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s3thwrit3sstuff · 7 months ago

Note

you know what's delicious? yn who started wearing flavored lip balm/lip tint because of suguru — so that every time suguru ate a curse, he could just easily pull the man into a kiss to get rid of the disgusting taste suguru hates so much ((bonus points if yn also pops in a candy/sweet/chocolate in his mouth before feeding it to suguru through a kiss — anything to help suguru forget the taste of curses)) yeah... just... suguruyn for the win man 😋🫶

((even more bonus points when satoru finds out later and he gets all jelly because 1. he doesn't know the lip balm/lip tint can come with a flavor so he felt blindsided and of course, he humphs and puffs because of it and 2. he wanted a chocolatey sweetness kissies too!!!! and of course lastly, 3. he felt left out because he never knows that suguruyn always makes out every single time suguru ate a curse so he's all pouty about it — ask him to join in next time!!!))

❝ He's just like candy, he's so sweet ❞

polycule (Satoru x r! x Suguru)) | alternate universes (Suguru is not a cult-reader), fluff, NSFW | vers. bottom. reader (AMAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 3.6k

warnings: foodplay, threesomes, pouty satoru & smug suguru, semi-public sex, d/s dynamics

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

author's note: in this au, they slayed the links that made me lose my mind (thank you @xuxitheii for making me squeal and kick my feet): geto suguru : gojo satoru : gojo satoru being a big baby

Curses. Ugly as sin and tastes just as foul. Suguru remembers the first time he discovered he could devour them; how awful it felt as it went down his throat, bulging out and staying there — blocking his airway as he struggled to find it in himself to swallow.

The way his teeth ached. His throat convulsed and his instincts forced it back up but his fingers blocked it from doing so. It warbled in the back of his mouth, begging to be let out and 7-year-old Suguru just knew he couldn’t bear for it to disturb him again. He couldn’t handle it speaking nonsensically into his ear, slinking under his bed or even staring right at him as it grinned so wide Suguru swore he could see his reflection in its yellow, wicked-sharp, teeth.

The pills his parents (his poor, non-sorcerer, parents) had given him to help with his “hallucinations” made him feel as though a thick fog was obscuring his brain. His thoughts faded and his movement groggy, his emotions caged while his body still felt the anxious tremors that ran through him when he saw them.

The curses made him feel like he was constantly in a deep pit of despair. Everything wrong in the world, the depravity and impulses of humanity that manifested into these grotesque creatures in the palm of his hands made his nose sting, till this day, as an 18-year-old; it made his eyes well with tears.

Suguru can't describe it in a way people could understand. But if asked, he’d used the viscera of a vomit rag being forced down your throat.

But the strong protect the weak. While your lips protect them from his ire. This one goes down with a loud gulp, his fingers blocking his lips as he tosses his head back. The worst is almost over, the aftertaste will linger but not for long. Because then, he feels your weight on his chest and Suguru is pliant as you gently pry his fingers away.

“You did a good job, baby.” Suguru flutters his eyes open and he can’t help the way his lips twitch eagerly. Your lips are glossier than usual, he can smell the cherry flavour on them. His hands wrap themselves around your waist. It’s a firm grip.

Mine, he says without speaking, mine — all mine.

He pulls and a huff of air escapes you in a series of chuckles. “I know we haven’t been out in a while, but did you miss me that much, Su-Su?” Suguru frowns at your jest. It’s rare for him to pout. That role is often delegated to your boyfriend, Satoru. So this must truly upset him.

Because, yes, he did.

You’d been called overseas to complete a mission. It was the norm for sorcerers considering the population of sorcerers in Japan; outsourcing they called it. Your curse technique was needed for this mission and truly, it didn’t take long but Suguru had done solo missions and he missed you.

Three solo missions. Three disgusting, dog-shit, vomit-stained rags, down his throat. Three days without you by his side.

He hated it.

“Don’t ask a silly question like that ever again,” he mumbles. Silly. The way he scolds you always makes you smile. Never crass or rude — his voice reminds you of the symphony of leaves singing with the wind as they danced and speckled light onto the forest floors and cool water bubbling over rocks.

“Why? Why can’t I ask silly questions?” You tease, placing your elbows on his shoulder and hanging your hands behind him. Purposefully lax despite the coquettish smile on your face.

“You already know the answer.” He speaks with such sincerity. Every word is heavy with nothing but candour and adoration. It makes your eyes soften and Suguru squeezes you closer.

“I do?” He nods at your words, the tip of his nose brushing over yours and his tan skin so flushed on the apples of his cheeks.

“Kiss me like you miss me, baby.”

Suguru’s lips land on yours like a feather. Supple as always he begins it with a long-lasting peck. Pouty lip against pouty lip. His hands climb up your back and he presses between your shoulder blades to somehow hold you closer; his jaw opens and yours does the same. There it is — that heaven that’s your mouth. Suguru groans and you feel his tongue sneaking in, devouring you like a starved man.

The cherry flavour on your lips, the sweetness of the candy you let melt on your tongue, the way your fingers grip his hair, the way he can feel your breath on his cheek as you try to breathe. He wishes that the two of you never needed air. Suguru wants nothing more than to kiss you forever and ever and ever —

“Hey!”

You part with a gasp, cheeks warm and lips almost bruised as the line of spit between the two of you breaks. At the mouth of the alleyway was your boyfriend; Gojo Satoru.

His arms are crossed and he taps his foot in a cartoonish fashion. Despite that, both of you know that the frown on his face is very much real. “What gives? I exorcised the other curses and I came back to the two of you making out. So unfair!”

Suguru parts with a sigh, rolling his eyes to the side and pouting his lips to the side as he muttered about Satoru having FOMO. It makes you giggle and he smiles when you lean forward to place your face right under his jaw.

“S’toru, you’re being a baby. Suguru did a lot of work and I was just thanking him.” Satoru unfolds his arms and flaps them around in protest.

“I did work too!”

And it has begun — Satoru’s famous little tantrums. Oh, he could go for a full hour if he was really worked up but there is a saving grace in him having them. He closes his eyes when he’s yappering. Suguru is listening to his huffy boyfriend but then you kiss his chin and he tilts his face down to look at you.

“Hm?” your teeth brush over his lower lips, then plant firmly on his. “Baby?” he smiles in the lip-locking and you whine about it because his lips should not stretch into that handsome smile, they should be pursed outward and part to let you in.

He tastes chocolate on your tongue. The creaminess of the chocolate makes him groan along with the citrusy notes. That combined with the fruitiness of the cherry tint on your lips makes the taste of the curses he’d ingested (exorcised) all but disappear. Your hands climb to the lobe of his ears and his breath hitches when your fingers trail the curve of it, he protests a bit as you undo his bun; then you whisper his name and Suguru tightens his grip on your waist.

“Hey!”

Satoru is whining again but this time he’s closer. Close enough for Suguru to grab a fistful of Satoru’s white button-up and pull him in. As his face turns you giggle, wiping away some smeared gloss as you watch Satoru turn red from Suguru’s heated kiss.

Satoru groans with his eyebrows twitching. Listless in his attempt to remain angry at Suguru. He pounds his fist against Suguru’s shoulder and attempts to crane his neck away. When he turns, he gasps as you steal his breath.

Satoru’s graceful legs tumble over themselves as his boyfriends press him to the rough wall of the alleyway. There’s a constant hum of an A/C machine and the noises from the pipes keep the intimate noises between the three of you contained. Suguru’s blunt nails drag onto the faded plastered-on advertisements — yours grip onto the bars of the window that had been covered up by old newspapers.

Satoru’s grip onto the front of both of your shirts. His glasses go askew as he struggles to keep up with his boyfriends. Suguru misses Satoru so much. He’d been away too, the Higher Ups sending him overseas at the same time as you and Shoko had to deal with a depressed Suguru for those 3 days.

“Mah, Satoru,” you drag your lips to Satoru’s sensitive neck. His hands don’t seem to know what to do with themselves. It grips and pushes and stutters. “I always give Suguru special kisses after a job well done, you’ve just always been too busy to notice.”

“S’not fair,” Satoru retorts with no real venom in his words. “I deserve special kisses too, don’t I?” Suguru chuckles, forcing Satoru to look his way and shut him up. Satoru glares over the rim of his crooked glasses as Suguru’s thumb presses down on his canines.

“What a jealous brat.”

“Can’t even handle a little teasing.”

Satoru would heavily disagree with that. A little teasing? You called being pushed to a wall, groped, kissed, and bitten by your handsome and powerful boyfriends a little teasing?

Satoru was a sign of change, his birth instantly tipped the scales of the sorcerer world, but he was still human!

Suguru grins that irritatingly pleased grin when Satoru’s protests die out thanks to your hands slipping down his pants. “Oh shit,” he hisses. His speech is odd with Suguru’s thumb in his mouth, casually inspecting it. But you laugh anyway.

“You know, since he has been away too, maybe he does deserve a bit of sugar from you, (Y/N).” You glance at Suguru, your cock chubbing up in your pants as he pointedly motions his gaze to the ground. You kneel in front of Satoru and drool slips down his chin as his pupils chase after you. Suguru chuckles, wiping it away and wiping it off on Satoru’s shirt — to which he hears no complaint. Suguru stands behind you, bending at his waist to peer down. It’s unfair how pretty he is from any angle. The Gods took their time making him. Of that, you are certain.

“Ready, sweetheart?” you nod, opening your saccharine-sweet mouth; Suguru pats your cheek as praise and undoes Satoru’s pants for you. His cock springs out, nearly bumping into your nose as it strains and twitches in the open air. When Suguru holds it, Satoru grunts and raises his hips. Fucking into his fist like a dog in heat. Suguru regards this with a shake of his head and guides Satoru to your mouth. You form a fist around your thumb, looking up at Satoru through your lashes as you wrap your lips around him.

Suguru straightens his composure. He takes in the sight.

Satoru and you know better than to be handsy. The pale-haired man grabs onto the bars of the window behind him, breathing through his nose as the toe of his shoes dig into the floors. You slip your eyelids close and languish in the taste of Satoru’s cock — breathing through your nose as well as you bob your head.

Fuck, Suguru missed this. He really did. He could get off on this alone. Just watched as both of you enjoyed the other. His darling boyfriends, who so obediently listen to his whims even if he didn’t say it out loud.

Who could ask for more?

Suguru strokes over your eyebrow and barely stifles a laugh when you tilt your head so Satoru’s tip pokes your cheeks.

“Good boy. My sweet boy.”

His voice alone makes you want to give in to whatever it is he asks of you — it’s insane how much power and sway he has. Your charming Suguru.

Satoru moans, swiftly reaching out and gripping onto the collar of Suguru’s top. They kiss. Fighting for dominance because Satoru needs to be pushed into submission. He relishes being put in his place — smacked around a little.

You could pinpoint this kink originating from his frivolous childhood and naturally talented self needing some sort of edge to sink down into a more fuzzy headspace.

Or perhaps Satoru was just a brat and he trusted his lovers enough to relinquish that control. Both theories worked.

Suguru grunts as Satoru tugs at his hair, the pleasant tinge of pain making his dick strain against his loose pants. You spot it from the corner of your eyes, an obscene slurping sound coming from you as you attempt to not make this blowjob too messy. An impossible task, really. But a worthy effort.

“Your lips taste like cherry, why?” Satoru’s question catches Suguru off-guard. He expected Satoru’s usual quips and huffiness. He indulges.

“(Y/N) wore cherry-flavoured lipgloss.”

The proof is in the coloured streaks on his dick. You feel it twitch on your tongue and pull away, your hot breath on his cockhead making precum leak out of his blushing tip. You rest it on your velvet tongue, unabashedly pouting to kiss the tip and then taking him inside again. Those slightly shimmery streaks made Satoru grit his teeth.

“I didn’t know those came in flavours,” Satoru moans. “How come you don’t wear that for me too?”

“Because it’s for me, you little shithead,” Suguru growls lowly. Their foreheads touch as he tightens his grip on Satoru’s neck, the pressure making Satoru’s eyelids flutter for a second. “It’s my prize for exorcising curses.”

“You jealous?” you wonder out loud. The answer was clear but there was a rush to make Satoru admit it.

“Yes, I am!” He curses for a moment as you descend further down to lick at his balls, looking up at him still as if this conversation was taking place over a dinner table and not in an alleyway with society just a few meters away. As if his dick wasn't on your face while you feel his balls tightening up on your tongue.

Seriously, if somebody peered down long enough they would most definitely catch sight of the three of you here.

“I just – just...fuck, I missed the two of you too. It’s completely unfair you’ve been keeping this from me too! I’ll never forgive you.”

Suguru grabs the back of your neck and pulls you backward. His large hands effectively push your head down further and further until your nose is at the neat patch of pubic hair Satoru has. You relax your throat and jaw, eyes watering while you brace your hands on Satoru’s thighs.

“So why didn’t you just tell us that, darling?" Suguru purrs. "Instead, you chose to be a brat and stomp around. You’re better than that, Satoru. Aren’t you? Hm?”

You gag but Suguru holds you in place. His hand barely has any real strength behind it. If you jerked backward, he would not hold you in place. No, no. Suguru’s power comes from the lack of strength he needs to exhibit. His dominance is in the ease Suguru commands it.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You needed him inside of you.

“Screw you, Suguru,” Satoru chokes out.

He pulls you off. You cough, spit staining your chin as you smile loosely at them. Suguru then pulls you onto your feet, pushes you to the wall, and undoes your pants. You bite down on your lower lip, staring at Satoru as you brace your hands onto the wall just next to him. Satoru watches on, trying to keep himself strong by pretending he isn’t affected by the sight before him.

Suguru gathers spit in his mouth but pauses as he feels the candy wrapper in your pockets. The chocolate brand makes his brows raise. It’s expensive. No doubt Satoru’s influence had rubbed off on you. Only one company in the world made this chocolate, its pink colour is a dead giveaway. No wonder your cherry-flavoured gloss tasted so strong, it was complimented nicely by the leftover taste of this ruby chocolate.

He lets your pants pool around your ankles while he takes a bite. It wasn’t disgustingly soft, but your body heat made it melt quickly on his tongue. He spreads your ass apart and spits a thick glob of his spit and pink chocolate. The sensation sends shivers up your back and you arch your back further, unsure about the new sensation.

“Suguru, that was expensive — ngh!”

Your eyes widen as he presses his cock inside. You were thankful for your morning romp with them. It loosened you up enough that Suguru’s impatience didn’t cause pain and only mild discomfort — he reaches forward to jerk your cock off to ebb it away and you moan out his name.

“Shh, shh, not so loud. We’re still outside, baby.”

Satoru groans, reaching to toss his glasses away as he turns his back to the entrance and gives you his full attention. He’s craving touch. To taste or to mark you up. To do anything, really. He is goddamn hypnotized by the way Suguru’s dick thrusts in and out of you. Suguru gives you a good fucking for too short of a time — pounding into you like a jackhammer and making you nearly bite your tongue off in an attempt to keep quiet before he pulls out.

Your knees buckle, thighs twitching as you try to keep yourself upright. Satoru’s knees thud onto the floor and he greedily laps at Suguru’s cock, moaning at the creamy taste. The same flavour leaks out of you while you catch your breath. The mouth of the alleyway is quiet but there are still the faint noises of the city just there. A few big strides away. But there. It excites you. You imagine it’s exciting your equally perverted boyfriends too.

"Satoru," Suguru groans at the sight of him. You peel yourself from the wall. Shoulders thudding onto the hard surface while your pants drop to your ankles. Shakily, you use your feet to push it all the way off, eyes trained on Satoru savouring the flavour of Suguru and the ruby chocolate. He pulls away with a breathy 'pwah!' and strokes Suguru's creamy dick.

You're tempted to join Satoru. Just sharing Suguru's cock, kissing Satoru with his cockhead between your lips. Fuck, just the thought has your dick slapping lightly against your navel. Suguru plants a hand near your head, turning his head to kiss you while the other is tugging on the roots of Satoru's head. a

"Both of my boys are being so obedient," he says after a deliciously deep groan of Satoru's name. "We missed you," you reply in a whiny whisper.

"Missed you so much, S'guru..."

Satoru moans, pulling away as he catches his breath and shares a heated gaze.

"Fuck, I missed you so badly. Missed this dick too," Satoru turns to your crotch and kisses the underside of your dick. It makes your breath hitch, hips jerking forward. The wetness of your precum smears on Satoru's cheek a bit but he doesn't even mind. Nor does he seem to notice.

"These cocks are the only ones that make me this hungry."

Suguru glances at the alleyway. You're not loud enough to draw attention. Still, better safe than sorry.

"Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure." You throw your head back to laugh. A veil was meant to conceal, protect those outside of it, and maintain secrecy. To use it so improperly.

The three of you were truly perverted.

"What's got you all giggly?" Suguru speaks against your lips. Tilting your chin upwards then squeezing the sides of your neck just to relish in the way you bare your neck to him.

"You used a veil," Satoru speaks for you. He raises, ignoring Suguru's pointed glance in favour of unbuttoning your shirt and kissing down your chest. His lips are sticky, smears of pink tainting you but you find it hard to care. "He's laughing because he thinks we're perverts."

"What are you? A mind reader now, Satoru?" You huff.

"I might as well be, huh?" Satoru smirks. He's so handsome that it makes your chest hurt sometimes. You're against the wall, exits blocked by Suguru and Satoru and you wouldn't have it any other way. "You know, I missed you too. It's been weeks — "

"Three days," Suguru and you corrected.

"Weeks. And this morning wasn't enough. We did such a good job, those wrinkle bags can't complain if we just so happened to work overtime, right?"

Ijichi can't stop his cheek from heating up. It's painfully, painfully, obvious why the three of you took your time for this mission. He had waited in the car for the first hour, then occupied himself with some coffee at a nearby cafe but by the third hour, Ijichi almost called Principal Yaga.

Three Special Grade Sorcerers took that long to exorcise an abandoned building. Surely, something must have happened!

Yet, seeing you sleeping on Suguru's lap with your legs across Satoru's lap confirms the real reason why it took the three of you that long.

Satoru has a weighted eye mask, head tossed back as he recuperates. This gives Ijichi a clear sight of his marked-up neck. Your shirt is wrinkled, hitched up from the bend of your waist, and giving him the whispers of handmarks. Suguru met his gaze from the rearview and Ijichi whispered out an apology.

"No, please. We're sorry for keeping you waiting." Suguru is brushing your bangs back, gently wiping down some residual stickiness on your cheeks with wet wipes (that Ijichi had made a point to stock up on in the car after earlier missions involving you three).

"No, I understand," he says with a shaky voice. Sighing a little he laughed awkwardly from the driver's seat.

"You must've been missing them a lot for those three days they've been gone, Mr Geto."

Suguru's expression softens, leaning one shoulder down when Satoru leans to place his head on his shoulders.

"It's hard not to. I love them."

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #gay reader #male!reader #gojo satoru x male reader #geto suguru x male reader #jjk x male reader #satosugu x reader #satosugu x male reader

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bussyslayer333 · 2 years ago

Text

Love me, Love me

summary: bob floyd and the trials and tribulations of loving you.

or, my contribution to @roosterforme ‘s #loveisintheairtgm fic playlist!!!

pairing: bob floyd x bartender!reader

word count: 3.0k

warnings: swearing, some suggestiveness, mentions of alcohol maybe??, idiots in love smh

Bob was staring at himself in the mirror feeling a lot like how he did before his first middle school dance. Touching up his hair so he could impress Missy Clark. Except now he wasn’t trying to impress Missy, he was trying to impress you.

It was simultaneously a hundred times better and a hundred times worse.

Better, because you didn’t have braces that would catch on his lip if you kissed. Worse because you were probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and somehow he managed to make a fool out of himself every time he saw you.

