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mypoisonedvine · 9 months

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𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || dark!jonathan crane x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || since you're the only one of his coworkers at arkham who doesn't seem to be intimidated by his intelligence, jonathan decides it's time he finds out what does scare you... and how he can embody it. unfortunately for you, turning into your greatest nightmare doesn't prove very difficult for him.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || EXTREME AND EXPLICIT NONCON (18+ only and please proceed with caution), drugging and kidnapping, paralysis, traumatized reader, forced orgasms/overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, choking, slapping, unprotected sex/breeding, misogyny, jonathan is very much in character which means he is incredibly evil and has incel vibes (I know y'all are not about to get mad at me for writing a villain being a villain and not uwu babifying him...)

When you interrupted and corrected your colleague, Dr. Crane, about the correct combination of pharmaceuticals for a certain schizophrenic patient in the asylum who happened to have diabetes, you thought nothing of it. After all, the whole point of staff meetings was to discuss and debate these things, and you weren’t about to let him damn-near poison a patient by giving him something that would interfere with his insulin. You weren’t trying to be snarky about it, but you did sort of make a joke about how dangerous his suggestion was— and you didn’t notice the way Jonathan’s nostrils flared and jaw tightened when some others chuckled at what you said.

When you received an email from your therapist’s office informing you that there was evidence of a break-in in her building, but that the police were unable to officially determine if confidential client files were compromised, you thought nothing of it. It was a big complex, these things happen, and you knew from being a clinician yourself how tricky the laws could be surrounding that stuff: she had to email you, legally, if there was any chance your file could’ve been accessed, and that didn’t mean you had any reason to fear your private therapy session notes had been read. Besides, who would want to read about you and your boring life, diving into your mundane hopes and fears and daily stresses?

And when Crane came into the office with tea for you, you thought nothing of it. Sure, you seemed surprised when he popped into your office with cups in hand— you asked him why he had two cups of tea, assuming they were both for himself, and he laughed. Just that was out of character, he wasn’t much of a chucklehead or anything. “Green tea, right? With lime and honey?” he asked, setting one cup down for you. You were still taken aback, but you had to admit defeat.

“Yeah,” you said, taking the cup as he sat down across the desk from you. “Yeah, that’s my order— I didn’t know you drank tea.”

“Sometimes,” he informed you, hoping his poker face was holding up as he watched you take a sip. He couldn’t help but stare at your lips wrapping around the little hole in the lid, the print of berry-red your lipstick left behind. His heart was racing already, more than he expected.

When you finished the first sip, you smiled at him and let out a small, nervous laugh. “Thank you,” you finally said. So, yes, even though you clearly noticed this was slightly odd behavior, you thought nothing of drinking the tea. That was one thing he hated about you: the thoughtlessness. You didn’t seem to second-guess yourself much, if anything you were a little on the cocky side. He found it so irritating— that confidence. Sure, you were smart and you deserved to take yourself somewhat seriously, but the way you walked around this place— the way you ignored him so easily, or spoke over him if you wanted to, or ignored his suggestions when he gave them… you were a bitch, basically. You clearly thought you were better than him— better than everybody else— for no reason at all. Just because you were pretty and had a good job you thought you could get away with anything, surely; pretty girls always think that way.

He made casual conversation with you as you sipped the tea, asking questions he already knew the answer to, hoping to catch you in a lie. For the most part, your stories matched up with what he’d learned from that file. But, you left out the gory details— you left out the best parts, really.

You mentioned where you went to medical school and that you transferred mid-way through due to ‘stress’, but you didn’t elaborate on what really happened to you. You mentioned having your own therapist— something you said passionately that every client-facing mental health professional should have— but left out what you were actually being treated for, not to mention the PTSD diagnosis.

He had to hide his smirk behind the paper cup every time you seemed to lose your train of thought— it wasn’t like you, so focused and determined all the time. No, it was the drugs finally kicking in. You went for bigger gulps of tea each time your eyes looked heavier, hoping the caffeine would work— but the trace caffeine in your green tea was nothing compared to what he’d added.

You tried to warn him that you were suddenly not feel up to par— that he needed to leave, and you might try to wake yourself up— but he just sat and waited. He watched you try to get up, and lose your balance. He watched you stumble, trip, and ultimately fall onto the floor limply. He watched your eyes flutter shut and the final ounce of energy to fight it fade; he quietly took a final sip of his tea.

You woke up on the floor. You could barely feel it beneath you, but you knew it was the floor— it was cold, and hard. And you were looking up at the dark ceiling, at the fan spinning at the lowest speed; so you were definitely on the floor.

Jonathan was standing above you, not too far off, flipping through papers. You couldn’t move— no matter how hard you fought to, you couldn’t. You barely managed to turn your head, but it felt more like it rolled to the side on its own. You tried to yell for Dr. Crane’s attention, for help, for him to explain what happened to you, but even your mouth couldn’t move. The best you could do was breathe harder— actually, you were pretty sure your body was trying to hyperventilate, but you were too incapacitated to even have a proper panic attack.

He heard you, though; he looked away from the papers and grinned down at you. “Comfortable down there?”

You started to put together a few things. One, that the last thing you remembered was being in your office, and now you were in your apartment. Two, that those papers were photoscans of chart notes— obviously you couldn’t make out the words from here, but the format gave away that it must have to do with a patient.

And three, that Crane was neither surprised that you were paralyzed on the floor, nor interested in helping you.

He half-rolled the papers in one hand and playfully hit the other hand’s palm with them. “These have been quite interesting… revealing, to say the least,” he informed you, like it was a compliment— something you should be proud to hear. “You’re quite the enigma, Doc!”

He sat down beside you on the floor, leaning on his hand first to find his balance with a little sigh; he seemed amused, actually, and your heart began to race.

As he started to read aloud from the page in front of him, you felt nauseous. He was reading patient data, describing a client who was receiving individual counseling— or that’s what the CPT code indicated, at least. As he listed the client’s demographic data— age, race, gender, height, weight— it became eerily obvious what he was doing. You refused to believe it until he went on: “Client was recommended to Dr. Min Zhang for individual therapy concerning PTSD following sexual trauma.”

Your therapist. This was a file he’d copied, which belonged to your therapist. And it was obvious whose file it was.

As you tried with all your might to scream, Jonathan flipped a few pages ahead.

“Session fourteen, eleventh of June,” he continued. “Client expressed frustration with an increased recurrence of nightmares and flashbacks to her assault. Up until now, she has struggled to explain what triggers her anxiety without having to actually elaborate on the circumstances of the event.”

He stopped, but you weren’t exactly relieved. In fact, you were horrified. He had a little grin on his face when he looked at you, but you could finally see the rage in his eyes. Suddenly, you realized how long it had been there. You had sort of picked up on it before, the resentment he had towards you— and it didn’t take a Freudian expert to figure out that he was threatened by you, especially as a man. He didn’t respond well to feeling upstaged and he clearly had an issue with women. Maybe not that issue— he was good-looking and well-off, he didn’t need to have any issues with women if he didn’t want to— but an issue nonetheless.

“Now,” he added, smiling wider than you’d ever seen him smile before, “client states she is ready to describe the incident in full detail.”

He set the papers aside for a second, leaning over you and almost looking… giddy, really.

“I won’t read you the rest, I’ve already pretty much memorized what goes on from there. It was fascinating— seeing how what happened that night connected to the fears you still have today… the nightmares. You said that you still feel sick at the smell of alcohol, you still don’t like to wear pinstripe skirts, and even just the wrong few words can make you feel like you’re right back there where it happened— on the floor of your apartment.”

All you could do was look up at him, and you felt your eyes get hot as they welled with tears.

“Not this apartment, obviously— the one by your old school,” Jonathan sighed, “but this will have to do. And the smell of alcohol, well, I wouldn’t want to let anything cloud my experience— but I dabbed a little gin on my wrists, what do you think?”

He held his hand up by your face, caressing your cheek for a second, and you imagined yourself pulling away— turning your head and shrugging his touch off of you with a grimace. But nothing happened, of course, and you were entirely helpless as the acidic stench of liquor became apparent. You couldn’t give your typical outward reaction of a frown, but inside, you felt just the same as always: your stomach twisted, your heart pounded, your head swirled.

“Smell is such a… primal trigger of memory, isn’t it?” he mused, watching your face reverently. “I can see it in your eyes, it’s affecting you even more than I expected. You act so fearless at work— but I knew you must have been overcompensating. God, you’re terrified— I would say you’re paralyzed, but, well… it would be too literal, I think.”

You knew that Crane studied fear and phobias, even trauma occasionally, as a personal interest within the field. It was normal to have a favorite subtopic, and to conduct related research on it— but obviously, this was far from normal, this was absolutely deranged. You knew that part of this was vengeance, in his own mind at least, but you didn't feel like you'd done anything actually wrong to him. And the rest of it, well, it seemed like some twisted experiment, but if you were able to speak you would've tried to remind him that this 'research' wasn't going to get him published or advance his career— but of course, that wasn't what he wanted. He just wanted to humiliate you.

“I was worried I didn’t have enough to work with, you know,” he added. “I knew I couldn’t get you to where it happened, if I could even figure it out since you never filed that police report… and the skirt, well, I considered it. It sounded pretty exciting to dress you up like the night it happened— what I would give to know everything you were wearing that night, but I don’t have a ton to work with. Obviously, you don’t own any pinstripe skirts anymore, so I would’ve had to buy one… and I wasn’t quite ready for the looks I’d get shopping at Macy’s, so…”

Carefully, he reached up to take off his glasses, folding them and setting them down on your coffee table.

“You know how detail-oriented I am— I mean, I went to all this, didn’t I?” He continued, reaching down and brushing his fingers for a moment over your leg. It was so instinctive to pull away that it took you a moment to realize you hadn’t… because of course, you couldn’t. “But it’s impossible to recreate it all perfectly. Clearly, I don’t need to— if only you could see it, Doc, you look… you look so weak. Pathetic.”

Since the only thing you could do was look around, you tried to look away— to not give him the satisfaction of seeing the terror in your eyes. He grabbed your face and turned it until you looked up at him.

“Did you think you’d be able to face your greatest fear? Perhaps with a bit more dignity?” he mused. He looked different without the glasses on; and, ironically, you felt like he could see you even better now.

It was obvious that he enjoyed lording complete power over you, but a quick glance down to his suit trousers made it clear just how much he enjoyed it. You quickly darted your gaze away, but it was too late; he started to climb on top of you, staring at your face uncomfortably close, and worked on opening his belt and fly.

“Fear rules us all, doesn’t it? Everything you did, it was guided by your fear that it would— well, why paraphrase? Let me find exactly how you put it…”

He picked up the papers again quickly, licking his thumb and flipping around until he found the right entry.

“Yes,” he said, “here it is: client states she lives in almost constant fear that it will happen again.”

So that's what this was: his disturbed take on exposure therapy.

As he tossed the copied charts away for the last time and reached up under your skirt, he leaned down and whispered in your ear— and you couldn’t even flinch from the harsh sounds of his words. “It took you over fifty sessions to admit it,” he recalled, “to tell her the whole truth. Not just what he did to you… what you did.”

With a small growl, he yanked your panties down your legs and rubbed your thighs with far too much aggression, such that you expected bruises from his hands— just like the ones you’d had before.

“You said he made you do it,” he continued, “you couldn’t help it, right? But you said nothing’s ever felt like that— that you’d never had such a powerful orgasm.”

You would’ve vomited, except that that, too, requires your muscles to not be paralyzed. Rolling your skirt up and spreading your legs, he positioned himself right between them, rubbing his cock's leaking head around your hole.

“Your greatest fear isn’t really that it’ll happen again, is it?” Jonathan taunted. “You’re afraid someone’s going to find out how much you liked it.”

With that, he punched his hips forward and speared you on his cock.

It had been years since you'd had anything inside you, even your own fingers. You couldn't even remember if being penetrated hurt like this during your assault, and you would've sworn before that you remembered every detail perfectly. But this was so real, not a memory or a nightmare. You couldn't cry out from the sting.

"God, it's tight," he groaned, "I bet you weren't this tight when it happened— you'd been whoring around, hadn't you? Letting all kinds of guys use you… just ran into the wrong one and got your drink spiked. But now…"

He hissed through his teeth, tightening his grip on your hip.

"Now it's all mine, isn't it?"

Inside, you were screaming and kicking and pleading for mercy. You imagined you would be angry and violent, beat him to death with your heel or something, but you wondered if you'd be forced to bargain with him— apologize for whatever you did to upset him, promise you wouldn't tell a soul about this as long as he left you alone. But either way, it didn't matter… on the outside, you were useless, laying there and letting him use you.

"What made you come so much before? Did he have a big cock, is that it?” he asked with a snarl. “Did he know exactly how to touch you? Or was it just that you’d been craving it, needed it really rough to get off properly? Is that why you came while he raped you?”

It was a biological response, you told yourself like you had over and over, I couldn't help it, it wasn't my fault, it was a biological response— it wasn't my fault, I didn't like it, it was a biological response.

“I think I know what it is,” he mused, looking down at you with heavy eyes and almost purring as he watched your limp form bounce on the floor. “I think you wanted to be put in your place. You act so liberated, so empowered— but you’re a creature of instinct, like anything else. You need someone to remind you how weak you are, I know, fuck, I know you do…”

He fucked you just a bit faster, grunting and tightening his fist on the floor by your head.

“You haven’t been able to have an orgasm at all, since then,” he stated— almost making it like a question, with the way he said it, but he obviously already knew it was true. He sounded shockingly sympathetic— not even pitying, not condescending, for once. “I’m sure for a while you didn’t even try, afraid it would remind you— but that’s the thing, you can’t finish unless you’re reminded.”

You almost surprised yourself when you heard a whine come from your throat; he smiled proudly.

"It's wearing off, I think," he noticed. "I only gave you a small dose. Can you move at all? Can you beg me to stop?"

You opened your mouth to try to say everything you'd wanted to since you awoke, but all that came out was a moan. You hated yourself for that, and he laughed happily.

"You don't want me to stop," he decided. "Feels too good?"

I fucking hate you, you wanted to scream, you sick son of a bitch, I fucking hate you—

"You didn't say it outright, but he must have said something to you— during, maybe after," Jonathan theorized. "You didn't say what it was, but you told your therapist about having a vivid flashback after being accosted by a delusional homeless man on the street. He called you a bitch, seemingly for no reason… is that what your rapist said to you? Did he say you were a stuck-up little bitch?"

As burning hot tears striped your temples, you curled your fingers over and over— maybe you could move your arms if you really tried…

"He was fucking right about you. You think you're so much fucking better than everyone else," he growled. "You think you're so fucking smart, and special. But you're no fucking different, you're nothing—"

You whined and reached up, weakly trying to push him off of you, but all you could do was limply grasp at his shoulders.

"Nothing but a stupid—" he grunted the word as he slammed himself into you— "fucking—" he did it again— "bitch."

"No!" you finally heard yourself sob, clutching a weak fistful of his white shirt, but he grabbed your hands and shoved them back down to the floor.

“God,” he choked, holding your wrists tightly until you whined, “it’s so much better when you can fight— fuck, it’s so much better. Keep struggling if you want, Doc, you’re still too weak for me…”

Your legs moved a little, but they felt heavy. Sensation was only just beginning to return to them, like pins and needles, and it stung; you winced as you managed to squirm a bit beneath him.

"That's it," he praised, "this is probably just how you did it before. Too drunk and too desperate for cock to really do much, but trying so hard to look like you hate it— I understand, you don't want anyone to know that you need this. They'd never look at you the same again: the smart, accomplished psychiatrist who likes getting treated like fuckmeat. What would they think of you if they knew?"

"No…" you said again, too weak and traumatized to say much else— but it wasn't what he said that made you say no, it was the pulse of pleasure inside your cunt. He must have felt it, and if he didn't, he surely felt the next; yes, he did, because he smiled down at you excitedly.

"It's happening, isn't it? You're gonna come."

He held on tight to one of your legs, gripping your thigh and staring uncomfortably into your eyes as he kept going— faster and rougher with each thrust. You choked on your throat, trying to stop any part of this, but the pleasure was undeniable; it still hurt, yes, and you still felt so angry and sick and numb, but something familiar and desperate was tightening in your gut. It’d been so long since anyone touched you… you’d forgotten how natural it could feel, even when it was so horrible.

"I read it in your file, but I still couldn't really believe it,” he laughed quietly, “I couldn't believe you came over and over while being raped— but here you are, wow, look at you… you’re so beautiful when you’re scared.”

A long, heavy sigh fell from your lips; your eyes got heavier, and your whole body seemed to relax— in a way totally different from the medication-induced paralysis.

He cooed at you, seeming oddly proud, and you were oddly compliant as he picked you up and pulled you into his lap.

Tears streamed across your cheeks as he held you close, one hand around your back while the other moved your hips against his. “There you go— come for me, I wanna feel it— another one, baby, for me…”

It wasn’t much longer before another one came— from what you remembered, it was a lot like the first time, this terribly wonderful way your body protected itself from the trauma by immersing you in pleasure. Of course, Jonathan helped you along by rubbing your clit with his thumb, excited to watch you surrender to ecstasy even when you begged him to just stop and leave you alone.

Of course, your protests were less and less believable as more of your strength and mobility returned— you could’ve tried harder to get away, but instead you found your hips rocking with his, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. No, you didn’t want this— you never wanted this— but you found the way he spoke to you impossibly comforting even while it was still deeply upsetting. “Tell me about the nightmares, darling,” he whispered— some impossible mix of pleading and ordering.

“A-almost every night,” you whimpered. “I… I got used to it, but I used to… I used to wake up and think I was still…”

"They felt so real, hm?" he presumed, and you nodded. “It’s real now… you don’t have to be afraid of the dreams anymore, it’s all real— I’m right here.”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to scare or comfort you; he pet your hair, clinging to you tightly, kissing your face and neck along the lines of the tears soaking your skin.

You felt his grin against your cheek when another wavering moan echoed in your chest, and he laid you back on the floor to hover over you again. “Was that your third one, already?” he noticed. “This is so much easier than I thought… you needed this so badly, you poor girl.”

A quick wave of panic settled over you when his hand wrapped around your neck. “W-wait,” you pleaded instantly, as if you really feared he would just strangle you to death right then and there. Your hands, still weak and tingly, reached up to his arm, and you felt his cock throb inside you— of course that was what he wanted, to see you react in fear again. So many other emotions were at play right now, even some you didn’t know existed (like whatever the word would be for longing for the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, or feeling like the only person you can trust is the person hurting you the most), but fear was still going to rule it all as long as he had any say.

"How many times did you come before?" he demanded to know, nostrils flaring as he fucked you harder. "Tell me how many times you came when he raped you."

"I— I don't—" you stammered.

"Say it," he ordered.

"I— I don't know!" you yelped, whimpers falling to silence as he tightened his grip on your neck.

"You don't fucking know?" he snarled at you, watching you fight for air. You clawed at his shirt, his wrist, tried to pry his fingers away, but he just sneered as he stared at your numbing face. "You don't know how many times you creamed on your rapist's cock? Bullshit."

"I—" you gasped when he let go of your throat, "I lost count…"

He went from livid to ecstatic in a second, laughing proudly and dipping down to kiss your neck passionately. "Good girl," he mumbled against your skin, fucking you even faster. "That's what you need to do for me now— come for me until you lose count."

“I— I can’t,” you choked, grabbing at his shoulders as he seemed to overwhelm you just by pressing his weight down on top of you. “I’m sorry— you… you proved your point, I— I just need a break—”

Even though the drug he’d injected you with was wearing off, you realized you were just as limp and helpless as before… after all, some of the most powerful chemicals come inside the body. You didn’t even fight it when he put his hand over your mouth, spitting out a quiet but hateful shut up and continuing with his quick and forceful thrusts into you.

He kept you conscious and lucid by occasionally hitting or choking you, talking to you, once or twice even ordering you to kiss him. Like you mean it, he’d said, slapping you as punishment for doing it wrong. Truth be told, you hadn’t kissed anyone in so long that you’d really been trying your best the first time. Sometimes he told you to beg him for more— or to beg him to get off of you— and yet he would usually punish you for speaking at all. He was completely unpredictable, and you figured that was part of the plan: take away any shred of control you might try to get by making it impossible to follow his rules. Keep you confused and crying, keep you fearful, keep you obedient.

But, he did seem to enjoy when you could only just choke out a broken please. He laughed at you, pinching your sore clit in response until you sobbed and tried to jerk your hips away. “‘Please’ what, honey? You mean, ‘please keep fucking me, Doctor Crane, you’ll make me come again?’” he taunted. “Something like that?”

“Please… please,” you swallowed around your whines, “please just… finish, and go…”

“Oh,” he purred, “you want me to come?”

You’d specifically not phrased it that way, but, yes, that was what you were asking for. You weren’t sure what else he wanted from you now, it felt like he’d drained you of everything.

“You can just say that, baby— you wanna make me come?” he grinned, moving in closer for a kiss, but you turned your head away. He grabbed your jaw again and stared at you with an angry glare. “This isn’t about me. This is what you wanted. This is what you fucking wanted!”

As he screamed in your face, you sobbed and tried to look away again, but he hit you hard on the face and covered your mouth before the cry of agony could come out.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he insisted again, forcing your head to nod with his clammy, iron-tight grip. “Uh huh— and you wanna make me come, don’t you? You understand now that’s all you’re good for.”

As sick as it was, you felt yourself fall into another orgasm when he said that; your eyes rolled back a bit, and for a moment you felt even hotter between your legs.

“I think, if you beg me to come, maybe I will,” he offered— bargaining with you, probably another way to trick you into clamoring for some control only to yank it away. Unfortunately, you were in no position to turn down a deal.

“Please,” you blurted out the second he released your mouth from under his hand; when you blinked the tears from your eyes, you saw him clearly again and realized how completely different he looked from the arrogant-but-generally-unassuming man you knew from work. His hair was fallen beside his face, and he was close enough that the ends were tickling your forehead. His eyes were bloodshot, crazed, and dark. His lips, always full and plush but usually in a tight frown or neutral look of condescending boredom, were curled around the teeth he bared at you. He looked animalistic, for a man typically so measured. Only he could do something so animalistic in a way that required such intellect, foresight, and contemplation— using his superhuman skills to treat you in a subhuman manner. You realized that you were really seeing him for the first time— the person you’d known before was the mask. This was something horribly freeing for him; and you were having a much easier time analyzing and thinking about him to distract from how sickly freeing this experience was becoming for you. “Please, Jonathan—”

“Doctor Crane,” he corrected. Apparently this wasn’t enough to put you on a first name basis…

“Doctor Crane,” you repeated, “please… come. I want… I want you to come.”

“Hmm,” he considered, and you worried he’d decide he was unimpressed with your effort and hurt you again— but, he did maybe the only thing worse. “Okay,” he agreed, “if it’s so important to you.”

Just when you shut your eyes tight and hoped you could just get through this— just hold on for a few more minutes at most and then this would be over and done with— he whispered in your ear that he needed you to keep your eyes open if he was going to finish.

Though, when you obeyed, he purred at you and let his own eyes flutter shut for just a moment. For once, he actually seemed affected by all this physically and not just psychosexually. “I think I’ll come inside, like he did before,” Crane decided with a groan when he opened his eyes, biting his lip for a moment as he stared down at you. “I didn’t see any birth control in your listed medications on chart… I guess we’ll find out if you have a fear of getting pregnant.”

"Jonathan— don't," you whimpered. "Please, don't do that—"

"Shh," he soothed, petting the top of your head and laying his weight over you. "Shh, it's alright. I think you need to be filled with come… I think that might be the one thing that’ll get you to settle down, now just hold still.”

“I— please… please…” you began to beg again, but your words faded away as another wave of sensation washed over you— they started to blend together, like before, and you realized you were doing what he’d asked: you were losing count.

“Good girl,” he praised under his breath, “like that— fuck, I’m close. Fuck!”

He held onto you tight— one hand on your thigh and the other on your neck as his thrusts sped to a desperately, impossibly fast pace. You moaned— or cried, or yelled, or something— as he pushed just a little too deep and your toes curled in your heels.

“Uh huh,” he encouraged, “just one more while I come inside you— I think you can manage that, just one more good squeeze on my cock— oh, fuck, that’s it, yes, just like that…”

You stopped being able to understand what he was saying, but you heard the wavering groan that came a few moments later when his movements suddenly stopped. He gasped and kept himself as far inside you as possible; you shuddered, blinking fresh tears out of your eyes, and felt paralyzed in an entirely new way as you laid under him, staring up at your ceiling, seeing how far the sun had set since it began— actually, it had started to rain, making it even more impossible to tell how much time had really passed. Eventually, though, he took his head out from the crook of your neck and propped himself up enough to look down at you.

Reaching to your coffee table, he fumbled his hand around until he found his glasses, and shakily put them back on. “Well,” he grinned, still panting but seeming to be mostly back to himself (whoever that was). “I never thought I’d meet someone who loves fear as much as I do.”

#jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #cillian murphy x reader #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy smut #IM SO SORRY TO THIS MAN #not to crane he's garbage

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charliemwrites · 5 months

Text

Part 5 (it’s getting out of control) of Charmed Slasher Simon.

Part 4 is here. (Master list coming soon)

(Slight warning for a coworker being a bit of a pushy creep but Simon handles it)

“Riiiiileyyyy.”

Ah, that’s your naughty voice. It means he’s going to want to do awful, terrible things to you out of pure endearment for your cheek.

He turns, arches an eyebrow as you nearly skip up to him. Your hair is shorter.

“New haircut?” he asks as if his fingers aren’t twitching to bury in it and pull your head back.

“Yup! Thought about dyeing it orange, but decided it would clash with my flat.”

He snorts, gives in to the urge to curl a strand around his finger, watches it bounce back into place. You don’t seem to mind, sticking your cute little tongue out at him. (If you’re not careful, he’s going to put you on your knees and have you wrap it around his cock right there.)

“Sensible choice,” he replies, “yellow is more your color.”

You giggle, aren’t bothered by his flat, almost inflectionless tone. “You think?”

“Highlighter yellow. Or maybe banana.”

“Hey, I like bananas!”

He smirks. “Oh yeah? Big ones?”

You shove at him, face going hot. He doesn’t move an inch, not that you were trying hard. Touchy little thing. You remind him of those little birds that flutter around lions, picking and pecking right under their noses, amusing themselves with death.

“Don’t be icky, Riley.”

“Icky.”

“Gross nasty.”

“We’re name calling now?”

“It’s not name calling if it’s true.”

He clicks his tongue, ushers you into the building.

“There a reason for the new hair?” he asks, eyeing it. It’s pretty, don’t get him wrong. But he didn’t know you were getting your hair cut today.

“Fancy office party tonight,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “My stylist just managed to get me in, but now I’ve gotta rush to get ready.”

“Now who said you could go out?”

“What are you gonna do, stop me?” you laugh, clearly thinking he’s teasing. He’s not. If you looked at his face, you’d know it. But you’re busy fussing with your keys, trying to unlock your door.

“I might.”

“Oh, you stop,” you huff, shaking your head. “It’s not even movie night!”

He’s been coming over once a week to watch a movie and drink with you. One of you picks the movie, the other picks the takeaway. He always chooses a horror movie, likes how your eyes water when you get truly scared. You refuse to watch slashers (haven’t told ‘Riley’ why) but you’ll indulge paranormal ones.

It’s not movie night - those are on Saturdays. This is Friday.

“What if I just kidnap you?” he asks. “Keep you in all weekend?”

You hum as if in thought, glancing at him over your shoulder. “Could I go back to work on Monday?”

“Have to see how I’m feeling on Sunday.”

You giggle. “A tempting offer, but you’ll have to settle for kidnapping me just for Saturday.”

“I don’t think you understand how kidnapping works.”

“I’d be a terrible hostage,” you say. He arches an eyebrow, inviting you to continue. “I have to pee when I’m nervous, I’d be talking their ear off - and! I cry like, so much.”

Oh he knows. He thinks of tears running down your pretty face when he cums.

“Some kidnappers like the crying. Theyre sadists.”

You scrunch your face. “But it’s like… gross crying. Total mess. And I make dying seal noises.”

No, you don’t, not in his experience with you at least. But he’s not going to explain that to you.

“Didn’t you have something to get ready for?” he asks because he’s violently wrestling the urge to make good on his threat.

“Fuck!” You glance at your watch, brows scrunching. “If I’m late, I’m blaming you, Riley Simmons.”

“Oh no.”

You stick your tongue out at him one last time and disappear behind your door.

—

He hears you come back at 11:30, has been waiting up. Pauses when he hears two sets of footsteps, a man’s voice talking to you. A wave of bloodlust nearly drowns his better sense.

You brought someone home from a work event? Did you lie to him and go on a date?

“Well, thanks for walking me to my door, Brandon.”

“Was happy to. Don’t want anyone snatching you up off the street now, do we?” An annoying laugh. Yours sounding a little flat and strained joining him.

“Oh, hey, mind if I come in?” Brandon asks. So casually, as if the yes is expected.

Simon’s hands ball into tight fists.

“Ah, it’s pretty late…”

“Well, that’s what Saturday is for, right?”

Oh. That little roach. Simon’s going to hang him by his own guts.

“I have plans tomorrow, actually.”

Good girl.

“That’s alright,” Brandon persists. “Just one drink. Least you can do since I went out of my way, right?”

“I mean, you didn’t have to, I would have been fine.”

There’s some genuine annoyance in your voice this time. Simon’s proud.

“Nah, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you go home after having drinks?” Brandon chuckles.

“I didn’t have that many - and anyway I’m here now, so…”

“And so am I. At least a little something for my troubles?”

And Simon hears just the slightest, faintest ruffle of clothes.

That’s enough.

Simon yanks his door open and steps out. You’re nearly pancaked to your own door, head snapping to him with relief.

“Riley!”

Brandon takes a step back, expression stormy. Simon almost laughs. Little prick is barely taller than you, has done hard work maybe twice in his life. His hands look softer than yours. And he’s wearing a sweater vest.

“Did we wake you up?” you ask.

Simon saunters down the hall towards you. The closer he gets, the more nervous Brandon gets. But you seem to relax a bit more with each step, even shift towards him.

Very good girl.

“Was already up.” He doesn’t look away from Brandon, radiating menace.

You hum in understanding - know Simon keeps late hours. Brandon clears his still-intact throat and you jolt a bit, expression wilting.

“Oh, um. Riley this is my coworker. Brandon, this is Riley, my neighbor.”

“How do you do?” Brandon replies stiffly.

Simon’s not playing along.

“You try to push her again, someone will be pushing you in a wheelchair the rest of your life. Understand?”

Brandon sputters while your eyes go adorably wide, expression caught between horror and gratitude. Like you don’t know if you should be condoning his threats.

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Not yet, but you will if I see you here again, yeah?”

Brandon’s face drains of blood. You press your lips together.

“Now get the fuck out. I’ve got her from here.”

Brandon, worm that he is, scurries away with a hasty “see you Monday”. You don’t reply, too busy blinking up at Simon with parted lips.

He chucks you gently under the chin, eyes narrowing in amusement.

“Off to bed. I’m kidnapping you tomorrow.”

You audibly swallow, then nod.

“Thank you.”

“Good manners.”

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #slasher ghost #charmed ghost #final girl reader

1K notes · View notes

husbandhoshi · 9 months

Text

title: eat. play. love.

pairing: seungcheol x f!reader

wc: 19.4k

summary: being one of new york's top food critics comes with a lot of perks: free dinners, nice awards, and a linkedin profile your parents could be proud of. that doesn't stop you from wanting a lofty promotion to editor, and the only person standing in your way is choi seungcheol. just one problem: his romance column has half of new york under his grimy little thumb. that, and you hate him.

in which your love language is food. seungcheol doesn't have one.

notes: romcom with mild angst, coworkers!au, slow burn enemies to lovers, playboy!cheol, suggestive (one moment in particular) + mentions of sex (otherwise sfw), swearing, lots of alcohol, also you will probably get hungry reading this. extra special thanks a million times over to my fav person @wuahae for bearing with me through literally all 20k words of this. i love you:')

It's underneath a layer of paper-thin egg yolk pasta where you think you see god.

Spoon meets whipped ricotta, white truffle, sage oil. A sip of 1979 cabernet, punishing and oaky. Rinse and repeat.

None of these words are in the Bible, yet you are having nothing short of a religious experience.

"Well, this seems like good news for the place," Jeonghan says. "Wine's tasty. Three stars?"

At this point, you're fairly sure Jeonghan has tuned the explanation of your elaborate rating process out (he's there for the wine, anyway), so instead you top him up and help yourself to a generous portion of his pappardelle.

"Four, then?" He leans forward on his elbows. "Or critic's choice?"

Candied lemon, pecorino, garlic. Derivative, but it's a good bite.

"You're distracting me." You point your fork at him. "You're like 80% alcohol, anyway. Bad opinions."

"Sue me," he laughs. "I would take a client here, is all I'm saying."

You pass on the opportunity to bring up that Jeonghan once brought a client to a Bubba Gump because he was craving coconut shrimp. But Jeonghan isn't a food critic—he's a business analyst and your best friend from college, back when all you cared about was Friday's house party and writing pizza joint reviews for the university paper.

It's a good arrangement. You appreciate his company, and he's never one to turn down a free meal. The both of you keep a small circle—such is the price of discernment.

There aren't many things that can come between you and a delicious meal. But, you have notifications turned on for just three things (all work-related) and you both watch the linen tablecloth light up under your face-down phone in true horror-movie fashion.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Popular on a Saturday night," he jokes. "Copy on your ass again?"

"Nothing's in production," you reply, letting the evil claws of your terrible work-life balance encircle you once again as you open your email.

URGENT: LIFESTYLE EDITOR TRANSITIONAL PLANS, it reads. It's from Wonwoo, your editor in chief, who has sent it with priority, as if the caps lock wasn't scary enough.

"So Joshua decided to quit. Just like you said," Jeonghan says, but it's like he's speaking to you through a wet paper bag because it takes every working brain cell of yours to read the email.

As you may know, Joshua has decided to step down from his position as our current Lifestyle editor.

Not a surprise, given his wife is having a kid. You had called it six months ago over the paper's Christmas dinner at Eleven Madison Park, when Joshua spent half of it outside on a phone call and the other half browsing the Baby Gap website.

I have decided to hire internally to fill his position. I and upper management believe you would be a good fit for the position. Please plan for a meeting 9 AM Monday to discuss transitional plans.

It's that part that you have to read over three times. And then you read it over a fourth, just for good measure.

"You're starting to scare me." Jeonghan puts down his glass, which is something akin to a baby separating from their bottle.

Sometimes you need a dictionary to understand Wonwoo, but the email seems clear as day to you. Good fit. Transitional plans. Suddenly you wish Jeonghan hadn't had so much of the wine because you're in desperate need of a drink.

"I-I think…I think I'm getting promoted."

How funny to think your lifelong dream would be realized over a 40 dollar plate of pasta. You want to cry and hug the maître d' and eat the entire complimentary bread basket.

"It's about time." The glass finds his relieved hand again. "You breathe journalism. I'm afraid one day you'll text me in AP style."

