#but my brain's already shutting down again

[leclerc-hs]

romantic chocolates - cs55

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader summary: in which you and your ex-boyfriend take aphrodisiac chocolates at the same party OR you and carlos fuck after not seeing each other for months warnings: smut smut smut!!! spit kink, language, ex-boyfriend!!!, slight jealousy, p in v, unprotected! NOT PROOFREAD (prob typos and might not make sense), angst, hot hot hot word count: 2.8k author's note: hi hi! so sorry this is late and hope y'all still like this!!! I was gonna make it longer but my brain has been a little fried from all the writing I've been doing so sorry if you think this is trash. TRIED MY BEST xoxo

ln4 cl16 mv1 op81 cs55

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You swore you’d never see him again.

Not at this party, not in this city. Especially not after what he did. You hadn’t seen Carlos Sainz in nearly seven months. Not since he ended things in the most heartless way imaginable. A half-shrug and the words this isn’t working anymore.

No softness. No chance to ask why. Just a door shutting behind him as he left.

So seeing him now. Casual, jaw sharp, in a white shirt with the top two unbuttons done and a amber liquid in a short glass in his hand…is enough to make your stomach cave in.

You were doing fine. Laughing, sipping your drinks. Picking at chocolate from one of those ridiculous little tray’s one of the host’s friends handed you. 

“Supposed to be spiked,” She said. “Like, aphrodisiac spiked.”

And you laughed. Popped one in your mouth. Moved on.

Forgot about it. 

Until now.

He’s leaning against the bar, sleeves rolled up, in conversation with someone. 

Your heart lurches.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. You even checked. Avoided his circles and favorite places like the plague. Blocked his number, deleted his socials. Haven’t even said his name in months.

Not since he left you shaking in a hallway with mascara running down your face.

You’re careful not to look in his direction again.

Not toward the bar. Not to his tanned forearms. Not to the curve of his throat.

You don’t even know who he’s talking to…and you won’t give yourself the chance to find out either.

Instead, you disappear into another group of people. Let someone refill your drink. Let someone else laugh into your ear. 

And suddenly everything starts to feel a little too sharp. Your dress clinging to your skin in places it didn’t before. And the insides of your thigh’s feel damp.

Your stomach tenses and suddenly you can’t stop thinking about the fucking chocolate. The stupid little square. The way it melted so easily on your tongue. Tasted good too.

And your nipples are hard beneath your dress. Can feel the ache low in your belly. 

So you excuse yourself to the bathroom. Walk into a darkly lit hallway. It’s pretty quiet except for the hum of music behind the wall.

You turn the corner. Not watching where you’re going. Just trying to breathe. Cool off.

And then you collide with him.

Hard chest. Solid. Familiar scent. And that body. The body you used to know with your eyes shut.

You breathe in sharply. 

And your hands press into his chest before you can stop yourself. Trying to brace for a fall.

His hand shoots out quick, steadying you. Fingers hot against the strip of skin at your side. And you jolt.

He’s already looking at you.

Like he knew this would happen. Like he was waiting for it.

“Careful, cariño,” his voice is smooth. Low. Thick with something you don’t want to acknowledge. “Didn’t see you there.”

You step back quickly. Almost stumbling away from him.

“Jesus,” you snap. “What the fuck are you…”

“Walking,” he shrugs his shoulders. Cocking his head. “Relax.”

You straighten. Glare at him. 

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Didn’t know this was your party.” He grins.

“It’s not,” you cross your arms along your chest.

“Then I guess I’m allowed to be here,” His voice low. “Sorry to disappoint.”

You glare. But the heat building between your legs makes it hard to hold your ground. Your skin is fucking burning. Pulse pounding.

And he’s close. Too fucking close.

You hate him. You hate how he left. You hate the fucking smirk on his face. You hate that’s he’s the only person who’s ever made you come so hard that you couldn’t speak for minutes after.

And he’s looking at you with those dark eyes like he knows. Like he can see the flush in your cheeks. The tremble in your hands.

“You’re flushed,” He mutters.

You roll your eyes. “So? It’s warm in here.”

“Mmm.” His gaze flicks down, lingers at your stomach. “I’d believe that…y’know?…If I didn’t see you eat one of those chocolates earlier.”

Your stomach twists.

“What?”

You try to take a step back, but he follows. Lazily. Easily. Cutting off your exit without even lifting a hand.

“Tell me,” he mutters. “How long have you been feeling it?”

His voice is low. Slow. The kind of tone he used to use when his hand was already slipped in between your legs.

“Fuck off, Carlos.”

“You’re already fucking yourself in your head,” He says. Taunting.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re flushed.”

His gaze drags over you. From your eyes, down to your mouth, pausing for a few moments, then down to your chest.

“Just look at you,” He says. “So fidgety. Breathing as if I’ve got my fingers shoved up in you already.”

You want to slap him. But you don’t. Every word lands directly between your fucking legs.

“You always got like this whenever I touched you. So fucking easy.” He laughs. “One hand on your throat and you’d fuckin’ melt for me, yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He tilts his head, eyes gleaming.

“You used to beg me to talk like this…remember?”

Your knees are weak.

“Used to get so fuckin’ dumb for me.” He whispers. “All I had to do was say a few things and you’d be soaking.”

Your stomach clenches and you breathe hard. Trying to swallow the whimper in your throat. But he see’s it. Of course he does.

“Still like that, huh?” He grins. “You’re squirming, baby.”

“Carlos…”

“No. Don’t say my name like that.” His voice is sharp. “Not unless you’re gonna say it while you’re moaning and begging again.”

You take a step back. But he follows. Again. Cruelly. Like he’s savoring the way you’re falling apart. Slowly.

“Used to talk to you like this while I fucked you from behind, yeah?” His lips hover by your ear. “One hand in your hair. One on your hip. And I’d say the filthiest shit…just to feel your pussy clench around my cock.”

Your fingers curl into the wall behind you.

“I’d tell you how tight you were. How fuckin’ wet. How you were made for me.”

You clench your jaw. Body fuckin’ buzzing.

He brushes a hand near your jaw. Hovering. Not touching.

“Bet if I put two fingers in you, you’d come instantly.”

Your thighs are pressed so tightly together it hurts. But you don’t move. 

“I hate you.”

“No.” He grunts. “You hate that no one else can get you off the way I can.”

You flinch.

“Want me to remind you how good you were?” His voice is dark. “How you used to ride my fingers like a good fucking slut while I spat in your mouth?”

Your legs nearly give out.

“Still got that pretty moan?” He breathes.

“Fuck you.” You shove him back. Hard.

He doesn’t expect it, and stumbles back. Catches himself quick.

And you adjust your dress. Lift your chin.

“You haven’t changed.” You say, voice full of disgust.

You push past him. Don’t even look over your shoulder as you say, “I’ll go find someone else. Someone who isn’t a fucking coward.”

And that’s when you hear the scrape of his shoe against the floor.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

You feel it before you turn. Him storming up to you. Something unhinged in his presence.

You turn your head. And his face? 

Grin gone. He looks furious.

“Y’think I’m gonna let you walk out there and let someone else fuck you?” He grunts. “Let some idiot put his hands on you?”

You blink. “I’m not yours.”

“The fuck you’re not.”

And he’s in front of you again. Shoulders tense. Chest heaving.

“Y’think I didn’t see it? The way your thighs were rubbing together like you couldn’t stand a single second without my cock shoved up there?”

He steps closer. “You can pretend all you want. But you walk out there, and I swear to fuckin’ God…”

He stops. Fists clenched.

“You want someone else? Go ahead.” His voice is sharp. “Let them try to fuck you the way I did.”

You swallow.

“Let them try to make you come with nothing but their hand around your throat and two fingers buried in that needy cunt.”

And you see it.

The edge in his eyes. The small flush in his cheeks. Chest rising. Vein in his neck.

You narrow your eyes.

“You took one too.”

And he laughs. Shaky.

“Yeah.” His voice low. “Didn’t think much of it, til I saw you…and now I can’t fucking breathe.”

His hands are clenched.

“Been hard for an hour,” He groans. “Every time I close my eyes I picture you on your knees.”

He laughs again. Bitter. 

“I’m gonna say this once,” His voice cracks. Feral. “No one else gets to touch you.”

You glare. “You don’t get to say that. You left..”

“I know,” He cuts you off. Snapping. “I know I did. And I fucking hate myself for it.”

His forehead drops to yours. Body trembling.

“But I swear…I swear if anyone else touches you tonight…if anyone gets to learn how fucking wet you are..”

He groans. Like he’s in pain.

“I’ll lose my fucking mind.”

And his hips roll toward you once. And it sends a zap of heat straight to your core.

His cock is fucking hard. Straining. Throbbing.

“Fuck,” He mutters. “Y’feel that? Feel what you do to me?”

Your hands find his chest, but not to pull him away. Just to feel him. His heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” His voice is wrecked. “Haven’t. Even when I tried to fuck someone else…I’d have to close my eyes and picture it was your cunt squeezing me.”

You whimper. Lips trembling.

“Yeah,” He groans. “That sound. Fuck..that’s the one.”

You don’t even have time to process it before he’s pulling you down the hall. Shoulders tense. And you stumble to keep up. Until he shoulders a door open and yanks you in after him.

A bathroom.

He kicks open the first stall. Slams it shut behind you both. 

Locks it.

And then his hands are on you.

And his mouth crashes into yours. Hot. Hungry. Teeth scraping your bottom lip like he wants to bite it. You gasp into him, and he groans like the sound alone might make him come.

“You still hate me?” He mutters against your mouth, dragging your dress up. Bunching the fabric.

“I do,” you whisper. “I fucking do.”

“So why the fuck are you this wet for me?” He cups you through the thin fabric of your panties. “Hm? Why’s your pussy begging for me if you hate me so much?”

