp has evolved over the course of the qsmp and just feeling so much love and affection for every part of the project. i dont have any grand overarching point with this just. like. here's a history of egg comms bc of the kind of person that i am
so wayyyy back ten months ago now at the start of the short and sweet egg event that was planned to last maybe a month at most, the eggs had their own custom, decorated signs!
[ID: Leo with a pink sign with an egg on the bottom corner that reads "hello" in all caps. Her nametag reads Leonardo. End ID]
They were extremely simple, single word signs. There was hello, hola, story, feed, sleep, and maybe one or two more and each was its own separate sign. The eggs could only communicate the most basic needs in words and everything else was through minecraft body language or just hoping their parents guessed right.
But obviously, there was a lot more that parents wanted to hear from their children. I'm not sure who was actually first, but the earliest departure from this system I know about is BadBoyHalo giving Dapper a simple oak sign so he could name his pet slime. (Screenshot from @/lxrd-ren)
[ID: Dapper wearing a diver's helmet standing next to a tiny slime in a boat with an oak sign reading "Bouncy (slmecicle but better)" End ID]
Parents quickly realized how much more convenient this was and pretty soon every single egg had stacks of signs to communicate with.
The next innovation came from Vegetta, who was the resident mod knower at the time. He knew about colored canvas signs and gave Leo signs in her favorite color purple because he loved her and gave her everything she wanted.
[ID: Leo's bed in her room under some Fooligetta fanart with a purple sign reading "<3" End ID]
Colored signs obviously had a lot of advantages. Being able to tell at a glance which egg placed which sign was a huge step forward in eggs being able to have long, complicated conversations as well as leaving obvious marks of their personality everywhere they went. It took a little while for them to be standard for every egg though. Bobby never stopped using oak signs even after Richas and Pomme both showed up with colored signs.
[ID: Two signs reading from right to left a red Pomme sign reading "we already started working on a guillotine factory" and a dark grey Dapper sign reading "thats the most french u have said so far pomme" End ID]
And this was the system for a while! And it worked pretty well for most people! The biggest struggle most people had was egg signs not being translated, but streamers adjusted to that by reading signs out loud so the translators would pick up on them. This also lead to adorable and fascinating dynamics like Richas swearing in signs he wrote for Bad and then warning Bad not to read them out. There was also the genuinely phenomenal development of Leolingo where Leo writes only in Spanish to Foolish because it's easier for her to write and he takes his time to puzzle his way through it and learn in a way that's super cool to watch someone else do onscreen.
Then Tubbo joined the server. And Tubbo himself had no problems at all with the system, but he is dyslexic and he casually mentioned offhand that it was getting kind of annoying to read signs after a ten hour long stream and the admin team Fucking Cooked.
Within 24 hours, they had TTS working on the signs. Within 48 hours, it was working on books too. I can't remember how long it took to get translation working, but it was definitely under a week.
And this opened up a whole new world of possibilities for the entire QSMP. The admin team has been on top of capitalizing on it for story purposes, but also just allowing the egg admins to speak in their native languages to everyone whenever they want has been so enriching for everyone involved. Leolingo is awesome but Foolish has been learning Spanish insanely fast and his process is a lot slower and more frustrating than most people can do in front of an audience of thousands of people without feeling discouraged. That's also one language. We've had everything from Foolish being able to check his work a bit more faster to Phil insisting on his eggs taking a day to speak to him in their native languages to Ramón writing a book for Fit in Cantonese, a language we haven't even seen on the server in any other context!
And all of it is fully understood and fully communicated! Sometimes the translators mess up but no one expects them to be perfect and people ask for clarification if the translator says something that doesn't sound right. It's not only a massive step forward in communication technology, but it's a great demonstration of how to use it and when you can and can't rely on it.
And finally, the most recent innovation! One of BBH's viewers sent him a dono saying they had trouble reading certain signs because they were too low-contrast. Bad, Richas, and Pomme just. Took it upon themselves to fix the problem right there and then. Based on One (1) bringing up their own personal struggle, those three came up with new signs that innovate tremendously on the originals.
[ID: Two separate images of the before and after. The first is the egg signs in their original colors with the corresponding egg's name written on them to demonstrate the font color and the second is in the new, higher contrast colors with the same text. The new signs also have custom decorations for each egg. The second picture also has two signs from Pomme in all caps that read "Send all the love to Richas he spent a whole night making this he's the best <3" End ID]
There are three main innovations visible in the above pictures
1: Obviously, the colors are higher contrast. The signs with white text have darker colors and the signs with black text have lighter colors.
2: The colors themselves are lower saturation. Richas said this made it easier for him personally to read them so he corrected that way, but that's open to change if it causes difficulties for more people than it helps
3: The decorations are for accessibility reasons! People with various different forms of colorblindness will find different sets of colors easier or harder to distinguish, but any of them can look at the decorations and use them to identify whose sign is whose instead.
But! Those innovations are not why I made this post! It's these ones!
[ID: The backs of the new signs when placed on the ground. Most visible are Chayanne's with vines and a hardcore heart, Sunny's with shining sunglasses, and Pomme's with an apple and the Eiffel Tower. End ID]
Richas added distinguishing marks to the backs of the signs too! This is something that Bad brought up specifically as something he wanted because it was hard for him to tell who was talking when he was using TTS from behind signs and couldn't see the colors at all.
We went from custom egg signs (a hotbar or so of words and nothing else to communicate with) through a long journey of expanding communication and expanding who we're bringing along on the communication and how easily they can join in and we've circled all the way back around to custom egg signs (they can say anything they want in any language they want and anyone will know it's them saying it from any angle)
and i guess i have enough feelings abotu that to write All This about it
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Pick me girls and OM! Brothers - Part 1
Characters: Lucifer, Mammon and Levi (x reader, separately)
Part 2 - Satan, Asmo, Beel and Belphie (x reader, separately)
Part 3 - Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon (x reader, separately)
Masterlist
CW: pick me girl behavior, suggestive, mentions of sex between the brothers and mc, mentions of violence, a bit of magic, mentions of cheating (not actual cheating), mammon and mc taking a shower together, jealous mc, some fluff, some hurt, some comfort, kinda ooc but i had so much fun with this
.
Lucifer
Wherever you went, rumor followed. Haven't you heard? The mighty Lord of Pride has a significant other. Who could it be? Maybe the prince or his butler? Both of them? Or perhaps it was just some random demon? Surely not the human... right?
"Of course not!" said the witch, surrounded by both curious and jealous nobles.
You weren't in the balcony, but you could still hear the conversation in your spot near the open door. You could also hear the gasps and the murmurs. It was ridiculous.
What to do next? You could interrupt the gossip and make your relationship public; after all, it was only a matter of time before someone spotted you both in Ristorante Six or an empty hallway in RAD.
Ignoring them was the better option, however. No words sounded aggressive and yet polite enough to get the witch to shut up without making a scene. Plus, Lucifer was looking exquisitely fine that night. His wings did wonders to his appearance.
"Then who?" the voices asked while you walked away towards your boyfriend.
"Well, I wasn't supposed to say anything..."
Oh no she did not.
"But we're just so in love"
I'll be damned, you thought. She did.
The wrath you felt was primal and it provoked a worried glance from Satan, who was chatting with one of his many contacts in the other side of the ballroom.
You wanted to make an entrance, a dramatic one, but you could only watch as the witch talked and talked about her supposed first date with Lucifer, their first kiss, their first time, his performance in bed (which... No. She was so wrong about that one).
Finally, you opened your mouth.
"You don't say?"
But that wasn't your voice.
Beside you stood Lucifer in all his glory, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes and a hand hugging your waist. The floor trembled under your feet as he walked and, if it wasn't for his tight grip, the magic induced vertigo would've send you to the ground.
You could tell he was trying not to harm you too much, but the group in the balcony wasn't so lucky. All of them were on their knees and some even coughing blood.
"Do tell all your stories tonight, by dawn you'll have no tongue to keep lying"
The witch had tears in her eyes, too focused on her own pain to be aware of her surroundings or his words. Was he being serious? You wanted to ask what would really happen to that woman, but Lucifer was always two steps ahead.
He cradled your face and kissed you, slowly yet firm. His cold skin felt good against yours, already blushing under his half lidded eyes.
"Dance with me?" he asked, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb.
Damn, did he know how to distract you.
Mammon
"You're dating the Great Mammon!" he'd said with his characteristic smile, both of you eating ramen in your bed while watching bad romcoms "That's something to be stoked about! You need to tell everyone about it!"
Of course, that translated to: please, please, please, I need people to know that I bagged YOU and YOU chose ME.
So, there you were, chatting with his makeup stylist and some other models while he posed in front of the camera. It was better than you expected, actually. You thought the fashion world in the Devildom would be full of self righteous assholes and insufferable divas, but you couldn't be more wrong.
Well, of course, there's always an exception.
There was a demoness in the other side of the studio, taking selfies with a pout in her lips and a fake, nauseating, innocence in her expression. She looked toxic from a mile away.
And yet, your boyfriend dated her for three months; three long and excruciating months, yes, but still. They'd dated.
And you were cool with that. So so cool with that. You were chill. A freezer, even. You loved Mammon and everyone and their mother could tell Mammon loved you. Everything was fine.
Except... well...
It was easy to forget the brothers were famous and popular bachelors, princes of hell, that, just like in every human monarchy, had fans to spare. People that would support them no matter what they did and no matter who they dated and people that would hate everyone they dated because... You don't really know why.
You just had some haters.
And this bitch was taking advantage of this, you knew it in your heart.
Rumors of Mammon cheating on you with one of his model coworkers had been there since the beginning of your relationship. It was something you just had to live with, one of the reasons the Avatar of Greed doted on you with everything he had.
Mammon loved you.
So why did you panick so much when he stood up in the underwear he was advertising, getting ready for the next picture, and the demoness took a selfie of her lips with his half naked body behind her?
"That whore" whispered another model behind you. You liked them.
But it was okay, you didn't mind. No, really. You didn't.
Except you did.
And so did Mammon.
"Oi!"
Everyone looked at him and you could swear his demon form was starting to show, blending with his siluette in blurred edges.
"Delete that"
She could've laughed at him, like everyone tended to do. She could've ignored him and tempt fate, but it was not a wise idea.
There was static in the air, black mist barely clouding your vision and a faint voice whispering in the back of your brain. The sound of feathers filled the room and soon crows started to surround the studio outside the window.
After a couple of sickening minutes, a loud pop settled the place back to normal and caused the birds to fly away.
The demoness gasped, letting her DDD fall to the ground like it burned her. Looking at her smoking hands, it probably did.
After that, everyone acted like nothing happened. You, however? Your whole body was buzzing, leaving you paralyzed with feelings you needed to explore in the future and making Mammon look at you with a knowing smile.
"...sick of those rumors..." he'd say hours later while he washed your hair in the shower "and you dumbass humans believe everything you see, even if it's stupid"
He'd wait until you were both in bed, ruminating about every little thing that happened back there before talking again.
"Because it's stupid, you know? I'd never cheat on ya. The Great Mammon would never do that to you. I mean, I'd never to that anyway, but specially not to you. Keep that in mind, human! You catched the best demon of all hell! Lucky you!"
Lucky me, he wanted to say instead.
You understood him anyways.
Leviathan
@/f3istyk1ttenuwu sent you a message!
.
.
You stared at the screen and the screen stared back at you.
Reading the user name physically hurt you and you'd lie if you said you weren't worried about it. Did you trust Levi? Yes, absolutely. Did you trust f3istyk1ttenuwu? Not really, no.
So (this time voluntarily), you opened the gates of hell.
It was the Devildom version of Discord, which was worrying enough, and the user's pfp showed a cute pinked hair girl with dainty horns and half of her boobs out.
With a frown and your heartbeat in your throat, you opened the chatroom.
@/f3istyk1ttenuwu: r u lone?
@/f3istyk1ttenuwu: did ur frend leef?
@/f3istyk1ttenuwu: their a party pooper
@/f3istyk1ttenuwu: didnt let u join the grp
@/f3istyk1ttenuwu: :(
@/f3istyk1ttenuwu: leviachsn?
.
Oh, heeeeell no.
First of all, it was leviachAn. Second, YOU were the only one who could call him THAT.
Ignoring the voice of reason, you checked the door before investigating the previous messages. Levi was in your room, retrieving your nightwear as punishment for not letting you win in Devil Kart YET AGAIN, so, knowing how flustered he got everytime he saw you in the Ruri Chan's inspired piyamas he got you for your birthday, you were sure you had another couple of minutes alone in his room.
@/f3istyk1ttenuwu: thx 4 sving me !!
@/f3istyk1ttenuwu: we shld team more
@/f3istyk1ttenuwu: were zo good 2gether
wEre Zo gOoD 2gETheR
You couldn't help but mock her in the privacy of your mind. Did she think writing like a 10 year old was attractive? If so, what the fuck?
@/f3istyk1ttenuwu: call? brke my pc & cn't fix it alone \(-o-)/
"Call a fucking tech" you whispered to yourself.
"Henry?"
Fuck.
You turned around like a deer in headlights. Levi's cheeks still wore a furious red, but he remained quiet at the door when he saw you snooping through his private conversations.
Fuck it, you thought after some uncomfortable seconds. If someone could understand jealousy, it would be him.
"Who's this girl?"
Levi frowned and got closer to you, leaning over your shoulder to see his computer, probably giving you the closeness he'd crave if he was in your place.
"Oh, I don't know" his final answer disappointed you "Some girl the others wanted in the party"
But why was she talking to him like that?
"And why is she talking to you like that?"
He shrugged his shoulders, knowing that both of you knew the answer. Then, he straightened like he had an epiphany, and looked at you with shining eyes and a smile too big for his face.
"Are you jealous, MC?"
Levi jumped in happiness before you could say anything, unable to truly express how happy he was upon his sin affecting you.
"My Henry is jealous!! Because of a yucky disgusting otaku like me!! This reminds me of that anime: 'Help?! My crush snooped through my pc and now they're jealous because someone else is flirting with me??'"
It was obvious by now you had nothing to worry about, so you let him be. You let him appreciate how much you loved him.
In the end, you had to shower his face in kisses to shut him up and, for great measure, you also changed into that extra large Ruri Chan t-shirt in front of him.
Hours later, both of you were sweating in the comfort of his bathtub and Levi was completely sure you fell asleep.
And if you saw how he offered himself to fix this girl's computer only to hack her camera and post her real face all around the internet, no you didn't.
Tagging them lovely people: @hello-gloomy @the-sassiest-toaster @hero-nii-blog @yourlocalyin
Hope you like it!
#obey me#obey me! shall we date?#om! swd#om! shall we date#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me levi#obey me lucifer x reader#obey me lucifer x mc#lucifer x reader#lucifer x mc#obey me mammon x reader#obey me mammon x mc#mammon x reader#mammon x mc#obey me levi x reader#obey me levi x mc#obey me x reader#obey me x mc#obey me fluff#obey me hurt/comfort#obey me x gn!reader#obey me x gn!mc#obey me x gender neutral reader
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in which, itoshi rin expresses his love for you in, peculiar ways.
itoshi rin is wearily watching his opponent's highlights when you tug on the sleeve of his hoodie.
he almost rips his earbud out by the wire, contrariwise to the soft gaze he gives you, the slight tilt of his head accompanied by a quiet hum asks you what's wrong.
"were you busy? i can ask later."
"'course not." without hesitation he turns his phone off and tosses it somewhere onto his bed. "something wrong?"
you lean against the coffee table, where the two of you were studying; match analysis for rin and unfortunately an infuriating research task for your upcoming exam. your chin rests on both your palms, fingers cupping your own cheek.
"what's your favourite thing about me?"
owlishly, he stares, then blinks. you mimic his actions, waiting for a response.
"i have to pick?"
you nod eagerly. "it feels like a while since i've properly spoken to you. we don't have any classes together and i've been studying during break times. and i keep falling asleep on the bus."
rin nods with understanding. "then my favourite thing about you is that."
"is what?"
"i love watching you sleep."
it takes a lot not to make a stupefied face.
of all answers you expected, it was clearly not that. rin's love languages centred around quality time and physical touch, but he's still fully capable of uttering sweet nothings. which was something you were desperately craving at the moment.
"rin that's so creepy—"
his typical stoicism melts away into bewilderment. "it is?"
oh my god, did your boyfriend have some sort of strange fetish?
"i don't get it." rin frowns. "it's been making me happy recently, why's it so bad?"
"but why's that?"
lithe fingers brush a few strands of hair behind your ears. "you're always so tired recently, it makes me feel at peace seeing you rest. i'm relieved knowing that you're getting a proper break." his aquamarine irises avoid eye contact, pink dusting his cheeks. "i like having you close to me, too."
guilt permeates your gut for having such assumptions. "sorry for assuming the worst, love." your hand cups his, bringing it to your lips for a kiss. "i'm just busy, with exams and stuff, y'know?"
"i know, and i get that. but i don't like the possibility of you collapsing from not sleeping enough, or burning out. and you deserve to sleep and eat properly, they're important for learning and improvement too."
and rin's right, it just feels as though there's not enough time, with so many exams being stuffed into such a little period. there's the fear of failing, falling behind peers and all the efforts you've put in amounting to nothing because of a mistake.
but as he said, rest is important, just as much as working hard. success cannot be attain with one without the other.
you settle yourself onto rin's lap, resting your head on his shoulder, and back against his chest, placing a small kiss on his cheek. "thanks for reminding me, i'm done for today. let's make the most of tonight."
he responds with a small smile, and wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his face into your neck.
"i must be really pretty then, if watching me sleep is that enjoyable." you throw out an attempt of teasing him, waiting for his reaction.
"nah. your face kinda squishes up on my shoulder."
"wow. okay. i see—"
"your neck also ends up in the weirdest positions so i usually have to move you around to make sure you don't have too much neck pain later."
"very sweet of you, that's enough though."
"did i mention you drool sometimes too?"
"rin—"
taglist (send ask to be added) : @yuzurins , @pokkomi , @chigirizzz
© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate
#silly little brainrot hi#unproofread btw#blue lock#blue lock x reader#bllk x reader#bllk#fluff#itoshi rin#rin#itoshi#rin itoshi#itoshi brothers#rin itoshi x reader#itoshi rin x reader#itoshi rin x you#itoshi x reader#itoshi rin x y/n#bllk x you#bllk x y/n#bllk x gender neutral reader#bllk x female reader#bllk fluff#bluelock
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Hello! I hope you are having an excellent day! Soo I saw you asked for Miguel requests so.. only if it's possible and if you could, may I request some Miguel O'Hara dating hcs?? Please and thank you! ^^
you are so sweet! thank you for being for my first request, anon!!
Dating Miguel O'Hara Headcanons
gender-nonconforming reader x miguel “spider-man 2099″ o’hara
comfort, fluff. angst. miguel's complicated, but he loves you more than anything.
warnings: insecurity, possessiveness, brief/subtle obsession? he's totally devoted to you, but in truth he just absolutely adores you. again, my spanish isn't the best so i had aid using a translator!
word count: 1745
You thought Miguel was infatuated before as he snatched any chance he could be with you? The moment he officially became your boyfriend, he couldn’t go one moment without reminding you of his affections.
Miguel is intense, eager to express how much he loves you after so long of keeping it contained. He can’t get enough of you, as his lips finally brush against yours– it takes him so much control to not black out and have his way with you.
It's not that he has a high sex-drive, he’s just so reliant on physical affection for reassurance. Miguel will take every chance to ghost his lips over your skin, whether it be between the juncture of your neck and shoulder or treating your hands as if they were made of gold. He felt as if it was his purpose to make you feel cared for, as his teeth grazed your knuckles.
His trust had been broken many times before you stepped in his life, which shocked him with fear at the idea of getting hurt again as he tried his best to open up about himself. But once you obtain his trust, show him that your intentions of being with him were nothing less than pure, the loyalty he has for you rivals anything you've experienced before.
Though, due to the insecurities Miguel tries to keep to himself, some questions he may throw at you in the dead of night after returning back home late were heavy. He'd slip between your hold with a heavy sigh, skin still damp from the shower he took moments prior. You would ask him what's wrong, telling him he could talk about anything– and that's when the doubts and hurt rose to the surface.
"Do you think I'm a bad boyfriend, cariño?" Miguel would ask, voice broken and full of worry as if he's in physical pain at the idea that he's not doing enough for you. Not keeping you happy, or loved. Before you had the chance to wash away his worries, the exhaustion fogging his brain would make him ramble more, unearth his mysterious thoughts that he'd kept tucked away when the sun was shining. It was always a learning experience for you, and it made your relationship even stronger as Miguel learned to be more open and you learned how to reassure him that he was amazing by just being himself.
On nights like that, you'd drown him in kisses and swipe away the stray tears that may have fallen against his skin.
As much as Miguel loved dousing you in affection, he couldn't help but trip over himself like a lovesick puppy when you'd pass by a kiss his nose without a moment's notice, or slip your arm around his own to keep yourself from losing one another in the busy streets of Nueva York.
His demeanour was soft when it came to you because you were a safe space he craved for so long. And when that space is threatened, he can't help but show a part of himself that he won't ever be able to contain.
Miguel's jealous. Very much so.
He wasn't used to feeling such a way when the bouts of jealousy would flow into his veins and short-circuit his brain. Even before the two of you were officially together and you both shared the same space at work (you being a lab assistant at the time and him being a chemist), his scarlet gaze unconsciously scouted every move another individual made as an effort to be more than friends with you.
A seductive laugh from someone who leaned a little too close for his comfort or the whisper Miguel picked up on about a "bar a couple blocks away, we need to get drinks sometimes." Oh, it made him see red.
You never knew it, but your reserved, polite dismissal of intimate advances saved multiple people from returning to their stations with a burning glare or even a broken nose.
The jealousy and possessiveness came hand in hand.
So after a night of you possibly testing his patience unintentionally, he'd play off the excessive bite marks and hickies as heat of the moment the next morning. But you even knew how he felt about you, and the repetitive chanting of "You're mine, mi conejito. Mine, you hear me?" Another bite. "I ever see someone on top of you like that, taking advantage of your kindness. Los mataré." He'd sputter with his spit and your blood intertwining like the most delicious taste he's ever been blessed upon. He'd generously share the taste with you.
Gifts such as jewellery was common, but never anything too expensive or flashy, you warned him. You were more than willing to adorn the things he gifted with you in mind, but at the beginning of you two dating he had gone overboard with an engraved diamond necklace that had everyone's head spinning.