You read over all of it again, trying to memorialize the words that undoubtedly will launch your wonderful and long career in the upper echelons of media.

Looking forward to talking with the two of you.

Wait—two?

Then the proverbial cherry on top, the laughably convenient other thing your eyes had glazed over before.

CC: Choi Seungcheol.

"Choi Seungcheol?!"

Nothing is ever that easy and it then dawns on you that this is a competition type thing because never in the history of the printing press has there been two editors for a section.

Jeonghan stares at you blankly. It would be funny if you didn't feel like you were being double deep-fried like terrible fair food, all the thrill and elation of the moment boiled down to lead in your chest.

"I—he," you stammer.

Jeonghan mouths check to the poor waiter assigned to watch your table. God bless him.

"Words," he tells you. "You went to journalism school."

You take a syrupy breath that sits in your lungs unhappily. Your food is cold. This is a disaster.

"Well, actually, I'm not getting promoted."

Jeonghan's eyes soften, just enough without making you pity yourself more.

"There's this guy," you start. "He's the love and relationships columnist, the one I complain about all the time." Jeonghan makes a small ahh sound, your predicament finally dawning on him. "I guess we're both under consideration for the position. I didn't-I didn't even think of him. I—"

You slump into your seat, the arancini your only solace despite your complaint that the breading was too salty earlier.

"So? I bet you're a way better fit than him. It'll be a shoe-in. Easy decision."

Jeonghan's confidence in you makes you want to cry.

The problem is that Seungcheol is the human equivalent of Cosmopolitan Magazine. You can't recall the last time he walked into the office with a fully buttoned up shirt. You also can't recall the last time one of his advice columns wasn't in the end of quarter recap for popularity.

It's not in you to explain this debacle to Jeonghan. This whole situation is so cosmically awful that all you can do is ask for dessert in a takeout box and watch Jeonghan calculate tip without a calculator because that's all you learn in business school.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jeonghan asks when you're both in the Uber.

"Yeah." You have a headache. You also can't decide whether or not to give the restaurant three or four stars, and you always know by the time you're out the door. "It's fine."

The tiramisu is cold in your lap. Jeonghan squeezes your shoulder. You refresh your email.

Choi Seungcheol's name stares back at you.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The meeting goes exactly how you would expect.

Wonwoo, in his lanky taupe sweater vest, says that Joshua is leaving and you and Seungcheol are standing toe-to-toe in the space left behind.

"I'm sure you two are well-acquainted," he begins.

You stifle a laugh, but Seungcheol's cat-like grimace says more than enough. Neither of you have the heart to tell Wonwoo that your very first impression of Seungcheol was that he tried to hit on you at the new recruit party, or that Joshua probably deserves reparations for how often he mediated fights between the two of you during weekly meetings. (Maybe not reparations, but at least an Edible Arrangements.)

For better or for worse, Wonwoo's genius does not extend to social cues, and he follows with a blithe, "Therefore, I hope you two will treat this as a friendly competition between equals."

You almost laugh again, but this time it's because you need the promotion more than you need air, and you cannot allow some Buzzfeed reject with the face of a model take that from you. And you don't doubt Seungcheol wants it as bad as you do, considering how often you've seen him try to schmooze his way up the ranks.

He may have become a columnist by rubbing elbows with the right people, but you'll never forget the late nights you spent sifting through hours of interview transcripts, on the grueling climb up the totem pole to earn your position.

"We'll evaluate an article of your own submission at the end of the month before we decide. Best of luck."

At least Wonwoo knows to quit while he's ahead—he closes the meeting with a succinct nod before returning to his seemingly infinite unread emails.

"Exciting," Seungcheol says. He claps his hands together, Rolex gaudy under the office lights, and sends a nauseating smile your way. "May the best writer win."

He offers you a handshake. You think he has real life cooties, so instead you close your planner and shoot him a very pointed look.

"There's only one writer here. Thrilled to read your next thinkpiece on how men should spend more time on Tinder and not therapy."

That earns you a chuckle from Wonwoo, but Seungcheol is not easily fazed.

Instead he rushes to hold the door open for you on your way out, likely his favorite piece of advice to give his poor, indolent readers.

"I'll book a table for us at Avra next month," Seungcheol gloats. "Consider it a gift from your future boss."

"They don't have a kids menu, you know."

"No problem. I'll have my darling food critic order for me." He places a wicked hand over his polyester covered heart. "Ending misogyny in one fell swoop, huh?"

You wait for the door to Wonwoo's office to close before looking at him right in his wet, cow eyes with the most malice you can possibly muster. You feel it collect in your bones, enough to feel like you can physically hack it up and hurl it at him.

"You have no clue what you're talking about, huh? Do you actually attract women with that attitude? Or are you just a really good liar?"

You are so close to him, you could kiss him if you wanted—luckily for the both of you, you would rather die a thousand fiery, terrible deaths, and then die all over again. Instead, you watch his pout unravel into a grin from hell, and he leans in closer, the scent of Old Spice and break room coffee heavy on him. This morning's matcha latte churns in your stomach, and you wonder if you should have gotten oatmilk instead of dairy.

Up close, he's worse. His hair reminds you of the sad, tired swoop of the washed-up lead of a daytime soap opera. And he has no pores, which is deeply upsetting because he looks like the type to wash his face with Palmolive and a prayer.

"You know what?"

His breath hits your lips and your skin prickles like you have an allergy.

"What?"

"You just gave me the winning idea for my next column." No way, you think. Mind games. Classy. "See you at dinner, sweetheart. Looking forward to it."

The pet name makes you seethe. There are a million things you want to say, all colorful and none workplace appropriate.

"I'd rather starve."

"Better not let Wonwoo hear you with that bad attitude. I'm sure management loves a team player." His cheshire grin somehow gets bigger, all white teeth and pink lip. "Try to smile a little, huh? Have fun writing about snails and black garlic and cwa-ssants, or whatever it is that you do."

you watch all the laminated syllables of croissant go through his paper shredder smile and you think you black out.

He spins on his heel triumphantly, almost bowling over Minghao from Arts & Entertainment, who is undoubtedly wondering if you did, in fact, kiss.

Seungcheol laughs as he walks away, linebacker shoulders rippling under his one size too small shirt.

The metal-red knot of anger swells in your gut as you watch his perfect silhouette and his tiny little waist disappear into the staff room. Then you realize what you've been looking at and let yourself get mad all over again.

He does have a nice ass, though. You'll give him that.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

"You'll never guess what I have."

"Is it better than this lox bagel?" You answer, mouth unattractively full.

Seungkwan's answer is the sound of a straw hitting the bottom of an empty cup and the grating jostle of ice. Phone calls with him are like ASMR because he's always doing a million things at once, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Infinitely," he finally says, after procuring the last milliliter of what's likely his second coffee of the day. "Besides, we all know pesto is way better."

"Wrong, but okay," you reply. "What is it?"

"You're not gonna thank me for being the best friend in the world? Me, an editor, keeping nepotism alive for you? A mere columnist?"

"Senior columnist," you laugh between bites. "You need me. Who else would you text during content meetings?"

"Whatever." His eye roll is audible. "I guess I won't tell you."

He shakes his cup again, all ice and no patience.

"Fine! I owe you. My career and my life."

"And a seat at Momofuku."

"And that."

You take another greedy bite, letting the everything on an everything bagel get all over your chin. You love dressing up and going to restaurants that cost more than both of your kidneys, but there's something sacred about eating a $10 bagel behind the shield of your computer screen at a cafe where no one knows you.

There's someone laughing really loudly somewhere, and if you weren't otherwise preoccupied, you would look for the offender and give them a hard glare. You don't know what could possibly be that funny at 9 AM, but, then again, you never were a morning person.

"So, I have intel. About Seungcheol." You can picture the glint in Seungkwan's eyes, glittery and caramel. Unfortunately, the news that it's related to your worst enemy makes you sit up a little straighter. "At today's content meeting, Joshua said that he's working on some kind of challenge to go on as many dates as possible. He might make it a series."

"How tacky," you say, but the information clanks around in your brain like shoes in a washing machine. The indulgent, clickbaity headline just falls together perfectly—I Went On 50 First Dates So You Don't Have To. Exactly the kind of article your mom sees on Facebook and sends to you.

"You have to admit it's a decent idea. Not as good as yours, but it'll get engagement," is Seungkwan's reply, but you can barely hear it over the swell of another sitcom-esque laugh, this time, from a woman. "The other editors are very invested in this whole thing, by the way. Of course, I'm betting on you."

You're about to very openly stress about people gambling on your success when your eyes wander to the backside of the Sports Illustrated model getting napkins at the counter. Not bad at all, you think. It may be too early for the comedy club, but appreciating the male figure has no schedule.

And then he turns around, and you're able to see past the curly hair, muscle tee, beauty pageant smile—it's none other than Choi Seungcheol, fully outfitted with the audacity to trespass on your bagel place. You have never been more disgusted by your heterosexuality.

You hide behind your computer screen.

"Helloooo?" comes Seungkwan on the line. "Are you making out with your breakfast or something?"

"Seungkwan, I gotta go," you hiss. Your eyes follow Seungcheol as he makes his way back to his table. "There's a…situation."

You watch him sit across from a beautiful girl in a sundress and Prada sunglasses, and her lips tumble into a brilliant red smile.

It would be really fucking funny if he was on a date, you think, but then you see him make the kind of eyes you last saw in the deepest, stickiest recesses of a frat house on thirsty Thursday. Then you realize he is on a date, that he's been on a date, and it's his laugh that is equally annoying as it is loud.

Seungkwan works hard, but the devil always works harder.

"Ok, talk to you later. Bye!" You can hear the beginning of one of Seungkwan's protests, but you hang up before he's able to properly complain. Maybe you'll have to do a little better than Momofuku—that's a problem for later.

Over the rim of your laptop, you catch glimpses of their conversation. You notice Seungcheol talks a lot with his hands, and you wonder if that's another one of his tips or if that's just him. Him and those big clown hands, illustrating a story that you're unfortunately too far away to hear.

But you can hear her laugh again, and you try to guess what he's talking about. His childhood dog. The insurmountable burden of being prom king and captain of the football team. This little not-competition and this little not-rivalry between the two of you. How the PB&J bagel is the best thing on the menu (it's not, but you see the berry compote all over his fingers and you know that's the hill he's dying on).

No matter how you spin it, it's a hard pill to swallow. Choi Seungcheol is good at what he does, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

You hear the careening lilt of what seems to be Seungcheol whining, and there's a brief flash of something like endearment in your stomach before the repulsion sets in.

Nothing you can do to stop him, huh?

The question, sinister and burning, writhes in your brain as you chew on the ice from your coffee and stare at a blank Word document, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Beware the wrath of a woman scorned.

It's number 3 on Seungcheol's article titled Revenge and Other Stories. Unsurprisingly, he must not practice what he preaches, because you currently have all nine circles of Dante's Inferno inside you right now.

Play nice, Jeonghan had told you. Looks better to upper management.

And you did, until one of your photo requests mysteriously got deleted. Then Joshua told you to cut 500 words from this week's column because Seungcheol's just "happened" to be a little longer this time.

The knockout punch was yesterday when Seungcheol told you he was using your January critic's choice pick to take Wonwoo out for a friendly dinner, his treat. If you had known, you would've called ahead and told them to poison the hamachi. (No matter. Any foodie worth their salt knows Thursday is the worst day for sushi).

Now you sit on the C train, dressed to the nines, because you have a date with destiny at Nai. Sometimes destiny is a big pan of paella for one, but this time, it's Seungcheol and his next victim on date night.

Getting him there was so easy, it was almost criminal. An obnoxiously loud elevator phone call in which you name dropped the executive chef, a friend of yours, at least four times. Seungkwan very strategically asking you if a press pass can bypass reservations for a booked-out restaurant. Gossip in the break room with the intentional use of "intimate," "sangria drunk," and "affordable."

Affordable was a lie, but you're learning quickly that a hungry fish will take any bait. And seeing Seungcheol's face is never a joy, but you're not opposed to watching him open the menu for the first time.

"I have a killer Spanish accent," Seungcheol told you on the way out today.

Hook, line, and sinker.

The subway car rumbles under you. You're almost in East Village. You don't normally spend your Friday nights crashing dates—you actually don't really spend them outside your apartment at all, but Seungcheol is the exception to the rule and you're making a lot of them for him. A small price to pay for the glory of dethroning Casanova.

The plan is to "accidentally" run into Seungcheol and his Friday night exploit, and then to casually, non-bitterly mention a, that she is about to become a statistic, b, that his idea of chivalry was birthed in the basement of the Alpha Omega house, and c, that you're surprised he's still single because you always happen to catch him on dates. Something like that.

This is admittedly the best you could come up with. Like you said, you don't really crash dates. You don't really sabotage people either, but Seungcheol declared war the minute his Folgers breath hit your face outside Wonwoo's office.

Then you think of all the ways things can absolutely backfire. Seungcheol's warm, carefree whirl of laughter when he explains you're office rivals, or worse, lies and says you're nothing but a jilted, jealous ex. Or this whole thing could simply be immortalized in his winning article as a jaunty sentence about making the most out of a bad situation, yada yada yada.

You picture watching another girl, spellbound, as you dig into your table-for-one paella.

In your mind's eye, she laughs, floaty like his date at the bagel place, and for a moment you understand what it might feel like to want Choi Seungcheol.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Friday night at Nai is red and glittering and heady with saffron.

You remember when you first ate here, two weekends after the soft open, early in your career at the paper. After a three hour conversation over wine and octopus with the owner, you wrote the restaurant a glowing review that, to your surprise, helped land it several ritzy awards. Now the dining room is never empty, but they always find space for you.

That was the first time you learned that all of this work meant something. Yeah, you loved an excuse to stuff your face and get paid for it, but what was even better was the chance to tell the stories of a working father's hand-pulled noodles, the drunk, midnight origins of a tasting menu, the caramel-greedy fingers of a well-loved childhood.

This is the long way of explaining how you bypass the two hour standby wait time, and how you walk in on a first name basis with the manager.

You're fully prepared to see Seungcheol mid-churro, perhaps four pick-up lines deep and wondering if he still has a condom in his wallet.

That's why you almost miss him on your way to your table. His is empty, other than a lonely, watered down martini on the rocks and two menus.

"Seungcheol?"

He looks up at you, and something like genuine surprise melts into relief, then intrigue.

"Look at who crawled out of her dungeon," he chuckles. "You clean up good."

Whatever pity you may have felt for him vaporizes instantly. Although, when he beckons for you to sit in the empty seat across from him, you do take the bait—you're not about to pass up a good opportunity to humble your least formidable foe.

"Refreshing to see that our love guru isn't above dining solo," you reply. "I have to admit, your acting is impressive. What an elaborate ruse to get another poor, single diner to pity you enough to sit with you."

"It worked, didn't it?" He takes a sip of his cocktail, which is almost a brand new drink because it's 90% water, 10% martini by now.

"I'm no expert, but pretending to get stood up is not a tip I would give the general public."

"Who said I was pretending?"

No fucking way. Your jaw drops. It's too unreal to believe. Even if the slutty cut of Seungcheol's shirt wasn't persuasive enough, surely the prospect of enjoying a free Michelin star dinner would warrant an appearance, even for you. Breaking News: New York's Hottest Bachelor Ghosted at Top Restaurant. If only that were as wonderful to the average reader as it is to you.

Because waiters are trained to enter conversations at the best possible time, you're forced to pause and order a wine for the table and some tapas. (No paella for one? Seungcheol asks, and you try to reconcile your annoyance with the fact that one, he's read your review of this place, and two, that he looks mildly turned on that you can pronounce all the menu items. You tell the waiter to add a paella.)

"You got stood up?" You cross your arms over your chest. "You may think I'm dumb, but I'm not that dumb."

"You have no idea how flattering your reaction is." He laughs, and the air shifts around him, drawing you further into his eyes, inky under the lowlight. "I understand you think I'm irresistible, but, alas, not everyone shares your opinion."

"I never said that."

You hate how easy it is for him to push your buttons. You hate how in control he is, and you hate how he's looking at you like you're on the menu.

The waiter returns with the wine, and you decide you're feeling equally as terrible.

"Truly, you can't be that irresistible. After all this time writing about relationships, you would think you'd actually be in one."

Touché, you think. Normally, it would be too low a blow, even for you, except that his column-related debauchery is one of the four thrilling conversation topics he subjects you to at the office. And who are you to bury the lede?

"Coaches don't play," Seungcheol says, leaning back and popping the martini olive in his mouth offensively, as if he's not at a restaurant that takes months to get a good table at.

"Bullshit." You lean forward and chase his gaze. He doesn't shy away; rather, he meets you with an appraising raise of an eyebrow. "Coaches should at least know how to throw the ball."

"What do you think we're doing right now?"

"Oh, please." Your wrist twitches as you fight the urge to down your entire glass of merlot in a single gulp. You picture the title of his next article: Top 10 Ways To Get A Woman Drunk. And then the oh so charming punchline: 1. Be so insufferable she cannot last a conversation without her real life partner, wine.

"See? I've already got you laughing." He notices the generous sip missing from your glass and tops you up.

"No, you do not get to make this about me."

Somehow, you are laughing, but you chalk it up to the spiteful little man in your brain writing headlines for Seungcheol's column.

How To Antagonize Your Date In 5 Easy Steps.

"Need I remind you I'm only here because your actual date stood you up? Too soon?"

"I prefer you anyway," he answers, his expression half-challenge, half-something else that you don't really want to think about.

"Crazy, because I'd rather be literally anywhere else."

Signs You Are In A Hostage Situation, Not A Date.

"You should stick to food. You're a bad liar." He cocks his head to the empty table next to him. "It's still open if you want it."

"I'm no quitter."

Maybe The Male Gaze Isn't So Bad: A Thinkpiece.

Definitely not that one.

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"So, before I try anything," Seungcheol says, leaning across the table. "Teach me how to be a food critic."

"Why, so you can steal my job?"

"You can keep it," he laughs. "I'm gonna be your boss, not your replacement."

You notice he'll linger on the tail end of his sentences, betting on the response you haven't even come up with yet. He's picking apart the furrow of your brow, the marrow of your brain. It's like one drawn out interview, but you suppose that's all dating really is. Maybe your journalism degree wasn't a waste of money after all.

You won't give him the satisfaction of a fight (plus, you don't want the food to get cold), so you change the subject.

"Well, I take pictures first," you say, waving away his overeager fork.

"Genius. They really scammed you out of your Pulitzer, huh?"

You ignore him in lieu of repositioning the chorizo. Unfortunately, Seungcheol is unrelenting. You hear the snap of his phone camera, clearly taking a photo of you and not the meal—clever, but you won't bite.

"Wanna be in my story? I can tag you."

In your periphery hovers his wry, wanting smile.

"Sure. So the world can know I'm a charity worker too."

He whistles, clutching his heart. If he weren't so annoying, you would find him a little cute. Just a little. You blame the kitchen for whatever aphrodisiac is in the food today.

"Live update: date with food critic going about as well as an episode of Hell's Kitchen."

He says this leaning forward, elbows on the table, so close to you that your knees might touch. You tense at the thought.

"Any date of mine would be on better behavior."

"So you're admitting this is a date?"

"This," you wave your hand over the table. "This is not a date. This is me regretting ever pitying you."

"Well, pity looks good on you."

And there it is again, that accursed, perfect smile. This time, it works, and you fight the losing battle of the wine flush undoubtedly all over your face. It bothers you that there's a little part of you that enjoys this, but that's a confession you plan on taking to the grave.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, because you're not getting any again."

"Fine. I'm still waiting for your grand secret," he says, now biting the tines of his fork like an untrained dog. No rest for the weary, you suppose. "Food is food. Prove me wrong."

Despite the betrayal of your basal human instincts, you're determined to make this a bad encounter. Maybe you hadn't anticipated the full force of Seungcheol's overgrown fratboy persona, but you came here for a reason and you do plan to see it through.

"There is no secret." You split apart an empanada, the guts steaming and fragrant. "You eat."

"Like this?" He crams an entire piece in his mouth, and you watch him recoil and huff the heat out. "Mmm, 's pretty good, though."

Your eyes almost roll back far enough to see the wrinkles of your brain. Of course he wouldn't get it, but you don't know what you were expecting from a guy who thinks Hot Pockets are fine dining.

You put on your most pretentious food critic face. "Eating is about respect. Storytelling. He's retelling the first time someone made him this dish. The ingredients—they're words on a page. An autobiography." Your hand finds your chest and you sigh, a final touch to your Oscar winning melodrama that would certainly annoy anyone with even half a brain.

"Huh. Poetic," he says. He's still fanning his (very full) mouth, but he chews a little more slowly. "I'm respecting. I'm taking it in."

You don't know if he's actually doing any of that, but, when he takes his next bite he asks about what's in it (tomato, raisin, egg) and if someone really made the chef an empanada when he was younger (yes, on the flour-printed counter, every Sunday morning).

You press on. It shouldn't take much to bore him, but with every question, food-related factoid, and snide comment you have, he matches you with genuine curiosity. Either he's an excellent actor or he's secretly culinary school-bound, because you can't actually imagine anyone putting up with any of that, nonetheless I like dick jokes and football Choi Seungcheol.

You spend the rest of the evening like this, spoon to heart to cherry mouth. The wine is abundant, and Seungcheol spends more time listening than talking, which he admits is a first for him.

"You really know a lot about food," he says, likely fighting the urge to use his finger to get the last of the chocolate sauce off the churro plate. "I like that."

It's a cheap compliment in a game of low blows, but it sits warm and content in your chest. You have to force yourself back to the night you met him, when he was all cognac and one-liners and he gave you his spare hotel room key. A good reminder of his true nature, you think, despite the fact that he just listened to you talk about all the different grains of rice, ad nauseum.

"It's my job," is your reply, adequately distant for your liking.

"Fair. You gonna ask me about mine?"

"What more is there to know?" You hold up the check. "You're paying, right? Chivalry and all that?"

You're waiting for him to mention the company card, the only one allocated to your section that Seungcheol couldn't possibly have because it's sitting snug in your purse. The one you'll say you conveniently forgot so you get to see a grown man squirm at paying the bill.

"Already did. Gave the host my card when I got here. You're holding the customer copy." His chuckle disappears under the lip of his wine glass. "Bet you were excited to use the company card, huh?"

If shame were a physical object, you feel like your own personal Atlas. Your only option is to stare at the wasteland of empty plates before you and wonder how deep Seungcheol's pockets really are.

"Hardly. More excited that I burned a hole in your wallet." You click your tongue, out of options on how to ruin Seungcheol's night. You would spill wine on him but there's none left. "Anyway, I'm heading out."

"Running away?"

"Bored," you lie.

He calls you a taxi, and you walk out together, night heavy with the rhinestone glare of Friday night traffic.

"I actually had a nice time tonight," Seungcheol says, emphasis on the actually.

"Unfortunate."

"How do you think I feel?"

The taxi pulls to the curb, and he sighs, weighty with exaggerated relief. You can't even take it seriously because he's looking right at you and badly failing to push down the smile at the corners of his mouth.

It's only now that you notice his eyes are really brown, like he's from a cartoon or something. Worse, you'd daresay they're nice, less menacing, when they're tempered by a good meal and semi-public humiliation.

"Text me when you get back to your villain lair."

"If I were a real villain, you would have a lot more to worry about."

Seungcheol opens the cab door for you, and you catch a whiff of the cologne he undoubtedly smeared on in the toothpaste-streaked mirror of his five by five studio bathroom. Pine, leather, and citrus, which is the most pedestrian combination of smells to exist and yet you doubt it hasn't done him any favors.

"I'm terrified. Shaking." You clamber into the backseat, and he smiles at you again, as if you've forgotten what all his other ones looked like. "By the way—"

You have half a mind to shut the door in his face, but you can't find it within you—maybe it's the wine, or perhaps pure defeat. Probably the former.

"This job. It's—" He clicks his tongue and looks at the tops of his leather shoes. He's actually thinking, and you don't like it. "Never mind. See you Monday."

And then the words are gone. He shuts the cab door, and they're left in a plume of exhaust and Seungcheol's tiny waving figure in the rearview mirror.

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"So you're telling me you went on a date with your worst enemy."

It's 8 AM, and Jeonghan isn't pulling punches. Even through the phone, you can see his lazy grin, the pen he's flipping in his hand, the green ribbon of the Dow Jones on his desktop.

The newsroom is refreshingly near empty, except for Joshua, who hovers around the water cooler like a fly on the wall, if flies wore Armani ties and cigarette jeans.

"It wasn't a date, and I wanted to ruin it so he would have nothing to write about."

"No one goes on a date to ruin it. You could have just left."

"Clearly you haven't seen How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days."

"Are you serious." Jeonghan laughs, crackly and bright. "Care to tell me how that movie ends?"

"Except he isn't Matthew Mcconaughey. He says spaghetti like pah-scetti and doesn't use Oxford commas."

Mid-laugh, you endure another beat of extended eye contact with your editor until he beckons you over. He'd likely been waiting for the perfect time to interrupt the conversation he was so subtly eavesdropping on—oh, how you love a newsroom with an "open floor plan" to "facilitate communication." Sometimes you think the reason Joshua's stuck around this long is because reporters can't stay away from drama, especially if they're not the ones reporting it.

"I gotta go," you tell Jeonghan, whose version of a goodbye is a triumphant cackle.

You find Joshua putzing around, plastic water cup incriminatingly full.

"I take it you had an enjoyable weekend?" he asks, eyes sequined with all the secrets they hold.

"Yup. Just working on that Dining Through The Years article." Not entirely a lie—you are hedging your bets on this story, one where you revisit the restaurants you wrote about when you first got your start at the paper (Nai included, although admittedly yesterday's food was the least of your concerns). "You needed me?"

"Glad to see New York's finest chefs are well-versed in Kate Hudson's filmography," he says, grinning something beastly. If he weren't your boss, you'd knock that little water cup clean out of his hand. "Anyway, if your interview is over, I need you to go on a field trip."

"Field trip?"

Surely you're better than a task for the interns. You wonder if they're off fighting their own demons, seeing as you missed the circus in the elevator this morning, the usual juggle of hazelnut lattes and lemon poppyseed muffins for the higher-ups.

"Wonwoo needs you to help pick out catering for the corporate event later next week." Joshua tips his head back at Wonwoo's glass-plated office, where you see him redoing his tie in the reflection of his computer monitor. "My guess is that Yerim is going to be there, and he wants to make a good impression. Like an 'I consulted a food expert' impression."

Classic gossip queen Hong Joshua, always with the unnecessary but incredibly cogent commentary on office politics. You think you're actually going to miss the bastard.

"Flattered," you remark dryly. "Catering from where?"

"That's the thing. It's from this Thai place like two hours out from the city."

Two hours: code for an all day endeavor. He wasn't kidding when he said field trip.

You graciously resist the urge to groan out loud. No one told you taking the high road is one big slog through the mud, but here you are. You tell yourself this will help your campaign to be editor—the stinky, dirt-smeared silver lining.

"Before you ask—yes, I know you cannot take the subway there." You blink at him, wondering why this all feels like the set-up to a terrible joke. "Luckily, as you probably know, Seungcheol drives here every day and has offered to help."

Ah. There it is. You look for the blinking applause sign hanging above your head and the chorus of riotous Seungcheols making up your own personal laugh track.

"Only back to the office, though—" Joshua adds, as if that provides you any solace. "There's a one-way bus going up there at noon."

"N-not both ways?" you croak.

"Something about funds," he replies, shrugging. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"You're not the one I'm thinking of shooting."

"Who knows? Maybe he is Matthew McConaughey." And when your glare turns sharp as the edge of a santoku knife, he holds his hands up like he's getting arrested. "I'm just saying. As your friend, not your editor."

Whatever.

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You have to admit, Wonwoo does have impeccable taste in Thai food.

Three noodle dishes, two curries, and the best mango sticky rice you've ever had: that's what it took for you to finally say "not all men." Certainly not Wonwoo, who's in deep enough to send his goons cross-state for a girl he's tried to woo for almost a whole year now.

A tamarind sunset blankets the countryside in milk and honey. You're sitting on a bench, ridiculously full with leftovers to spare, waiting for your chauffeur from hell.

Two years and you still don't know what car Seungcheol drives. Your last memory of it is it being flashy, impractical, and loud, much like him.

You know this, and yet you are still surprised when a gnat of a BMW rips into the curb in front of you. The passenger window crawls down, and Seungcheol has the gall to whistle at you.

For someone so predictable, he sure does manage to find new ways to piss you off. Unfortunately, on brand— according to him, Consistency Is Key (number 2 on Keeping the Spark Alive, August 2022 issue). You've done your reading.

"You're welcome," is the first thing Seungcheol says to you after cranking down the volume of the radio and watching you fumble with the seatbelt.

"You really didn't have to." You look at the array of gas station snacks bubbling out of the cupholders—Sour Patch Kids, a Big Gulp, and Flamin’ Hot Fritos. You didn't even know they sold Sour Patch Kids to full grown adults.

Still, you do feel a little bad. You can count on one hand the amount of people you would do this for and still have one or two cheese-dusted fingers left.

"But, thank you."

"Joshua made me," he says, and what happened this morning starts to make a lot more sense. "Plus, I was a little jealous. I would kill for a day frolicking in the sun, eating delicious food, far, far away from the big city. Not trapped like me in the newsroom, exhausted, toiling away on my magnum opus."

The sigh that crawls from his chapped lips practically shakes the car.

"I'm retracting my thank you."

"I'm devastated. Really."

You choose to watch the strip of shitty New York highway unravel through the greasy passenger window. No point in picking a fight when you're in a leather quilted jail cell for the foreseeable future.

It's at the thirty minute mark where Seungcheol casts the first stone of terrible, stilted small talk.

"Why'd you get sent all the way out here anyway?"

The red taillight flush of rush hour floods the car, an unpleasant reminder of the real sunset left far behind you.

"Thought you knew it was Wonwoo."

"Yeah, but why?"

Why does it matter? Is your first thought, but you realize he's attempting to actually have a genuine conversation with you, which you suppose is better than him flinging around another rude remark. Either that, or he's falling asleep, and you'd rather not have the last moments of your life be in Seungcheol's chick magnet car.

"Joshua thinks it's because he wants to impress Yerim at the corporate meeting this week. I guess she likes Thai."

Traffic is slow enough for him to turn to look at you, really look at you.

"Come on, he can't like her that much."

"Yes, he can." you try to read his expression, neon-glossy. "This isn't even that much effort."

"Nah," he shrugs. "There's gotta be some kind of ulterior motive. Maybe he wants to move into corporate."

"Hot take for a romantic." You frown. "Not everything people do is a career move, you know."

You omit the unlike you that sits heavy in the back of your throat, although, his cavalier approach to relationships is starting to make a little more sense. You wonder if this whole thing—the dates, the watch, the Invisalign smiles—is just a long, drawn-out joke to him.

"Seems like a lot of effort to go through for an office crush." His gaze drifts back to the road. "The extravagant birthday present. Always having her favorite flowers in the office. That one cringe voicemail we all heard him re-record ten times. No one likes anyone that much. Come on. Her dad is the CEO of the company."

Suddenly his winning smile doesn't seem so triumphant. It almost feels like a betrayal, but you don't know why.

"Maybe he just likes her," you reply. "I dunno. I choose to believe that. I think it's sweet."

"Maybe you're the romantic." The words come out like an accusation; Seungcheol laughs, but all the joy's been sucked out of it.

"Who hurt you?"

"No one did. I'm just being honest."

You would laugh at the irony if it didn't feel like there was a vine wrapped round your throat. Life is funny, but never so funny as to curse New York's favorite romance writer with cynicism and a lying streak.

"Controversial, but I actually want to do nice things for the person I like."

"And when was the last time that happened?" He's deflecting, which is predictably on brand for him. His grin, now playful, is propped up by a pair of frustratingly well-formed dimples.

You can't even find it within you to protest because he's right—you haven't dated in a long time. Joshua stopped asking if you were bringing a plus one to office parties ages ago.

But it's not that you can't—in fact, the last time you did, you think it broke you a little inside. It's certainly not a story Seungcheol's privy to, though. You already feel strange, cut-open, trying to convince him that people are capable of meaningful relationships.

Childishly, there's also a part of you chasing the truth about him because it takes him further and further away from you. So you do what you do best and deflect again. Two can play at that game.

"Not taking criticism from a guy who's dated half of the city and has nothing to show for it."

"I wouldn't say nothing."

He opens his mouth then closes it again, as if he's revising the words on his tongue. Journalist behavior, which you didn't even know he could still exhibit.

Now you're really thinking. Who hurt him, and how? The development that Seungcheol is more than the playboy slime haunting page 3 intrigues you more than you'd care to admit.

Before you can pry, Seungcheol's stomach growls, almost offensively loud.

"Sorry," he says. "Who would've thunk that corn chips aren't a balanced meal?"

You stare at the takeout boxes snug in your lap. There is a cosmic message being sent right now.

Seungcheol's sad, Frito-filled belly. Fresh noodle that won't keep well in the fridge. Tax and tip for a four hour car ride back to the city. Expanding your repertoire of blackmail so that you can claim your rightful helm at the paper.

These are all the reasons you give yourself for what you ask next.

"You in a rush?"

"How could I be—do you see the blinding speed we're driving at?" He laughs at his own incredibly unfunny attempt at a joke. "No, I'm not."

"I may or may not have an actual balanced meal for you."

That’s how you end up in the parking lot of a random 7/11 off the freeway. In any other circumstances, it would be a cruel and unusual punishment, but you've already been whittled down enough to actually care about Seungcheol, even if just a little.

That's what you tell yourself, anyway, as you watch him finish the last of the takeout.

"So I'm bad at food, and you're bad at love. Why the fuck did Wonwoo even think of promoting either of us?" Seungcheol kicks his shoes off and props his feet up on the dashboard. You notice his socks have dogs on them, little linty brown ones, and you feel a little worse about openly bullying him about his fashion taste in front of the entirety of copy staff.

"I may be bad at love, but you're worse. Especially for someone who does it for a living," you retort. "Don't think I forgot our earlier conversation."

You try to read the tiny text on a receipt he's got stashed in the center console, among his graveyard of snack wrappers. (2) CHEESY GORDITA CRUNCH…8.78. (1) M MT DEW BAJA BLAST…1.00.

Definitely bad at food, you muse to yourself.

"You think I'm not kicking myself right now? That I have a beautiful girl in my car right now, and all we do is argue?"

Now that—nothing could have prepared you for that.

It gets awfully quiet. The noise of the freeway seems to screech to a fever pitch, all horns and the thrum of the asphalt. You wish anything but John Mayer was playing on the radio.

You will the headlines man in your head to make you laugh. Instead, your brain presses the word beautiful into your neurons and you feel all the heat in your body float to your face, traitorously, dizzyingly. John Mayer croons, your body is a wonderland and your stomach knots into itself over and over again.

"Stop that."

"What?" Seungcheol's head lolls to his shoulder so he can look at you from the corner of his eye. " 's not a big deal. Never been called beautiful?"