He was picking up Jake and Bradley tonight before heading to the Hard Deck. It was probably one of his short comings as a man who doesn’t drink; he was destined to be the designated driver.

When Jake slid into the passenger seat he looked to Bob, looked away for a moment, then stared straight back at him.

“What?”

“Is that a new shirt?” Jake questions, mildly intense.

“Errr, yes?”

“Why do you look so nice?” Jake pesters, reaching a hand out to poke at Bob’s neatly styled hair.

Bob shrugs his hand away with a huff, “Um it’s a new year’s resolution, y’know look good feel good thing.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, before leaning in to sniff at Bob.

“You’re wearing new cologne.” Jake states, “why?”

Bob is starting to get slightly antsy, worried for the inevitable teasing that would occur once Jake found out about his infatuation crush on you.

“Well, Jake, the thing is…”

Jake leans in.

“I’m in love with you! I’ve been trying to impress you for months! …yeah.” Bob finishes lamely.

Jake laughs. Loud.

For a moment, Bob is offended that the idea of him being in love with someone is so amusing. Then he remembers the fact that for some reason he has just professed a fake love to the most obnoxious man on planet earth.

“Bobby, man you crack me up.” Jake chortles, wiping at the few tears that had slipped from his lash line.

Bob sighs as he comes to a slow in front of Bradley’s house, too caught up in his thoughts to stop Jake from hitting the horn to alert Bradley of their presence.

Bradley emerges from his house, hawaiian shirt on and an effortlessly handsome smile plastered across his face. Bob realises that if he was going to fake confess again Bradley would be a much more believable candidate.

“Hey boys,” Bradley smiles, sliding into the seat behind Bob.

He pats Bob on the shoulder far too hard without realising, and smacks Jake on the back with the same strength. Jake doesn’t shudder down on impact like Bob.

Jake allows Bob a second to breathe before he starts his pestering again, albeit more slyly.

“Rooster.” He starts

“Bagman.”

“Very funny.”

“I try my best.” Bradley chuckles.

Jake rolls his eyes and continues, “any guesses for why our dear Bobby is so dressed up for our Friday night drinks?”

Bob goes to protest, but Jake shushes him promptly.

“and don’t confess your undying love for Rooster because I will know you’re lying.”

Bradley cocks his head in confusion, before getting to his point.

“The bartender, obviously.” Bradley laughs.

Jake raises his eyebrows and makes a loud “ooooooohoooo” noise at Bob.

“You’re nailing her Bob? Nice.” Jake slaps Bob on his still recovering shoulder.

“No! I’m not!” Bob speaks a little defensively.

Bob had grown to like Jake over their time spent working together. However, his crudeness towards subjects such as this still made him cringe.

“But you would like to…?” Bradley supplies unhelpfully.

“I mean, yes, but also I want to take her out. On a date. With me.” Bob sighs.

If he thought too hard about what it would be like to have you in his bed, he would probably be sporting a hard on in the car with two of his best friends. It wouldn’t be the ideal way to start his Friday night.

“You should ask her out,” Jake smiles nonchalantly.

“Yeah! Tonight,” Bradley adds on.

Bob can’t help but laugh dryly at his friends optimism, because of course they would think it’s that easy.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he sighs out, pulling onto the road that leads to the Hard Deck.

“Sure it is!” Bradley delivers another encouraging painful slap to Bob’s shoulder.

Bob sighs dejectedly, clearly Bradley did not understand what he was trying to get at. He lets Bradley and Jake get out of the car before giving himself a mini pep talk in his rear view mirror.

“You’ve got this, Bobby,” he affirms.

BANG BANG.

Bob jumps out of his skin.

Jake’s face is smushed against the window, “you coming?”

“I can see up your nostrils.”

“Lucky you,” Jake snorts, finally pulling back so Bob can get out.

You’re the first thing Bob sees when he enters the bar; giggling at something a patron said as you pour a pint of whatever IPA Penny has on draft at the moment. Your hair is pulled back loosely and the light summer dress you’re wearing has Bob wondering if he needs to wipe at the drool forming at the corners of his lips.

He beelines for you, ignoring the shouts of greeting coming from his group of aviators already congregating around the pool table, and when you look up and meet his eyes, Bob could swear your smile widened.

“Hey Bob! Don’t you look smart!” You smile, radiant as ever.

Bob tries to ignore the heat that floods his cheeks and bites his lip to refrain from smiling too hard.

“Darlin’, thank you, but you… you look stunning,” he charms, probably overeager but you seem to have that affect on him.

Your nose scrunches in the way that it always does when you’re bashful of a compliment, it’s adorable but the idea makes Bob frown sometimes, makes him wonder if you know how beautiful you really are.

“I, I mean- this old thing?” You shrug down at your dress.

Bob can tell you’re being modest. You don’t need to be.

“Can I get you a drink?” You offer, steering the conversation from yourself.

It’s now or never that Bob realises he needs to make his move. He pinches his thigh through his trousers and finally pipes up.

“I, um, actually had a question that I wanted to ask? If that’s okay?”

“Yeah, shoot!” You nod.

“I wanted to ask this really incredible girl out, and I was just wondering, well, what you think she’d say?”

“I think she’d be a fool to say no,” you say with conviction.

Bob’s confidence seems to skyrocket after your confirmation. He nods and tries to conceal the smile threatening to split his cheeks in half.

“Good to know.”

As he walks off, Bob lightly pumps his fist in victory. You can’t help but giggle at the sight, hoping that whoever he was asking out would say yes. It would, however, be a lie to say you weren’t disappointed he wasn’t asking you.

Bob spends the rest of the weekend thinking about where he should take you out. He doesn’t want to come off too eager, so figured he should wait until Monday to see you again. He’s not sure when your next shift is, but figures if he swings by the Hard Deck after work he could probably catch you and ask whether your prefer Italian or Mexican.

When he gets to the Hard Deck at just gone 6 the bar is relatively empty, not much of a Monday evening crowd apparently. Bob ummed and ahhhed over the idea of bringing you flowers. In the end he settled on some pale pink roses, hoping they’d please you.

Penny is manning the desolate bar when he finally makes his way to the bar top. She smiles at him, albeit slightly confused at his lack of company and addition of flora in tow.

He says your name tentatively, “is she here?”

Penny frowns, “She just left about half an hour ago, said she had a date?”

Bob’s stomach drops. “Oh.”

“Was there a message you wanted me to pass on?” Penny smiles apologetically.

“No, um, don’t worry about it. Thanks Pen,” Bob nods curtly, spinning on his heel.

The flowers feel out of place in his clammy palm now, a dead weight dragging his right arm down. He still places then gently down on the passenger seat when he enters his car.

Bob leans his head on the steering wheel, not caring about the way the metal frames of his glasses are pushing painfully into the flushed skin of his cheeks.

“Fuck.” He whispers.

Bob drives back to his apartment with a furrow etched onto his brow, wondering if he hadn’t been clear enough that he was interested in you. His first thought is to ring Phoenix, you and her were close and regularly went out together. She picks up after the first ring.

“I’ve fucked up.” Bob sighs.

“Well hello to you too,” Nat snorts, Bob can hear the crinkle and crunch of what sounds like a bag of chips.

“Care to elaborate?” She questions.

He speaks your name as a whisper, “is she on a date right now?”

“Ohhhhhh,” Nat exclaims in understanding, “you’re an idiot.”

“I know!” Bob groans, at the reminder.

“She really likes you! But now she thinks you’ve got some secret crush!”

Bob is elated at the idea of you returning his feelings. Not so much at the idea of his failed attempt at asking you on a date being so stupid that it put you off.

“Ughhh, this is really embarrassing Nat.” Bob grumbles.

He can hear Nat snickering on the other end of the phone.

“Just tell her you like her, Dumbo.” She crunches down on another chip.

“Thank you that is really helpful actually.” Bob spits sarcastically.

Bob can hear Nat shuffle around before she starts up again, “look, for some reason she’s enamoured by everything you do. Like she’ll text me about how cute you looked in your glasses or how she liked your patterned shirt.”

She snorts, “it’s kind of disgusting but also heartwarming, I don’t know, what I’m trying to say is you just need to be yourself. That’s why she likes you.”

Bob is silent for a beat, “…she liked my shirt?”

“I’m hanging up now-”

“Thank you, Nat!” Bob quickly shouts down the line before she ends the call with a chortle.

Praying on the downfall of someone’s date is somewhat cruel. But Bob couldn’t really find it in him to care. Not when you look so sweet in one of your sundresses, stood at the bar wiping down the continually sticky counter tops.

It’s busy for an early Thursday evening, and Bob has once again bypassed his friends to beeline for you. Refreshed flowers in his hand, Bob was going to tell you how he felt. No beating around it this time.

“Oh! Hey Bob,” you drawl, slight flush to your cheeks at the sight of him.

“Hey beautiful, these,” he hands over the delicate bouquet, “are for you.”

You take them from him, inspecting the pinks and whites of the variety of flowers wrapped up in tissue paper.

“Wow, thank you! I- well no one has ever bought me flowers before!” You gush, fiddling with the ribbon at the bottom of the bouquet.

“They’re kind of an apology actually,” Bob smiles.

“Oh?” You prompt.

“Last Friday, I asked you that question?”

You nod in remembrance.

“Well, I was trying to ask you out. On a date that is, but clearly I went about it the wrong way, and if you’re not interested that’s okay! Of course, I just wanted you to know-”

Bob’s rambling is interrupted by the touch of your lips to his. His eyes widen in surprise before he leans in fully to your touch, hand coming to caress at your cheek. You pull back all too soon for Bob, who tries to chase after your lips.

“I want to.” You whisper against his lips.

“Huh?” Bob mumbles, slightly dazed from your kiss.

You giggle and pull back to look into his eyes fully, “Go on a date with you Bobby. I would love to.”

Bob grins, “Really?”

“Totally.”

Bob arrives outside your apartment at exactly the time he said he would. He’s dressed in a stripe button down and cream shorts. He looks handsome, annoyingly so and greets you with a kiss on the cheek. Ever the gentleman.

“We’ve already kissed,” you tease, smashing your lips against his in a greeting.

Bob reciprocates almost immediately, making a noise of approval as your tongue flicks against his. He pulls back breathless,

“I was trying to be a gentleman.”

“It’s okay,” you take his hand and thread your fingers through his.

You swing your hands gently whilst you listen to him talk, “I was thinking we could walk down to the beach?”

“Sounds perfect.”

The breeze is light, heat from the late afternoon still clinging to the air as you walk along worn concrete. Bob’s hand stays intertwined with yours and he nods along to all of your ramblings, somehow still interested even after your seemingly endless anecdotes.

“I’m probably boring you,” you smile apologetically.

Bob shakes his head with a laugh, “darlin’ I could listen to you talk about my taxes and be absolutely enthralled.”

You try to fight off your furious blush by smushing your face into his surprisingly muscular arm. Bob rolls his eyes and takes your face in his hands.

“I mean it.”

Bob initiates the kiss this time, slowly guiding your face towards his. It’s only quick, as your still surrounded by couples walking, but it leaves you reeling anyways.

The sun is setting by the time you make it to the beach, and you have a sneaky feeling Bob has timed your date to match it. You don’t ask, the idea alone is almost too much.

He lets you chatter on as you walk further and further down the beach, only stopping to ask questions to further your stories.

“I wanted to ask you something,”

“Sure,” you hum.

“Did you go on a date with another guy this week?” Bob hopes he doesn’t sound too accusatory (or jealous).

You nod shyly, “yeah, he kind of sucked though.”

“How come you went?” Bob inquires.

“I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t jealous of you going on a date with someone else.”

Bob chuckles, “even though you were the one I was asking out?”

You snort, “We’re stupid.”

“The stupidest.”

You both giggle for a moment at the absurdity of the situation before allowing the laughter to lull and finally take in the scenery. You hadn’t passed people for the past 10 minutes of your walk, reaching a more secluded area of the beach.

“Do you want to go in the water?” You ask slyly.

“I mean, I’m not very well prepared,” Bob gestures down to his outfit.

“Me either,” you shrug with a smirk, before lifting the hem of your dress and pulling it over your head.

You let it fall to the ground and bend down to take off your shoes, leaving them next to your dress. You snap back up with a smirk and let Bob take in the sight of you in your lacy underwear. He gulps visibly.

You wander towards the waves slowly, letting Bob take in the way your hips sway tantalisingly.

“You coming?” You call over your shoulder.

“Fuck.” Bob whispers to himself, “yeah, give me a minute!”

Bob shucks himself of his clothing in record time so he can join you in the water, which is rippling gently against your waist. It’s cool, but not overtly unpleasant. If anything it’s soothing his nerves.

You turn to face Bob when you can sense him behind you,

“wow,” you breathe out, drinking in his toned abdomen that had been exposed to you.

“I feel like I should be saying that,” Bob smiles down at you, allowing his hands to rest at your waist.

You roll your eyes and flick water at him playfully. Bob’s eyes darken teasingly and he splashes you back with a little more force.

“Bob!” You squeal as the cool water hits your chest.

You have no choice but to retaliate with an even larger splash of water. As soon as it hits Bob you take off, disturbing the peaceful ripples as you try to swim away from the now drenched Bob. He catches up to you with ease and lifts you into the air, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

Your arms come to hang around his neck and you rest your forehead against his, both breathing harshly against one another’s mouths. Your lips connect sloppily as Bob’s hands grip tight at your behind to keep you close to him. The light blue lace of your thong is now dark blue from the water, the fabric of the bra much the same. It clings to you almost sinfully, and when Bob pulls back to look at you he lets out a deep, guttural groan.

“Look at you, darlin’.”

You flush at his words, accent heavy now it’s tainted with lust. You flick water at him playfully once again, trying to distract from how overwhelmed he makes you feel.

Bob chuckles and readjusts you in his grip, one arm under you to support you and the other pushing back at the wet strands of hair framing your face.

“Is it crazy if I say I think I love you?” Bob whispers.

“Is it crazy if I say the same thing?” You reply.

a/n: HERE IT IS 🎺🎺🎺🎺 sorry for the wait everyone!!! please behold valentines bob, isn’t he the cutest idiot 😭😭

expect a lil jakey one shot next guys, then mayhaps ch4 of drive me wild hehehe

as always pls reblog, comment, or send me an ask and tell me what you think!!!

thank you for reading :)))

- honey <333

2K notes · View notes

ddoxhan · 8 months ago

Text

all I wanna do

like a rain shower in midsummer, I need you cuz all I wanna do is be with you

word count : 5.3k words

genre : fluff revolving around two goofballs; scriptwriter! ningning x office worker! reader; experiencing a disastrous date won't stop you from planning the best date for the love of your life

t/w : none :)

a/n : a light-hearted, playful date with ms ning yizhuo! imagine her laughters throughout the entire thing and just seeing how happy she is being with you 🤍 I love this baby so much :') anyways enjoy !!

outfit? check. water bottles? check. portable fan? check. power bank? check. umbrella? check. snacks for your pretty girlfriend? check. after that disastrous date with yizhuo last time, you were traumatized hence the over-the-board preparation for today's date with her. you had planned a lot of events for the day, hoping that she would be surprised with how you made sure things were to go according to plan. her reactions are just the cutest and no one can tell you otherwise.

regardless of whether it was going to rain, or if you lose her in a crowd as her phone dies, or if she gets incredibly hungry that she's in the mood to murder you. yes, that was how the entire date went the last time when you two headed for a mini concert in the outskirts. just thinking about it again sent chills down your spine. never again, you thought.

as you take a step out of your apartment, that annoying ringtone informed you of who the caller was.

"yeah, babe?"

'on the way? or you just woke up and getting ready to throw on just anything?'

"missy, I'm slaying my fit of the year. and yes, I'm on my way. maybe in another thirty minutes?"

'okay, missy. sounds good to me, see you then babe!'

"love you."

'love you too!'

her voice got softer, as usual walking away from her phone to do her own things. she usually lets you end the call, either you'd end it while chuckling at her antics or listening a little longer to hear her humming a song that's on her 36th spotify playlist.

the sun was shining, the clouds were fluffy, and the bus just passed by the stop before heading for yours. was it more than enough time for you to make it? sure, but, that was if you ran for it. you were definitely not waiting for the next one that was going to be in the next 15 minutes.

the run wasn't too bad, giving you a chance to try out your new pair of sneakers. definitely not made for running, but they were sure looking amazing with your outfit. yizhuo had gotten them for you when you had finished that torturing physics paper one semester ago but you couldn't get yourself to wear them. she insisted that you wore it after she saw them in a new display box you got for it when she slept over after spending hours playing animal crossing with you.

'jagi, didn't I get those for you?'

'yep.'

'wear them when we go on a date next week.'

'but-'

'no buts.'

so that was how you were striding in these slides. they made you a little taller, which was the perfect height to pull yizhuo into a hug and rub your head on her hair. she hated those the most, but you love the scent of her vanilla shampoo, calming and soothing. as you stared out the bus window from your seat, your lips naturally curled into a smile as you reminisced those times when you and her took the bus home during your uni days.

when you had shared social law with her, you always took the bus with her after classes at the end of the day. you had known that she lived a little further from campus instead of the dorms and you happened to also take the same bus line as she did. acquaintances bloomed into friends, and you took your friendship with her to the next stage when you confessed that you saw her as more than a friend. you were the happiest girl alive when she said that she felt the same too.

when you had graduated with your psychology degree and her with her communication degree, that was when you found out that yizhuo had not lived three bus stops away from yours. and that was also when she had found out that you lived two bus stops before where she supposedly lived. in summary, you were two idiots thinking that you guys were so smart for trying to fool each other.

she did indeed live in the campus dorm, but just got down the stop where her friend lived at, in a way using her as an excuse to spend more time with you. you on the other hand, did similarly to spend more time with her by pretending that you got off at the next stop after hers. for four months straight, you had took a whole trip around the neighbourhood each time you had social law.

till this day, this was still something that you and her would bring up and laugh about at how stupid you two were. but you didn't complain, you were stupid in love with her.

a ring on yizhuo's doorbell was enough to make her frown from finishing her favourite shampoo to smiling as it indicated that her huggable human was by the door. when she swung the door open, she was surprised to find you with a bouquet of crocheted pink tulips and a puffy tote bag. first, you hated tote bags because you were afraid of forgetting them on your seat. second, what occasion was it for the flowers?

"hello, girlfriend."

"hello to you too. what's with the flowers?"

a toothy grin was all it took to convince that it wasn't a special occasion that she knew, but rather one that you wanted to celebrate because, you just wanted to.

"it's 520 days since we've started dating. so yeah, happy 520!"

"and here I thought that I had forgotten our anniversary or something."

"well, it's still something to celebrate about."

if yizhuo had her clumsy and quirky antics, you had your puppy-like and unpredictable antics. it wasn't once or twice that you had showed up to her front door with tulips or roses, be it real or fake, or crocheted. or that one time you had a spur in the moment and made her beef wellington for lunch. you didn't even like cooking that much.

'I saw this recipe and I thought you would like it a lot!' as she quotes from you.

but none of that can stop her from loving you more as each day went by. the good morning and good night texts were a must and meeting up at least once every day was the base, whether it be face-to-face or through facetime. as much as she could feel her fatigue from her day fade away when she saw that smile of yours, so did you when you heard that laughter of hers when you crack a joke.

"thank you, babe. I like it a lot."

she tiptoed to press a little peck on your cheek, which led to that big ass grin on your face and your tail would have wagged hard like a helicopter, if you had one. seeing your usual reaction, yizhuo went back to her room to proceed getting ready for the day. oh, did you mention that she looks amazing even when she had her hair up in a messy bun, and the most worn out, comfortable home clothes? yeah, now you know.

as you took your spot on the couch, it didn't take her longer than 20 minutes to be in the cutest outfit for your anticipated outing. the opening of her bedroom door prompted you to stand by the shoe rack and put your shoes on.