Miguel loved knowing that, a little fang smirk as he hummed to himself with his ego inflating like a balloon. You popped it easily, establishing the boundary of toning it down– but he couldn't help but forget sometimes. He'd beg for your forgiveness as he promised how he knew the rules, but the "ring he passed by on his way home was just, so you he couldn't pass up." Usually this excuse dived into a plethora of compliments, and relating the piece of jewellery to the idea that it has your favorite flower or color. You couldn't help but cave, the little argument long forgotten when he'd slip the expensive metal on you himself. Always ending with his lips to the gift and your skin in one kiss, a content expression in his gaze.
When he finally was comfortable enough to reveal his secret to you, his other life he desperately kept under the wraps, the confession was scarier than anything he's ever done in his entire life. Miguel faced criminals every sundown, putting his life at danger for his own morals. He's been genetically mutated, a painful process which he's still trying to accept. He's lost so many people in his life, Miguel would lose himself if you left too.
But as you accepted the truth, you soon accepted everything that came with it.
His teeth, the fangs he would muster up every and any excuse for, would be freely showcased now in every cackle and smile he had to offer. His obsession with biting you strengthened tenfold. You thought the amount of marks you had beforehand when he got jealous was too many? He introduced you to a whole new reality.
Of course, with the cat out of the bag, Miguel would show all the things he deemed ugly about his transformation with a guilty stance and a downward gaze. He'd get mad at himself for not controlling his retractable claws when getting too into whatever he was doing with you, he'd grow distressed at how you'd react when his surroundings grew too overwhelming because of his different, more advanced senses.
It wasn't until you finally caught Miguel when he slipped into your shared apartment where you drilled it into his head, lovingly, that he shouldn't be ashamed to be himself around you. That's what you're there for, to be his biggest supporter. By that night, he would be bent over on the toilet seat in the small space of your shared bathroom, hissing when alcohol came in contact with his wounds and purring when a massage relieved his tension. Stories became common between the two of you, shared within the safety of bathroom walls and fluffy towels. Miguel would recall almost every detail of a specific mission or an on-the-whim job. Sometimes, he could feel the anxiety in your soul, but he'd reassure you with a promise and a sweet kiss. Suddenly, Miguel became very good at lullabies.
Miguel was needy, in a way where he couldn't stop himself from asking for another kiss when you'd already given him fifty. He also would hound to give you one more kiss when you refused, which made him pout in a way he'd never show anyone else.
Pet names became like a second language as Miguel sputtered almost all of them under the sun, except the ones he obviously found distasteful. "ángel, cariño," were no doubt something he called you often, but once the both of you grew more comfortable in your relationship he soon began calling you things that reminded him of you; "Mi conejito, mi lucero del alba." You would ask him why you reminded him of a bunny, and with a cheeky laugh he'd say because he's the "big bad wolf" in the silliest way possible. Yet, a more serious answer came to the term of endearment "my morning star."
Miguel began calling you that due to his relief of seeing the morning sky peek through the pitch black, lighting up stars before drowning them out. You are the morning star he finds and catches every time the late night bleeds into early day, reminding him that the danger is over until the next night. You were his protector, as his scars met cold kisses and blood found the warm press of a washcloth. You kept him hopeful.
Miguel was a complicated boyfriend, but his heart bled for you. If you found yourself overwhelmed and needed a break or a split altogether– of course he'd accept your wishes. Was he truly the man of honor he tried to believe he was if he couldn't let a single person step out of his life for their own happiness?
It hurt him badly, and despite the swirling thoughts of bringing you back and keeping you to himself– he never allowed himself to cave. Miguel tried to play the hero, and despite knowing that most would view him as a monster– you wouldn't want that for him. You wanted him to be happy more than anyone ever had, you just couldn't take his complexity. And that's okay, Miguel knew that. It's unlikely your relationship would ever take such a heartbreaking path.
You two are together still, happy and settled into your own routine. Miguel, being able to find a balance within his chaotic mind and you were able to find a purpose for someone you loved.
Miguel needed you as much, if not more than you needed him. He was absolutely enthralled with you, devoted until his last breath.
#miguel o'hara#into the spider verse#across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara x reader#spiderman 2099#miguel o'hara comfort#miguel o'hara fluff#x gender neutral reader#x fluff#x comfort#comfort#fluff#miguel o'hara headcanons#x reader#angst
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✨00Q end of the year fic rec list ✨
(to commemorate the year of the lord 2023 when this ship came back to kick my ass)
the simplest of crimes by pdameron - fake marriage AU. my favorite 00Q fake married au just because the stakes are so low like they didn't have to do all that but the build up is so good.
come a lily, come a lilac by pdameron - florist!Q AU. this really got me giggling and twirling my hair.
James Bond Will Return by sorion - post-Spectre James comes back. a very charming character study.
as permanent as stone cathedrals by pdameron - pining Q. beautifully written with just the right amount of whump.
people can surprise you (or not) by pdameron - fake relationship but posh. i love whodunnits.
Hold Tight by orphan_account - Spectre fix-it. and fix it they did. also has my second favorite Q name.
lacunae (just the blood you owe) by finestkind - Q offers comfort as bond deals with grief. this fic honestly makes me ache, the way it handles friendship and grief and love UGH.
Say Something (I'm Giving Up On You) by Brihna - Spectre re-write where Q and James sleep before he goes off to Mexico. possibly my favorite Spectre fix-it, love emotional constipation and miscommunication.
Crossing the Bar by GwynDuLac - Q pulls bond out of retirement for an emergency mission. the best mission fic i have ever read hands down.
bloom on my skin, echo in my soul by Areiton - soulmate au. gorgeous writing.
if I couldn't be strong by SailorChibi - post-Spectre James is found abandoned in a hospital in a coma. i love how quietly vindictive Q is in this.
a bloodless coup by Ark - marathon sex. very vulnerable.
I Could've Been a Maths Teacher by Brihna - Q branch gets invaded. v good translation of the comic into prose.
I Don't Take Your Pleasure For Granted by Catchclaw - Q develops a crush. love me some pathetic Q.
I Won't Shiver, I Won't Shake by Only_1_Truth - Skyfall re-write, lots of Q whump. the hurt is so good but the comfort is even better. plus i love attack roombas.
Favours by dhampir72 - pining from Q's POV. fun fact: my gf once quoted a line of this fic to me and i knew immediately which fic she was reading, that's how much i've read this.
rain by Aniron84 - touch starved Q. god GOD, this fic!! there was a time in my life, i read this multiple times a day. the description of loneliness is so on point it always hurts.
Fidelity by marlowe_tops - Q seems to have picked up a stray. local idiot doesn’t know he’s in a relationship, struggles mentally
Indelible by enjolras_lexa - 5+1 of bond breaking into Q's apartment. quite gentle and funny.
A Hitch in the Holster by APrettySpy - Q is having A Time during a heat wave and like Q i'm not immune to the holster
when the world isn't fair by Mlle_Heloise - James rescues Q's holiday. warm and fluffy.
The Pros and Cons of Wayward Agents by Brihna - Q whump with a protective Bond. is it bad to be all teehee while reading someone beat someone else to unconsciousness
Best Dressed by HandsAcrossTheSea - PWP with kilts! really good p0rn and with bottom Bond to boot!
Through A New Lens: A Spectacular Love Story by christinefromsherwood - Q discovers he has a glasses kink, or does he? listen, i too am not immune to daniel craig in glasses so i can relate.
talk / listen by thestalwartheart - dirty talk. a masterclass in p0rn honestly, SO good.
The Inevitability of Time by dhampir72 - soulmate au. will never stop recommending this, it's so tragic and yet not?
#00Q#rec list#007#james bond#quartermaster#i did not expect to get obsessed with them again#but honestly#one of the highlights of my year#there's such good fic out there im always well fed#ive read all of these at least 10x each
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I WANT SOME (OF YOUR LOVE) - spiderwoman!h.yj x f!reader
SYPNOSIS; yunjin being late to band practice is slowly becoming a habit...and you think you know why. yunjin also has a habit of blushing around you, and you definitely know why.
NOTES; 1.9k. it's all fluff <3 i watched across the spiderverse and had to...lsrfm is a rock band 👩❤️💋👩 yunjin being a terrible liar and chaewon being done w her bs 😭 there's a little bit of swearing
"shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!"
yunjin is late to band practice. again.
which, in theory, should be fine. punctuality was important to her but, hey, in the life of spiderwoman, there had to be sacrifices, right?
"jen, where are you?"
delivered 5 minutes ago. she'll arrive in another 5. shit.
"jm almost theref i orimkse!;" 🗣🧍♀️✈"
you stare at your phone with narrowed eyes, your brain trying to process and translate the foreign language.
"hey," you hear chaewon, the leader of your band, call you, "have any idea where your girlfriend is?" she teases, though you can sense a little bit of frustration from her part, which was understandable, knowing that yunjin was her friend too.
"girlfriend!?"
"girlfriend?"
"girlfriend!"
the other three shout simultaneously. eunchae's eyes are sparkling, kazuha's mouth is open in an "O" shape, and sakura looks like she's about to interrogate you on when, why, how, and where this happened.
you throw off the others with a wave of your hand, offering the leader an apologetic smile, tapping your drumsticks on your lap, "ignoring the "girlfriend" part because she isn't, but she did say she'd be here soon."
chaewon merely gives an unconvinced hum, inspecting her microphone while kazuha tunes her bass guitar, eunchae tests her keyboard, and sakura practices rifts on her electric guitar. you tap your drumsticks on the cymbal a little nervously.
"i'm here!" a loud voice announces, as huh yunjin finally runs in, her hair looking messed up, her clothes ruffled, and her own electric guitar lugging along with her on one shoulder. chaewon purses her lips at the scene, but you simply leap from your chair and towards yunjin.
the taller girl closes her eyes and braces for a lecture, but all she feels is gentle hands weaving through her hair. she opens her eyes and looks into yours. you don't look mad...?
"huh yunjin," you whisper.
"hm?" she hums dazedly, her cheeks turning a warm pink when your hands move to pat at her wrinkled clothes.
"what's your excuse this time?" sakura chimes instead, stealing your question from you. at this, yunjin smiles sheepishly, sneaking a glance at you for advice on how to approach this, but all you give her is a slight nod. she sighs.
"i actually have a very good excuse for this and, well....i-"
"she was picking something up for me," you answer for her, with your back still facing the rest of the band. yunjin looks at you, failing to hide her relieved expression, and you shake your head at her before turning around and having a staring contest with chaewon.
the leader sighs and gestures for the both of you to get on stage, "just don't make a habit of it, please, that was the third time this week, jen."
"yes ma'am," the blond electric guitarist nods with a grin, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek and running to the stage before you could reprimand her.
you huff, rubbing your cheek, and you make your way back to your drums, deciding to talk to her privately about it later.
you take no notice of how hot your cheeks felt, and you certainly pretend that you're unaware of yunjin's stares.
"I can't keep covering for you, yunjin," you mumble, patting gently at the cut on her cheek. she lets out a pained whine as you do so, but you don't let up.
yunjin doesn't say anything at first, not when you're in such a...compromising position.
'is this on purpose?' she thinks, because between you straddling her lap and treating her stinging wounds, it's either the pain or how horredously down bad she is that's making her this dizzy.
and your face was terribly close. she swallows, not making direct eye contact with you.
"hey," your lips curl into a small smirk, and yunjin makes the mistake of looking up. her cheeks immediately color when her gaze locks with yours, "you've been uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal with me today."
you bandage her cheek carefully, then moving on to the small gash on her stomach.
"may I?"
her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she lifts up her own shirt for you, and you roll your eyes playfully at how dramatic she's being. you feel her squeeze your arm when you disinfect it, with you biting your lower lip in concentration.
"is this really necessary?" she finally gathers the courage to ask, and she gestures to you sitting on her lap as though it wasn't your first time.
"why?" you whisper, finishing up the first-aid, the tip of your nose touching hers, "does it bother you, spiderwoman?
and yunjin tries. she tries her absolute hardest not to give in, because she wonders if this was all a game to you. she wonders if yesterday night had happened at all.
yunjin doesn't know why you're so calm when she had just saved your life.
she had thought that after the shock of almost being burgled, you'd be shaking like every other person would be. but instead, here you were, sitting on the edge of your fire escape, offering her half your sandwich.
she's hanging upside down, her mask only lifted high enough for her lips to be visible as she quietly accepts the food after you refused to take back your offer.
"can i ask you a question?"
yunjin nods slowly, "go ahead."
"are you always this caring towards the people you save?"
she's caught off-guard by the question and grateful that the mask was hiding her flustered expression.
"...i don't know what you mean."
you raise an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin on your face, though it did look a little strange for her from this angle, "really? well, do you bring every single one of them home? and stay a while? do you somehow know all their addresses? are you secretly a stalker?"
yunjin rolls her eyes underneath her mask, but her heart is racing. were you implying that you knew it was her?
knowing she wasn't sure of what to say, you lean closer to her masked face, and yunjin swears that she hears your breathing get slightly shaky.
"jennifer," you whisper, relishing in the way she tenses up visibly, "you know you're terrible at hiding things and how you're feeling, right?"
the last bit of sandwich she has in her hand drops, and she catches it with her web and a small yelp, making you giggle. her jaw hangs open and she racks her head, thinking how she could save this.
but, she knows, if there is any chance of anyone ever knowing about her secret, it would be you.
"how did you know?" she manages to say, her lips pursing.
"let's just say you're pretty obvious," you say, "at least, to me. and in more than one way."
"your voice, your mannerisms, and the subtle hints..."
yunjin finds herself staring at your lips. 'oh my god,' she thinks, mentally facepalming, 'is this really the best time to be dreaming about kissing her, huh yunjin?'
"wait, what?" oh. how articulate.
you let out a soft laugh at her dumbfounded tone, and she finds herself moving closer, and closer.
"if you already know who i am," you can feel her warm breath on your lips, "and you know how i feel, then, what are you going to do about it?"
"i can think of something," you say, staring at her lips, and she finally closes the gap, her lips hesitantly brushing against yours, before you cup her cheeks with your hands and you pull her close.
god, an upside down kiss. she could literally die happy now.
she could hardly register what's happening before you pull away. her lips chase yours, but you only giggle before gently pulling her mask off. there she is, the person who's been plaguing your daydreams.
"wanna come in and talk?"
"...more kisses?"
"mhm, if we talk."
"deal."
unfortunately, your roommate had called from inside, and she immediately pulls her mask back on. you're just about to apologise, but she shakes her head.
"tomorrow?" she asks, hopefully.
you pull her mask down again, just enough to give her one last kiss. she's almost afraid the web that's holding her up will break from how weak every part of her is feeling right now.
"tomorrow."
well, tomorrow was here. and fuck, she wants to kiss you again.
"wait," yunjin presses her index finger to your lips, "you promised we'd talk."
"right," you smile, opting for a kiss on her forehead instead, and she can feel the gears in her head screeching at this point, "sorry, you just look extremely kissable."
yunjin's hands settle hesitantly on your hips while your arms wrap around her neck, "what do you wanna talk about?"
"first of all," yunjin tilts her head, "what are we?"
"whatever you want," you tease, making her pout, to which you giggle, "okay, okay."
"jennifer huh," you say in a more serious voice, somehow making her posture straighten. you lean your forehead on hers, your voice laced with lovesick undertones that makes her heart melt, "i want to be your girlfriend."
yunjin can't stop herself from grinning.
"again."
"what?" you pull back a little to see her entire face. she looks happy. you love when she's happy.
"say it again," yunjin whispers breathlessly, her hand reaching up to cup the side of your face, her thumb brushing against your lips, "please."
"huh yunijn," your head feels fuzzy, but you nod as you humour her, shivering when her other hand starts playing with the hem of your shirt, "i want to be your girlfriend. that is, if you wa-"
she doesn't allow you to finish her sentence before she presses her lips to yours, making a surprised sound leave your throat. your hands tangle in her hair, and when you pull a little, you feel giddy when she whines softly.
this time, she pulls away first, but you don't chase her lips. you don't have to, anyway.
yunjin clears her throat, her blush getting redder as she gives a indifferent shrug, "sure, sure. yeah, that sounds good."
you scoff, slapping her shoulder playfully.
"okay! okay, i'm sorry, babe," yunjin pouts, and it's honestly terrifying how much of an effect she has on you already.
also. woah. babe. you're mentally giggling and kicking your feet at this point. not that you're ever gonna let her know.
"i want to be your girlfriend too," she kisses your cheek, "but, you do know what comes along with being spiderwoman's girlfriend, don't you?"
"enlighten me!"
"i mean, i'm somehow always in trouble, which means you could get into trouble, and it can and will be dangerous, and oh god, i wonder if we should even-"
"nuh uh," you interrupt, using your hand to cover her mouth.
her eyebrows furrow as she lets out muffled complaints, and you tsk at her, "you've already saved me once, jen. i'd trust you with my life. i've got your back and you have mine."
yunjin takes your hand off her mouth and she sighs in defeat, nodding, "you're right."
"aren't i always?" you question in faux offense and she snorts in return, looking at you with so much fondness that it made your heart ache.
she nuzzles her face into your neck and pulls you closer, "it means a lot, you know."
"i know."
"babe, please tell me you're almost here 🧍♀️"
you stand outside your home, weaving your hand through your hair, waiting for her reply. you look away from your phone and up at the sky, the blue appearing especially pretty today. then, suddenly, you see a small, dark-suited figure flying through the same sky.
you think you're hallucinating until you see the mask up close, and your eyes widen comically when your girlfriend swoops by and picks you up smoothly by your waist with one arm, her other one preoccupied with webbing. other than the deafening whistle of the air as you shot up, you hear her breathless, excited voice, "hi, babe!"
"y-yunjin!" you yelp when your legs almost land on top of a random car in traffic, "this is not what i meant by picking me up for practice!"
spiderwoman only laughs, fleeting and free, amd your breath hitches in your throat.
ah, fuck.
you bury your face in her neck, focusing on how warm and secure her arm felt around your waist instead.
"you owe me for putting me through this!"
"aw, come on! now, be honest, would you give this ride a 5 star rating?"
"yunjin!"
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Daddy’s Home — Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader
summary: Miguel didn’t get to be picky when it came to choosing his new, forever home, as long as he was in Gabriella’s arms again. Even if it meant sharing her with you. (3.1k Words) Based on this prompt
warnings: angst, slight smut, violence (including the disposal of a body), emotional manipulation, toxic relationship
authors note: this was inspired by one of my prompts from around a week ago and i’ve been holding onto this bad boy for about a week considering it’s my first ever fanfic i’ve ever wrote..i just wanted it to be perfect 😭 in my prompt i said something about the reader being sweet but she’s a lot more firey in this because the real miguel was an asshole who was never home..but i hope you all enjoy anyways! i was hoping to create this into series so if you want to be added to the taglist let me know 💖 i’ve also added the translation at the end just because 🤷♀️
Link to the Ao3 ver instead!
Miguel didn’t get to be picky when it came to choosing his new, forever home, as long as he was in Gabriella’s arms again, even if it meant sharing her with you. You were littered through Gabriella’s file, a pretty hard person to miss considering the fact that you were there for every single moment of her life—the sweet cooing voice in each video of her as a baby, the delicate hands that held the small, chubby fingers as she took her first steps, and the laughter that arose from behind the camera as Gabriella pulled a funny face.
This Gabriella was the perfect fit, however perfect came with a mother that was alive and well. It was a package deal in this universe, a love intertwined with filial devotion that Miguel would just have to deal with.
But he couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy that was buried deep in his chest, even as he watched a memory of Gabriella’s first goal (a favorite of his), which was originally only celebrated by him, now being replaced by Gabriella shrieking excitedly as she ran up to her mother, throwing her arms around you in triumph.
Moments like these, so special for his little girl, fueled his deep hatred towards you. It was watching these memories where Miguel genuinely wondered if he was even present in this universe. Nevertheless, staring down at his own lifeless body made him realize just how right he was.
What was he doing outside alone, in a dark alleyway on a Friday night anyway? Why wasn’t he home with his daughter, with his wife?
Those were the thoughts that ran through his mind as he began disposing of the body—a man too selfish and weak to even protect his precious daughter. In the end, he got what was coming to him, or so he told himself to keep from feeling guilty.
He didn’t care for details, knowing he was here now to pick up the pieces of a broken family and restore it to something he could finally have a second chance with. He snapped out of his thoughts as he heard the jingle of a ringtone coming from his new phone. Swiping the phone from his pocket, he didn’t even stop to waver whether or not he should answer as he saw your name flash on the screen, rolling his eyes as he pressed accept. He pulled the device up to his ear, resting it on his shoulder and cheek as he listened to the sound of your voice.
The first thing he noticed was how tired you sounded—were you waiting for him to return home? He could imagine you laid on the sofa, eyes nervously glancing up at the clock at any given moment, a silly housewife awaiting her husband. He almost felt bad for you; it was pathetic that you would really allow yourself and Gabriella to live like that, always waiting.
He ended the call swiftly, making up some stupid excuse about how he caught up with work and would be arriving shortly. Pretty much in character for the man he just suffocated with his own hands, not raising any suspicion for you as he heard the sleepy yawn telling him that you’d be asleep by the time he got back.
However, despite the dark act he had just committed, he was willing to go to great lengths to win Gabriella's heart again. If putting this ring on his finger and pretending that the woman on the other end of the phone was his wife would grant him another chance with her, then so be it.
He wouldn’t mind playing house with you, as long as he was able to hold his daughter in his arms once more.
He felt disgusted even calling you 'wife', but for Gabriella's sake, he knew he needed to play along. It wasn't like it mattered anyway since your daughter worshipped you so much more than him.
He didn’t need you, he knew that.
However the thought of Gabriella’s eyes as they lit up when you walk in the room seemed to tell him otherwise. She needed you.
He hated the way the house was never quiet, there was always something happening.
You were making dinner? There had to be music in the background as you traveled around the kitchen, humming and singing along to whatever tune was playing on the speaker. That soft velvety voice seemed to flow through the house, and it killed him inside that he wanted to hear more of you.
Gabriella was playing outside? Well you were playing outside as well, it wasn’t like you had a choice, having being pulled away from whatever you were doing to entertain the small girl.
You had everything running like clockwork—cooking dinner while managing homework and playing with Gabriella at the same time—all without seemingly breaking any sweat or becoming frustrated.
Miguel couldn't help but admire you for being able to handle everything so seamlessly. But deep down, he still felt resentment towards you for taking over what should have been his role as the sole parent of their child.