A grin plays on his lips, expression dancing on something grim, like he's spoken his final words.

"I'm serious! Stop trying to get me to like you." You huff and cross your arms over your chest, like it'll somehow make you feel more normal. "I'm not some experiment for your column."

"Is it working?"

You don't answer. How can you? There's a yes resting on the roof of your mouth, surely the product of the handful of real, actual moments you've now had with him—far too many for your liking. This whole charade has been a balancing act on the razor edge between rivals and something else, and now you're feeling the sting.

"For the record, I have been called beautiful before."

"And for the record, you're not an experiment for my column. You never were."

There's a relief that pulses through your chest, a breathless, wonderful kind of dizziness. You grab hold of it as soon as it's reared its ugly head. You're flying way too close to the sun, chasing cheap validation from the same guy who ate your lunch out of the fridge last week.

He's no better—he looks like the vulnerability cracked him open a little, and you're the one holding the hammer. It makes for a grubby, unflattering portrait of two emotionally inept people trying to play feelings.

However, much like all other things Seungcheol, any glimpse of something real is gone before you know it. He takes a loud, noisy pull of Diet Coke, and the spell is broken.

"Want any?" And when you shake your head, grateful to swallow the words pressed to your tongue, he says, "Should we wait out traffic here?"

This is an easier yes. You tell yourself you're getting sick of brake lights and reading the license plates on the back of other people's cars. Certainly that makes Seungcheol's gaze, lingering and moonlight-warmed, a little more tolerable.

For once, you don't talk about Wonwoo or your job. You don't talk about love, either.

Maybe this is the reason the next few hours slip through your fingers. Three folded takeout pagodas and a secret—somehow this is all it takes for you to hate Seungcheol just a little less.

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Usually, a good eggs benedict can solve the majority of your problems. Today seems to be the exception. The hollandaise is broken, Jeonghan is already laughing at you, and nothing will ever erase the fact that Seungcheol drove you home last night and now he knows where you live. If you wake up one morning and see a sniper laser pointed at your forehead, you have no one to blame but yourself.

"You look exhausted." An eighth of a buckwheat pancake disappears into Jeonghan's mouth. "You literally eat for a living. There is no reason for them to keep you late."

Jeonghan has a funny way of caring about you, but he's right. You did get home at 2 AM yesterday, but that was on you, not Wonwoo.

"I'm not going to let a corporate slug tell me what is and isn't a real job," you sigh, taking a swig of your half-flat mimosa and reminding yourself to figure out which staff writer gave this place 4 stars in last week's paper.

"Says the girl who needs the company card to afford bottomless brunch," Jeonghan replies.

"At least I'm not a slave to my career."

"What do you call this whole thing with your coworker then, huh? It's all you text me about." The smirk on Jeonghan's face is miserably, tragically righteous, and you can't even be mad about it.

"Seungcheol is my enemy, remember?"

"You sent me a five minute voice memo the other day ranting about how he went on a date with another girl." And just like the little shit he is, he even pulls up your mile-long text history, just to rub it in your face a little harder.

"Am I not allowed to wish for his demise? Since when were you the mature one?"

"I wouldn't call keeping track of his whereabouts wishing for his demise." Jeonghan takes a well-timed bite of your hashbrowns. "Something tells me you're wishing for something a little different."

You almost choke on a blueberry.

"Absolutely not."

You watch Jeonghan power down another mimosa, half-fascinated, half-appalled he would even dream of suggesting something so vile.

The memory of Seungcheol, leant back in the driver’s seat, lowering greasy spools of rice noodles into his mouth, crosses your mind. He had laughed until he cried when he asked you if a pineapple had really fried this rice. That was the kind of man you were dealing with. You can't believe you laughed with him.

"I think it'll be good for you to get back into dating again. Mingyu was, what, three years ago?"

And that's the chocolate chip studded, syrup-covered nail in your coffin. Of course all roads had to lead back to you and your relationship trauma Jeonghan considered unresolved.

You had dated Mingyu when you were younger, softer. It was a love of firsts, of sun-washed mornings and farmer's market Sundays, of raw, black currant midnights and whatever long-winded conversation you had spent all day on.

Mingyu was a chef. His hands, his lips, his eyes—that's how you fell in love with food. Strawberry kisses into fresh pasta into the first time someone had ever cooked for you. What a wonderful, terrible thing to see all your history on a plate, the I could never eat peas, the once I ate mangos till I was sick, the guilty spoon in the vanilla ice cream after a bad day and the dark chocolate you keep in your purse. He remembered that you like your noodles just a little bit overcooked, and you don't even think you told him that.

Food, like some shitty piece of home decor would say in that swirling, curly font, really is some window to the soul. It didn't fully hit you until, one day, you were at the grocery store alone, and somehow you knew exactly what brand of everything Mingyu liked.

You opened a restaurant together after you graduated from college. Then it closed, and you lost Mingyu to Naples or New Orleans or Seoul—somewhere, anywhere to escape the corner of 5th and 40th, the December-pleated memory of his hands in yours and a promise you could never keep.

You're sure you're over it by now, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't look for him in a bowl of his favorite ramyun, the one you could never replicate even though he insisted he just added hot water (Food tastes best when it's a gift, he'd say. You never understood until now.).

Jeonghan doesn't believe you because every time you try explaining this to him, you end up sounding like the most chronically lonely person on planet Earth.

"That is the wrong guy to suggest then," you instead reply, feeling all the food dry up in your mouth.

"I'm running out of options."

"Don't you have a hot coworker or something?"

You shut your eyes, pushing Mingyu back to recall literally any face from one of the many swanky corporate parties Jeonghan bullied you into attending. The only person coming to mind is Lee Chan, and even more than his face, you remember the fat platinum band around his ring finger (Better luck next time, Jeonghan had said, mid-cheese cube).

Worse, amidst all the fuzz, a grainy recollection of Seungcheol's wet cow eyes washes up against your eyelids, and it's not going away this time.

"I thought we were all corporate slugs," Jeonghan replies, enjoying the way you glower at him over your fork. "I was kidding, anyway. Relax."

Your entire body heaves with the sigh that escapes you.

You thank god that Jeonghan is never serious, because otherwise you'd have to consider the fact that he really thought you should date Seungcheol. Jeonghan, who knows the pizza column you, the Mingyu you, and now the you that works late because there's nothing else left to do, really might have thought you should date grifter by day, con artist by night Seungcheol.

The fluorescent glaze of the gas station lights. Seungcheol's hand on the gear stick. His voice, warm and gauzy. It's like there's a flash drive of last night plugged into your head, and you can't take it out.

The stem of the champagne glass finds your hand, and you down the whole thing.

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Monday is uneventful. So is Tuesday, and you wonder what good deed you'd done to deserve such a blessing.

Wednesday, you realize you're just three interviews away from what could possibly be the best article of your life. Unfortunately, two of those won't pick up the phone and the third keeps rescheduling on you.

That's fine—Rome wasn't built in a day, and the same hopefully applies to your future noodle empire.

You're using your lunch break to write an email to number two when you notice Seungcheol hovering around your desk, a plastic straw in his mouth and evil in his eyes.

He's taken to publicly annoying you at work more than usual—Progress, Joshua had told you in the elevator this morning. Towards what? you had asked. He shrugged, letting his crafty, knowing look do all the talking.

"Me, you, and date number two?" is today's opening line. Before you can peel yourself away from your computer and give him a good lashing for whatever the fuck he just said to you, he continues with, "How's that for a follow-up text to my speakeasy date?"

"Lame," you reply, hackles still raised but now re-reading your email for typos.

"Wrong. You were supposed to say incredibly romantic, extremely witty, and unfairly charming." He perches his baseball player ass on the corner of your desk, waiting to be humbled. This is the usual order of things, which has shockingly become more of a familiarity than anything else.

"Do you even have a romantic bone in your body?"

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Just one, but it's the only one that matters."

"Ew. Gross." You wrinkle your nose and attempt to soothe your temper with a sip of the terrible protein shake you got for lunch. "No wonder your column sucks."

"If mine sucks, I'd hate to see what people are saying about yours." And when your reply is a tired, hungry swig of your sad drink, he says, "No lunch today? Even I had something better."

"Lucky you."

The bigger truth is that that the deadline for your article, looming before you, is getting to you more than you'd care to admit. Seungcheol isn't helping, not with his bottomless magic hat of date stories that seems to only grow deeper by the day. Now you're forgetting to pack a lunch, and the highlight of your day has been reduced to punching numbers into a vending machine.

Things are bad, but you'll never say that aloud, especially not to the guy who'll spend the next five years dunking on you if you keep this up.

You stare down the lip of your bottle at the faux-chocolate dregs streaking the bottom.

The month before Mingyu opened his restaurant, you were so preoccupied with making sure everything was just right that you also forgot to eat. One day, leftovers from his work started magically appearing in your fridge. Chow fun (miss you!), salt and pepper shrimp (don't forget to drink water!), a gargantuan vat of hot and sour soup (love you most!).

It was a perfect coincidence until you realized there was no way Chinese takeout was coming out of a very French restaurant, and it was then you learned that love is never really a coincidence.

Now you have no coincidences, mapo tofu, or romance. Just muscle milk and a front row view of the struggling inseam of a man who must shrink his pants in the dryer.

He's peeling a tangerine. Your worst confession to date is that it's easy on the eyes. For once, his hands, always made busy with some scheme, now still over the rind, steady, practiced. Plus, it looks like a marble in his huge hands, which is unfortunately both funny and a little hot.

"Stare any longer, and I'm gonna forget how to peel this."

"Don’t flatter yourself. Just hungry," you half-lie.

Hungry, Stressed, And Delusional—The New Holy Trinity.

It's a catchy headline, but not a great look for you. Never in your life did you think you'd be ogling a man peeling an orange. He even takes all the pith off, and you don't have the heart to tell him that's where all the nutrients are.

"Exactly," he replies. Then he plops the naked, shiny fruit right on your bare desk. "Here. Eat."

You’re so taken aback, all you can do is stare. First at the orange, then at Seungcheol, who suddenly cannot make eye contact with you. Instead, he stacks the peel in his hands, dimpled piece over piece.

"Payback for the, uh, Thai," he says, and although you wouldn't equate a tangerine to James Beard awarded pad kee mao, all you can think of is an lime green sticky note in your fridge and a smile.

A gift. A pithless, wrinkly one.

The idea that Seungcheol was capable of being genuinely nice to anyone, nonetheless, you—probably the most undeserving person of it in the world—makes you feel something close to guilt.

You push through the feeling, instead taking the fruit in your hand and splitting it between your thumbs. The flesh caves so easily, and it's then you remember that food, unlike people, doesn't have to be complicated.

You can feel a better person somewhere inside you, someone easier to care for and with less of a bad attitude. You're not there yet, but there's a dark, satisfying comfort in not being good enough for the indulgence of that kind of intimacy. An arm's length was never too far away for you, except now there's someone sitting on your desk and they gave you lunch. Worst of all, you don't think you mind.

You hold out the half—sticky, guilty fingers and all.

Seungcheol wordlessly accepts it. There's no surprise or confusion—he smiles, you say cheers, and you both take a bite.

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On weekends, the Korean place down the street from your college apartment sold corn dogs until 3 AM. That was when words came easy and love came easier.

It was with sugar all over your nose, eyes pressed to the once forgiving half-moon, where you told Mingyu you would become a writer.

The thing about youth is that it can float anything, no matter how holey, desperate it was. So you sailed through college, that gasping hope wound tight in your fist. Then you started freelancing, just in time for Mingyu’s soft open. You wanted to write, but more importantly, you wanted some way, any way to be useful to the person who had given you so much.

In retrospect, there was no way your crude attempts at actual journalism could ever generate real publicity for him. Not in the heart of New York, where a new restaurant opened every two days and someone wanted to get published every three.

So you eventually sank, and so did Mingyu, leaving you with all this creased, no good love in your chest to shrivel up with nowhere to go.

All of that landed you here. A degree, a dream job, and a laundry list of accolades, but the fruit of that love still hangs heavy and joy-rot on the vine, as you wait for it to be good enough for the taking.

Ironically, it reminded you of cooking. No one ever teaches you when to stop, and now every other joint has dry-aged steak and some version of a three-day demi glacé. But at least demi glacé tastes good—you don't even know what the fuck you're doing some days, and the feeling's never been worse than now, waiting on a call you were supposed to get two days ago.

The phone rings, just in time to distract you from the top button of Seungcheol's fitted shirt, which looks like it's holding on for dear life. He's currently deep in conversation with Mina from design, but every so often, he'll glance your way to see if you're just free enough to be bothered.

The unspoken perils of working late—less people around to pester on Wonwoo's dime.

Mina stuffs her laptop in her bag and checks her watch. Strike three for Seungcheol.

Working Hard Or Hardly Working: A Guide To Office Romances. You're surprised he hasn't written that one yet. Maybe Joshua shot it down.

"Hello?" The dial tone breaks into the warm, risen-bread voice of the woman you know to be the owner of one of your favorite hole-in-the-wall noodle spots. The Friday night after your review was published, there was a line out the door. It honestly felt like a no-brainer to you, and you had no hesitation telling the owner that you were sure her place would become a local mainstay. You watched her crow-footed eyes go moony and you couldn't help but picture the day your yellowed newspaper would be posted up on the wall, framed and prophetic.

You're ready to profusely apologize for not stopping by—truthfully, no bone broth has come close to hers. Instead, she apologizes to you, which you aren't sure is flattering or a sign something terrible has happened.

You hope it's the former, but you should have known that hoping has never been enough.

She tells you that she closed the doors to her restaurant yesterday. It all comes spilling out, one gut punch after the other, the bills and the empty tables and how things just weren't the same the year after your review was published. She thanks you for your time, your writing, and your belief, and then she hangs up.

Not a thing in your body feels capable of moving. All the phone static passes right through you until the week's canned up dread balls up in your throat and some darker-than-black feeling swallows you whole.

The fluorescent ceiling lights sear into you. You think you're going to cry, and that's the last thing you want.

To anyone else, it wouldn't be that serious. Restaurants close all the time, and you know an entry in your silly little column is a far cry from a Hail Mary. But all you can think of is Mingyu’s neon sign on 5th and 40th and the two pairs of hands that had to take it down. You think your fingerprints are still on it, right over the blue shock of the I and the N.

One more dream taking on water, and once again, you're at the sad, cruel center of it.

You try to imagine the gumpaste walls, bumpy and water-stained. Maybe a pale square where your review used to hang.

No, you're definitely going to cry.

Fuck this, fuck work, fuck the article. And fuck Seungcheol, who's packing up his annoying, jingly messenger bag and is the only thing standing between you and an empty office to lose your shit in.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember if you're wearing waterproof mascara today. Unfortunately, the cowbell of Seungcheol's bag sounds like it's catching up to you, and, like it or not, you are two shaky breaths away from breaking down in front of the last person in the world you want to see.

"Final touches on another titillating piece about pineapple on pizza?"

You have no stomach for yelling at him. You can't even look at him. Instead, you bury your head in your hands and tell him to never use the word titillating again.

"A little too soon to play editor, in my humble opinion."

You don't reply. You're trying to scare him off without really scaring him off because god knows you've done that with enough people. Either way, he's calling you a crazy bitch at the next holiday party. You can just hear it.

But you should've known Seungcheol, of all people, doesn't flinch at a little silence. You still feel him hovering behind you, probably wondering if it's the half-full vanilla protein shake on your desk that's turned you sour. Or if you'll really make good on your threat to shank him with the plastic knife you keep in your top drawer.

Just walk away, you think. Go the fuck home.

Seungcheol, who gets paid to play cupid like it's fantasy football, would never understand that bite of the dial tone. Not like that. Half an orange is a hell of a toll to pay for your unfortunate work-related trauma.

You count the seconds till he walks away.

One. Two. Three.

Four is cut short because instead of doing what he should have done and left, he places a hesitant hand at the base of your neck, between your shoulder blades.

"Hey, you ok?"

Easy, noncommittal words, but something in you cracks. You don't know what it is—maybe it's because it's late and you're running on nothing, maybe it's because you can't remember the last time a hand was so warm.

And so, against your better judgment, you lift your streaky, raccoon-eyed face (definitely didn't use waterproof today) from your hands to look at the same eyes you looked at not more than a month ago and swore at.

You're glad you have no idea what you look like, because it's bad enough that all the corners of Seungcheol's face fall.

"Whoa," he breathes.

Now he'll know when to leave me alone, you think, but then that hand slides to your shoulder and his expression becomes impossibly soft and what you thought was confusion, pity even, dips into affection, stinging and raw.

"Listen, I—," he clears his throat nervously. Perhaps he's running through his repertoire of Wikihow phrases to say to a sad person, but you, inexplicably, don't believe that. "I don't know what's going on, but if you, you know, ever needed to talk…" Then he points to himself because that's probably the longest he's gone without attempting to tell a joke.

You're two and a half shaky breaths into this conversation, and the likelihood you will start crying has not changed. If anything, the odds have gotten much worse because the stubbornness of Seungcheol's expression is fooling you into thinking he actually cares. The illusion is comforting—after all the fighting and sabotage and inconveniences, he's still made space for you. That, or he's keeping his enemies close.

Then his thumb rubs over the plane of your collarbone, and all the little walls and hurdles and dams and shields in you drop.

Close friends, closer enemies, and the infinitesimal space between you and Seungcheol.

You'll blame your sorry state of mind for what you're about to do because you can't really cope with any other explanation. That's a tomorrow problem.

Today, you trust Seungcheol. Today, you tell him not everything, but enough.

"Forgive yourself," he says. And before you protest and tell him, through the waves of tears and snot and lightheadedness, that your heart has yet to catch up to the rest of you, he interrupts you before you even start. "I get it. Just try."

You’re all too familiar with his sugar-floss, candy-coated platitudes that make everything seem so simple, but he looks you in the eye, or somewhere even deeper than that, with so much belief, it's contagious.

The words are ripped out from under you. All you can do is what you wanted to do in the first place. So you cry, and when Seungcheol takes you into his arms, at first tentatively and then all at once, you cry even harder.

"Is this ok?" he asks, so quietly, you almost don't hear him.

"Yeah, I-I think so."

You let him hold you, and all the noise and the heat and the static fades into a hum. His chin finds the top of your head and you let him do that too.

Neither of you say anything more. You don't need to.

All that matters is the welcome sound of someone else's heartbeat, a kind hand in your hair, and Seungcheol, with none of the charms and boasts and failed, half-baked insults he hides behind.

Just him, and you decide you like this version best.

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The emotional hangover you wake up with rivals that of every vodka-flavored morning you had when you were in college, plus another two shots.

There is nothing worse than the aftermath of a particularly bad episode of oversharing. There's a reason you don't talk about your personal life at all, but something about Seungcheol makes every single thing claw its way back up your throat.

A need to prove yourself. A tiny, whispering hope that if you give a little, you'll get a little in return. Or your pride, the familiar knife you keep wedged into your side. A million excuses rattle around in your head, but nothing will ever take away the fact that it felt good.

Shields down, heart bleeding—never did you think that's how you would find yourself in a state where you actually liked Seungcheol. It felt good to be taken seriously, to say that all the talk about foie gras and peppercorns and microgreens was just tableside service for a great love and an even greater apology. And you'd like to think somewhere between the tears and the linen of his shirt, you were finally understood.

Just try. The words, sun-warmed stones, float in the hollow of your chest. It felt a little more possible, coming out of Seungcheol's mouth, with that dumb, resolute expression of his.

You don't even know if you would do the same for him. If he came to you, rosy-eyed and breakdown-adjacent, would you drop everything and listen to him? Clearly his problems ran deeper than a pretty girl not calling him back, but you had never really cared to listen.

And that's something you'll give Seungcheol credit for—he puts up with you, with everything, really, albeit with clumsy hands and the mask of reluctance.

You roll onto your side to reach for your phone. There's a text from Jeonghan asking if you're still up for grabbing drinks this evening. (Always). You have your final interview at 2. (Thank god).

And no text from Seungcheol. (Damn.)

Somehow this is disappointing, which makes your day that much worse. Maybe the runny mascara wasn't as flattering as you thought.

8 Totally Normal Texts To Send When You're Overthinking.

Not a good headline for a worse situation. Honestly, you shouldn't care, but now you're here, staring at your phone and undecided on if you even want Monday to come or not.

You'll order one (or three) margaritas tonight. You'll ask Jeonghan about his upcoming trip to Seoul. You'll make your favorite overnight oats and you'll go to sleep and Sunday will pass just the same.

You won't think about Seungcheol's arms around you or his head on top of yours or the way he insisted he would drive you to the subway so you didn't have to walk. You almost brushed against his hand on the gear stick and the nearness made you want to throw up.

But you're not thinking about it. You can't. Not without falling in love just a little.

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"Here. Drink."

You set two cups on the table before sitting face-to-face with Seungcheol, who decided to roll up to a coffee date in a somehow flattering polo and slacks.

But it's not a date—you're just talking. It's a meet-up. Not a hangout, which sounds too familiar, and definitely not a date.

Yesterday did not go as planned. Margarita-buzzed and under Jeonghan's terrible influence, you texted Seungcheol. Just to clear up some stuff, you told yourself. Friday night's like a scab, and you just can't help coming back to it.

"So, you're a coffee connoisseur too, huh?" Seungcheol says, tipping his head to the side.

"Not nearly," you reply. "Just wanted to pay for something for once. I'm pretty sure I owe you at least fifty of these."

"I'll hold you to it." He's doing that thing where it's like he stares past you. It's the most impressive eye contact on the planet, and it's making you nervous.

Then the silence, once welcome, becomes awkward—the air turns stiff, clinging to all the things you haven't said yet.

You play chicken with the idea of being an emotionally intelligent person and just talking about what most certainly is on everyone's mind right now. The cup between your hands is burning your palms. Seungcheol smiles.

"I'm—" The exact moment you start, the words crinkle up on your tongue and all the walls come back up again. It's a terrible, inevitable instinct. "I'm sorry. For Friday."

"For…what?" Seungcheol pauses mid-sip to say this. "Also, this coffee is really good."

Arabica, orange, and honey, you want to say. But you can't deflect this time. Somehow Seungcheol has cornered you into this tiny cafe chair with that disarming grin and an overabundance of patience.

"Everything, I guess. You were just trying to leave."

"No, I wasn't." And he laughs, which makes your stomach fold over trying to figure out what there possibly is to laugh at. "I actually liked getting to know you. You…care a lot. And I didn't expect that."

Seungcheol's sincerity staggers you. You could ask what the hell he just meant by all of that, but you decide to take him for his word. You think you've experienced the most honesty from him in the past three days than you have in the entire span of time you've known him, and it almost feels like a privilege.

"Thanks…?"

"Don’t let it go to your head, though," he adds, as if to erase what he just said. "Can't have you walking around the office with a bigger stick in your ass."

"Poetic." You sigh. Once again, the illusion is shattered. You wonder if his kindness has a time limit. "How's your article coming along?"

"Nice try," he replies. "I'm not that easy."

"You're literally the definition of easy."

"Is that a compliment?" There's that challenge in his eyes again, that same look that he gave you outside Wonwoo's office. "You did ask me out on a date, despite saying that you'd rather eat glass. So I guess either there's a half-eaten plate in your trash or you've finally come to your senses."

"This is not a date. Dream on."

"You're right. This isn't a date." He leans forward on his elbows. "Just like our dinner date wasn't a date."

"It wasn't."

"Of course. If it was, I'd be asking stuff like…Where you're from. But I already know—h, e, double hockey—"

"Chicago."

"Same difference."

Your conversation continues as such.

Not a date, but where'd you go to college? Not a date, but do you have a pet? Not a date, but can I walk you home?

You realize your talk in his car two weeks ago involved everything but your pasts, but you suppose neither of you are the type to unwrap old wounds. Sometimes the bandaid is better on, but, in your case, there's really nothing left to tell.

You divulge that you went to Northwestern for journalism. You have a family tabby, and no, you wouldn't mind being walked home.

You also realize before today, you knew less about Seungcheol than you thought, but there's some give to his secrecy. He went to USC because his parents wanted him to. Played football for half of it until he tore his ACL and got adopted by the sports section of the school paper. He even captained the advice column for three semesters—something he wants to return to, but you're happy to tell him you wouldn't trust his advice as far as you could throw him. (What was your alias? Samuel. Sounds kinda like Seungcheol, huh? You say no. He laughs.)

After circling the same park three times, you reach the doorstep of your apartment building. You cycle through some one-liners to end on a high note, but none of them seem quite right.

It's not a date, but you've noticed Seungcheol keeps glancing at your lips, and it almost seems like one.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol asks some stupid question about if coffee could be considered tea, which you start to answer before you are rudely interrupted.

First, the bump of his nose against yours, then his lips, slow, insistent, dizzying. Your heart jumps all the way to your throat and you think there's so much heat in your cheeks that he can feel it.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol just kissed you and you liked it.

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The next time you see Seungcheol is in the elevator to the newsroom on Monday.

He sticks his dumb, big arm out of the cabin to hold the door open for you, and his smile bruises your overripe heart.

"Hi," he says, sneaking a glance like a guilty child.

"Hi."

The floor indicators flicker like fireflies, one by one. He sidesteps toward you so that your shoulders touch. You watch the 4 crawl to 5. The air in the cabin is sticky, electric.

And as if taking a great big dive, you kiss him, a fleeting, tender thing that you rolled around in your head for a good thirty minutes earlier this morning—and you never thought the fruit of overthinking could be so sweet.

The elevator dings.

Before the doors open to your floor, Seungcheol slams the close button, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you again.

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You have three reasons to get drunk.

1. It's Friday.

2. You finished your article.

3. You and Seungcheol are no longer mortal enemies, but now you don't know what you are.

(The other day, you both worked late, and he ordered takeout to the office. You sat crosslegged on his desk as he tried to explain what a touchdown was and why he was obsessed with the Steelers. Normally a two hour long conversation about football would be a punishable offense, but that night he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt the next day.)

After Wonwoo's dinner with corporate, he went to the market across the street and picked up a few handles of soju and the fattest bottle of cheap vodka you've ever seen.

You're all getting a raise—you guess the Thai must have worked out well, although Wonwoo must have struck out with Yerim since he's spending his Friday night drinking with you guys instead.

So you get drunk.

Drunk enough to tune out of Jihyo from Sports giving Wonwoo dating advice—riveting, if not for your near double vision—and follow Seungcheol to the staff bathroom.

"Anyone—," you manage. His lips are hot on your neck, and every dizzy neuron in your body seems to be reaching, grasping for him. "Anyone ever tell you that your forearms look really good when you roll up your sleeves?"

"All the time," he replies, and he swallows the laugh right off of your tongue.

"You are so annoying." Your palm finds his heartbeat, and you revel in how it leaps towards your skin every hurried beat. You don't want to think about how many girls came before you, leant back against the bathroom counter just like this, but having a body against yours never felt so good. You guess that's what a three year hiatus will do to you. "Bet you hear that one a lot too, huh?"

"You got that right."

Another kiss, just a nudge of his nose and you're leaning up to him; your lips feel swollen and warm and somehow they still crave the feeling.

"How is it that we still bump noses," you ask, half words, half air. Seungcheol's hands, skin-greedy, skim over the back of your thighs like they're water and find the swell of your ass.

"You make me impatient." Cheshire grin across heart lips and you're toast. "Anyone tell you that you have a great ass?"

"All the time," you squeak out. It's a lie and a half but who cares. His fingers drag under the seam of your underwear and you've never been so thankful you forgot to wear shorts under your dress.

"Need you," he says, lips flush to the skin behind your ear, and your lower half would give out if you weren't propped against the sink.

The idea of Seungcheol on his knees, your thigh hiked over his shoulder, crosses your mind. He'd probably be really good at head, and that makes you dizzier than any ungodly combination of alcohol would. Or would he press you against the mirror, want your skirt pushed to your waist so he could fuck you from behind?

Anticipation tumbles into anxiety into some primordial, horrible shyness because you haven't had sex in years. You feel hot and damp and sweaty and you can't remember if you shaved or not. Plus, you're already seizing in his arms and he hasn't even touched you for real yet.

"H-home," you breathe. "Let's go home."

"Hm?" His hand slows in the dip between your thighs. "You wanna stop? We can stop."

"No, I just…I just thought it would be better if we went home. To…you know."

"Yours or mine?"

"Mine’s closer," you answer after a considerable amount of mental gymnastics trying to figure out if you're both drunk enough to not mind the mess.

You know your apartment and you know your bed and you know where the bathroom is in case you have to pee. There's a box of condoms under the sink. You have an extra toothbrush for him. Less variables to worry about because nothing else has really gone to plan. You watch Seungcheol misbutton the top two buttons on his shirt and all the fondness in your heart feels like a welcome stranger in your body.

How To Ruin The Moment In One Easy Step!

You feel incredibly horny and guilty all at once, but Seungcheol kisses your cheek on the way out and it's like you're able to breathe again.

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It seems that the car ride to your place sucks all the sobriety back into the both of you.

You're lying stomach-down on your bed, Seungcheol against the headboard with his shirt undone. You're in your bra and your still sticky underwear, and somehow, despite being ready to break your three-year spell, you like this much better.

"Imagine if someone needed to piss," Seungcheol groans. "I think we would have gotten fired. Lifestyle would have no editor."

"I honestly think that's why Seungkwan was standing outside for so long."

Upon hearing this, Seungcheol's eyes shoot open. If your phone wasn't charging, you would take a picture. He fell asleep on your shoulder in the car, and now, even with all the affection you can muster, you can only describe his hair as broom-adjacent. Einstein-core. How far you've fallen from grace.

"Don't worry, he won't say anything." And as you watch the color return to his face, you add, "Also, it's not that I didn't want to have sex, I just…" you trail off, hoping he'll get it even though you're making no sense.

"No, it was the right call. I wanna do it when we're both sober."

It smooths your frayed-out nerves knowing that none of this was a performance or a test, just two shy, touch-starved people stumbling in the dark.

"Lemme guess—this is just a typical Friday night for you."

"Flattering but no," Seungcheol replies, grinning something stupid. "Do you always spend this much time wondering what I'm doing?"

"No!" His hands, once busy with scrunching up the fabric of your bedsheets, now find yours, and he runs a careful thumb over your knuckles. You notice he has the care-worn hands of a line chef, or maybe even a baker, which is funny because you don't even think the man knows how to turn on an oven. "I dunno. You just seem so experienced. What about all of those other girls?"

He flips your hand over, tracing the creases of your palm.

"Just dates. Nothing serious."

You want to ask—What about us? Are we serious? But you swallow it all down. You watch Seungcheol's eyes, midnight-weary, fall back upon you, and it feels like he's trusted you with something important.

"Don’t get it twisted, though," he adds, before yawning big and wide without covering his mouth. "I'm a loser, not a virgin. Definitely not."

You bite back a laugh. Killer journalist bio, but that's something to pitch next content meeting.

"Definitely a loser. I think you make me a loser by association."

"Good. So we're both losers. I like that." He smiles at you with so much warmth, it makes your heart physically hurt. Then he clamps down another yawn. "God, I'm exhausted. I think if we fucked in the bathroom, I'd have passed out. Or pulled my back."

"Then sleep," you chide, shucking a pillow at him. "Also take your shirt off. I don't like outside clothes on the bed."

"Say less," Seungcheol says. "I’ll blow your back out another day. Save the date." Between your almost audible gulp and his unfortunately attractive physique, you almost forget the place you're in-between.

Did everyone fit into his arms? Did he lift a hand for just anyone? Two silhouettes in the lamplight—was that how every day with him ended? Or just you, the only other person competing with him for his dream job? The convenient reality scares you.

The thought never seems to cross Seungcheol's mind. His head hits the pillow, and he's out like a light. But not without a not-so-subtle scoot to your side of the bed, near enough that the heat of his skin plays off yours.

You lean into it, liking how your skin buzzes with the closeness.

You're lulled by the sway of Seungcheol's breathing behind you—probably the most quiet he'll ever be. The moonlight oozes into the room; sleep comes over you like water, a slow, gentle wash.

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You can't remember the last time you cooked for two.

You open your fridge, and the hollow insides stare back at you. Rows of condiments and two water bottles. You have finally reached K-drama CEO status.

"Is this the part where I get kicked out?" Seungcheol says, shrugging his shirt back on as he walks out of the bedroom.

"This is the part where I cook breakfast for you."

"Really? You don't have to." He sounds genuinely surprised, which tips your heart a little off-axis.

"I want to," you reply, double checking the fridge as if opening it a second time would repopulate it. "That's what people do when they care about each other."

"Or if they're trying to poison you."

"Will you just let me do something nice for you?" You yank your head out to glare at him, and he looks stung.

"Thanks." He says it after so much pause that you wonder if this is the first time someone has done this for him. You wish you had a better offering, but surely the man with the worst palate in the world could spare his judgment for one meal. "No really, 'cause I am starving."

You let him bask in the rare glory of the unobstructed refrigerator light while you rummage through the pantry for a plan B.

"Holy shit. You live like this?"

"Not always. It's been…a week." All you have is the ramyun Mingyu likes, which feels like a weird, culinary betrayal. But you're hungry, and Seungcheol is eyeing a strange bag in the freezer that you don't even remember putting there. "You good with ramyun?"

"Honestly, I'll eat anything," he whines, gnawing on the ice straight from the freezer drawer.

At least he's self-aware. But he makes all the spaces Mingyu left behind seem a little less empty, and you can't find it in you to be mad at that.

You wait for the water to boil and Seungcheol finds a seat at your tiny dinner table, a misaligned, wobbly product of Mingyu’s inability to read an Ikea manual.

"I'm hoping your week got better?" Seungcheol asks, referring to your capital W week.

You tentatively nod before dropping the noodles in.

"Of course it did—you woke up to me in your bed. Can't get better than that."

"Actually, it's because I finished my article yesterday."

Seungcheol pauses before laughing to himself. "Congrats," he replies, now wiggling the table on its bad leg. "Can't say the same for myself."

you watch the starch-foam wash over the mouth of the pot, precariously close to the edge. You overfilled it, which mildly surprises you until you consider that you're cooking double the food.

There's a stretchy, anxious tumble in your stomach. It's not like you were expecting him to cheer or anything, but it just reminds you that you are, still in fact, competitors. When all of this is said and done, one of you is losing, and from every angle, it seems like quite the death knell for whatever you've got going on now.

It's a pity because you actually kind of like this arrangement. If Seungcheol was in your banged-up flea market chair next Saturday morning, you wouldn't be mad. Maybe you would even make him waffles. From scratch, even.

"What, too many dates to cover?"

He laughs again, somehow to no one in particular. "Something like that."

Past the bruising swell of his smile is the much sharper, more unforgiving edge of an unspoken hurt that you're neither trusted with nor owed, and yet you refuse to drop it. What about me? It feels like you're almost there, wrapped around something bigger, a scoop you can't pull your stubborn teeth out of.

"Is there a reason none of those were serious? Come on."

"What's so wrong with that?" And when you don't say anything, he says, "Trust me, it is never that serious."