"ready?"

"mhm."

after you leaving her place, she naturally headed over to the bus stop while you stepped further from it, making her confused at the way you had a mischievous smile on your face. you walked over to her and dragged her along to the nearest car rental shop, rendering her further confusion.

leaving her at the entrance for a bit, you returned while twirling a shiny key with a far too recognizable logo printed on it,

"I knew we were going to the aquarium, but you didn't mention anything about driving there. when did you even have a driver's license?"

"well, surprise."

driving wasn't a practical option since you lived four bus stops away from your now alma mater. public transportation was a pain in the ass during before and after work peak hours but that was more worth than paying for the parking fee. that included having not told yizhuo about your driving capabilities.

your campus was practically in the middle of the city where most necessities were within public transportation reach. it didn't really matter if you had a car or not cause that was how convenient travelling for stuff was. if there was a need for a car, you would just ask minjeong for hers since she drives. even now, you could get to your job without a car, and you only head to office 3 days a week.

"and you rented a BMW?"

"yes?"

the look on her face darkened further as she couldn't comprehend your spending tendencies. you weren't a thrifty douchebag, so this was really a firsthand experience of you being willing to spend so much when there were cheaper options.

"please tell me you're joking. this could easily cost you half of your monthly salary for a day."

"okay okay, yes, I'm joking."

"thank god."

" but I did buy a kawasaki though."

yizhuo's jaw could not drop further as you said those seven words. she couldn't even form words, let alone sentences.

"wha- huh- you- eh?"

"come on, I got a second hand one so it's a lot cheaper. and it was a snatch with its low mileage."

the whole ride to the aquarium was just her bombarding you with questions on why you decided to get a motorcycle, when did you get your driver's license and a whole lot more. the entire ride there. though you weren't annoyed, you found it adorable that she wanted to know more. you being down bad was an understatement, you were just so in love with her that you don't see any chance of you getting back from being down bad.

you sure didn't need a second hand kawasaki to get to work considering the many reasons that would have stopped you from getting it. but there was one extremely big reason to get it that surpass every other. it was yizhuo. at the end of every day where you would drop by her place to spend time together, she would tell you about the things she encountered on the way home on the train, be it good or bad.

you were content with listening to how she would coo at the children and babies she saw, but grimaced at some things she would witness that you don't even want to reiterate. just then you thought, maybe you should get a vehicle to fetch yizhuo after work. as a scriptwriter, the expectation to get things done by her deadlines were brutal, from your nine-to-five job perspective. at times, she would finish past dinner hours and leave the broadcasting station with slumping shoulders while you waited for her at a nearby cafe to have dinner together after she clocks out. it always made a part of your heart ache a little when she drapes her body over you, with her basking in your scent.

she had always reassured you that she would feel her energy pick up when she spots you at your usual spot waiting. and even more so when she hugs you, as if you were her human energizer. but to imagine the days that you wouldn't be there, it was the right decision to get a vehicle for her to relax in after work on the way home. regardless of whether it was this nice BMW or the kawasaki you got, you get to accompany her back home while she talks about her day at the broadcasting station.

to head home together after a long day and lay in her arms on the couch while watching a movie was always your dream. usually her housemates would be around and it wasn't that comfortable to have the whole living room to yourselves. you would either leave after dropping her off or you would spend some time in her room for a while since she would reason that you have work the next day. one day, you would get a house together with her and make that dream a reality. one day.

"for me? this nice ass bike because you wanted me to get home safe?"

"yep."

she looked at you in disbelief, worried that the cost of this damn bike would put a hole in your wallet while you had a sheepish smile knowing exactly what she had in mind.

"I know it sounds crazy but trust me, I've planned this for a long time."

"how long?"

"roughly 5 years."

as yizhuo mentally counted, she figured that that was when you were still freshmen back in university. although she was flattered by the fact that you fell for her since then, she couldn't help but feel bad. and you knew she would from the way her smile fell a little, just enough for you to be able to tell.

"don't feel bad babe. I did say it's for you, but it's also for me, for us. it's a lot better than having to squeeze into the train and having body odour rubbed all over my face."

the joke managed to lift her mood as she giggles at the way she could relate too. well, you could say that this kawasaki was a dream motorcycle that you've had your eye on for some time now too. her hand reached over to yours on the gear stick, her eyes looking into yours, feeling that she was the luckiest girlfriend on earth.

"you're welcome, and let's go see those penguins, shall we?"

"welcome to underwater haven, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! I will be your guide today, so make sure to remember how I look like. you wouldn't wanna get lost and bump into the polar bear."

the crowd laughed at the humor of the male guide, before following to enter into the aquarium for the day.

in one hand, was your professional camera to capture the beauty of the animals (as well as your girlfriend), and yizhuo's hand intertwined with yours in the other. although she was more fond of furry animals in the petting zoos, she absolutely loved the way your eyes would sparkle when you tell her about your favourite aquatic animals that even she had managed to remember by now. you looked like an excited child jumping around and she just wants to give you all the kisses that you deserved for being so cute.

"oh! that's the angelfish. isn't it such a nice shade of pastel blue? and the way they just look so pretty."

"yes yes, very pretty."

and her gaze was just fixated on your smile that hasn't fell ever since you stepped foot in here. she couldn't give a damn about all these fishes that looked the same to her. all it did was make her crave for some good sushi, but she shall not talk about that while you're here. maybe in the next few days, she should bring it up. for now, she would enjoy this aquarium date.

"did you have fun?"

"mhm. did you? weren't you bored a little halfway?"

"I mean yeah but when I look over to you, wow best day ever."

you shot yizhuo a glare before relaxing when you knew that she had eyes only for you.

"I love you too."

that sheepish smile on her face made you chuckle at the way you found it cute, realization for the nth time that you would never be able to win against her. be it her random rendezvous at odd hours or cheeky remarks like this.

"so where would lunch be, ms. 'I have a BMW now so we can go anywhere we want'?"

she's just not gonna let you breathe huh?

"well, it is a thursday today. so you know what that means."

"the bazaar!"

the first time she found out about the bazaar, she had always gone there either alone since her friend had clashing schedules or would resort to the cafeteria food which she disliked a little. after knowing you through social law, she deciced to persuade you to accompany her there.

'you mean be your chaperone?'

'I wouldn't put it that way, think of it that you're there as my food mate.'

it was a weekly food bazaar that happened at the city square, filled with all kinds of food from all around the world. yizhuo was always down to try anything that was edible, while you were just there to be with her as you didn't fancy trying new things.

'come on! try this, the vendor said it's glutinous rice cooked in a bamboo tube.'

'it looks questionable.'

but to be honest, it did taste good. while she had a habit of ordering a variety to try, she wouldn't hesitate to share it with her friends, encouraging them to head to the bazaar to try out too. when you looked back and thought about it, she was also helping out the local businesses that had a hard time. she tried to deny, giving you the reason that they had better food that whatever the cafeteria served. however, you would notice each time you stood by her while she talked to the vendors. the way her eyes fold into crescents, truly grateful that they were doing great.

as you spent more time with her throughout your days, you harbored feelings for her and they just grew out of control when you would malfunction from being around her. you were there once as an acquaintance, now you were back there again, as her girlfriend. wow, thinking about it made you feel overwhelmed.

"are you sure we're able to finish this?"

"if we can't, we could bring it over for minjeong."

"I'm pretty sure she would be too full from lunch with jimin. you know how those two are."

"well, I guess this is all for us!"

just watching yizhuo enjoy the food in front of her made you feel as if you had ate. if your girlfriend was happily full, then so were you. at some point, the vendors didn't change often, and they soon became permanent at the bazaar, being able to find a crowd of customers for themselves. you didn't remember how it happened, but when yizhuo would always recommend it to the people around her, you knew who it was because of.

"what? is there anything on my face?"

your gentle gaze had her rub the sides of her mouth, then her cheeks. full of food while she mumbles, it was just a sight too adorable. you succeeded at holding back your urge to squeeze her cheeks, or you would end up with a flick on your forehead.

"nothing, you just look really pretty."

"thank you, but I can't tell if you're being sarcastic cause I am stuffing my face full of food right now."

"nothing beats a happy girlfriend who loves her food. and it's cute."

extending a hand over to clear that sauce stain on the corner of her mouth, you looked so lovesick, it almost made the people at the table on the right gag. what did single people do to be punished like this?

you would only cut it out with the lovey dovey eyes when yizhuo made sure that you were eating enough unlike when you were in your final year. that final year research paper had you lose 5kg throughout the journey and you wish to not experience that ever again. sleep was an option and so was food. if it wasn't for her threatening to have your meals properly or she would not see you again, you would have probably fainted at least twice that year.

so now, you have a wonderful girlfriend and a stomach full of good food. the day was going spectacularly smooth without any problems. but you spoke too soon when the sun had set and night had came.

after the bazaar lunch, you were to drive to a restaurant by the beach that yizhuo had really wanted to try but didn't insist on going as it was far. since you had rented a car, it was only right to bring her there. before night would fall, it would have been perfect to enjoy the sunset by the time you would have arrived considering the journey.

that was until the car started to smoke on the front all of a sudden. pulling over to the side of the road, you had to call for help from the nearest car repair shop to send a tow truck. you weren't going to risk driving there despite it being a short distance, not with her in the car.

as the tow truck arrived along with another car, you thanked the foreman for offering to drive you two to your destination when he couldn't get you a spare car. nevertheless, you managed to reach just in time to sit by the beach to admire the sunset with yizhuo. that was before it got windy and droplets of rain turned into a downpour.

"why is it always like this whenever we decide to go out for dates?"

she was feeling a little down from the mishaps from the car to the downpour. to be frank, you were too, since you had hoped that the date ended perfectly since she had looked forward to it a lot. although she didn't verbally express her excitement, you could tell from the way she had already put together an outfit for the day a week before and marked the date on her calendar with a big red circle and hearts around it.

"babe, things happen. plus it was my fault that I didn't check the car properly before today."

"it's not your fault, like you said things happen. just why on our dates..."

you were half soaked from the rain even with an umbrella. as you sought shelter at nearby shop, yizhuo wasn't soaked as much because you had wrapped yourself over her to make sure she didn't. that also made her a little more upset as she was scared you would get sick because of her. on the brighter side, you were at a vintage shop where they had quite a collection of film cameras. you had to take the opportunity to get one from here before you left. but first, back to making your girlfriend feel better.

"hey hey, babe. look at me."

you placed your hands on her cheeks and made her face you, squishing them a little. around her colleagues, she was competent and very professional when dealing with the producers and directors at her workplace. but when she comes home and relaxes around you, she would turn into a small little kitten that needed her favourite human pillow. just like how you had her pouting and leaning into your hands.

"things don't have to always go as planned. it's best if it did, but now that it didn't. we're here at this vintage shop and it looks like there's a lot of stuff to explore around here."

"sure we missed the sunset for a little, but we stumbled upon this place."

and with that, your girlfriend was back to her normal self.

"okay, but promise me you're not going to get too many things. nothing else is going to fit that glass case."

"yes, ma'am."

giving her a tiny salute and a cheeky smile, it was another mission success of making the best out of a (sorta) ruined date.

"I did mention not to get too many things, but you did get something that was very expensive."

"but it does take really good film pictures. plus, a good camera to fit the most beautiful model in the world."

yizhuo scoffed at the compliment but couldn't help but blush a little. thankfully, the downpour had come to a stop, only a small drizzle remained.

as you headed towards the restaurant that you had made reservation for, you couldn't help but feel super lucky at that moment as the sky was still lit and the ambience of the waves hitting the shore, as well as the drizzle adding its touch. along with the beautiful sight of her while her hair is blown by the wind, that gorgeous smile making you fall for her all over again.

arriving there, you were brought to your reserved table before ordering whatever she wanted on the menu. the wait wasn't too long, which was good as it was quite eventful before this meal. as you indulged in the local delicacies, you couldn't help asking yizhuo if she was in for some alcohol. and knowing her, she wouldn't pass on the offer.

you only drank a little as you would still need to drive back, as the foreman had mentioned that it wouldn't take till the next day to fix the car. just as you wrapped up your fulfilling meal, your phone rang, indicating the caller to be the foreman.

"yes, mr. lee. is the car done?"

"I'm very sorry miss, but I've called to inform you that we've come across another problem from the engine as we looked into it earlier. we would need another day for it as we are closing soon."

"ohh... umm... alright then. we'll look around for somewhere to stay for the time being. thank you very much."

hearing how you would need to look for somewhere to stay and seeing that apologetic smile plastered on your lips, yizhuo just knew that the plans for the day had changed for third time.

"we need to look for a motel?"

"hey! you don't need to put it that way."

the ends of your ears started burning a little as you hid your face in your hands, trying to lower the rising temperature of your cheeks. her word choice had caught you very off guard while she remained calm.

"it is what it is. plus, we could get separate rooms so why so shy?"

she was definitely having a great time teasing you.

you managed to find a decent place after asking the locals. but being there on the weekends only meant that there was no such things as vacancy. however, you still decided to shoot your shot, praying for two rooms.

"we've got only one room left, with a single bed."

and you definitely didn't expect that shot to miss entirely. it was better than no rooms at all, and it meant using the same room as yizhuo. you had to repeat that to yourself several times to fully register what you had heard. number 1, you had not slept over at her place before as you didn't want her housemates to feel uncomfortable with your unfamiliar presence. number 2, it would only be you and her in a room. nothing would probably happen, given that you would be sleeping on the couch.

"where are you going?"

"to sleep...?"

drying your hair with the provided towel, you glanced over to your girlfriend who already dried her hair and changed into a set of pajamas that you had got from a nearby shop. you were in a similar one with a different color, reminding you too much of what married couples would usually where in dramas. 'enough!', you thought.

as much as you wanted to wake the next morning in your arms, you held yourself back as it might make her uneasy. what if she's not used to sharing the bed with someone? what if she thinks it would be hot? what if you snore? what if―

before you could complete all the possible scenarios from overthinking, yizhuo stretched out her arms, telling you to hug her. and so you did. as you fell for her temptation, she pulled you in closer to make you fall onto the bed. as she leaned over to place her lips on yours, your brain short-circuited with too many things happening at once. pulling away, all she saw was a shocked puppy speechless and thoughtless.

"you good?"

"huh?"

"were you going to sleep on the couch?"

"yeah..."

it was as if you lost your ability to speak because all you could do was nod or give short answers to her questions. well, you were being considerate for your girlfriend in case she didn't want to share the bed with you and you were more than willing to let her have the bed for herself. after all, the bed wasn't the biggest and it was just fitting for two people, no more, no less. but she didn't mind at all.

"why when we could just sleep together?"

you hit her a few times for her choice of words and she just wondered what she said so wrong. 'sleep together', technically you were going to sleep together but not sleep together. there was a difference, but you were just being overly sensitive from the way that your body was in close proximity with yizhuo.

it wasn't like you didn't cuddle with her before in the living room while watching dramas and movies. it wasn't like you didn't hug her every single time you would leave by the end of the day. it wasn't like she wasn't already clingy and always finding an excuse to stick right next to you, be it be holding hands or just pulling you into a bear hug. but why was this time so different just because it was on a bed?

"you could take this as practice before we get married in the future."

right, that was why it made you so fidgety and anxious like a teenage girl who was in love with her first love. true enough, she was your first love, if you were to minus out the short fling back in high school that wasn't even a relationship nor situationship.

your relationship had not even turned 2 years old and yizhuo already had confidence in that you would marry her when the time comes. and she was darn right that you would. that day just sealed the deal where you definitely couldn't see yourself spending the rest of your life with someone else other than her.

the way she would enjoy your rants about sea animals that she couldn't care less, the way she reminds you about spending too much, the way she held your hand throughout the whole date.

although she wasn't interested in the many species of fishes that you knew, she didn't complain about it and just enjoyed how you were ecstatic about them. she would nag you a little about getting too many vintage cameras when you wouldn't even use some of them, but she knew that every single one you've bought had at least taken one picture of her. she knew that physical affection wasn't your way of expression where gift giving and words of affirmation was, she made sure that you felt hers.

just like this very moment, you could feel it through the way her gaze bores into your eyes, letting you know that she loved you as much as you did for her, if not more.

"okay, if you say so, wifey."

"oh? already agreeing to the proposal?"

"no way, I will be the one proposing to you in the best way possible when that day comes."

"but does that mean you want to marry me?"

yizhuo was glad to see how you snapped out of your trance with the playful banter between you and her. not only that, your string of thoughts had brought you to a conclusion that sounded like the best one to your life story.

"yes, ms. ning yizhuo. I would love to marry you."

"cause all I wanna do is be with you."

#ningning #ning yizhuo #aespa #aespa fluff #aespa imagines #aespa scenarios #aespa x reader #ningning x reader #Spotify

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chokchokk · 1 year ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 18.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Missy!”

“Me, sir?”

No wonder the economy's fucking shit.

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

“Yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Idiot, he’s only got a daughter!”

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

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

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

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

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

Ka-Ching.

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

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

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

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

And, oh, how excited he gets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

"Peace comes free."

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

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

"Sweet missy!"

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

"Yes, sir?”

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

“A Cuban, coming right up, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

"Be careful, missy!"

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

"They bite!”

Maybe choke them with their own money bills?

Yes, “Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, they give me bad breath.”

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Control yourself."

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

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

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

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

"Poetic."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is not business.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna clean me up, baby?”

“Pardon?”

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

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

“Sir, how—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything about him is so big…

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

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

“Sir!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make her louder.”

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

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

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

It is one shameless show.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Change of plans.”

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

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

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

"Five.”

“Five? Make it ten.”

“You only last ten?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go."

What the fuck?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And holy fuck, his back looks even crazier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir–”

Wrong deduction.

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

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

"The chairman?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, sir, just… fuck me, please…”

“Louder.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BANG!

"Sir, what—!"

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

BANG!

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

BANG! BANG! BANG!

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

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

BANG!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S- sir, please I–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ding!

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

"Sir, are you—"

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

"Fuck, sir!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"San, hold her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clean?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aw, you’re so sweet, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Speaking of, brother..."

Yes, with no shame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D- don’t!”

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

“Don’t leave me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Killed?

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

Killed?

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

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

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

Oh, Y/N.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck is he on again…

“You’re making this hard on yourself.”

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

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

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

“Ahhh, fuck you, brother.”

“Pathetic.”

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

The night is over.

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

“Yes, princess.”

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

“Ah…”

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

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

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

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

“Just please, let me live…”

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

“Brother.”

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

“Brother?”

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

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

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

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bit-dodgy-innit · 7 months ago

Text

We're Not Here to F*ck Spiders

Summary: You were the oldest Spider-Girl the society had ever encountered, therefore, Miguel took a special interest in you. He wanted to know if your life would correspond with his and the other Spiders’ canon, or whether you had a completely different canon you were forging on your own. After an offhanded comment about reviewing your canon with Miguel outside of headquarters, your relationship with Spider-Man 2099 is forever changed.

Set in between ITSV and ATSV.

Pairing: Marc x OC Female!Reader

For context, Reader is an alternate, grown-up version of Mayday due to personal reasons (personal reasons being I’ve been obsessed with Mayday Parker since I was baby child)! No real use of Y/N, though Miguel does refer to the reader as "May" twice and Peter Parker nicknamed her Mayhem. Peter B.'s daughter is Mayday.

Word Count: 10.2k words (see why this took me forever?!)

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI!!

CW/TW: An obscene amount of world-building, parents and kids fighting, mentions of a loss of a child, everyone being hot for Miguel, rough-ish sex (both partners are superheroes, come on), our boy is HUNG, dirty talk, a bit of cocky dom!Miguel, oral f!receiving, a lil bit of both m and f!receiving nipple play, PIV sex, riding, a quick spank, creampie, felching, and perhaps most intense of all, Miguel’s fear of commitment.