He’d notice small things, like the way your hands flew to your face when you were shocked, it was sweet at first, until he realised Gabriella also did the same, she never did that before. He had noticed it one morning when he stood in the doorway of Gabie’s room, not trying to make his presence known as he watched the two of you play, and the scowl on his face didn’t go unnoticed as you furrowed your eyebrows at him, wondering what he looking at so intensely.
It took him the first couple of weeks to get used to your laugh, you were always laughing. It seemed to rub off on Gabriella as well, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her laugh this much, even before.
Miguel tried his best to ignore the feelings that arose in him at the sight of you playing with Gabriella, and sometimes even joined the two of you whilst you played your games. He couldn't help but feel envious of how happy the two of you looked together, reminding him of moments he could have had if only things had gone differently.
Despite these feelings, it wasn't long before Miguel began to see a different side of you. A side that made him realise why Gabriella adored you so much.
One day while cooking dinner, he noticed your eyes lighting up as Gabriella told a story about her day at school. You were so invested in her words that for once he felt like an outsider looking into your world.
He also witnessed moments when Gabriella fell ill and how tirelessly you took care of her; staying up all night by her bedside until she fell asleep or gently rubbing Vicks on her chest when she was coughing painfully.
It was moments like these when Miguel started to question his assumptions about you and wondered whether maybe—just maybe—he'd been too quick to judge.
But as much as Miguel tried to ignore it, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had buried something deep inside him. He couldn't let go of the resentment he felt towards you for replacing his role.
He started focusing on every little mistake you made, criticising your cooking and getting angry when things didn't go his way. Every time you laughed or smiled at Gabriella, it sent a pang of jealousy straight through him.
"She's too attached to you," he huffed, standing beside the bathroom counter as you both prepared for bed, "you can't even leave the room, and she's already wondering when you'll be back again."
"Well, maybe if you were around more often, she wouldn't be so reliant on me," you retorted, the soft glow of the bathroom lights casting shadows on your face, your voice laced with frustration.
His eyes narrowed as he leaned in, reaching for his toothbrush, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, of course, it's all my fault. Because you're just the perfect parent, aren't you? Always there, always available."
"You know what, maybe if you actually made an effort instead of criticizing me all the time, you'd see the bond we have is because I've been there for her when you weren't!" you retorted, your voice rising, the sound echoing against the tiled walls.
His tone grew more defensive. "I never said I was perfect, but at least I'm trying now. You could at least acknowledge that."
A mirthless smile crossed your face as you leaned against the bathroom counter, facing each other in the confined space.
"Acknowledging your half-hearted attempts doesn't erase the damage done, Miguel. It takes more than just physical presence to be a real parent."
The tension hung heavy in the air, the scent of toothpaste mingling with their argument, as the bickering between husband and wife intensified. The wounds of the past were reopened, and neither was willing to back down or see the other's perspective.
As the heated exchange reached its peak, you turned on your heels, ready to storm off, your frustration boiling over. But just as you took a step away, Miguel's hand shot out, firmly gripping your arm. The air tightened between you, the coolness of the bathroom tiles beneath your feet.
The grip on your arm only tightened, his expression a mixture of frustration and a confused longing. "You don't speak to me like that," Miguel growled, his voice firm. "You are my wife, act like it."
“You are my husband, I expect the same from you,” you snapped back, your voice dripping with defiance, refusing to back down as you swatted away his hand. “And—I will speak to you however I want.” The sound of running water from the faucet filled the silence.
A flicker of amusement crossed Miguel's face, his eyes tracing your determined form. He had underestimated your strength, your fiery spirit. Despite the frustration that lingered between them, a newfound admiration stirred within him.
"Si supiera que eras tan molesto, te habría dejado hace mucho tiempo, Muñeca," he mused, his tone tinged with a mix of fascination and curiosity, the steam from the shower filling the bathroom. “Las cosas que haría para callar esa boca tan bonita tuya.”
The intensity of the moment had rendered you momentarily speechless, steam rising in the bathroom as the warm air surrounded you both. But you managed to find your voice, albeit in a whisper, the sound barely audible over the running water.
"Now that's not fair," you murmured, the dampness of the bathroom clinging to your skin, your voice filled with a mixture of frustration and longing. "You know I don't understand what you're saying..”
A slow, mischievous smile curled at the corners of Miguel's lips, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief as he leaned in closer, the scent of shampoo and desire filling the air. And as your lips lingered so close, the unspoken desires between you both grew stronger.
“Good.”
The man currently asleep beside you, was not, to absolute certainty, your husband.
His features held a resemblance to the man you once knew, but there was a striking difference—an unfamiliar intensity in his eyes, he looked at you like he didn’t know you.
His hair fell differently, it looked more clean compared to the tousled mess due to work. You would've sworn he had a small crease in the corner of his eyebrow, but then it disappeared along with the mole on the side of his neck.
He smelled of citrus and leather before, a smell that made you turn when he walked into the room—you knew that smell more than you knew yourself.
Instead now, all you could smell was warm spice and amber. It almost made you smile when you smelt it on him as he walked past you that morning, a couple of weeks ago, until you realised that was the fragrance you got him last Christmas, the fragrance he said he hated and never wore.
The bed, too, felt subtly different beneath your weight, as if it dipped just slightly more than it used to.
It made you feel like your heart was tearing apart. On one hand, he was paying more attention to Gabriella, and she was thriving because of it. He took her to all the soccer practices, played with her and held her so tight that you’d think she’d pop.
You’ve never seen her so happy.
On the other hand, he was hardly in your presence. He hadn’t touched you for weeks, not even a kiss. The most he had done was argue with you, mostly about how close you and Gabriella was.
However, one thing that you couldn’t help but notice was the dark look in his eyes every-time Gabriella’s attention shifted toward you.
He was hardly around before, always at work, the gym or drinking with his co-workers at the bar across from town.
Nowadays it was hard for him to leave you and Gabriella alone.
Not to mention, it was like he grew twice in size. His shoulder looked broader, the veins in his arms popped, more defined. He could basically pick up your seven year old like a feather. Had he been working out more?
You shift on your pillow, eyes glancing down at his heaving chest as he slept. The only time he didn’t look so tense recently was when he was asleep. So peaceful.
You couldn’t help but reach out and dance one of your fingers on the side of his torso, quietly humming some annoying tune that wouldn’t leave your mind that morning.
"What are you doing, Gatita?" he quipped, unable to suppress a soft chuckle that escaped his lips, snapping you out of your thoughts and making you squeak.
As you tried to pull your hand away, Miguel quickly caught it in mid-air, his touch exerting a gentle but firm hold. His finger lightly pressed into your palm, a subtle reminder of his presence and it was almost like he was showing his desire to keep you near.
“What, don't you like touching your husband?" he playfully remarked, mischief dancing in his eyes. His gaze deliberately traveled down your body, as if savoring the sight before him.
Rolling your eyes and pouting, you couldn't resist the urge to make a bratty remark. "Well, it's not exactly enjoyable when the husband is such a pain in the ass." you huffed, your tone laced with a hint of childish defiance.
Feeling his firm hold on your hand, you let out a whine at the tightness. It was as if he was purposely trying to keep you close, unwilling to let you slip away. The intensity of his grip only fueled your frustration.
That’s an air between the two of you. You just couldn’t put your finger on it. The way you desperately try to search in his eyes for something, anything, that would tell you that the man you’re looking at, is, really your husband. The man you’ve spent nearly eight years with.
It’s almost like he’s trying to breathe you in, the way he looks like he’s trying to piece together your features, it makes you wonder if he even knows a thing about you.
The weight of the impending moment made you fidget, your fingers nervously playing with the edge of the bedsheet. You were acutely aware of the lingering tension between you and Miguel, and you attempt to find a way to wiggle your way out of his grasp.
A timid sigh escaped your lips, as a sense of unease settled upon your shoulders. "Gabriella will be waking up soon," you whispered, your voice tinged with a flicker of concern.
A cruel smirk played at the corner of his lips as he leaned in closer, invading your personal space. "Is my little wife hiding from me?" he sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm and mockery. “You know she’s not getting up for at least another hour.”
Your eyes darted nervously between him and the door, your mind already jumping to potential escape routes. You couldn't help but wonder if he was purposefully trying to push your buttons with his words.
"I just don't want her to-," you began to stutter, but were cut short as Miguel's grip tightened further on your hand. "Don't worry about Gabriella," he whispered into your ear, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. “She’ll be fine.”
A shiver ran down your spine at the sensation; it stirred something within you that you couldn’t quite explain. Within the eight years of your marriage, he had never made the room feel so..heated.
You gasped at the sensation of his lips pressing into your neck, sending shivers down your spine in a wave of desire and guilt. All logic told you that this was wrong, yet there was a part of you that wanted nothing more than to give in to the heat that bubbled within.
As Miguel's kisses grew bolder and more insistent against your skin, you couldn't help but writhe beneath him.
His groan reverberated through your body, stirring something deep within as he whispered against your ear "I know I've been a bad husband," punctuating each with another kiss along the length of your jaw.
"Miguel-" Your voice trailed off into a soft whimper as he shifted so that he was hovering over you, one hand moving to fondle at the curve of your hip while the other tangled itself in your hair.
"But I'm here now," he murmured between kisses before ducking back down to press his lips onto yours once again. The taste of him flooded through you even as he reached up under-shirt slowly caressing and teasing you, making sure not too much display signs of pleasure.
As the heat continued to build between you and Miguel, he began to part your legs, eliciting a soft gasp from deep within as his intent became clear. You felt his lips curl into a knowing smile at your reaction as he watched your mean facade fall away.
"Mmm," he hummed in appreciation as his eyes roamed over every inch of exposed skin. "Looks like my little wife isn't all mouth after all." He teasingly remarked before lowering himself once again so that his tongue could trace patterns along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
The sensation left you moaning softly in pleasure at the skilled touch, completely lost in the moment. It wasn't until Miguel's fingers found their way back up to her hips that you realized just how much control he had over this situation.
"You know what?" He said with a smirk pulling back to look at her face before diving down for another heated kiss "I think maybe have to put you in line more often."
You wouldn’t mind that in the slightest.
eng translation:
1. “Si supiera que eras tan molesto, te habría dejado hace mucho tiempo, Muñeca,” — "If I knew you were so annoying, I would have left you a long time ago, doll."
2. “Las cosas que haría para callar esa boca tan bonita tuya.” — "The things I would do to silence that beautiful mouth of yours."
3. “Gatita” — Kitten
#miguel o’hara au#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara#miguel ohara x you#my first ever fanfic#hehe hah this took me too long to make..#miguel o’hara x fem reader#miguel o’hara imagine
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sweetie
pairings: dbf!bucky x y/n reader
summary: after yet another failed date your dad’s best friend Bucky cheers you up..
warnings: smut 18+ only (unprotected sex, oraL (M & F receiving), fingering, creampie, cockwarming, praise kink, safe word(mentioned not used), innocence kink), age gap (reader is early twenties, bucky is mid 40’s), use of pet names, swearing, body shaming (not from reader or bucky), insecure thoughts (reader) - let me know if I missed any :)
word count: 4092
a/n: I’m a slut for dbf!bucky so I had to use him for my first time writing smut🤭 go easy on me please i tried😭
Feedback, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :)
I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated on any other platform.
masterlist
“Y/n?”
“Yeah! Hey, Ryan right?” He just nodded and sat opposite you, clearly not caring he had shown up 20 minutes late. .
“You’re not what I expected” he tried to play it off with a chuckle but you just looked at him in shock, completely confused.
“What were you expecting?”
“Someone a little.. you know” he pauses for a moment and looks you up and down before continuing, “it doesn’t matter” Before you could question what he meant you hear a familiar voice come from behind you.
“Y/n, how are you sweetheart?” As you go to turn your head you feel a cold hand on your shoulder, instantly telling you who was there.
“Buck! What are you doing here?”
“I’m picking up some dinner on the way home from work, just spotted you two over here and thought I’d say hi” He looks over at your date with a slight smile. Bucky had always been protective over you, ever since he started working with your dad, he’d always be over at your house for some reason or another, but you’d never complain. You’ve secretly been crushing on him for a while now, there was just something about him that you loved, not to mention he was the hottest guy you’ve ever seen.
“Oh right, sorry! This is Ryan, my date” You point your hand towards him, “Ryan, this is Bucky, one of my dad’s friends” Ryan stands up and holds his hand out waiting for Bucky to shake it.
“Nice to meet you Bucky” So he doesn’t lack all respect it seems.
“Call me James” He tightly squeezes Ryan’s hand, maybe too hard as Ryan tries to pull away slightly. You couldn’t help the blush creeping up onto your face. Bucky only introduced himself as James to people he didn’t like, come to think of it you had only heard him introduce himself as James a few times. Once when you brought a boy home in your first year of college, to the creepy neighbours who moved into your street whilst Bucky was over for dinner and one of his colleague’s. He must have a good judge of character because all of those people turned out to be total dicks.
“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time, have a good night you two” He leans down to give you a hug, and whispers into your ear, just loud enough so Ryan can hear. “See you later sweetheart” He turns to Ryan and nods before leaving. You feel your mood drop as he walks away, you were sad that he was leaving, especially with it meaning you were stuck with your sad excuse for a date. You pick up the menu and go to ask what he’s thinking of getting before the waitress interrupts.
“Ready to order?” Before you can respond asking for an extra few minutes Ryan answers for you.
“I’ll have the pasta special and she’ll have the chicken salad.'' You shoot him a confused look, similar to the look the waitress is giving you both. You couldn’t believe he was ordering for you, and ordering you a salad at that. God, you could not wait for this night to be over already.
Surprisingly the conversation from there wasn’t that bad, he asked you about your job to which you explained the recent job you’d gotten as an elementary school teacher. Things were looking up until your food arrived. “I hope you didn’t mind me ordering for you, salad is always a safe choice, you know?”
“Do you have a problem with how I look or something?” He didn’t even seem shocked or embarrassed when you asked.
“I’ve just never dated someone as big as you”
“what?” Was he serious right now? You’d gained a little weight recently due to stress eating but you didn’t think other people would notice, or point it out.
“Do you not think you could lose a few pounds? You’d look so much better, especially with a dress like that on.” You could feel the tears forming in your eyes as he spoke, little droplets gathering on your eyelashes. You tried to stop your voice from shaking before answering him.
“I don’t think this is gonna work out”
He rolls his eyes and scoffs. “God. Women are so sensitive these days” You didn’t want to show him how he was affecting you so you grab your jacket and walk out without looking back. You’re only outside for a couple minutes before you hear that voice again, along with a car horn. You lift your head up and see Bucky parked just ahead of you.
“You okay sweets?”
“Buck, you’re still here?” you begin to walk towards him.
“Mhm, food took a while to come out. What’s wrong, are you okay?”
You quickly wiped away the tears that were rolling down your cheeks “I’m fine, just wanna get home”
“Hop in, I’ll give you a ride home”
“Are you sure? I don’t wanna-“
“Don’t be silly, you know I don’t mind” you force a small smile out before making your way to the passenger side.
“How was your date?” You turn to him with a look that makes it clear it was not a good time.
“He was an ass” His gaze softens on you and he puts his hand onto your thigh and rubs circles over it with his thumb.
“I knew it” He notices you trying to smile and softens his tone, “I’m sorry sweetie, come on I’ll take you home”
“Thank you” He softly squeezes your thigh before moving his hand to focus on driving you home. You missed his touch already, it made you feel safe like you had someone who cared but it also excited you, making your body heat up. You quickly threw that idea out, he was your dads best friend, he would never think of you that way.
Your apartment isn’t far away, the car journey only lasts around 10 minutes. It was a mostly quiet car ride, Bucky didn’t try and make you open up about your date but he was worried, you seemed really upset with whatever had happened. “Are you sure you're okay?”
You tried to answer without letting your shaky voice show but you failed, “I just wanna get in and get changed out of this dress” You rub your hands over your dress to try and make yourself look better, you couldn’t help but think you looked bad after Ryan spoke about you like that. When Bucky parks outside your apartment you sit in silence for a moment, you didn’t want to get out because it meant Bucky would be leaving you. “Do you want to bring your food in? It’ll be cold by the time you get back to yours”
“That would be great, if you don’t mind”
“Course not Buck” You both get out and walk up to your door. Bucky noticed you playing with your dress on the way, “you look real pretty in that dress” You turned to him as he spoke to you, surprised with what he said.
“Really? I thought I liked it too but, I, I don’t know” you trailed off slowly.
“Whatever that asshole said to you, don’t listen to him. You look great”
“Thank you Buck but you really don’t have to say that”
“I mean it sweetheart, you look gorgeous” You smile up at him, a little less forced this time. It takes you a minute to compose yourself and find your keys but you finally manage to unlock the door.
“Sit down, I’ll get you a plate”
“Bring two” he shouts through from the couch to your kitchen.
“Okayy” you're slightly confused but take two plates out the cupboard along with two beers from the fridge, “but why do you need two?”
“So you can have some” you weren’t in the restaurant too long, did you eat anything?”
You were tempted to pretend you weren’t hungry but you really were starving. “Is there enough to share? I left before I could eat my salad”
“Salad? you went to an italian restaurant and ordered salad?" Bucky laughed.
“He ordered for me” Bucky stopped laughing as soon as the words left your mouth, and he started shaking his head.
“What a dick, here” he unpacks his bag of food and lays them on the table in front of you both. “help yourself to as much as you like, lucky for you my eyes are too big for my belly”
“So where'd you find this guy anyway?”
You sat on the sofa for an hour or so and explained the whole story, including everything that happened on the date. By the end of it Bucky was angry, angrier than you’d ever seen him. He pulls his hand up to your face and cups your cheek, “Don’t let some boy make you feel insecure, you don’t need to change for anyone, and anyone would be lucky to have you”
No one had ever spoken to you with such kind words and you could feel the tears forming again, you tried to play it off. You were embarrassed for being so emotional. “I’m sorry, just no one ever speaks about me like that”
“You deserve to hear it everyday, and I really mean that”
“Thank you buck, and thank you for sharing your food.”
“Anytime sweetie”
“I’m gonna go get changed and then I’ll clean this up okay?”
“Sure, take your time”
Only a couple minutes pass before Bucky hears you calling his name from your bedroom.
“Y/n? are you alright” worry had set in fast, faster than it probably should’ve but he cared about you alot. he practically ran through, only stopping when he walked into you.
“Where's the fire jesus” he puts his hands on your shoulders to try and steady you both.
“I heard you calling my name, are you alright?” you couldn’t help but smile at his concern for you, it was nice to have someone who cared for you.
“I’m okay, my hair’s just stuck in my zip, can you help me with it?” you reply as you walk back into your room, Bucky following you close behind.
“Yeah, come here” you turn your back to him and lift your hair that isn’t stuck out of the way”
“We might just have to cut it off” you playfully slapped his arm.
“You wouldn’t dare” he places his hands to your hair and begins to work its way out, the touch of his fingers sends shivers all over you, you try to stifle the moan you make but you can tell you failed.
“I'm just kidding don’t worry, there you go that should be it out” he says but he doesn’t move his hands. instead he turns you around and looks into your eyes. “You really are beautiful, especially in this dress” he loves to lean into your neck and whispers quietly, “even if I would prefer to see it on the floor” Yet again you couldn’t stop the blush appearing onto your cheeks, did he really say that?
You pull your head back a bit, Bucky starts to think he made you uncomfortable but it was quite the opposite, you pull his face towards you and push your lips together, it was a deep kiss, slow with an intensity you hadn’t felt before. You begin to pull away slowly, scared of overstepping but he pulls you back up against him, his hand cupping your hair, not too tight so you could pull away if you wanted to. His lips were soft, different to what you expected but it felt good. He pulls away slightly, but you can feel his grin against you.
“You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that” he says whilst catching his breath.
“Really?” he hums in agreement. “What else did you want to do?” you feel his grin grow even more. He pushes you back a bit towards your bed and you follow him.
“You sure you want to do this?”
“I’m sure Bucky, please”
“Just say red if you want to stop, okay?” you nod your answer. “I need words sweetie”
“Yes buck”
“Good girl” you can feel your panties getting wetter the more he talks to you, you desperately need him to touch you.
“Bucky please” he could hear the desperation in your voice and it made him laugh, he loved having this effect on you.
“What do you want, sweetheart? tell me what you want me to do to you” You got shy all of a sudden and it took a minute to find your words.
“I want you to touch me” Bucky trails his hand down your body and stops between your legs.
“Here?” he rubs circles over your clit through your dress making you moan and grab into his shoulder.
“Fuck.. please Bucky” he takes his hand away, you pout up at him.
“Take off your dress. and lie down” you do as he says, as he watches you with a grin on his face. It doesn’t take you long before you're laying down and Bucky crawls on top of you. He starts to kiss your neck, slowly making his way down to your breasts. “Can I leave this on?” he asks pointing to your bra, you just nod. Thank god you chose this lingerie set today. “You look so sexy in it, making me so hard baby” You let out a little laugh at him,”You’ve gone all shy on me sweets”
“I'm sorry” Bucky shakes his head.
“Don’t apologise, it’s cute” He continues kissing you slowly, stopping when gets to the band of your panties. He begins to slowly take them off, “still okay?”
“Yes, please buck. I need you” you whisper to him.
He throws your panties onto the floor and opens your legs, biting his lips as he sees your pussy glistening in front of him. “Such a pretty pussy”
He lowers his head down and licks his lips before rubbing his fingers over your pussy, collecting the slick already gathered there. He brings his fingers up to his mouth and slowly licks them. “You taste so sweet baby” you feel your cheeks flush at his compliments, “Sweetest thing I ever tasted” he speaks before lowering his head back down.
He presses his finger to your clit and pushes down a little, making you whimper. “Bucky please” you try to roll your hips up to get him closer to you. “Please buck i need you”
He doesn’t say anything but in the next second you feel his tongue against you. “Fuck Bucky” it was so much better than you were expecting.
“Aw sweets, you're so wet. Is this all for me?” you nod again, biting your lip. He had hardly touched you and you already felt better than you ever have with anyone else.
You tried to close your legs to escape the overwhelming feeling but Bucky pushed them open again and looked up to you. this was something you’d dreamt of seeing, having him looking up to you from between your legs. you couldn’t believe this was really happening.
“Gotta keep them open baby, so I can make you feel good” you nod down at him, as you nod he teases his finger around your pussy making you throw your head back.
He lowers his head again and brings his tongue to your clit and begins to roll his tongue over it. You start to move around, the feeling is too much, he lifts his arm up to your stomach and presses down slightly to stop you from squirming. He uses his other hand to tease your pussy, “Fuck, your so tight sweetie”, he lifts himself up a little and brings his hand to your mouth and holds out two fingers. “Spit on them” you hesitate at first before dropping your spit onto them.