His voice ticks up at the end like a teenager trying to play cool and the noodle water boils up around your chopsticks as you try to get your portion cooked through.

You won't—can't—turn to face him. You committed to the line, and now you must see it through, no matter how bad an idea it may be.

"That's not true," you finally squeeze out, finding the right footing for your voice. "It was serious for me. I'm sorry it wasn’t for you."

The table stops rocking.

"I'm glad. Really." He claps his hands together like a cruel punctuation mark, and it's then you remember that the only person as ill-tempered as you happens to be sitting two feet away.

Like an injured animal, your heart wants to cower back into your chest. You knew this was a mistake—this being everything—but an open wound can't help but bleed and your pride can't do without seeing the knife.

"Look, I don't know what your problem is." The pot hisses, astringent and pleading, beneath your fist. "I don't know what happened with your love life, but don't take it out on me."

"You asked."

"Yeah? Well, what is this?" You turn to face him, feeling the air between you tense, pulled like a rubber band. "You can't sit in my kitchen and tell me you don't care about whatever this is."

After all of the terse meetings, elevator spats, and foul-mouthed encounters in the parking lot, you can now recognize the fresh twist of Seungcheol's mouth and the livewire of a temper you've become so familiar with.

"Who said I didn't care? I'm just tired of you trying to lecture me about my life. I—"

"I'm not lecturing you, I just know you can't really believe what you're saying." Every word stumbles out, trembling and doe-legged, barely audible over his attempts to interrupt you. "There's nothing wrong with admitting you were in love with someone. And if you can't, I just feel really fucking sorry for you."

There’s an incredulous look in Seungcheol's eyes. But it's the worse part of you, ruthless and hungry for acceptance, that makes you say, "Maybe the fact that nothing lasts is your fault."

"Oh, really?" Seungcheol's voice, half-laugh with none of the warmth, rips through you. "You're really gonna act like you're better than me? As if you don't write in your pretentious little column every week, just waiting for your ex to read it and decide he wants you back again?"

There’s a red hot flash behind your eyes and everything inside you feels like it breaks at once.

"You know, at least I had someone who cared about me. Can't say the same about your miserable, sorry ass. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."

"Wh—"

he stands up, table croaking underneath his fists, and you realize you've crossed a bridge that can never be uncrossed.

"Get. Out."

It feels like a stitch in you has come undone. The water has long boiled over the pot and there's no joy to be found in watching Seungcheol stumble over his pant legs on the way to the door.

"I didn't want Mingyu. I wanted you."

it's not an apology, nor is it an indictment. You don't know why you say it, and you guess Seungcheol doesn't either. The door slams behind him, and all you're left with is a bloated pot of ramyun you never really wanted anyway.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Celery. Red wine. Short rib.

If you had one day left on earth, you think you would go grocery shopping. It was like a prayer to you—you could close your eyes and know exactly what aisle had the beef broth, or feel the stone weight of a can of San Marzano tomato paste.

That's one thing you can thank Mingyu for—it's true that you don't love him like you used to, but you refuse to believe that any love worth having is also worth leaving behind.

Fingerling potatoes, the red ones. A Vidalia onion.

You recite your shopping list, slowly, quietly, a rosary.

Baguette is the next item, with a question mark next to it because sometimes your local bakery sells out after 3.

You pass by, expecting to see the shop window cleared out. Instead you see a familiar crown of cowlicked black hair and a horribly well-worn grin that only looks good because it's on Choi Seungcheol's face.

He's paying for a pretty girl's sourdough, and thyme, rosemary gets washed out by a dizzying riptide of heartache.

It was never personal, you tell yourself. Just another date. That's the angle.

You think it hurts a little less, knowing that it all was a business transaction. A long interview.

The thyme is next to the dill. The rosemary is next to the chives, at the end of the shelf.

You watch Seungcheol lean over the tiny cafe table to take a sip of his date's Americano. Did he always laugh like that? Were you really any different?

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Monday feels tilted.

There's the usual gust of cinnamon sugar and cold brew—today's offering from the interns, who have begun to master the art of pressing the elevator buttons with full hands. Wonwoo is wearing his Monday outfit, a wrinkled cream button up under a navy blue sweater vest. Your cubicle is empty, just the way you like it, save for the ass-shaped spot cleared off on the desk edge.

You like days like this, except today you don't and you know exactly why.

"Today's the day," Joshua says, nose buried in a bakery-style muffin, the top pillowing out of the wrapper.

He stares over your shoulder at your article, locked and loaded for submission to copy.

You are not exaggerating when you say you would die for these four thousand words. You ate and cried and argued for them in what you can only describe as the worst literary coliseum of your life, and now their (and your) fate rests in Joshua’s massive Mickey Mouse hands and Wonwoo's bespectacled whimsy.

"Well, don't let me stop you." He laughs and then totters away, sucking a crumb off a finger. Just another Monday.

Your cursor hovers over the SUBMIT button. You've always been a little scared of it—unsurprising, since you're also the type to triple read an email before sending it—but there's a new kind of fear boxed in those little pixels.

Last night, you emptied out your freezer. Stuck on the back wall was a neon green sticky note, behind all the bags. See you when you get home, it said. You laughed and then you cried and then you ripped it up because that's probably what Seungcheol was looking at the morning you chewed him out.

All of that heartache must have been good for something. To say you wasted it on a no-love situationship wouldn't do any of it justice, not when all that's left is most definitely a crude shoutout on Seungcheol's next listicle. If you weren't already getting one earlier, you sure are now.

You wonder what you'll be:

10 Signs She Is Clinically Insane.

It's Not You, It's Them!

Help! My Friend With Benefits Isn't A Friend Or A Benefit!

At least that one is funny, although if it's the winning line, you don't think you can ever show your face in the office again.

The beginning and the end and the muddy in-between. Entrenched in all of it was this article and this job, and you'll be damned if you let your misplaced faith get co-opted by a sweaty-palmed Casanova.

(8:19 AM; the smell of summer and dried-down cologne. A hand on your ribcage, just beneath your heart. Good morning, Seungcheol says, as if emerging from a long, wonderful dream.)

You picture the byline with editor tacked next to your name. To run your finger over the ink spackled serif of a paper hot off the press, as if somehow it would radiate the misery you had to endure.

(11:41 PM; jajangmyeon and a pack of rice crackers. Seungcheol had given you his chopsticks because you dropped yours. The hum of the broken light outside Wonwoo's office sings in the silence of an empty newsroom. Your eyes meet, and you don't look away.)

There's a sinking feeling in your chest. You close your eyes and hit submit.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Ask Samuel!

It's 6 PM on a Thursday and if you weren't already on your last thread, you are now. The angry red of the Daily Trojan website glares back at you from your phone as you step into the elevator with none other than your editor-in-chief.

You've resorted to reading Seungcheol's old advice columns. Not because you miss him, but because you want to know if he was ever a competent writer capable of talking about something other than how to score on a second date.

That's the only way he's beating you.

(There's also no way you miss him. The thought would make you laugh out loud if you weren't standing next to your boss).

One column became four became ten. After thirteen you concluded Seungcheol must have sustained a head injury some time before starting his job here—you can find no other explanation for how someone so generous and intuitive could've gotten lost in the chaff of articles with more pictures than words.

"Congrats," Wonwoo says, seemingly speaking into the void.

"Pardon?" You close out a particularly riveting query about estranged childhood friends to look up at him.

"Congrats."

"F-for what?" You get that head rush again, the same one you got a month ago at the Italian restaurant with Jeonghan.

"The job. You got the position." Wonwoo clears his throat calmly, as if he's not delivering the most important news of your life. "I wanted to let you know in person before we sent out Monday’s email."

For once, you have no words. In a wonderful instant, they are all zapped out of your brain. You feel hot and clammy and anxious all at once and you half expect to close your eyes and see either god or the flare of a hospital light, waking you up from an impossible coma.

"Holy shit," the primordial ooze inside you says instead. "T-thank you."

"No need."

"What about Seungcheol? Does he know?"

"I haven't told him yet, but he should be aware." Wonwoo pauses. "He didn't submit anything."

"What?!"

There are only so many surprises your body can handle. You feel like you are being held together by a fast-unraveling string on a poorly made sweater. Your stomach is somewhere in your feet and you don't even know where your heart is. Part of you is waiting for the elevator to stop so the entire office can jump out of the walls and laugh at you.

"I too was surprised," Wonwoo says, now checking his smartwatch for messages. "He must have changed his mind. No matter—I'm confident you will be an excellent fit."

The elevator jerks to a stop at the first floor. You feel boneless, like a can of cranberry sauce.

"Forgive me, I have a dinner appointment." Wonwoo ends the conversation the best way he can—with his trademark parentheses smile and a nod of the head—and leaves you in the elevator cabin alone.

All the times you've dreamed of this moment, you're tear-dizzy, joyous, fumbling with your phone to call your parents.

Instead you stand motionless, waiting, emptied.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

To make croissants, you fold a slab of butter into a square of yeasted dough. You roll it out thin and then fold it into itself before leaving it to rest in the fridge. Then you take it out again, roll it, and fold it. You do this until you've forgotten how many times you folded it and you no longer crave croissants.

When you were five, you pressed your nose to the window of your favorite patisserie and decided this is how your mind works.

You've had ample time now to flatten out Saturday morning, to watch all the little layers of doubt and loathing form, and now you're sick of it. It's not often you're star witness to your own unhappiness, but, as if you were called to the stand, you can easily play back the moment you lit the match and then watched everything explode.

You're not sure what either of you were expecting. A playboy and you, who loves so insistently, almost as if out of spite—there is truly no reality in which it makes sense. The fact that you fought over a literal pot of ramyun only proves this.

And now he's saddled you with the final blow. The position of your dreams with none of the glory because he gave up.

He gave up.

None of this should matter to you.

You're standing outside the office, waiting for your ride to your celebratory dinner (this time, on Jeonghan). The little headline man in your brain is silent for once. Instead, you try to enjoy the breeze, honeyed with late June, and not dwell on the horrible twist in your stomach every time you think about your new position. It's been 24 hours since you found out but it is no less raw.

It's then that you catch Seungcheol, creeping out the double doors of the office like some sort of criminal. You're not sure if it's the plod of his Sasquatch feet or that bag you hate so dearly, but you could recognize that walk from anywhere.

His pace quickens when you turn to face him—he's running away. You won't grant him the satisfaction. Not when he's fucked up what little you had left, and then some.

"You're an idiot, Seungcheol."

That does the trick.

"Funny way of saying hi," he responds, bracing himself on the sidewalk as if you're about to hit him.

"Why didn't you submit anything? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"What does it matter to you? You got the position."

"Look, I—" You shut your eyes, feeling the frenetic ice-cream churn of your brain try to put together a million broken up words. "I'm sorry for Saturday. But I never wanted to scare you off from the job. You deserve it as much as I do, and, as much as I hate to say it, I care about you too fucking much to watch you throw away your shot."

Saying the words is like cutting something loose from your chest, a million strings coming undone.

Seungcheol takes a deep, unsteady breath. You watch the crest and fall of his shoulders and the inescapable tar pits he calls eyes get big and shiny.

"No, I—" He pulls himself from your gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have never said that to you. And I should have never treated you like that."

The silence between you ripples, as if after a long rain.

"I was scared. A long time ago, I threw myself into a relationship. I thought we had something really, really good, and then I found out she was also seeing someone else."

Being right never felt so bad. It's even worse that something you would look forward to—the I told you so, the jokes really write themselves—no longer holds any satisfaction, only a sense of loss and a terrible urge to make it right again.

"And it's not right, but I decided that it was a mistake to take chances like that again. And it was fine, fun even, going on all of these casual dates and getting paid for it. Then you just had to mess it up."

"H-how?"

"You were so dead-set on convincing me otherwise. You wouldn't let it go, not with your weird sayings and the way you talked about your ex and when you told me you were making me breakfast. I started believing you, and it really fucking scared me."

There's a sharp pain in your head. It feels like, at once, you were skinned like a fruit. Like the interlude between dream and waking, all the sheets of sleep yanked from your person.

"What…what about the article?" you ask, scrambling. You don't really want to contend with what he just told you. You don't think you can.

"You deserved it more. And you really love what you do. I used to think it was all bullshit, but I was wrong."

You take a hard swallow. The image of Seungcheol, head bowed, a nervous hand on the back of his neck, swims in front of your eyes.

"Whatever. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore," he laughs, mirthless.

"No, wait," you say. "I-I also…never took you seriously, not even when I should've. You know, I read your advice columns. Crazy, I know."

"I do have to say that is one of your more insane claims."

"No, I thought, they were actually, you know…really good." You watch him blink, mouth already twisting up as he fights a smile. "What I'm trying to say is that I think we messed up. In a lot of ways. But I want to be friends again. Or at least not enemies."

Seungcheol takes a long pause before he sticks his hand out.

"Choi Seungcheol. Writer. It's nice to meet you."

Some force, as if you had always been connected, pulls your skin to his. You shake his hand for the very first time, and starting over never felt so good.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

"You're booking Eleven Madison for the office dinner again, right?"

Wonwoo pops his head into your office, his Monday uniform now festive with a holiday tie. Today, it's snowmen with glasses.

"Naturally," you reply. "Unless you have plans on that Friday."

You're referring to last week, when Wonwoo took a call in the middle of a staff meeting and revealed that yes, he would most definitely be available for drinks with Yerim that evening. He ended the meeting thirty short seconds later, and you think you saw him skip to the elevator.

He laughs, deep and caramel. "Not this time. Also—don't forget to review those job applications. Sent them to your email."

Before you can tease him again, he leaves, and you are forced to look at your teeming inbox, the only unfortunate side effect of your new position. But you've never been happier, and a hundred new unread emails never seemed so wonderful. The first time Jeonghan saw you in your new office, you were so giddy he thought you were coming down with something.

You take a hefty sip of today's coffee (ginger, molasses, cinnamon). On the side of the cup, the one you keep facing away from the door, reads SEUNGCHEOL and OAT, in loopy marker letters.

After you shook hands in the parking lot, you agreed to take it slow. You thought bringing everything to a simmer would cure you of your affection, but it wasn't even a month before Seungcheol was back in that same seat in your kitchen, eating the blueberry waffles you promised him.

But if slow meant long phone calls and the nervous twine of your hands after an ice cream date, then you think you like slow. You could do slow for a while.

He's taken to bringing you coffee in the morning. He claims it's your editorial right, but you think he just likes having an excuse to barge into your office. (And close the door behind him. And kiss you. But that's aside the point.)

Plus, Seungcheol's had plenty of legitimate reasons to be in your office. The newest one is the launch of Ask Sunny! , which you think is the best idea he's had since deciding to get you coffee every day. He spent the last few days campaigning to reuse his old alias, but you're pretty sure he was just looking for reasons to argue with you.

"Afternoon, boss."

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You always seem to learn the hard way with Seungcheol.

He swaggers in, ear-to-ear smile on his face, before taking a seat at the designated corner of your table.

"I think I like this desk better," he says, folding at the waist so he can lean close to you. Instead of reminding him it's the same desk, you just choose to make space for him, you let him press his nose to yours.

"Friendly reminder we're at work."

"Everyone's at lunch, genius."

He interrupts you with just a touch of his lips, which should be considered no less than a war crime by now.

"You are the worst."

"Not what you said last night. Not even close." He places another wet kiss on your nose before sliding off the table edge to his feet. There's a horrible warmth in his eyes as he watches you very clearly remember what exactly he's referring to. (A wandering hand. A cherry. Dark hair, wound through your fingers). "Anyway, I've got serious problems to solve. Or should I say Sunny? I still think we should have gone with Samuel."

"Executive decision," you tease. "Now if you don't need anything, scram. Out of my office."

"Just wanted to remind you I made reservations for us at Avra today," Seungcheol says, lingering in the doorframe with the shit-eating grin he tends to sport nowadays. "I'll even let you order."

There's no fighting the familiar bloom of laughter in your chest. It boils up, sparkling and citrusy, as you roll your eyes and watch Seungcheol return to his desk no less starry-eyed than how he walked in.

If cooking is a language, then love is the words, and you finally think you're learning to speak them.

You open the email at the top of your inbox: Seungcheol's last draft of the article he never published. You urged him to let you consider it for the next issue, and he finally caved (although you're learning that he really doesn't take much convincing when it comes to you).

Eat, Play, Love: A Guide.

Maybe you'd put it through. Maybe.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

#mine #seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #scoups x reader #scoups fluff #scoups x you #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #scoups imagines

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donutz · 3 months

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Yandere Catnap x female reader

Request from Wattpad—! Here you go Justlila79☆

A/N|| I barely ever mention that you are a woman in this fanfic, but there is a mention of chests, not sexually, but it does talk about it

—☆You are a human in this

Catnap’s been.. Gone. But still here.

He’s been distant but he’s still there.

You find it terrifying that you always feel like you’re being watched even at home.

You can’t even change without closing the blinds!

You were at home after a long day of working at the daycare, wanting to just lay down. You again, feel like you’re being watched. Let’s just hope nothing happens while you’re sleeping.

You didn’t want to shower, but you want to be clean for the next day and do not appreciate morning showers.

So, you decided to go through the process of showering. Doing your usual routine. Thankfully, you didn’t feel like you were being watched at the moment. Whoever’s watching you is well-mannered.

For some reason, you smiled at that. At least someone knows when to look and not to. Your shower took about 20-30(or more) minutes. The warm water(unless you shower in cold water) doesn’t want to let you go.

Now you get it, when cats lay in the warm sun rays.

But sadly, there’s something called a water bill and getting weirdly wrinkly from water, so you had to get out.

You were soon dressed for bed(if you do, some people don’t sleep with clothes on). Then went to sleep, feelings watched once again(unless you sleep naked, or half naked like a bra and underwear or something).

Catnap has manners y’all.

Soon, it’s the next day. Nothing’s watching you. Not at the moment. You don’t feel those occasional goosebumps run across your skin.

But then you do.

Only because it’s cold. Like I said, nothing’s watching you.

At the moment.

You’re dressed for the day to work at Playtime co. And prepare to deal with screaming, wide smiles, pushes, hugs, what’d you expect at a literal daycare.

You’ll feel ‘that’ again once you get to the workplace. So just be happy you don’t right now.

You arrive at Playtime co, signed in with your id, and went to your ‘station’ you called it.

“Hey coworker!” You have no idea why Dogday didn’t call you by your name.

It’s fine, you’re used to it.

“Hey Dogday..” He was really worried about your well being, but sadly had to deal with kids. No worries! He’ll make time for you! Hopefully.

You were walking to your office, and you’re being watched. For sure.

You’ve caught Catnap creepily looking at you a few times.

“Catnap? Are you there?” Dumb thing to say, but y’know, just gotta make sure Catnap(isn’t) is there!!

The lights were on so you weren’t as scared.

You could see his beady white irises in the dark.

“Jesus there you are!” You ran up to him and gave him the biggest hug.

“I’ve missed just seeing you right in front of me!”

Silence.

“Also are you the one who’s been watching me”?

“...”

“Keep you… away… from others…”

“I can’t Catnap, here—” You picked him up, went to your chair, and settled him on your lap.

You scooted your chair in and started working.

“Did you want my attention? Here, I mean it’s not necessarily my full attention, but you can cuddle up to me or something.”

Catnap was— surprised. He didn’t really expect you to do that, he thought you’d go away and he’d end up having to use his gas.

He can. Right now.

But. He wants to be with you just a little longer.

He can use his gas later.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Thank the lords Catnap was asleep. You didn’t get goosebumps anymore.

You looked down on your lap, but your chest was in the way(unless it wasn’t, not everybody has a big chest) so you move your head to the side(unless you didn’t) and get a view of a sleeping kitty.

You heard a low sound of soft buzzing, and leaned your head in towards Catnap. Is he.. PURRING?!

For some reason you had a video tape recorder, just in case something happens at Playtime co, or when you’re driving home or walking to your car. Soooo, of course! You recorded his purring, for memories.. Also this is the first time Catnap has purred, around you.

You feel as if he knows that you’re recording his purrs. But he’s still letting you. Even if he’s been away, for a while.

Anyways now you’re in a basement.

Away from everyone. Away from the critters, the kids, the workers.

You don’t know why you’re here.

Though. It wasn’t that bad. I mean you can get really bored and lonely down here but Catnap visits you almost every day. You ask him why you’re here but he doesn’t say anything.

Surprisingly you actually get food! From Catnap. Good food. I guess, He knows where you live so he gets food from your house, or from playcare. He wants you alive, he could starve you, but you’re human.

And apparently, humans need food. Yeah sure he gives you water. Sometimes orange juice. You need your vitamin C!

But one day, he took off your cuffs. You were confused, you wanted to go out but decided to stay down here. Where you’re ‘safe’.

The next thing you knew you heard screaming. No, not a child’s screams of joy. It was horrific. Terrifying. You heard screams of kids, teens, adults, you heard so many screams.

You could hear the voice cracks in their pleas and yells. The cut offs of their loud, terrified screams. The splatter of blood. You could hear it all.

Yet you wish you didn’t.

And after… An hour? Catnap came back, but he wasn’t the smaller one that you usually saw. No.

He was taller, on all fours, more skinny and he was heavily breathing.

You could see blood on his fur. In his fur. On his face. And he was just staring at you.

Like a little kid, you walked up to him and hugged his leg. Maybe you went so insane that you didn’t care about the fact Catnap caused those screams.

He picked you up by the collar of your shirt at the back of your neck, and walked out.

Hundreds of dead bodies. On the floor.

He showed you the dead bodies.

Like he was proud.

Though, you didn’t care.

You tried scrambling out of Catnap’s grasp, and somehow did.

“Catnap, can I ride on your back?” You asked.

He lowered his body for you to do just as you said.

You wondered how the critters were doing.

—☆Catnap's so spooky ^_^

#poppy playtime #poppy platime fanfic #poppy playtime x reader #catnap #catnap x reader #x reader #yandere catnap #yandere #yandere poppy playtime #smiling critters #female reader #catnap x female reader #yandere catnap x reader #yandere catnap x female reader

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heartfullofleeches · 4 months

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Yan Husband + G.N Monster Reader

A Slightly Fluffy/Slightly Suggestive Holiday Blurb

What do you get someone who has everything?

"You're asking me what I want for Christmas? Why would I want anything else when I already have everything I need? A nice house, a loving spouse. I'd say I'm set for life- so why don't you tell me what you'd like this year, Sweetheart."

He's so difficult sometimes- Your dear husband had always made sure the holiday season was special for you. Even as a college student with little to his name, he wanted you to experience the same magic he witnessed as a child when his parents were forced to play the part of attentive caretakers. Presents, festive activities, decorating the house. As you've never had the pleasure of these traditions due to your origins your husband made it his duty to give you everything and more- well, except for one thing.

You wanted to be the one to go all out for him for once. To see the joy and happiness in his eyes when he unwraps the perfect present that you picked out yourself. You've tried asking him. You've tried watching him to learn more about the little things he enjoys, but it's all you. All he wants for Christmas is your life. He enjoys cooking and gardening because they're things that keep you happy and cared for.

His entire life revolved around you - and as such, the answer to your blight has been in your lap the entire time.

Your husband arrives home an hour early. You expected him to get off a little early due to the holiday, but what you hadn't guessed was that he'd bring guests. Springing up from your sprawled out position on the couch, you rush to the front door - grabbing and hastily tossing on a coat as the choir of voices and the jostling of keys grows closer. Securing the belt strap around your waist and a scarf around your neck, you wait for the click out of outside lock and a knock on the frame before sliding back the bolt on your side of the door. Your husband lights up like a christmas tree seeing you standing there - the soft flush of his pale cheeks accented by the warm flow of the lights strung around your shared home.

Evan steps through the door, excitement dripping from his every move as he throws his arms at your waist. "You're already dressed. I meant to call you, but I left my phone back at the office."

Glancing over his shoulder, you hug your coat tighter to your chest - cold winds nawing at the thick layers of your flesh. "Evan...Who are they?"

Evan looks back at his colleagues. He told them to stay in their cars, but what goes in on ear goes right out the other. Are they scaring you? "A few friends from work. There's a party at the office I completely forgot about today and they followed me since I've already had a couple glasses. I thought it might be a good way for you to get to know some of them.

You shift uncomfortably under their gaze. "Evan, can I talk to you privately."

"Of course." Evan shuts the front door behind him without even addressing his coworkers. Your safety was more important. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing... I was just wondering if we should stay home tonight... I have a gift I wanted to give you early."

The worry drains from his face. "Oh, hun- you didn't have to go through all that trouble for me. I've told you before that you're the greatest gift I could ever ask for. We can open it when we get home.

"Are you sure you don't want a peak now?"

His brows scrunch up in confusion. Cupping your hand against his ear, you untie your belt - letting the loose fitting coat fall freely. Even at your height the coat was a little big on you as it had been commissioned by your sweet husband as a present a few years back. The flush of his cheeks reaches all the way to his ears as you whisper.

"You've always say I'm the best gift you have ever received."

Hands tear the coat further from your shoulders. Evan looks from your face, to the ribbons wrapped around your thighs and torso, laced across your body with a finished bow sitting center on your chest. It was fitted tastefully enough to cover your assets, but with tiny imperfections between the layers of ribbon and its transparency if he tilted his head just right-

Evan presses his palm to his mouth to mask the shaky breath he exhales.

"Well?"

"Excuse me for one moment."

Evan covers you back up with a kiss to your shoulder. You press your ear to the front door as he steps back outside.

"I'm really sorry, guys. My spouse came down with something while I was out. They're extremely sick right now. You might not even hear from us till the new years. Enjoy the party!"

As cautious as he is, you've never seen your husband neglect to lock the upper locks on the front door as he did when he returned to your side. Evan sweeps you off your feet with little effort thanks to all the training he'd done for that express reason. Hooking your arms around him as he carries you to bed - you plant wet kisses to the already scarred areas of his neck and cheek.

"Do you like your present?"

Evan kisses your jaw. "None can compare...... but maybe you should ask again once I get this ribbon off.

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere husband #Evan my oc #yandere fluff #monster reader

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exhaslo · 5 months

Note

Ahhhhh omg ty for writing my request of Pornstar!Miguel x Pornstar!Reader it was so cute and sooooo great <33 I loved it very much !!

IDK if you wanted to write a part 2 for it, but since you ended it off like you did, I was wondering what would happen when they meet outside. I kind of want to see a Jealous!Reader who gets jealous seeing Miguel work with someone else for a shoot cuz it looks like he’s having a great time with his co-star. But Reader takes him back to her place and gives him the night of his life? I appreciate a Dom!Miguel, but I was wondering if the roles can be reversed this time with a Dom!Reader? Not necessarily a Sub!Miguel but like more body worship and Reader trying to prove that she’s the only one for him. Get him pussy drunk >< Thank you again, and I hope the holidays don’t get too hectic for you ;-;

Ty & you're welcome!! I'm glad you liked the first request!!! I hope you enjoy this one too!

PT 1

Warning: MINORS DNI, Smut, riding, overstimulation, creampie

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It had been a few weeks since you and Miguel started working together. The chemistry the two of you shared was nothing you ever felt before. Honestly, you might even call this love. You weren't quite sure, especially since the type of work you did made you question the concept.

But sure enough, Miguel gave you reason to believe. Every time the two of you shared a screen, you had to compose yourself and remember that everyone thought you were acting. Hell, they were fully convinced that you were a star.

You were good, that much was true. The only time you could let yourself go and be free was when you and Miguel met at either his place or yours. Miguel was absolutely destroy you, making you question if sex work was the kind of job you were good at.

Sex was different with him. Everything was different with him. Part of you wanted to tell Miguel that you wanted to quit working as a Pornstar and just be a normal couple with him, but you were scared. Part of you wondered if Miguel even liked you back. If he even shared the same feelings that you did.

"(Y/N)!" Miguel called out, waving towards you. You hurried to his side, nuzzling your head into his chest to hide from the cold,

"Gosh! I didn't expect it to be this windy today."

"Yep," Miguel wrapped his arm around you, keeping you sheltered from the wind, "Before we get to our movie, I want to tell you something. I got a gig with another person. My manager told me to take it, b-"

"I understand, it's the job." You forced a smile, resting your head against him, "As long as we still have these moments to ourselves, I don't...mind"

---------

Oh you gave so much shits.

Literally the next day, you went to work and couldn't help but poke your head into Miguel's studio. There were butterflies in your stomach. This was a bad idea, but you were curious. You wanted to know who dared tried to steal your man er, partner, no, coworker. Yes, coworker!

You felt your heart sink as you watched Miguel smile towards your competition. Of course, it had to be your rival. The two started to shoot and it just kept getting worse for you. Miguel looked like he was enjoying himself with her.

Unable to watch as your rival started her horrible moans, you hurried home. You claimed that you were sick.

---------

Miguel stepped out of the shower after his shoot, sighing softly. He glanced at his phone, seeing a message from your manager. Miguel furrowed his brows as he read that you went home. Sick? You always gloated that you never got sick.

"Wow, Miguel, that was amazing. You know, I think we make a pretty good team. Why don't we-"

"No," Miguel said as he quickly finished to get dressed,

"Awe, don't be so mean~ How about I take you out on a date?"

"No. Got me a girlfriend," Miguel said firmly, packing his bag. Your rival just huffed,

"And she's okay with your job? She's okay with you fucking another beautiful woman?"

That was it. Miguel felt a light bulb appear above his head as he hurried out of the shower room. Leaving for the day, Miguel stepped out of the building and saw you in your car. He approached, wondering what you were doing.

"Get in," You huffed, rolling down the window.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Miguel asked, sitting down. You started to drive to your place,

"Yes." You lied.

Miguel smiled softly towards you, enjoying your cute jealously. He went to reach for your hair, playing with it as you drove.

--------

You were mad. Once you entered your apartment, you pushed Miguel onto the wall and started kissing him. You didn't want Miguel to enjoy working with other women. You want him to want you only. Who cares about what your managers wanted!

Pushing Miguel onto your couch, you sat on his lap and started to furiously grind against him. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you deepen the kiss. Miguel just held your waist, moving his hips along yours.

Gosh, if you weren't taking charge of this, you'd let him fuck you dumb right now. Feeling the friction starting to hurt, you quickly took off your skirt and panties. Miguel helped with your shirt, before you returned to his throbbing dick.

Taking off his pants and boxers, you grabbed his dick and started to stroke it. You were going to have Miguel burn this night into his memory. Have him remember that you are the only one for him. Hopefully he thought that.

Sucking against his tip, you moaned lowly as you played with yourself. Miguel's dick was far too big for you to take in your mouth. You tried several times. You whimpered, trying to take more of him in as you stroked his dick faster.

"(Y/N), don't....force yourself," Miguel groaned lowly, gripping onto your hair.

You muffled in protest, causing Miguel to moan. With one more lick, you watched Miguel twitch, ready to burst. Precum already dripping from his dick. You resisted a chuckle, unable to hold out much longer either.

It was funny how good the two of you were when working, but when it came to being at home? Oh, you both let yourselves loose and gave into the lust.

"I hope you're ready for a long night," You told him.

You whimpered, moaning lowly as you slowly sat on his cock. No matter how many times you fucked, his dick would always stretch you out and fill you. You almost cam on the spot. Resisting a moan, you started to bounce against his dick.

The sheer size of him was going to make you tap out for the night. Your pussy kept sucking him in while his dick twitched inside of you. The sounds of his moans were turning you on more. Resting your head against his shoulder, you whimpered a moan as you cam hard.

Miguel was not long to follow. His tight grip against your waist made you weak in the knees. You kept bouncing on his dick, becoming a slightly moaning mess as he filled you. This wasn't enough. You weren't going to let him go so easily.

"Let me take over, (Y/n)." Miguel whispered, kissing your neck. You gently pushed him back onto the couch,

"N-No! I'm taking control tonight and...I'm not going to let you rest until you learn your lesson." You huffed. Miguel just chuckled, cupping you breasts,

"Very well. I'll just ruin your pussy by sitting still."

You moaned lowly as you began to shake. Your vision was blurring as you felt your burning knot about to burst again. Your gummy walls squeezing the life out of his dick, making your mind hazy. With another bounce, you cried out as his dick rubbed against you g-spot, causing you to orgasm.

"Such a beautiful sight," Miguel hummed. You were breathing heavily, unsure how much longer you could keep going,

"Not...yet."

Eventually, you gave Miguel permission to move you to the bed. He laid down, moaning and groaning to your uncontrollable lust. You were milking him dry. Bouncing against his dick as if him cumming inside you four times wasn't enough.

Miguel was breathing heavily now as he watched you cry out from overstimulation. You were struggling to fuck him, probably because your legs gave out. Sitting up, Miguel swapped positions, pressing you against the bed,

"(Y/N), you're so fucking beautiful. Of course I know that his pussy is mine and mine alone. Think I don't get jealous thinking about all the men who had a taste of you?" Miguel groaned into your ear, snapping his hips into yours.

"A-Ah~ M-Miggy~" You whined, feeling weak. Miguel grunted and moaned as he fucked you roughly,

"You're mine. Only I get to enjoy this pussy like this. Only I can have you like this."

"I...I'm going to quit..." You admitted, squirming as you felt another orgasm coming, "I-I only want you!"

"Then I suppose I'll have to quit too,"

Miguel pulled you into a kiss, shaking as the two of you cummed together. Miguel groaned as he pulled out, watching his cum spill out of your abused cunt. He pulled you beside him, nuzzling his head into your neck,

"You did well...I'm exhausted." He muttered. You rolled on top of him, smirking as you slid his dick into you again,

"I said I...was t-taking over for the night. I'm n-not stopping until you get drunk off me."

Miguel just chuckled weakly in response, already pussy drunk. He held your hips, watching you cry out in pleasure. Perhaps you were just trying to get pregnant, but whatever the reason, Miguel gave you want you wanted.

-------

You both had a goddamn good reason to call out the next day.

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Hope you enjoyed~

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara smut

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kooktrash · 11 months

Text

something about him | kim taehyung

summary: kim taehyung is nothing more than a man who works in the same office as you. he’s kind, charming, and unbelievably attractive but there’s just one downside to him. something feels off about the way he acts toward you and you’re not sure what but you know it has something to do with his little obsession with you. he acts strange at times, sometimes a little too lost in his own world, and changes his mood so fast you get whiplash trying to keep up.

you should feel scared or concerned but there’s just something about him that makes you ignore all the warning bells that go off in your head.

➢ genre/au: coworker au, office au, smut, heavy plot

➢ pairing: yandere!taehyung x coworker!reader[she/her. female anatomy]

➢ 16.7k words

warnings: smüt. angst. yandere themes but not scary. tae is highkey obsessed with reader and a little delulu. he’s manipulative and very calculative. doesn’t directly harm others but he sabotages them for y/n. handjöb/oral. cunnilingus. heavy makeout. taehyung can be seen as a dom. intense mood changes. rough missionary. jealous tae. extremely possessive and controlling but he’s good at hiding it. y/n lowkey lovebombs him too (but in the loosest of terms). y/n is a little unstable too but it’s barely noticeable.

song inspo: mascara — deftones [ but I’ll keep you because there’s something about her long shady eyes ]. female robbery — the neighborhood [ I think I can tell them, tell them they were made for me ]. are you mine — arctic monkeys [ in my mind when she’s not right there beside me, I go crazy ].