A/N: hahahahahaha this movie is nearly a year old and I FINALLY got around to writing a fic for it! Trust that I've been working on this on and off for a while now, but life has been nuts and writing more and more for work (yay!) but wanted to get this out while I had a slow week for everyone to enjoy!

Also, due to more personal reasons, my HC for Reader's parents are Peter and Mary Jane from Sam Raimi's masterpiece in 2002. But no presh if that doesn't jibe with ya!

I MADE A PLAYLIST FOR THIS FIC AND I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE PROUD OF ANYTHING

“Careful, Mayday!” you fondly called after the child who was literally bouncing off the cavernous walls of HQ. Yeesh, were you this energetic when you were her age? Probably. It never ceased to be weird, hanging out with an alternate baby version of yourself, but you could manage if you pretended she was your little niece, or sister, or something like that.

The alternate baby version of Mayday Parker in question didn’t heed your admonishment at all (which tracked), so you called again, “Oh noooo…I’m gonna have to come up there and get ya!”

Mayday squealed in delight at your “threat” and only zipped around quicker. However, you had a couple decades on her, so your reflexes were more attuned. It didn’t take long for you to capture her in your grasp and tickle her. However, little Mayday wasn’t going to give up that easily. She squirmed out of your hold and began scaling the nearby wall at a dizzying pace.

“Okay, missy, let’s settle down,” you announced, shooting a web to meet the infant on the platform she’d crawled onto. You continued to speak as you swung, “you know how Miguel is, we can’t get too carried…away.”

You nearly threw yourself back off the platform when you were met with the sight of Miguel himself standing before you holding May.

“Oh, hi,” you gestured to the squirming girl in his hands, “thanks. I was right behind her.”

“What am I like?” He asked, an inquisitive arch in his brow.

“You’re…you run a tight ship that’s all,” you wished a portal would swallow you whole. “And it’s great! We need it.”

“Are you supposed to be anywhere?” Miguel prodded further as he passed you May.

“Me? No, it's my day off.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because you put Peter B. on a mission and it gives me anxiety when he takes her.”

“You and me both,” he huffed.

“That being said, anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah actually, I have new sequencing to go over with you.”

Though the multiverse was ever-expanding, you were the oldest Spider-Girl the society had ever encountered, therefore, Miguel had taken a special interest in you. Since you were a second generation Spider, Miguel wanted to know if your life would correspond with his, your dad’s, and the other Spiders’ canon, or whether you had a completely different canon you were forging on your own. You initially found the whole concept fascinating, yet that interest waned pretty quickly when Miguel informed you that he was going to have Lyla analyze your entire life and have you expound on your experiences so he could compare you to the other Spiders.

Not that there was anything you were particularly ashamed of, but some of this stuff was embarrassing. Unlike baby Mayday, whose powers had already emerged, yours didn’t make an appearance until puberty. Reviewing your awkward teen years wasn’t exactly your ideal way of spending time with an unfairly hot guy, let alone the head of Spider Society.

“Oh okay, yeah,” you replied. “When Peter gets ba—“

“MAYDAY! WHERE’S MY PUMPKIN?” Peter’s voice echoed across the room.

No sooner had Peter spoken did Mayday websling herself off of the platform and into her father’s arms.

Shit, there went your excuse. A nervous chuckle escaped you, “Convenient.”

“Sí. Follow me.”

You did as Miguel said and trailed behind him to his…office didn’t quite describe it. Work station? Lair? You lasted all of forty-five seconds before your gaze dropped to his sculpted backside, a new record for you.

It really was unfair that the intense, ornery leader of the Spider Society had to be so damn fine. You were a superhero and a consummate professional, but at the end of the day, you were a mostly heterosexual human woman with eyes. Miguel was stupidly sexy. His shoulder-to-waist ratio, that chiseled face, and of course, perfectly round ass had been the topic of a few hushed, giggly conversations between you and the other Spiders that liked boys.

It was only ever cheeky whispers however. All of you knew better than to catch any real feelings for Miguel. One, it was majorly inappropriate. And two, he’d built emotional walls higher than the tallest skyscrapers in Nueva York.

Still, your mind couldn’t help but wander every now and then…you blamed it on your latest breakup. Spider-Girl duties had yet again claimed another potential partner. You suspected that was the reason it was more and more difficult not to fantasize about Miguel lately. Like sure, he was probably an animal in bed in the best way, but it was the prospect of not having to hide anything from him that appealed to you even more.

“Lyla, bring up the latest sequencing,” Miguel ordered.

If it weren’t for your spider-senses, you would’ve collided with his impossibly cut back, you were so deep into your thirsty thoughts.

Suddenly, you were back on Earth-982A in your childhood bedroom. Or at least, that’s where you appeared to be. The virtual surroundings would’ve been comforting if it weren’t for the particular event that Miguel had wanted to revisit.

Your father was forbidding you to use your powers. Again. You gazed at the rendering of your teenage self with compassion. Now, your father was fully supportive of you following in his footsteps, but the journey there had been rough.

“You know, most parents would be happy if their kid wanted to do something to help the world!”

Your dad scoffed. “That doesn’t matter - I’m not most parents and you’re not most kids!”

“Yeah and whose fault is that?!” Virtual you fired back. “I was born like this because of you! Dad, you’re always telling me that ‘with great power, comes great responsibility’ and now when I discover I inherited that great power, I can’t use it!?”

“Pause,” Miguel’s voice spooked you back into the present. When you finally shook yourself from the memory that was playing before you, you found his eyes on yours. “Okay, there. Define ‘always’.”

“Quantitatively?”

“Preferably.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Qualitatively, then.”

“I mean, it's one of those things he said so much that I can’t remember the first time I heard it.”

“When did your dad first hear it?”

“His Uncle Ben told him during their last conversation together.”

“Checks out. And how old was he?”

“He was a senior in high school, so like seventeen, eighteen?”

Miguel nodded. Even though x-ray vision nor telepathy weren’t in your powerset, you could practically see all the comparisons and calculations he was making in his head.

“So using your powers to help people, that was your instinct when you inherited your abilities.”

“Yeah.”

Miguel nodded again.

“It’s different, isn’t it?” you asked him. He didn’t reply. “My dad told me he entered some god awful cage-match-wrestling-thing to get enough money to buy a car and impress my mom before he officially became Spider-Man.”

Miguel was seemingly too busy with entering his latest data to respond. Instead, he barked at Lyla, “Resume sequence.”

The holographic version of your dad lurched back to life to argue, “May, you are my great responsibility! So if I say no powers, no powers! I did this a lot longer than you! ”

Tears streamed down your adolescent face. Thankfully, you’d lost some of the baby fat since. “I hate you! I HATE YOU DAD!!”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. This wasn’t easy to live, let alone re-live. So, as a Spider, naturally you made a jaunty, off-handed comment. “Wow, you really know how to show a girl a good time.”

“Qué?”

“Nothing.” He fixed you with his signature scowl so you elaborated, “Seriously, nothing. Though, maybe if we did this in an environment where I had access to alcohol and carbs, this would be less um…less unsettling for me.”

Miguel stared at you blankly. “But the simulator is here.”

“Right, of course.” Ughhhh, why was he so damn pretty?! “Forget I said anything, Miguel.”

He dropped it, but before the simulation could start again, your gizmo beeped. Benji’s basketball game started in twenty.

“Actually, sorry, I have to go.”

“But we just got started.”

“I know, but I haven’t been able to catch one of my little brother’s games yet this season, and it’s almost the playoffs.”

“Won’t he under–”

You interrupted Miguel. “You realize spider-stuff is not a viable excuse with my family, right? Besides, it’s my day off. I’m only here out of the goodness of my own heart and my commitment to the Spider-Society.”

He rolled his eyes at your remark, but couldn’t help a little half - nay, quarter - smile from forming across the lips you had fantasized about kissing one too many times. “Things are quiet for once. We should knock this out now.”

“We should,” you conceded as you created a portal, “but trying to have some semblance of work-life balance is Spider-Girl canon.”

And with that, you hopped back into your world, before you could change your mind or say anything else stupid and/or unintentionally flirty to Miguel.

You re-appeared in your apartment with just enough time to throw on clothes and swing over to the middle school. Your mom was waiting as you hurried into the gym right as Benji and the other players were taking the court.

“Look who made it,” MJ observed wryly.

“Ha ha,” you fired back humorlessly, but pulled your mom into a hug all the same. “Where’s Dad?”

The ref’s whistle signaled tip off and the beginning of the game, momentarily distracting you two. You were thrilled to see Benji starting – he really wanted to make JV when he started high school next year, and this was a step in the right direction.

“Go Benji!!” MJ cheered before answering your question, “He hit traffic coming from the station. He’ll be here soon.”

Your collective attention was pulled to the game unfolding in front of you, then MJ asked, “What have you been up to today?”

“Me? I was at the society for a bit, helping with the baby.”

You didn’t need to see your mother to know that she tensed at the mention of the Spider-Society and Peter B.’s Mayday. It, understandably, weirded her out.

“How can it not be strange to care for–”

“It would be if we were closer in age,” you pointed out. “But it’s just like babysitting with Mayday right now. And trust me, after all the versions of Dad I’ve met, hanging out with little me is nothing.”

Despite being weirded out, your mom always tried to empathize, so she switched gears. “Anything interesting happen?”

“Ugh, just more sequencing with Miguel - today was a tough one.”

“Why?”

“Fights with Dad from years ago that I know we’ve moved past, but still suck to watch.”

Your mom took your hand in hers, a much-needed grounding gesture. “Well, you’re back in the present, in your corner of the universe now, sweetie.”

You gave her hand an appreciative squeeze and took her words to heart, focusing on the basketball game in front of you. It didn’t take too long to put the earlier events from headquarters behind you – Benji scored a couple baskets and you took it upon yourself to meticulously document the game on your phone for memories and possible future blackmail.

When your Dad did join you and MJ, you couldn’t help but hug him tightly. You buried your face into his coat, which smelled like a mix of smoke from the streets and his aftershave.

It was Peter’s mix of spider and paternal instincts that prompted him to ask, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you assured him, giving him some space. “I just–I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Mayhem.” Where Mayday was Peter B’s moniker for his daughter, Mayhem was your dad’s nickname for you.

The game ended in victory for Benji’s team, the Midtown Mavericks, and you three waited for the youngest member of the Parker family to emerge from the locker room.

Benji’s face when he saw you made any lingering discomfort you had leaving Miguel one thousand percent worth it. “You made it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” you pulled Benji into a hug - however reluctant he was to it since he was a ~teenager~ now. “Dude, you put up points tonight!”

But Benji had gotten distracted, so instead of responding to you, he murmured “Woah, that guy is swole.”

You turned around to see who he was talking about and your jaw nearly hit the floor.

It was Miguel.

Even more incredibly, he was in civilian clothes. It wasn’t until you witnessed him in dark wash jeans, a henley, and a well-worn bomber jacket that you realized that you’d actually never seen Miguel in anything other than his spider suit.

He called your name and you acknowledged him with a wave, flabbergasted. Even more astonished that you knew this very attractive hunk of man was your brother, “Wait, you know him?!”

“We work together,” you said quietly.

“At the paper?” Benji was confused.

“No, at my other job.”

“Oh,” it clicked for him. “That makes sense. Man, I hope I get that jacked when I get my powers.”

“Shhhh, be cool Benji,” you urged him.

“Um, I’m not the one you have to worry about,” he harrumphed. “Oh shit, you like him.”

Though there was more than a decade between you and Benji, your little brother was still your little brother. “No! He’s the head of the Spider-Society and he’s–you’ll see.”

You took a step forward to greet Miguel before anyone else from your family could get to him. “Hey! What’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to finish our work today, and since it’s your day off, I decided to come to you.”

“Miguel O’Hara making a compromise? How not canon. Wonder how big of a hole that’s gonna tear in the multiverse.”

“Shut up,” he ordered you playfully.

“Miguel, good to see you!” Your dad strode over and pulled the younger spider-man into a handshake.

“You too, Dr. Parker.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how oddly deferential Miguel was with your dad. He’d met Peter first, when he was establishing the Arachnohumanoid Polymultiverse. Miguel was stunned to discover that this Peter was not only retired, but had a full-grown daughter who’d taken up his crime-fighting mantle. Apparently your dad’s canon was particularly important and central to the greater Spiderverse, which meant Miguel would pester you with questions about him constantly.

“Is everything okay?” Peter asked, “You don’t usually make house calls.”

Before Miguel could explain, an elbow nearly sent you into careening into his broad chest. Mom.

“Miguel, this is my mom, Mary Jane.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker,” Miguel dutifully offered his hand to her.

“The pleasure is mine,” your mom gushed, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Benji was right. He was not the person you had to be worried about. A rip in the multiverse to swallow you whole would be rather convenient right about now.

Miguel’s brow creased. “You have?”

“She hasn’t,” you intervened. “Like two or three things in passing, max. Promise I haven’t broken my NDA or you know, the superhero code of secrecy or anything.”

Mercifully, Miguel let it slide for the time being. He turned to your brother. “And you must be Benji.”

“Yeah,” Benji confirmed, doing a terrible job of pitching his voice lower. “‘Sup, bro.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you were ready to rip the fabric of reality yourself to end this.

“Congrats on the win. Hate to do this, but I need to steal your sister for a bit.”

“No problem, I know she’s fine with it.” Perhaps Benji needed a reminder regarding which sibling had the super powers. “Also, what’s your workout–”

“Well, as fun as this all is, we should probably get back to work.”

Your family didn’t put up much of a fight – thank God – as pleasantries were exchanged and you and Miguel took off. You hoped Miguel didn’t catch when your mother mouthed “So handsome!!” to you as everyone said their goodbyes. Finally, it was just the two of you walking down East 36th Street.

“Sorry about them,” you began.

He looked at you, puzzled. “Why?”

“My family. Embarrassing.”

“They’re not embarrassing. They’re…they’re nice,” there was pain behind Miguel’s eyes. “It’s interesting. Your brother hasn’t experienced any spider-abilities, has he?”

“No,” you confirmed. “Not yet.”

You two slowed to stop on the corner. Miguel looked at you expectantly. “So, where to?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you wanted to do this in an environment where you ‘had access to alcohol and carbs’.”

“Oh! Right. Hmmm, where are we?” you looked up at the cross streets above you. “36th and 3rd? I know a place.”

You took Miguel to a little hole-in-the-wall Italian spot nearby. Since it was so close to Benji’s school and your old middle and high school, you had spent many a week night at their tables, either working on homework or chowing down after basketball practice.

Therefore, the staff knew you – it was a family owned spot, you’d basically grown up with the owner’s children, Maria and Chris. Though you graduated from Midtown Charter a looong time ago, they still took care of you. Maria had even let you use their first aid kit once, no questions asked, after a nasty Spider-Girl skirmish nearby. You didn’t suspect she knew anything, but even if she did, you could trust Maria to be discreet.

At least, you thought you could trust Maria, but when she showed you and Miguel to your table, and Miguel made a pit stop at the restroom, she very indiscreetly asked, “Daaaamn, girl. He your boyfriend? Because you–”

“No!”

“You getting dicked down by him?”

“No!”

“Can I get dicked down by him? He single? Does he like the ladies?”

“Maria, he’s a colleague. Actually, he’s my superior. So no…unfortunately, no.”

Maria cackled with delight. “That’s a pen worth sticking in your company ink. I’ll bring you some garlic bread.”

“And a glass of red wine,” you added. “no, a bottle.”

“That’s my girl!”

In theory, you had thought that reviewing sequencing outside of headquarters would’ve been less awkward, but in reality, it was more so. You couldn’t stop drinking in the sight of Miguel in normal clothes, the intimacy of having a meal together when usually your interactions were so sterile and professional, plus there was a little voice in your head screaming that THIS WAS BASICALLY A DATE on repeat.

“So should we pick up where we left off?” Miguel asked. The question brought you back down to Earth. Despite that little persistent voice in your head oohing and ahhing at him, it was clear that Miguel didn’t think this was a date. This dinner was a means to end, nothing more.

“Let me get a little wine drunk first,” you bargained.

“Yeah, but you have sped-up metabolism, so that’ll take at least–”

“That was a joke. Miguel, when was the last time you went out to dinner?”

He seemed to truly consider the question, then, “I don’t know.”

You’d never heard Miguel say those three words in that order before.

“I promise you I will go over my cringe teen years with you, but can we eat some garlic bread and not get drunk off this very nice bottle of wine first?”

“You’re worse than Lyla,” his eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“She’s always trying to get me to take breaks.”

“You should! There’s only so much self-flagellation a human can take, even if they’re a superhero.”

Miguel’s response was a very inarticulate grumble. Maria dropped off the wine, bread, and took your order. You didn’t know what was more insane – the amount of food Miguel ordered or how unabashedly Maria was ogling him.

“Let me guess, Lyla’s the one who suggested the field trip to my home dimension?”

Another grumble, this one in the affirmative.

“Classic,” you remarked with a snort before taking a gulp from your glass. “I love that your AI is smarter than you.”

“Of course she is, she can access all of the multiverse’s knowledge in a nano-second.’

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?”

“Can we not talk about me for a second?”

“Why?”

“Because…because, I don't know, I was hoping doing this in a more casual environment would–it’d make it feel more like a conversation.”

“We are having a conversation.”

“Jeez, Miguel,” you took another sip of wine. “It’s not easy digging through my past like this. A lot of the time it feels more like an interrogation.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. And don’t get me wrong, I want to help you, help the Spider-Society, but the one-sidedness of this is exhausting.”

“Exhausting.” He sounded dubious.

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll take care of the bill and see you tomorrow, and we can go back to reviewing the sequencing like we normally do. I should know better than to complain to you.”

Miguel looked at you if your words had stung him. “You can complain to me.”

“No, I can’t,” you disputed. “You’re the most self-sacrificing Spider out of any of us–which is really saying something, by the way–and I feel lame talking about my feelings with you.”

“And that’s why our reviews feel like interrogations,” he was putting it together.

“Yeah. Sorry to drag you out of HQ.”

Miguel scrutinized you with a long, unreadable look before announcing, “I’m not leaving before I have my bolognese.”

You didn’t know whether to smile or scream. Miguel may have lacked the traditional spidey precognitive sense, and the signature spider sense of humor, but he definitely had the stubbornness you all seemed to possess.

You shot him a sidelong glare. “Why did you come here?”

“I told you - I wanted to finish sequencing and Lyla suggested coming to you.”

“But you didn’t have to take her suggestion.”

Miguel’s large frame shifted in the chair that suddenly appeared too small for him. “Like you said, she’s smarter than me, so I did. And yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve gone out to dinner.”

You didn’t know how to react to that. Right before the silence became intolerable, Miguel spoke again, “You still with that gu–’

“No.” The last thing you wanted to talk about with Miguel was your failed relationship with Gene, and you’d once discussed the correlation of getting your first period could’ve had with your powers emerging with him.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean, you get it.”

Miguel at last took a sip from his glass. “All too well.”

“The price of being a hero, right?” you sent him a small, sympathetic smile across the table. “Or at least that’s what I tell myself.”

“Your parents seemed to have figured it out,” he pointed out.

“Well, that took like decades, and according to you, they’re canon, right? So it was meant to be. I guess that’s one of the comforts of having a canon-confirmed soulmate.”

“Yeah, if you're Peter Parker.”

Your heart sank at the implication. “So that means if a Spider isn’t Peter we’re meant to die alone?”

“I don’t know,” Miguel’s eyes were averted. “Maybe only if you’re a Miguel O’Hara.”

“Stop, you could get anyone in this restaurant to sleep with you,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “Our waitress has to resist climbing on top of you whenever she passes the table.”

He swatted away the implication as if it were a pest. “That’s different.”

“You know, it might help with the stress.”

“What?”

“Letting someone climb on top of you.”