You whimper. Grind against his hand. And all hell breaks loose.

“Fuck this.” He yanks your panties to the side.

Fingers slip through your folds and he outright groans. Loud. Like you’re ruining him.

“You need me this bad, baby?”

You nod. Desperate. Delirious.

“Say it.”

You hesitate.

He presses two fingers against your clit. Rubbing slow circles. Mean. 

“Carlos…”

“Say you need me.”

You’re breathless. “I need you.”

And that’s all it takes.

He’s undoing his pants, dragging them low enough to free his cock. Thick. Flushed. Leaking. Perfect. 

“I’m not gonna last,” he admits. Voice wrecked. “You feel too good. Look too pretty. M’gonna fuckin’ lose it.”

He grabs your thigh, hooks it over his hip.

And pushes in. All the way.

You cry out. Nails digging into his back as your pussy clenches down on him. 

He chokes on a gasp, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck, fuck…fuck…still so fuckin tight.” 

He doesn’t move. Breathing hard against your skin.

“No one else gets this. No one.” His voice is harsh. “Y’understand me? Say it.”

He starts moving. “Say it while I fuck you.”

And he slams back in. Hard.

“Yours,” you cry out. “I’m yours.”

And that’s all he needs.

Then he’s fucking you hard. Relentless. The stall doors shaking with each thrust. 

“Dirty fuckin’ whore.” He pants. “This pussy missed me, hm?”

His hands slip between your bodies, rubbing your clit.

“C’mon make it quick.” He mutters. “Cunt is choking my cock. Know you’re there.”

And you do. 

Your entire body snaps, clenching as you cry out his name. He grunts.

Groans, loud as he spills inside of you.

“Fuck, baby…” His neck is flushed. “Take it all.”

He’s still inside you. Still hard. When he presses a kiss to your throat.

“I need more.”

You nod without thinking. And you’re barely breathing before he slides out of you. Pulls up his pants. 

Grabs your wrist. 

Pulls you out of the stall. His come leaking down your thighs.

“Where are we going?”

He doesn’t answer, just drags you down the hallway. His grip on you is strong. 

He finds the first empty door. Shoves it open. Slams it shut.

And the second you turn to face him, he’s on you.

Hands in your hair. Mouth on yours. Kissing you like it hurts. Dress ripped off in one swipe. Pants unbuttoned and shoved down. Shirt stripped off.

He walks you backwards until your knees hit something.

A mattress.

And then he shoves you down. Climbs over you. Dragging you to the edge of the bed like he owns you.

“Never should’ve let you go.” 

And he slams back into you.

You both moan.

“Still so perfect.” 

His hips move. Slow. Filthy.

He drops his head to your chest. Hips slamming into you harder. Losing control. 

“I’ve thought about this every fucking night.” He breathes. “My cock inside you. You coming all over me. Every single fucking night.”

You arch into him. And he snaps.

Slams into you. Again and again.

“You blocked me,” He grunts. Pushing in deeper. “Everywhere.”

He’s holding your wrists down on the bed, hips grinding into you.

“I fuckin’ tried, y’know that?” His voice is harsh. “Open.”

You do.

And he spits right onto your tongue. You moan. Shaky. Breathless.

“Swallow it.”

And you do. Instantly.

“I called. Texted. Showed up. And you just disappeared on me.”

His voice rough. Cracking. Eyes locked on you.

“Blocked me on every fucking thing,” he fucks you harder. “And now?”

He leans in closer. “Now you’re letting me back in with this pussy before you even let me apologize…before I even explain myself.”

You whimper. And he laughs. Mean.

“So fuckin’ easy.”

He splits you wide open, cock driving into you.

“Dios mío,” He breathe against your skin, voice cracking. “This fuckin’ body…” His hands slide against your skin. Possessive. 

“You were the best thing that ever happened to me.” He grunts. Voice hoarse. “And I ruined it. I know that I did.”

His hand slips down to rub your clit. Eyes never leaving yours.

“Mi puta,” He whispers into your ear. “Mía.”

“Come again,” he whispers. “One more time. Wanna feel you fuckin’ squeeze me and tell me you still want me.”

And when you do….

He follows.

“Fuck…fuck, I fucking love you.”

You’re not sure how long you stay like this.

Chest pressed against you. Legs tangled. Cock still buried in you.

Twitching like he doesn’t want to let you go.

And then he’s moving again. Slow. Deep. Mean. Hand tangled in your hair, holding your head against the mattress as you arch.

And then he spits into your mouth again.

“Swallow it, mi amor. Like a good girl.”

You do.

“Buena chica,” He grunts. “Always were. Always knew how to take it.”

And then he’s pushing your thighs up to your chest, slamming into you harder.

And you scream. 

“You still hate me?” He asks. Voice ruined.

You look at him. Eyes glassy. Breathless.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

And his hips slow. But he still hits you deep.

“No mientas,” He exhales. “Don’t lie.”

Your nails dig into his back. “I hate how much I missed this. Missed you.”

And he groans.

“Say you’re mine.”

“Soy tuya.” You breathe.

And then his mouth is on yours. Claiming.

And his hand circles your clit.

“Hazlo,” He hisses against your lips. “Come for me. Again. Vamos, mi amor.”

And you do. Gasping his name.

And he falls apart with you. Spilling inside you again.

And this time he collapses onto you. Slipping out.

His come leaking onto the sheets below you.

“I was scared,” He breathes. “Didn’t deserve you. Still don’t.”

You blink. Dazed.

“Didn’t even let me say sorry.”

You exhale. “You didn’t fucking try.”

He goes still. 

His eyes search yours. “What do I do now?”

You don’t answer. 

Just brush your fingers against the back of his neck. And you feel the way he shudders.

Just holding each other.

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[sturnioz]

fratboy!chris makes a strange little noise while he's pounding shy!reader into the bed from behind—it sounds too soft to be his usual grunting.

you're already stripped bare the second you walk into chris' bedroom—your head shoved into his pillows with your back arched, displaying yourself in such a familiar that yet it still makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

you feel chris kneel behind you, his hands groping at your ass cheeks, giving not one but three heavy slaps to your meaty skin before he pushes his cock through your puffy folds, sinking into your gummy walls until he buries himself to the hilt.

a gasp rips from the back of your throat at the sudden intrusion, your fingers gripping onto the bedsheets tightly as your eyes screw shut, eyebrows knitting together in pleasure as chris rocks into you—fast.

faint cries and whines spill from your lips, and you remove your head from the pillows, resting your cheek against it inside for the air to flow back into your lungs, only for your watery eyes to meet chris' hazy ones.

"y'like that, bun?" chris pants, running his hand down your spine, fingertips pressing hard into your skin before drawing them back up, palm swatting against your ass once again. "look at you. already a mess just from a few pumps of my dick? ...fuckin' pathetic, bun."

you're unable to make a coherent sentence as your body grows slack, his words echoing in your ears alongside the sounds of skin meeting skin—his cock fucking into you at a pace that has you gasping for breath.

it is pathetic, really. how easily you turn putty beneath just from a few mere touches of his hands and thrusts, leaving a glistening wet mess that spreads across your inner thighs and sometimes drips down his balls.

your vision becomes blurry, welling with tears of pleasure as your ears buzz with white noise—struggling to function within your brain as you stare dumbly at chris with your lips parted, drool seeping from the corners and dampening the sheets below.

chris bends his upper body over you, fucking into you deeper, his cock filling your guts over and over again. he laughs as he sees your eyelids flutter, failing to keep them open.

a slight pained noise leaves your lips when chris' mouth makes contact with your shoulder, his teeth pressing down into the skin—biting your flesh as he rocks into you harder, his balls whacking against your puffy and swollen folds, creating a lewd sound that echoes throughout the room.

but it's when your back instinctively arches and your ass presses back against his hips to take him in even deeper, your cunt swallowing around him and sucking him in when everything comes crumbling down.

you've never heard chris whine before—not even once during the amount of months you've been sleeping together—but the soft and high-pitched sound that leaves his lips when he's cumming into you with thick, warm ropes makes you freeze beneath him, somewhat coming to your senses to stare at him with watery eyes.

he looks ethereal, witnessing first hand chris' eyes softening and mouth falling slack, his cheeks flushed. it almost breaks you—almost.

when chris pulls out of you, his breathing unsteady as he drops down to the bed, running his fingers through his sweaty hair to catch his breath, and you push yourself up on your elbows to blink at him, not caring about the globs of cum that leaks from your well-fucked hole.

"why're you starin' at me?" chris croaks with a huff as his gaze catches yours, his eyebrows pulling together in annoyance.

"i..." you trail off, your mind running wild as that sound he made fills your ears again on repeat, the image of his face permanently engraved in your brain. it dawns on you that he doesn't even realise he'd made that noise, so you swallow thickly, tearing your eyes away as you decide to keep that little fact to yourself. "it's nothing."

divider credits. @issysh3ll

© STURNIOZ

[mindmelter]

Reshaping Minds

It was a calm afternoon at the coffee lounge of a high-end hotel in Miami. The kind of place with overpriced lattes, but money was never a problem for me. I had my sunglasses on, my iced coffee in hand, and my radar fully tuned for potential fun. That’s when I saw him.

A goddamn tank of a man.

He stood near the espresso bar, stretching his thick arms in a tight navy-blue tee, making his muscles bulge like he was carved from marble, and his tribal tattoo wrapped around his huge bicep, making him hotter and manlier than everyone at the lounge. His beard was neatly trimmed, baseball cap turned backward, and he had that smug alpha energy straight dudes ooze when they think the world owes them a trophy.

He wasn't alone—They never are—His girlfriend was clinging to him like a purse, giggling at something he said. But I wasn’t looking at her. Heck no. I was focused on the fine piece of muscles that was her boyfriend.