You know when you can just feel that someone is bad for you and you still won’t do anything about it? Yeah, that’s how you feel about Taehyung.

Maybe you’re being dramatic but also, you know there’s something about Taehyung that makes you feel uneasy at times. It could be the dark gaze in his eyes when a male colleague approaches you, or even the way he always seems to be where you are, watching. You wanted to say you felt unbelievably creeped out by him but you’re not and that’s the problem.

He’s just so gentle and kind when he talks to you. When your eyes meet he almost looks away shyly despite the confidence that radiated off him when he steps into a room. You don’t know what it is about Kim Taehyung but he makes you feel curious yet scared.

“How was your weekend, Y/n?” Taehyung asked in his usual deep and husky voice. It was early in the morning so a little bit of sleep was still laced throughout it.

You arrived at the office at the same time as him today and you’re not sure if it was planned or not. All you knew was that you two were some of the few here this early. You looked at him as you stirred some creamer into your hot coffee, “It was alright, yours?”

“It was great, I went to this new restaurant that just opened up down the street,” Taehyung said calmly, sounding rehearsed. Your eyes narrowed as you said, “Really? I went this weekend too.”

You felt like your suspicions were being answered. You went on some group date this weekend with a good friend of yours and you tried the new restaurant. At one point you could’ve sworn you picked up the scent of Taehyung’s cologne that you’ve grown used to at the office. You figured you were being strangely delusional about a man you work with until you heard his voice. It was the same tone he usually spoke to you in but a tad harsher—like he was forcing himself to be gentle but failing. You remember hearing a woman’s voice next but you let it go.

Now you’re sure he was there too and it was all just some big coincidence.

“Hm, if we had run into each other, we could’ve said hello,” Taehyung said slowly, mixing sugar into his tea trying to stay at your pace so you could leave together.

“So, did you catch up with any friends for dinner?” You asked, trying to see if he would admit to having someone there. You’re not sure why you’re curious but he peaks your interest for reasons you don’t understand. Hell, he creeps you out and yet you indulge him in conversation more often than not.

“No, I was on a date,” Taehyung answered honestly, feeling your eyes turn to him. He was fighting back a smile at your sudden interest. He’s spent months getting you used to seeing him and talking to him at the office that he’s ready to actually get you to go out with him. He’s wanted to take it slow but he realizes he can’t anymore.

When he overheard you and another discussing your plans this weekend he felt himself become uneasy. You told the girl you would be going on a date and that really pissed him off, but he couldn’t say anything. He doesn’t want you to think he doesn’t have trust in you. A relationship starts with trust and he’s willing to show it to you first.

He’ll make you his when you’re ready for the commitment he’s willing to give and ask for too.

Taehyung trusted you this past weekend, he knew you wouldn’t do anything on the first date but every time he thought about the guy you might be seeing, he would just fill with anger. The guy was probably trash, he couldn’t be trusted around you and so Taehyung did what only a sane person would do. He hit up some previous chick he slept with and offered her dinner with the hopes of sex. He brought her along so he could make sure your date was on his best behavior then had his way with the girl before dropping her off in front of her house like she was nothing more to him.

It was really only a thank you for helping him see you tonight without being too obvious. He hopes he’ll never see her again or else she’ll think he’s into her and cry when she finds out she disgusts him. She probably wouldn’t appreciate that he tried imagining you the whole time either.

The problem is that they’re nothing compared to you and although he’s never slept with you he already knows it’ll be perfect. Something in his gut tells him you’re made for him. He knew this the moment he first met you all those months ago in the elevator.

You hadn’t even done anything special to catch his attention, it was a very normal interaction between you two but he was completely infatuated. All you had done was bump into him, dropping your papers all over the floor. He was in a really bad mood that day but the way you cursed shamelessly made him smile in amusement and he ended up helping you clean up. He’s not sure what happened but from then on he had a school boy crush on you and it hasn’t gone away. He just thinks you’re interesting and he’s been waiting for a chance to make a move, the only thing holding him back is the thought of coming off too strong.

If only he could make sure that every other man who wants your attention got it through their heads that you’re his, it would be great.

“How did your date go?” You asked curiously. You’re not sure how to explain it but something about Taehyung really gets to you. He’s never made a move on you — which you’re thankful for — but there’s no denying the fact that he’s strangely intrigued by you. You can tell in the way he talks to you compared to others, or the way he always finds something to intervene with when you’re talking to another man. It’s like he wants you to think about him even when he’s not showing any signs. It’s all confusing and leaves you to overthink every interaction, especially now that he’s admitted to going on a date.

Of course you don’t know that this is all part of a plan that Taehyung has meticulously worked on for months. He doesn’t want to scare you and if he told you you’re all he’s been thinking about for so long, surely you’d be creeped out. He’s only gone on two ‘dates’ in the past five months and both were for a specific reason. The first was at the company Christmas party where he overheard you would be bringing someone along, and the second was this past weekend. If he were to be honest and tell you that he hasn’t been sexually attracted to anyone since he met you, you would run off on him and he doesn’t want that. He has to act like a normal man at his age who goes on casual dates and doesn’t spend all his time finding out every little thing he can about you.

Now you’re curious about who he was with and he picks up on a hint of jealousy in your tone even if you can’t so he definitely thinks you feel something for him too.

“I was distracted,” Taehyung answered honestly, thinking back to when he saw the man you were with that night checking out the waitress when you weren’t looking. It had taken everything in him not to go over there and save you from that guy who couldn’t even stop his eyes wandering elsewhere when you were sitting right in front of him. Didn’t the guy know that there are others willing to do absolutely anything to be there with you?

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, both just silently staring into each other's eyes trying to decipher your minds. Taehyung isn’t actually sure how you feel about him but he knows there has to be some sort of attraction you feel for him or else you wouldn’t be so curious, right? He knows that if he asked you out for drinks right now you’ll probably say yes, but he doesn’t want to rush things.

He doesn’t want just one night of yours, he wants them all, so he has to be patient and see how long this can go before you’re equally as obsessed with him. He doesn’t want to scare you off after all.

Just before you could respond your department head came out of her office, already calling you over to discuss the plan for today. Taehyung waved you off knowing he would find an excuse to look for you later on.

You’ve never struggled much when it came to having a relationship. You’re not really ever looking for anything serious and the guys who do approach you never interest you enough to change your mind. Now, that doesn’t mean you don’t date. You’ll go on a date here and there but only if you’re interested in the guy and more often than not, you’re not interested. You especially hate it when a guy you work with tries to ask you out, just like Minho is doing right now.

Out of everyone in the office he annoys you the most. He’s still in his ‘college frat boy’ mindset that just pisses you off to the point where even looking at him has you bothered. You don’t know how you could possibly look more uninterested than you already do but this guy just doesn’t get that you don’t like talking to him. He’s had you cornered in the copy room for the past five minutes telling you all about the tickets he got to a musical theater that he doesn’t need anymore.

You’re sure this is his way of trying to invite you—well no, trying to get you to invite him. He’s giving you both because apparently he doesn’t need them anymore and doesn’t know what to do with them. You looked at him unamused as he put them down on your open hand and you forced yourself to smile, “Are you sure you don’t want them?”

“I’m sure,” Minho said with a little smirk as he looked around the room. Just as you did too, a familiar face walked in and you were far from surprised to see who it might be. Before you could offer a hello, Minho drew your attention back to him, “Plus, you might have better luck finding someone to go with you. You’re all I can ever think about, at least.”

Taehyung didn’t glance your way but his eyes focused in on Minho where it looked like he was holding your hand still and that made the guy smirk even more. Minho looked back down at you, as Taehyung came over to use the printer, making you both move to the side.

“So do you want to go tog—?” Minho asked as Taehyung slammed the paper tray in the slot loudly making you both look at him.

Minho rolled his eyes as he turned back to you to try again, “I was just thinking that you mig—“

His words were cut off by the excessive beeping of the printer as Taehyung typed in the settings he wanted. He looked over with a feigned innocent smile clearly amused with himself as he said, “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

You looked at Taehyung making his eyes meet yours and for a moment you could see mischief in them. You both knew what Minho was about to say but he beat you to it and interrupted you. You smiled as if understanding the way he was trying to understand you.

You turned to Minho,“Thanks for the tickets but I should get back to work before anyone starts looking for me. I’ll send you money for them, alright?”

“Wait Y/n—“ you left before he could finish and suddenly it was just Minho and Taehyung inside the copy room.

Taehyung couldn’t help but smile openly now as you made your exit despite knowing Minho was trying to ask you out. It had him giddy as he went to leave the room too before Minho called for him.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Taehyung,” Minho said as he walked toward him but Taehyung didn’t give a clue to what he was thinking, didn’t even bother responding to him.

“Everyone here knows you’ve got this little crush on Y/n,” Minho pointed out, “You’re so obvious with it and she doesn’t even give you the time of day so just quit cutting in and mind your business.”

Taehyung laughed dryly, “I was doing you a favor Minho, Y/n was going to reject you and then everyone in the office would know about it. Why don’t you focus more on doing your job than women out of your league?”

He made a move to leave but he turned back toward the room one last time and said, “And trust me, if I put effort into it, I wouldn’t be rejected.”

He left feeling annoyed at Minho’s audacity. Y/n would never go for a guy like him, he’s pathetic. He thinks he’s hot shit because he was popular growing up but this is the real adult world and in the adult world nobody cares about how many sports trophies he has locked in a shelf. You for sure wouldn’t care and yet Taehyung still felt himself annoyed at what he saw in the copy room.

What would have happened if he never showed up to save you? Would you have said yes to a date with him out of pity? You would be too nice to turn someone down, right?

He kept thinking about that all day, anxiously biting his nails and leg bouncing as he worked.

Would you have said yes to Minho?

Is he miscalculating? Is he assuming Minho wouldn’t be your type because he’s not him?

Is he that confident that you’ll come to him first?

Does he need to step it up?

“Taehyung?”

You stood in front of his cubicle, leaning against one side of the short wall looking down at him with soft eyes. He looked up from his computer where he had been stuck in a daze thinking about you and nearly stumbled over his single word, “Yes?”

You stepped into his space and leaned against one end of his desk making it seem like you two were the only ones around. He had to force his eyes not to trail over your exposed legs as he waited for you to say something.

It took you a second to speak up while you tried to figure out how to bring up earlier without letting him know that you think he’s got a thing for you. You smiled, “I know it probably wasn’t your intention but you really saved me earlier. I think Minho was trying to ask me out and I didn’t want to have to tell him no at the office.”

Taehyung felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as you said that and he couldn’t help but smile too, “I thought that was the case, are you alright?”

“Me? Yeah, I mean he gave me these tickets so I feel bad not wanting to go with him but then I’d be lying to myself about wanting him there, y’know?” You asked and his leg bounced anxiously under his desk as you moved just a little closer.

“If I were to want to go with any man from work, I think I would prefer it to be you,” you finally said and his knee hit the underside of his desk as he nodded his head already agreeing before you could properly ask. This was exactly the way you imagined things to go. You knew that if you showed a little interest in him it wouldn’t take long for him to agree with whatever you propose. You spoke up again with a dragged out sigh, “But I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your plate and you just went on a date this last weekend so I bet you don—“

“Tell me the time and place, and I’ll be there,” he rushed out, making you smile.

“Alright, why don’t you write your number down and I’ll call you?”

Listen, you know you said there’s something off about Taehyung… and it’s not that you’ve just brushed it off as paranoia, but you really had no reason to be put off by him. He was an extremely attractive man who seemed to always be where you were and who would annoy Minho more for going on a date with you?

Taehyung would. You absolutely despised Minho and he hated Taehyung so it really worked out for you. Plus, if you want to know if he’s actually interested in you or not, asking him out was the way to go. You didn’t want to ask a friend to come with you and you for sure weren’t going to ask a guy who would just want sex so you chose Taehyung, and you’re happy you did.

Watching him meet you at the front of the theater looking like that, well it just made your night. Everyone’s eyes shifted toward him when he passed but his eyes were only on you. It was surprisingly boast worthy to know everyone can see he’s coming to you. You’re not sure how it will go but you’re bored and you want to see what would happen if you indulged in a man who seems mysterious to you and clearly attractive.

You’re not worried if the date goes bad, you’re not scared to completely ignore him at work if you needed to either. You just wanted to see if the night would be fun or not, of course you’re not aware that this has been all Taehyung has thought about since you asked him on Tuesday. If he has you now he’s not letting you go, especially not to ignore him.

“You look great,” Taehyung said softly as he placed a hand on your lower back giving you a side hug in greeting. He kept his hand at your waist as you leaned into him, “Sorry I’m late, have you been waiting long?”

Yes. “No,” he smiled, letting his hand linger on the silky fabric of your dress that hugged your pretty waist, “Shall we head in?”

Things were working in Taehyung’s favor and he didn’t even have to do much for this to happen. Sure, he’s spent months being the only man to not hit on you at the office so you could feel comfortable with him instead of another. And yes, he’s been finding every excuse possible to be around you so that you could think about him… and okay, he’s even followed you out of work before—but you asking him out was all you! He didn’t even have to say anything about your tickets, you chose him and he doesn’t care if it was for the right reasons or not.

“Is this weird for you?” You asked once you passed the ticket booth, “I know we work together and it was sudden so…”

“Not at all,” Taehyung said, taking you by surprise when he brushed a finger against your cheek to move a strand of hair behind your ear, “I’ve always said that I’d like to see you outside of work. If anything, I’m happy you asked me.”

“You make me feel the safest at work,” you said honestly as you took his hand in yours so that he wasn’t touching your face. You’re actually surprised by how touchy he’s being but you don’t know if you’re okay with it or not. You held his hand as you said, “And I don’t have many friends outside so I figured this is a perfect opportunity to get close to someone else.”

Taehyung laced his fingers with yours as he led you to the main theater, moving you to his side when a stranger passed, “I’d love to get close to you, if you let me.”

Taehyung was the perfect gentleman. He was respectful and sweet and just so gentle when he talked. Well, when he talked to you.

The musical was great honestly, you and him had light talk here and there and at one point his hand would brush over yours but you liked it. After the show you had both agreed on having Korean barbecue but you weren’t in the mood to wait in line at some fancy restaurant so you settled for one of those tent restaurants.

“Did you enjoy the show?” You asked him as you flipped your hair off your shoulders while thanking him for serving you more water.

“I’ll be honest, I wasn’t paying that much attention to it,” he smiled childishly as looked at you, “Very hard to concentrate on anything else when you’re around.”

“Really?” You asked amused and flattered, “You seem to do fine at work.”

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” he said casually as he looked over at a server who was making his way over to switch out your grilling trays. He didn’t hide the way his gaze traveled from your pretty head down to your legs then back up to your face, a stupid smirk on his lips.

Taehyung hates that you’re not just attractive to him, but to anyone who sees you. That’s why he needs to hurry up and make you his already. If it was up to him he would never let you out of his sight for this reason specifically.

“Tae?” You called for him after noticing the way he began to zone out and like it was nothing, his eyes met yours with a smile. You smiled too, “I can’t get over how handsome you are.”

He laughed softly as a blush crept into his cheeks, “I’m not used to you saying these things to him, but I like it. . I’ve been thinking about how beautiful you looked all nigh—“

“Are you going to be wanting any dessert, miss?” The guy asked suddenly as he looked only at you, “On the house, for you that is.”

“Oh?” You asked with a hint of amusement, “Why’s that?”

“Uh, well, you’re the prettiest girl to come in tonight,” the guy said nervously all of a sudden, very aware that the guy in front of you might not be a friend like he first thought.

You smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes as you said, “I’m not sure my boyfriend appreciates you saying that in front of him. Do you, Taehyung?”

It took everything in him to keep his composure as he looked at that guy with something dark in his gaze. He couldn’t even fully process that you called him your boyfriend. All he could think about right now is what would happen if he grabbed the guy by the back of his neck and bashed his head into the burning grill over and over and over—

“I don’t appreciate it all,” he said calmly, “Why don’t you let someone else help our table next time?”

You looked at Taehyung, impressed by the way he spoke so calmly yet you can see something in his eyes that wasn’t there when he looked at you. It excited you.

Once the server left, muttering something under his breath that had Taehyung staring after him like he was ready to confront him again, you had to say something.

“Sorry for calling you my boyfriend. I just figured that’s how the guy would stop,” you told him feeling a little embarrassed now that it was just you two. You can talk to someone bluntly but you don’t feel bold right now. Right now you’re a little nervous because you called him that not knowing how he would react.

Taehyung was flooding with warmth as he brought his glass of water to his lips, trying to hide his loving smile, “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mind.”

He could be your boyfriend, he’s always known that but to hear you call him that in front of someone? Now that just makes him proud, the only thing that sucks is that he can’t fully appreciate your words.

You deserve all his attention but he’s so focused on the server not far behind him talking with another that he doesn’t know how to fill the silence that suddenly surrounded you two.

‘Aren’t you off soon?’

‘Yeah, in about thirty, what about you?’

‘I’ve got an hour to go. Do you wanna cruise around later?’

‘Yeah, I just got a new set of tires and rims that I need to show off.’

“I’ll be back, I’m going to wash my hands,” you said suddenly and Taehyung nodded telling you he’ll keep your purse safe. Ugh, he needs to pay attention to you and you alone but he just can’t stop thinking about what happened. It makes him think about how long you’ll be gone and how he’ll handle himself till then. You left to the restroom but because this was a tent restaurant you had to go inside another building for that. Taehyung acted before he could think and reached for the grilling fork that sat on the table, easily sliding it into the sleeve of his coat while coming up with something.

His mind was whirring with possibilities of how this could go while also counting how long it takes you to come back, acting like nothing was wrong. He continued to grill food till you returned and he smiled, “My turn.”

You let him go off to the restroom as you sat alone picking up your phone to see your texts. There were a few from your friends asking about how it’s going or sending you something stupid.

You’re actually very surprised that this… date[?] is going so well. It does feel a little stiff like you’re both still being friendly coworkers but you think it’s because Taehyung is holding himself back. You’ve gotten a couple blushes and smiles but he’s still very distant. He’s giving you compliments and he’s listening to everything you have to say but he’s not really talking about himself.

It’s like you still couldn’t tell what kind of guy he is.

Taehyung was moving quickly. The employee parking lot was small and dimly lit so it was hard to see anyone at first but he just kept repeating the same thing over and over again.

New tires. New rims.

New tires. New ri—

He came to a halt as he looked at the black Nissan Altima with brand new shiny rims and tires. He didn’t even hesitate for a single moment in case the car belonged to anyone other than the server who tried hitting on you. The grilling fork slipped out of his sleeve swiftly and before he knew it, all four tires had matching puncture marks.

Still feeling a little upset he dragged the sharp end of the fork along one side of the rim, scratching it repeatedly and mumbling words of hatred.

Once Taehyung decided it was enough he stood straight, looked around and combed his hair back into place, taking a deep breath.

“That was quick,” you said as he sat down in front of you again. He smiled, “Was it?”

“Are you ready to go?” He asked as a different server brought the bill. You nodded your head reaching for your bag to get your wallet when Taehyung spoke up again, “I’ll pay.”

“No, we can split,” you offered, still trying to take your money out.

“Y/n,” his voice was calm as he made you look at him and with hazy eyes he said, “I would like to pay. Will you let me pay?”

You opened your mouth to argue but Taehyung slid the check back to the server who had returned just in time. You released a small sigh standing up as Taehyung helped you slip your coat back on your shoulders, “Next time I’ll pay.”

He couldn’t contain his smile as he said, “We’ll talk about it then, alright?”

You’re not sure if it was the alcohol or the tenderness of his voice but you shined childishly, “Taehyung, I’ll feel bad.”

“Don’t,” he said, leading you out and thanking the servers as if he didn’t destroy their tires or toss the fork in the back dumpster. Nobody should go looking for them anyway. By the time the guy notices his tires are flat he’ll already be gone, Taehyung would like it if they completely give out on the road and cause him to crash but that’s just wishful thinking. He’s just a little too happy right now.

His night was great, he felt like he couldn’t stop his heart from racing the entire time. He loved your dress, your hair, the soft perfume you wore, the way you kept eye contact with him, laughed at his words… he could go on. He’ll remember this night for the rest of your lives together. He wasn’t going to let that little hiccup ruin it for him.

It’s just that Taehyung couldn’t just sit around and let a man try and hit on you while he’s right there. It only makes his mind stray to what already happens when he’s not around and he sees red. The guy is lucky that he didn’t have time to do much else than slash his tires. He wanted to be quick so he could return to you.

Now he’s standing in front of your place debating on what to do. You were standing in front of him looking so pretty waiting like you were expecting a kiss.

“Well, the night was fun,” you said shyly. You can’t tell what it is about his gaze that intimidates you but you know that it makes you curious also. You want to know what’s behind this distant exterior because he doesn’t appear all that he seems. You wanted to kiss him but this time you really do think it’s the alcohol. Usually you’ll remind yourself that you don’t seriously date coworkers and that this should be ended cordially.

Taehyung took a hesitant step forward, closing the gap between you, his eyes kept flickering to your lips, “Is it weird that I don’t want to go home yet?”

You were standing close now and you had to look up to meet his gaze only it brought your faces closer together, and this time it was him who made the first move. A gentle hand touched the curve of your jaw tilting your face up to look at him, he whispered softly, “Can I kiss you?”

You gave him a brief nod of your head and met his efforts halfway, feeling your lips brush against each other’s before he pressed them together firmly. The hand on your face grew more firm as if you would pull away any second but you were enjoying it too much.

As your hand curled around the back of his neck keeping him from moving back, Taehyung released a low groan into your mouth taking the opportunity to bring a hand down to your lower back wishing that you wore something other than a dress. He can’t feel your skin on his fingertips, only the silky fabric that got in his way. Your tongues met in a languid movement as his standing frame almost curved over yours, using rough hands to keep you against him while deepening the kiss.

“Taehyung,” your words came out breathless as you pulled away just a little, feeling him chase after your lips to keep the kiss going. You kissed back eagerly forgetting all about how you couldn’t breathe and there was a growing itch bubbling up inside your center that needed more. You tilted your head back as Taehyung kissed down the corner of your mouth toward your jaw, licking along your neck to your collarbone making your lips part in a silent moan. You brushed your fingers through his hair, licking your lips as you said, “Let’s go inside.”

As much as you loved how hungry he seemed to be for your kisses, it was very hard to ignore the fact that you’re still outside. He’s very intimate with the way he is holding you right now and you rather have him go inside with you than stay out here. The second those words left your lips, Taehyung was pulling back shaking his head no, hands squeezing your sides, “No.”

“No?” You asked in confusion as he repeated it over and over again quietly yet clinging to you too. You moved your hands down to his shoulders for more support, “What? You don’t want to?”

“I do,” he whispered, “But not tonight?”

You took a huge step back feeling annoyed as you scoffed, “What are you ta—“

“It has to be perfect,” he said more to himself than to you, “It needs to be perfect.” It was sort of alarming how he suddenly shifted to this from how he was just seconds ago and it’s like you can’t even get through to him. He’s in his own mind and you don’t know what to do.

You reached down for his hand but he was pulling away fully, repeating himself, “Not tonight, Y/n. It’s going to be perfect, okay?”

Your brows scrunched together trying to understand what he was talking about. He took a quick step down the entrance before rushing back to you and kissing you one last time, “Can I call you?”

“Yes, bu—“ he cut you off with another kiss and you knew he didn’t want this to end either so why was he leaving? You couldn’t pull him back in time as he drew back, repeating over and over about how it needed to be perfect before leaving you for the night.

“Wait, so he kissed you Goodnight and then left? I don’t see the problem,” your friend Jimin said through the phone as you used your badge to let yourself through the entrance of the publishing company you worked for. It’s the first time you’ve been able to talk to him in days so you answered when he called even if it was before work. You just had to fill him in on how the last few days have been.

You released a sigh trying to figure out how to word your thoughts, “Ugh the problem isn’t that he just left, it’s that… I don’t know, he started talking to himself about how it needed to be perfect.”

“What?” Jimin asked with furrowed brows as he got into his car on his end of the phone, “Sex?”

“I don’t know, maybe?” You told him honestly. He’s been a very close friend of yours for a few years now and you’re very comfortable talking to him about whatever is going on in your life.

“And this is the first date?” He asked, still trying to understand what you were telling him.

You bit your lip nervously trying to figure out what happened on Saturday, “I guess, I mean, I don’t know if it counts because it was so last minute and I’m the one who asked him out of the blue but…”

“But he’s the guy you’ve been telling me about, right? The one who creeps you out a little?” Jimin asked bluntly that you felt a little embarrassed. It’s very hard to explain what you think about Taehyung. He’s attractive and a good guy but there’s just something in the back of your mind that makes you think there’s something off about him.

“Yes, but look, he doesn’t creep me out like I’m scared of him or anything… he’s just intense,” you told him with a shrug of your shoulders that he couldn’t see.

Jimin laughed, “Okay so what now? Are you just not going to see where it goes with him? How’d the weekend go?”

“Well good, we talked a lot and he was really sweet but I don’t know… I mean we work together,” you whispered the last part as you made your way toward the elevator.

“That didn’t stop you from inviting him out and you did want to sleep with him, right?” Jimin asked making you sigh once more as you reached for the button to call for the elevator.

It dinged just as Jimin started talking again, “Yeah but, I was a little drunk, I mean that doesn’t change that I was ready to sleep with him but after thinking it over I really don’t want to be one of those people who fucks around with someone they work with and ruins the environment, y’know?”

Jimin was in his car now trying to connect to his Bluetooth, “So what are you going to do? Tell him that you’re better off as friends?”

You stepped into the elevator, “Yeah, I think I should—“

“Y/n?”

“Taehyung,” your eyes opened in surprise as you watched him step into the elevator with you. He seemed so calm and neutral as he smiled at you warmly.

“Jimin, I’ve gotta go, talk to you later?” You said through the phone and hung up on your friend. Taehyung’s eyes shifted down to it as it lay limply in your hand already letting his mind conjure up who this Jimin person is. He’s spent a fair share of time stalking your socials to know which friends are who and if it’s who he thinks it is, then it’s a man and he doesn’t like the idea that you spoke to another man first thing in the morning instead of him.

Once the elevator shut you two into its privacy, Taehyung didn’t hesitate to press you into the wall with a mouth watering kiss. You immediately clung to him, hands wrapping in his hair keeping him close as he invaded your mouth with his. His hands were so gentle on your skin as he whispered, “I missed you so much.”

You went to the theater together on Saturday so really the only day you didn’t see him was yesterday and even then you talked a lot throughout the day so for him to suddenly say how much he missed you… it’s definitely setting off warning bells.

You you ignored them, smiling into the kiss as you cupped his jaw trying to move him back as you absentmindedly said, “Missed you too.”

“Did you?” He asked seriously now as if the answer would be on your face but in reality you just said it because he did. You continue to say things that will make him think more and more about how you feel and it’s all very confusing. You looked at him searching his face for answers before nodding your head, “Yeah?”

Honestly, you were a little mad at yourself. You know there’s something about Taehyung that you don’t get and you should be a little worried by his behavior. The problem is that you keep saying you’ll stop enabling him by continuing to lead him on while telling your friend you don’t want him. It hasn’t stopped you from talking to him on the phone or kissing him and you just know you should put a stop to it.

“Good,” he whispered before kissing you again and you’re completely ignoring your brain to kiss him. Anxiety grew inside you at the thought of getting caught and just before the elevator came to a stop once more, you lightly pushed him away hurriedly.

Taehyung stood at the opposite end of the elevator biting back a smirk as a group of people flooded the elevator greeting you both. You distracted yourself with your phone in hopes of not drawing attention to the way Taehyung kept his gaze on you and you alone.

jimin: come over later

jimin: i wanna hear about it

jimin: ooo and drink

jimin: movie too?

You barely had a second to react as a tall frame crowded behind you and you jumped to the side slightly startled. Taehyung stood behind you looking at you curiously, “Who’s Jimin?”

“Um,” the elevator dinged on your floor and you stepped out with him on your side, “He’s a good friend of mine, he came with me to the Christmas party, you might remember him?”

Oh. The guy from the Christmas party.

He didn’t say anything, looking at you deeply as he tried to smile and nodded his head. He turned forward and pretended like he wasn’t going absolutely fucking insane thinking about those texts he just read. Why would another guy want you to come over so late? Didn’t you tell him that you’re seeing someone? Hell, you kissed him just as eagerly a few minutes ago so why the fuck is another guy…

“Shit, I have a meeting I have to start getting ready for,” you cursed as you checked the time on your phone, already picking up your pace.

“Lunch later?” He asked, watching you leave. You nodded your head waving goodbye to him quickly as if trying to brush him to the side and he didn’t like that at all.

He’s starting to feel like you’re blowing him off. All day yesterday you were ‘busy’ with work but then he would see you around the office talking happily to everyone but him. He couldn’t understand why. Was it because of the other night? He thought it had gone perfectly. Being with you genuinely makes him happy and on Saturday who couldn’t stop smiling. He knows there’s so much that he still needs to learn about you but he didn’t expect you to be such a flirt with other men.

Today it’s Minho again.

He hogged all your attention at the meeting today and you just let him. You sat there and politely talked to him like Taehyung wasn’t in the same damn room. It pissed him off to think that you weren’t as committed as he was. Would you let any man take your attention away from him and if so what should Taehyung do about it?

Once the meeting came to an end, Taehyung rushed out so he wouldn’t have to see another second of you two together. He needed time to cool off first before he acted negatively toward you. He just doesn’t get you. What’s the point in asking him out if you were just going to ignore him?

Does he do the same? Should he treat you the way you’ve been treating him just so you could see how he’s feeling? He doesn’t want to hurt you but you’re hurting him and you don’t even care.

You’ll never learn unless you go through what he’s going through right now and that’s the only reason why he agreed on getting lunch with a colleague of his. Sora was just a girl on his team who he believes has a thing for him. She’s always finding an excuse to stop by his desk whether it be to ask something stupid or just see how his day is going. This morning she asked for his help to fix something on her web design and in turn she said she would pay him back by getting him lunch.

Now, Taehyung’s original plan was to find you so the two of you could get lunch together but considering the fact that you’ve been cozy with Minho he doesn’t want to see you right now. He won’t respond to you right if he does, and maybe if you see him with Sora you’ll open your damn eyes and see how you’re acting.

The thing is, he can’t pretend to be interested in whatever Sora was saying to him. He’s barely bothering with responses and even then they’re mostly just ‘ah’s ‘oh’s and ‘mm’s. Nothing she says interests him like you. You’ve just got this way of speaking that captivates him every single time and with Sora it’s just not the same.

If he pretends you were her then he can put more effort into it but she’s not you and you’re not with him.

“Thanks for buying lunch, I’ll have to pay you back some time,” Taehyung said with a forced smile as they headed back to the elevator from the main floor. He’s been trying to feed Sora comments here and there so she would at least think he’s fond of her. The problem is that they’re all empty words that he doesn’t plan on holding up.

“Well maybe tomorrow you can buy me lunch and we’ll call it even,” Sora said with a blushing smile that made Taehyung want to throw up. He forced himself to smile and nodded his head, “I’ll have to see my schedule.”

Just as the doors were about to shut a manicured hand stuck forward to stop it and he felt his heart race. He immediately pushed for the doors to open back up and you thanked him before noticing it was even Taehyung. He smiled sweetly, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you said back as you looked between him and Sora who had matching boxes for leftovers from a restaurant. Sora smiled too, “Hey Y/n, did you just get back from lunch?”

“No, I actually had a meeting that went over time so I haven’t eaten yet,” you told her as you tucked yourself into the back corner, “What about you?”

“Oh! Yeah, Taehyung and I just tried this café a couple blocks down. I recommend trying it, it’s really good,” Sora said and Taehyung would have hugged her with the way your eyes narrowed in confusion. He studied your expression as you looked over at him but he kept his gaze on the changing floor numbers.

He wants to kiss you and hold you and tell you that it meant absolutely nothing to him but he was still upset. He couldn’t just let you think that talking to other guys who were clearly interested in you was okay. It’s just… you haven’t eaten and he wants to be mad but he wants to make sure you’re doing alright because he knows how busy you are and now he’s thinking he’s made a mistake in trying to upset you.

No.

Taehyung, you need to put your foot down. Y/n is a big girl, and you can’t let her walk all over you and everything you’ve done—everything you’ll do.

“Really? Did you like it too, Taehyung?” You asked putting a territorial hand on his bicep that had him leaning into your touch more. He looked into your eyes and he couldn’t quite read your expression yet, “It was alright.”

You weren’t jealous, alright. You don’t tend to be jealous because then that means you envy someone else and there’s no one worth envying but… but you do get possessive. Very, extremely possessive that you work very hard to hide that but he’s confusing you a little. You went out this past weekend and he kisses you like you’re all he wants, he follows you around the office and calls you all the time only for him to have lunch with another woman?

It’s no secret that Taehyung is handsome, everyone in the office thinks so and they all are very obvious with their interest in him yet he’s expressed to you that he wants you. Sure, it creeps you out just a tad bit how serious he is about it but why would he go get lunch with someone else while you’ve been stuck in meetings all morning? Now that just pisses you off.

Before he could give you an answer, the elevator dinged and the doors were opening. Sora made a move to leave and looked back at him expectantly but his eyes were on you. You wouldn’t even look at him and your expression was clear as day and it showed how unhappy you were right now. When it was obvious that neither of you were getting off yet she left with a mumbled goodbye and the doors closed.

Taehyung pushed down on a button and as you looked at it you noticed it was for the lobby, “What are you doing?”

“You haven’t eaten so let’s go to the cafeteria and get you food,” he said coming over to you. He was content now, all he needed was to see that you’ll get upset too if he talks with another woman and then you’ll see that he has a right to get upset with you.

Once he gets it through your head then he’ll be able to focus on Minho and how to show him that you’re Taehyung’s.

“I can go alone, you just had lunch with Sora,” you told him, moving away from him and he did not like that at all.

“I’m worried about you,” he said honestly as he tried to close the space but you still wouldn’t even look at him. Why were you so damn annoyed that a man you just started getting close to had lunch with someone else?

“So what made you want to have lunch with Sora?” You asked, completely ignoring what he said because for some reason you were very bothered.

Isn’t he supposed to be, like, obsessed with you or something?

Taehyung scoffed as he smiled, “Is that really bothering you right now?”

You didn’t say anything making him continue, “I wanted to have lunch with you but you seemed busy all day talking to Minho and I didn’t want to wait around for you to pay attention to me.”

“What? Minho? I was in meetings and he was in them too, I had no contr—“

“I don’t like you talking to him,” Taehyung spoke firmly that you were caught off guard, and this time he wasn’t going to wait for you to look at him. He had this dark look in his eyes that had you taking a hesitant step back but it was no use because he just followed, “It really upsets me, Y/n. Do you really want to upset me?”

“Taehyung…”

The doors opened once more as the elevator got flooded with people you and Taehyung left.