Miguel glared at you, “Don’t.”

“See? It’s not fun being on the other side of the questions,” you smirked. Your conversation was briefly suspended when Maria returned with your entrees. After thanking her, you refocused back on Miguel, “Can I ask you something else?”

“No.”

“DADA!” A child, who couldn’t have been more than three, screeched happily from a neighboring table.

Miguel froze. For the first time in the several months that you’d known him, you saw his face soften. The warmth that filled his eyes at the sight of the toddler was undeniable. The fond expression hardened back into his stoic facade within an instant, yet Miguel couldn’t fully conceal the anguish that clearly still haunted him. He never could.

“Sorry,” you said softly.

He shook off your condolences. “What’d you want to ask me?”

“Have you tried seeing anyone after…” it felt forbidden to say Gabriella’s name out loud.

“What’s the point?” Miguel shrugged. “I don’t have the time, even if I wanted to.”

“Right,” you hedged.

Eventually, you and Miguel were able to find things to talk about outside of work and your respective traumas. You compared notes on the lamest villain you’d each encountered rounding up anomalies, discussed the idea of a nursery for spider-babies, or as Miguel insisted on calling them, “second-generation Spiders” – Peter couldn’t keep taking his kid on missions, plus Jessica Drew had just learned she was expecting – you even got Miguel to open up about his teenage days some.

“Makes sense you were a rebel,” you chuckled, taking one last bite of the tiramisu Maria insisted was on the house.

“Yeah? Why?” Miguel prodded.

“Because you-re so uptigh–upstanding now.”

You were treated to another rare grin from Miguel, this time a half smile rather than a quarter. “Nice save.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you contended with put-on innocence.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t always like what I have to do, you know.”

Your gaze locked directly with his for a breath-taking second, his eyes garnets in the low light of the dining room. “We should get going, I've taken you away from headquarters for long enough.”

“You act like I’ve never left HQ before, and if anything, I took you away from your family,” Miguel parried, yet stood up nonetheless. You followed suit, only mildly disappointed he didn’t argue with you about leaving. As awkward as this dinner initially was, you’d actually ended up enjoying it. “I’ll take you home.”

Miguel’s words stopped you in your tracks, “You know I’m the protector of this city, right?”

“Obviously, I—” he huffed as you waved goodbye to Maria and exited back onto the street. “Mierda May, I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

Oh. Oh. Did Miguel think this was a date too? Date was too strong of a word – did Miguel think this was a not-entirely-work-related-hang too?

You struggled to keep your face blasé. “Ah, okay. We taking the subway or are we swinging?”

Miguel shot you a look as if the choice was obvious, which is how you found yourself traipsing across the city with Spider-Man 2099. You’d traveled by web plenty of times with Miguel before on missions, but there was something about it being the two of you, in your city, that made it feel just a little bit special.

And to be honest, you’d never get enough of watching Miguel’s body hurtle through the air – despite his bulk and brawn, he was agile and lithe as he swung from building to building with you. You nearly plunged into traffic on Sixth Avenue after your thoughts had wandered to what those bulging muscles looked like unencumbered by that skin-tight suit of his.

When you arrived at your apartment in Morningside Heights, you were suddenly self-conscious. You’d never brought a Spider to your residence, and Miguel was likely the hardest to impress of them all.

He studied your modest one-bedroom with the same intensity as he did his screens at the Spider-Society.

“It’s not much, I know,” you began, “and with Spider-Girl stuff, I don’t have the time to keep it as tidy as I'd like to.”

“It’s perfect,” he mumbled before catching himself. “I mean, it’s perfect for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t need much, but it gets good light during the day and was the highest floor I could afford at my price point,” you removed your mask as you babbled on.

“Makes sense,” Miguel nodded.

You had no idea where to go from there – what on Earth was the man playing at? Should you offer him water, another drink, the best spot to portal back to HQ? He was lingering in your space, seemingly fascinated by the framed prints on your walls, the photos on the coffee table and credenza.

“Um, do you need to use the restroom or something? Because it’s right through there,” you motioned to the appropriate door.

“I’m good for now.”

THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE? You hollered in your head. Externally, you kept playing hostess, “Let me get you a glass of water then–”

Yet Miguel caught your wrist before you could retreat into your tiny, galley kitchen. You weren’t proud of how your heart leapt and your breath hitched at the contact.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back?”

He shrugged, “I should, but–”

“But what?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said…about letting someone climb on top of me.”

You gulped, “Sorry, that was so inappropriate of me–”

“It was. Inappropriate, that is, but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good idea,” he tugged you closer to him. You could barely stand to meet his eyes, alight with desire, while your heart was pounding embarrassingly fast.

“Um, judging by the–uh, do you want me to climb on top of you, Miguel?” you were always so much smoother in your daydreams about him.

His lips hovered dangerously near yours. “Do you want to climb on top of me?”

The closer you got to Miguel, the faster your brain turned to scrambled eggs. His large, sure hands had settled on your hips.

“Uh huh,” was the best you could muster before he crashed your lips together.

Miguel’s kiss was searing and all-consuming – it felt as if the longer your mouths moved against each other, the more your body melted into his. He was tall, so tall, and even for a superhero like yourself, it was difficult to keep yourself perched on the balls of your feet to reach his skilled, hungry mouth.

He seemed to sense your struggle, and without breaking your liplock, he scooped you up into his arms. It was foreign but not unwelcome – you were so used to being the strongest, the person who held others, the hero. Therefore, being held so effortlessly in Miguel’s arms was nothing short of exhilarating. You weren’t the strongest person in the room anymore, you could surrender. You loved it.

Miguel pressed your back into the nearest wall, causing an emphatic moan to leave you when your hips became flush with his. You could already feel him – hot, hard, and big – between the flimsy fabric of your spider-suits. Instinctually, you canted your heat against his, delighting in the way he seemed to grow hotter, harder, not to mention unbelievably bigger, when you did.

“Bedroom?” he gasped between harsh, ardent kisses.

You managed to fling a hand in the correct direction, and next thing you knew, Miguel was depositing you onto your bed. You propped yourself up, leaning back on your palms to take in the man towering over you at the edge of your bed. In a flash of color and light, his suit disappeared from his strapping physique, and the sight of Miguel naked intoxicated you more than alcohol ever could.

His shoulders seemed even broader without the unstable particles of his suit covering them. His pecs were massive, which made a delectable ratio when his chest tapered down to a chiseled abdomen and slim hips. Slim hips that framed the biggest cock you’d seen outside of porn – hell, maybe even including porn. He was long and thick – it made a dark thrill race down your spine when you contemplated how the hell that was going to fit inside of you.

Miguel noticed you marveling at his package, misinterpreting the rapacious glint in your eye as unease, “I’ll prep you, I won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, I’m not worried” you glanced back up at his face coquettishly.

“No?” Miguel cocked an eyebrow and advanced toward you on the bed, a jaguar stalking its prey. He nudged you onto your back and pinned your wrists to your comforter, “maybe you should be.”

You muscled out of Miguel’s grip and switched positions so you were straddling him. Only then did you lean closer and whisper into his ear, “I can take it.”

Miguel growled, and within an instant, you were on your back once again as he pawed at your suit. Unlike his costume, your spider-suit was made of plain old fabric, so there was a bit of fumbling, cursing in Spanish, nervous giggling, and a mumbled comment about ‘making you a suit like mine’ from Miguel before you were nude as well.

He splayed you out against your mattress as if you were a feast before him. Your first instinct was to try and cover yourself but Miguel’s dark gaze froze you. A pleased groan rumbled from his chest and then his large hands flew to your breasts. “Such full, perky tits.”

You moaned in response to his ministrations. How was this real? You and Miguel were touching each other – naked – and you hadn’t woken up yet.

“It’s all for you,” you mewled, relishing his hot palms on your sensitive buds.

Another growl ripped from his chest before he swooped down and sucked one of your nipples into his warm, wanting mouth. You keened, a pathetic, high-pitched sound, and you wove your fingers into his dark locks as he gorged himself on your tits.

The pull of Miguel’s mouth on your peaks was made only better when he snaked a hand between your legs and ran a finger along the seam of your sex. You bucked at the touch, your reaction causing Miguel to lift his head from your bosom.

“Mmmm, you like it when I play with your pussy, cariño?”

At this point words had all but left you so you nodded and whined in the affirmative. Miguel’s digit parted your folds, tracing up and down, then found your clit and rubbed slow, tortuous circles into the nub.

“So wet for me, bebita,” he observed, maddeningly casually, while he played you like an instrument. “This is all for me, huh?”

Your head thrashed back and forth on your comforter with a sob, both from pleasure and bashfulness. Now there was no downplaying how horny Miguel made you.

“Shhh,” he cooed at you, taking one of your hands and bringing it to his groin, “feel what you do to me.”

This time your moan was unabashed as your hand circled around his girth. “Fuck, you’re so big.”

“I know,” he grunted. Normally, such braggadocio from a man would be an immediate turn off to you. But Miguel wasn’t being arrogant, not when he was referring to the thick, pulsing hardness you were currently caressing. “Gotta get you ready for me.”

He guided your hand away from his member, even despite your protests, to wrench your thighs wider and bury his head between them. The realization alone that Miguel O’Hara was about to eat you out almost made you come, yet actually feeling his tongue on your needy cunt was infinitely better. He licked a stripe from your perineum to your clit, tearing another ragged moan from you when his tongue focused in on the bundle of nerves.

Miguel chuckled against your folds at your enthusiastic praise and redoubled his efforts. Your fingers reflexively tangled in his inky locks once again as he continued his delectable assault on your pussy. The way Miguel tasted you matched with how he seemed to approach everything – he was vehement and determined to bring you pleasure like how he was when he worked. He managed to just stay on the right side of rough as he slurped at you..though perhaps that was a bit different than how he fought.

He speared his tongue into your hole, affording you the opportunity to grind your clit against his prominent nose. In your pleasure-filled haze, you briefly fretted that you were suffocating Miguel, but when you tried to scooch away and give him some air, the man grunted and pulled your hips closer to him.

You keened again when one of his thick fingers joined the fray as he prepped you. After all the sexual tension, all the self-denial, and all the excitement the night had held, it felt so good to clench around something. He was again methodical with his preparation, allowing you to adjust to one digit before adding another, and another. It couldn’t have made a starker contrast with how he was devouring your sex. Even in the bedroom, Miguel O’Hara was full of contradictions. It didn’t take long for your breaths to become more shallow, for your cries to reach a higher pitch as you climaxed around his hefty fingers. The combination of the penetration and the stimulation of your clit with his mouth was too good to resist.

You were slightly relieved that Miguel remained nestled between your legs while you rode out your peak. The orgasm he’d given you was much too good to be able to control your facial expressions.

He at last came up for air once you’d begun floating down from your peak. A primal pride surged through you at the sight of your juices smeared all over his lips and chin. You couldn’t help but smash your mouths together, eager to sample the combination you two made. It was all too easy to get lost in a kiss with Miguel, yet as you plundered his mouth with your tongue, your hand crept back down his groin.

This time it was Miguel who moaned into your mouth as you returned him to full mast with feather-light, teasing touches.

“I need to fuck you,” he gasped between kisses.

“Finally,” you bantered back.

A growl from Miguel and then he tackled you back flat on the bed. You couldn’t help the giggle – partly from nerves, partly from anticipation – that escaped you at his actions, despite the visage of a hulking, intimidating man hovering over you could be frightening in another context.

“Do you have protection?”

You hesitated. You kept a box of condoms in your bedside drawer, but given Miguel’s size, they’d be inadequate.

“None that would fit you,” you confessed, stealing another glance at his large erection. It was truly a sight to behold. Miguel deflated slightly, fearing penetration was off the table, and usually it would be. You were firmly a two methods of contraception girl, but there was no way you were going to pass up this chance to have sex with Miguel. “Don’t worry Spidey, I’m on the pill.”

“Gracias a Dios,” he muttered, then wasted no time situating himself between your hips. He drew yet another mewl from you when he slapped the tip of his cock a few times on your clit before lining himself up with your entrance.

He found you looking at him expectantly. And though Miguel mostly saw desire in your eyes, he could see the glimpse of unease too. He assured you, “I’ll go slow.”

You nodded, you trusted him after all, but nothing could prepare you for the stretch of when Miguel finally pushed into you. Just the tip was already splitting you apart more than Gene, or any former lover for that matter, ever had.

“Breathe,” Miguel rasped. You couldn’t tell if he was advising you or himself though. It struck you then that you’d perhaps achieved the damn-near impossible – disarming the notoriously closed-off Miguel O’Hara. He looked beautiful, biting his plush lower lip as he slowly rocked more and more of his huge cock inside of you.

Your back arched off the mattress of the sensation of being progressively speared on the monster that Miguel called a dick. It was too much and not enough all at once, and your fingers dug into your comforter below you. He tried to distract you from any potential pain, Miguel’s index finger returning to your barely-recovered clit.

“That’s it, open up for me,” he husked. Your head swam at the mix of his enormous manhood stretching you to your limit and his tender, in-control tone. The realization hit you harder than a punch from an anomaly. In that moment, fear skittered down your throat and pooled into your stomach, resting right above where you two were joined. He’s going to ruin me for other men, isn’t he?

You couldn’t think any further since not only was Miguel fully seated within you, he had asked you a question. Your eyes glassy and pupils blown, found his, and he repeated himself. “You okay? Can-can I move?”

“Yes,” you gasped. In case your breath affirmation left any room for doubt, you added, “please.”

Another grunt from your lover and Miguel at last began to thrust into you. Your arms flew from the bed to his impossibly wide shoulders, your nails digging into the caramel, taut skin there. You couldn’t tell exactly when it’d happened, lost in the deliciously lewd sounds you were making between the slap of your bodies, your labored breaths, and his determined staccato grunts while Miguel railed you, but your hips had begun to meet his.

“M-more Miguel,” you urged him as you dragged your fingertips down the expanse of his back. Each of your hands grabbed a fistful of that glorious ass and squeezed to drive home your point.

“You sure?”

You moaned. It was as if he couldn’t give it to you hard or faster enough. You used your grip on the globes of his perfect rear to try and force him to increase to the pace and force you needed him to fuck you at.

Miguel laughed. A dark and stirring sound that made you involuntarily tighten around his girthy length. “Alright bebita, but remember…you asked for this.”

His words ignited something defiant within you. You pulled Miguel’s head from where it had fallen into the crook of your neck so you could look him in the eyes when you said, “I’m not some pillow princess from Nueva. I’m just as strong as you are, I can go just as hard you can, and I want you to fuck me.”

Your lover’s eyes darkened at your demand. The growl that ripped from his throat was your only warning before Miguel unleashed the full force of his strength on you. You keened in pleasure as he all but drove you through your bedframe and the wall behind it. Miguel captured your wrists once more and restrained you against the mattress as he absolutely pounded into your pussy.

His drilling drew another ecstatic cry from your mouth. Miguel glared down at you, his eyes nearly crazed, his face barely lit in the ambient light from the street. It truly was infuriating to you how beautiful this man was. You watched his brow furrowed in concentration – not on his stupid screens for once – and his dark hair shift in time with his thrusts. Your features contorted in pleasure when Miguel switched from drilling into you to swiveling his hips to stuff you with his cock. His movements were deliberate and slow, he was trying to get as deep inside of you as he could. You almost went cross-eyed at the feel of his bulbous cockhead punching against your cervix.

The criminal undulations of his hips extracted a little yip from you each time he pistoned into you. He grinned down at you wolfishly. Equal parts indignation and arousal bloomed within you. Also, was the first time you'd ever seen Miguel smile? Not a little half-smirk or a humorless quirk of his lips, but an unabashed smile?

“Want me to back off?”

Oh, there was no way you were going to take that lying down. Even if Miguel’s pubic bone was perfectly grinding into your clit.

You let out a growl of your own and summoned all the power in your core muscles to wrestle Miguel back and claim the high ground. Out of breath when you found yourself seated on Miguel’s dick, his large, muscled body prone beneath you, you braced yourself on his rippled abdomen.

“Is the itsy-bitsy Spider-Girl gonna ride my cock?” he taunted you. If Miguel didn’t wear that arrogant, playful smirk so well, you would’ve wiped it from his lips.

You slid your hands up the length of his chest and leaned over, your face hovering over his. “That depends. Can 2099 handle it?”

Miguel answered you with an impatient buck of his hips up into your sex. You giggled as you straightened up again, tweaking one of Miguel's nipples as you went. You relished the little shudder it sent through him. “Alright, but remember baby, you asked for this.”

He snorted out a laugh, which you quickly silenced once you began riding Miguel like the stud he was. “Hnnn–shock, bebita.”

“Ah,” you sighed as you bounced on his prick. Before sleeping with Miguel, you had assumed the term “feeling him in your guts” was hyperbole. Not with him. “Fuck, you’re even bigger like this.”

A large hand traced its way up one of your thighs, now lightly covered with a sheen of sweat, past your sex, split apart by his shaft, to where Miguel’s manhood made the slightest bulge in your lower belly. His smile became wider and even cockier. “It’s good, no?”

You gave him a nonverbal, but enthusiastic, reply. He smacked your ass in satisfaction, “Yeah c’mon, cariño, ride me. Wanna watch your tits bounce.”

You officially hated Miguel and his big, thick, perfectly sized cock. Where as with other partners you’d smack them right back with a zinger, all you could do was moan again. His naughty, domineering words did nothing but excite you. There was something about him and the way he fucked that made you incapable of doing little else than enthusiastically submitting to him. You leaned back, your fingers clutching onto Miguel’s thick thighs to stability as you changed angles and gave him a better view of your breasts jiggling in time with your motions.

“Ay, sí bebita,” Miguel’s hands flew to your hips to intensify the frantic mashing of your bodies together, “Ven aquí.”

He gathered your torso in his hulking arms and pulled you closer so that he could coax a breast into his mouth again as you rode him.

“You gonna come for me Miguel?” you panted.

“No,” he sounded as winded as you were. “Not yet.”

You clenched around him and snickered. “Are you sure?”

“¡Coño!” Miguel snarled at the feel of your already blistering, tight pussy suffocating his dick further. “¡No más – basta de esto!”

The vision of your bedroom swam when Miguel lifted you off his pulsing member and dropped you back on your stomach onto the mattress facing the foot of the bed.. You could hear him shifting behind you, and you blindly groped for the lower metal railing of your bedframe’s footboard, only vaguely aware what was to come.

A grunt from Miguel, and the next thing you knew one of your pillows was stuffed under your lower belly and his massive hands were back on either side of your hips. Your lover didn’t give you any notice before shoving his fat erection back inside of your already tender pussy.

You shouted at the feeling of his cock stuffing you to the brim once again. Miguel’s hands appeared above your head where you held on for dear life as he impaled you on his prick.

“Ahhh!” you clamored, desperately trying to pull enough air in your lungs to function as Miguel squatted behind you. “I’ve never been so full! Oh God, Miguel, it’s so much…so much…”

Miguel responded with a pleased growl, and merely rammed into you harder. You were peripherally aware of the clanging of the pieces of your metal bed frame clanging together in protest at the vigor of your and Miguel’s coupling, but there were too many sensations overwhelming you at once to focus on one in particular. Not even when the metal groaned and the angle Miguel fucked you at changed did you pay attention to what was actually happening. You merely pushed back onto his cock as much as you could, your fingertips scrabbling into the folds of your comforter.

Your eyes screwed shut at the barrage of stimuli - the unrelenting stretch of Miguel’s hardness, his harsh but steadying grip on your hips, the light scratch of fabric beneath you on your skin, the little puff of warmth on the back of your neck from Miguel’s labored exhalations. You were sure this was better than any high any drug could provide. You hadn’t tried many, not even Rapture, and but nothing could top being thoroughly fucked into your mattress by Miguel O’Hara.