When he gets back done to your legs he lightly blows on your clit, making you moan out. He begins to tease your hole and starts putting one finger in, slowly, “Fuck, i can’t wait to get my cock in you baby, your so tight” he pushes his finger in and out slowly a few times before adding in another. You can’t help the moan that leaves your lips. you don’t care how loud you’re being, it feels too good.You could feel the ache in your pussy getting stronger, your orgasm fast approaching, you’d never come this fast before.
“Bucky, please don’t stop” he doesn’t stop, he speeds his fingers up feeling you tightening around them. “Oh.. Fuck. Bucky please I'm gonna- I’m gonna come. Don’t stop” you throw your hands around you, grabbing onto the covers and squeezing them as hard as you can.
“Come for me baby” a few more thrusts of his fingers and you come, your eyes roll back, your orgasm leaving you whimpering, Bucky drops his head down and licks your come. “How do you feel sweetie?”
“Good” is all you can manage, still trying to catch your breath.
“You did so good baby” he crawls back up to you and plants a kiss on your lips, you can taste yourself on him. You feel his cock through his jeans touching your stomach and reach down for it.
“Bucky?” you ask shyly.
“Yeah baby?” he pushes your hair out of your face and cups your cheek.
“Can I touch you?” you slightly squeeze his bulge as you ask, batting your eyelashes up at him.
He chuckles a little at how shy you are. “Of course you can sweets” he lays down beside you and guides you to sit up beside him. you start to unzip his jeans pull them down before he lifts his hips up making it easier for you to remove his clothes. When his jeans are off you see his cock jump up, it was a lot bigger than you had ever seen before. nerves started to slowly set in, what if you couldn’t make him feel as good as he made you?
It was as if Bucky could read your mind, he saw the concern in your eyes and started to reassure you. “Sweetie, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to”
“I want to” you reply quickly before quieting down and slowly continuing “I just don’t know if it will be as good as you made me feel, I don’t wanna disappoint you”
“You could never disappoint me baby, I'll help you if you need it okay?” you nod your head, and trail your fingers up his thighs before reaching for him. You grab the base of his cock, your hand doesn’t reach around it fully so you bring your other hand beside it. “Fuck baby, that already feels so good” his praise gave you a bit more confidence. Quickly gathering some spit in your mouth, you drop it down onto the tip of his cock, and use your thumb to rub circles over it. He was feeling so sensitive he couldn’t stop his groans leaving him, “fuck Y/N, keep doing that” you did just that, whilst your other hand slowly rubs up and down his cock.
“Can I put it in my mouth?” Bucky's a bit taken aback by your sudden confidence but he doesn’t hesitate to answer.
“Please do” you move closer to him and settle between his legs, you lower your head down and lick his tip gently before bringing your tongue down to the base and working your way back up slowly. “Fuck, baby you keep doing that and your gonna make me come.” His praise was making your cheeks flush and he noticed, so he kept going. “Baby you're doing so good, it feels so. fuck. so good” You begin to put his cock in your mouth, going as far down as you could before bobbing your head up and down. Bucky places his hand on your head and slightly pushes your head down further, “fuck sweetheart, your gonna make me come.”
You speed up, wrapping your hands around his shaft where your mouth can’t reach, Bucky was moaning and whining loudly beside you, his breathing was speeding up. You could tell he was about to come, you wanted him to come in your mouth, you needed to taste him.
“Baby, I’m gonna come, oh god I’m gonna come” he expected you to pull away from him but you keep going until his come shoots down your throat. “Fuck baby, fuck that was good” you look up to him, come dripping out your mouth and smile. “You look so pretty covered in my come sweetheart” He smirks at you, making you blush yet again. You use your finger to collect the come dripping out your mouth and suck on it, which makes Bucky’s cock twitch.
You look down and see that he’s still hard, so you crawl up to him and whisper into his ear “could you fuck me?” so quietly he hardly hears you.
“Sweetie you gotta speak up” you pout at him, but repeat yourself. You could feel your pussy throbbing, you needed him inside you.
“I want you to fuck me Bucky, please” He turns to you
“Lie down” you immediately do as he says. “I’m gonna fuck you like the good, dirty girl you are” he grabs his cock and stroked himself a couple times to get it ready for you. “Remember to use the safe word if you need me to stop okay?”
“I remember, but please just fuck me. I need you” he brings his cock to your pussy, pushing just the tip in. “Go slow please, you're bigger than I’ve ever had” Bucky felt a hint of jealousy over the thought of anyone else being inside you but he pushed it aside and focused on you.
“I’ll be gentle don’t worry sweetheart” He brings his tip out and pushes slowly back in a couple times, letting you adjust to him. When it becomes easier he goes in deeper, nearly halfway in. You moan in the mix of pain and pleasure, he was stretching
you but it felt good.
“Fuck Bucky, you feel so good, keep going please” He pushes in further, rubbing circles over your clit as he does, making it easier for him to fit inside you.
“Shit baby, you're so tight. squeezing my cock so good” He hadn’t even fucked you properly yet and you could already feel your orgasm coming close.
“Bucky fuck me please, just fuck me” he bottoms out inside of you, hitting a spot you didn’t even realise existed within you. “OH my god Bucky, keep going. please. It feels so good”
“Such a good girl for me, taking my whole cock” your moans make him fuck you harder, chasing the release he so desperately needed “So good sweets, you feel so good”
“Fuck, Bucky. duck me harder please Bucky”
“You want more?” he thrusts into you harder as he says each word. “Fuck, you’re gonna milk my cock” you can feel your orgasm coming at you with full force.
“Buck I’m gonna -fuck I’m gonna come, don’t stop please”
“Aw baby you gonna come all over my cock?” you nod your head, unable to form words at this point “oh fuck. you're squeezing me so tight I’m gonna come. You want me to come inside you? Want me to fill you up?”
You nod quickly, trying to bring yourself to speak. “Please, please Bucky come inside me please”
“Always using your manners, sweets, even when you're so drunk on my cock hmm?” You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you.
“Bucky please” you were desperate for your release at this point. He lifts your hands and puts them either side of you, each of his hands pinning yours down and towering himself over you.
“Oh fuck. Come with me baby. Come with me” He’s thrusting into you so hard, hitting that spot again and again. Your legs begin to shake as your orgasm crashes through you. “Fuckk.. Oh my god Bucky”
“So. Fucking. Good.” he replies, just as his cock crashes into your pussy. “You milked me so good, such a good girl baby”
Bucky goes to pull out of you but you stop him, “stay like this please? Just for a little bit”
He cuddles into you as close as he can without moving out of you, and places a kiss on your forehead.
“Anything for you sweetheart”
#wwilsonbarness#sweetie#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#buckybarnes x y/n#james bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x you#marvel#bucky barnes smut#bucky smut#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fan fiction#sebastian stan#bucky barnes fanfic
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Eddie only gets told snippets of everyone else's Upside Down experiences after Vecna, like, the sanitized version. The story told by each person but omitting the most personally traumatizing parts. Which means he doesn't know much about Steve and Robin Versus The Russians. Not in its full, gory detail.
So he doesn't think anything of it when Steve has a day off and wants to hang out, just asks if he minds coming with him to Indianapolis. Steve says yes immediately because he just doesn't want to spend another day alone in his big empty house, even if it means several hours in Eddie's deathtrap of a vehicle.
But then they get there and Eddie is parking outside a tattoo parlor and saying he got a last minute booking with his favorite artist and that he's so excited to cover some of the scars he has from the bats and Steve can barely hear him over the fuzziness that seems to be filling his entire brain.
He lets Eddie guide him into the shop, watches Eddie and the tattooist make small talk, follows Eddie to the table, sits on the stool next to him, and tries to look anywhere but at the tattoo gun.
Eddie doesn't notice at first, too jazzed about the idea he and the artist have come up with, blabbering about how he can finally take his shirt off at the lake again. It's not until the line work is done that he realizes Steve's breathing has gone shallow.
He asks the artist if they can take a smoke break before filling the tattoo in with color, and he gently takes Steve's hand and pulls him out back to ask what's wrong. Steve's too deep into a panic attack to answer, so Eddie just puts Steve on the side opposite his new work and pulls him in close, squeezing him as tight as he can and just gently shushing him, running his hand through Steve's hair.
After a few minutes, Steve's breathing easier, and Eddie asks him again if he's okay.
"I'm fine, I just... I hate needles. Ever since the Russians drugged me and Robin. Can't be around them."
Eddie frowns, realizing this must be one of the parts of the story he knows they were keeping from him. "Why did Russians drug you?"
Steve sighs, pulls out of Eddie's grasp, and sits on the ground against the back wall of the tattoo shop. "Dustin picked up a Russian transmission, summer of '85. We translated it, found their secret base under the mall, and realized they were opening the Gate back up. But then we were seen, and to buy time, Robin and I let ourselves get caught so Erica and Dustin could escape and get help."
Eddie sits next to Steve, their knees bumping. "Erica Sinclair? God, that kid really is the most badass of all of us."
"Yeah," Steve laughs. "Anyway, the Russians beat the shit out of me, asking who do you work for and shit like that. Didn't believe me when I said Scoops Ahoy. So they brought in this Doctor and he drugged me and Robin to get us to talk. Just straight up jammed a big ass needle full of mystery drugs into my neck. Ever since then, needles freak me the fuck out. They had to strap me down in the hospital just to get an IV in me when Robin insisted I get the bat bites checked out."
Eddie runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Steve. I never would've brought you here with me if I knew."
"I know," Steve says quietly. "'S'not your fault. I'm trying to get better at being open about things like this but it's just..."
"Hard. Yeah. I wake up screaming most nights, and I can tell Wayne feels bad because he doesn't know what to do. Because he doesn't know what's causing it."
"Yeah," Steve sighs.
They sit quietly out there for another ten minutes before the tattooist comes back out to see if Eddie wants to keep going, and he glances at Steve, sees the way he's gone pale and rigid, and shakes his head. "Sorry, man, think we're gonna have to pick this up another time."
Eddie stands, grabs Steve's hand and hauls him to his feet, and walks inside, never once letting go of Steve. He sets an appointment for a few weeks from now, on a day he knows Steve is working, and they leave the shop.
The second they're in the car, Eddie sees the color returning to Steve's face, and he drives aimlessly through the city, finally stopping at a combination bookstore/cafe.
"Come on then, big boy," he says with a teasing grin. "I do believe I promised to teach you about Hobbits."
#steddie fic#drabble#stranger things fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#just a passing thought I had whilst watching Steve and Robin get drugged
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Meowdy Saint! ^^ lolol hello hello o/ hope you are doing good!!
So this masterpiece of a game has been invading my mind with ZERO chill lately which directly translated to me coming up with a TON of questions orz I really didn't realize how many I ended up compiling lol
If you don't feel like answering this many please feel absolutely free to ignore this ask or only answer the ones you like the most, the last thing I want is for you to feel overwhelmed! ^^
ALRIGHT LET'S-A GO
-do Rendacted's memories remain intact when he resets the day or do his wipe too with everyone else's? Also is there an in-universe answer for why he has these glitchy powers or is he just Built Different™?
-if angel made it VERY clear that they would be mad asf and prolly even start hating and leave Ren/[REDACTED] if he were to hurt their friends(or killing people bc this man needs to chill fr), would he listen to them? Bc I know that if he touches Violet, Elanor, Kiara or god forbid Moth I'm personally deleting his kneecaps 🥰
-since it seems to me that Ren/[REDACTED] is only kinda meh at cooking I was wondering if he actually made the not burnt pancakes in day 3 or if he had some store bought ones that he passed off as his own lol
-does he know how to give massages? :00
-during day 1, how did Ren come up with a book on the local flora?? It seems like such a random topic to pick when put on the spot without already having a genuine interest in it lmao
-if I understood correctly Maple should be Jae's dog right?? Did you have a specific breed or age in mind when creating her? I got curious because in my head she automatically popped up as a young australian shepherd to match with Jae's hyperactive dumbass energy lol❀⸜(˶´ ˘ `˶)⸝❀
-staying on the dog topic lol, in day 1 when angel gets up from the couch to get Ren the inflatable mattress(iirc) and he follows right behind them i immediately thought he acted like a puppy lmao. So would he mind being called 'puppy' as a pet name?
(I am not sure if this⬇️ questions falls under character deaths, if it does I really apologize and absolutely feel free to ignore it ^^)
-from an ask from last year it seems [REDACTED] would ultimately kill angel if there was ultimately not way to enter in their life?? Gotta say I was very taken aback by this, would this still be the case after a year of building more to his character? (Ok I went back to check the ask again but I can't for the life of me find it anymore maybe I dreamt it up idk😭😭 im really sorry if that is the case jdkslajdl)
-uuhh I know there is already a lot in this ask(im seriously sorry orz), but I was wondering if we will eventually get an SFW alphabet for Ren/[REDACTED] for the folks who don't care about the nasty 👉👈
-THIS IS THE LAST THING I PROMISE 👹 will there be a guide to get all the endings? I'm not sure if there is one already and in that case I missed it 100%
Also I find it ironic how the fandom is trying to find out every single aspect of Ren/[REDACTED]'s character the same way he must do with angel lmao
ALRIGHT THATS ALL IM SO SORRY FOR ASKING SO MUCH THE REN BRAINROT HOURS ARE SO REAL IM LOSING BRAINCELLS orz Remember to take care of yourself drink water and take breaks!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
(Also sorry if some phrases don't make sense, english isn't my first language as I am 🤌 lolol)
✦゜ANSWERED: Under da cut because this got long >:3
-do Rendacted's memories remain intact when he resets the day or do his wipe too with everyone else's? Also is there an in-universe answer for why he has these glitchy powers or is he just Built Different™?
Ren's memories remain intact!! I mean... He remembers each time you get a bad end and sometimes says something different... >:3 There is also an in-universe reason as to why he has his abilities — I won't spoil anything, but his real name (along with River's and one other character) have a reeeeally big tell. But what this tell is is for me to know and you to find out >:3
-if angel made it VERY clear that they would be mad asf and prolly even start hating and leave Ren/[REDACTED] if he were to hurt their friends(or killing people bc this man needs to chill fr), would he listen to them? Bc I know that if he touches Violet, Elanor, Kiara or god forbid Moth I'm personally deleting his kneecaps 🥰
Ren (and by extension [REDACTED]) knows not to harm anyone if he knows you won't like it — and even then — he won't actively show that murderous side of him in the first place. To Angel, Ren is just a timid, normal guy.
-since it seems to me that Ren/[REDACTED] is only kinda meh at cooking I was wondering if he actually made the not burnt pancakes in day 3 or if he had some store bought ones that he passed off as his own lol
Ren is actually good at cooking, he's just a bit out of touch since he doesn't normally cook for himself! It's normally microwave meals or takeout for him... ^^; And yes, Ren did burn and burn the pancakes in Day 3 — he was distracted by something on his phone :3
Bonus cut Day 3 content: I took out the scene where Ren started to profusely apologise for burning the pancake because he often had to cook when he was younger. Given the dynamic of his family and the environment he grew up in, Ren didn't have much room to make mistakes ;n; I cut this scene out because I felt bad ksgskd So y'all get to have flustered, happy Ren instead!!
-does he know how to give massages? :00
If that was one of Angel's interests or desires, then sure!! ^^
-during day 1, how did Ren come up with a book on the local flora?? It seems like such a random topic to pick when put on the spot without already having a genuine interest in it lmao
Someone else likes flora too, and it sure would be funny if Ren (eventually) starts to mimic certain traits and interests of the person you have the highest affinity/relationship points with in order to make himself look more appealing… >:3c
-if I understood correctly Maple should be Jae's dog right?? Did you have a specific breed or age in mind when creating her? I got curious because in my head she automatically popped up as a young australian shepherd to match with Jae's hyperactive dumbass energy lol❀⸜(˶´ ˘ `˶)⸝❀
It was mentioned in Jae's lore post (I'll link it here once I find it), but Maple is a Labrador! (Leon would be Jae's Australian Shepherd hehe) In my mind, Maple is only 2 or 3 years old, but that wouldn't really fit the official timeframe... ^^; Jae adopted Maple during high school so he wouldn't feel lonely at home, and it's been over 6+ years since then.... hgdshjg
-staying on the dog topic lol, in day 1 when angel gets up from the couch to get Ren the inflatable mattress(iirc) and he follows right behind them i immediately thought he acted like a puppy lmao. So would he mind being called 'puppy' as a pet name?
Angel affectionately calls Ren a puppy during the scene in Day 1 where they meet up after work, so that nickname definitely could work!
-from an ask from last year it seems [REDACTED] would ultimately kill angel if there was ultimately not way to enter in their life?? Gotta say I was very taken aback by this, would this still be the case after a year of building more to his character? (Ok I went back to check the ask again but I can't for the life of me find it anymore maybe I dreamt it up idk😭😭 im really sorry if that is the case jdkslajdl)
aaa I think you might be mistaking that ask for something else? ;v; [REDACTED] would NEVER harm Angel in any capacity, and they're a very patient person. Even if it took decades for Angel to fall in love with him, they'll wait.
-uuhh I know there is already a lot in this ask(im seriously sorry orz), but I was wondering if we will eventually get an SFW alphabet for Ren/[REDACTED] for the folks who don't care about the nasty 👉👈
You're fine!! And I'm open to doing that! I'll add it to my list hehe
-THIS IS THE LAST THING I PROMISE 👹 will there be a guide to get all the endings? I'm not sure if there is one already and in that case I missed it 100%
I've shared a spreadsheet that lists all the available choices, the points you earn from each of them, and the endings you can get — however it's only available on Discord and I don't really want to share it outside of the server and potentially put it in the hands of minors. Sorry!!
Also I find it ironic how the fandom is trying to find out every single aspect of Ren/[REDACTED]'s character the same way he must do with angel lmao
Hehe >:3 There's a loooot of lore that won't ever be mentioned in the game (since it doesn't seem fitting/I don't see a reason to), so I'm happy to provide it here!
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𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 | park seonghwa x fem!reader x choi san
part one of gangster!mafia!series "𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞-𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞"
“Brother, can’t you see I’m doing this for you? Enjoy yourself.”
𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : Picking your own poison, if poison was given to you in form of bankrolls by venomous men with high demands.
In which Park Seonghwa had a plan and Choi San has ideas.
“Sounds like you’re enjoying her more than anything."
𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : noir, smut, angst | korean mafia/geondal!au | ceo/jaebeol!au
𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 18.2k
𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : entitled rich people, workplace harassment, alcoholism, softdom ceo!seonghwa (headman park), half-drunk satoori-using dom mafiaboss!san (mr. choi), both are called by their names at some point, sub-leaning bratty switch servant!femreader, use of (pet-)names (missy, baby, princess), groping, thigh-riding, light choking, light hair-pulling, non-penetrative sex, voyeur!seonghwa, sex in the elevator, counts as mirror sex right, biting kink, manhandling!san, edging, breeding, cum-eating (m), cunnilingus; reader hates the rich except for when they are sexy, implied but not severe age gap, writer does not have daddy kink but mafiaboss!san does, gunshots and death, use of korean proverbs
𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : this with the next part will be the origin story for reader, specifically the series synopsis’ first half :) originally, this has been a request, so please read this, if you desire to have a bit more insight to what the series actually is + translations of certain terms (mostly character dynamics) in this chapter !!
tl;dr: since it's all based around korean mafia/gangster/etc, there will be korean culture scattered between the lines. it is all translated, hopefully in an understandable way!!! (please hmu if there are difficulties) i let out honorifics/romanisation, except for "chaebol" since it's an actual word :) that being said, reader's ethnicity is not specified and won't be relevant to the series in any way !!
smut comes after the second border, and uh,,, i had to shorten that shit (pls dont ask me where) but uh. you’re getting 8k words of smut so buckle up LMAO !!! i hope you enjoy as much as i did writing it !!! thank you for likes, reblogs and feedback xoxo (also this is NOT beta-read so pls dont hesitate to tell me about... like.... errors, tags and shit)
[ now playing : money ▸ pink floyd | listen to the playlist ]
It's getting repetitive. They are drinking their ninth bottle of expensive whiskey, smoking their third or fourth disgustingly pricey cigar— what the fuck, is this seriously what the upper men of your nation are doing at some stupid chairman’s dinner party?
“Missy!”
“Me, sir?”
No wonder the economy's fucking shit.
“Yeah, you, missy, give that gent over there one of our divine Denmarks!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give him a kiss too, while you’re at it! What do you think? He’s still got it, no?”
Said ‘gent’, some old, scummy clown— winks at you, his gray eyelashes fluttering towards your direction.
“Yes, sir."
God, how bad you wish you had snuck your phone in to take a picture of these red, drunken, senseless faces, but you're a dutiful servant, abiding by the rules at all times, however difficult it may be. You’re holding in your puke professionally, not even doing something as to grit your teeth, just softly letting your jaw play along to your friendly smile.
“Does your willy even still work that way, old friend?", a cranky, yet humorous voice pitches in.
Agreeing to your supervisor’s offer to earn “big money” may have been a bad idea, but a good choice. Jongho said he’d seen you at your work, took special note of you— even though you weren’t sure where exactly he had observed you, since it’s only been a month of actually working as a servant in the lower tiers of the building— and wanted to give you a chance to swim with the big sharks. “I think you’re best suited for the job,” is what he said to make you giggle and think about your initial rejection of his proposition, “you have a talent for serving.”
Something you didn’t know you had, something you didn’t know someone would see in you ever in your life, “talent.” Sure, maybe you let yourself be persuaded a bit too fast, but it felt very touching that somebody saw you and saw potential, for whatever occasion it may be for. You don’t necessarily want to screw the rules of the hierarchical pyramid or what it was that kept you from being in the proximity of the chairman, but you really need the extra cash right now.
"What does a girl from the mountains look for in being a servant in the city?", had been the question you were asked by Lady Kim who gave you the leftovers of her restaurant at the end of the day, when you had just started with the training– poor, barely standing on your own feet.
You remember how you explained to her that the buddhist monks who raised and send you here surrounded themselves with wells to remind everyone that water always returned, and you assumed it would work the same with wealth. You also remember how hard she tried to stay kind to you, showing you her sincerest sympathy by telling you that "the chaebol are no joke!" (at least not a joke, an innocent girl like you could laugh about, she later explained) and giving you an extra portion of her home-made dumplings to suit you up.
Her sharp, yet compassionate voice rings in your ears, as you reapply your red lipstick on the way to your target guest. Oh, Lady Kim, what a graceful woman– she put her all into her work for her restaurant to succeed, but had always made a place to share what she had for those who needed it. Such a lovable woman, she must have been well-liked by all around her.