“We work together, I can’t just ignore him,” you finally said calmly despite everything inside you telling you that the way he sounded right now was unreasonable. You didn’t even like Minho.

He joined you in the cafeteria where they served meals cooked by chefs, “I know that but you know that he has a thing for you so it makes me uncomfortable.”

You stopped turning to look at him, “Taehyung… nothing is ever going to happen between him and I. I don’t date coworkers.”

You both were very aware of what you just said and what it could possibly mean with Taehyung. It’s true, it’s what you’ve wanted to say since he creeped you out the first night you kissed. It’s what you should have said first, or better yet, ignored Taehyung’s obsessive behavior in the first place.

At the same time though, you know you aren’t being fully honest. If Taehyung were to ask… well, you could see yourself with him again. He worried you but the way he’s so obviously interested in you and only doing things to get a side out of you, you kind of like that. It makes you realize that he’s constantly thinking about you in some way so you really only said it to see how he’ll react.

God, you can’t even believe yourself.

“What does that mean?” Taehyung asked, trying so hard to seem calm but you can practically hear his façade cracking that it made you want to keep pushing.

You weren’t even worried about how you two looked to others and you moved closer to say to him, “I’m just thinking that maybe it’s not a good idea to get involved with someone I work with. It’ll cause problems.”

Taehyung wasn’t even thinking about Minho anymore, he was trying to understand and think quickly on what to do.

“If you want me to quit so we can be together…” he said staring at the floor deep in thought, he’s already trying to think of a plan, “I can, I just worry that you’ll leave me if someone new comes in.”

“What? Taehy—I—why would I want you to quit?” You rushed out as you tried to walk again so the two of you weren’t just standing in the middle and wasting time.

Taehyung was following you a couple steps behind.

He can work it out. He just has to get rid of Minho before he does what you want. If you want him to quit he can easily apply somewhere else… but only after he figures out what to do about Minho.

“It’s what you’re saying, Y/n. You don’t date coworkers,” Taehyung said seriously, you had to stop and try to understand what the hell was going on now. Out of habit, you looked down at your watch—you were wasting time talking about this.

You looked around cautiously before moving closer. He looked down at you with a dead set look in his eyes. You released a soft sigh, “I’ve got to go. Can we talk about this later?”

Taehyung already felt annoyed but now you’re trying to brush him off when he’s trying to have a serious conversation with you about the future of your relationship and that really pissed him off. Before he could say anything, you quickly and gently asked, “Can I call you later?”

You had a soft look in your eyes that immediately made his walls crumble and it had him asking, “Will you, actually?”

You nodded and he smiled, resisting the strong urge to give you a goodbye kiss.

When you turned your back to him and left, his smile fell. You’ll be busy and try and get back to him later so he has to think right now.

How does he fix his Minho problem?

By the time Taehyung was ready to head home, it was late. He got busy with work because he had been too focused on you to be productive and he had a lot to do before he could leave.

It sort of worked out though—and for two reasons.

Reason one, it gave him something to talk about when you called, even if he lies just a little.

“At least you’re home now, right?” You asked through your side of the phone as you tried to think of what to make yourself for dinner.

Taehyung bit his lip as he looked at reason number two.

Right there in the break room was a shiny laptop that looked very familiar to him. He honestly couldn’t believe his luck either but he also knew what a fucking idiot Minho was.

Leave it to him to leave his laptop open and unlocked. It was just too easy.

“Yes, I’m trying to think about what to make for dinner,” Taehyung said as he checked the room for anything but there wasn’t a camera in here for privacy reasons, “Any ideas?”

You smacked your lips with a dramatic sigh, “Sadly no. I’m not that good of a cook to give you ideas.”

That made him smile because he’s not surprised nor bothered by it. He’ll happily do everything for you if you let him and he can start with cooking.

Taehyung sat in front of the laptop trying to read what was pulled up on a tab. It looked like a power point of some sort and the date for it was tomorrow. His fingers began to work before he could even think about it.

“How about you come over this weekend and I’ll make us something nice?” Taehyung asked casually as he put his little scheme in motion. If this doesn’t get rid of Minho he doesn’t know what will.

You took a deep breath, “Taehyung what I said earl—…”

“I get it, Y/n, but you can’t tell me you don’t feel anything for me,” Taehyung said, his face lighting up with the laptop screen that reflected off his irises, “Let’s just… you know take it slowly and see where it goes.”

“This weekend?” You bit your lip in thought and he smiled as he finished up and tried to wipe away any evidence that he touched it. He doesn’t want to be found out after all.

“Yeah,” He said as he saved his work and closed the laptop, “I’ll give you time to think about it, you don’t have to give me an answer right now, alright?”

“Alright,” you finally said and Taehyung did feel a little annoyed. Why was this a hard decision for you?

Look at what he’s doing just so you aren’t uncomfortable at work anymore.

Look at who he’s getting rid of for you.

He brought the laptop back to Minho’s desk and put it away, knowing Minho he wouldn’t have any clue where he left it last and this would look the most inconspicuous.

“So…” Taehyung trailed off as he left like it was nothing, “I know you were telling me about the project you’re working on but I want to know something not work related.”

“Oh God, what do you want to know?” You asked as you finished up what you were doing in your kitchen.

“Everything about you,” Taehyung said, finally going home feeling very accomplished.

You didn’t usually get to have late mornings so when you did, you really treasured them. You always feel so much more refreshed than when you get to work early in the morning, still half asleep. Usually your late morning days went by so fast but today was strange since the get go.

For one, there was a single cop car outside your building today that was parked out front like it was the most normal thing ever.

Second, there were groups of people huddling and gossiping on your floor that you knew something was up.

You walked over to your closest acquaintance, Yuna, “What’s going on?”

Yuna’s eyes shifted behind you instead of to you and it didn’t take much for you to know Taehyung has found you already. Yuna looked away blushing [this was the first time he’s ever been so close], “Um… someone was in a meeting and there was something on his laptop.”

Your brows furrowed as you looked around, “And there’s a cop here because of it?”

“It’s bad,” Yuna whispered, wincing as if she can picture what was found on the laptop. You looked at Taehyung who stared off looking indifferent but you can practically see his little smile.

You pushed your suspicions to the side as you tried to get a better look but you didn’t need to put much effort into it. Minho came out of your boss’s office with a cop at his side and a box of all his office belongings. Whispers surrounded him and his eyes met yours.

You took a step forward to see if what was happening was real when a strong hand tugged at the back of your arm keeping you in place. You glared at Taehyung who continued to act completely unbothered by what was going on.

The boss sent everyone one look to have them all scrambling to get to work but you paid your attention to Taehyung only.

“Did you do this?”

“Do what?” Taehyung asked as he walked with you, “Also how’s your morning going? You just got here, right? Lucky you.”

“Taehyung if you’re not honest with me right now then I’m calling it off right here, right now,” you said seriously as he dragged you into the break room where no one was.

His jaw clenched, “What are you trying to accuse me of right now?”

“Minho.”

“What about him?” Taehyung asked, “And why are you willing to throw us away over it? When do you I would’ve even had time to do anything? You and I talked on the phone all evening.”

He can’t believe you’ll even say that to him when he’s gotten rid of your problem for you in the nicest way he could. Sure, he had to dig up some dirty stuff to get Minho out but he left [and with a police escort]! Shouldn’t you be thrilled?

You scoffed, not buying what he was saying at all. You just had this feeling in your gut that he did something, “Did you have anything to do with what happened with Minho right now. And be honest or I swear I won’t talk to you again.”

Taehyung didn’t say anything for a long moment trying to read your bluff. He wanted to keep denying it but what if you meant what you said? What if you’ll really ignore him from now on?

With a cold expression that sent shivers down your spine he honestly said, “I told you I didn’t like you talking to him.”

You gasped in confusion, “What do—How—So what? You’re getting him fired because of it?”

“I would never,” Taehyung went back to lying, “I just found some stuff in his search history that needed to be seen. I didn’t know he’d get fired over it.”

You were completely speechless and confused. God, you need to get away from this man.

But.

But…you just can’t bring yourself to speak up and you wish it was because you were scared to but it wasn’t. You just didn’t want to, so instead you just shook your head, “For me?”

“Yes,” he said quietly, making sure no one was around, “He bothered us both, Y/n. Now you don’t have to worry about him.”

You didn’t say anything making him sigh, “Don’t be mad, please?”

You should get away.

You shouldn’t be thinking about how strangely endearing and caring he was for you. This is sick… but…

“I’m not,” you said, “I’m just… I don’t know.”

Taehyung laughed softly using your confusion and did you actually Ed mind to get you to move on from it, “Let’s get back to work, alright?”

You were a little nervous to go over to Taehyung’s place the next weekend, but not for the right reasons. You should be worried about your safety and his erratic behavior but you’re not. You’re more worried on how the night will go with him and what this means for you both.

You didn’t even have to knock for Taehyung to know you were here. The door opened before you could ring the bell and he stood there looking perfect.

Taehyung’s been preparing all day for this. He’s made sure everything looked absolutely perfect for you and he looked through your Instagram food posts a million times to make your favorite things. He’s cleaned up the place and changed his bed sheets because tonight’s the night.

Everything he’s done has led up to tonight and everything he’s done for you was all worth it because look at where you are now. You’re standing pretty in his doorway looking at him with awe that had him melting inside. As he let you in, he wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you close and leaned down to kiss your cheek. He couldn’t stay still watching you look around and take his place in.

He got rid of a lot of stuff today in case you were already trying to see where your stuff could go when you move in.

“Wow,” you said looking around, “You’ve got a nice place.”

Taehyung left for the kitchen where he served you both a glass of wine and brought it over to you. You thanked him and continued to snoop while he watched you from afar.

“Dinner’s ready for whenever you’re hungry,” Taehyung said pointing to the dining table and you went to sit. He didn’t sit across from you but he sat on the side closest to you on the square table. He began to serve your plate as you set your phone facing down on the table and got yourself situated.

“Thanks for having me over,” you told him honestly as you looked at him with soft eyes, “I know it’s been a little confusing these last few days.”

“Don’t even worry about that, baby,” Taehyung said, trying his hardest to avoid talking about whatever problems happened, “I’m just happy I have you here with me.”

“So tell me,” you rested your chin in the palm of your hand as you looked at him. You realized that if you’re actually falling for Taehyung despite everything then you have to try and really understand him.

“Hm?” He waited patiently to hear what you had to say. He kept your plate at his side as he went ahead and picked up the silverware. He cut into some of the food before raising his hand toward you.

At first you just stared at it trying to get what he was doing and finally you let your lips part enough for him to feed you. He was being so gentle and just doing everything for you. That’s why he sat so close.

“What is it about me that you like?” You asked once you finished what was in your mouth. Taehyung thought for a second as he ate, a smile appearing on his face looking down at his plate.

“It’s hard to explain,” Taehyung said honestly, “I was immediately attracted to you the first time we met.”

You looked at him curiously and to be honest you don’t remember how you met. He waited to see if you would say anything but when you didn’t he kept going, “It was in the elevator. You were running late for something and we bumped into each other. All of your papers fell to the floor in front of me and I don’t know… I was in a bad mood that day but you were so cute and clumsy and made me smile which is very hard to do when I’m not in the mood.”

You laughed softly because in truth you barely remember but you do remember seeing him around and thinking about how hot he was. It wasn’t until he started making himself known to you that you started realizing how much he must like you.

“I wanted to ask you out then but I figured I had to try and be acquaintances first,” Taehyung said as he continued to feed you by hand, “But then I’d see others go to you and try to flirt and… I realized I was taking too long to speak up. It’s like suddenly you were all I could think about and it was driving me crazy because I wasn’t making a move, I was wasting time.”

“You were,” you told him, “So I had to ask you out first.”

Taehyung smiled, feeling happy beyond belief, “I know, I felt really great that whole weekend. It was like… I don’t know, it was nice to know you thought about me like that too.”

After dinner the two of you sat in Taehyung’s living room talking and drinking wine. At one point he closed the space between you until your legs were on his lap and his hand was caressing your bare thigh. Your arm was on his shoulder for support and he was telling you about how he grew up.

He seemed completely normal to you and it made you wonder if everything you were suspicious about was just in your head.

You were running your fingers through his hair lovingly as you said, “You’re not what I thought you’d be.”

“What did you think I’d be?” Taehyung asked, completely relishing the way you touched him that he leaned into you even more until your faces nearly brushed against each other.

You released a low sigh, “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t realize how serious you were about me. I always had a feeling bu—“

“Y/n,” his voice dropped as he looked at you. There was a dark look in his eyes that wasn’t there moments ago, “Don’t ever think I’m not serious about you. You’re my everything.”

You went quiet as you looked back at him trying to read the expression behind his eyes. In a flash, the darkness disappeared and he was smiling adoringly at you. He knows you don’t feel the same yet but he also knows you will soon so he’s not worried about hearing you tell him anything back.

“Where’s your bathroom?” You asked him, trying to find a little bit of space to think. He pointed to the hall and let you get off of him.

The night was going perfect and he can just tell you’re falling for him almost as hard as he’s fallen for you. He is in love with you and soon you’ll be in love with him too, he’ll make sure of it.

Taehyung stayed on the couch trying to calm his own nerves but he had a huge smile on his face. Everything has worked out so perfectly. All his preparations, all his scheming and calculations has led up to this and now you’re in his bathroom freshening. You’re in his home, his home.

If this all works the way he plans it to then it’ll be your home soon too. He doesn’t mind being the only provider, you can just stay here and he’ll be the one going to work. He can’t risk running into more men like the server and Minho. He can’t get caught and he’s already been too impulsive with the way he’s handled things.

He’ll sit you down and have a conversation with you because he doesn’t appreciate when anyone else tries to come between you two and you’re a hot topic at work. It’s no surprise of course considering you attracted Taehyung instantly and for a reason too. You’re just so beautiful to him, sure sometimes he can just tell you’re annoyed or upset but even then you make him giddy.

He’ll talk to you about the time you basically tried breaking up with him when you realized he’s the one who exposed Minho, but he won’t get mad, he swears. He’ll just tell you that he didn’t appreciate the way you attacked him for something he did for you. Thankfully you realized his intention and let the topic go but he just wants to make it clear that you won’t act that way with him again.

Taehyung checked the time on his watch one last time as he waited anxiously for your return. He was looking around his own apartment trying to find something to distract himself with when something suddenly caught his attention.

It wasn’t hard to draw him in considering the screen was lit up on your phone with a picture of a man displayed as someone tried calling you.

Jimin.

God, he couldn’t stand the guy.

He’s gotten rid of the server and Minho but he hasn’t had a chance to see Jimin other than the Christmas party.

Taehyung clicked for the call to end and right after text messages were flooding in.

jimin: how is it with the freak

jimin: lol pls tell me you’re alive

jimin: I don’t want to have to file a missing persons report

His head tilted to the side reading the three messages over and over and over again.

With a clenched jaw and bated breath he set the phone back down and sat back.

He’s a freak?

This Jimin guy thinks Taehyung will hurt you? He never will.

He. Never. Will.

So why does this man think that? He doesn’t even know him, what have you told him?

You came out with a smile on your face, you spent a lot of time just thinking and looking at yourself in the mirror. You’ve decided now that, yes, sometimes he does very questionable things but at the end of the day he hasn’t hurt you by any of it. He seems to genuinely have feelings for you and you’re developing strong ones for him too.

You really think you and Taehyung could work and he makes your heart race a little bit. Of course you don’t fully agree with what Taehyung did about Minho but surely it wasn’t entirely his fault. He said it himself, hw only brought forward Minho’s own dirt and made sure he got caught. Plus, going to the office has been so much easier without him there to sexualize you every chance he gets. Honestly, you should’ve thanked him for giving you those tickets because if he hadn’t then you would have never asked Taehyung to go with you out of spite.

When you found the living room empty you looked for Taehyung, finding him in the kitchen dumping the glasses of wine down the drain. He finally looked at you but there wasn’t that usual gentle smile on his face. He nodded toward the living room, “You got a call while you were gone.”

“Oh,” you went to get your phone which was exactly how you left it last and checked it out. Once you saw it was from Jimin you immediately felt yourself panic just slightly. You quickly texted Jimin to stop joking and put your phone back down and went to Taehyung.

“Are we done drinking for the night?” You asked because you could just feel that he wasn’t as happy as he was earlier. He didn’t give you a response as he walked around you to continue clean up the mess from your dinner.

You knew something was wrong when you saw him, he didn’t look as happy and now you know why. If he saw what Jimin sent you then you can see him being upset even if it’s just a joke. He seems to be very serious when it comes to you so he probably doesn’t appreciate you talking about him to Jimin as a joke either.

Shit.

You had to stop and think to try and figure out what to do. You don’t want him to be upset if you’re trying to see where things go with him. You’re not even sure if you can handle what kind of guy Taehyung is when he’s mad at you so you much rather not have to see that at all. You rather just make him forget whatever he saw and try to show him that you’re here for him, that’s what you need to do.

With your thoughts more organized, you stood taller and looked for him. He was once again in the kitchen with the sleeves of his button up shirt rolled up and his back to the countertop.

Taehyung saw you walking over to him but he couldn’t even bring himself to smile. He doesn’t like your friend, he wants Jimin gone. His hands were holding himself leaned up on the kitchen counter as you stood in front of him. His jaw was clenched with tension he felt in his muscles and not even your pretty, sparkly eyes could make him relax.

He was using a lot of strength to not take your phone and break it or better yet find Jimin and ask him what his problem was.

“Tae,” your hands went to the counter, almost touching his and essentially trapping him between them.

“What’s your friend talking about?” Taehyung asked suddenly and it caught you by surprise just a little. He’s usually blunt but he’s been so sweet all night and right now his voice was deeper than it had been.

“I don’t know,” you laughed nervously as you looked into his eyes, “He was just joking.”

The corner of his lips turned up in a scoff, “Don’t lie to me right now. You think I’m a freak?”

Your eyes widened just slightly, “What? N—no, Jimin’s just joking, he just says shit he thinks is fu—“

“Does he want you? Is that what’s going on?” Taehyung asked, clearly not hearing you out, “Do you want him?”

“Jimin and I are just frien—“

“I don’t want to hear his fucking name…” Taehyung dipped his head down, eyes on yours and your foreheads touching making it obvious that your attention had to be on him, “come out of your pretty mouth again.”

Taehyung wasn’t scaring you and that might be the most fucked up part of the night. For some reason you already had it in your head that he wouldn’t hurt you so you didn’t feel threatened at all. Jimin jokes around all the time but Taehyung doesn’t know him so he doesn’t get it. You’ve already grown a custom to his somewhat erratic behavior and it would be a waste to back out now, right?

If it’s going to work you need to give him signs too, right?

“Taehyung,” your voice was soft as you let a hand trail up toward the back of his neck which was dipped down to be closer to you. You tilted your head upward but still came up a little short of his lips, “I won’t say his name again.”

Right now he’s just upset, once he cools down you’re sure you can further explain your best friend’s behavior so that when the two do finally meet there’s no unresolved tension. You’re just trying to tell Taehyung what he wants to hear and how he wants it to happen. He wants you to admit what you feel without him forcing you to but the way he acts already gives you a push to open up to him.

It was all kind of a fucked up little game.

Taehyung looked encaptivated by your proximity but he still came off as unamused while looking at your soft lips that he wanted on his, “I don’t believe you.”

Your thumb softly brushes along the hair on his nape, “Will you believe it if I told you I want to be yours?”

His entire body seemed to go still, only his eyes switched back and forth trying to read the sincerity in your own. There’s a shift in the air as he realizes that what you’re saying is true and it had him acting before he could think.

You gasped in surprise as his hand tilted your jaw upward until your mouths crashed into each other with want. He was quickly forgetting about Jimin.

He dipped his head lower to deepen the kiss, his tongue swiping against your lips. You had to take a step back to keep yourself from stumbling but Taehyung just followed after you, finally pushing off the counter.

His hands were running down your sides wrinkling your dress in the process as he stopped on your ass. There was no denying the fact that you just told Taehyung what he’s wanted to hear for some time now. He was in a frenzy, feeling you up as you made out with tongue.

When it became too much for one breath you had to push away but you immediately became breathless once more when his kiss trailed down your neck to your jaw. Your hands began to claw at his shirt trying to feel more and more of him.

Taehyung pulled out of the kiss with a low groan as if doing that wasn’t in his agenda but he needed to breathe. He looked down at you with that familiar dark gaze of his and breathed heavily, “Bedroom?”

You let him drag you away, literally, his arms circled under your thighs and lifted you enough for your feet not to drag against the floor and carried you down the hall. Before you know it, Taehyung was setting you down on the silk sheets like you were the most fragile thing he’s ever come across. His body quickly pressed against yours and your hands immediately came around his face to pull him into another heated kiss.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered against your skin as his hands roamed along your sides and his kisses ran down your collarbone to what was exposed cleavage to his hungry mouth. You sigh in content as he pulls at the top of your dress to lower it under your lacy bra that had him whining in his deep voice at the sight of your covered breasts. He continued to kiss between the valley of your breasts and you had to wiggle around to bring your hands up and push him back but he didn’t like that.

He stopped his hissing as he pulled up with a glare in his eyes but you just ran your fingers through his hair, “Do you believe me yet? That I wanna be yours?”

He laughed softly as he dipped down to kiss you one more time before finally got moving to sit back between your legs on his knees and watch you sit up, “You’ve been mine from the moment I saw you, baby.”

You went silent as you sat in front of him, not bothering to argue or confirm what he said. I stead you smiled, “Then will you let me show it?”

He moved off the bed to watch you more clearly and try and see if you were serious.

“Show me then,” Taehyung said lowly even as his fingers trembled with anticipation watching you move onto your knees and pull at the bottom of your dress before it went over your head and landed on the floor as you began to crawl over to the edge of the bed. He had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from groaning at the sight. You looked everything like he imagined but better.

He watched your hands reach for the buttons of his shirt and he made absolutely no move to help you undress him, he focused on your lust filled gaze as you stared back at him instead of what you were doing.

Each button you undid of his shirt had you leaning closer to kiss down the expanse of his torso going lower and lower until you were at the final button just above his jeans. Taehyung let his head fall back when you kissed along his happy trail while your fingers began to tug at the hem of his pants.

You undid the button and pulled the zipper down before bringing them down enough to expose the waistband of his briefs. Taehyung loved every second of unbreakable eye contact you gave him as your hand ran down his navel to slip under the hem of his Calvin Klein’s.

He couldn’t hold back the low grunt that escaped his lips as your hand made their way to his naked member, palming him under the constricting layers he still wore. Your fingers wrapped around his hardening length giving him a cautious stroke. You kissed down his chest making him groan when he felt teeth nip at his skin playfully while your palm covered the top of his cock and smeared it with precum.

Taehyung ran his fingers through your hair as you slowly sank down to your knees and he licked his dry lips with want. If this was what it was like to be worshiped by you then he hopes he always gets to experience it. He’ll do the same every day to you if you let him.

He felt a shiver run down his spine when you finally tugged his jeans off along with his briefs as he kicked them off only leaving him in his open button up shirt. You sat pretty in front of him, a hand on his cock that felt heavy in your hold and as he combed your hair back so he could see your face better, you took the first taste.

Your tongue began at the base of his cock then licked all the way to his tip teasingly and Taehyung wasn’t embarrassed by the way his entire body seemed to react to the first wet glide. Both of his hands sunk into your hair to keep himself from doubling over and making you take more than you could. With a small tilt of your head you finally opened your lips enough for his tip to slip in. He couldn’t control the low groan he let out when you licked over his slit collecting the clear drops of precum.

You still had a hand around his waist, squeezing a little while you stroked his length with his cock head being sucked on. Little by little you began to sink more of his dick down your throat and it was creating a wet glide with spit. The hands in your hair were getting a bit more firm, keeping you in place but still allowing you to move.

Taehyung’s lips were parted with quiet moans slipping from them as he looked down at you with awe. He had to squeeze his eyes shut from the pleasure but it only intensified when all he could focus on were the lewd sounds your throat made as you bobbed your head along his cock.

“Oh, baby,” Taehyung couldn’t stop his body from folding over you as if he wanted to draw his hips away but he held your head in place.

He was so close, he’s been dreaming about this for days. There’s a reason why he didn’t want to do more the first night you went out and it’s because he wanted the moment to be right. It wasn’t right at the time, you weren’t sure of your feelings but now you are and bows the time he makes it official with you.

“So good,” the words came out slurred as he licked his lips, “So fucking good.”

Knowing he was close, you began to twist your wrists, jerking him off with both hands and as much of his cock as could fit in your mouth.

He didn’t give much warning other than his attempt to take his dick out of your mouth only to pull on your hair and make you swallow his release as he came down your throat. Once the initial shock at the sudden roughness had worn off, you continued to suck him off trying to milk him dry, feeling his thighs tense up and shake as pretty moans fell from his lips.

You’ve had sexual partners before so you know that sometimes it takes them a while to it back up or at least time to let his high down but Taehyung was different. His hands came down under your chin, almost grabbing at your neck as he pulled you up enough for your mouths to meet in a disgusting kiss that tasted like his own release and he didn’t even seem to care.

You had to stand up from the way he tried dragging you up and once you were on your feet, he had a soft gonna hold on your neck, “I love you.”

You seemed to freeze up at his words, trying to process what he just said. It was way too soon to admit something like that even if you had a feeling he felt that way for a while now. Taehyung didn’t even seem to notice your sudden hesitation and kissed you hungrily once again. You didn’t do anything but kiss him back with equal hunger and let him walk you back until you hit the edge of the bed.

Neither one of you broke away from the kiss as he swiftly scoot you back on the bed until your head hit the pillows. Taehyung licked your tongue with his, “I can’t wait anymore.”

You could feel the tip of his cock brush against your covered folds and it was still astounding to you that his erection never went away if anything it became harder.

“Condom?” You asked between kisses, head following after Taehyung when he tried to move back. God, you were being pulled in by his sexual advances. You wanted more and more of him too and he did seem to make you hesitate when he said he loved you but… but it’s doing things to you. You wanted him bad.

As he rummaged through his drawers for a condom you slipped your bra off half distracting him from his looking when he was met with the sight of your exposed breasts. Taehyung had to shake the image of you away as he found what he was looking for and cut into the wrapper like he was being timed. He came back between your legs and helped you slide your panties off, watching a line of slick connect your folds to the fabric. He let a finger run along then and gather some of your wetness before bringing it to his mouth.

He sighed in pleasure, loving the way you tasted.

Taehyung did most of the work moving your legs up where he wanted them and kissed you reassuringly. He had a hand on his cock giving himself a few strokes while running his tip between your pussy lips and coating his member with your slick.

His other hand was happily finding your breasts and cupping one as he let his fingers pinch at your hardened nipple. You released a quiet whine from the slight pull and the way his dick seemed to be teasing you to the point where your hips were trying to meet his efforts halfway.

“Baby,” you sighed breathlessly and he felt his heart swell. It was the first time you’ve ever called him anything other than Taehyung and he needed to hear it again. He needed to feel all of you so he lowered his head to place a kiss on the roundness of your tit. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders not wanting to stop when his tongue swiped at your nipple, licking it before sucking it into his mouth.

His hips seemed to sink down as his hand lined his cock between your folds more accurately. His knees dug into the mattress as he continued his assault on your tits and let only his tip slip into your entrance. Your hands were on his shoulder but soon moving along his back as if trying to hurry along and he let himself sink down more and more.

When he circled his tongue around your nipple he made your back arch into him, tightening around his cock with the new angle that had you both moaning softly.

Taehyung was careful at first, only steady thrusts, in and out, drawn back fully before pushing in softly. His body was so close, finally being inside of you felt like it was where he belonged. The way your bodies just fit so perfectly against each other was proof that you were meant to be. He had to try and be calm so you wouldn’t get scared when in reality all he wants to do is fuck you till you’re only thinking about him.

You grip his shoulders tightly, moving your hips in rhythm with him as you matched his thrusts, showing him that you wanted more. One of the hands you had on his bare back was coming up to the nape of his neck where you pulled on his hair hard enough to make him leave your breasts and crawl back to your awaiting lips.

"Why are you so fucking pretty?" He licked the corner of your mouth as you watched his hips draw back before pushing forward harshly. He was fucking you at a slower pace but still being a little rough, “So fucking pretty it hurts, baby.”

You smiled as your body seemed to move along the sheets with his harsh thrusts as you looked into his eyes, still holding the back of his hair, “Do you love me?”

God, it scared you but you wanted to hear it over and over again as he fucked you senseless.

“Yes,” Taehyung moaned out as a hand came to your hair grabbing a handful of it for control. He didn't pull but he just needed something to hold tight the way you held him, he let his hand circle around your thigh and bring it up to his waist where you wrapped your legs around him, "Don’t care if you don’t love me yet, you will.”

Warning bells went off but you weren’t listen because his thrusts became more rough, losing his rhythm in the process but passionately and aggressively fucking you. You lean up to kiss him for a moment and he releases a deep groan as he peeled his body off yours so he could sit back on his haunches and fuck you like that.

"Taehyung," you moaned again, hands gripping the sheets when he got too far out of your reach.

"I love you so fucking much," he growled as he moved so that a leg of yours fell back down on the mattress while he stretched the other one up to rest on his shoulder.

He leaned forward not caring much for your flexibility and cupped your chin between his fingers and thumb. Just like that, he began to fuck you in this new position that had you whining in pain and pleasure.

“Say you’re mine,” he said through gritted teeth as he felt your walls clench around him making it harder for him to grind his cock into your needy cock without feeling the need to release any second.

“I’m yours,” you whispered with moans falling from your lips, “I’m yours, Taehyung.”

Fuck, he hated how quickly he could cum with your words and he had to make you cum before he did this time. He lowered the hand he had on your thigh to your clit where he began to flick the hardened bud between two fingers, fucking into you the way you deserved and your head was falling back with a loud moan.

His face was pressed against your leg and his eyes squinted shut as he felt his release building up to the point where Taehyu f was fucking you so hard and fast that the pillows were falling off the bed along with some of the sheets.

“I’m gonna cum,” you finally said and with a swift push of your leg off his shoulder; he was hugging your body to him as he brought you both to orgasm.

The room was filled with a mixture of pants and loud moans from the two of you. Taehyung pressed his face against yours as he repeated in whispers, “I love you, Y/n. I love you. I love you so much.”

You never gave him a response but he didn’t need one to express himself to you. He knew that you wanted him by the way you cling to him even as he tries to dislodge himself so he could take the uncomfortable condom off his softening dick. He looked down at the mess he’s made of you and the way your chest rose and fell with each heavy breath you took and he couldn’t take it.

He couldn’t help but want to make you feel so good and it made him realize the mistake he’s made. In his rush to be inside you, he never thanked you for taking his dick in your mouth like the perfect slut you are for him. He got a small taste of your pussy on his fingers but he hasn’t put his mouth on it directly and that’s a damn shame.

He can see that you’re still coming down from the high of orgasm but he couldn’t help himself. He was crawling down your open legs to find himself face to face with your used cunt that pushed out cum even now.

You felt the movement down there but you still hadn’t fully been paying attention until Taehyung moved.

Taehyung was sneaky like that, he’ll make himself noticed only when he wants to and of course it was only when his wet tongue met your oversensitive clit with a long lick. You nearly yelped and had your legs squeezing around his legs, “Wa—wait.”

“Tae—Baby, I jus— ” You whimpered as you heard the slick sounds of his mouth eagerly lapping up your release from the good fuck he’s just given you, “Stop, pl—“

You bit back a whine as Taehyung suddenly pulled back. He crawled up to you with open eyes as he studied your face for any idea of what you might be thinking. You wanted him to stop?

He still had a hand wrapped around your thigh and he ran small circles into the side with the pad of his thumb as he said, “You want me to stop?”

You were abusing your bottom lip with the way you bit into it and it had his eyes zoning in on the action wanting nothing more but to pull out with his own teeth until your mouths clashed once more. But no.

No, he won’t. He has to see what you really want.

“I’m still sensitive,” you whispered as you cupped his face in your hands admiring how pretty he looked covered in sweat. He kissed the palm of your hand as it slipped lower down his cheek, “I’ll be gentle baby, I just want a taste.”

“Mm,” you moaned at those soft words and he smiled, “I’m tired though.”

He watched the way you turned your bottom lip out into a pout and he felt his heart explode as he whispered, “I’ll do all the work. I’ll clean you up.”

With a pleased sigh at his proposal you nodded, “Okay.”

He’s treated you right all night even if your friend might’ve put him in a bad mood. You knew just how to make him feel better and the things he’s said the entire time you’ve been having sex was finally getting to you.

That’s why, before he could go back down to eating you out, you made sure to say, “I love you too.”

Taehyung was like a devil in disguise and you’ve probably known this since the moment you met him. He played the charming, charismatic man too well.

He played the nice guy, the respectful one, the kind one yet that’s not the version of him that you fell for believe it or not.

The part that really made you fall for him was the way he lied and played with people like it was a game. He is picture perfect and you love that but you also love the fact that nobody but you seems to understand how crazy and calculative he is.

He can smile in someone’s face only to stab them in the back if they say one thing to him or you that he doesn't like. You learned to accept that after what happened with Minho. When he finally opened up to what happened that had him so on edge on your first date it all made sense.

He couldn’t end that first night perfectly when he thought that the server ruined it. You understood him now, so you should understand why he doesn’t want you around Jimin.

You know Taehyung could act like he’s gotten over his possessiveness and has learned to accept the years long friendship you’ve had with Jimin, but you know that’ll all be a lie.

You know that in his pretty little head he’s probably going to be thinking about ways to make Jimin disappear and you found yourself not really caring either way.

Jimin is a good friend of yours and you had every intention of communicating that with Taehyung after the first night you slept together but it was pointless. He already had it in his mind that he didn’t want you to see each other you could lie and say you were mad but for some reason you didn’t care much about it anymore.

Maybe Taehyung had been the right one for you all along and you just wanted to make up all these weird suspicions about him even if he was very obvious with the way he felt for months. It took him so long to be the guy you can be comfortable around only for you to fall for his more manipulative side instead.

“Do you love me?” You asked in a quiet voice as the two of you sat side by side in a booth at a café. You were tucked away in a corner hidden from the view of others and he had a leg of yours on his lap so he could run his hand along it. His nose brushed against yours, “Yes.”

You smiled, “I love you too.”

“Do you?” He asked more seriously, like he always thought you were lying to him, like he still needed to do everything in his power to show you even though you’re already isolating yourself from others for him.

“Yes,” you said with a nod of your head.

He pressed his lips against yours, still being gentle with you as you kissed him back.

Taehyung felt more at ease than he has in a very long time and it’s because he knew everything paid off. Every single calculation he did in his head on how to get you to be his was finally done. He doesn’t have to plot anymore or sabotage something in his favor, he’s done with those little games.

He has you and there’s absolutely no way he’s letting you go.