Miguel’s dogged grunts morphed into shouts when he at last found his release, spurting rope after rope of hot, creamy cum into your welcoming cunt. You found yourself crying out along with him as he emptied his load, your walls bearing down around his length as you both rode out his high. Miguel flooded your pussy with his seed and before you could even try to adjust to the feeling, he withdrew his cock from you, tearing a quite pathetic-sounding whimper from your mouth.

Miguel pulled your ass cheeks apart to examine your stretched, puffy pussy leaking his cum. His chest rumbled with primal delight. “Hermosa.”

You’d barely had a chance to catch your breath when Miguel dove back in for more, this time his eager, demanding tongue again invading your channel. You whimpered again, your pitch jumping an octave at Miguel’s needy tongue not only collecting his spunk from your pussy, but flicking the muscle against your clit. He was a man possessed, he ate you out as if he needed you to orgasm one more time for his survival.

You gave him what he wanted (how could you not?), and once the crest of your pleasure had subsided, you lightly pushed him away from your gaping, abused cunt.

The first thing you noticed when your wits returned to you was how much closer the ground had become.

“Oh my God,” you put it together and turned to face your partner, "we broke the bed.”

Miguel arched a brow from where he leant back into the pillows. “Are you surprised?”

You frowned at him.

“I’ll fix it,” he promised.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m going to…” you trailed off your gaze floating to the bathroom.

“Do your thing.”

“Can…can I get you anything?”

Miguel glanced down at his crotch. “A towel?”

You nodded. “Say no more.”

You ducked into your en-suite, and once you were sure the door was firmly closed behind you, you proceeded to have a freak out to yourself in the mirror. You scarcely believe your own appearance – lips kiss swollen, hair a veritable bird's nest, your mascara smudged into rings around your eyes. Miguel had destroyed you in the best of ways.

The thought sent a little aftershock of pleasure through you. You didn’t dally any longer — you relieved yourself, washed your hands, ran a brush through your hair and splashed water on your face. After dampening a washcloth for Miguel, you returned to the bedroom, where your bed frame was properly vertical again.

You glimpsed the glow of Miguel’s distinctive red webs holding the broken metal rods together. The other Spider was reclining on your mattress, a sheet haphazardly tossed over his groin to preserve his modesty. Even so, the sight of him made you go weak in the knees. He really did remind you of some sort of a large cat given the odd grace in which he lounged with, the evidence of his power and strength so poorly hidden under the surface of his skin.

“Get a new frame and expense it to Spider-HQ,” Miguel's baritone snapped you out of your reverie.

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” You tossed him the towel.

His eyes raked over your naked form. But instead of the desire you’d found there earlier, his gaze was full of concern. “You okay?”

“Yes. Very okay. A little sore but good sore, ya know?”

“Good,” Miguel busied himself with cleaning up.

“I mean, what’s the point of having superpowers if you can’t enjoy extra rough sex?” you joked.

“Yeah, about that,” Miguel refused to meet your eyes. “As um…great as all this was…I think we–it should be a one-time thing.”

“Um, duh.” He looked up at you hastily and you continued, “Miguel, neither of us are anywhere close to ready or in the right place for a relationship.”

Your heart disagreed with your words, but you uttered them anyway. Not because it was how you truly felt, but you knew it was what he wanted to hear. Miguel associated any sense of closeness or vulnerability with weakness and danger. Trying to get him to see otherwise was a fool's errand, and it was easier on your heart to convince yourself into concurring with him.

Oddly, Miguel didn’t seem to relax at your assurances. He looked dubious. “Are you sure?”

“Oh my God, you are so cocky!” you accused him with a playful slap to the broad, tan chest. “Spare me the fake worry 2099, you may be amazing at sex, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to be professional with you at HQ.”

“Amazing at sex?” Mirguel parroted you with a smirk.

You slapped him again. “Of course that’s the only part you heard.”

“Sorry but those are very distracting,” he claimed, his gaze focused on your exposed breasts.

You scoffed and grabbed a pillow to temporarily cover yourself. “Hang on there, Spider-Man. Yes, you are…not terrible at showing a lady a good time, no, you don’t have to worry about me being clingy at work, and yes, I’m sure so stop looking at me like that!”

You tossed the pillow away and straddled him. “Now I don’t know about you, but it’s only midnight. If this is indeed a one-time thing, I say we make the most of the night and the fact that no one has bothered us with some multiversal emergency yet.”

Miguel finally let it go, choosing to focus on your very nude body on top of his. His hips moved on their own accord, grinding his cock, already stiffening back up to full mast, against where you were still so nice and stretched for him.

“Vamos, bebita,” he whispered into your ear. His fingers dug into your sides possessively in a way that almost let you believe he was doing it because you were his. “Wanna fuck you on the ceiling.”

***

You shouldn't have been surprised that Miguel didn’t stay the night. You were honestly shocked when he collapsed beside you after the hours you’d spent vehemently fucking. Your bed was now held together by a mix of both his and your webs, one of your framed photos on the wall lay shattered on the floor to be dealt with later, and the ceiling now sported a dent that was going to be very difficult to explain to your landlord.

The memory of Miguel leaving was hazy at best. After so many rounds of deeply satisfying, intensely athletic sex, you felt like you could sleep for a week. Yet the shift and dip of Miguel’s large frame exiting the bed was enough to wake you. You could sort of recall a small flash of light and chirpy voice which must have been Lyla…and you also had a vague memory of him replying in a hushed rumble as if not to wake you up. Or was he telling you he was heading out? Everything jumbled together under the fog of sleep.

Either way, you had to tell yourself that the sensation of a large hand caressing your face and then tenderly stroking down the sleep-warm skin of your back was a dream. Not for Miguel’s sake, but yours.

Thanks to super-spider stamina, you only really needed a couple extra shots of espresso to function somewhat normally the following day at headquarters. You were angry at your instinct to avoid Miguel. You both were adults that had an adult, mature conversation that last night’s activities were merely a form of stress release that didn’t mean anything. It was hard to believe however, when you could still feel the phantom shape of him inside of you.

Besides, it’s not even like you could avoid him if you wanted to. You were scheduled to go over more sequencing today with Miguel, and you were dead set on not blinking first in the post-sex-awkwardness stand-off.

“Hey, Miguel!” your voice reverberated in the vast space.

Several agonizing moments later, his platform lowered enough for you two to start conversing. If he was at all bashful about seeing you, the man didn’t show it.

“Good. You’re here.”

“Yep.”

Miguel was all business. “I want to go back to the fight you had with your father. Lyla, take us to timestamp 46:90:45.”

Damn, and here you thought you were good at compartmentalizing. You did your best to hide any disappointment from reaching your face, playing along as if he hadn’t seen every crevice of your body the night before.

***

Days turned into weeks, and you eventually, reluctantly accepted that Miguel had told you the truth that night. What you two had shared was really just a one-time lapse of his frighteningly strong self-restraint.

You were enjoying a rare night in, parked on the couch, takeout boxes strewn about the coffee table, your favorite trashy reality show playing on your TV. You’d gotten injured taking down a Doc Ock variant a few days ago, and Miguel benched you to recuperate. You were all too happy to take a break, from him and Spider-Girling. Despite your complicated feelings for the man, he assigned a recently displaced Spider, Spider-Woman 1357, to pinch hit for you in your dimension while you healed up. It was the first time since you became a hero you had a day off with peace of mind.

Just as you started another episode, a tingle raced down your spine. Your spider-sense. Something was about to happen. Out of all the possibilities of what could have followed, a portal opening in your living room and Miguel walking through was the last thing you would’ve guessed. You leapt up from the sofa.

You instantly regretted your appearance - messy bun, no makeup, and ratty sweatpants. Miguel, as usual, looked immaculate in his skintight spider-suit.

“Hey.”

“Is this a booty call?”

“No.”

“Don’t bullshit me–”

“It’s not, I swear! Coño, I came to check on you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you could have messaged me on my gizmo. It’s your preferred method of communication after all, ever since the last time you were in my apartment.”

“May–”

Lyla appeared over his shoulder. “He missed you, that’s all.”

Miguel growled at his AI. “I’m going to sentence you to robot death via spreadsheets.”

Lyla wasn’t threatened in the slightest. “Thank me later.” She disappeared before Miguel could try and make another retort.

“You missed me?”

“No,” his denial was instant. “I just…I–”

“This is a booty call!” you crumpled up a napkin and chucked it at his large form. “Go home, Miguel!”

He didn’t budge. “It’s not a booty call. I…what are you watching?”

“The Realest Housewives of Manhattan. What, don’t judge me!”

Miguel couldn't keep his face straight. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Seeing his eyes crinkle with amusement was infectious. You threw another napkin ball at him and then composed yourself. He wasn’t getting off the hook this easily. “Why are you here? Be honest with me. It’s the very least I deserve.”

“I wanted to see the shocking expensive bed frame you expensed to HQ for myself.”

“You said I could and you didn't set a spending limit.” A wicked little grin pulled at the corners of your mouth. The bed frame from Restoration Hardware had been your own private form of revenge. “And I’m supposed to believe you wanting to see my bed – my bed that you broke–”

“Hey! We broke the bed–”

“--is not your thinly veiled excuse for seeking another roll in the hay? Enough with goddamn mind games Miguel.” He tried to speak but you pushed on, “I’m tired and this is the last thing I need.”

Miguel sobered. He hung his head. His mouth seemed to fight the words as they left his lips. “Alright, fine. I missed you.”

You ignored your heartbeat’s sharp increase and schooled your features to maintain a neutral appearance. “I have some extra Pad Thai if you want.”

“Sounds good.”

“So this may not be a booty call, but does anyone other than Lyla know you’re here?”

“No.”

You nodded. “Come. Sit. I just started the episode where Beverly throws her poodle a forty thousand dollar birthday party.”

“Nothing you said just now made sense,” Miguel protested, but took a seat on your couch anyway.

A/N: Hope y'all enjoyed!! Miguel has fully rotted my brain so I thought it only fair to share the horniness. Of course I have more imagined in this AU, fingers crossed I can find more time to write (comments and reblogs and likes help!)

Translations:

Mierda - Shit

cariño - dear

bebita - baby

Gracias a Dios - Thank God

Ven aquí - Come here

¡Coño! - Damnit!

¡No más – basta de esto! -No more, enough of this!

Hermosa - beautiful

Vamos, bebita - Come on, baby

Taglist: @plethora-of-imagines, @itdobe-liza @absolutelybloodyhopeless @ninebluehearts, @oscarissac2099 @trinthealternate

#miguel smut #miguel x reader #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel x you #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac fanfic #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfic #we're not here to f*ck spiders

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sanjisblackasswife · 2 years ago

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Hi Timi! I don’t know if you’re request are open and if they’re not then please ignore this! Could I get your thoughts on the monster trio and their music taste please? Also I’m jealous of your set up I want it 😭

A/N: Awe:) Thank u smm :))))❣️ Enjoy!

𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕣𝕚𝕠’𝕤 𝕄𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕔 𝕋𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖

Ft. Luffy, Sanji, Zoro

CW: None, Sanji is implied to be in a established relationship (or u can view it as him having a crush on you), Also im not a music expert I listen to the same three songs every single day🧍🏾‍♀️, All opinions too so dont fuckin try and add your own or correct mine make ur own damn post abt it

Luffy

Luffy isn’t biased about much so I doubt he’d be biased about music. His playlist can go from Avril Lavenge to friggin Tupac to it doesn’t really matter, it’s always on shuffle too when he listens

A LOT of Eminem (Moreso his Slim Shady Era). Bro really gets hype when he listens to him. Knows the words VERY quickly.

Knuck if You Buck🧍🏾‍♀️….just….don’t ask..just know ..if he plays that song he about to get ignorant.

Missy Elliot. Loves Missy Elliot, loves her songs, style, everything.

Kinda unrelated but he has a celeb crush on Sade and Lauryn Hill. Which he also listens too.

He does love Nicki Minaj. He is a fan, he likes her 2013-16 era the most

Blast Cardi B mostly because Zoro doesn’t like her

MJ LOVEEERRRRRRRRRRRR Absolutely loves “Thriller”, “They Dont Care About Us”, and “Smooth Criminal”🧍🏾‍♀️

Plays alotta krunk songs to battle against Usopp🧍🏾‍♀️

Also he likes alotta ignorant ass TikTok audios: i.e “Island boy”

Mf be walking around the sunny like

“CUZ IM AN ISLAND BOY🗣️ JUST TRY TO MAKE ITTT ITTTTT!”

also

“GIRL WHERE YA GOIN”

and here go Usopp: “HMMMM YAAAA BRING DAT ASS BACK HERE”

and here go Chopper because he wanna be included: “HMMM 🅰️🅰️🅰️!”

🧍🏾‍♀️

BUT SEAN PAUL IS HIS MF GO TO. If you dance with him to any of his songs be prepared for Luffy to grind against you…it’s so attractive when he sings the song because his accent peaks through

Sanji

Very old school R&B, classical guy.

He also loves a few Megan the Stallion Songs

Another hardcore MJ fan, plays a lot during the evening

Another song he loves is Jealous by Labrinth. It’s something he usually plays when he is on the deck smoking and thinking.

Same with Jorja Smith he loves her songs as well

If you can catch it, while Sanji is cooking you can sometimes hear him sing Love Story by Indlia and it’s the prettiest voice you’ll ever hear.

He also plays songs like Tadow and Infruanami. They’re his new faves.

Will play them old school songs like Just The Two of Us and some Al Green

He has such an old soul😭

He really plays them because they remind him of you, but three songs that reminds him of you (besides all of ‘em) are Easily by Bruno Major, Dark Red by Steve Lacy, and Not Around by Nova

Also loves Teynna Taylor and Rihanna sm

A “guilty pleasure” song he loves to hear is that one song that go like “my neck my back lick my 🐱 and my crack”🧍🏾‍♀️

and yes he made you a playlist

also yes he has a playlist for when he has sex (it’s really good actually)

Zoro

“IM THE PREDATOR—-“

I’m sorry.

Just kidding.

Eh. Zoro just hates Cardi B songs.

Dont ask why he just does they irritate him.

Anyways ummmmmm he listens to chill lo-fi. He does he is a very simple guy. There are a few Lauryn Hill songs he vibes too, a few very chill R&B

I actually don’t see him listening to anything very loud like rock music or anything. If he is ganna listen to music while working out he needs to be as focused and relaxed as he can.

Somehow always finds THE BEST underground jazz/R&B artist???

Like his playlist is SO interesting and filled with hidden gems

He like SZA on the low

Luffy put him on

Vibes to Brent Faiyaz when he is just chilling cleaning his swords

He doesn’t listen to music much in the first place but it’s cute to hear him mutter the songs to himself when he does.

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yuurivoice · 1 month ago

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I remember a while ago, you answered an ask about Kendrick, something casual n stuff. I was wondering if there were any other rappers you enjoy, or rap/hip-hop songs in general?

Oh...oh buddy.

Yeah, so where do I even get started?

My introduction to hip hop and r&b was thanks to the pop radio station in Nashville (rip 102.5 THE PARTY) back in the late 90's and early 2000s. I have vivid memories of their Friday night DJ who would broadcast from a live venue simultaneously and there were standouts like Missy Elliott, Ludacris, Destiny's Child, Nelly, Usher...I'm forgetting tons of folks but you know the vibe. Then my Brazilian step bros helped get me locked in even more.

In my teens, growing up in the South it was Three Six Mafia, Lil Wayne, Jeezy. Goddamn a lot of Jeezy in my circle of friends lol

Eventually I was left to my own devices and found my own taste. Which is...? Eclectic because I find a song or artist I like and listen to them until I burn out and forget I ever liked them. 🥲

Really enjoy Weeknd, Kendrick, Cole (in the dog house currently bc what are those phobic ass cancel me bars?), Meg, JID, Run the Jewels, uhhhhhhhh...I am forgetting so many people. I only recently got Spotify and started trying to build playlists, so I've gotta go rummaging around my brain for all the music I've forgotten I liked over the years.

I got to travel a lot when I was younger, and had the added bonus of immediate non-white family in my life so I had significantly more exposure to diverse taste than if my old man and mom were the only ones influencing me. So I got to experience West coast vibes, and various regions of the South while primarily getting my music from what was hot on the radio at the time. Plus that was peakkkk MTV pop culture era, Cribs was my shit.

This also means that inevitably I really fucked with nu metal. I unironically think the only thing I crush at karaoke is Limp Bizkit. 🥲 Keep rollin I guess.

This is my brief intro to YuuriVoice's interest in hip hop. Thank you for asking! 🙏

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blackstarregulus79 · 5 months ago

Text

I'm going to ramble/character study about Rogue and the Doctor because I have brain-rot now...

btw nothing negative about their relationship in here, I love them.

It all traces back (in my head) to the 12th doctor (I could go back further but In an effort to keep this as short as possible I will not) when he has that last night with River. This is the last big loss the doctor feels because he knows he can't save her because she died before he even knew her. This left the doctor with a lot of feeling he never learned what to do with, and all of his companions after that never had a loss like this so how could he tell them and get any reaction other then 'yeah that sucks' none of them had been through that.

But Bill reminded 12 how to be happy and young and joyful which in my mind led to him being more forgiving of Missy and learning to trust her again but he thought in the end that she betrayed him leaving him another emotional scar.

That leads him to 13 who is so scared of loosing her companions and feeling that hurt again and that betrayal that she doesn't talk to any of them. She is too worried about opening up and sharing that side of her that she would rather hide everything then feel that pain.

But her and Yaz begin to fall into that trope of 'I want to love you, I just don't know how to any more' which breaks 13s hearts. So when she regenerates she is so tired of losing, hiding, and hurting so much that she regenerates into her old face trying to make her next self stop and take a fucking break.

That is when we get 14 who reigns he bond with Donna (one of his heaviest losses) and he starts to contemplate stopping and resting for one second but the guilt he feels towards everything he's done and how he feels that he owes it to his past companions to keep going.

Then his soul rips in half, and he can do both.

(I know this had been said before but stay with me)

And because of this 15 can express and feel what he is feeling (that is why he has been crying so much this season, because he is finally letting himself). But his companion, no shame on her or anything, can't really do anything but listen because she has never travel the universe with someone grow to care about them more then anything just for them to be gone.

And having a shoulder to cry on is nice and everything but sometimes it is nice to know other people have felt pain and loss like this, and to be told you are not alone. Make you feel like you are not crazy.

Then he meets Rogue. A man who has traveled with and lost someone, who can feel the weight of it, who is also somehow trying to figure out how to live with lose even though it is so fucking difficult. And the doctor gets told about how Rogue lost someone and he tells Rogue how he lost everyone. This is one of (if not the first) in a very long time who can says 'I have been through that to I know exactly how you feel'.

And even though the Master travels the universe they do it alone, they don't feel the lose of a companion like the doctor does.

And that is why they move so fast with each other, even getting engaged the first day they met, because they don't know when they are going to lose again. Their scared and want someone they can relate to.

And Rogue knows the pain and doesn't want the doctor to feel it again so he takes Ruby's place on the trap. But the doctor feels the pain anyways because he could see the potential with Rogue, and sometimes when you are that close to something you wanted it hurts just as bad.

SO WE NEED TO BRING ROGUE BACK SO THE DOCTOR HAS SOMEONE HE CAN RELATE TO, TO TALK TO!!!!! 15 JUST NEEDS SOMEONE TO HEAL WITH NOT FOR!!!!

Anyways thanks for listening to my ramble. I know the doctor could relate to Jack about this kind of thing but I think they have way too much history for the doctor to open up to him.