I slid off my lounge chair, walked right up to them, and smiled. "Hey, you two look like you could use some fun."

The woman blinked at me confused. The man raised an eyebrow. "Uh, we’re good, man."

I tilted my head. "You sure? I mean, you’ve got all that meat on you, big guy. Seems like a waste if you’re not being properly used."

He turned to face me fully, clearly annoyed. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

I leaned in just slightly, grinning. "It means you're the kind of thick-brained, thick-bodied beefcake that's good for one thing. Being used. Bent. Owned."

His girlfriend gasped, pulling his arm. "Honey, let’s go. He’s a creep."

But something was happening already inside the man's brain. He didn’t move. Just stared at me.

"What... what the fuck did you say?" he muttered again, but his voice cracked. There it was! His eyes were getting heavier. I stepped closer, like a snake charming its prey. My fingers barely brushed his chest.

"I said you were made to be used. That mind of yours? Serves for nothing but to control your sexy body. No thoughts, just instinct. Grunt when told. Flex when needed. Obey when commanded."

My words pierced his brain. His eyes twitched. His thick chest rose with a heavy breath. I could see his pupils dilating, his mouth parting just a little. "You don’t need to think, big guy. Thinking is for people with something between their ears. Not you."

His girlfriend kept tugging at his arm, but he just stood there. "Honey? Hello? Babe!"

He slowly turned to her, blinked dumbly, then looked back at me. His brows relaxed. His lips parted more. A little line of drool started collecting at the corner of his mouth.

I let out a low chuckle and stepped even closer, almost whispering now. "That's it... Let my words sink in. Let them take root. You're just a toy now. A dumb, hot, perfect toy." His head tilted slightly, eyes half-closed, mouth wide open, and his tongue was hanging loose. Drool dripping down his beard.

The transformation was delicious. My words did far more than just implant commands, they literally reshaped my prey's brain. If you listen carefully, you will hear the wet sounds of his brain moving, shrinking, and molding to my liking. As if his brain were clay, and my words a sculptor's skilled hands.

His girlfriend panicked, backing away. "What the hell are you doing to him!?"

I looked at her calmly. "Relax. He’s finally where he belongs." And then I snapped my fingers in front of her face. Her eyes blinked rapidly. Her mouth opened slightly, then shut. She shivered, then slowly nodded, expression blanking into stunned acceptance.

"He belongs to you now," she said softly. Like she was reading from a script etched into her mind.

I smiled. "You're smarter than him, I see." I turned to the hunk, grabbed his chin and turned his head. "Say you're mine.'"

A moment of silence. Then, in a slow, slurred drawl, he mumbled, "Uhhhm yuhhhrs... suhh..."

Perfect. I gave his cheek a playful pat. "Now listen to me, big guy. That face right there? Dumb. Mindless. Empty. That's your natural expression from now on, you will always look like this. With your eyes heavy and tongue hanging out, blank, docile, and stupid. Got it?"

He gave a soft grunt, lips still parted. His eyes stayed glazed and dull. Good. I turned back to his girlfriend. "You see him now, don’t you? He’s not boyfriend material anymore. He’s too far gone. Too dumb."

She stared at him in silence, then at me. "Yeah... he’s not really... boyfriend material anymore."

"Nope. He’s just a gay sex slave now. A muscle puppet with no brain. Not something you want to bring home to mom or build a family with."

She exhaled sharply. "He’s all yours. I can't date someone that... vacant."

I chuckled, stepping between them and placing a possessive hand on his chest, rubbing his pecs slowly through the thin fabric of his shirt. He didn’t flinch. Just stared into the distance, drool rolling steadily down his tongue. "Smart choice," I said to her. "He’s better off this way. Obedient. Mindless. Always ready. I will take good care of him, don't worry."

She gave a nod and walked away without another word. I turned my full attention to the hunk, both palms now pressed against his chest, playing with his nipples through his shirt, gently twisting them.

He didn’t resist. Didn’t blink. "Good boy," I whispered. "You’re going to make me very happy aren't you?" And he just stood there, blank face locked in, waiting to serve. "Flex for me, boy."

Like a well-oiled machine, the hunk obeyed. His thick, tattooed biceps rose in a slow, powerful curl, veins bulging beneath the ink as his massive arm tightened. He grunted softly, not out of effort—he was too strong for that—but from instinct, like a beast performing on command. I stepped in and ran my hand over his flexed arm, squeezing the hardness of his muscle. My thumb pressed into the peak of his bicep.

"Come, Daddy. Let’s go upstairs."

When we entered my suite, I turned and commanded, "Strip. Now."

He tore off his clothes with urgent clumsiness, revealing every inch of that sculpted Daddy body. His pecs were massive and his thighs were like tree trunks. And between them—his cock. 9 Inches, Thick. Veiny. Fully erect and already leaking.

"On your knees, boy."

The mindless beast dropped instantly, muscles flexing as he settled in front of me. I sat on the edge of the bed, spread my legs wide, and yanked his head toward my crotch. I made him sniff my bulge, and while he took in my musk, I touched his forehead and implanted into his ruined brain everything he needed to know about being a good cock sucking whore.

"Use that whore mouth. Now."

He pulled my cock out and sucked. Greedy. Needy. His lips stretched over my shaft as I gripped his head and rammed myself into his throat. No rhythm. No gentleness. Just ownership.

I used his mouth like a hole. Like a toy. Like he was nothing more than a slab of muscle with a wet hole attached to it. I fucked this handsome Daddy's face, hard and deep, my cock slamming the back of his throat again and again until he gagged. Spit and precum drooled from his lips as I held his head down against my pubes.

"That’s it, Daddy. Choke on your Master's cock. You love being used, don’t you? Just a stupid muscle toy." He moaned through the assault, drool bubbling at the corners of his slack mouth. I slapped his cheek with one hand as I thrust harder, relentlessly.

"You're nothing now. Just a dumb, cock-hungry fuckdoll. Your brain’s gone. Your girl’s gone. All you are is a hole for me to use."

I could hear the wet sloopy sounds—not from the blowjob—but from inside his skull. His brain was being reshaped nonstop with each word that came out of my mouth.

The pressure built. I snarled, shoved his face against my pubes, and came—thick, violent spurts blasting down his throat and spilling out of his mouth. I pulled out mid-release, resting my cock against his panting face, painting his cheeks with cum and spit on the process.

"Good boy, I'm very pleased with your service," I growled, slapping my wet cock against his tongue, "Now your brain will shrink to the size of a grape." The sound his brain made this time was louder as it shrunk to the size of a grape. If I thought his face couldn't get any dumber, the face he made now surpassed that.

He fell to the floor like a limp doll, his thick cock still thobbing hard and leaking. I would make his brain go back to its normal size later, but for now, I will enjoy my new brainless toy.

[secretlysimpash]

MDNI

Werewolf Bf (Milo) x Reader

Werewolves get a lil weird before a full moon, but this is new for your werewolf bf.

Warning(s): Reader is neutral, scent kink

MDNI

Three days 'till the full moon, and your werewolf boyfriend starts acting up. That's normal. But this was new.

You had to do laundry, but the laundry basket was suddenly missing from your room. Milo, your sweet werewolf boyfriend, was also nowhere to be seen.

"Milo, babes?" You called out, taking a step out of the bedroom. "Baby, have you seen my clothes?"

No response. You tried to remember if you put the basket in the laundry room yet. Maybe you already threw them into the washer and just couldn't remember for some reason. But you would have remembered that, right?

You wracked your brain as you walked into the laundry room, and...For some reason, the hamper used for the dirty towels seemed smaller. Like some have been taken out. Weird. You distinctly remember it being a mountain of towels since both you and Milo have been busy with...Stuff. Let's just say that a werewolf's hunger for food is not the only kind of hunger that increases when the full moon is near. As such, neither of you have had the time, energy, or brain cells to get around to it.

Tapping your foot against the floor of the laundry room, you tried to think again when the sound of something thumping on the floor caught your attention. Quietly, you followed the sound...Right to the storage closet near the bathroom. The door was halfway shut, and you heard shuffling on the other side.

Before you had time to react, the door swung open, and an arm shot out to grab you. You only had time to yelp in response as you were yanked inside the dark closet and dragged down to the floor. The very soft floor...Which should be hardwood and not soft. Arms banded around your waist, dragging you under a pile of fabric...A pile of clothes.

"There you are..." Milo said on a growl, his beard scraping along your skin as he nuzzled close to your ear. He inhaled deeply, savoring your scent. "Your clothes and towels work just fine...But I like it when your scent's fresh."

Realization hits. You've heard of this happening, of werewolves nesting and needing their mate's scent. And realization hits even harder when the familiar fabric of your panties brushes against your bare foot. Specifically ones from like three days ago that Milo pulled off with his teeth. This fucker made a nest of your dirty laundry.

"Milo, just call me next time." You chided, letting the werewolf nuzzle all along your neck and shoulders. Occasionally, you'd feel his sharpened canines scraping along the skin. "Seriously, this is kinda gross."

"Noooo...No, I needed to do this, y'don't get it, doll..." He whined...The big, burly werewolf actually whined at you.

What a sad little pup.

[yoiisa]

2AM, WHO DO YOU LOVE? ⋆˙⟡ REO MIKAGE

"My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again, These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon, I was enchanted to meet you." - "Enchanted" by Taylor Swift Tags: TW for mentions of an arranged marriage as well as familial fights towards the end of the story, but other than that, just pure, unadulterated fairytale, Cinderella fluff!

a/n: This is part of a little series I doing where I’m writing BLLK fics for each of my fav songs on all the T Swift albums. I did  Bachira’s (Fearless), Kaiser’s (Lover), Rin’s (Midnights), Oliver's (Red), Nagi’s (TTPD), and Nanase's (Debut). This is Speak Now.