::.

a/n ok @aris-ink I tried my best at a dark concept so you gotta tell me how I did 😭

anyways I’ve been in such a Taehyung mood for weeks now and I haven’t written for him in a while since his special secret was a rewrite

hope this wasn’t toooo bad

personal taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog @alwaysdreamingnotsleeping @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover7 @saweetspoiled @uwu2rawr @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802faves @knudsenheggedel @skzthinker @unnatae @aurorthi @beautywine @95ene @taekookstata @lilliankoo @shescharlie e @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @babybella337 @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22

#kim taehyung #Taehyung smut #yandere taehyung #taehyung angst #taehyung au #taehyun fanfic #kim taehyung smut #taehyung drabble #taehyung oneshot #bts taehyung #Taehyung fluff #taehyung #taehyung fic #bts drabble #bts smut #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #something about him

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justivik · 5 days

Text

; italian boyfriend! yandere x fem! reader

english isn't my first language

You have been in a relationship with Matthew for 7 months. You have lived very nice moments like going out to fancy restaurants or cooking together on a Saturday night, no doubt you felt very lucky to have him by your side but there was something that caught your attention about him.

His pathological jealousy.

He would tell you that he trusted you but not others, it seemed like all day long he was suspicious of all the men and even women who surrounded you and maintained a friendship with you. It seems like an endless loop when you two fight, it was always suspicions on his part against you. The two of you would fight, make up and end up getting intimate. Almost like that Katy Perry song; you loved your boyfriend and you were determined to put an end to that intense jealousy so you could have a stable relationship…. Or that was your idea. You two went back to the same fight with the same theme, his distorted suspicions showing with every word and look he directed at you.

“Understand me, coure mio. I feel that your new coworker is trying to flirt with you, I've seen how he looks at you and how he tries to have some friction with you and that makes me feel…. disgustato!” He shouted whispering the last word so as not to attract the attention of the next door neighbors, with his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw tighter.

“He has no other intentions, Matt. He's already engaged to his partner and he was just being nice.”

“Being nice, being nice! You're lying! He was looking at you with other intentions and his touches were not friendly. No touch from a man who is not me is friendly.” He said.

You watched as he brought his left hand to his face with an annoyed sigh, his eyelashes pointing downward as his lips traced inaudible whispers. You stood in silence as Matt tried to calm his fit of jealousy, his hands clenched and his jaw went back to the same tense state. He sat down on the couch closer and looked at you, his sweet eyes were now darkly bitter, he opened his lips to say something again.

“Ti amo, e ho bisogno che tu mi capisca that he is not a good man, stay away from him and don't talk to him anymore. He is not a good influence and look at the problems he is bringing.”

You love it when he speaks Italian and he knows the power of saying sweet words to you in his native language. He knew how to manipulate you quickly and easily, making you nervous and blushing but this time you weren't going to let him, you were tired of the same arguments.

”He's not guilty of anything, Matt. Work on your fucking jealousy before we break up this relationship and we're more broken than anything.” You looked into his eyes and how they turned from angry to scared of losing you.

Desperate babbling was coming out of his mouth, head tilted from side to side in a no.

“If you leave me, I'd die! Don't think stupid things, coure mio.” He kept flattering you with words as soft as a rose but painful as its thorns.

“Stay with me, please. I love you, not anyone else. You!”

You felt Matthew's arms around your waist, his face on your stomach and his tears staining your shirt. You sighed deeply and then stroked his messy hair and promised him that you would never leave his side. This time your fight ended in something more than fucking…It all happened so fast, but you were glad your fight didn't last more than an hour. You would have to do a lot of work with your boyfriend on his jealousy and insecurities.

“I'll never leave you, honey”

My first post & open request!!!

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spdrslayr · 10 months

Text

003. atsv headcanons ! ★ pre collider jonathon ohnn x reader…

! pt. 2 - post collider hcs. ⁀➷ srcs... masterlist .rules. intro .

| synopsis, ୨♡୧ a little glimpse into your relationship with dr. johnathon ohnn.

★ tags -> gender neutral reader; johnathon ohnn; the spot; fluff; etc...

★ warnings -> cursing; johnathon being a meanie; mentions of trauma & abandonment

★ w.c -> 1,028

| xox, mei! ୨♡୧ -> earlier a centipede got into my room while i was bopping out to hyperpop. it scared me so much that i was able to leverage the fear into energy for writing.

he loves to make you laugh. johnathon’s such a goof compared to other renowned scientists of his age and caliber. really, it’s a breath of fresh air. he knows how to have fun, especially with you. he’ll crack the funniest joke at work only for his coworkers to look at him like: 😐😐😐; so it makes him really happy to know you think he’s funny. you both have so many inside jokes n stories that you’ll cherish forever.

he’s totally the type of person to make jokes whenever he’s nervous or unsure of what to say. he won you over by being silly!

he’ll say the meanest jokes about people you both don’t like, and it’s insanely funny. you think of your johnny as the sweetest boyfriend- but you have to admit, it’s kinda hot when he’s mean.

“if mr.fisk keeps crying about the mets- i’m gonna make sure this collider kills us all,” he grumbled under his breath.

“that annoying photographer visited alchemax again. what was his name…” he feigned innocence. “piper pickle?”

johnathon is such a nerd. it’s adorable how excited he gets about his favorite video games and movies. please indulge in his geeky interests!! he’d love love LOVE to watch some of his favorite sci-fi movies with you. he’ll talk over the entire movie, but it’s still nice to cuddle.

if you don’t know how to play a certain video game of his, he’ll teach you. his voice is so soft n understanding, his breath tickling you while you cuddle. johnathon’s squished to your side, his large hands covering n guiding yours over the controller. and gets so giddy when you win something. all in all, he’s just happy to share something so dear to him with you.

imagine if it turned out one of his favorite characters (crushes cough cough) bore a striking resemblance to you. johnathon is mortified and you’re weirdly flattered (and planning an elaborate cosplay for a surprise.)

his intelligence drives you nuts. it’s INSANELY attractive to you how smart johnathon is. whenever he goes on a tangent about physics or some complicated mathematical concept, you get kind of dizzy listening to him. you don’t mean to, but after a while, you get too distracted by all of him to listen. he’s so passionate, his large hands and long fingers waving about to help emphasize his point. his eyes are sparkling too. his voice got a lot deeper when he (perfectly, by the way) pronounced the word “viscoelasticity” and you’re on cloud 9. this happens whether or not you can understand a word he’s saying. and if you’re not well versed in science, he never talks down to you when rambling. sure, he’s very proud to be a super-genius, but he’d never dream of looking down on other people because of it.

you’re always asking him questions and he fucking loves it. DON’T ASK GOOGLE ABOUT SCIENCE SHIT. if you do he’ll be all pouty n sad.

“hey siri, what is the shape of an electron-”

he looks furious, letting out a scoff. “i’m right here. your smart-ass boyfriend is only a few feet away and you’re asking ol’ googly eyes!”

despite being a busy workaholic, he insists that he’s never too busy for you. if necessary, he’ll make time.

johnathon’s made it his mission to outsmart anyone who impresses you. “i’m not jealous i’m BETTER.”

johnathon adores cuddling you, especially after a stressful day. he just loves you so much that sometimes the only way he can express that to you is by holding you as close as humanly possible. johnathon adores every inch of your being and intends to appreciate every part of it, scars and all. one may expect him to be the big spoon because, well, long man- but it goes either way. sometimes he clutches you like his life depends on it and other times he just needs to bask in your embrace. it makes him feel safe, loved, and on his worst days, invincible.

when in bed, he’ll be running his big hands up and down your sides, rubbing circles into every dent n curve. his hands are hairy, so it’ll tickle a bit, but the way he massages you is nothing short of masterful. he’s so happy that you’re his, so he makes sure to savor you.

johnny loves it when you trace his tattoos. he thinks it’s so cute how much you love them, letting you ‘oooh’ and ‘awww’ as much as your pretty little heart desires.

in the past he absolutely loathed going to alchemax events. being choked by a black tie for a whole ass evening while being forced to mingle with rich assholes is a nightmare for the poor man. but having you come along as his date makes the experience a more positive one. johnathon gets so smug, always delighted to show you off. like yeah, that’s MY s/o. yes they’re gorgeous and taken. by ME. he loves seeing you all dressed up, especially when you’re on his arm.

he’s an introvert, so he gets tired of all the socializing quickly. when that happens, he’ll wander around the venue with you (including places you aren’t allowed to be at-) to get some privacy (and make out.)

speaking of work, he has a picture of you on his desk. he has it placed at an angle so he can see it clearly, but so can anyone who walks in.

johnnys practically screaming: “hey!! look at how beautiful my partner is!!!!”

he calls you baby. he’ll also call you dear, honey, and sweetheart, but baby the most. also counting babe. johnathon has a shit ton more cute nicknames for you and he is NOT afraid to use them.

“g’morning, baby,” he’ll murmur into the crook of your neck, in between sloppy wet kisses on your shoulder.

he passes by you in a rush, but not without pressing a big wet kiss to your check, “hi babe! :)”

“baaaaaabe where did you put the chips?” he can be whiny, especially with you.

“i love you, baby,” he’d tell you softly, cradling your face with his hand. his thumb is rubbing your bottom lip and you’re ready to faint.

#atsv #across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #johnathon ohnn #johnathon ohnn x reader #the spot #the spot x reader #jonathan ohnn #jonathan ohnn x reader #johnathan ohnn #johnathan ohnn x reader

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carav4l · 8 months

Text

dim light

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader

Summary: After the first Quidditch match of the year, Y/N founds herself in the wrong side of the bar at the club she works at. And she’s not specially happy about it. However, Theo Nott is even more pissed, and he has all the rights to be.

Warnings: violence (not developed, but a fight does take place), swearing.

Before you read: this piece is set in a CollegeAU! English is not my first language, so please take that into consideration and be nice. Also, the whole piece is written in third POV because it’s the one I’m more comfortable with. Reader’s house isn’t specified, but definitely isn’t Slytherin or Gryffindor for the plot’s sake.

Y/N had to cover for one of her colleagues that night, Aubrey, who was feeling unwell after accidentally tasting some unfinished potion they had been working on that morning’s class. So, much to her regret, Y/N had to experience the post-season party from behind the bar at the Witch’s Hour Nightclub. Y/N wasn't the biggest fan of Quidditch by any means, but she did love everything that came with it at the castle: the colorful stands, skipping classes to watch the other’s houses games, the tension during the match, and above all, the celebrations that followed.

"Can I have two strawberry daiquiris, please?"

Ginny Weasley's words were met with a nod from Y/N, who smiled hoping to conceal her frustration. As she prepared the drinks, she glimpsed her group of friends amidst the dance floor frenzy. Just about ten minutes ago, they had all been keeping her company, sympathizing with her bad luck until Y/N urged them to enjoy the night on her behalf, and they had moved towards the dance floor to never come back. With all honesty, Y/N didn’t blame them for doing so.

Once the daiquiris were ready, Y/N placed them in front of the redhead without a word, her forced smile still in place. After paying for her order, the Gryffindor left the bar to join Luna Lovegood on the other side of the room.

Y/N barely had time to stash the money in the cash register before another group of girls shouted their order at her, noticeably less politely than Ginny. Y/N found herself close, very close, to spitting on the three Sex on the Beach cocktails in front of her. She couldn't stand how people could seem to lose their manners with the slightest bit of alcohol in their system. It didn't take her long to realize that, when it came to those girls, the unjustified attitude was because it had been Y/N who had taken their order, not the curly-haired guy going back and forth behind her.

Theodore Nott seemed considerably more annoyed about working that night than Y/N. And rightfully so, given his position as chaser on the Slytherin team, which had also happened to lose the game that day. Well, if Y/N was in a bad mood, Theo seemed ready to hex anyone who entered his line of sight at any moment.

Y/N took the wad of bills the group left, or rather slammed on the counter, and turned to head back to the register. This time however, she ended up colliding with something herself, most specifically her coworker's chest. The boy’s hands shot to her waist to prevent her from falling, and Y/N felt the exposed skin between her black crop top and low-rise sequin miniskirt burn. She unconsciously grabbed onto Theo's forearm, her chest constricted by the sudden scare.

"Hey angel, seems like you really tripped over me there," he said with a grin once Y/N steadied herself, not even making an attempt to let her go. In fact, she felt like he was tracing circles on her hip with his thumb. Y/N became acutely aware of the places where Theo's skin touched hers. "You good?"

She lifted her gaze to his watercolor eyes and cursed herself for the effect they, and the boy himself, seemed to have on her. It was utterly stupid, as everyone knew that Theodore Nott wasn't available and didn't seem like he would ever be. The boy seemed way above any one-night stand or anything as trivial as college relationships. Y/N believed she could count on one hand all the girls she knew he had been involved with. In some way, she respected him for that.

"Yeah, sorry," she apologized with flushed cheeks, silently grateful for the dim lighting of the venue. "It's just that tonight's been a mess and I'm a bit distracted."

Her words got lost in the music resonating through the speakers. Theo put a finger to his ear to signal that he hadn't heard anything, then buried his hand in Y/N's hair and gently brought their faces closer. Y/N repeated her response, earning a nod and a guttural sound of agreement.

"Tell me about it," Theo sighed then, pulling his face back just enough for their eyes to lock. They were so close that their noses almost brushed.

"I still don't quite get why you're working tonight, to be honest. I thought there was an unwritten rule that said Quidditch players didn't have to work on match days."

"Well, let's just say dear boss couldn’t seem to care less about that rule," the guy said, giving a sidelong glance at Philippa Harvey, a rather ill-tempered Ravenclaw who happened to be the club's manager. She was on the good side of the bar, dancing suggestively with a guy Y/N couldn't quite place. "Let's say she made me an indecent proposal, and I turned her down. And voilà, here I am."

A pang of something close to jealousy reluctantly settled in Y/N's stomach. It's not like she had any right to feel that way, anyway. She opened her mouth to express how sorry she felt for him, both for Slytherin's defeat and the fact that Philippa had finished screwing the night for him, but the sound of someone banging on the counter forcefully stole her opportunity.

"Hey, you two! Less groping and more pouring drinks."

It was a Gryffindor from the Quidditch team, tall and big, with a rather ordinary face. Y/N assumed that's why she couldn't remember his name. In any case, he seemed pretty drunk to her.

After trailing her cheek with his thumb one last time, Theo let go of her and with the distasteful expression he had worn all night back in place, told Y/N that he would handle it. She sighed and resumed the task of putting away the money in the cash register. Once done, she walked over to where Theo was serving the Gryffindor big guy to attend another one who had just arrived at the bar.

As she was about to start making a gin and tonic for him, a shot glass was placed right in front of her. Y/N raised an eyebrow at Theo, and he just shrugged in response. "It's going to be a long night," he seemed to convey with the gesture. "We might as well make it as enjoyable as possible." She agreed, so she took the shot and brought it to her lips without hesitation. Theo did the same with his own shot, never taking his eyes off her, and Y/N wasn't sure if the rush of heat that swept through her body was due to the alcohol or his gaze.

"Have another one on me, Nott," the Gryffindor guy interrupted them again, placing another pair of bills on top of those already on the counter. "And another for your gorgeous coworker. It sucks that you have to be the one serving drinks after how we beat the shit out of you guys this afternoon, don't you think?"

Theo clenched his fist around the glass, his knuckles turning white. Lips pressed into a stern line, he continued preparing the jerk's drink without looking up from his task. Y/N continued hers, not taking her eyes off the scene unfolding by her side.

"I also think it sucks that such a pretty girl like you has to be on that side of the bar," the Gryffindor guy persisted, unabated. Y/N looked at him out of the corner of her eye, still working, grabbing a bottle of gin from under the bar and pouring it into the glass in front of her. "When you get a break, you could look me up. We Gryffindors know how to show a girl a good time."

Disgusted, Y/N opened her mouth to tell him that she'd rather get eaten by a basilisk than to let him lay a finger on her, but someone beat her to it.

"Don't you even think about talking to her," snapped Theo, slamming the drink down in front of the Gryffindor with such force that Y/N thought the glass might shatter. "In fact, don't ever look at her again."

Y/N was taken aback by such words. She glanced at Theo with a racing heart, but he didn't return the look because his gaze was fixed on the idiot. The latter laughed brazenly.

"And what are you gonna do about it?"

Y/N saw a glint of anger in Theo's watercolor eyes, so she hurried to slip under the boy's arm resting on the counter and interpose herself between him and the Gryffindor. For a moment, Theo ignored her and continued to glare at the rival idiot. With a slightly trembling hand, Y/N grabbed his face by the jaw and forced their gazes to meet. If he had taken her that intimately before, he shouldn't mind her doing the same, right?

"Theo," she called him. He however, not willing to give in attempted to turn his face again. "Theo, just leave it. It's not worth it."

Y/N felt Theo's grip on his jaw tighten even more, but he nodded imperceptibly anyway.

"Fine."

"Yeah, Nott, listen to your little whore."

In the blink of an eye, Theo had jumped over the counter and landed a solid left hook on the round-faced Gryffindor. Y/N gasped in surprise at the sight. The Slytherin boy wasn't particularly known for getting into fights, not even when they happened during a match and the rest of his team and some of his friends were involved. That was more typical of Mattheo Riddle, or Lorenzo Berkshire. By Merlin, even Malfoy could be more prone to fights than Theo.

But there he was, straddling a guy who was a head taller and twice his size, punching him repeatedly in the face. Y/N figured the only reason Theo barely had gotten a scratch on his cheek was that, as she had suspected earlier, the Gryffindor was quite drunk. For a moment, Y/N just stood there, doing nothing but watching the spectacle unfold before her eyes, as if in a trance that prevented her from looking away. It didn't last too long luckily, and once she managed to move, she went straight to the dance floor, heading for the area where she thought she had spotted Theo's group of friends over an hour ago.

If it hadn't been for Draco Malfoy's bleached blond hair, Y/N didn't think she would have found them in the mass of dancing bodies. Pushing any insecurities the group might make her feel deep down, Y/N grabbed the wrist of the person who was closest to her and shook them hard enough to get their attention. Mattheo Riddle's dark eyes met hers shortly after, giving her an unfriendly once-over from head to toe. The guy didn't even bother to speak, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Hmm... I'm Y/N Y/L/N," she introduced herself awkwardly, trying not to dwell on it for too long. "I work here with Theo. This is actually about him. He's fighting with a Gryffindor idiot, and I'm not saying he doesn't deserve it, but the guy is like twice his size, and I can't separate them."

Surprise transformed Mattheo's face, which only confirmed the belief that Theo and fighting didn't usually appear in the same sentence. He turned to his friends to convey the message, and they all hurriedly followed Y/N to the bar where Theo was still straddling the Gryffindor, as if Y/N had never left. In less than a second, Mattheo and Blaise had each of Theo's arms and were leading him out of the club, followed by Lorenzo, Draco, and Pansy.

Once again, Y/N stood still, not quite sure how to proceed. One thing was clear though: she definitely didn't want to be near the idiot once he woke up, or when his friends showed up and looked for someone to blame. Y/N approached the bar again to inform her only other coworker, a girl from her house with whom she maintained a friendly relationship of greetings and pleasant smiles in the corridors, that she was going to make sure Theo was okay. The girl nodded, and without further ado, Y/N headed for the back exit of the Witch's Hour, reserved only for staff and, on this occasion, Theo's friends.

Outside in the dimly lit alley, she found the curly-haired boy sitting on an old wooden crate, with Pansy Parkinson crouched in front of him at a distance that, for some reason she couldn’t wrap around her finger, seemed too short to Y/N. Pansy seemed to be giving him a quiet scolding even though there was no one else there but the two of them and their other four friends, standing prudently apart. Theo had his gaze fixed on the ground, and although Y/N couldn't see his eyes because of his bangs, she noticed that his jaw was clenched once again.

Y/N approached cautiously the rest of the group. The smell of tobacco from Mattheo and Lorenzo's cigarettes wafted into her nose, causing her to wrinkle her nose in distaste. Blaise was the first to notice her presence.

"You didn't need to come out," he spoke in a calm tone, giving her a friendly smile. Y/N shrugged and returned the smile timidly.

"Blaise’s right," Lorenzo chimed in between drags of his cigarette. The contrast between his boyish face and the action itself shocked Y/N. "Pansy knows how to handle him."

Y/N made an affirmative sound before giving a proper response. Why had she come out, anyway? The answer briefly crossed her mind, but she couldn't even process it correctly, let alone speak it out loud. She decided to go for the most obvious excuse.

"I just wanted to make sure he's okay. After all, this happened because..."

"I don’t fucking care, Theodore!" Pansy's shout cut her off mid-sentence. The five turned their heads toward them. Pansy had stood up and was pointing an accusing finger at Theo. "You're supposed to be the smart one in the group. You shouldn't stoop to this crap."

"Ouch," Mattheo whimpered, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"Don't play the victim, Riddle," Draco said, leaning against the alley wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "She hasn't said anything that isn't true."

"It's still pretty uncalled for on her part."

The conversation died there, unlike the ongoing one between Pansy and Theo. Y/N decided to wait until Theo's friends went back inside the club to talk to him alone about what had happened. She didn't feel up to doing it with all those strangers watching her from the other side of the alley, and there was no need to create such a scene.

The night was strangely cool for the time of year they were in, and considering how lightly she was dressed, Y/N began to shiver slightly. Thanks to Merlin, only a couple more minutes passed before Pansy concluded her scolding and headed back to the club. Y/N couldn't quite grasp the look she shot her as she walked by. It wasn't a look of complete disdain, at least not entirely, but it lacked the warm smile Blaise had given her earlier.

"Ignore her," Blaise reassured, that same smile still on his face. Shifting his attention back to Y/N, he noticed her shivering and promptly took off his green and black Quidditch team bomber jacket to offer it to her. "Here, take it. Give it back to Theo, and he'll return it to me."

Y/N barely had any time to refuse, but was grateful that Blaise didn't give her the chance to as she truly could use some warmth. She slid her arms into the sleeves of the jacket, which was considerably larger than her, and involuntarily breathed in its scent: expensive cologne with hints of mint and chocolate. Y/N couldn't help but find it somewhat addictive.

Once alone in the alley, Y/N walked over to where Theo was still seated, head down and hands tangled in his hair.

"Hey," she managed to say.

After a significantly long sigh, Theo raised his gaze to meet hers. With a tired smile, he greeted her in a hushed voice.

"Are you okay?"

"Mhhm," Theo barely made a sound in response, unsure of what else to say.

There was an air of something new between them, and neither was quite sure how to proceed. Y/N raised her hand with the intention of cupping his face to see for herself if what the boy had said was true, but her hand stopped midway. She attempted to disguise the motion by placing her hand on her chest.

"Thanks for standing up for me," Y/N finally said, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

"Anytime," Theo murmured, his voice slightly huskier than usual. In a sudden surge of courage he took Y/N's hand in his and tugged it gently, bringing her closer to him. He played with her fingers as he spoke again. "I wish you hadn't had to see that, though."

"Let's just say you could have settled for threatening him or something," she excused him, downplaying it with a giggle that made the boy smile. "But I'm still grateful you did it."

Silence once again settled between them, but this time it felt more comforting in a way. For a few moments, they simply locked eyes, trying to find in each other's eyes all that they were feeling themselves. Y/N was genuinely surprised to find herself in this situation with none other than Theodore Nott. There had always been a sort of mutual understanding between them, a silent complicity they didn't share with any of their clubmates. But Y/N had always assumed it was a simple friendship, that Theo considered her a part of the short list of people he tolerated, and that was it.

However, under the dim light of the moon that night, it felt like much more to her.

"I think we should go back inside," Y/N said in a hushed voice, fearing that if she raised her tone too much, the magical moment would come to an end.

"We should, yeah," Theo agreed, but despite his words, made no attempt to go back inside. If anything, he pulled Y/N's hand a bit more until she was practically between his legs.

With his free hand, Theo cautiously cradled her face, as if unsure if she would pull away. On the contrary, Y/N tilted her head letting it rest in his hand, unable to believe that all these displays of affection were coming from him.

"Can I ask you something?" Theo's voice caught her slightly off guard, but she nodded all the same.

"Sure."

"Never wear Zabini's jacket again," his words caught her with a bit of surprise, and her cheeks turned an even rosier shade.

"Why? Are you going to lend me yours or something?" she joked, pushing a couple of strands of hair from Theo's face, using the excuse to touch him again.

Theo's gaze darkened a bit, and for a moment, Y/N cursed herself for choosing those words. Maybe they weren't at that point yet, right? Perhaps they hadn't reached the teasing phase, and her comment might had made Theo close up. It wouldn't surprise her coming from him.

Y/N didn't dare breathe again until Theo spoke, eyes filled with certainty.

"Consider it done."

Her heart raced, and seeing the smile that transformed her face into one of unexpected joy, his did too.

#theo nott x reader #theo nott #slytherin boys #theo nott imagine #theodore nott #blaise zabini #mattheo riddle #draco malfoy #pansy parkinson #lorenzo berkshire #enzo berkshire #harry potter #ginny weasley #luna lovegood #harry potter imagine

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bakugoushotwife · 7 months

Text

kinktober day fourteen: degradation kink

>>> so clearly i have a lot of issues...y'all gonna hate me for this one i can just feel it in my bones but guess what....i do not care! toji is degradation need i say more?

>>> starring toji fushiguro x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: dilf!toji, age gap, college aged reader, mafia themes, dad's best friend toji, degradation duh, no prep, exhibitionism, breeding, a daddy theme? you don’t ever call him that it’s just. yes. dark content maybe? just in case. creampie, pet names. >>> wc: 3.6k >>> event masterlist

it was risky, you know, and most certainly wrong. you should be disgusted. he’s been married—lost his wife, has a young kid, all things much more adult than you’ve ever had to deal with in your college-aged life. he’s a horrible man, though you suppose your father isn’t much better since they work so closely together, not that you’re supposed to know anything about the work they do. all you know is they make way too much money and carry way too many guns for their jobs to unrelated to the mafia crime wars making the news. you should be disgusted and scared, yet here you stand, in front of your mirror trying to find the best outfit to wear downstairs to greet your dad’s sexy colleague.

you were only in town for so long since you were just visiting your family for summer break, so you had limited time to try and lure him into making a move. so you settle for a black bra that enhances your bust, covered only with a black glitter mesh long sleeve and a matching leather mini that clings to your ass. it was definitely a heels kind of night, and the pretty black louboutins you slid into elongate your legs perfectly. after some hair and makeup, you sling your purse over your shoulder and only make your way down the stairs when you can hear his deep voice speaking with your father.

you stride past the office, knowing your dad would stop you. your heels click against the mahogany and as if on cue, your father belts your name. you grin to yourself, everything was going according to plan. you turn, clicking back to lean into the room.

“yes, daddy?” you hum, batting your eyes so innocently when you were the picture of anything but. it makes a vein in your father’s forehead jump, but alas, you’re a grown woman who makes her own decisions. just rest assured the weight of god would come down on whoever wronged his baby girl.

“where’s my princess going?” he coos, giving an apologetic glance to his coworker. luckily, he feels his eyes and meets them, giving him a nod of forgiveness.

“oh, just going out with some of my girls! becky just got out of a relationship–she needs the club!” you titter adorably, feeling his eyes bore into you. you give him a sickeningly sweet smile, “hi mister fushiguro!”

the scarred corner of his lip creeps into a grin, a finger salute serving as his greeting only because he didn’t trust his mouth to keep his thoughts at bay. you’re sexy as fuck, and totally off limits. it only makes him want you worse, though it doesn’t help you’re the hottest bitch he’s ever seen.

“do be careful, princess.” he smiles, clueless to how his friend eyes you up.

“course daddy. can i take your black card?” you pout so endearingly, toji would give you all the money in his wallet if you asked. your father hums approvingly and fishes it out of his wallet, holding it up in the air for you to retrieve. your heels click and your hips swing as you make your way over, displaying your delicious figure perfectly. toji thinks it’s a miracle your father hasn’t had to kill anyone over you yet. you lean over the desk and take the card with perfectly manicured fingers. he watches it all, already planning how the rest of this night would go once you left.

“be careful.” your father reiterates, and you roll your eyes and kiss his cheek.

“don’t worry–my guys can handle anyone who gets outta line–satoru and suguru would never let anything happen to me.” you swear, batting those long lashes again. your father seems comforted by this, but toji is only aggravated to learn you have male friends. they no doubt wanted to fuck you and were only biding their time just as he was. “bye daddy, see you later mister fushiguro!”

and just like that, your red bottoms carried you away with obnoxious clicks telling him just how far from him you were. your father sighs heavily.

“what a handful that girl is.” he says affectionately, shaking his head as they get back on task, your father giving toji a rival kill for the night. he grins at the file, knowing he’d be able to wrap that up rather quickly and then get to the real target.

you’re haunted by how effortlessly good he looked, and how unable you are to do anything about it on the way to the club, only wallowing in your desperation for a man way older than you. he was just so big, tall and broad and had to be even stronger than he looked. you knew he was experienced and rough, he would definitely be able to take care of you, if only you could work up the nerve to actually hit on him instead of these passive aggressive attempts at drawing him to you. it clearly wasn’t doing the trick, even if you could tell he wanted you. you’re so lost in your own head that the driver has to get your attention multiple times before you realize that you’re outside the building. you step out and shimmy your skirt down a bit further.

the sound of your friends squealing as they wait for you draws you right to them, painting a smile on your face to celebrate you friend’s breakup—shoving hopes of toji fushiguro finding you at the club tonight to the back of your head. the scene is nothing special, just like every other clubbing spot in every city in the world. it’s all neon lights and smoky clouds of tobacco and marajuana both, the smell of liquor and vomit mingling together to make your nose scrunch and sting as you enter the dingy dance floor alongside your closest girls—and the bodyguard boys trailing behind you. your group makes their way to the bar immediately, fruity mixed drinks and beers being handed out for the first of many times tonight. you can feel the buzz of excitement in the air even though you were feeling let down, perhaps that was because of the group of fellow college-aged boys eyeing you and your friends down from the dj booth. you play your little games with the man staring at you longingly, downing the rest of your liquid courage to go ask him to dance.

his hands were clammy, but at least he smelled good—like too much cologne and the gum in his mouth, his body pressed up against yours as you two sway to some electro-funk beat meaninglessly. You can feel his sweaty hands trail along your waist and hips, even lowering to your thighs and inching his fingers up the already short leather skirt, and your nose scrunches up in distaste. it was better than wondering about your father’s right hand man though, so you settle for it. you tell yourself that if you think hard enough, you can picture him instead. it doesn’t take as much effort as you thought. the clammy hands of the college boy disappear to be replaced by the coarser broader hands of an older man, the heavy cologne replaced by a natural musk with hints of a beach bonfire mingled in. his hands would move along your body expertly, he would know the ins and outs of the female anatomy–surely able to please you in all facets. you can just imagine his smirking face as he leans down over your shoulder to whisper something raunchy in your ear, something about how he’s been waiting to make you his since the minute he saw you.

which is almost exactly what happens, except the man you’re daydreaming of stands in front of you looking real amused, seething almost. “princess,” he snarls, the bass in his voice alone enough to shock away the little boy grinding into your ass. “here i was thinkin’ ya got all dressed up f’r me.”

the red and green strobe lights of the club dance off his sharp features, highlighting the jealousy and intrigue swimming in his eyes. there was a splatter of blood on his cheek, but otherwise he looked as gorgeous as he normally did. his black t-shirt looked nearly spray-painted on the way it was highlighting every ridge and muscle in his chest and torso, and his usual pants clung to the taut muscle of his broad thighs.

“i did, but you shrivel up in front of my daddy.” you tease, unsure of where your courage to poke at the dangerous and large man came from. “now you wanna come here and scare off the ones bold enough to dance with me?”

you’re evil, you’re sick in the head, but you smirk like you knew he would fall into the trap easily. and he does. he grabs your wrist and spins you around, and you feel the warmth of his fingertips digging into your hip. another one of the college boys watches with contempt, nursing a bloody nose you imagine he earned with some slick comment— that explains the fresh blood on toji’s face. he presses up against you, dropping your wrist in favor of a hold on your throat, not too good to manhandle you in public. what’s someone gonna do? intervene? call the cops? that makes him laugh. the grip on your throat is surprisingly light, though the threat of something more punishing looms large. you feel his chest rumble against your back— he was laughing at your tense form, the beat of some rap song thumping in your ears now.

“yeah, that’s exactly what i did.” he snarls in your ear, his hold on your throat keeping your back to his chiseled chest, not that you wanted to get away anyhow. “shrivel up,” he chortles at your dig, replaying your little tantrum. “y’know the only reason i can’t manhandle ya in front of your pops is ‘cuz he’d get so stupid i’d have to kill him. want that, sweetheart?”

you’re embarrassed you have to keep yourself from nodding—wagering your father’s life just to have his colleague the way you wanted, how shameful. he spits these pet names like they’re insults, like he knows what you really are. a little whine of desperation leaves your throat and you press your ass back against him, collecting your thoughts to find something to say to drive him wild. “do whatever you gotta do, i’m familiar with the business—just want you real bad, mister fushiguro.”

it works, everything you do puts him deeper under your spell, gritting his teeth in frustration as he falls for you. it’s more embarrassing for him than it is for you, really. he’s a grown man enchanted by the supple body and soul of a woman a fraction of his age. but he can’t stop himself from tailing you on your outings, telling himself that your dad pays him a pretty penny to keep you out of harm’s way, and that’s all he does. but he goes above and beyond, especially on nights like these when some little boys are feeling a little too bold for his liking. so of course he followed you here, and of course he broke that scrub’s nose who said something about your ass, and of course, it was just a matter of time. until he just couldn’t lie to himself any longer about what he wanted. until you pushed him over the edge and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

“oh yeah?” he hums, brow arching up as his hands slide down your hips, playing with the hem of your skirt. “you really that big a slut for me? you’d let me kill your precious daddy?” he chuckles, pressing a wet kiss under your ear. he radiated warmth and possessiveness and his fingertips dug into the skin of your thighs. you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or his words but you’re buzzing. you can feel his handprints practically searing into your flesh, the two of you barely moving to the beat that drowns out all other noise.

he slaps your ass. “asked you a question.” his gravelly voice rasps in your ear, the scraping of his teeth against your flesh comes next instead of a sweet kiss. you whimper out a bit and nod, feeling the heat course around your body in a mixture of embarrassment and deep arousal. he was right—you were a massive slut, dedicating your entire summer break to getting his attention in hopes he would touch you like he is right now.

“can’t hear ya–might be th’ music?” he taunts, sliding his other hand away from your neck and over your voluptuous chest. he grunts impatiently as he feels the dips of your body and that coarse sheer top beneath his fingertips, waiting for you to obey.

“yes—i’m’a slut, mister fushiguro.” you hiccup from the vodka running through your veins and the embarrassment stinging at your eyes. his chuckle rumbles through his chest again, though not in the way it did earlier. he spins you around to face him, pinching your chin in between his forefinger and thumb.