Here's my Spotify playlist for them if anyone wants it:

#bring back Rogue #again this is just in my head let me know your thoughts #15th doctor #fifteenth doctor #ruby sunday #doctor who spoilers #doctor who #doctor who rogue #doctor x rogue #rogue doctor who #14th doctor #13th doctor #12th doctor #river song #dr who #character study #dndoc #rogueteen

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oswildin · 3 months ago

Text

“WELL I GUESS THAT’S WORTH A LOOK…”

FIC MASTERLIST // TIKTOK // PLAYLISTS // ART

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK (ART OR FICS).

i mainly write for loki (mcu), but have one shots for other fandoms and characters like star wars, the boys, the last of us (hbo), the amazing spider-man, doctor who and moon knight.

My thoughts on Loki (and related media) compilation

about me

name: gigs or oswald // pronouns: she/they // age: 21+ // personality: INFP // autistic

active fandoms: marvel (mcu), doctor who, the boys tv, the mandalorian, the last of us (hbo), house of the dragon

favourite characters: loki, sylvie, nebula, agatha harkness, wanda maximoff, kate bishop, yelena belova, moon knight, tasm!peter parker, clara oswald, the master (dhawan & missy), the doctor, (fave is 12)

favourite albums: artpop (lady gaga), the family jewels (marina), vessel (twenty one pilots), too weird to live (p!atd), rise & fall (chappell roan), all my demons (aurora)

favourite song of all time: take on me - a-ha

hobbies: making music, writing poetry, making fanfics/povs, drawing (new to digital art making)

other general info: i’m autistic, have been a tumblr user since the golden days - yes i lived through superwholock lmao. love comedies (rom-coms are a guilty pleasure). favourite marvel film is, ofc, thor ragnarok (comfort film). been a loki stan since 2012/2013. favourite sit-coms have to be superstore, the office us and modern family. studied media analysis.

why is my blog called ‘what a world for a one finned goldfish’?: it’s a reference to gus from moon knight, steven’s one-finned goldfish, but also that in a way I feel like a one-finned goldfish in this weird, scary world made for neurotypicals lol.

what is my blog?: a mess lmao. i mostly come on here to reblog, stare at gifs for hours, appreciate peoples writing, fangirl and occasionally write or make stupid text posts.

polite asks and disclaimers

- this blog is safe space. dni if you’re a bigot (ableist, homophobic, transphobic, racist… you get the idea, it is not welcome here.)

- no fandom drama, no ship wars, i frankly do not care or wish to argue with strangers on the internet! personally, i think the whole thing is silly. but go off besties, just not on my posts please! be respectful. lokius & sylki shippers welcome, just be kind. i am a multi-shipper. I do not follow the drama, i keep to myself.

- i’m open to discussion and conversation, not arguments, especially when it comes to certain characters or media or whatever. it’s okay that we have different opinions. it’s okay that you may not like something and i do. i promise, it is okay.

- please do not repost without permission - as in, copy and paste… or “steal” if you will. if you are inspired by my work, credit me. that’s all i ask.

- most of my writing is sfw and gender neutral unless specified, i do not write smut. i just can’t do it, hats off to those who write it eloquently and elegantly, truly!

- let’s all be kind to one another.

Basically all you need to know about me is that this is the most accurate depiction you’ll ever need of me:

BANNERS ARE MY OWN ARTWORK (POSE REFERENCE: X)

#fic masterlist #about me #welcome to my blog #fanfic writer #marvel fanfiction #loki x reader #loki marvel #masterlist

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underworld-park-offical · 11 months ago

Text

TOLKIEN: Zzzzzzzzrzrzrzrrzzzz

TOLKIEN: Zzazzazazezezezezezrzrzzrrzrrr

PHONE: ♪ I'M A BARBIE GIRL ♪

PHONE: ♪ IN THE BARBIE WORLD ♪

PHONE: ♪ LIFE IN PLASTIC ♪

PHONE: ♪ IT'S FANTASTIC ♪

TOLKIEN: Huhhheheehdbfd…

TOLKIEN: Huh

TOLKIEN: What

TOLKIEN: What the fuck?

TOLKIEN: Why is my phone going off?

TOLKIEN: Are the fucking queers calling me again?

TOLKIEN: Eeeeyup its them

TOLKIEN: What

GARY: Have you ever been beaten by a wet spaghetti noodle by your girlfriend cuz she has a twin sister and you got confused and fucked her dad, well that’s how it feels to drive a Ford F-250. That sounds really cool. But you know what else is cool? The new 2020 Ford F-150, winner of 10 J.D. power awards. Perfect for hauling big things and going long distances. But you want to go offroad? Try the new Raptor Edition, which cannot just go offroad, it is perfect for going extreme off-roading. You can go rock climbing or across a desert, really quickly. It is also good for the great American thing - BBQs! In fact, you can haul MORE than one oven! That's pretty cool, huh? So hurry, and buy the new 2020 Ford F-150, now for sale at your local Ford dealership. RED: Wgat RED: Stop RED: Stop speaking BEBE: Girl get the tape from the backseat RED: Already on it NICHOLE: Heyyyy Tolkien NICHOLE: Did I wake you?

TOLKIEN: …

TOLKIEN: No..

NICHOLE: Oh NICHOLE: That’s NICHOLE: That's good

TOLKIEN: What's going on

NICHOLE: So uhm NICHOLE: Ahahaha NICHOLE: Funny story

TOLKIEN: Nichole what did you do??

TOLKIEN: Did you fuckin

TOLKIEN: Commit fraud?

TOLKIEN: …

TOLKIEN: Again?

NICHOLE: What NICHOLE: No NICHOLE: Of course not NICHOLE: I am a law abiding citizen NICHOLE: Except for when it comes to the Barbie Movies

TOLKIEN: Okay? We’ve all pirated a Barbie Movie

TOLKIEN: What makes you special?

TOLKIEN: If it's not fraud or piracy what did you even do

NICHOLE: There’s a sentient advertisement in our Porsche now

TOLKIEN: …

TOLKIEN: Excuse me?

NICHOLE: Yeah uh NICHOLE: We saw Gary NICHOLE: Or G-4R-Y if you wanna use his actual name? NICHOLE: Fuck I don't know anymore NICHOLE: He was walking in the cold for some reason? NICHOLE: And you know how he only speaks in ads?

TOLKIEN: We all do

BEBE: Wait BITCH do you think we could reprogram him to be like

BEBE: An ALEXA???

GARY: Need some music for that impromptu dance off? Ask Alexa to play songs or playlists from Prime Music and Spotify so you're always ready to show off your sweet moves-if that's what you call them ;) "Amazon Echo: Alec Baldwin and Missy Elliott Dance Party Commercial" via @popisms :https://www.popisms.com/TelevisionCommercial/126873/Amazon-Echo-Commercial-2016 GARY: I really don't want you to see me like this. You need some entrance music. Alexa, play Alex dance playlist. Playing Alex playlist. That's dance music? Alexa, play Pep Rally by Missy Elliott. Really? Perfect! I got a little something for you. It's beautiful. Does this mean I'm gonna be in your next video? Let me see what you got. (Lyrics) Anything you want me to (Lyrics) Pep rally, pep rally, pep rally Oh, this a pep rally Pep rally, pep rally, pep rally Bounce, biggity bounce, biggity-biggity bounce, bounce Where my clappers that stomp? Now rock with it Bounce, biggity bounce, biggity-biggity bounce via @popisms : https://www.popisms.com/TelevisionCommercial/126873/Amazon-Echo-Commercial-2016 GARY: I’m Gary! The Mormon who advertises! RED: I mean RED: I’ll become a mechanic if it gets him to stfu 💀💀💀 WENDY: No- RED- NO PUT THE WRENCH DOWN! RED: FUCK YOU GARY: The future. You used to chase it. Now you’re living in it. The Wavefront is an all-electric automobile that propels driving into a new era. With sleek, aerodynamic design, and ultrasonic sensors that prevent collisions, there’s no more getting left behind. Life’s short. Drive fast. GARY: I’m Gary! The Mormon who advertises! RED: SHUT THE FUCK UP!! WENDY: RED!! NO!! BEBE: GIRLY POPS AS MUCH AS I LOVE YOU BEBE: I'M GONNA HIT A DEER IF YOU ALL DONT HUSH RED: WENDY LET ME GO I'M GONNA KILL HIM WENDY: WE ARE NOT KILLING THE AD NICHOLE: SHUT THE FUCK UP IM ON THE PHONE BEBE: SHUT THE FUCK UP I'M DRIVING!!!! RED: CAN I THROW HIM OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR??!?!?!?!?!? WENDY AND NICHOLE: NO!!! NICHOLE: Tolkien I'm gonna have to let you go NICHOLE: We might die- NICHOLE: RED PUT DOWN THE WRENCH YOU'RE GONNA KILL SOMEONE! RED: THAT'S THE GOAL!! GARY: As a parent, I want to know that my kids are safe wherever they are. That includes riding in the car. With the new Carpool Optic from Solar I can breathe easy knowing my kids will arrive where they need to safely – whether I am the driver or not. RED: AUGHHHH!!!!!! NICHOLE: I’m hanging up now NICHOLE: MMMMMMMMMOKAYBYE

TOLKIEN: Bye?

(Beep Beep Beep)

TOLKIEN: Jesus christ

TOLKIEN: (Yawn)

TOLKIEN: Man

KENNY: Hey

TOLKIEN: Ah!

TOLKIEN: Oh my god I got jumpscared by a fucking queer!

KENNY: Oh hardy har har har

KENNY: You got games on yo phone?

TOLKIEN: …

TOLKIEN: What

KENNY: Do you got games

KENNY: On yo phone

TOLKIEN: I mean like

TOLKIEN: I got like

TOLKIEN: Subway surfers??

TOLKIEN: If

TOLKIEN: If that works???

TOLKIEN: Uh

TOLKIEN: Ok?????

TOLKIEN: Here

KENNY: Thanks

KENNY: Oh yeah, can I call my sister while I play subway surfers?

KENNY: I gotta make sure she’s not

KENNY: Yknow

KENNY: Fuckin’ dead

TOLKIEN: No you’re gonna kill my damn battery

TOLKIEN: Just call your sister you dont need to play fucking subway surfers

KENNY: Fine

KENNY: Killjoy

TOLKIEN: Ugh

KAREN: I can't believe McDonald's served me that lukewarm fucking patty

KAREN: And then had the AUDACITY to tell me KAREN: That it gets cold over time!?!?

KAREN: I think they just undercooked it ON PURPOSE to make ME look like an idiot

TRICIA: Damn, that's crazy

(🎵 KAREN METAL 🎵 )

KAREN: OH MY GOD

KAREN: WHO'S CALLING ME AT EXACTLY 1:59 IN THE MORNING?!?!?

TRICIA: Bro just say 2 AM 💀

TRICIA: …

TRICIA: I can’t believe I just said that out loud

KAREN: WHAT?!?!?

KENNY: Hi

KAREN: WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME?!?!?

KAREN: DO YOU KNOW HOW LATE IT IS?!?!?!

KAREN: I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER

KENNY: Sis it's me

KAREN: UGHHHHH

KAREN: You missed your nail appointment

KENNY: Shiiiit that was today?

KAREN: You still owe me the money for it

KENNY: … KENNY: Karen, we don't have money, we’re poor

KAREN: Get a job

KENNY: …I do have a job

KAREN: Okay so then you have money?

KENNY: No

KAREN: That doesn't make sense

KENNY: Anyways- KENNY: You alive?

KAREN: Clearly

KENNY: Okay cool KENNY: So uh KENNY: There's demons around, I hope they find you and kill you and you die bye

KAREN: …What?

KAREN: Tricia do you know what the fuck he’s talking about?

TRICIA: No

TRICIA: Also stop calling on speakerphone

TRICIA: You remind me of my brother (derogatorily)

TRICIA: …

TRICIA: WHY DO I KEEP DOING THAT!?!??!

TRICIA: UGHHH

TRICIA: I’m gonna go yell at my brother by cursing me into the influencer gene pool

TRICIA: You wanna come?

KAREN: If I get to yell at someone, of course

TRICIA: Be-

TRICIA: …

TRICIA: I'm not even gonna say that

CRAIG: Who the fuck where you talking to

CRAIG: I feel like they were talking shit smh my head

KENNY: Oh just my bitch sister and your bitch sister

KENNY: Told her she was gonna die soon

CRAIG: LMAOOOO I’m dead 💀💀💀

KENNY: Lol it was funny she was so mad

TOLKIEN: I swear to god you guys are the same person sometimes

CRAIG: Smh my head no literally untrue

KENNY: Common Tolkien L

TOLKIEN: I want you both dead

CRAIG: …

KENNY: …

TRICIA: Okay where tf is blud

TRICIA: I'm gonna kill his ass

KAREN: Ugh

KAREN: He probably set up Kenny to fucking prank us

KAREN: Going to yell at them both when we find them

TRICIA: For real

TRICIA: Smh my fucking head

TRICIA: OH MY GOD CAN I STOP DOING THAT!?!?

KAREN: There's his door

KAREN: Should I kick it down?

TRICIA: No he will literally kill me

TRICIA: Instead we’re gonna go in his room

TRICIA: Steal all his shit

TRICIA: And fucking burn it

KAREN: Ohh yay! Property damage! My favorite!

TRICIA: Shhh shhh shhhh

TRICIA: Stfu

TRICIA: He’ll hear us

KAREN: No

KAREN: You're not the boss of me

TRICIA: Okay

TRICIA: On three

TRICIA: One- Two-

KAREN: THREE

KAREN: Ew it's so dark in here

KAREN: It smells like fucking Ccool Ranch Doritos in here

TRICIA: Shut the fuck up

TRICIA: He’s gonna hear you

TRICIA: I know where he keeps his Supreme hoodies

TRICIA: HOOOOOLY SHIT IS THAT A DEAD BODY!??!?!?!?

KAREN: AAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

KAREN: WE ARE GONNA DIE

KAREN: GET THE MANAGER!!

TRICIA: SHUT THE FUCK UP THE KILLER COULD STILL BE HERE YOU QUEERMO

GREGORY AND ESTELLA: Shhhhh he eepy

TRICIA: …

KAREN: …

TRICIA: …

KAREN: …

TRICIA: …

KAREN: …

TRICIA: …

KAREN: …

TRICIA: …

KAREN: …

TRICIA: …

KAREN: …

TRICIA: …

KAREN: …

KAREN AND TRICIA: AAAAAAAAAAA-

TRICIA: Okay

TRICIA: HAILLLL NAWHHHHH

KAREN: I’m calling the police

TRICIA: That is the smartest thing you could ever do

KAREN: Hello? 911?

KAREN: Hi yeah, there's some queers in our house

KAREN: Please come

KAREN: Bye

(Edits made by @pissblanket and @cattpup5)

63 notes · View notes

pixeljade · 7 months ago

Text

Dungeon Meshi characters and the music I think they'd listen to:

Laios - No real genre cohesion, but loves anything that he can imagine monsters to. He has extensive mental music videos of monsters doing cool things that he will set to songs which he plays on repeat. Probably has more movie and video game soundtracks than actual mainstream music.

Marcille - Florence and the Machine and Hozier are amongst her favorite artists, and she has a soft spot for ALL dramatic and romantic songs, especially with female vocalists. She guards her tastes very carefully, afraid of what others might think, but will gush to Falin about her interpretations of lyrics, and make her playlists all day long

Chilchuck - dad rock and certain folk punk tracks. He's been found in a puddle of tears listening to mountain goats songs about breakups, but he never mentions that when he lists his favorite artists because he wants you to THINK he's not fucked up over it. Will also listen to classic blues.

Senshi - A jazz lover if I ever saw one. He doesnt really listen to it except in the background while cooking or working, but he likes it because it reminds him of the improvisational side of cooking, and how it keeps him moving while he works.

Falin - I think Falin likes a lot of pop but has a particular soft spot for vocaloid, j-pop, k-pop and chiptune. She's just deeply autistic about the artists she likes, doesnt particularly "stan" anyone because she doesnt approach it like that, but she does try to get Marcille into it all (with mixed success)

Izutsumi - the meow mix jingle (breakcore remix) [10 hours]

Kabru - The widest range listener, because he'll gladly listen to and learn about any of the artists people around him listen to. He specifically keeps up with top 40 entirely so he can have an idea whats in the zeitgeist. If you ask him to put on something and he doesnt know your tastes he'll default to a "safe option" like chillhop beats to study/relax to

Thistle - This one I'm not super sure but Linkin Park for sure is a regular listen for him. Will cry-sing along with it. Probably also delves into other teenage angst music ranging from pop punk to emo. Would write his favorite lyrics in sharpie on his ragged converse

Shuro - All classical. He was raised to have extremely refined tastes and can play several instruments himself, but he doesnt have much interest in music really.

Namari - I dont know why but I feel like she'd have an eclectic mix of classic hip-hop artists like Missy Elliot, riot girl music, and old school heavy metal. Also probably has a soft spot for certain pop songs but refuses to admit it.

Mithrun - I want to say he'd be into Shoegaze but like, obviously does not seek out music, so he literally only listens to whatever those around him put on.

Fleki - Psych rock, psy-trance, trip-hop. Do i even have to explain

Lycion - All Hardcore. Loves the energy and will actively mosh.

Pattadol - An absolute Swiftie.

Cithis - The sort to listen to indie pop and then EVISCERATE you for your opinions on music online. Hates Swifties.

Otta - Loves mainstream hip-hop/pop music. I feel like she'd really love Doja Cat.

I think thats every main character. If you disagree with my thoughts dont be mean! We're all just trying to have fun here

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers

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mirkwoodshewolf · 5 months ago

Text

No following; Planet of the apes fanfic Chap. 4

*Author's note*

I think this was my favorite chapter to write because this really shows the special bond that both Lin and Caesar share with one another. No matter what species they are, they grew up together and will always be brother and sister to each other. But it also hurt because this is where things go downhill from Caesar being taken away and the Rodman family gets torn apart so if that scene makes you cry, get your tissues ready and prepare yourselves.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

@psychosupernatural

@queen-paladin

_____________________________________________________

Five years later. Doesn’t seem that long ago does it but a lot can happen and for the Rodman troop, it did. Grandpa’s health continued to improve thanks to the medicine he had been given, Will and Caroline were still going strong as a couple. Hell there’s even been private talks between him and I about him potentially proposing to her before I leave for college.

Yep, in just a month I’ll graduate high school and I’ll soon be heading up to the University of California and join the Berkley Symphony Orchestra on a full-run scholarship. Apparently during one of the shows I had played with the community center, there were some college scouts attending the performance and both UC as well as Julliard came up to me and offered me a full 4 year scholarship to join their orchestra programs.

After much debate since that performance last Christmas I finally decided that Berkley was the best choice. I’d still be close to the family, I could visit every weekend, and even be there for the future wedding for my future aunt (fingers crossed Will at least proposes before I leave). And of course I can’t leave out the biggest member of the troop.

Ceasar. Well needless to say I can’t quite call him my little brother anymore. He is now a few inches taller than me, hell he’s almost as tall as Uncle Will when he stands up right. Not only that but according to Caroline, he has now reached full maturity so he is now considered a full-grown chimpanzee. But even though he is now all grown up, there are times where he still retains his child-like behaviors.

Like whenever I try to leave for my summer tours for the community orchestra or go to school. I still always have to sign to him our ‘no following’ command to him. God I wonder how he’ll react once I leave in a few months. Of course I’ve told him what’s going to happen as have Will and Caroline but you never know with him.

Once again we had taken him to the redwoods for him to get his daily exercise and fresh air. And while Will and Caroline had their little picnic date, I had walked further along into the woods and began practicing my violin playing.

For the past year and a half for the community center, I have been their soloist violinist. And with my final performance happening a week before graduation, I needed to make sure I nailed this solo. So every day I was always practicing and making sure to do the solo as best I could. I had burned a copy of the song onto a disc and downloaded it to my playlist so that I could practice it on the go whenever I didn’t have my music sheets on hand.