“Enchanted” is literally Speak Now in a nutshell, so I knew this had to be the song I chose. I also highly recommend listening to "Planetarium" and "Mia and Sebastian's Theme" from La La Land in general but also specifically for this fic. Speak Now is one of my top 3 TS albums of all time, so this was so much fun to write! Hope you enjoy!

The drinks were way too bitter for his liking.

Reo honestly should be literally anywhere and everywhere, but his father's temper had run way too short. After skipping out on the last gala to practice soccer with Nagi, his dad had very . . . choice words for Reo, and any hopes and schemes of ditching tonight were promptly shut down.

So now here he was, in a suit, with no tie because he refused to be suffocating even more than he already was, watching the throng of pretentious assholes and their wives mingle with each other. He supposed he could gorge himself on the plate of shrimps sitting on the tables lining the sides of the rooms, but he'd already visited the refreshments twice, and he didn't want to look like a glutton.

Reo's fingers run through his hair, mussing the strands. His too-perfect hairdo comes undone easily, despite the amount of hairspray and gel went into securing it. He takes another sip of his drink, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut in order to prevent the grimace from overpowering his face.

When he opens them, his gaze trains the doors that have just opened. A girl slips through them, a lilac dress hugging her silhouette. Her hands wear gloves up to her elbows and she looks around the room, appearing a bit uncomfortable at the sea of people around her. Reo sympathizes with her- after all, if he could bolt this second, he would.

His eyes follow her as she maneuvers through the sea of people, before getting to the foot of the staircase that he's standing at the top of. She glances behind her nervously, before continuing up the steps at a quicker pace. When she looks up and sees him, she smiles.

Reo's heart stops. The whole room seems to stop, it's noise reducing dramatically, the people stilling completely. The only two people alive in this party is him . . . and her.

She nods in a greeting and brushes past him. Suddenly, the world continues to spin and Reo whirls around.

"Wait!" he calls, darting up after her. She turns and looks up at him as he comes to stand next to him. He clears his throat, suddenly feeling stupid for his outburst. Why'd he call after her like that? What should he say now? His throat is going dry, he can feel it.

"Are you hot?" you ask, and Reo's brain short circuits.

"W-what?"

"Your face," you point out, "it's turning all red."

"Ah, umm," Reo smiles nervously and shakes his head. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and fans himself a little. "No. I'm not hot right now. Although it is pretty stuffy in here, no?"

You nod and sigh, "Tell me about it." Your eyes dart back over all the people, a hint of that nervousness returning.

"Are you looking for someone?" Reo asks while trying to keep the disappointment from his voice.

You startle and shake your head, profusely saying, "Oh, no no, not at all. I'm, umm, actually kinda trying to avoid someone right now."

"Avoid?"

You look down at the floor. "My parents want to set me up with the son of some rich guy, but I don't know who it is. I've been kinda avoiding them the whole night because I'm scared the minute they catch me, they'll sweep me off to meet him."

"Damn," Reo says dumbfounded. "Do you know who the guy is? I can help you keep a lookout."

You shake your head. "I don't know anything about him. They told me in the car, but . . . I guess I was so shocked I completely tuned them out. I didn't even know they knew someone this high class to come to a party like this. I was just gonna go hide in the bathroom until it was time to leave."

Reo chuckles. "Well, I mean, the bathroom is a good hiding spot, but the view is shit, literally," you snort and he smirks. "I can take you to a better spot to get away from the crowd."

"You've hidden here before?"

"My parents own this venue."

"Oh."

He snorts and takes your wrist, gently pulling you up the rest of the stairs and into a corridor. "C'mon."

Reo guides you down hallways lined with expensive decor, the sheer size of his house leaving you feeling breathless. Your family wasn't the most wealthy, but you were pretty well off still. Nevertheless, you felt like you lived in the slums compared to the grandeur of this house.

He finally leads you out onto a balcony, which overlooks the Tokyo city skyline. Tiny specks of lights glimmer out in front of you, blinking in a sea of darkness otherwise. You marvel at it all, your hand falling from Reo's as you step out farther onto the balcony. He watches as you become more and more enamored with each passing step.

"Do you like it?" he asks sheepishly.

"It's beautiful."

He nods. "I used to come out here and play hide and seek when I was little. I'd sit in the corner over there and wait until someone found me."

You smile, but suddenly, a gust of wind brushes past the two of you. The skirt of your dress ruffles in the breeze and your hair blows wildly around you. You wrap your arms around yourself to try and shield yourself from the chill, but then fabric envelopes you. You open your eyes and look up to see Reo smiling down at you, and wrapping his suit's jacket around your shoulders.

You blush a little and tug the lapels a bit tighter around you. "What a prince you are."

"How could I leave a lady out here in the cold all helpless?" he teases back.

You giggle and he swears he could get drunk on the sound alone. Seeing you like this stirs something in him and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, "Do you know how to dance?"

"What?"

"Umm, nevermind, sorry forget I asked that," he shakes his head.

"No-no! I do know how to. I mean, kinda."

" . . . do you want to dance then? With me?"

"Here?" the wind continues blowing around you, albeit more gently this time.

"If you want to," Reo takes your hand in his and pulls his phone out with his other hand. He pulls up some piano music and sets his phone back in his pocket.

Putting one hand on your waist and the other intertwining with your fingers, he slowly begins to lead you through a simple waltz. One step forward, then to the side, then to the back, then to the side again and on and on and on. At first the two of you are incredibly stiff, but gradually, as the music swells through different melodies, the two of you become more accustomed to this dance. Reo even spins you at one point, earning a loud but happy yelp from you.

The two of you grow your dance out from the tiny box you started in, now spinning and prancing all over the balcony. Reo is absolutely mesmerized by the way you move, gliding over the cement as if you were born to do this.

As the music of a particular song comes to a climax, Reo twirls you in his arms one more time before dropping you over his knee in a low dip. He doesn't miss the sight of your eyes widening, allowing more light to reflect from them like stars. Your face grows warm, accentuating the blush already in your makeup. Your lips part slightly and you gasp a little in surprise. His nose brushes yours and you feel lightheaded and surefooted all at once. A new song starts, a soft melody he recognizes from a movie he saw with his mom about an aspiring pianist and an aspiring actress in California.

"Too much?" he asks huskily.

"Maybe a little," you respond after a beat, and yet neither of you make a move to pull away.

Reo fully lowers the both of you to the floor, now kneeling with you on the ground. Your hand remains steadfast in his as his violet eyes meet your heady gaze. He wants to kiss you so bad, and he almost does, but then a thought occurs to him.

"I just remembered," he whispers, "I don't know your name."

"Oh, right. I'm Y/N," you lean in closer. "And you are?"

Just as Reo opens his mouth, a loud ringing fills the space. Your phone is buzzing and as you pick it up, you see the time. 11:45 P.M. Well, you successfully avoided them, and in doing so royally pissed them off. You have five missed calls from your mom and three from your dad spanning the past half an hour. How you're only now noticing is beyond you but you know you're in deep shit.

"Oh, no," you stand abruptly. "I have to go right now. My parents are gonna be furious, we were supposed to leave half an hour ago!"

You take off towards the doors of the balcony, and Reo's barely able to call out, "Wait- Y/N!"

"Thank you for the dance!" You call over your shoulder as you swing open the doors. "It was wonderful meeting you!"

"Wait, you don't know my name!" he shouts running after you. "How will I find you! I don't know your last name- I said wait!"

But you're so laser focused on how much trouble you're going to be in you barely register Reo. You rush through the hallways again, and Reo is too slow behind you. He bursts back out into the main room to see it still packed as ever. He frantically searches the crowd for your dress, but his eyes fail. He can't see you anywhere, you must've already left.

He slumps back against the wall and hangs his head low as he slides to the floor. Fuck.

--------------------------------------

"I can't believe you just disappeared on us like that!" your father roars on the drive home. "Do you have any idea how embarrassed we are! The whole night we promised the Mikage family that we'd present you, and we never got a chance to even show them you in person! You are so ungrateful!"

You keep your head dipped low, unable to meet his eyes through the rearview. Your mother puts her hand on his shoulder and sighs. "We worked so hard to get you this arrangement, Y/N. The least you could do is meet him. If you don't like him even after the third date, we understand, but you haven't even met Reo once! What if he ends up an incredible man for you?"

"I told you already, I don't want an arranged marriage," you protest. "I want to meet someone organically, and fall in love!"

"You can't keep living in a fantasy world Y/N!" your father drones on with just as much venom. "Sooner or later, you're going to have to wake up and get a taste of reality and it'll knock you on your ass so hard, you won't even know what hit you! This is what we get for raising such a sheltered and naive . . ."

You tune your father out and stare out of the car windows. Regret weighs heavy in your stomach. You could've spared a second to hear that boy's name, but you didn't, so hyper focused on how furious your parent would be that you had ghosted them the whole night.

You'd never see him again. Your eyes sting and your lip wobbles. You hope he knows how happy you were to have gotten the chance to meet him at least. He really was something straight out of a fairytale.

--------------------------------------

The party was long over. Reo was in his pajamas and in his bed, but he could not sleep for anything. He couldn't get over the weight of your hand in his or the smell of your perfume as you danced, or your laugh or the sound of your name!

Y/N. Y/N.

He tossed and turned the whole night, and when he finally looked over at his clock, the red 2:34 blinked back at him mockingly.

The way you'd run off still played back in his head, and he swore it'd haunt him until the day he died. The way your dress's skirt billowed and your hair whipped behind you, like you were Cinderella at midnight. Gone in the blink of an eye.

No. No, he couldn't think like this. He couldn't let you pass him by. He got what he wanted, whether that be soccer or you. He'd find you.

He had to.