You get it now, the way you had been so naive back then. Floating on the philosophical happy-go-lucky psyche of the city’s promise of prosperity, trying to live the Korean dream strangely enough as someone who was so sarcastically out of touch with it. If you had been in her position, you wouldn’t have been able to be as nice, no, would have warned yourself with a finger pointed upwards as if you were teaching a little kid about strangers, or how your monks said, ‘tigers in the woods’.
“After that cigar, his dick will turn to dust!”
Maybe things would have looked different, if you hadn’t taken that fund from the school’s superintendent, who slid you that card on your table with a smirk on his face. Oh dear, do you remember how excited you had been? You ran through the streets in your worn-out shoes with that plastic sheet in your hand, on your way to tell that the money on it was such a ridiculously high number that you could split— but Lady Kim had got to know it first, the ridiculousness of the rich, with the demolition of her restaurant-building.
“He’s got no cum in his nutsacks ‘no more anyway!”
No warning, no compensation, just everything crushed to pieces to make place for the big corporations; the fancy neon-signs she'd invested in, the ambition of her enthusiastic dreams, your only source of tender charity, shattered to a wreck. You have never seen her since, and can only laugh about how the fancy food of the chaebol—and you definitely know who they are now, those tasteless men gawking at you in the moment—doesn’t even look half as good as her low-cost black bean noodles you could more than afford now.
The present day-you is less dreamy, but just as lost, forced to work off a debt you hadn’t been informed about when you lived off the favorable “fund”-money. No, Lady Kim, this is all a joke, you would tell her today. A really fucking bad one.
So, making room for another ha-ha in your life, you pulled your eyes up innocently, returning Jongho’s specious smiles. “Is it illegal to collect pocket-money from the rich?” It’s not like you had any doubts at that point, but 'they'll buy you out of prison if you’re good enough' was all you needed anyway to put your uniform on tightly at home.
"Can't even shoot his cum in missy to save his blood!"
Your more experienced co-workers are watching you work with a condescending frown, feeling both jealous you're getting all the men's attention, but also maliciously delighted you're being challenged as the new-coming servant who's obviously of erotic interest to these richlings. They want you to get a "taste of life" for you may be the most goody-goody fawning bitch they have ever seen; just a young birdbrain who has nothing to bring to the table except her body. Young thing won’t hold up, doesn't know who she's working with— though they are quite right about that part, you must admit, you frankly didn’t look up whose money you’re taking right now— she doesn’t know who the fuck she is.
"What? Did his son leave the company, too?"
It’s flattering to know that the other pretty servants look at you and only see some candy-coated muppet, but fairly, your ever-frozen smile on your face doesn’t give them much to work with. You’re simply an annoyance to their routine, and if you could, you would like to comfort them by saying none of the money you’re getting will stay in your hands– they’d be so happy to hear that you’re really worth nothing– but you must stay focused.
“Idiot, he’s only got a daughter!”
So yes, that being said, you’re glad nobody ever asks you about you. Everyone just assumes, judges from what they see, and if what they see is an opportunistic bimbo-girl chasing money, then so be it, right?
"You know, the one he married off to the governor?”
Right. Because you too have not a single second to think nor talk about your past. The present is scarce and the future is fragile, you know it the best. And you owe it to your old men to make the best out of their efforts, don't you? The air in this room may not be the one you inhaled in the mountains, but you still have to use it, breathe, be alive, despite how moldy and spoiled it simmers in your throat.
"Real mad! Anything to avoid that fee, huh, missy? Got no semen and no glory! You really want to give him that cigar?”
So, that taste of life? Fucking bitter, just like how that name 'missy' seeps and sweats on your tongue. You can’t loathe your co-workers for this reason, they're basically in the same wooden, shaky boat as you, but these asswipes here are floating on a fucking yacht. Of course they don't follow some type of code of human decency for you, they don't give two shits about the lowlifes, the poor. They watch them like a spectacle, and because they don't regard you as a human-being but rather a toy, they play with you on strings that are, on the other hand, binding together a big, fat bankroll.
Ka-Ching.
Eyes on the price, Y/N, eyes on the price. You may not own a lot, that's been more than established, but if there is something you have, it's dutifulness, commitment, and proficiency. It will remain difficult to keep inner peace and honor with a job of which "duty" it is to be a deferential, subservient doll, but at least you're alive and well, soon to leave this floor with more money to your name that these fuckers don't know anyway, right? Never let that smile drop, smart girl. You have a talent, just like your supervisor said. Just keep on serving.
“No children-makin' is better for the cheatin'— ha!”, the barren, that fruitless man who’s been made fun of whoops in to stand up for himself, and awaits his tobacco that's being driven to him by your cart.
You open up the wooden chest in which the cheroots, so unnecessarily gold-plated, sit and ridicule you with their rare existence. There are just thousands of dollars sitting in your hand right now, and as you fetch the thick roll with wary fingers, you think, fucking hell, this could feed so many people, and they're just smoking it away like it's nothing, assholes.
The other servants frown at you spitefully during the time you bow down. You're sensually placing the brown cylindrical object into his mouth, a match lighting held to his face to light it up. In addition to the experience, you hold one long stare with his washy eyes, because you assume it will ignite him.
And, oh, how excited he gets.
"Thank you, sir," you chuckle and flutter with your eyelashes, pursing up your lips like you’re an innocent little girl getting a piece of candy behind her parents’ back.
“Just mad! Missy's young enough to be your grandchild, fella!”
You’re aware of exactly what your dear co-workers are thinking, but being ordered to light their cigs and then ogled at is not "baby-treatment” or whatever they’re muttering under their breath, it's your subtle strategy to have that bankroll be slid between your thighs.
"Hey now, I still can get it on! Don't you think so too, missy?"
Dumb Y/N, only has money on her mind. Allows herself to be called "missy", like a dumb fucking slut.
Hm, kind of has a ring to it, don't you think?
"Yes, sir."
Let them all think you're a dummy. Let them believe, believe each other's words in whatever they fucking want. You're almost too certain it's the secret reason Jongho offered you a place here anyway; "suited for the job", because he deems you dense enough to not understand any of the nonsense these twelve men are babbling, "big money", because he knows you will do anything for it.
You’ll still take the talent, but if he really thinks the rest, then oh, sucks to be him.
Yes, you haven’t looked up the names of who the men here are for the same reasons they're not using yours, but the second you’re out of this whiny, weak testosterone-drowned room, you're going to write the most thorough blackmail, because you can not listen to their cheating, money-laundering, corrupted bullshit anymore. Getting involved with the handshakers is the last thing you should do if you want to live a silent, carefree life, and you know this too well, but they're not going to believe it was you anyway. They wouldn’t dream of their missy to do such a competent, smart thing. You even know what you're going to write under the letter so they have something to think about in their cells: 'birds listen to the words of day, mice to the words at night'— walls have ears, too.
Ah, the soft, sometimes very cryptic voice of your favorite old monk. Always there to teach you new things, remind you of how to live your life cheerfully. You still believe he would have rather kept you in the mountains and not drop you on a wild voyage into the unknown urban life, but your old man had his reincarnation coming. You should visit his grave again, it's been a while, hasn't it? Wouldn't he be so proud to see you? To see how much his little Y/N has grown and learnt, using his proverbs to restore justice? Well, for what you still can collect of your late mentor, he would probably make big eyes and use his whole body to keep your monetary gift away from him. "Teacher," you would ask, "don't you at least want to save?", and his answer would remain the same;
"Peace comes free."
You feel warm at the distant memory of the bald-headed man warming himself in his orange gown, teaching you about love, harmony and kindness, but that sweet veil of untainted innocence has long dropped from your eyes.
In front of you, you see tycoons continuing having a blast being their shitty selves, and as golden teeth blend your sight, they are entertaining each other by staring at your legs that are covered by your sheer black stockings, whispering their insight of how you'd look like under it, but the mini-skirt only leaves so much for imagination.
"Sweet missy!"
How could you not want to spit into their face? They have bought the war. They have bought the chaos. And why? Just because they can. It doesn't cost you anything to restore some peace, maybe that’s the thing your old man got right.
"Yes, sir?”
“Do you have any Cubans left, sweet missy?”
“A Cuban, coming right up, sir.”
“Hopefully someone’s gonna come after the party tonight!”
Are you humiliated? As someone who lived among the wisest, clearest heads, and was considered just as smart by them to be wished a ‘more fortunate life’ — No.
You couldn’t care less about their perversions. Especially now, when they seemingly don’t care enough to know your name you've introduced yourself with. You are here for one reason, and it's not to prove your worth to the world, it's to secure your place in it, get that parasitic debt off your shoulders.
And if anything, as long you are staying truthful to yourself, there’s nothing that could take away your spirit. That’s what you want to believe, at least. When you’re out of debt and continue with this job, you could spend every day downtown like the other servants, but for you, it's all going to the savings for the family you're going to feed with not one worry in life on the clear land in the mountains, not under a sky that's polluted by light even when the sun has set.
The clock has announced night long time ago. Outside the windows, there shines and roams a loud, restless city under a starless, foggy black blanket, inhabited by people like you who live day by day to make their living, like small flies forgathered in a hive of exhausting labor, buzzing their life away.
It’s what you think every time you peek down the glass room: Seoul has never looked so small. Across and around the ever-flowing Han-River, the metropole is the home of millions who are looking up with their heads far back their necks to the point right here, where you stand, at the center or peak of all the wealth gathered together, inside the highest building standing tall amidst of the tumult, on the 114th floor, towering over the world in a luxurious dining room decorated by exotic animals, marbled statues and most importantly the filthy glimmer of something they call ‘class’.
“Missy,” the chairman calls out for you, raising his hand, right after he’s made another infidelity joke and showed his luxurious wedding ring to the audience.
“Yes, sir?”, you call out, wearing your pristine servant-smile with your hands folded nicely in front of your stomach, voice not tainted by your disgust as to even one note, despite the other servants looking at you with hateful expressions. They wish you the worst; the worst treatment, the worst performance, anything to get you out of this place.
Maybe they're driven by the same instincts and avarice that makes you hate the rich, with them just thinking you're taking away their money, but it's free territory here with these predators; you just make for great prey.
It’s a challenge to all of the people involved and the contestants can only win. Will it be another pick-up line? You're going to pick on that with ease. Another joke about your age? That one is never going to get old. There, bring it on, you think, and feel proud of your confident spirit, ready to run with whatever they throw and stash it into your wallet.
“You see those youngsters back there? Get 'em some more ice."
“Yes, sir.”
“Chaps don't know how to drink the good stuff yet, what a waste! Next time, buy 'em the cheap soju from the mart! The ones for 5,000 Won, missy, you know those?”
“Yes, sir.” Your whole face flashes a smile, bowing to accept the task of refilling some ice, dragging your cart across the room, as male laughter rings in your ears. It's as if they don't realize they also drink cheap liquor, but you suppose that's forgettable when they are flushing the fanciest of meats down with it.
"Be careful, missy!"
Are you being too mild by saying you want to ram the green glass-bottles into their heads?
"They bite!”
Maybe choke them with their own money bills?
Yes, “Yes, sir.”
It's a fun exercise to fantasize about how to hurt them, so you thought you would be busy enough to ignore the chairman's warning, but as you are on your long way to the end of the even longer glass table to push your cart towards the men he is referring to, there's a growing feeling inside your guts that oh, the chairman may be ...
Huh, right for the first time. The quizzical lump expands warmly as much as it is cold, with goosebumps running down your spine, your hands feeling hotter than ever over the metal cart. Your whole body is trying to signal you that something is off on the other side of the table, but you don’t know whether to ignore it or run.
The annoying, empty-minded, impertinent elders, who have been belly-laughing at the chairman's joke a second ago stop with their chatting and only exhale huffs, and prolong them nervously, that’s off. The servants gulping, loosening their crossed arms– that’s off, too.
“So, uhh… Where was the, uh– food from?”
“Oh, lad, good topic, yes– the delicious food…”
It seems that everyone in the room is trying to fill in the silence with the fakest of laughter, so the chairman can move on from the topic, but you're well over your way there, uninformed to what you're going to be hit with once you halt.
Tycoons like them usually don't need back-checking. You know how to deal with ill-willed imbeciles that only use their estate as a weapon. Their bodies and brains have passed prime an eternity ago. Left behind are only their numbed minds that seek shelter in lust, ecstasy and aphrodisia because nothing else excites them anymore. They’re what you probably would have been if you hadn’t spent your teens brewing tea and listening to the leaves rustle, not experiencing all euphoria and more at a too early age– they’re washed out, just swimming in money they haven't worked a day for, are lazy, weary sloths.
However, opposed to the cloudiness in their class that's only getting more foggier through the many years of monopoly, these two men that are waiting in front of you, and you understand why your lungs are pinging now, they are potent.
Money is power, but twist it around and there is them, with that; a certain force that the rich ooze out by just acting and looking a certain way, and oh, Y/N, how they are, how they are looking at you right now, best believe you have to hold onto your strength like it's a small purse.
'Youngsters', he said— 'they bite', he said.
They have been rarely reacting to the chairman’s words, notwithstanding being the ones to be the most respectful in this meeting for their young age, just looking at each other with unamused eyes. Even the director who is older than the chairman lets out his best holler every time, but these two have not laughed once at his jokes, not the slightest chuckle has left their mouths to flatter or satisfy the chairman.
Interesting.
Both black-haired, the one you get to first has his mane gelled back, a cigarette hanging out his scarred mouth, as you approach his seat with your cart walking carefully practiced steps. His white shirt is opened up to where chains, most importantly a silver cross, hang from his collarbones to his chest that’s covered with scars and scratches you can’t quite identify how they got there. This man looks gigantic, muscular, dangerous. Shoulders terrifyingly broad popping out his black vest, he sits on his seat with widened legs, thighs flattened in his also black pants, fastened by a leather belt, and with his white sleeves pulled back to his elbows, his slightly tanned forearms only appear more huge after the rather average-looking wristwatch catches your eye, just when you stop with your cart in front of him.
“That old geezer just can’t keep his mouth shut, can he?”, he chuckles, the Gyeongsang-provincial dialect rolling so naturally off his tongue. Everyone else in the room has been faking their speech to cosplay a charm they didn’t possess, but even the slight lisp and lull from the drunkenness are not hiding how deeply masculine and sincere this man’s voice sounds. It’s a mixture of the sarcasm you've gotten used to by now, but also a brashness that the older men lack, and you’re a bit embarrassed to say it’s working you up a bit. "Empty carts rattle loudest, I say."
A wintry breeze goes through your breast and you feel your eyebrows flinch. You haven't heard that grandmotherly expression in so long, that it does feel somehow refreshing to reconcile with it, but maybe the whisk you sense shouldn’t feel as comforting given the way the man is looking up to you brazenly with a bit of atrocity in his appearance. He is far away from the serene sketch you drew to save the vision as you left the village, he is what you felt when you took your first train, asphyxiated by the big masses of people who you would never see again— an unhomely, yet intimate feeling of... adventure.
He glances through you smoking his cigarette with no hands attached, and it moves at the corner of his lip as he talks. Wait, cigarette? Missy, did you forget to bring him a cigar?
"Let's see when he runs out of words."
“It’s alright, sir,” you answer, suppressing a slight chuckle because yes, you too have been wishing the chairman would finally shut the fuck up, but haven't expected anyone to say it out loud that boldly. You watch the male in front of you take out the slim roll from his mouth with his thick fingers that are covered with silver rings that all look different and not matching each other, blowing out the smoke whilst maintaining eye contact with you. “If you require, I can bring you a cigar, sir," you say, but he waves his hand to brush off your offer.
“Ah, they give me bad breath.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please," the man progresses instantaneously, scratching over the vertical scar at his lip-corner with his thumb, his ciggy continues to burn, "Do be so kind and give brother his ice," then smiles, "he needs to preserve his cold head.”
“You are one to talk about keeping mouths shut,” the ‘brother’ answers, voice velvety and adequate despite dissing the man that’s sunken unmannerly into his seat, while he, on the other hand, is sitting up straight, his black suit buttoned up, tie set cleanly under his ironed pearl-white collars, elegantly decorated by a golden pin. A Greek "π" is chiseled into it, and you recognize it so well for you’ve seen it written all over the tall buildings you drove by on your way here. His hair is combed evenly to the sides and the more you look at him, he’s just— wow, flawless, prestigious, expensive. Everything about him is crystal clear; his rich voice, his unblemished skin, his eyes, oh god, you just noticed those eyes, how does such a shameful man have such pure eyes?
Orbs— and they're not innocent as much as you can't say they're not guilty— are looking at you with a defiance that is suffocating, as if you ought to do everything perfectly, not miss a single twitch of his eyebrows to understand whether he's enjoying or disapproving of the situation.
Well, is he enjoying you or disapproving of the way you're listening to his partner's order to refill his ice?
Huh. No fucking idea. He probably doesn't, but you must do it still— must still serve.
It feels irrationally sheep-headed, but hey, being a sheep is your job, is it not? Being in this herd is keeping you alive, and even in this situation, where you are following the orders of the blackest of sheep, no, wolves that can't be covered by any fluffy wool— you must mow your best.
"Ohh, brother, it's been a while since I heard you talk! Feels lonely droppin' all the good sayings by myself."
You’re serving Choi San and CEO of PARA-conglomerate, headman Park Seonghwa.
Sat right across the chairman, the percentage this couple holds of his company-share is more than most of the attending seniors combined, which makes them stand at the top of the guest-list. You couldn’t have missed their names, even if you’ve made the attempt to, and the other information you’re getting is just your co-workers whispering hurried words to each other, and it seems to you that you may be more in need of them than ever.
You already eavesdropped on them a little, and to be honest, you didn’t need any real confirmation that everyone in this room was unlawful and corrupt, but it is good to know you really don’t have to feel guilty stashing those bankrolls into your purse.
The man that is licking the tail of his scar at his lip, rolling his neck, clicking with his mouth and tapping his fingers onto the table, he is rumored to be the boss of the Choi-Clan, the infamous ‘Mad Dog of Namhae’, whose face had been unknown. The chairman has made a drunken joke about allegedly trying to sell him off to the government— “everybody act like you don’t know, okay?”— and nobody had taken him seriously, but once the supposed mafiaboss had entered the room, an hour later than everyone else, and sat down comfortably like nothing was strange about his heavy breath and slightly purple knuckles, nobody dared to say something else.
If you’d heard beforehand that you would be meeting a CEO and a mafiaboss today, you don’t know if you would have acted any differently. Thinking, here comes the chairman, his jesters, the mafia-guy, the chaebol; ah, all the motherfuckers aligned, let’s get to work, shall we?
But this does challenge you a bit, indeed. If they just weren’t so young and intimidatingly good-looking, fuck, you could have treated them in the same cookie-cutter way you’d been at perfectly.
Maybe a bit of change-up won’t hurt, you were starting to get a bit too irritated anyway.
"Control yourself."
“You wanna see him dead too, brother,” the smoking male sneers— you’ll call him ‘Mr. Choi’ for now— pointing at his companion to accuse him of being a yawner, his cigarette stuck between his fingers.
Headman Park smirks with a short twitch of his lips that makes you think you just imagined it, but none of his extremities has moved since you came here: Every single action he takes seems so... calculated, thought through, measured, planned out. He is the only one to have brought a briefcase to the dinner, and looks a little bit out of place with his sober expressions which seem to you as if he was observing the whole room in its possible entirety, not leaving out a corner in his sight uncovered.
"Want," he parrots, face dropped to a neutral visage, highlighting the only word that seems to be bothering the CEO regarding his vis-à-vis' statement, eyes darting down to Mr. Choi having his fingertips pointed towards him.
"Don't you become pushy with the words now, brother," the mafiaboss teases him, and tugs his sleeves up to his elbows again, eyeing you up and down while you're passing him with your cart. You discern his interest in the pockets of your skirt, or what is there underneath, instantly, but before you can think that the man may be just the same as the others, he cracks his knuckles. “Old geezer might die on his own at this point, look at how he's smoking his raisin-lungs away."
"Poetic."
So much for hearing government and company secrets, here are these two joking about the chairman’s death. You need the chairman a little bit longer if you want to earn money, but the idea of him dying soon isn’t too bothersome.
"You gotta get used to my Korean way of speaking, brother! Then we can communicate correctly!”
With your ears sharpened, but your face presenting unconcerned, you devote yourself to headman Park to refill his bucket, ice cubes jangling down the iron jar, whilst Mr. Choi stretches his arms behind his head, raising an eyebrow towards his elder who isn't hearing him out.
“Thank you,” headman Park says, very briefly and precisely. The tong you put in the bucket for him to use almost tips, and you don’t know whether he does it on purpose for he’s been frozen still all during the dinner, but with his reflexes, he prevents it from falling before you can, but if that wasn't surprising enough, he grazes your skin while returning.
Soft, uncalloused; not a single ounce of labor roughed up these hands, it seems. They tickled you featherly, and right now, you are looking for some type of confirmation in those black spheres of his to know that you're allowed to exhale and react to his touch, because you gasped slightly and have held your breath ever since.
Nothing. You are the first one to look— no, shy away from his stare, getting your hands in front of your abdomen again, your fingers searching for each other, fiddling around by themselves without your knowledge.
Mr. Choi lets his wrist-watched hand fall between his lap, neck tilted slightly to the back, licking over his canine tooth with a grin, and it appears to you that he's either noticed his associate's small gesture or how headman Park is still staring at you. “You wanna do something, don’t you, brother?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
Mr. Choi shakes his head to irritate headman Park and make him explain himself.
“This is not business.”
Headman Park glances down his whiskey, droplets of water have formed around the brim of the cold glass. It is untouched.
"I see you aren’t enjoying the whiskey, would you like something else to drink, sir?", you ask, trying to finish your job and get away from here before you get ideas that don’t include money between your thighs.
"The Fillico, please," the male answers, not having glanced away from your eyes once to inspect your cart, where the black, long bottle, donning a crown and wings adorned with Swarovski-crystals, awaits you to be grabbed.
"A glass of cold Fillico Black King!", you exclaim, your surprise of the particularity that anyone would drink water at the chairman's dinner can’t be hidden, and then hum, "Coming right up, sir."
“You’re really something, brother,” Mr. Choi wheezes, taking the last pull of his cigarette, watching you fill up a new glass for his unrelated brother with the finest mineral that can be bought to-date, pricing around 6 Billion Won, or 4500 US Dollars per bottle. “Wouldn’t you say it’s difficult to not be smokin’ or drinkin’ in this business, Y/N?”