So with my earbuds in, I had the song playing and I would do my solo whenever it came on. And being that this was a Celtic piece we were performing, the Redwoods provided me some good atmosphere and inspiration to truly feel the music as I played it.

At the end of the song, I faintly heard the sounds of applause from behind me and I turned to see uncle Will, Caroline and Caesar standing behind me. Uncle Will gestured for me to take my earbuds out so I did and I could hear him say.

“While it’s not bad for you to practice, there is such a thing as overdoing it Lin.”

“Oh look who’s talking Mr. Overachiever scientist man.”

“That’s Dr. Overachiever scientist man to you missy.” Uncle Will teased.

“In all seriousness Lin, you’ve practiced enough. At this rate you could do more damage to your fingertips.” Caroline advised me.

“Yeah I know, I know. It’s just—I’ve been performing with the community center since I was 12. I want my last performance with them to be memorable. So that people can say, ‘Oh yeah Lin Rodman was their best violinist.’ ‘yeah no one could ever top her’.”

“We know Lin. But you’ve proven that more times than anyone in the orchestra. You’ve gained a scholarship from not only UC but Julliard themselves. And you chose to turn the later down even though they’re like the top ranking performing arts school in America.” Uncle Will said. “You got this kid.”

Caesar then came up to me and gently took my bow from my hand and gave me a firm nod. His eyes showing nothing but support and praise as he signed.

‘You’re ready. Take time to heal now.’ I smiled as Caesar then placed his free arm over my shoulder and brought my forehead to his.

“Thank you little brother.” After we separated our familial connection, Will decided that it was time for us to head back home. As we walked back towards the bridge, we soon came across a family walking their dog and the second they saw us, fear and concern spread across their faces as the mother said astounded.

“Is that a chimpanzee?”

“Hi.” Uncle Will merely nodded as we passed by them. Their German shepherd, however, didn’t take kindly to Caesar. He growled and lunged at the end of his leash barking aggressively. The woman only said one command but the dog was too high-strung now to even listen to the most basic command.

That’s when I began to notice Caesar fingering his own collar and the leash that Uncle Will was starting to yank on to pull Caesar away from the family. The dog continued to bark aggressively until finally Caesar turned and let out a fearsome roar which scared the German shepherd and the family continued onward across the bridge.

“Caesar? Caesar.” Uncle Will called out before yanking on the leash to snap Caesar out of his rage.

“Will stop it! He’s not like that dog!” I snapped at him. I walked up to Caesar and held out my hand. “C’mon little brother, let’s go. Forget about that mutt.” Caesar hesitantly took my hand and we continued walking back up the trail until we reached the car.

I got in my usual spot behind Caroline and went through my playlist to find something else to listen to. That’s when I heard the door beside me open and Caesar suddenly sat down beside me instead of in the trunk space of the station wagon where he usually sat. I took out an earbud as uncle Will came by Caesar’s window and softly knocked on it.

“You okay pal?” Caesar fingered around his collar uncomfortably before signing.

‘Is Caesar pet?’

“Are you a pet? No. you’re not a pet.” Uncle Will said. Then what the hell was that all about back there? Grandpa and I have told him he didn’t need a leash whenever we come here and yet he continues to leash him like one.

‘Who Caesar father?’ Caesar signed again.

“I’m your father.” Caesar pondered his next sign before he finally asked.

‘What is Caesar?’ uncle Will voiced Caesar’s question and Caesar let out a small huff confirming his question. Will let out a sigh before saying.

“Okay.” He took off his backpack and set it the car before immediately coming to the front seat. “Lin, take your earbuds out I don’t wanna ask you again. You’re gonna need to hear this too.”

“Yeah, sure okay.” I took my earbuds out and put them back in their case as uncle Will turned the car on and immediately pulled out and drove across the bridge. However instead of heading home, we drove further into the city until we came a windowed building and at the top the word GEN-SYS was written across in grey and orange colors with the DNA symbol inbetween the words.

“Caesar, this is where I work. This is where you were born. Your mother was here with other chimpanzees. But she’s not here anymore. So that’s why I took you to live with me.” Caesar took in the first half of the information about his birth before sadly asking.

‘Mother…..dead?’

“Yeah. Your mother’s dead.” Caesar’s saddened expression broke my heart. But the next thing uncle Will said made me ponder something. “The thing is, she was given medicine. Like the medicine I give to Charles. She passed it on to you, that’s why you’re so smart.”

“Five years ago, when grandpa was able to play the piano again. You’ve been testing that drug on chimps? This whole time?” I asked. “Why not go with rats or mice like any normal scientist does?”

“Because chimpanzees and humans share only a two percent difference in DNA. We had to make sure there were no failures before trying on a human volunteer.” Uncle Will answered me robotically. I leaned against my seat flabbergasted as well as anger. And Caesar was no better as he felt like his whole world was coming apart.

“Let’s take him home.” Caroline said firmly. Uncle Will put the car in drive and we drove away from the lab and finally headed home.

The second we came in the house, Caesar raced up the stairs and Will said to me.

“Lin, why don’t you—”

“I can’t even look at you right now!” I stormed up the stairs and slammed my bedroom door breathing heavily. So this whole time, Will was using grandpa as a test subject? What if something had gone wrong? What if grandpa got worse? How could he be this stupid and reckless?!

I threw myself onto my bed, grabbed my pillow and screamed into it before collapsing backward.

As night began to settle, I thought back on everything with a clearer head. Before the drug, grandpa was practically gone and it would’ve been a matter of time before he passed away. Sure Will thought what he was doing was out of love, but he should’ve at least told me what all of this was really about, especially Caesar.

After all both of them have the same drug flowing through their veins. If something were to happen to grandpa, could the same be said for Caesar? Could the drug stop working eventually with Caesar and he’d revert back to a primal animal? He should’ve been truthful with us from the beginning.

I looked up toward my ceiling and sighed heavily before standing up and reached up for the attic staircase and pulled the string down and brought the stairs fully down. Slowly I walked up the stairs and saw Caesar standing in front of his mirror looking at himself in self-deprecation.

“Caesar?” he turned toward me jumping slightly. “Sorry, should I leave?” Caesar gestured for me to come in and so I did. With slow, cautious steps I came over to him and sat down on his bed and looked at him as he continued to stare at himself in the mirror. Fingering over his birthmark before huffing harshly, his facial expression filled with self-hate and confusion. “What’s going through your mind?” I asked him softly.

‘Caesar and Lin not brother and sister.’

“What do you mean? Of course we are.”

‘Caesar not human Lin! And Lin not ape.’ He said turning towards me, his eyes burning with tears of anger and sadness. My heart sunk and I said with a nod.

“I know, Caesar. We may not exactly be the same species but you’re still my little brother.”

‘How Lin? How is Caesar your brother?’

“You wanna know how I know?” I stood up and walked over to him. I had him look in the mirror and continued, “Because Caesar has two eyes, like mine. Although I’d prefer if we matched, I always did favor green eyes.” I teased as I leaned up against him. “And a nose….somewhere—ahh there it is.” I then booped his nose to which he let out a small huff. “Two ears.” I said fiddling with his ears as he let out a small shriek as he tried to get me to stop and we both laughed softly. “And let’s see what else is there…..hmm?” I playfully pondered before Caesar gestured to his hands with a small grunt. “That’s right, two hands.”

We pressed our hands together and for a moment I thought I had gotten him out of his self-deprecation state but he then took his hands back and looked down solemnly. I let out a somber sigh before lifting his chin up.

“Close your eyes.” He closed them. “Now forget what you see,” I took his hand and placed it over his heart. “What do you feel?” I stepped back and he opened up his eyes as he signed.

‘My heart.’

“Now come here.” I extended my arms out and he came close to me. I placed his ear over my left breast so that he could hear my heartbeat.

‘Lin’s heart.’ He signed.

“See, there’s exactly the same.” I stroked the side of his face, “You’re mine Caesar. Mine to me. No matter what species we are, or what others may say, you will always be my little brother.” Caesar let out a sad huff before reaching behind my head and pressed our foreheads together.

As the weeks passed, the only one Caesar really began to rely on was me and grandpa. He never looked at Will the same after that day he took us to his work place at Gen-Sys. We all sat around the table eating breakfast, however Caesar didn’t really have an appetite for his.

“Caesar eat your food.” Uncle Will told him but Caesar brushed his tray aside. As I took a bite of my tater tots I said.

“I was thinking instead of going out to a restaurant for my graduation dinner, why not have a barbeque in the backyard?”

“You sure Lin? Next week is your week, you sure you don’t wanna go out? Don’t you want to spend it with your friends one last time?”

“I’ve got the entire summer to hang with them. Besides they all got families coming in and parties of their own to go to. Most will be busy for at least a month.” That’s when we both saw Caesar gently reach out and take grandpa’s hand.

We then watched as he slowly took the fork that grandpa was holding and flip it the correct way before releasing his hand. Will and I looked at each other worriedly and Will asked him.

“Dad you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Grandpa shrugged it off before eating his breakfast like nothing happened. I knew it, I knew this was too good to be true. Even though I was too young at the time to know the signs but now knowing the actual symptoms of Alzheimer’s, I knew that grandpa was starting to regress.

The medicine that Will snuck from his lab and had been giving grandpa for five years now, it’s failing. Soon he’ll go right back to where he was, no scratch that he’ll get worse. After five years of the disease being put on hold, it’ll flood my grandpa’s mind like a tsunami.

And my fears were soon realized. Day by day grandpa’s health got worse and worse by the minute. There were times when he’d sit for hours on end, still and completely silent, and other times he’d be wandering off outside without Will or I knowing.

So now instead of counting down the days till graduation, I’m having to spend fretting over whether or not my grandpa is going to wander off while Will’s been staying at the office working overtime trying to find another way to help grandpa.

For now though, grandpa was sitting in his chair still as a statue yet again. I held his cold, pale hand between mine softly stroking it as I spoke to him.

“Graduation is in three days gramps. Can you believe that? Seems like only yesterday you were—dropping me off at kindergarten and now I’m about to go to college. To be honest I’m—actually afraid. I mean….this is the point where childhood ends, and the doorway to adulthood happens now, right? Were you ever this scared to walk across the stage for your diploma? Was Uncle Will? Or even……mom?”

His face remained stoic and his eyes were glossed over with the thousand yard stare.

“Grandpa?” I softly called out to him. “You—want something to drink? You hadn’t had anything since last night. I’m gonna get you some water, okay?” he didn’t respond. I took a sharp breath in and kissed his cheek before walking towards the kitchen.

My nerves were rattling, my stomach was swirling and my throat was dry and heavy. I felt myself going through the motions of getting a glass but I felt—distant from my body. That was until I heard the smashing of the glass and I jumped up shrieking as I felt my whole body shaking.

Why this? Why did this have to happen to us? We’re a normal family who did nothing wrong to anyone? So why were we being punished like this? I slowly slid down to the floor on my butt feeling my chest constrict as I curled up into a fetal position feeling the tears burning behind my eyelids.

Suddenly I heard a loud crash coming from outside. I quickly sat up and ran to find the front door wide open and I raced outside to see Hunsiker pulling my grandpa by his robe out of his car. My anxiety attack soon turned to red, hot rage as I cried out.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!!” I raced down the stairs and pushed him as hard as I could growling like an animal as I yelled. “DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM!!”

“ME HURT HIM!? HE’S THE ONE STEALING MY CAR!!”

“THAT’S BULLSHIT!!! HE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT HE WAS DOING!”

“I’M A PILOT I’VE GOT TO GET TO THE AIRPORT! HOW AM I GONNA GET THERE NOW, HUH!?!”

“FOR ONE I WOULDN’T LEAVE MY ENGINE RUNNING WITH THE DOOR OPEN DUMBASS!!”

“YOU NEED TO LEARN SOME RESPECT YOU LITTLE BRAT! NOW GET OUT OF MY WAY!”

“YOU EVEN TAKE ANOTHER STEP TOWARDS MY GRANDPA, AND I END YOU!!!” I shoved the bastard as hard as I could.

“Maria please,” grandpa said calling me by my mother’s name once again.

“Grandpa, I’ll handle this. Just go inside.” I told him assuringly and as calmly as I could.

“LIKE HELL HE IS! ANSWER THE GODDAMN QUESTION WHAT WERE YOU DOING?”

“I—I have a car just like……” grandpa began to answer but Hunsiker interrupted.

“Oh well it obviously wasn’t. You know what, I’m done, I’m done the police can handle this.” He took out his phone and began calling the police.

“Yeah sure go ahead call them! Then I can tell them how you stupidly left your car with the keys inside for 20 minutes and threatened an old man with VIOLENCE!!” I said loud enough for the operator to hear.

“NO YOU STAY RIGHT THERE!!” Hunsiker ignored me as he blocked my grandpa from moving. I got between them again and shoved Hunsiker and snarled.

“I’M SO SICK OF YOUR ARROGANT BULLSHIT! You’ve always believed to be the High and Mighty guard dog of this neighborhood well here’s the deal asshole! You’re nothing but a Karen! Yeah an over-controlling, arrogant, egotistical, self-righteous mother—” SMACK!!

Next thing I knew, I had felt a sudden whiplash and my head was throbbing. I raised my hand up as I felt blood coming out of my nose. My right cheek was also throbbing and I looked up in shock as Hunsiker fully turned his attention back to my grandpa like he didn’t just assault me and continued to yell in my grandpa’s face. All the while aggressively jabbing his finger into my grandpa’s chest.

It all happened so fast after that, a flash of brown fur shot out from the house, Hunsiker ended up on the street, grandpa had been knocked over and I heard Caesar’s angered shrieks echoing the streets as he proceeded to beat the shit out of our neighbor.

Hunsiker hit Caesar with a trashcan lid to get him off and proceeded to race back towards his house, but Caesar was hot on his tail. Trailing up through the Hunsiker’s front garden, he used their porch column to swing around and double kick Hunsiker in the chest, sending him rolling off his front porch and back to the side walk. As Caesar continued the chase after Hunsiker screeching angrily, I crawled over to grandpa and said.

“Grandpa, are you alright?”

“Lin? What’s—happening? How did we get outside?” he soon heard Caesar’s angered screeching and looked out in horror. “Why is Caesar attacking him?”

“You got into Hunsiker’s car and he was threatening you.” That’s when grandpa took in my bloody nose and the bruise that must’ve been forming on my face.

“Oh Lin your—your face.”

“Nevermind me.” That’s when other concerning neighbors began coming around us and asked us if we were okay. “We’re fine please just leave us alone.” I tried to tell them.

“Honey, your nose is bleeding and your cheek is bruising up badly, here.” Said Mrs. Goosby, a kindly widow from down the street said as she reached into her purse and took out a handkerchief. I placed the handkerchief over my nose when Caesar’s shrieks caught my attention again.

Everyone watched in horror as Caesar tackled Hunsiker to the ground, forcefully grab the hand that he was not only pointing at grandpa with but had also hit me, and he bite off his index finger.

“CAESAR STOP!!” both grandpa and I cried out. I covered my mouth in horror as Hunsiker’s daughter soon came out calling out for her daddy. Now seeing the neighbor who had threatened us be nothing more than a sniveling mess cradling his bloody hand, Caesar came down from his rage and stood there frozen in shock.

“Caesar.” Grandpa called out. Caesar bounded over to us as the neighbors around us all backed away in fear. Caesar immediately curled into grandpa’s side, his head resting on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around him huffing anxiously. All while he looked up at me fearfully. “It’s okay, hey it’s okay you didn’t mean it. It’s okay.”

I came over to Caesar and gently wiped Hunsiker’s blood from his face using the handkerchief Mrs. Goosby gave me. I placed my hand on top of his head as we looked to the neighbors who could barely look at Caesar without fear in their eyes. The sounds of sirens began to grow louder and louder as they came around into our neighborhood.

Hunsiker was immediately taken to the hospital with the finger they managed to find in hopes they could reattach it. Grandpa and I were also being checked out for minor injuries but I couldn’t focus on them because Caesar was being loaded up by animal control.

I ran passed the paramedic that was trying to check for any concussions. Even as he tried to pull me back, I lashed out with a punch and raced over to the animal control guy and pleaded.

“Please, don’t do this.”

“He’s too dangerous for you to keep.”

“NO! YOU’RE NOT TAKING HIM! We’re the only family he’s ever known! You take him away, he won’t stand a chance!”

“You’re getting too hysterical miss.” The animal control guy said to me in a nonchalant tone.

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING! HE NEEDS US!” I felt myself being held back by another paramedic.

“He’s a wild animal kid! A wild animal that’ll soon be put down if the court deems it so! Be thankful it wasn’t you that he attacked or your grandfather. Or do you just not care about your family’s safety?” he said nothing else as he got into his car and drove away with Caesar.

“CAESAR! CAESAR! WE’LL GET YOU OUT CAESAR! I PROMISE! WE’LL GET YOU BACK LITTLE BROTHER!!” I screamed out as another paramedic joined the other one to hold me back as I tried to race after the animal control truck but it was all in vain.

After finally getting checked out with no concussion, I immediately called uncle Will and Caroline and was in hysterics as I tried to explain to them what happened.

‘Dr. Rodman speaking.’

“Uncle Will!” I sobbed.

‘Lin? What is it what happened?’

“Caesar freaked out cause grandpa got out and accidentally got into Hunsiker’s car. He was yelling and screaming at grandpa and I tried to stop him. He—he…..they took him uncle Will! Animal control took Caesar away!”

‘Okay, okay calm down. Lin breathe. Answer me this, are you two okay?’

“Grandpa is, I got punched by Hunsiker but I’m fine. No concussion.”

‘That son of a—alright if you say you’re fine I’ll believe that. For now take Charles inside. Lock the doors don’t answer it for anyone okay? I’ll take care of this from here.’

“Okay. Okay.”

‘Alright, and Lin. Don’t blame yourself, okay? This wasn’t your fault.’ I sniffled and choked out a sob. ‘Take your grandpa inside and try to relax, okay? Let me take care of things from here, alright?’

“Okay.” I whimpered. “Please do—don’t let them kill him.”

‘I’m not gonna let that happen kid.’ He then hung up and I took grandpa back inside the house and locked the door.

It had been two and a half hours since I had called uncle Will and neither he nor Caroline had come home yet or at least called to tell me what’s going on with Caesar. God I hope they showed mercy and didn’t put him down, he was only defending his family? Should he really be put down for something like that?

That’s what I always found wrong with the world. People must always suffer even if it’s for someone else. Like if that had been me to fully attack Hunsiker, I’d still be arrested and put in a cage all because someone was harming my grandpa. When I heard the clicking of the locks being undone, I immediately rushed to the door and soon Will and Caroline came in.

I rushed and hugged uncle Will first who immediately embraced me back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m so sorry.” I wept.

“Don’t. This wasn’t your fault.” He told me as I felt him kiss my temple. He held my face between his hands but was careful of the bruise on my cheek. “Does it still hurt?”

“Only if it’s touched. I put peroxide on the small cut about 30min ago.” He nodded. “Is…..is Caesar…..”

“He’s at the San Bruno Primate shelter. He’s gonna have to stay there until I can get a court appeal date. Which they say will be 90 days but I can’t accept that.”

“90 days?” I asked exasperatedly.

“I promise you Lin, I’m going to get him back. We’re not going to wait three months till we hear something.” He kissed my forehead and asked me, “Where’s Charles?”

“I put him up in his room.” He nodded and raced up the stairs. I turned to Caroline and hugged her. She rocked me back and forth rubbing my back.

“Was he scared?” I asked her.

“He was. Kept wanting to go home and even signed your name.” I sniffled as I buried myself into her chest and held her tighter.

“This is bullshit.”

“I know. But we’ve done all we can do for today Lin. C’mon, let me make you some tea and we can sit down for a while.” She guided me towards the kitchen and prepared us some warm chamomile tea.

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