[monkebearness]

Our Story, Like a Romance Novel [Chapter 0]

Tags: fluff, angst

Word count: 11.5k

a/n: this has been stuck in my drafts for way too long, so I decided to start posting them, while I keep on wrinkling my brain for more ideas and writing new stuff. this will have multiple characters, but the main ones will be revealed by the end. there is no smut on this chapter. it has more plot, but if you're still interested, I hope you like & enjoy it!

A young man stands in front of his open locker, buttoning up his vest before loosening his neck tie while looking at the casual attire that he’s worn earlier today. Scanning the room, he realizes that he’s the only one left in there. He tightens his tie once again–but not too tight. He inhales his hesitation, takes a deep breath, and gulps down his doubts.

Let’s do well today, he thinks to himself, perhaps the eighth time he’s told himself those same words. He closes the locker shut and walks to the door leading to another room in silence, joining the rest of the kitchen crew with a determined mindset. He faces two of his superiors–the head chef and station chef–and greets each of them with a deep bow.

“The team and I have already gotten you through the basics,” says the head chef, Geum Junghoon, to the newbie. “We’re guessing that you are now ready to work with the rest of the crew?

Yook Daewon takes one quick but careful look around the kitchen, keeping his smile and honorable ardor towards all his new employers and fellow colleagues, chefs, and servers, gathered in the same room for an event they have been preparing for the past few weeks. Despite the head chef’s lower baritone voice, Daewon only feels encouragement from his polite presence and approachable demeanor.

Mirroring the positive briefing of his employer, Daewon adjusts his tenor voice to sound more robust and confident with his light tone. “Ne, Chef! I am ready. Thank you so much for accepting me for this job. I will not disappoint you.”

“Are you sure you’re ready, Daewon-ssi?” The station chef, Jeong Hyerin, teases Daewon with her question while squinting her almond eyes to intimidate him. “This is a big night for the company. We can't risk making any messes… Especially not around our guests.”

“Yah! Go easy on him,” Junghoon immediately whispers to Hyerin, but she holds in her laughter. “It’s his first night. He proved himself last time, if that’s not enough for you.”

“Are you Daewon-ssi, Chef Geum?” Hyerin shoots a sarcastic remark back at her own superior, imitating a drill sergeant even with her light and comical tone. He raises his eyebrow at her, even if he knows that she’s messing around.

“It’s okay, Chef,” Daewon tries to simmer down the two from bickering, not realizing that she’s goofing around with him to lighten up the mood of the room. “And I’m ready, Chef Jeong Hyerin-nim. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t pass the interview, so I will do my best!”

“Well…” Hyerin smirks at Junghoon before raising her thumbs in approval. “I believe he just passed my final test.”

“How was that your final—Whatever…” Junghoon can only chuckle before looking at the corner of the kitchen in hopes of calling for the third superior’s opinion. “Chef Gong Yubin-nim! How about you? What’s your evaluation?”

“Chef, anyone’s good enough for me, as long as they’re doing their job right,” Yubin only answers him at the same tempo she’s dicing a bundle of onions on her board. She stops to look at Daewon. “So I don’t need any words from you, new guy. Just do well on your job and don’t mess up… Hyerin-ssi, come here and help the rest of us out, will ya?”

Junghoon and Hyerin couldn’t help but nod and filler words in agreement to Yubin.

Daewon quickly raises his arm to the sous chef. “Oh, I can assist—”

“No, it’s fine!” Hyerin politely stops him. “I’ll do it. There will be plenty of tasks for you to do later on. Welcome to the Kitchen, everyone. Best of luck out there!”

“Kamsahamnida, everyone!” Daewon bows to everyone at the kitchen, including the station cooks, and his fellow waiters and waitresses, as most of them reciprocate his polite and respectful gesture. “I will do my best on the job!”

All waiters and waitresses then at Hyerin and Junghoon, just as the former rushes to Yubin at the other side of the kitchen as they both chop tons more veggies with the rest of the crew, the station and junior chefs, and the porters.

Daewon sees the chefs argue while washing the goods, much to his perplexion. How can these cooks quarrel and still work together so well at the same time? If he wants to keep working there with them long enough, then maybe he can find out, but that shouldn’t be his business.

“They’re often like that, don’t mind them,” Junghoon nonchalantly assures him. “If you need help or question about anything, do not hesitate to ask any of our cooks, as well as your fellow servers, arachi? We have each other’s backs here.”

The City That Never Sleeps is a name that can pretty much refer to any well-known city across the world. New York was probably the first. There are others like Tokyo, Madrid, Manila, Sydney, and Chicago. But here in Korea, they also have a few of their sleepless cities. For one, Seoul is a city that doesn’t think of sleeping, as do most businesses and parties taking place here. And for tonight, it is both here in Daewon’s new workplace.

The clock strikes at 6:00 in the evening, alerting all of the crew in the Kitchen to line up.

“Well, then,” Junghoon tells his entire crew. “We believe all of us are finally suited to start. Welcome to the Kitchen, everyone. Welcome to ModHaus.”

It’ll be a long night. One they can’t sleep on, especially if they don’t do an optimal job.

Daewon was just accepted at the company last week. At the age of twenty-six, he’s had enough work experience to make a living, but rarely any promotions to keep past jobs. Tonight at 6:50, the Kitchen has a lot on their plate to fill in, literally, thanks to its big event concerning the future of their head corporation in the next five years or more.

Daewon’s job isn’t restricted to anything, as he went from job to job in the past. Joining this company was a surprise for him too, as everyone else whom he’s now working with, but he’s here now. And he doesn’t wanna fail his employers or disappoint his colleagues. Whenever he’s waiting at the lobby with his two feet, he looks around the grand scenery of elites and financial giants in front of him. He can never imagine himself being one of them, talking to each other about shares and projects, complimenting or backstabbing someone based on their looks or laughing about their trivialities, at least as rich folks.

Taking place at the Grand Hotel’s Central Ballroom, the guest list of this event includes businesspeople, philanthropists, and celebrities across Asia and a few collaborators who flew all the way from America and Europe. Without a doubt, it is a luxurious event for its guests, but intimidating for the staff that prepared it.

A woman in a blue dress takes a glass of mocktail from a server. “Thank you.” After a sip, she faces the guest beside her, a man in a black and purple suit. “I hope you’re not having doubts about our collaboration tonight, Mister Kim.”

“Not at all, Miss Yoon,” Kim Chungho says to her with a suave and nonchalant temper. “ModHaus has been one of the top rising companies in Korea in the past four years! How can we miss such a wonderful opportunity to work with you? It’s an honor for us and our company to be invited here tonight.”

“So is ours, Mister Kim!” exclaims Yoon Seoyeon. “What you and your company have been doing with fast and high quality livestock production is something that our country needs more than ever. We’re more than grateful that you delivered our Kitchen with your best supply for tonight.”

“That’s our pleasure!” Chungho receives her compliment well. “But speaking of products, When will dinner be ready? I’ve heard nothing but praise about the cuisine made by your ‘Kitchen’ and honestly, I’ve been anticipating how you’ll be cooking our products… I even skipped lunch today!”

Seoyeon chuckles in disbelief. “Really now? Well, I don’t advice you or anyone to go through a diet like that, but I assure you that your wait will be worth—”

The double doors from the kitchen opened up and eleven servers came out to the seven tables in the lobby, with one of them being Daewon. On their trays appeared waves of uniform yet diverse plates of culinary marvels. From East to West, the first batch of cuisine arrives thanks to the ModHaus waiting staff, starting with the appetizers.

The heads, their secretaries, and their colleagues couldn’t help but take their eyes on the cuisines coming their way. Some mouths water and throats gulp at the sight and scent of food, both familiar and unfamiliar, yet all are appetizing to the senses of each guest who was waiting for their treats. Who wouldn’t be up for a free gala meal?

“Well, how about that?” Seoyeon remarks and her enthusiasm prompts her to request a microphone from a staff member to call all guests. “Attention everyone. Our main meals are ready to serve! To our company partners, all I can say is that I can’t wait to hear what plans and proposals you have for our new collaboration.”

Almost each and every guest slowly sat on their tables, if they weren’t already there to begin with. The servers welcome them with their plates and bowls with a smile before placing each plate of appetizers.

“Enjoy your meal,” Daewon says to a guest with a smile after placing their platter.

It turned out to be quite the formal event. Hosted by ModHaus’ CEO, Yoon Seoyeon, the Seventh HAUS Event begins today, January 4, 2031. This year, its guests consist of about eight heads, dozens of representatives and celebrities from companies, agencies, and affiliate groups across Asia who were invited for this gala at the Grand Seoul Hotel.

As Seoyeon had spoken to him earlier, Mister Park Chungho from Jeju State represents his Produce Domain and has been partners with ModHaus for over eight years as one of its producers of different fresh livestock and ingredients. Now a main supplier for this event, approximately 50% of the ingredients used in the kitchen were delivered by them.

“This is quite the event, Ms. Yoon. You should be proud of this achievement,” a tall and slender woman in a dark red dress tells Seoyeon from her seat, located on the opposite side of the long dinner table. Her elegant presence garners everyone’s attention inside the room, man or woman. “And that dress… You look smashing today!”

“Oh, it’s such an honor to hear that from you. The Fashion Queen herself!” Seoyeon laughs as she can’t help but feel flattered. “But I don’t think tonight would’ve been this festive and glamorous without the designs and decorations you provided us, Miss Zhou. They simply take after you.”

“Of course, they do!” With a giggle, the guest in red dress takes in Seoyeon’s compliment to heart. “They're my precious babies, and what better nursery will help them grow and fit in with local customers than ModHaus.”

Miss Felicia Zhou hails from China, representing the Qian Fashion Imperium, though she had spent a few years in Korea during her youth. Her family company was known for cooling down any tension between her nation and their more belligerent neighbors alongside their allies due to the supreme quality yet affordable and accessible clothing they design, produce, and sell to customers worldwide. A well-known celebrity herself, Felicia is known for her past as a talented, award-winning actress and model, until she stepped down to join her family’s business from the moment it first expanded globally.