Sure, whatever ‘business’ a man like him is talking about. “Yes, sir." Wait, hold on, did Mr. Choi just say your name?
“You don’t look too impressed,” the male grins, seeing how you’ve narrowed your eyes in confusion.
"Pardon me, I was just– how do you know my name, sir?”
Mr. Choi shrugs as if to say ‘I dunno’ and presses his cigarette out on the table. It sizzles out, like your head is also slowly deteriorating. He throws the bud into the CEO's ice-bucket— headman Park is not even minorly irritated by it— and then, with his ringed fingers, goes through his hair, setting it loose behind his head. He’s picking on you, and you surely feel picked out, that's all you can think. It's so unusual to be hearing your name, not because it hasn't been said during the dinner, but because—
"Y/N Y/L/N, a pretty name for a pretty servant like you, huh?"
Your heart somehow flutters. A stalwart man like him taking your name into his mouth is nothing you hear on the daily. Deep, manly. It's not flattering, no, it sounds wrong, feels so dangerous for a guy like him to be taking something so personal and turning it into his possession, like you're slowly going to lose yourself in the words he speaks in a lax manner. Your name is precious to you, and it just drops off his tongue like it's candy. Where on earth does a man like him get your full name from?
"Sir," you insist, dipping your fingertip under your fingernail, fidgeting.
“Oh, don’t tell me ya prefer that stupid name ‘missy’,” Mr. Choi chuckles and fetches headman Park’s full glass of whiskey, his dialect draping out his mouth.
“Or do you secretly enjoy it," he grins, and with his eyebrows raised, Mr. Choi drinks up his acquaintance's booze in one big gulp, letting the glass fall down on the table with a thump, breathing out, "missy?”
People drink whiskey neatly, you know that. The guests have been doing it all evening, but that's for two ounces. Headman Park had a glass full of the oak-colored sherry liquid with an uncommonly high alcohol percentage placed in front of him. A taunt from the chairman maybe, to subtly scorn them about their apparent boyhoodish inexperience, but Mr. Choi makes it look so adept: The strong alcohol flows down his throat smooth and speedy, even though he did misplace the rim by an inch.
There's whiskey dripping down his chin as he glances over to his side, smirking at his neighbor who's blinking frozen, as well as the other guests, who are seemingly just as irritated that the mafiaboss got you as flustered as you look like.
You’re left with your mouth slightly open, shotting down a glass of whiskey shouldn't have looked as barbarous as Mr. Choi made it appear. Like a striking attack, baring his claws, he growls out the herby aftertaste. "'Scuse me, 'got really thirsty there."
The mafiaboss goes over his lips with his tongue, watching your hand play with the seam of your skirt, where he knows a handkerchief is buried in your pocket.
“Aw, shit, I got wet,” he wails over-dramatically, looking down on himself and then again locking his eyes into yours.
“Wanna clean me up, baby?”
“Pardon?”
Much to your continued bafflement, Mr. Choi smiles, and as he sees you taking a second to confirm what he said, he continues talking to you like you’re a hooker.
“Don't like that one, Y/N?” Again, with the name! Where does he get the name?!
“Sir, how—“
“You have introduced yourself to us,” headman Park finally reveals in the high Seoul tongue, perchance by pity, and you inhale, a bit embarrassed that you didn’t come to think of it earlier. What is happening to you? Is it because you’re finally away from those sleazes, that you’re being so light-headed? Lack of training? Sexual attraction? God, that’s a rookie’s mistake, Y/N, think about them as targets, not objectives. The objective is to not end up in a bed with them, remember? That’s like, rule number one. Even though nobody told you about the Mafia while you were at training, that’s a valid argument.
Don't let your guard down, you’re in a room with the men of men, no maybe the men. The most influential men you could be meeting in Seoul right now, aside from how little is known about them.
Whether he's a real chaebol or not, PARA-CEO Park Seonghwa is definitely the nephew of good ol’ chairman over there, just leeching off his money even if today is the first time the man is visiting his distant uncle who is definitely a bit sour about the fact he took so long to connect with him. Money has its sources and sometimes, most of the time, it’s nepotism. There you go, the explanation of his wealth and why the male is so well-mannered sitting on his seat. He’s woven into the conglomerate-family, been made CEO to keep him that way and all in all, you could care less about him, if he just wasn’t the only person that was kind of nice to you. Just thinking about his eyes makes you a bit dizzy, but you can get that fixed by turning your eyes to the mafiaboss.
Mafia and chaebol don't usually associate, for reasons that are rather obvious. Mafia’s rule the underworld with the overworld’s laws, and the chaebol rule over what laws the overworld decides on, digging their hands into the government like it’s soot, planting and pulling crops wherever they can profit from it. Money.
It’s sickening every time you think about it. How many people in this room could pay for your whole life? No, how many can’t pay for your whole life and beyond? You can count them with one hand and they’re all wearing the same clothes as you.
Money knows where it belongs; that’s a phrase you made up the day you were told about the crippling debt by the letter and the bank declining your card. It sounds similar to your monks' sayings of water's ever-flowing life, but if water returns, money drifts. It wanders across the citizens, but follows a direction it's always bound to end up. Just like today, with you getting bankrolls to graze the inner space of your legs, only to know it’s going to end up in the same fingers that gave it to you.
So, where do headman Park and Mr. Choi get a say in this? Do they get a say in this?
“I did introduce myself, how could I forget? I’m sorry, sir,” you admit and let out a laugh that is half intended to sound as nervous as it did, and half regrettably filled with authentic uneasiness.
Old chairman, what does he know? Have those teeth really ever sunk into flesh? You can’t play with your fate here, but by hook or crook they intrigue you so much. You haven’t expected guests that aren't ass-kissers of the chairman, and apparently your talent only goes so far. You have no idea what to do with them to satisfy them except letting out your real thoughts and you can’t do that, definitely not in front of the man.
But you feel so connected to them. The caution everyone has, it confuses you just as much you're amazed by it, and you want that, you want that kind of safety. Every guest here has money, but not every guest has their authority.
“It’s alright, everybody makes mistakes, baby,” Mr. Choi smirks and musters you again, rubbing the liquid away from the corner of his lip with his thumb and kissing the remaining alcohol away, savoring every droplet of whiskey, but also savoring you by keeping his thumb leaned into his opened mouth, eyes looking sultrily at you, you might as well just—
“Mistakes, San. Beware of them,” headman Park falls in and his companion finally sways his eyes away from you, hand backing down. “Talkative drunkard.“
“Brother,” Mr. Choi sighs and grabs the glass from his neighbor that's filled with ice cubes to murmur, “I’m not that drunk," swinging it around with concise flicks of his wrist to enunciate his words.
With the couple bantering, you think you can calm down. Maybe you were overreacting. Bootlicking some birdbrains is a way easier life than to follow these two.
"Hey, baby?”, but there's another call of the bird of prey.
“Yes, sir?”, you answer, fingers letting go of your skirt that has thrashed your skin by how you abused it. You don’t even know when you started to react to the name 'baby', but truth be told it’s better than ‘missy’ by miles. Being over here is better than being over there by miles, that is unchangeable.
“Could you get me clean? This is kinda sticky."
With two fingers, he grabs the collar of his shirt and flails it softly, ice clinking in his glass, as he shows you his indeed quite syrupy breast.
"Yes, sir."
You nod towards the crevice that is the space where his muscles meet, and before your eyes can get lost in the plump thews, you collect yourself so you can do what you were asked for; getting your hands on his body.
“Please.”
“Ahh, I liked you more when you were quiet, brother! I don’t wanna call you a party-pooper, but c'mon! It’s your plan, and I’m just— doin’ my part.”
Mr. Choi twists his upper body a bit so he’s still able to hold the empty glass behind your back, though it feels more caging in than it should, when you lean forwards to softly tap his skin with your handkerchief. His arm hovers next to your hip and his upper body is extended wide around you.
“What do you say, baby?”, the male asks, and you harrumph to take your mind elsewhere from how rock-hard the mafiaboss feels under your hand, how his cologne smells so rich and inviting, and how— “Wanna be bitten?”
“Pardon?”, you ask, not understanding the context of Mr. Choi’s question, but without fail grasping the intentions of it.
The male grins, and you’re unsure as to how he got his hand on the bottle of whiskey from your tray as quickly as he did, but it’s there, in the hand that’s across your hip, and from then on, everything you do seems risky. His bicep is curled around your thigh so he can fill himself another glass, and if you take a step back, your ass will be pushed against his arm, but if you step forward, you’ll land on top of him; a straining dilemma that only inflames your guts the more you think about it.
“San,” headman Park grumbles quietly, seeing you struggle to stand on your feet.
“Agh, come on, brother, 's all going well! Live a little for me, will ya? Watch me and follow,” Mr. Choi nags with a juvenile pout and takes a disgruntled sip from his drink, making your imaginations reality by pushing you with his forearm with no forewarning. You trip closer to him and his arms raise, as you have to find safety on his shoulders to not fall into his crotch.
“Oops, ‘scuse me, baby,” he grins, feline eyes glancing up to you, your bust in his view. The other men are grumbling, fussy, yammering— if they knew, they would have done that with you a long time ago!— and in your head, you don't know whether you should be doing this at the chairman's dinner and not somewhere in a stripclub or just, god, anywhere else.
“It’s okay, sir,” is what you answer, and the short silence would be the perfect opportunity to scuffle back to your original stance, but you saw his ever-growing, throbbing bulge in his black suit-pants and it is staring you down.
Everything about him is so big…
“Really, baby?”, Mr. Choi asks, eyebrows pushed together, lips formed into a pout, feigning an expression of worry.
“Yes, sir,” you say, the big question of 'what is the goal here?' unnerving you, but with the quick, harsh movement of his leg against the back of your knee, you're—
“Sir!”
Sat on his thigh, your butt is bouncing on the hard flesh, fingers dug into his shoulders deeper due to the shock, ribcage moving up and down as you’re breathing fast and anxiously. At this point, you’ve gathered the attention of many who are seemingly more excited about the situation than you are, silencing all around, while the chairman continues to crack drunk jokes on the other side.
Mr. Choi chuckles at your nervousness and puts his glass down. “Aww, look at you, baby,” he coos, his rough, calloused fingers trailing between the inner space of your thighs that’s pushed into his leg. “Need a little break?”
As you sit there— securing yourself on the table, feeling his hand sit between your legs, you become lighter with each passing second, tingles being sent down your abdomen. Could Mr. Choi please stop smirking like that? It’s going to make you lose your mind, lose every thought of what you were trying to achieve at this table tonight.
“The chairman doesn’t allow breaks, sir,” you murmur, trying to cling onto the last sense of service you have, “I have to stay here.”
Your voice is barely above a whisper for the CEO in front of you to become curious, but loud enough for the mafiaboss to scoff and massage his hand deeper into your flesh.
“Sir, I really—“, you try to protest, but Mr. Choi uses his other finger to signal you to come closer to his face. You do as you’re told, his warm breath hitting your ear after you lean backwards.
“Baby,” he cackles, and his lips touch your earlobe, the smell of the smoke fading out his mouth.
“I practically own that wimp,” and Mr. Choi lets out a chuckle before his voice lowers an octave, “Let me own you, too.”
His tongue grazes over your sensitive skin as if he was a snake trying to convince you of eating the strange fruit, and you shudder forwards in surprise, his growl still vibrating in your ears.
You should get yourself together— yeah, that sounds like a good idea, if it just wasn't for the fact that this is exactly how you've been presenting yourself the whole evening. You're cornered, and not only by him, but your actions and it's, oh, old man, it's something. It's something that broadens the playground that was set out in front of you, something that gives you more to play, no, more to be played with.
The other guests are gawking already, forgetting about their prejudices when it comes to the 'youngsters', just happy to be seeing their missy in action.
The mafiaboss sighs, breaking his whispering and speaking louder than before. “But if you cherish so much about that old geezer, he’ll be taken care of, no? Maybe even better than before, or am I wrong here, brother?”
He clicks with his mouth— is it a habit?— and looks at headman Park, who rolls his eyes, as if they’re sharing some secret you’re not a part of. But before you can fall into further confusion, your legs tighten around Mr. Choi’s wristwatch, as his thumb strokes the surface under your skirt one time, right across your cunt which has been heating up since the first time you saw the reflection of yourself in his silver cross. A pant leaves your mouth and you have to grind your ass over so you can somehow clench your legs together.
“You like that?”, Mr. Choi sneers, chuckling into your ear, as he continues to move his thick finger against your clit. "Of course you do. Let me hear more of those cute sounds, baby.”
You grab his bicep, heat crawling up your abdomen against his forearm, your crotch feeling more and more buzzed as the male works his fingertip into you. Nobody says anything, just murmuring insignificant sentences to keep up the chatty mood.
Headman Park in the meanwhile, crosses his arms, catching the attention of the mafiaboss.
“Brother, can’t you see I’m doing this for you? Enjoy yourself.”
Mr. Choi flashes an eye-smile and keeps groping your cunt, you melting more and more into his lap and under the heated gazes of the crowd. Your servant-colleagues don’t know what to do, or no, maybe they knew exactly that this would happen and think you deserve all of this shame, just in general not helping you escape the touch of the mafiaboss.
“Sounds like you’re enjoying her more than anything,” headman Park says, looking indifferent, but his words don’t cross out the possibility that inside his pants, his cock isn’t growing too, how his arms are crossed, clenched around each other.
“Come on, baby,” Mr. Choi growls into your ear, “give that fucking bore a show, won’t you?”
You’re split open. He’s strong, oh gosh, so strong, taking not more than one push to grab you by your thigh and spread your legs, make you slip on his crotch, as he closes his knees together to support you from down under.
“San,” headman Park warns, but his mouth stays slightly open, tongue pressed against the surface of his upper teeth, suppressing a grin.
You flatten your back against Mr. Choi’s torso as an attempt to hide your face behind his neck, and breathe heavily against his freckled skin, the cold exterior of his pearly accessory grazes your chin.
“What?”, the male asks, taking his glass, his arm slithering under your armpit and his chin resting on your shoulder as he sips from it, not to forget the hand that is still pushed into the now moist fabric between your legs, moving in circular motion.
Headman Park doesn’t answer and folds his hands together, placing his elbows on the table, fingers touching his lower lip.
“Geez, brother, you should feel this cunt right now,” the mafiaboss wheezes, almost hiccuping from his excitement, “so fucking hot, you won’t believe.”
“Make her louder.”
Even Mr. Choi was surprised to hear that come out of the reserved CEO's mouth, and as he chuckles and takes the last sip from his whiskey, he puts down his glass once in for all to accept headman Park’s order.
With a slight lean forward, his free hand wraps around your neck and you gasp for air. Mr. Choi’s legs are spread so when you have to tuck in your pelvis, you can feel his bulge under your cunt. At this point, you don’t care for the piercing gazes anymore, and the chairman might as well give you a nice tip for the sight of you grinding your wet pussy into his biggest investor’s clothed cock. You’re such a master profiteer, Y/N, Jongho was right.
“Fuck, missy,” Mr. Choi grunts and he’s so frustrated he can’t take off more of your clothes, but it doesn’t prevent him from following the order when headman Park mutters, “grab her breasts.”
It is one shameless show.
You becoming needy and whiny on Choi San’s lap, the mafiaboss grinning, as CEO Park Seonghwa’s eyes are unmoving from your sullen, aroused expressions— it has persuaded the audience to want their own slice of fun, but even with hands wrapped around their no-use cocks, everybody in the room has their eyes sealed on the young servant whose only job was to refill some ice.
Mr. Choi can feel it; what a slut you are on top of him, how eagerly you’re grinding your cunt over his bulge, and how jealous the others are watching— and this includes all the blokes that are watching with cigars in their mouths, but also the servants that would have gladly taken your seat and not rub their hands over old, moist, wrinkly skin.
“Sir,” you whimper, as Mr. Choi knobs your breasts, his tough hands cupping each tit, just like headman Park commanded him.
Fuck, how he wishes to be able to see your face as well as well as headman Park does, but the sobby whines might as well do.
“So noisy on my cock,” Mr. Choi snarls, “you’re practically begging for attention, missy.”
“Don’t fucking call me that,” you hiss and the mafiaboss inhales sharply, gasping, his cock jumping, very turned on by your sudden spunky tone. Bingo.
“Did you hear that, brother?”, he whales, tempting the headman to interact with him more as the main viewer of his performance, but the man to his friend is only raising an eyebrow. “Baby's got some zest in her. You like that, don’t you?”
Mr. Choi continues to coo headman Park into defeat, “You like ‘em feisty, brother. I know you, chief execution officer, sir. You wanna ram your cock into this little missy's pretty mouth, just admit it.”
Little missy's pretty mouth. "Say that again, shitbag," you hiss, but Mr. Choi grins and pries into your bust, working folds into your freshly-ironed shirt. "Listen, brother," he breathes, "It gets your cock fucking going, doesn't it?"
The mafiaboss chuckles and adds, so only you can hear it, "Definitely gets my cock going, baby."
Headman Park scans the room, and you can see how he shakes his head, and looks at Mr. Choi with a slight distaste. “You may leave soon.”
“Really?”, Mr. Choi grins, beaming, grabbing your hips forcefully in the joy of it, and while the CEO’s words leave you misled, you sigh into the pressure of being pressed down deep into his muscled thigh, your cunt pulsating through his flesh.
“Change of plans.”
“Alright," he murmurs, just as offended as you are by his lack of reactions, but quickly catching up on his lust to hear, see, feel you more. "But not before I make this baby come."
“Punster,” headman Park jeers and it does occur to you that you’re hearing more of his soft voice than before, but when he looks at his wristwatch, you suppose you’re not doing well enough for him. Look at me, you rich-ass prude, you think and whine, being moved across Mr. Choi’s thigh by his own hands. Your clit feels hot, like it is seriously going to burn and fall off, but you, fuck, feel so good; the sounds just keep leaving your mouth, your high approaching very soon.
“How long were you thinking, brother?”, Mr. Choi asks and is nibbling at your neck, as he rams you over his thigh, fighting with the pace you're breathing wispy and digging your nails more and more into the glass-table until your fingertips turn white.
"Five.”
“Five? Make it ten.”
“You only last ten?”
“You can be such a bully, brother,” Mr. Choi fleers, and you have no fucking idea what they’re talking about, since you are feeling your orgasm coming in less than a minute, stars appearing in front of your eyes. “Make it ten.”
The male takes note of how you're bucking in your pelvis and uses his canine teeth to make your neck flame on, his hand placed roughly around your throat, as you become more sensitive to every move. "Sir," you whisper, a knot forming in your stomach.
Your clit is begging you for mercy at this point, demanding you to get the clothes off your legs so your slick has some way to escape, but you're drenching Mr. Choi's suit-pants in your wetness with stuttered heaving, ready to moan loudly in any second now if you could just find that one fucking spot—
"Are you gonna cum, baby? Right in front of everyone?", he murmurs against your neck and you nod repeatedly, raving your clothed clit on his thick, pillowy muscle, desperately chasing your high. "Come on," he snickers, "Show them what kind of slut missy is, huh? Such a good fucking slut for us, aren't you?"
"Yesyesyes," you whine, not caring for anything than your release, and Mr. Choi is being so kind as to continue breathing heavily into your ear to make you melt into bliss, but nothing gets you on more than the gentle smile that headman Park is sending your way, head slightly tilted to the back— is he nodding? Is he finally approving? Oh, fuck, you think, and you're doing the best job darting your hips non-stop to continue feeling your cunt be stroked by Mr. Choi's flesh, pursuing the CEO's praising acknowledgment. "Good fucking slut on my lap," the mafiaboss cackles, "come for daddy."
"You fucking weirdo," you falter, not wanting to call him "I'm never gonna call you—
Mmmuh!" Mr. Choi grabs you by your hair and tugs it harshly, making your back arch and your head rotate to his side. In the open mouth, his tongue plunges into your throat, the taste of woody herbs and bitter alcohol are flooding your tastebuds. Smearing all of your lipstick, his mouth is pressed against yours like he's sealing yours shut. You convulse your lower body in surprise of the sudden act and holy shit, get that one spot over your clit that's also stroking your gaping entrance, your body releasing all of its heat into one blaring, roaring zap, with your eyes rolling back your head, your stirred voice screaming, "FUCK!"
There is a gasp heard through the dining hall and you're not sure whether it was the chairman, a servant, or headman Park in front of you, but as you are spasming on Mr. Choi's thigh and your back arches to his chest, you feel like the world is expanding on you, peeping, intrusive onlookers cramming out their money to thank you for the show they got, white trickling through the linen of their underwear.
Coming down from your high, weakened and all the while more aroused by the mafiaboss whispering the words "good girl" into your ear, you try to open your eyelids to catch headman Park putting on some black leather-gloves he got from his briefcase, muttering something under his breath to the mafiaboss.
“Go."
What the fuck?
Mr. Choi hooks his arm under your legs while he re-applies his lips to yours, and lifts you up like the pretty princess you are to most of the gawkers that don't stop watching, when he stands up.
Everybody has their eyes on the kiss the mafiaboss and servant missy are sharing, but headman Park doesn’t even look at you, when his partner starts carrying you to the elevator that's waiting for you at the wall about in the middle of the dining table, and just retrieves his open briefcase from the floor. Has he had enough of you already?
“Where are we—“, you breathe, but Mr. Choi kisses you silent, tongue forcing its entry, preventing you from figuring out what's happening, after the mafiaboss puts you down in front of the door and pushes you against the frame roughly. Cheering and hooting encourages him to continue rubbing his thumb over your skin as the other ringed fingers are holding your thigh, and you're pressed against his leg, virtually fenced in by Mr. Choi while he pushes the button for the lift to come.
His eyes are squinting to the side while he works his lips against you, in a way confirming that all of the guests (except the CEO) are begrudgingly anticipating the next actions of the mafiaboss, not caring how the headman is slowly pushing his seat away from the table to get more leg-space, which you seem to be the only person noticing it.
The golden door opens with a bell dinging the elevator’s arrival, and Mr. Choi grabs you by your ass, leading the way inside it. You can't see it correctly with your eyes closed, can only feel his big arms push into your frame, but he even makes for a show-like exit, burlesquely saluting the audience with two fingers, clicking with his mouth. It must really be a habit, you think, and giggle into the kiss.
The men attempt to throw bankrolls into your space and some succeed, some don't, but while you're glad your plan worked out, you aren't too sure what you've just done with, or for the mafiaboss.