“call me toji, dollface.” he smirks as you nod sheepishly, suddenly shy now that you were getting your way. he was even scarier up close, beautiful features twisted and darkened to reveal his sinister nature. but you find a way to get lost in hooded eyes of green reflecting the crazy flashing lights as he looks past you, trying to find somewhere to take you. he locates a bathroom, dragging you behind him with another commanding grip on your wrist. he has the decency to pull you inside the women’s stalls at least, reserving the biggest one for your activities. he would just fuck you out in the open to really show you how crazy you make him, but he can’t risk making that big a scene—and he’d probably have a few more bodies to bury if anyone looked at you the wrong way.

you stand in the middle of the stall, watching him secure the lock and turn to you, chuckling at your waiting expression. you were nervous, wanting to impress but not sure where to start despite the hot need snowballing in your center the longer you stand there and look at him. he tilts his head up and you walk towards him, his smirk spreads.

“you’re an obedient lil pup for such a spoiled bitch.” he chuckled, shoving his beefy hands under your top and pushing it and your bra up over your chest. you swear you can feel your panties dampen from the words alone, why did you like it so much? you open your mouth to respond, stammering over your speech.

“i’m–i–i’m n-not—”

“spit it out, pup.” he laughs, feeling at the round mounds you barely kept covered. they’re just as fat and soft as he knew they’d be, and his cock starts responding to your little whimpers as he massages you roughly, pulling and pinching at your nipples.

“not a—not a slut!” you huff out despite the way you lean against the wall to relish his callused hands on you. he snickers again, the sound so mean it makes you pout up at him. it only makes his cock harder. he drops his hand to cup your pussy, earning a gasp from you. you bite down on your lip as he shoves your thong aside and crudely collects some of your slick on his digits. he clicks his tongue when he shows you, fluorescent lighting and your arousal making his fingers shine.

“not a slut? then what’s this?” he arches a brow. “seems like y’r dribbling down y’r legs to me.” he taunts, pale pink lips stretching into a menacing grin. he doesn’t give you a chance to respond, shoving his fingers past your pout until they tickle the back of your throat and you gag. the sound makes him shudder a bit, and he’ll make sure you choke on his dick next time. “say it or i’m goin’ home. not giving my dick to liars.”

you clean his fingers, intrigued by the sweet acidity of yourself. your eyes widen a bit at his threat, knowing you were defeated. his other hand tugs at your hard nipple again and you wince at the delicious pain. you pull off his fingers and resume that adorable pout. “guess i am–i’d do anything!”

he laughs and yanks your skirt up to your waist, letting his thick fingers play over your swelling clit tauntingly. “then beg for dick like the little whore you are.” he says in a faux-non-chalance. your breath hitches at his feather light touch and demeaning command, but as he steps back and pushes down his jeans, your mouth waters.

“oh god–” you whine aloud, legs pressing together at him. he was huge, wrapped in bulging veins and gorgeous ridges. his black hair was trimmed around his base, full balls hanging low. you lick your lips at the sight of his hand closing around his shaft, and you gulp when you realize just how big he is, a massive hand not enough to contain him. “fuck. toji–please, i want you so bad.” you bat your lashes at him, fixated between his dick and his piercing stare. “may be a whore—just for you though, been waitin’ on you to notice me. “

oh, he noticed. you made it impossible not to, looking like pure sex every time he saw you—but the glossiness in your eyes and the slight bruising around your tits really brings it all together. he drops the baby changing table and looks to you. he does it so effortlessly you wonder for a second if he’s done this before, but it didn’t matter either way—you would be the most memorable for sure.

“bend over.” he adds, the dark pools of lust taking over the greens of his eyes. you do as told, feeling embarrassed at your disheveled state as you lean over the table attached to the wall and part your legs, feeling his hand come down on your ass roughly. you squeal and jump a little bit before his hand snakes between your thighs to feel just how ready you were. “poor old man. gonna be so devastated.”

“don’t care.” you whimper, wiggling your ass back to feel more of his cock as he slides it along your folds, stealing some of your wetness for himself. he chuckles, grabbing as much of your fat ass as his hand could hold.

“course y’don’t. y’r my little whore.” he grunts, jiggling your cheek. “he’s right though. you really are a handful.” he chuckles at his own joke, aggressively shoving his thick cock past your tiny hole, cussing at the tight fit. “see? swallowing me up like it’s all y’r good for.” he huffs against your neck, leveraging his weight to snap his hips against you like he hates your guts. you’re clawing at the textured plastic under you, his pace absolutely brutal and ripping guttural cries from your throat. he reaches around to clap his hand over your mouth, not wanting anyone to come running thinking someone’s getting murdered back here. “loud slut too, hah?”

you nod, rendered unable to do anything else. he pounds into you, jamming his leaking tip into the entrance of your cervix, sending blissful pain shooting through your body. he was even better than you imagined, tingles shooting everywhere and blurbs of white floating across your eyes. your arms start to wobble as you hurtle towards your orgasm, and toji reaches out–making a ponytail out of your hair to pull on, snapping your back into a deep arch. he grunts at the vision before him, your pussy was gripping him like nothing he’d ever experienced.

“never fucked a whore cunt like yours–maybe i’ll cum real deep in it so i can keep you.”

you clench at that and he tosses his head back to groan, amazed by the recoil of your ass and the choke of your walls. you whimper in his hand, the idea of feeling his cum was so hot to you—you couldn’t possibly delay your own release any longer. he feels you still, your pussy spasming around him as your body goes completely limp. you still make your little noises of approval as he uses you.

“aw, you liked that, huh? you’re nasty, bitch.” he chuckles deeply now, cock twitching in your womb. but he’s just as bad, fantasizing about how you’d tell your father that news, how he’d do anything it took to see your slutty body grow into a motherly one. he paints your walls in thick, hot ropes, stilling inside you. “guess megumi could always use a sibling.”

he pats your ass with something akin to affection and slides out, watching beads of his seed trickle out. you pant and try to collect your thoughts, expecting to hear the lock of the stall click open and toji’s footsteps pad away from you—no doubt slipping back into the night to patrol for your father like usual. but moments pass, and you don’t hear anything other than you’re own breathing until he clears his throat again.

“so. wanna get some food’r somethin’?” he thumbs at the corner of his lip anxiously, and you swear you can see the hint of a blush on his nose. so this is the part that makes him nervous?

“huh? you tryna be my boyfriend or my sugar daddy?” you giggle as he repositions your skirt on your hips. he rolls his eyes. “more like your baby daddy, dollface.” he spanks your ass and opens the bathroom stall, letting the lady go first—showing you that he’s a perfect gentleman.

#kyleewritesjjk #kylee's kinktober event #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #toji smut #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji x reader #fushiguro toji #toji zenin #toji thirst #toji x you

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irisintheafterglow · 6 months

Text

One-Shots

Gojo Satoru

You Are In Love - "you're my best friend," and you knew what it was

...Ready For It? - knew he was a killer first time that I saw him

Hits Different - it hits different 'cause it's you (or, struggling in a situationship with gojo satoru)

Never Grow Up - meeting megumi for the first time

The Archer - all of my enemies started out friends, can he hold on to you?

invisible string - the first time megumi uses ten shadows

even in my worst times, you see the best in me - being the strongest has its downsides, but at least you're suffering with him

life's no fun without a good scare - you have the brilliant idea of playing hide and seek in a corn maze against the most powerful sorcerer in the world. should be fun, right?

it's all me, just don't go (meet me in the afterglow) - satoru is jealous but refuses to admit it.

every dead end street led you straight to me - former fuckboy gojo has some things to say at the top of a mountain

i hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this! - coworkers to lovers with a healthy amount of teenage eavesdropping

Geto Suguru

The Great War - somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

Back to December - you gave him all your love and all he gave you was goodbye

say you'll remember me - you were destined to fail from the start, so why does it hurt so badly when he's gone?

dazzling haze, mysterious way about you, dear - need some fluff after reading all the angst above?

tell me that you love me, love me 'til my lips turn blue - being partnered with suguru on a mission takes an unexpected turn

what if all i need is you? - after failed attempts to find a date to a relative's birthday party, your best friend acts as your fake boyfriend.

Blurbs/Drabbles

the stakes are high, the water's rough, but this love is ours - holding satoru and letting him rest, even if it's only for a little bit

it took so long to know someone like you - he doesn't know who he is with you and it scares both of you

bad days and blanket burritos - good ol' satoru bf fluff

Imagines/HCs

And the touch of a hand lit the fuse

how gojo and geto react to their partner being obsessed with them (fluffy !!!)

Gojo Satoru

What, like it's hard? -> law student!gojo

general hcs

when he buys a motorcycle

I'm with the band -> rockstar!gojo

rockstar!gojo meet sexyy

the valentine's day show

quiet moments and teaching you guitar

Falling for you, on and off the ice -> hockey player!gojo

someone steals your usual rink slot

watching a game

living in winter, i am your summer - he's terrible at figure skating

Kachow -> professional racer!gojo

on the radio

smoke his ass! - pro racer!gojo needs some motivation after a newcomer to the track pisses him off

Geto Suguru

oops? - satoru finds out that you've been seeing his best friend

a quiet moment in the aquarium

napping with you :)

scare actor!suguru

Save a horse, ride a cowboy -> gunslinger!suguru

gunslinger!geto au

Theta Phi Fuckhead -> enemy frat!suguru

ancient grudge, new mutiny

move fast, keep quiet

half the things that haven't happened yet

Series Masterlists

End Game (volleyball captain!gojo x you) COMPLETED

Co-Parenting Megumi with Satoru COMPLETED

I Don't Wanna Live Forever (gojo x you during shibuya) COMPLETED

#irisintheafterglow masterlist

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allysunny · 8 months

Note

Hello. Can I request a fic with Nanami and the reader? The reader has a toxic family and asks Nanami to be her fake boyfriend at the family meeting. If possible, it could be comforting.

Faking it for the Family | Nanami Kento x Reader

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: Toxic family, mentions of weight (as in, berating and telling someone to watch what they eat), very rude comments from Reader's family, maybe some OOC Nanami? I don't know, you tell me! And please do warn if I forgot something :)

A/N: Aaaa my first Nanami request! I'm so excited about this! I love this man with my whole heart, he's my biggest anime crush of all time! Now, I do warn you, it's been a while since I've touched jjk (it was a traumatic experience, shibuya is my canon event), so if you think Nanami is OOC, then that might be why. But I can also see him being vocal when it comes to someone he cares about, protecting them and expressing his feelings - or at least trying to.

I hope I did your request justice! I'll be honest, I'm very fortunate to come from a very healthy and loving family, and don't quite know the dynamics a toxic one would have. Nevertheless, I did some research, and I hope you're happy with the final result! I also stayed up until like, 2am because I wanted to post this one before I went on a small vacation and stopped writing for a few days! Totally worth it!

“Your what?”

“My boyfriend.” You repeated firmly.

Scratch that, you were scared shitless.

A few days ago, your mother had called you, asking (more like demanding you) to come see her. According to her, only “bad, ungrateful children” abandoned their parents. According to her, you were turning into a “bad, ungrateful child”.

“You don’t call, you don’t visit. It’s like we never did anything for you, is that how you treat the people who brought you up?” She nearly cried into the phone. Victim-blaming was along your mother’s strongest talents, it always had been.

She’d also reminded you that it would be a shame if you showed up single. She gushed about your cousins, how lovely their wives and husbands were, and how you clearly weren’t working hard enough to find a man.

“It’s not like you have much to offer, dear. The least you could do is prove yourself to be useful, make sure you find a nice man and snatch him up. Perhaps if you learned how to cook properly instead of pursuing that silly passion for books… And you need to start putting some effort into your appearance! No man wants a dishevelled woman – look at how well your cousins are doing!” Then, dismissing her whole behaviour, she’d go, “You know I’m only saying this because I care about you, right? It’s for your own good.”

It made you shudder just from thinking of it.

You’d nearly glared a hole into your phone that night, considering cancelling.

You ran all options through your head.

If you pretended you were sick, your mother would just assume you couldn’t take care of yourself and visit you to do that herself.

Hard pass.

If you said you had plans, your father would tell you to prioritize the family who had sacrificed so much to give you a good life, and to stop being so selfish.

Hell no.

No option seemed good enough.

In the end, your parents would always find a way to make you feel inferior and blame you for not being able to attend. You wouldn’t hear the end of it for at least a few months.

That’s not something you wanted for yourself.

You considered your mother’s words.

Going alone seemed like a nightmare alright. But perhaps if you found someone to attend with you…

There was no significant other in your life (the nail in your coffin, just another reason for your parents to berate you, and you it’s not like you could fall in love with someone in a span of 4 days just to introduce them to the family.

And then, an e-mail from a coworker gave you a brilliant idea.

Nanami Kento was one of your coworkers.

You weren’t the closest offriends, but still – friends.

You two went out for drinks after work every so often, sometimes ordering a box of pizza to share while working overtime at the office. God knew how much you hated it, being forced to work longer than expected, but Nanami shared the same sentiment, and it made work more bearable for you.

You didn’t talk much outside of work – Nanami was a private, reserved man, and you never did have the courage to seek him out. So you settled for a few jokes at the office here and there, the occasional smile, and bringing him bread and pastries sometimes. Nanami was quite the foodie. Outside office hours, maybe a “Have a nice weekend”, or if you were feeling brave enough, a meme – it took him a while to get them, but it was amusing to get his reaction through text.

He was smart, kind to a fault, and handsome. Very much so. You knew he was single, and to be fair, you had no idea why. With those lovely, warm chocolate brown eyes and golden hair, he could get any woman he wanted. And God, his physique… You had once tripped and held onto his arm – the man was made of rock. He was a total catch, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t fantasized about your little overtime endeavours to end up with a goodnight kiss, or perhaps something more. In fact, you’d developed a little crush on him, sneaking away during lunch breaks to try and talk to him, catch up, or just know how he’s doing.

That’s why he was perfect.

Your parents would be appeased, and the family gathering would be much more bearable.

“It’ll just be for a night,” You continued, trying not to sound very desperate. You weren’t sure where you stood with him – were you two close enough to ask such a favour? “We don’t have to do anything physical – just maybe hold hands so they can get off my back. I’ll be forever in your debt, please. I need your help.”

Nanami looked at you curiously. You could see his eyes clearly – Nanami had foregone his glasses during lunch break. What was he thinking? Perhaps he was reconsidering his whole friendship / acquaintanceship. Maybe he was simply coming up with a way of politely declining. Nanami had always been to kind to trifle with you or mock you, God, you’re so stupid, why would he go out of his way to help someone he’s not that close with? It was idiotic to ask.

“Never mind that.” You mumbled, quickly shaking your hand, and dismissing the idea. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a weird request and we don’t know each other that well, and – “

“Sure.”

Your eyes must’ve turned as wide as saucers. Sure?

“If it would help you out and ease your mind, I don’t mind it at all.” He replies, the soft lull of his hypnotising voice making your heart skip just a bit. “I do know what it feels like to be surrounded by people you’re not fond of.”

You suppose he’s right. Every year when the company dinner takes place, you find yourself sitting in a corner, hidden from everyone else. It’s the one time of year where you two can actually talk and consider each other more than simply two coworkers. Maybe even relatively good friends.

You beam at him, bowing profusely. There were no words to describe what you felt – this man was willing to be your fake boyfriend for a whole evening?

“Thank you so much! This means so much to me, you can’t even imagine it!”

Nanami simply nods.

“Shall I pick you up at seven?”

Most often, people stared at themselves in the mirror to check their appearance, try on clothes, maybe give them an ego boost. You? You were practicing facial features.

A hard smile for when your mother told you to “Eat less – you’re gaining weight.”

A polite nod for when one father eventually said “You need to give up those silly hobbies of yours – become a real woman, a good wife.”

A dry chuckle for when one of your many cousins gushed about the wonders of marriage, and how amazing it is they got married so young, to fully explore all romantic bliss and life alongside your soulmate – or something. You never made it twenty seconds without appearing bored of your mind and making your way to an empty chair away from others.

You just hoped they’d leave you alone for tonight, or at least stop with the comments. You wouldn’t be able to handle being humiliated in front of Nanami, of all people.

Speaking of, it’s nearly seven, so you grab your purse and make your way downstairs. Your outfit is nothing bland, just like how your parents would like it. A simply yellow jumper and denim jeans – God forbid you wore a skirt too short, or a shirt too flashy in front of your family. You’d be sure to burn at the stake for that one. This outfit was simple and modest and was sure to keep them quiet for a few minutes.

A little ring from your phone broke your line of thinking.

From: Nanami Kento

I’m outside.

You quickly spotted him in his car, and your jaw hung.

He swiftly exited the vehicle, walking towards the passenger’s side and opening the door wide for you.

You don’t know what to say.

So, he does it for you.

“Good evening.” He’s looking extra dashing, with a dark blue polo shirt that hugs his figure ever-so-perfectly, and slacks. His hair is parted as usual, but it seems much more casual, less uptight, less professional. He’s once more refused to wear his glasses, so you can see his beautiful face up close.

His strong jawline, the strong planes of his face, the thin eyebrows that never did much to conceal his eyes – he looked straight out of a fairytale. The fact that he looked so relaxed, out of his business attire and clad in casual clothes, made this vision much more alluring.

“Hey,” You answered, giving him a soft smile. “You didn’t have to do this; I could open the door by myself.”

“Nonsense.” Nanami shook his head, gesturing to the inside of the car. “Shall we go?”

As soon as you buckled your seatbelt, he left the driveway. You’d sent him the coordinates before, so there was no getting lost as long as you followed the GPS.

There was a small awkward silence between the both of you – it was only normal. You and Nanami didn’t hang out that much after office hours, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that you would have no topics to discuss.

“So…” You started wearily. Might as well warn him about your family. There was no way you were letting this man meet them without being prepared. “I should warn you in advance – my family is…. Well, they’re not conventional.”

“Hm? How so?” He questioned you, quirking an eyebrow yet never taking his eyes off the road.

“They… They might make some rude comments. Or say things that make you uncomfortable. I know I told you about it the other day when I asked for this favour, but I just want to reiterate it. They’re… Well, they’re hard to deal with.” You finished. There was no other way to describe your family.

Growing up, they’d been all but supportive. Berating you left and right, making you believe you were as worthless as the trash on the street. Nothing you did ever amounted to anything. Your grades were never enough. Your passions were always overlooked – the books you read “filled your head with crazy fantasies”, the music you listened to “polluted your mind”.

If you left the house with no makeup on, your mother would assume you weren’t trying hard enough. Would say you looked sloppy and dirty, and that it was shameful to see you not even attempt to pull yourself together. And when you did leave the house looking pretty and proud of yourself, your parents would break down your confidence once more, assuring you that you’re clearly trying too hard, and that men don’t want woman who paint their faces as if they were clowns and dressed in skirts so short, they barely earned the name.

Your achievements didn’t matter. Not when your cousins earned scholarship after scholarship, brought home successful, handsome men or women, assuring the family they were well off and didn’t need to worry about much.

To your family, all it mattered was your image. To them, you were the black sheep of the family. No partner, no children, no high paying job, no success. Considering their mentality, how they still associated themselves with you was a puzzle.

Not even once did they stop to consider your feelings.

Moving out had been the best thing that happened to you.

Sure, it was hard at first.

You spent too long in front of the mirror, wondering if you looked good enough. While conversing with others, it was difficult to open up about your passions and hobbies, for fear of being shut down and dismissed.

But slowly, you’d regained control of your life. You went out when you wanted, with who you wanted. You wore the clothes you liked, without worrying about your parents’ hurtful remarks.

Nowadays when you looked in the mirror, you saw a proud young woman, as opposed to the scared little girl you saw in your early years.

Which made returning to them ever so difficult. They managed to turn you back into that frightened little girl you once were, always so afraid of saying the wrong thing, of doing the wrong thing and making them look bad. They managed to destroy all of the confidence and self-love you’d built for yourself all these years.

“I’m sorry.”

It was Nanami’s voice that brought you back to reality.

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry. Clearly, a family that treats you that way does not deserve you.” He said, matter-of-factly. Like it was the easiest thing in the world, to admit the family that spent years breaking you simply wasn’t worth your time and thoughts.

“Yeah, well.” You mumbled, looking out of the window. What could you say? In theory, you knew he was right. He had to. Other friends who knew about your past told you as much. But it was a completely different story to put that into practice.

For the rest of the ride, a silence fell upon the both of you. None attempted to break it.

“Remember our story, right?” You questioned the man next to him. He stood right next to you, tall as a tower and just as unmoving. You could never guess what was going on in that beautiful head of his.

Nanami nodded silently, turning to you.

“Are you sure you want to do this? We can make up an excuse and leave, if you want to.” He said, and for a while, you considered it. It’d be nice to ditch on your family and spend some time with your coworker. But once again, you knew how this movie ended.

Sighing, you shook your head and gave him a weak smile.

“It’s okay. It’s just for one night.”

He nodded once again.

You took a deep breath and stepped forward, ringing the doorbell.

Almost immediately, the door opened, making way for a woman none other than your mother.

She looked so… so… perfect. Annoyingly so. It made your blood boil. It reminded you of how, in her eyes, you were most definitely not perfect.

Nanami glanced at the woman in front of you. She looked like a perfect copy of you. Or rather, you were a perfect copy of her. But there was a clear difference between the two: While she looked uptight, abnormally prim, and proper, way too polished, you looked, well, natural. This woman looked like her only job was to look good, while you were an effortless beauty. He can only imagine what kind of things a woman like this could’ve told you all your life to make you so nervous back in the car.

“Honey!” She chirps in a voice he can only describe as fake. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” She pulls you win for a hug, mumbling and muttering about how long it had been since you’d last seen her, how unkind of you that was, how you had no consideration for your family. Ouch.

“Hi mom,” Was your hushed answer as you tried your best to hug her back. And then just as quickly, tried to get away from her bone-crushing embrace. “Y-You can let go now.”

And she did, staring right at Nanami.

“Oh.” She very obviously stared at him up and down. There was no subtlety to the way she ogled him, and you felt some strong second-hand embarrassment from her actions. “And who might this fine young man be? Did you finally step up and get yourself a nice man?”

You sighed. This was going to be a very, very long night.

Nanami stepped forward, placing a warm hand on the small of your back, a hand that slowly brought you closer to him.

“Good evening, Mrs.” He said politely, offering his hand for the woman to shake. She did so gladly, showing him a perfect smiled. A perfectly forced smile. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Mom, this is Nanami Kento. He’s… He’s my boyfriend!” The words felt nice in your mouth, natural. It’s like he was meant to be your boyfriend. Boyfriend. That’s nice.

“Boyfriend! Oh! It’s so nice to meet you!” The woman exclaimed, pulling him inside. “Come in, come in! Of course, you’d be late – We were all waiting for you!”

When you told Nanami your family was harsh, he was picturing something very different. Maybe some unwanted jokes here and there. A comment about your major, a joke about your driving, maybe even some embarrassing childhood stories.

He wasn’t expecting this.

“It is such a surprise that our dearest [Y/N] has finally brought someone home!” Your mother announced, sending her daughter what Nanami thought was a rather sheepish smile. “I mean, at some point we thought we would be the family’s spinster, ha!” And then she sent you the most condescending smile, one that made you want to crawl into a hole and cry. Not even after discovering you have a boyfriend (well, a fake one, but she doesn’t need to know), your mother could be supportive.

“Well, I’ve always been full of surprises,” You retaliate bluntly with a tight-lipped line. Nanami slowly brought his hand under the table to squeeze yours, and when you faced him, you were met with a look that meant more than a thousand words. Stay strong. I’m with you, he seemed to silently say.

“Kento – mind if I call you Kento?” Your father interrupted loudly, not sparing you a glance. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a salaryman. I work in the same office as [Y/N].” Was Nanami’s response. You cringed at your father’s attempt to talk more familiarly with Nanami. It felt odd, it felt rigid, and you just knew what question would follow.

“Ah, I see. Well, I sure do hope you’re at least winning more than our [Y/N] here!” The older man blurted, shaking his head in disappointment. “We told her to focus on her studies, make sure she has a nice paying job by the time she finds a husband, but she instead decided to pursue those… hobbies of her, and ended up with a mediocre office job.” Then, as if his rude observation meant nothing, he added, “No offense. I’m sure you’re a hard-working young man, you should aim higher and consider a career in a more lucrative field. Have you tried investing, or finances? If you want to provide a better future for my daughter, you should be prepared.”

Great, now not only was he making rude comments towards you, but he was also making rude comments towards your “boyfriend”. When would this end?

“Dad.” You cut in, scowling at him. How dare he ask such questions?

“What?” He asked, shrugging. As if these types of discussions were as casual as small talk or mentions of weathers. “I need to make sure that this man will provide for you. After all, you refused to go and do something useful with your life – “

“I think what [Y/N] has done of her life is for her, and only her to decide.” Nanami chimed in. “And as her parents, you should be nothing but supportive. It’s not up to you to decide what’s useful or not.” Your cheeks warmed at that. He sounded so clear and straightforward. He managed to do, within minutes, what you had been too afraid to do your whole life.

Your father seemed to dismiss what Nanami had said, waving his hand about and muttering some incomprehensible gibberish.

While your mother fetched the main plate, the room was filled with light chatter. Nanami leaned towards you, lips softly brushing the shell of your ear. It made your heart leap to have him so close.

“You’re right. I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it through the whole dinner without throwing a plate at any of their faces.” He mumbled, hand still squeezing yours tightly. This small comment earned a chuckle from you, and Nanami smiled at the response. To anyone else watching, you two looked like a lovesick couple engaging in some light banter and gossip.

“Ah! Here it is!” Your mother gleamed, bringing in pots and pans full of curry rice, udon noodles, miso soup, and some other side dishes you couldn’t see. For all you disliked your family, you couldn’t lie – family gatherings had the best food. You had once tried to learn how to cook from your mother, but after two failed commands (in her opinion) and a whole lot of yelling, you gave up.

“You should try the curry,” you told Nanami, holding your plate securely to pour some of the food on it. “She might be a witch sometimes, but her curry is to die for.” This last part was only but a whisper, and it got Nanami to smile crookedly.

God, you loved to see him smile.

At the office he always looked so serious, so tense. Nanami hated working overtime, and no matter how nice the company you kept each other ways, you could still see the exhaustion taking over him most days, rendering him cold and distant.

Here, though?

He seemed relaxed to a fault. As relaxed as he could be in a situation like this.

“Honey!” There was your mother again. Great, you were starting to miss her unnecessary statements! “Are you seriously going to eat all of that?” She inquired, looking particularly scandalised and attempting to reach your plate.

“Yes, I am. Why? Is there a problem?” You tried to sound brave, but Nanami was quick to notice the shake in your voice and the way your hand trembled in his.

“Oh, well, honey, I just think you should be careful! Don’t wanna put on any weight, do you? I’m sure Kento here wouldn’t want you to gain some extra pounds.”

Ah, this woman clearly made a mistake.

Nanami cleared his throat and made a poor attempt at trying to conceal the anger in his voice.

“I assure you ma’am, that is the least of my concerns.” He asserted and removed your plate from the woman’s hands. “Your daughter looks amazing, and if she’s happy with herself, so am I. In fact, I think she looks particularly breathtaking this evening, don’t you? You must be so proud.”

He’d pushed your parents into a corner, and all they could do was stammer and babble and look around for any help from their relatives – help that did not come.

“I’m quite the lucky man.” Nanami gave your parents the same kind of pretentious, fake smile they gave to him, and dug into his food.

And what else could you do but smile? Mouthing a quick “thank you”, you decided to get to eating as well. Seeing your parents so flustered had given you a kind of confidence you hadn’t felt in years, not in front of them, and it felt good.

For a few godly minutes, everything seemed to go well.

You were enjoying your food, and Nanami was exchanging pleasantries with some of your cousins. It seemed almost normal, the way it was going. Your cousin Ichigo and his wife, who were both ten years older than you were particularly interested in discussing the best kinds of liquors with your friend. Hiroshi tried to rope him into a talk of cars, and Makoto expressed his hatred towards overtime.

It felt too good to be true.

Probably because it was.

After dinner, you were the first to get on your feet to help clear the table. The quicker you did it, the quicker you could get the hell out of that place.

You were loading the dishwasher, distracted by the background noise of the chatter and the news that played in the television, when your cousin Emiko approached. Emiko was her parents’ pride and joy. Unnaturally beautiful, she had no real talent other than looking pretty and finding a rich man. It didn’t matter – the family loved her for it, and you’d spent your whole entire life being compared to her.

“So! ‘Cus, do tell us, how much did you pay for him?” She asked coyly. There was something poisonous laced in her words. You supposed it was jealousy – despite being seated near her husband, Emiko had spent the entire evening studying Nanami, running her eyes through his broad shoulders and sharp cheekbones, no doubt drooling.

You sighed. There was never much you could do about Emiko. You either ignored her words or played into her traps, and both options tested your patience gravely.

“I did not pay him, Emiko. Nanami and I have been dating for a while now.” You replied casually. Somehow, you could still feel tingles where his hand had previously been. On your hand, on your waist. The memory of his lips against your ear elicited a full-body shiver from you. “And I’ll remind you that he’s just next door, so please be considerate.”

“Come on, no one else’s in here, you don’t have to pretend.” Emiko peeked at you. When she saw no visible reaction, she sighed, waving her hand around dismissively and rolling her eyes at you before turning to face the kitchen door. “Come on, lighten up. It was a joke. But you have to understand – you were never something to look at, were you?” She snickered, taking a big gulp of her wine right after. “How’d you manage to snatch up a guy like this?”

You were done.

This comment had been the final straw.

You knew Emiko to be mean, but this? Assuming you had to pay for a handsome man’s company, simply because she didn’t deem you as attractive? As interesting?

Were you simply not worthy of love?

You felt tears prickling at the corner of your eyes, but before you could try to come up with a reply, a familiar voice interrupted you.

“Actually, it was I who managed to snatch her up.” Nanami was standing by the doorframe, casting you the warmest, most lovely, most caring gaze ever. You felt warm to be looked like that, like you were the most precious thing in the world to this man. “I got lucky. When we first started dating, I wondered how the hell such an interesting, beautiful woman would ever look at me.” A small chuckle. “I still do – I don’t feel like I’m worthy of her.”

Emiko was speechless. She just stared from you to Nanami, from Nanami to you, her words somehow losing their power after this confession.

You looked at Nanami and quickly wiped away the tear that threatened to spill. Seeing this, he walked over to you, pulling you closer by the waist.

“I think you’re wrong, Emiko.” He continued, not even sparing her a second glance as his hand lifted your chin up with the gentleness of someone who holds the entire world in their hands. “Not something to look at? I mean… Look at her. How could I ever be deserving of such a beautiful woman?”

You felt heat radiate from his body, and as if it was second nature, you cupped his jaw with your hands. He was so close, so impossibly close. You could make out every single one of his eyelashes, the bags under his eyes caused by sleepless nights working, the eyebrows that were usually furrowed and deep in thought – Nanami Kento was beautiful.

And according to him, so were you.

He searched in your eyes for any kind of signal. A yes, a no. A simply gesture that could change the rest of your night (and perhaps the course of your, well, relationship forever).

It was almost imperceptible when you nodded, meeting his gaze through lidded eyes.

So he dipped his head, and softly caught his lips with yours.

You’d fantasized about this once or twice. But nothing could’ve prepared you for the real deal. Nanami was a good kisser. His lips moved effortlessly around yours, molding like he had been kissing you for years. The hand at your waist brought you close, close, impossibly close, so close that you couldn’t think of getting away – good. Nanami didn’t want you to ever leave his side.

And you kissed him back just as tenderly, afraid to ruin the moment. Your tongue swiped shyly across his bottom lip, and he gave you one of his signature smiles – reserved, contained, but 100% him.

Behind him, he could hear Emiko scoff and leave the kitchen. Perfect. He didn’t want a crowd anyways.

After pulling away for air, Nanami studied your face attentively.

Your eyes were wide and bright, sparkling with what seemed like magic. He wanted to kiss every inch of your face – your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He wanted to kiss your soft, plush lips again and again and again. Thank God you’d invited him to be your fake boyfriend. Nanami had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask you out, and while this wasn’t the most conventional date, he was known for being efficient and straightforward.

“Let’s get out of here. You deserve to be kissed somewhere else.” He mumbled in that raspy voice of his that did things to you. You nodded and held his hand as he led you through the corridors.

The goodbyes were ushered, and the promises to call and come back soon were very blatantly fake. Your parents, however charmed by this man at first glance, refused to hide their scowls at this point. They did not like being contradicted. Neither did your cousins – or rather, the ones that had giggled and whispered and made smaller comments at the beginning like “Wow [Y/N], such a miracle, you finally found someone!” and “Oh, Nanami-san, when you get tired of her, please do call us – we’ll be waiting! What? It was a joke, don’t be such a downer!”.

The ride home had been quiet. Peaceful.

You refused to let Nanami go, and he refused to let you go, so you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain when he placed his big palm on top of your thigh as he drove.

Then, as you arrived to your place, he walked you to the door, silently holding onto your hand.

You gazed up at him, and then at the floor.

“So…” Why were words so hard?

You wanted to ask him a million questions. Why had he kissed you? Had he liked it? Did it mean something to him? Was it just a distraction? Is your friendship ruined?

“I hope you know it is not true.”

“Huh?” You met his eyes.

“Everything they said.” Nanami refused to let go of your hand, drawing slow circles with his thumb. “It’s not true. You’re the most fantastic woman I’ve ever known. You’re beautiful, and smart, and talented, and kind, and so many other things that I want to say but can’t find the words to.” He’d never been good with his words. But you thought he was doing a pretty good job.

Then, he shook his head, running a hand through his now slightly ruffled hair. “I wish I was better at this. My point is – you’re remarkable, [Y/N]. The way you care for others, the way you’re so unapologetically you, the way you’re not afraid to speak your mind and be heard. Those are all admirable qualities. If your family can’t see that, then it’s their fault.”

You could just stare at him in awe.

“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take you out. On a date, an actual date. Not just some simple last-minute overtime office dinner. A proper date, just you and me.”

A date? With him?

“You can say no if you want to. I won’t force you. But I’d like to take you out for dinner. Or lunch. Or anything you want, basically, I –“ He sighed once again. “Point is. I really like you, [Y/N]. I know, I know, we don’t know each other that well, and I don’t expect you to return my feelings, but –“

“I really like you too.” You blurted out without thinking. So, all of this time, your feelings hadn’t been one sided? He too felt the same as you? All those nights at the office, all those small interactions, making the workplace an easier place to deal with, all of the jokes and giggles and antics – he cherished them too? “And I… I’d love to go out for dinner. Or lunch. Or whatever you want, really! The point is,” You gather yourself, smiling like a fool. “I’d really love to go on a date with you.”

In that exact same moment, while you and Nanami smiled at each other like two shy teenagers, the only witness to your awkward confessions being the moon and the lights from the city above you, you didn’t think of yourself as unworthy, as dumb, and useless and a no-good child. The hurtful comments made by your family were far, far away, like they’d happened a lifetime ago.

You saw yourself the way he did. Remarkable. Kind, talented, beautiful, and oh so worthy of love.

A/N: That's it! I hope you liked it! I love this man so much hehe he deserves all the fics! Thank you for the lovely request, I'm so glad I got to finally start writing for Nanami instead of simply reading!

Have an amazing day everyone! <3

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