“That’s some analogy,” another guest comments from Seoyeon’s side of the table while the two continue to have a laugh with their seatmates. But due to her shining bracelet, Felicia cannot help but surprise her attention with a compliment.

“Princess Bunraksa! Oh, that’s a beautiful bracelet you have,” Felicia exclaims with glee, reaching her hands to her wrist. “I don’t I’ve ever seen that from your latest collections.”

“Thank you, Miss Zhou,” the princess chuckles at her excitement. “It’s not there… Yet. But I have to thank Seoyeon-unnie because with our new partnership, our stores can finally unveil the latest releases for this year. And please, just call me by my Korean name, Sullin.”

“Princess… I mean, Sullin-ssi…” Felicia reaches to her hand with a warm smile. “You’ve made the right choice working with ModHaus and Seoyeon-ssi… I can’t wait for your new collection, and I assure you that word will spread out in a flash.”

Hailing from Thailand, Princess Pirada Bunraksa and her family owns one of the largest production of gems, other precious stones, and jewelries—which has been supplying and financing five high-class jewelry stores across Korea since February 2027. When the Thai Princess first joined her family business, she was already in Korea, having accomplished her term as an exchange student. She volunteered to handle the necessary transactions and make the partnerships to establish their first Korean branch in Incheon before expanding to Seoul’s Jongno Jewelry District due to popular demand.

Miss Natsumi Yamada from Japan represents her family and close associates, whose corporation pioneers in tech and robotics manufacturing. They first became partners with ModHaus in its second year as an entry-level company, before Seoyeon’s term.

Mister John Gonzales is one simple and hardworking entrepreneur from the Philippines who runs a company that started to export various native products in the past two years.

Lady Kim Yerim is a renowned Korean-British businesswoman who runs Velvet Sweets, a cafe and bakery franchise that recently took most of the world by storm due to its vast assortment of innovative, delectable, and irresistible pastries and caffeinated drinks that first caught the palates of MZ and Alpha customers since their first opening.

As ModHaus also emphasizes on the welfare of its workers’ well-being, they’ve become close associates with Doctor Lucas Tan from Singapore, who has been the head of one of the leading world healthcare and newer pharmaceutical companies since 2027.

Finally ending in the industry of comfort, Mister Nguyen Lahn from Vietnam runs and represents his family line's greatest exports: furniture and textiles, and they have been providing fashion companies like Qian with high class materials, while maintaining an eco-friendly means of production, something that ModHaus also strongly advocates.

All these eight heads of companies across the globe have chosen to collaborate with one of the largest and most influential companies in Korea and Asia for some of their latest line of products and upcoming programs. Daewon took turns with his six fellow servers between serving food and waiting for the chefs’ signal. While he could not understand every single detail of the long talk between CEOs and representatives, as if he is even allowed to listen to them and their matters to begin with.

“I’m thankful to all of you for attending this gathering,” says Seoyeon. “To some, if not most of the public, this may seem like any other ordinary gala where we just spend our money on drinks and amusements and there’s no doubt about that. But I would like to take this night more as a way for us to unite and harmonize our ideals and principles because we want to spend our resources on causes that are bigger than ourselves.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Ms. Yoon,” Chungho raises his glass to her and stands up from his seat in approval. “Since the beginning, I have never regretted my partnership with the company. I’m glad that things are going smoothly under your direction.”

Felicia stands up with her raised glass as well, agreeing with his sentiments about her friend and associate. “It’s our pleasure, Seoyeon-ssi. We know to trust you well in our projects, so all of us should thank you as well for believing in them.”

“To ModHaus,” Sullin joins the two in their joint speech. “The home of possibilities.”

Everyone else at the table follows the three vocal heads as a united toast, raising their glass with nods, smiles, and bows as they look up to the head of their new partnership.

Seoyeon raises her full glass with a smile, touched by the words of her partners and associates, old and new alike. She takes a breath and tells them, “To ModHaus.”

Moments later, they sit down and go on to take delight in their meals while they converse with their seatmates about much less serious talks and possible future partnerships—just as the clock strikes eight-thirty in the evening. The cue for the kitchen servers enter with their trays of various main course meals and pitchers of drinks.

“By the looks of it, tonight looks pretty much like an upgrade from last year,” Natsumi notices. Observing the room must have reminded her of the past company gala, which her seatmates have also been guests in. “I can’t believe how different and similar the ballroom looks now, if that even makes sense.”

Lahn shakes his head. “I’m pretty you said the same thing last year, Miss Yamada.”

“I can’t say I disagree with him, though,” Sullin bluntly voices her agreement. “But the way you said it gave off the wrong impression.”

“I never said it was a bad thing,” she retorts, playing her comment as nothing short of an insult to the event. “Come on, you two. Did y’all miss the word upgrade from me?”

“Seoyeon-ssi, I couldn’t be more thankful that you chose to sponsor Velvet Sweets,” says Kim Yeri. “Especially since I was still a newbie entrepreneur from overseas, it was really hard to find a company that we could trust here in Korea. Then you gave us a chance.”

“That’s nothing compared to how much you’ve helped us back then, unnie,” Seoyeon reciprocates her gratitude. “All of you have made ModHaus’ success possible.”

She puts her hand on her right shoulder. “I know this must be a lot of pressure, with all these responsibilities for you to carry, but I believe that Mister Han would be proud of you… With how far you’ve come. This company couldn’t have asked for a better CEO.”

= = =

Back in the kitchen, Daewon stands alone after his heavy lifting from earlier.

“Hey, new guy!” a soup chef, or potager, calls him from his station. “Daewon-nim, right?”

“Yes, I am, Seongsu-nim,” he politely answers. “Do you need any assistance, Chef?”

Just from his fingers, Seongsu looks fidgety. His tummy has been slowly boiling in the past hour, much like the soup he’s been cooking. It won’t be a pleasing sight for anyone. Thankfully, only Daewon seems to notice the potager’s weird and questionable behavior.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I do! I need it now!” Even from his voice, shaking can be felt, as his head must have been pouring sweat for some time. As if he’s holding in something for a while now. “You mind if you’d look over the soup for a bit? I just, I gotta go out for a bit…”

“Oh, okay…” Out of respect, the server has no other words but compliance. “Yes, Sir.”

“Oh, thank God!” Seongsu immediately takes off his apron and hands it onto the server. “This can’t wait. I gotta go—”

Daewon doesn’t bother asking him as the cook rushes through the kitchen’s back door. He is left in front of the boiling pot with no instructions. Time is running as is his fellow servers rushing in and out of the kitchen to serve any additional request from the guests in the lobby. With a familiar broth, the soup looks like it's almost complete. As he stares at the pot, Daewon gulps and puts on his colleague’s apron, staring at the cooking broth.

“Hey, Daewon-ssi,” a fellow server approaches his station. Thanks to the name tag on his shirt’s pocket, Daewon recognizes the person as Kim Chulwoo—another newbie like him. “Are the head’s special soup ready?”

Oddly enough, Chulwoo doesn’t even question why he’s there. “Ummm… I don't think—”

“Will ten minutes be enough?” he interjects a negotiation.

Dispirited by the pressure of the situation, Daewon can only mutter, “Well…”

“Okay!” he immediately answers, signing “okay” with his finger. “I’ll be back by then.”

Daewon begins his new work. Even if it’s not meant to be his station to begin with.

= = =

In the Central Ballroom, most guests have empty plates and bowls, occupied by their conversations about the countless cuisines they’ve just engorged in for the past hour.

“Oh my God. I can’t believe how good the food was,” Yamada shares with the rest of the guests with delight. “Compliments to the chef!”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Lahn adds. “They managed to nail the spring rolls. I don’t know if it’s the MSG or something but it’s just like gỏi cuốn back home! My family would love to have your recipe.”

“Our Kitchen has a minimum MSG policy,” Seoyeon bluntly declares. “So our recipe should definitely be more authentic than a lot of Vietnamese restaurants in Seoul.”

“Really?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure,” the CEO admits, yet she still embodies her confidence. “But whatever ingredients we use, our Kitchen never disappoints in making them authentic as they are, especially tonight. But since our main courses are almost finished—they may be less busy now, would you like to meet our chefs and ask them your questions?”

“Considering that our contracts have been settled, it would be our honor to meet them, Seoyeon-nim!” Chungho answers for the rest of the head guests, who nodded with him.

After a few minutes of relaying the message through text, two figures enter the Central Ballroom doors, akin to a dramatic entrance. Having taken off their aprons, Junghoon and Yubin confidently walk toward the table of the heads in their blue coats.

“Everyone, this is our head chef, Geum Junghoon, and our sous chef, Gong Yubin. For the past two years, they have been the two of our greatest cooks here in ModHaus”

“It’s such an honor to meet you two,” Chungho humbly shakes both of their hands.

“The way you placed the sushi and sashimi platter,” praises Natsumi. “It’s exquisite! You even decorated them so beautifully. I couldn’t decide on whether I should’ve kept staring at them or I should have eaten them all by myself.”

“It feels like I just traveled across several countries on this table,” Sullin imaginatively describes her experience to them. “Knowing how our fellow guests are also speaking highly of their native foods, I can’t help but commend your five-star cooking.”

“Oh, that means so much from you, Princess,” Yubin slightly bows out with her palms touching together in gratitude, like a prayer, which Junghoon follows at the same time. With her nod, Sullin chuckles and returns her wai as a form of appreciation to the chefs. “And we thank all of you for your wonderful words about our dishes.”

“But you look kind of familiar,” Lahn looks at the two with his squinting eyes. “Hmm… Actually both of you do.”

“We both partook in last year’s event,” Junghoon tries to help the guest remember. “If that’s ringing you any bells.”