Your heated kiss continues and because you want to feel him, you unbutton his shirt that doesn’t need that much working, three buttons being pushed open by your jellylike hands. Before you can unclothe him though, Mr. Choi pushes his arm against the mirror next to your head, stopping you to take a look at his wristwatch. He strokes his hair to the back with the other hand, revealing some of his meaty abs, and once he’s reached the backside of his head, he slides his fingers down his neck and around his Adam's apple to scratch it, announcing, “Ten minutes on the clock. Shit, brother's dick must be fucking exploding in his pants right now."
“Sir?”, you ask, overwhelmed by the words that are not making sense in your head, but also distracted by his hand that’s around your tie.
“Given he really could've finished in five but,” he yanks you towards his face. “I wanted to have you a bit more for myself, missy.”
He smiles, very arrogantly like the patronizing fuck he is, like he knows how strong he is, what a dominating aura he possesses, but at this point, in between the mirrors and on this black, marbled floor, you are not at the chairman’s dinner anymore, aren’t a servant anymore– you aren’t bound to any authority, are you?
“If you fucking call me ‘missy’ again, I’ll bite your fucking dick off.”
Except for the moment that you’re talking to him, a mafiaboss, whose breast is marked by— and you can see it very clearly now for it fits perfectly into yours— hands that have shared the same, if not a similar experience with you.
“How’d you know I was into biting, baby?”
And holy fuck, his back looks even crazier.
“God, sir,” you breathe out in awe and a little bit of fear. You can count the lines of red scratches on his back and as you finally let his shirt fall from his shoulders, the reflection of his muscles, how they relax under your touch. You become starstruck. Everything about him is so scarring, but fuck, how it attracts you, the wildness, the savagery— there’s something so free about him.
"What, baby? You like what you're seeing? How naughty..."
Ten minutes aren’t a lot, but Mr. Choi makes his best attempt to hurry over the trivial parts of fucking you. He steps closer, your ass hitting the handrail, legs crossing together, and your buttons pop in one rip, as his two hands rupture your blouse open. He lets his shirt drop to the floor, all the while his lips clash against the nook of your neck, making you sigh under the luminous lights of the elevator and grab his neck. You’re getting hazy, horny; damn, it’s been so long you’ve had a good fuck. Satisfactory sex is another luxury you were postponing for later.
With his lips sewn on your shoulder, kissing and forcing his tongue against a spot he deems especially tasty, the half-naked male unzips your skirt to finally reveal the black pantyhose that looks soaked in your slick. After he chuckles at the sight of it, Mr. Choi licks over his lips and cups your jaw with his hand, drawing a trail of insatiable kisses across your skin.
“Still wanna bite my dick off?”, he asks with a sly smirk, breathy, having caught your aroused look locked on his silver chains, his jacked upper body inviting you to get your mouth in there until it’s molded around your teeth.
“Come on, baby,” the male provokes you, “You think I’m gonna fuck you just like this? Think I’m gonna ram myself inside your cute fucking cunt ‘cause I’m such a big scary fucking man?”
You inhale sharply. “N- no, I…”, you breathe out, letting your tongue run over your teeth.
“Aw, baby, am I making you shy?”, Mr. Choi hoots, “I didn’t think you were a shy one. You were pretty noisy on my thigh for your cunt, weren’t you? Getting all the sounds out for brother to hear them… You really served a show there, baby.”
Your mouth only lets out stammered gibberish– you have never learnt how to talk dirty, but Mr. Choi uses your opened lips to ram his tongue into it again anyway, and you're almost proud to say you've gotten used to it.
He breathes rashly through his nose, and he tastes less of bourbon but more of dulcet desire, mixed in with the red of your lipstick sitting on his lip. Your knee strokes his erection while he gets his hands behind your back to get your bra off, lips clashing and raving against each other. “Letting your body talk for you?”, Mr. Choi husks, panting at having his overstrained cock touched. He relieves you from the pressure around the bust and continues to ramble. "I knew I could have a lot of fun with you the second I laid my eyes on you.” You pant and reunite your lips with his. "Little missy, such a whore for the rich."
He’s overconfident he’s seeing right through you, it infuriates you. Mr. Choi massages his hands into your breasts, the cold rings grazing sharply into your warm flesh, and as your knee is still between his crotch, you huff. You can be a whore for the rich when you’re earning money, but right now, you’re doing things for your own pleasure.
“Are you going to have a lot of fun with me?”, you sing-song in a high-pitched female voice to the mafiaboss that’s immediately taken aback, and you know the word 'missy' is on top of his tongue again, when you interrupt him with a quick jab of your knee into his groin. "Shit-eating fat-cat."
Mr. Choi grunts, head tilting down. His feline eyes meet your foxy ones, and while you weren't preparing for a staredown, the mafiaboss smirks and bites his lip.
He has a lot to say, you can see it. There’s something glimmering under the lust-drunken layer behind his eyes, and it’s deep, goes deeper, but for some reason, the mafiaboss, who just so despicably couldn’t hold his mouth, doesn’t let out the words that’s crossing his mind.
“Sir–”
Wrong deduction.
Mr. Choi scowls in laughter, and you guess he meant to joke with you, but he means to play with you much more, when he, once again, lifts you up, by your waist this time, and balances you on the handrail.
Resting his forearm on your thighs to stabilize you, Mr. Choi digs in his pocket to fetch his cigarette box, looking at himself through the mirror and shaking some strands out of his face. "Shit-eating fat-cat," he repeats with a lisp, pulling out one of the slim rolls with the corner of his mouth, and he continues to chuckle, as he glances at you through his eyelashes, "you should've said that to the old geezer when you had the chance to, baby."
"The chairman?"
No answer. Mr. Choi lights his cigarette with a zippo, and keeps it lit in his mouth, as he, with no forewarning, tears open your pantyhose from your crotch with both of his hands, spreading your legs wide. You have to get your hands around his head to be able to keep yourself on the handrail.
“Why do you look so scared? Think I’m gonna fuck you?”, he lisps. “I’m just taking a good look, baby. What a pretty cunt you got there, baby.”
You gulp. Mr. Choi slides his index finger across your heated folds through the fabric and your cunt clenches together, wanting to be filled up. “Sir,” you sigh, and the mafiaboss pulls in smoke from his cig, raising an eyebrow.
“What, baby? ‘You need something?”, he asks, “You’re not a fucking servant anymore, or do you need to be ordered around, missy?”
You try to look angry, but Mr. Choi only pouts and presses his finger through your panties, soaking them in your slick that’s gathered at your entrance. “Desperate to please the money-man? So wet for him…”
“Fuck you,” you mewl, but Mr. Choi knows what he’s doing when he thumbs your clit and exhales smoke into your face, hiding his face for a short second which gives you confidence. “I need you… to fuck me.”
“What did you say, baby? I couldn’t hear.”
“Please, sir, just… fuck me, please…”
“Louder.”
“God! Just fuck me! Didn’t you say we have ten minutes? Make them fucking count!”
“There we go, baby. My slutty little missy. Oh, baby, you’re growing on me, brother’s gonna hate that.”
You huff and Mr. Choi slides your panties off your legs, taking a short glimpse at his wristwatch. “Damn, ten’s really a short time.”
How many minutes have passed? Ten already? You know you said it, but you mentioned it only because it made sense, if you’re honest, you have no clue what the time is worth for. Aren't these the men who have time for gold?
The biting smell of tobacco enters your nose, making you cough out loud. Is smoking even allowed in the elevator? Wait, wait, wait, no, maybe you should worry about other things, for example what you're going to do when those ten minutes are over, when all of this is over. They clearly have some type of plan and thing they are carrying out right now, but you don’t know how much you’re invited in there.
Mr. Choi finishes his quick break, inhaling one last puff and keeping his cig between his lips again, and his hands unbuckle his belt in silence, while you contemplate.
Clanking, ruttling, and steps begin to thump behind the door— have any of you two even pressed a button? The mafiaboss looks concentrated, fixed on your cunt, taking out his throbbing, panging cock out his underwear, stroking it a few times to god, fuck, finally get to touch it after having been dry-humped hot.
Squelching, huffing, and voices echo through the floor— is that the chairman you hear? You can only yelp, when Mr. Choi drags off your panties and slathering his thick fingers across your folds in one, then penetrating with another forceful movement.
"Fuck!", you hiss out, grabbing the handrail next to your hips, trying to balance yourself on it still. The mafiaboss snickers into your ear, and tours through your cunt, all the while it appears that all hell is breaking loose outside.
BANG!
"Sir, what—!"
"Shhh, baby," Mr. Choi hushes you, and takes out his cig with the fingers that are now glistening with your wetness, placing it on top of his lips vertically to the scar that is accompanying his smug smirk.
BANG!
"You got nothin' to worry 'bout, baby," he lulls, "we're just eatin' the pheasant and the egg here," and exhales smoke into your face out his mouth-hole, which distracts you from the third, fourth—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Another proverb, pheasant and the egg— 'two birds with one stone'. Mr. Choi unfolds his hand as if he was counting the minutes, or the shots— wait, yes, shots! Fuck, those are gun-shots, right? You've never heard something so loud ever in your life, where does someone get guns from in South Korea? What even would they need guns for? Why would they use them? What the fuck is happening outside?!
"Oh, fuck!", you moan out, before fear and realization can crawl up your scalp and take away your lusting for the male, Mr. Choi has jerked his hip up, his cock gliding into you smoothly as if your cunt was made for him, the length and girth perfectly curling inside. Your back arches, at least as far as you can arch it, and he grins bemusedly at your jolted reaction.
BANG!
With every blast that follows, Mr. Choi is thrusting into you, first slowly, but then adding more speed and vigor as he goes, or as the blasting goes, making you shakily watch yourself be wrecked by the broad man through the reflection on the other side, your legs dangling with his rough movement.
You don't know how he's fucking you through your tightness, because with each ducking of his hips it feels like your inner walls are expanding more and ungodly more, as if he was piercing you in half.
Small puffs of smoke leave Mr. Choi's mouth each time he pants out raspy "oh baby"s and loud claps of him slapping your ass overtone the screaming, scrambling noises outside, as you two work your lower bodies against and into each other, growing more passionate, throbbing feverishly.
"Fuck, baby," Mr. Choi hisses, cigarette tilting in his mouth, as his face frowns together. "So fucking good for daddy, aren't you? So fucking tight and wet, such a good fucking girl—"
The screams outside are dying down, but the mafiaboss and you are getting louder, breathier, lustier; with your head falling backwards, hitting the mirror, the twisting feeling of fear and the ecstasy to be bouncing on Mr. Choi's big cock mix up like one hellish drink, boiling and churning inside of you.
Smashing both his hands on each of you ass-cheeks to dig his fingers into them and get more stability to ram into you so fast, and oh boy, it's so fucking fast, you're going to spiral— Mr. Choi sputters, "Are you gonna come? Are you going to come for daddy, baby? Greedy baby gonna take daddy's huge fucking load?"
The male is unraveling, his once low, stable voice turning into a whiny, hoarse, cracked mess just like you, practically urging, begging you to finally take the name ‘daddy’ into your mouth.
"Come on baby, say it for me, huh? Feels good to be my slut?", he disentangles, "Be a good slut for daddy, baby."
"I'm not gonna call you— that, fuckhead!", you moan, though your insides are curdling together to finally be released, the knot tightening with each drop of sweat that is forming on your boiling face.
"Really? Think you can afford to misbehave, baby?", Mr. Choi snickers and spits his cig on the floor, your ass being handled at an insane speed, his cock slipping in and out of you with rough ease. He takes it upon himself to dig his teeth into the nook of your neck, biting you heftily, your pulse knocking against your throat, as you feel his cock run in and out of your cunt. Your head goes light and dazed, but before you can gasp out your high from being fucked, bitten, sent to bliss, the male sinks you deep into his cock fully, it does not give you the last thrust you would need to—
"Fuckfuckfuck, I'm gonna cum," you whimper, needing to tremble, but unable to move because his hands are restricting you from any movement, and you continue to bring out a string of weak "pleasepleaseplease" that bounces back from the mafiaboss, who is raising an eyebrow, waiting for the magic word to be spoken out of your wet lips. Tears have formed at the corner of your eye and he thumbs it away, grinning coyly.
"Fuck you, I'mnotgonna fucking, ugh—!", you sob, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"
"Aww, you wanna hate daddy so bad, don’t you?”
“Fuuuck you!” Whines leave your mouth, wanting to cum, wanting to move, wanting for Mr. Choi to continue fucking into you and not wipe away your tears.
“Just say you love me, baby,” he heaves and returns his hand to your hip.
Thrusting into you once with a clap against your groin, to make your cunt clench around him, and then twice with the last blood-curdling BANG! from outside, his cock is deep inside you. He feels you tighten, pulsate, craving to be released, but Mr. Choi will not move again to your liking until you finally let go of yourself, which riles you up with no hope.
"F— Fuuuck, okay!", you scream out, annoyed, angry, wanting to fucking cum; "Daddy!", you sob and Mr. Choi smirks, instantly getting to work to toast the adieu of your pride. Thumb on your clit, he circles around your sensitive bud to double the tension you feel through all of your body, while you gutter, "fuck me, daddy, please, make me cum, please, daddy, please—"
He laughs, no, howls— elated, animated, drunk, and then, with his strong, buff fucking arms, pounds you into his cock like a punching bag, your ass hitting his pelvis so many times until you have to use his gelled hair as a last resort to hold yourself up and not push yourself from the handrail with your head against the mirror, but he holds you, holds you steadily in his grip.
"Good god, good fucking missy, such a good fucking slut for me, cum all over my cock– all over my fucking cock, baby," Mr. Choi grunts, and the string that was keeping you balanced snaps, your orgasm hitting you like that makes your insides tighten around the mafiaboss and his throbbing girth, your whole body being flushed by an overwhelming wave of pleasure which you drink up whole. His cockhead rubs against your sweetspot, you riding out the high while seeing nothing but bliss.
"Holy fuck," you breathe, and your fingers grip into the thick skin of his back, and with Mr. Choi's hips not stopping to hit your pelvis, there are additional, injuring, deep red marks on there with every thrust. You’re scratching him like a beast wanting to tear up its prey, but the beast is fucking into you like there’s no tomorrow. His cock does not stop grazing against your deepest spot, tears rolling down your heated cheek, and your mouth is unable to get out the words you want it to when you get the feeling that he's going to cum soon.
"O- out," you warn him, but the mafiaboss makes a disappointed face, “I– I really can’t afford a child, p-please pull out–!”
He draws his eyebrows in, scoffs and looks you deep in the eyes, his muscular body tucked in, murmuring, rambling out his whiskey-painted throat, “Is that really your only problem, baby? That you don’t have enough money?” His forehead leans against yours and your eyelids flutter open– you are being a mitt around his dick– and he pouts in pity, his iron cross hanging from his chest, as he talks to you.
Mr. Choi gets his hand flat on your lower belly and presses down on it, feeling himself bulge inside you. He moves his hips slowly, his cockhead dragging across your sweetspot, while he gutters, “you’d look so sexy as a mother, don’t you think, baby? With the tummy and all.”
“S- sir, please I–”
"Come on, do you think I don’t have enough money to pay for a fucking kid? God, how fucking annoying– I’m not that kind of man, baby,” Mr Choi growls, his voice vibrating against your cheek, as he charges his forehead deeper against yours, “I still got some honor.”
You shake your head, unsure whether there are pills for after in the pharmacies, or whether the mafiaboss will really be there to be with you as he promises, but Mr. Choi continues to beg in his low breathy, guttery voice. “Baby,” he rumbles, pressing even harder on your abdomen, your ass being pushed into the handrail that you’re sure it’s going to leave one red straight mark, and his cock is almost exploding from the edge, “Let me, no, let daddy cum into your tight cunt, baby, please.”
God, he wants you. He wants you so bad, doesn’t he?
"Y- you should see yourself," you chuckle, stroking over Mr. Choi's gelled hair, and his head tilts up a little bit as your fingers get tangled in his black locks, the white of his eyes making him look like a wild dog waiting for its treat. "F-fucking do it, you fucking slut."
"Fuck, baby," he laughs, out of breath, "You’re really a price."
Mr. Choi hammers his hips into you, until the stars in front of you all look like wishes falling from the sky. Both of you feel it, how his cock just feels so right, fits in like your cunt is a fucking glove which is full and getting even fuller.
"God, fuck," Mr. Choi grunts from the bottom of his throat, his hot cum lading into you, and it's like your lower body is melting with it, becoming heavier with every drop he's unloading inside.
"Take all of my fucking cum," he husks and your faces clash together for one finishing wild kiss. Mr. Choi sucks on your lower lip, as he fucks his ejaculation deeper and deeper into your hole with slow thrusts, until he bucks up his pelvis the last time and moans out a raspy, “perfect fucking missy with a perfect fucking cunt..."
Ding!
For a man that uses his mouth so sparingly, his tongue surely works wonders.
"Sir, are you—"
Headman Park has entered the elevator without a word, pulling off his leather gloves, and with Mr. Choi stepping away, he has all the place he requires to get on his knees and throw your leg over his shoulder, his wet and warm muscle delving into your throbbing cunt. You've been bereaved of the time to inspect what was behind or around him when the door closed, but maybe that's irrelevant anyways. What is relevant, is how impatient, but also how careful the CEO remains, and how he still tries his best to slowly sift his tongue into your folds, feeling every inch of your wetness. He’s been dying to do this.
"Fuck, sir!"
"Please," the CEO chuckles, hastily pulling the black leathery from his hands to put it back in his briefcase that he's been carrying, but he doesn't miss your cunt once, purling over your clit and glancing at you. "Call me Seonghwa, princess."
You could cum right here and there, just at the sight of this pretty man looking up to you, who has laid out his first name and put it into yours, scream it out loud until everyone hears what a princess you've been made of.
Princess. You knew his eyes were different, but you didn’t know they saw the world differently too. Oh, how you wish you could see more of his world.
"Aww, what? That's why you're still a foreigner in our country, brother! 'Can't be dropping our titles," Mr. Choi huffs and lights himself a second cigarette, filling the elevator with smoke and tobacco. How his breath really doesn't smell is questionable to you.
Just like you, the CEO, or how you're allowed to call him now— Seonghwa, ignores his partner's words, laps over your clit with his tongue, gently easing into your cunt with his clean fingers, and your soft sighs are like a reward for him, for whatever he's done outside.
"Respect, brother, 's all about respect..."
You tighten your thighs around Seonghwa's neck. The charcoal-haired has closed his eyes, sighing into the taste of you, and you are flawlessly overlooking the loud mafiaboss, just completely concentrating on the commitment the CEO is eating you out with. His head fits magically between your legs, he works his fingers so flawlessly into you, this must be fate— and if it's not, you're going to make it your future in any which way possible. You're falling. No, flying; never coming down.
"Seonghwa," you whine, and your hand glides over the hooked male's forehead, his hair feeling smooth under your touch as he presses his tongue slowly— in circular motion— against your clit to keep you on the high, but not in a way that would make you trip over.
"Mmf," the mafiaboss in front of you huffs, clearly attracted, enticed by the way you've exhaled the other male’s first name, scratching his temple with the fingers that are holding his cigarette.
"Whether you wanna call me San or 'daddy', baby," the scarred male, no, San, the fucker grins, "I'm gonna be hearing both either way."
"Fuck—", you moan out, having to take a breath because of how Seonghwa has curled his fingers into you with his tongue ready to shovel anything into his mouth that comes out, "you, fuckhead!"
The CEO is giggling a bit, finding your tone very amusing— and he tries to tell you this by looking up and slanting his eyes a friendly way, no, a way that you've never even conjured up the fantasy to perceive him, the cold-faced Park Seonghwa who hasn't drunk a drop of alcohol tonight. What pureness in a man...
"I liked 'fat-cat' better,” San snickers and goes through his hair that definitely needs combing, turning around and looking at himself through the mirror, though his eyes squint towards Seonghwa's reflection on the other side, now again lost in your cunt, taking off his jacket and folding it in half behind his back.
"Brother, you're eating my cum, by the way," the mafiaboss jabs, puffing out smoke while he's decidedly getting hard again in his trousers. San really can't hide his emotions on his face, can he? His lips are pursed, eyebrows slightly pulled in— how obvious. The man is jealous and doesn't want to admit it, you're sure of it.
"Shut up," you hiss, having become a bit comfortable with teasing the frustrated, outwitted mafiaboss. Ten minutes were definitely too little for him, but you've already rid his thigh, let him cum inside, and Seonghwa is simply too good with his tongue right now.
"Fuuuck," you whisper, and feel every drowsy twirl of his finger inside you, but it's slow, so slow, Seonghwa is swerving around every sponginess inside you, savoring the contraction of your inner space, and how your muscles tighten, when he licks over your clit, he enjoys this; enjoys you.
And so it continues, Park Seonghwa exploring every detail of your cunt as if he's a sommelier tasting the rarest of fluids, appreciating every drop that lands on his tongue, his fingers making sure that they don't go to waste.
"Shit," San comments, "I should've eaten her out, too."
The CEO is not cocky about it, about the way you are grabbing into his hair and squirming, how he has to slightly lift you up so you don't fall from your position. And then, when Seonghwa thinks your taste has perfectly coated his palate, speeds up.
"Fuck, sir," and the title slips out of you, like a habit you can't change for good when you feel so small. The CEO between your legs doesn't mind it though, at least doesn't say anything on it and just lets his fingers hit your sweet spot until there is a distinctive "Seonghwa" leaving sighed out your lips.
"I'm going to—", you announce, but the male has been long aware of it, preparing himself more access by bending his upper body to angle himself across your cunt, giving his partner a better view on how you glisten in arousal.
San in front of you is standing frozen, with his cigarette slowly burning out in his mouth, and you recompense the lack of his cock in your cunt by moaning louder, so your voice can vibrate around his erection. He grins and gets a tongue to his canine tooth, naked upper body still glowing in sweat, muscles shining, cock twitching every time he hears you breathe, and breathe more intensely, "make me cum, Seonghwa, please!"
"I knew you would taste delicious," Seonghwa murmurs, silently, rather for himself, and this must be how he sounds when he's drunk, because he is so high on your taste, "but this is ambrosial, princess."
You curl up your pelvis, and Seonghwa holds you by your hips, as his tongue picks up in speed, drawing out every word he hasn't spoken tonight on your labia, stamping them into your clit, all the while his fingers row in more and every last drop.
"C- coming~", you purr, and your eyes close down, your hands deep in Seonghwa's scalp, exhaling the weight of your worries, that flushes down into the man who seems to have none in his life, and he breathes into your hot cunt through his nose, not letting go of it until he's made sure that your hips tremble around his head. "P- please, f- fuck, fuck, feels so good—"
Pumping the remaining come into you, Seonghwa licks up your cunt and kisses your clit until you go completely flaccid, your arms giving in, but Seonghwa catches you by your hand, kissing your thigh with his swollen pink lips.