“Yeah, that’s not it,” he shakes his head. “I don't remember meeting any good-looking chefs last year.”

“I don’t think your fiance will be happy to hear that if he was here, Mister Nguyen,” Seoyeon teases him.

“Or our kitchen managers,” Junghoon quips, making the other guests laugh.

“Are you saying neither of them are good-looking, Seoyeon-ssi?” Lahn defends himself. “I’m just saying that these two fine young chefs have a lot of potential to do more stuff outside the kitchens, you know? Have you ever considered getting them publicists or agents? They should get out there more often.”

“I second that!” adds Sullin. “That would help your own brand grow if you promote your Kitchen. Maybe Miss Zhou can even recommend some tips to you! Don’t you agree?”

Felicia seemed like she was staring at both chefs for a while. Either she’s mesmerized or perplexed at the sight of the two. Or both. “Of course, it would be my pleasure.”

Yubin adds insight to their suggestions. “Funny you should mention that…”

From outside the room, Daewon peeks through the door’s windows with his fingers crossed that nothing goes wrong. The table where his superiors are standing seems exuberant and joyous with their talks with the two star chefs.

“As much as I hate to interrupt,” an elderly guest taps the head chef beside him. “I would like to ask, where’s the special soup? I believe it has not yet been brought to my table.”

“Soup?” Junghoon wonders. “Are you perhaps referring to the clam chowder we served earlier? We still have a few more in the kitchen, but we can cook you up some more.”

“No,” the elder’s voice starts to sound more demanding. “ I didn’t like that thick soup. I asked the servers if the chefs could cook a soup that is more runny after our meal. That always helps with my digestion and I really need it...”

“Digestion?” Doctor Tan questions the older guest. “Perhaps you have medication?”

“Yes, I do,” he responds. “But it has been our tradition to have soup at the end of every meal. I assume you don’t have any problems with that.”

“I very much respect traditions, Mister Park,” the doctor elaborates his opinion. “But we advise patients to take their meds at least thirty minutes to an hour after they have a full stomach.”

“Doctor Tan has a point,” Seoyeon agrees. “Perhaps the soup can wait, Direct—”

“No, it can’t,” the old guest maintains his stubbornness, slowly raising his voice to the respectful doctor. “I’m not your patient. I can’t and won’t drink my medicine until I’ve had my soup. Now, where is it?”

“It’s okay, Doctor Tan,” Junghoon deescalates the “conversation” between the guests. “Mister Park, I’ll have the station cook in the kitchen follow it up right now.”

“I’ll handle it, Chef,” Yubin interjects, bowing to the guests before taking a walk towards the door, enclosing her right fist in a manner as if she's squeezing an invisible stress ball.

But just as when they need it the most, two servers arrive at the room. They surprise the guests with their presence while pushing a server trolley containing bowls and a pitcher of what seems to contain the anticipated after-meal soup of the night. “We apologize to everyone! Apologies, Mister Park, but we have your miso soup right here.”

“Finally!” exclaims the elder guest at the sight. “I can’t believe it’s taken you this long.”

“What were you doing?” Yubin whispers to the servers. “How long did they cook this?”

“The chef had an emergency,” the female server answers her with a hint of nervousness. “A server took over his shift and we didn’t know—”

“What?” Yubin’s eyes widen at the news, yet they maintain their sharpness. “Who?”

The server gulps at her superior. But just as she can answer the chef and while Junghoon helps with serving the rest of guests with their own bowls, they witness the reaction from the very guest who takes the first sip of soup. The one who requested it.

“What is this?” The elder is taken aback by the taste of the miso soup, shocking the chefs and confusing the rest of the guests. “Can I get the chef who cooked this soup? This is…”

“Is there any problem?” Junghoon asks the question his crew is too nervous to ask. They can only keep their fingers crossed—as the dead air only leaves them paralyzed in fright.

= = =

Minutes later, both chefs now returned to the kitchen. Yubin picks up the knife on the counter in front of her and throws its razor sharp blade straight into the cutting board. Her subordinates freeze and shudder at her wrath—which she fires straight at Daewon.

“You had one job, new guy! Just the one. It wasn’t hard, but you just had to be late when a major shareholder and former board member had requested his order for an hour!”

Despite knowing how he got there, Daewon blames himself, enduring the sous chef’s tiger-like roar at him while he looks down while her eyes are melting through his soul. Even if he tells the whole truth to her, it’s too late. He’s already taking in bullets to his heart and mind.

“Joesonghamnida! It won’t happen again,” Daewon repeatedly bows to the sous chef.

“Yubin-ah, this is his first day on the job,” Hyerin reprimands her. “Cut him some slack!”

“Consider himself lucky Mister Park didn’t snap like he used to,” Yubin hisses.

“That’s enough, Yubin-nim!” Junghoon silences the room with his raised voice while he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not Mister Park, nor any of the guests have complained. Yes, I know it wasn’t one-to-one with our standard recipe, they liked the soup with how it turned out. They said it was familiar... Authentic even. He was just surprised.”

“Joesonghamnida, Chef,” Daewon lowers his bow to them. “I thought I could handle the situation myself, but I didn’t tell any of you.”

Hyerin turns her head to the root of the issue, standing at the corner of the kitchen. “C’mon now, Seongsu-ssi. Why the hell did you leave him to cook your dish?

“Joesonghamnida, Yubin-nim. Joesonghamnida, Chef,” Seongsu bows at them quickly, mirroring Daewon’s actions. “I had a rough lunch earlier and it just suddenly happened. I didn’t know who else I could hand over—”

“Save it,” Yubin sighs, simmering down from her misplaced outburst. “It’s over. I’m not having any of this. The event’s over… I’ll meet all of you on Monday.”

Heading to the locker room, a quiet Yubin is the first chef to leave the kitchen to pack up.

“Make sure you drink your medicine, Seongsu-ssi,” Junghoon reminds his subordinate with a few taps on his shoulder. “But next time, tell some of the chefs to look over your station, not a server. Arasseo?”

“Ne. I will, Chef.” Seongsu bows. “Thank you for understanding, Sir. Joesonghamnida.”

“Daewon-ssi, we should talk for a moment,” Junghoon calls him just as he calls out to his left-hand woman, considering that his right-hand is no longer there. “Hyerin-ssi…”

Together with Hyerin, she and Junghoon had a word with the young server. A dispirited Daewon follows them, unable to think of any other way of how this night ends for him.

= = =

After about ten minutes, Junghoon exits the kitchen when hears an “excuse me” from the hallway. He turns around to see a familiar face slowly approach him. It's one of the eight heads who sat on the same table with Seoyeon. Fashion Imperium’s associate director— Felicia Zhou. He notices that she’s fixed herself, despite her enticing red dress standing out from earlier. Her hair is now tied and she’s holding a jacket around her left arm.

“I want to apologize for how Mister Kim reacted earlier,” she mutters. “I was aware of his behavior last year, and your crew must’ve been distressed if the same thing happened again. I hope that no one’s getting fired or anything for that matter.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Miss Zhou,” he eases her worry. “You didn’t do anything disrespectful, and my employees are doing much better now, especially compared to last year. From experience, Mister Kim still must’ve been constipated tonight that he was still craving that small bowl of miso soup.”

“That’s fair, because that miso soup was a great addition too,” she laughs at his remark. “You and your crew did a great job with the food.”

“I'm honored that an international celebrity enjoyed what we've cooked for all of you. It’s not rare for us to serve well-known guests, but it seems to be the first time everyone’s full from finishing their meals.”

“I might as well start dining in your restaurant if you keep that up,” she quips.

Both of them chuckle. Their eyes remain leveling at each other and to an extent, their souls. However, it feels as if there’s an invisible barrier that she’s trying to get through while she stares at him. She can't read anything from the man’s polite face. But she's a determined woman, so she holds in her hesitations…

“Geum Junghoon-ssi…” she says his name softly.

“Yes, Miss Zhou?” He seems unfazed when she calls him by his full name, something that only discourages her subtle intention. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Not really,” she doesn’t know what else to say, having lost hope about her assumption. “But I just gotta ask. Do you, umm… Remember me?”

It’s not just curiosity that fuels her to ask more questions to this man. This supposed “stranger.” For her, it’s more of a necessity that she hears him. Something is clinging inside her—clenching into her heart—one that won’t let go. Not until he answers her.

“Perhaps?” The chef still doesn’t know what she means. “Since Mister Nguyen also asked us a similar question earlier, have you attended last year’s gala, by any chance?”

“No, umm, but our previous president did. It’s my first time being invited to this event as an associate director of the company.”

“Well... I believe you may have mistaken me for someone else, since I was not the head chef at the time, but thank you so much for your compliment. My staff and I have been preparing the recipes for a week or two, so those words do mean a lot from someone in your position and reputation.”

Their uneasy atmosphere is drowned by the cacophony of noises from the kitchen. Junghoon hears the clattering plates and pans to rattling utensils being sorted out.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to head back to the kitchen and clean up.”

She lost her chance. “O–of course,” she stammers. “It was nice meeting you… Chef.”

Junghoon runs out of the lobby after a respectful bow in front of her. Downcast and confused, Felicia can only bow to him in response. She looks at him from afar. Their distance drifts with every second until he returns to the Kitchen… Not another word. Just a puddle of sorrow rising up and flooding into her heart.

= = =

Outside the hotel lobby, Daewon is back to his casual attire, a checkered polo shirt.

The driver rolls up their window. “Daewon-ssi,” Hyerin calls him. “Do you want a ride?

“Oh, no, no, no!” With his hands, he politely waves away her request. “You don’t have to, Hyerin-nim. I don’t live that far from here.”

“Oh really?” She wonders how far, but she intends to establish boundaries with him. “Well, okay... Stay safe. (waves) Na meonjeo galge!”