With your body relaxed, your ass feels a bite sore, having been prodded into the iron rail for so long. You grab into Seonghwa's hand and try to push yourself up, but ultimately fail at getting yourself into a more comfortable position.
"San, hold her."
"Huh?", he asks, "'Need something more snuggly, baby? Or what did you call her again, brother?"
"Princess," the CEO answers immediately and you have to suppress a girly giggle, as Seonghwa turns his head around, lips still pressed against your thigh. He presumably sends San an admonitory look to hurry up, and gets up from his knees.
The mafiaboss shrugs, not offended by being ordered around. He puts out the cigarette against the mirror and cracks his neck by rolling his head around, his thick neck dousing into your sight as he does so. He's so intimidating, you think, but he's on his way to coast those monster-arms behind your back, hands down to each of your hamstrings to, "up you go," pick you up like real royalty. The giggle escapes your mouth but you don't feel the slightest embarrassed nor do you have a reason to be. You are sunken deep into San’s cushiony arms— his muscles make for a great seat, and hovering, air hitting your hot cunt, as your legs spread for the CEO in front of you when you fall into the elbows. You yelp, but the giggles just keep coming, making San in the mirror in front of you wink at you, cackling, "you like that, princess?"
Seonghwa smiles, satisfied by your enjoyment of this position and approaches you once more. "I have yet to kiss you, Y/N," he says with his sweet voice, and his gentle hands find your chin and waist, your eyes blossoming open for him to stare into.
Even San shuts up now, and you suppose he is too taking part in the beauty that is the embrace of you and Seonghwa; two sets of lips, crazing each other, meeting for one flowery affair, breathing out small vapors of life. You can taste yourself, which means that Seonghwa is fully consumed by your aroma.
God, you think again, your cunt tingling at how Seonghwa tugs at his tie, pulling it side to side as he kisses you— the golden 'π'-pin clanks shrill to the floor— everything about Seonghwa is so...
Clean?
You are inhaling the mellow smell of his satiny skin, and the CEO unbuttons his shirt with proficient, skilfull flicks of his fingers. He is so handsome, handsomely pretty, and even when it’s drenched in your fluids, his skin shines on its own, like Seonghwa has a light shining within. Once you can see his bare chest and get lost on the smooth surface, your eyes dive down, admiring his slim, yet very muscular physique.
Seonghwa gets his tie and drags off his shirt by tugging at one sleeve with his hand, the white fabric revealing the rest of body with one clean pull that matches one of the curtains.
"W-", and you have to jump back with your head to get the full spectacle that's presented in front of you, exhaling in awe— "Wow.."
"Not so blank, our brother, is he?", San chuckles from behind of you and lowers his head to press his chin against your temple, surveying the same sight.
Two colossal, monstrous dragons, red and black, are colliding, looped, entangled all around Seonghwa's right arm, fighting for dominance on his skin. The raven hydra has its jaw wide open where Seonghwa looks to his shoulder with a rather shy smile once he sees your reaction, baring its teeth towards his heart, while the crimson dragon ends at the CEO's wrist, sitting on top of his pulse.
"Would you believe me it was brother's idea, baby?"
"As if," Seonghwa murmurs, folding his shirt into a square.
San chuckles again, re-shuffling himself and pressing your back close to his stomach, granting the back of your head to rest at his collarbone. "I asked her if she would believe, brother."
You watch the delicate lines, the elegant strokes of tint meeting on his skin, but while your first impression made you believe they carried a certain viciousness with their svelte bodies, the second sight presents you a different image of two forces maneuvering into each other as a reminder that they both co-exist as supreme. It's not one another they're reviling against, it's the bearer of the both who is threatened by their fangs. Their existence is a warning reminder, but also a sign of pride.
"I believe it's... beautiful."
“Aw, you’re so sweet, baby.”
You haven't seen many tattoos in your life, none in the mountains, and even in the city the only observable tattoos were those of the sleazy guys in alleys that wait when you're done with your job to gape at your uniform. They got tigers and other animals roaring on their bodies to hide the fact they don't have the fighting skills to keep up, but for Seonghwa, a CEO, to have this amount of ink under his skin is a commitment and to imagine he’s hiding that under his ironed shirt and black jacket, no, that you are seeing it right now, it’s… You’re overwrought, steamed up, aflame.
"Wanna touch it, baby?", San asks, and you nod eagerly. Seonghwa chuckles, “Go for it.”
You let your fingertip ghost over the dragons' scales, tailing their curvature. Goosebumps form on Seonghwa's arm and his hand finds its way to your head, stroking your cheek, as you meet the red beast's eyes.
The mafiaboss whispers, almost sentimentally, "No blood or tears."
Another expression, which proves to you that the tattoo was undoubtedly his idea, but you see it, the romance that is spoken from the male's skin, regardless of the little insight you have on both of them. Loyalty, reverence, creed, a belief and a duty, and before you know it, you want Seonghwa to enwrap you with his arms and never let you go, which he does.
His slender hand cloaks the left side of your head, and he pulls himself into a kiss, while he unbuckles his belt with his other hand.
You don't know how much you understand of this situation, no, you don't know how much you want to understand of this situation.
You've been on your own. That's all you ever had after you left home: Your body and soul, the windstorms of the mountains pushing you from the back to keep going, and you've lived your best life living for yourself that way, in bliss, in ignorance— in peace, but what is peace in a place where you can't move by yourself? In a world that’s maimed by the rich, and sure, it may be that you’ve chosen your path, but you were never walking a road that was yours, always trailing behind something.
Nameless, that’s what you thought you would need to be.
Your monks wanted to be called their title like everyone else, it would have been disrespectful to ask Lady Kim for hers which you now regret, and not even as a secret did your old man tell you his name, but you— you, Y/N, you have a name and you want to scream it, live it as loud as you can, hear it echo back with a volume that feels stronger when it rings back.
You could have settled on being acknowledged by your supervisor to earn some good money, but this is what you’re here for, aren’t you? Why you trusted your gut to stick to the scary men? Why you walked to them with confident steps, even when a nervous knot was forming together inside you? Did you go as what, an act of defiance? One of independence? To prove yourself that you were still standing on your own feet?
"Speaking of, brother..."
Yes, with no shame.
"You really enjoyed yourself back there, didn’t you?”, San asks. “Didn’t expect that from you.”
Seonghwa is kissing you down your breast, observing closely how you breathlessly react to his tongue twirling around your nipple.
"You left me no other chance," the older male hums, coating your circular buds with his saliva, bringing out your heavenly sighs every chance he gets, stroking himself to the sounds of your pleasure.
"Well, I would have made sure you still fucked her, brother."
“Sure,” Seonghwa lisps and positions his cockhead at your entrance.
You try to grab San's shoulder behind you, as the male pushes himself inside, and your torso rotates to the side with your eyebrows pulling together, your cunt being spread apart. “F-fuck,” you exhale, and Seonghwa kisses the corner of your lip to soothe you. Your cunt squelches around his cock and your hips roll by themselves, wanting to take more of his length.
"Shit, look at her go," the mafiaboss woos, "Fuck yourself out, brother."
"Think you’ll miss this?", Seonghwa snickers and it must be the first question he has asked today. “Y- yeah, you will!”, you snap, feeling eager to be acknowledged for how good your cunt wraps around his throbbing heat.
“Oh, princess,” the CEO laughs, and your stomach drops because of how pretty his laughter sounds, and he caresses your cheek, only making your confusion and desire to finally uncover what the two men have obviously been keeping from you grow bigger. You don’t want to say it abruptly, but you three are naked, in a confined space, skins pressed against each other, so you believe you’re worth some type of explanation– or are you not?
“C- can you tell me what’s going to happen?”, you whine, and Seonghwa moves his hips, grabbing you by your waist to get his whole length. “Are you, fuck, going to leave me?”
“I dunno, brother, you call it,” San mutters. “It was your plan.”
“D- don’t!”
“It’s barely my plan anymore,” Seonghwa breathes, bucking his pelvis in, his cockhead being sucked in by your sensitive cunt.
“Don’t leave me!”
“You needed a distraction, brother, I got you one.”
“No,” Seonghwa chuckles, but in his heat, he kisses you and glances up at San while his tongue brushes against your lip. “But I’ll admit she saved us some jail-time, San.”
They continue talking over your pleas, and though you would have loved to ask a second time how the night was going to end, your brain has started to give into the pleasure once San folds your legs together, holding you by your hamstrings, giving Seonghwa an easier angle to fuck you senseless.
“F- fu-huuck,” you breathe out, and your eyes are disappearing behind your molten, droopy eyelids, with Seonghwa cumming for the second time on your abdomen and cleaning it up with his handkerchief, and you don’t even know when it was, that San crammed out his cock again, but you can definitely feel the difference of his girth, when he re-enters your used cunt, your legs shakily landing on the floor. They feel wobbly, your thighs having gone loose, and the mafiaboss has to hold you by your arms behind your back to support you.
“Can’t take it anymore, baby?”, San whispers into your ear, and his voice is low, very low, you don’t know how much time has passed since you could make out any of his words, but it feels like you’re back here, in the elevator, and Seonghwa is putting on his belt again.
“I c- can!”, you manage to whine out, not wanting the night to end, not wanting to return to your small apartment, not wanting these two to be gone from your life. “I can!”, you repeat yourself, when San lets out a mockful cackle. “You’re not going to fucking leave me here, San!”
“Who said anything about leaving you here, baby?”, he asks you, and he does mean his confusion, but the sarcastic undertone makes you desperate grow desperate. San frowns. “What did I tell you, baby?”
“You aren’t telling me shit, San!”, you sob, and his cock running through you prevents you from finding a braver voice, his two hands find your wrists to bind them together in his grip. “Aren’t you such a smartie,” he growls into your ear, hot air hitting your dissolving ear.
“Brother,” San calls out, and the addressed man is busy opening up his briefcase, getting on his knee. “I’m still waiting on you, y’know.”
“If you had stuck to the plan, th–” Seonghwa murmurs, but the mafiaboss falls into his word. “Then we would have fuckin’ send the bitch to prison and someone else would have him killed him, but there! You know I didn’t come with the fucking patience for that, brother! Geezer was getting on my fucking nerves.”
Killed?
“And don’t you talk back now,” San warns, “It was you who killed all of ‘em, so you figure out how you’re going to carry that one out.”
Killed?
“You already know how I’m going to carry this out.” Seonghwa smirks. “But you’re stopping me, San.”
“Augh, brother, you’re too sober for your own sake!” San’s cock is too deep in your cunt and your body is too much in his control for you to stop moaning like a bitch, but in your head, you’re puzzling together tonight’s happenings.
Expensive whiskey. Ice cubes. Ten minutes, gunshots, black leather gloves– “killed.”
Oh, Y/N.
“What did you do with the chairman, Seonghwa?”, you moan out, feeling how the mafiaboss is ramming himself into you at a sloppy, greedy pace, prolonging how much he can be inside you before he comes again, and you don’t know whether his heavy breathing can cover up the silence that it takes for the CEO to react to your question.
Seonghwa is still kneeled on the floor, when he rotates his head, smiling, his eyebrows pushed up. “What do you think I did?” His second question of the day.
“I- I,” you stutter, but San shakes his head, and interrupts you with his voice still loose from the alcohol, “you really don’t know how to keep up a good mood, brother!”, grabbing you by your chin and yanking your head up. “Lemme make my baby cum first!”
You can’t see Seonghwa anymore. You can barely see anything anymore, you’re counting your fifth or sixth orgasm of the night, cunt growing hotter with each time San thrusts into it, and with your breath being cut off, you slowly feel your arms lose their responsibility, tingling up from where your wrists are crossed behind your back. His cockhead is flaying against your g-spot and your thighs tremble at how used you’re being, eyes falling in, throat feeling tied up.
“S- San,” you manage to cough out, back arching for your final cry of pleasure, and San grins, letting go of your wrists, which makes you immediately fall to the front, finding safety against the mirror with both of your hands. He smacks his hands against your ass and lunges into you until your whole breast is pushed against the cold wall.
“Come on, baby, come for me,” San roars, and you wail, tired, exhausted, feeling the orgasm drown you like another wave in the ocean of bliss you’ve been swimming in, whining out, “coming, coming for you, San!”
The mafiaboss presses himself against your back, his silver cross being imprinted into your neck, as he unloads himself, his last drops of hot cum overflowing out of you. “Fucking slut… So fucking good…”
He kisses your jaw repeatedly and looks at how tiredly closed your eyes are in the mirror, cooing “aww, baby.” San strokes away a strand of hair and gets himself off your body, pulling out. “You look like you need some sleep, baby.”
You are trying to catch your breath, grabbing the handrail to hold yourself up, as it sounds like San is putting on his shirt again. They’re gonna fucking leave you here, aren’t they? Leave you here in the elevator with the– with the fucking bankrolls on the floor of the fucking men you fucking– Oh god… Keep breathing, Y/N. Keep on breathing.
“I mean all I’m saying… you know… lobsters and crabs are friends, pal.”
What the fuck is he on again…
“You’re making this hard on yourself.”
“I’m not doing anything, just sayin’ that she just grew on me, that’s all.”
Your legs tremble, as you try straightening them to stand up and see what the two are scheming again, but as you turn your body around, ass against the handrail again, you hear a very unfamiliar clicking in front of your forehead area which is not coming out of San’s mouth.
“You’ve grown soft. That’s what you did.”
“Ahhh, fuck you, brother.”
“Pathetic.”
You see a hole, and it also doesn’t take you long to see Seonghwa ready to pull the trigger, the mafiaboss leaning into the corner of the elevator, arms crossed, looking at you with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, pressing the button that leads to the lobby.
The night is over.
“A- are you going to– oh my g-god, are you going to kill me…?”
“Yes, princess.”
Your heart is going to burst, you could puke out so many words right now, but you don’t know what to do. You don’t want to die, not when you felt so fucking alive– you– fuck, you should feel sorry that your coworkers that they didn’t deserve to go the same way as the asswipes did, because you’ve long realised that the bangs were their skulls being crushed by the bullets, but at the same time you couldn’t care any fucking less about them right now. You just have to survive, that was the only thing that mattered since the very beginning. This is about your life. Your precious fucking life.
“Ah…”
Your body is too weak to hyperventilate, but your brain is working overtime. Do you run? Attack them? No…
Seonghwa hasn’t moved an inch away from your face, and you take it upon yourself to raise your hand and slowly push the cold, black gun to the side, so you can look him in his eyes, but he forces it back there.
“Please don’t kill me… I can do so much for you! I– I,” you stutter, trying to gather all the knowledge your monks have taught you. “I– I’ll do anything! You– you saw me, didn’t you? I have– I’ve been told I have a talent for serving! I– I can do anything, please, I beg you, just…”
You fall to your knees, and they burn on the glassy floor, your hands folded in front of your abdomen.
“Just please, let me live…”
You’re not greedy. You’ve only taken what you were given, and tonight, you’ve been given so much. Too much? No, it couldn’t be…
“Brother.”
There are tears flowing down your eyes, and you feel so sorry for yourself. You miss your old monk, and hope that you may be reincarnated to a butterfly that he can admire, just so that he can look at you with his adoring eyes again. So someone can want the best for you once in your life–
“Brother?”
So anyone can finally love you for once in your life.
next part coming soon...
series masterlist | main masterlist
#cromernet#choi san x reader#choi san smut#choi san scenarios#choi san x you#choi san x y/n#park seonghwa x y/n#park seonghwa scenarios#park seonghwa x reader#park seonghwa smut#ateez scenario#ateez smut#ateez x reader#chokkiwa#chokko#drivebyme
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[... and yet, it's you] - ft. oikawa toru
summary: there's a chinese song with the lyrics 【咸魚白菜也好好味】 which translates to "eating even dried salted fish and bok choi is good." with the meaning that i'm happy with anything as long as it's with you.
wc: 1.3k
for @shibaraki's komorebi collab! thank you for letting me participate, Monty!
1. Sharing a bathroom
The shower is already running when you finally drag yourself out of bed. Your vision is still bleary as you methodically brush your teeth, content to let your mind slowly clear out its sleepy fog to the sound of Oikawa humming in the shower.
You're at the toilet when Oikawa says, "why do you always do that?"
"Do what," you respond.
"Like… let out a little bit of pee before you pee the rest of it out."
You laugh a bit. "You're gonna think it's stupid."
"Just tell me," he says, seriously curious now.
"Once when I was really little, I dreamt that I was peeing in the bathroom but then realized I was still in bed when I woke up to myself wetting the bed."
The shower stops so you can hear Oikawa chuckling. "That wasn't what I was expecting."
"Well, I don't know what you expected but I'm not risking anything. I was traumatized."
"As someone who shares a bed with you, I'm grateful for that."
2. Movie Dates
When you pick up Oikawa's facetime call, you immediately greet him with a "I'm watching a movie and I'm getting to the good part. What do you want?"
He scrunches his nose at you, whining. "Rude!"
"Well?" you prompt. "What do you want?"
"Is it so bad that I missed you and wanted to talk to you?"
You roll your eyes, but affectionately. "I'm putting you on mute."
Oikawa throws out a half-hearted protest but he'll count it as a win that you didn't hang up completely. You mute your side of the line and prop your phone on the tea table facing you, continuing to watch your movie. Oikawa's perfectly content just watching your facial expressions through the small screen and obediently stays quiet.
He mutes his line. too, putting on reruns of an older match but periodically looks over to check in on you. And every time he does, he can't help the grin that stretches on his face as he watches your expressions change scene to scene. Eventually, he keeps his attention glued on your face through the screen, watching your light chuckles and your mouth moving when you exclaim in disbelief over something stupid a character did. By the end of the movie, you’re swiping tears from your eyes and you finally notice that your boyfriend has been watching you.
"Oh my god, Toru," you unmute to say. "That was such a good movie. We have to watch it together next time."
Oikawa's smile widens, eyes crinkling affectionately. "Anything you want, babe."
3. Out Shopping
On a rare Sunday that Oikawa actually takes off, the two of you head to the nearest major shopping mall to pick up some kitchen items. Oikawa keeps a tight grip around your hands as you ooh and ahh at all the colorful things in the mall; one distracted moment and he would lose you in the sea of people.
As you wander to aisles, you pass by the televisions where a rerun of an Olympic volleyball match is playing. Oikawa instinctively slows down to pay attention, taking mental notes of things he should try at tomorrow's practice.
His attention is pulled away when he feels you trying to pry your fingers out of his fists, only able to pull at his hand when his grip tightens.
"Toru," you say, "let go. I want to go see the bowls over there."
"Okay, let's go then," he agrees, tearing his attention away from the screens.
"No," you say, continuing to tug at your joined hands. "You can keep watching. I'll go look myself."
"What? Why? Let's just go together," he offers, but you tug your hand free.
"It's fine," you say, already walking towards the display that has your attention.
"Hey!" he protests, trying to follow your figure that has already blended into the crowds. Even with his towering height, he does his best to follow after you, locking in on the colorful sweater you decided to wear today.
Despite Oikawa having a significant edge over you in the height department, your little legs carry you surprisingly fast as you weave through people moving in every direction. The distance between the two of you grows larger until you finally stop to admire the collection of pottery on the shelves. He hastily closes the distance before you take off again.
"Geez, for someone so short," he punctuates this statement with a heavy hand on your head, leaning heavily on it to dramatically catch his breath, "you sure walk fast."
You swat his hands away and reach up to the top shelf for the set of bowls you like.
He easily grabs them for you and puts them into the basket that he was sure wasn't in your hands when you were still by the TVs. He plucks the basket out of your grip and continues to tease you.
"It's always the short ones that walk like today's the last day of their lives," he laughs.
"Shut up, Toru," you fix him with a scathing glare and he holds his hands up in surrender.
You scoff, but take hold of his hand again, leading him to the next display you want to take a look at. He smiles contentedly now that your hands are joined again. And that's all he really wanted.
4. Bedtime Routine
You’re in bed, all tucked in when Oikawa finally joins you. He quietly prepares for bed and gently gets under the covers so as not to wake you. His arms reach over, ready to pull you in for a good night kiss but he doesn’t get the chance because one of your hands pops out from under the duvet to smack him in the forehead.
“Ow! Why?!” he sputters.
You scowl at him. “How many times do I have to tell you to shut the door when you come in!”
“Okay, okay,” he rubs his forehead but obeys. The door shuts. “Happy?”
You grunt.
He chuckles a bit, charmed at your grumpiness.
He tries again to pull you in, but this time, your hand reaches out to pinch the nearest part of his body. That happens to be his left pec.
“Ouch! What now?”
“Did you open the windows?”
Without complaint, he climbs out of bed again to open the window, allowing a gust of cold night air to swallow the room. He sees your legs wiggle a bit from under the duvet and smiles inwardly.
For the third time, he climbs in bed but stays a good distance away in case he forgot any other part of your night ritual.
You turn around to face him, duvet pulled above your nose so he can only see your eyes.
“Why are you so far?”
“Are you done hurting me?”
You scoff. “As if you even felt any of it.”
“My forehead is red!” he exclaims.
“Fine, stay on that side then.”
Oikawa can’t help but laugh, shifting over to you and wrapping you up in a hug so tight, you let out a squeal when he squeezes. He doesn’t want to let go, so he keeps his arms tight around your torso and turns to lay on his back, pulling you so that your entire body is splayed over his.
“Toru, I’ll squash you!”
He ignores you and just nuzzles gently into neck. You sigh and shift so that you’re chest to chest with him, your head falling to the side so that your noses don’t collide. You’ll never tell him that you like the windows open every night so that the room is cool enough for you to bask in his warmth without overheating.
Oikawa sighs, smoothing his palm over your back. “Good night, baby.”
You murmur it back.
Oikawa thinks this is it. This is the life - just being able to do your silly nighttime routine with you. Your warmth lulls him to sleep and he’s almost there when he feels you prop up, palms pushing hard enough on his chest that it forces an exhale out of his lungs.
“Did you get me a glass of water? You know I get thirsty in the middle of the night.”
He sighs, but obliges all the same.
#noos writes#haikyuu x y/n#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu scenarios#hq x you#hq x y/n#hq fluff#hq imagines#hq x reader#oikawa toru x reader#oikawa toru x you#oikawa toru x y/n#oikawa tōru#oikawa fluff#oikawa toru#oikawa x y/n#oikawa x reader#haikyuu oikawa#oikawa tooru
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