Hyerin drives off into the road. Daewon receives a text on his phone, prompting him to pull it out of his pocket. The bright screen lightens up his face with a soft smile. After a fifteen-minute walk to his neighborhood of Chuseon, Daewon meets up with his close friends in front of a nearby convenience store.

At a table, Ji Suhyeon and Lee Kyubok welcome him with celebratory midnight drinks. Suhyeon opens her first can of beer and drinks down her first sip for the night. Kyubok watches his friend with a laugh, before taking a sip himself.

“Yah! That must’ve been so hard for you, Daewon-ah. I wish I had told Kotone when it happened, but darn it! I had to extend my shift for the entire morning and afternoon, I couldn’t even use my phone to call her.”

“I’m fine, Suhyeon-noona,” Daewon calms her down. “It was sudden when it happened… And besides, Kotone-noona was busy interacting with the guests, so we couldn’t talk to each other the whole night, anyway.”

“Still,” Suhyeon groans. “She was the one who recommended you to this job to begin with. The least she could’ve done was tell you a little more details about what you were in for.”

Kyubok pats him on the back. “It’ll be better, Daewon-ah! Almost everyone messes up on their first day or week or month. It’s no big deal.”

Daewon sighs. “Ahh… So much for the ‘home of all possibilities.’ I didn’t even know that getting scolded on your first shift was possible when you tried doing the right thing.”

“Kyubok-ah is right, though,” Suhyeon points out. “It’s only your first day there. I’m sure they’ll understand. At least most of your heads do. Who knows if you’ll get a promotion after finishing that chef’s soup under pressure!”

“I’m just an ant working for those giants,” Daewon scratches his head. “It feels weird working there just tonight. I’m not even sure if it’s worth staying there.”

“I get how you feel. But ModHaus is like, the least corrupt company in Seoul,” she assumes. “At least that we know of. I believe that your crew will take care of you the longer you’re there. Just take it from Kyubok-ah and Kotone-chan.”

“I hope so,” Daewon feels like Suhyeon had just taken away most of his worries from him. “How long have you been working there, Kyubok-hyung?”

“About half a year,” he answers. “But you get what I mean, right? They have some nice and approachable staff. I’m sure the rest of the Kitchen’s no different.”

“Daewon-ah, come on now,” Suhyeon pats him on the back. “You did well tonight, okay? Don’t let some old, snobby, senile shareholder let you down because he got impatient for some digestion soup!”

“But Daewon-ah made that soup for the most part,” Kyubok points out to her. “That’s why he almost got an earful from that shareholder, no thanks to the actual chef who was supposed to be making it.”

“Oh… And I’m sure it tastes good. Probably even better than what that chef would have made!” she confidently remarks. “But my point is, I bet that both ModHaus President Yoon Seoyeon and Head Chef Geum Junghoon did their job to defend you through hell and back.”

“Chef Junghoon and Chef Hyerin-nim did speak for me during that moment, I guess,” Daewon recalls the scene from earlier. “But I don’t know much about President-nim.”

“You should start calling him hyung eventually, don’t you think?” she suggests.

“Hmm, maja!” Kyubok nods. “He was the first to consider Kotone’s recommendation of you, so I don’t see why you can’t be more informal with him one day.”

“Most of the staff were nice and considerate anyway, so I don’t think that’s necessary,” he tells them with a humble tone just before his memory catches up to him, making his eyes light up. “Well, maybe except for that one chef. His second-in-command. The sous chef.”

“Wait, I thought that Chef Hyerin was the second-in-command?” Kyubok gets confused by his statement. “She’s not the sous chef?”

“I thought she was,” Daewon clarifies. “But she’s only a chef de partie, and she was close with the head chef, so I assumed that she’s the sous chef.”

Suhyeon is shocked as well. “Omo, omo, omo. You already have a workplace rival? On your first night on the job? Wahhh, daebak… That must be some record!”

“How the hell did Yook Daewon, the kindest fellow in town, have a coworker who hates him? Do you want us to retaliate against him?” Kyubok adds. “If you want, Tone-chan and I can set up a prank at the cafeteria the next time we see that rude-ass douche.”

“Whatever that is,” a fourth voice answers him, walking up to their table. “I don’t wanna get involved in any more pranks or goofs, okay?”

“And speak of the devil!” Suhyeon calls Kotone out as the latter sits on the vacant chair. “Another late shift, eh? Daewon told me you’ve socialized with a lot of guests tonight. How’d that go?”

“Is someone getting a promotion soon?” Kyubok hypes up, though Kotone isn’t amused. “I’m surprised you even made it to the gala while our team was stuck with paperwork.”

“I don’t even wanna talk about it! And it’s not like my job was any easier up there,” she retorts. “But since we’re talking about work… Daewon, I can talk to her instead. Maybe she can directly apologize to you in your next meeting with Junghoon.”

“I appreciate the intentions, noona,” Daewon chuckles. “But you don’t have to… She might’ve just had a bad memory from Mister Park or something. Besides, I don’t wanna get fired the moment I get back by bringing it up again.”

“Oooooh…” Kyubok is intrigued by the new detail. “So, the sous chef is a woman then.”

Suhyeon grunts at him. “Why did you just react like that?”

A jolt of fear strikes not just Kyubok, but even the other two. “Like what?”

“Like that makes it okay if a woman just assaulted an employee…”

“Noona, I wasn’t assaulted,” Daewon reassures her again. “She just gave me an earful.”

“To a new employee?” she snaps. “What are you guys in, Culinary Class Wars? Hell’s Kitchen? That's unwarranted behavior from a superior if I have ever heard one.”

“Yeah!” Kyubok chimes in the hate train. “That doesn’t make sense. Who does that woman think she is?” He drinks up his can.

“A three-time award-winning chef,” Kotone nonchalantly brings up to them.

Kyubok spills the beer from his mouth like a tight faucet. “What the fuck?”

But Suhyeon remains unimpressed. “So is Geum Junghoon! But has he ever treated his own kitchen staff like shit? I knew Gong Yubin in college, too, you know? That wasn’t like her then!”

“Noona, are you alright?” Daewon senses it. She’s channeling her resentment elsewhere.

Suhyeon sighs in her own defeat. “Yeah… I mean, I don’t know. To be honest... I guess I just wanted a little break from home for just a night. You rarely get that around while raising a little bumpkin on your own.”

“How is Dongwon?” Daewon asks out of concern. “Did you find a sitter for her tonight?”

“Seoah’s taking care of her,” Suhyeon reveals. “She’s practically his aunt at this point.”

“You sure she’s okay with babysitting him all day?” Kyubok wonders. “She’s a sophomore in college now, isn’t she? That kid would probably have a lot on her plate by next year.”

“That’s what I said!” Suhyeon echoes with her slightly raised voice. “But she’s the one who insisted. She said it’s her excuse to see her ‘nephew.’ Yet, then again, if you think about it, she’s doing a much better job taking care of my own child than I am.” She puts her palm on her face and groans. “God, I’m a horrible parent, am I?”

“Yah… Don’t be like that to yourself,” Kotone comes to her defense, holding Suhyeon’s wrist and slowly pulling them down away from her face to assure her. “You’re doing your best as a mother, Suhyeon-ah!”

“Yeah,” Kyubok chimes in. “Especially if you have a kid to look after, I think that having a little me time ain’t that bad. Heck—If being here with us still makes you feel bad, I’m also willing to babysit Dongwon too!”

“So am I, noona!” Daewon joins them with enthusiasm. “I’ll find time outside my shifts. Don’t hesitate to ask me.”

“T--thanks, yeo--reobun,” she stutters. “I don’t know what I can do without you guys.”

“You should know we’re always here for you, Ji Suhyeon,” Kotone leans in for a hug. “Like you’re here, with us.”

Suhyeon can't help but be touched by Kotone’s remarks and the reassuring promises of her friends, she’s holding a few tears from pouring down her eyes. Despite living as a strong and caring single mother for the past three years, she didn’t always feel like she’s alone because of their presence and support.

“Just don’t drink too much!” Kyubok takes her empty can just before she can take a sip. “You’ve had enough cans for the night.”

“Oppa!” she tries to reach for the empty can, but it’s already on Kyubok's side of the table. “That’s not fair! That was only my fourth can.”

“Let Daewon drink some of the beers, too. He’s had a rough first night,” he snaps back.

Getting another empty beer can beside her, Suhyeon’s close friends witness the cylindrical aluminum container slowly get folded and crunched up by her palm with ease while her eyes remain its, instinctively evoking a gulp from Kyubok and a nervous laughter from Daewon. Kotone shakes her head while letting out a chuckle.

“I’m okay, hyung,” Daewon politely declines the offer, holding his cold and condensed unopened can. “I don't feel like drinking tonight. Here, Tone-noona, you can take mine.”

“Thanks, Daewon-ie,” Kotone takes the beer can from him. “Kyubok-oppa’s right on this one. I don't know if you’d like to have a hangover and beer breath in the morning while looking after Dongwon, but I don’t think this habit will set a good example for him.”

“Yeah,” Suhyeon sighs. Listening to Kotone's observation, she quickly cups her own hands and breathes into them to warm and sober up.

“You guys are right. What am I thinking? I should clean up in a bit. You guys better get home soon!”

“Ne, eomma!” Tone playfully answers her, igniting laughter from Daewon and Kyubok.

= = =

The following week has come since Saturday’s gala event. As early as eight to nine in the morning, employees run the office with their gossip, murmurs, and speculations about how the night had turned out. Considering how not everyone got the chance to attend such a grand event, most of the workers can only let their own imaginations run wild. Perhaps exaggerate an incident or interaction. Even if a certain rumor doesn’t have a grain of truth and fact that it ever happened, its “entertainment factor” is enough for them to talk about something and keep themselves motivated for the rest of the day.

“I heard there’s some spicy biz that night!” Miyu rushes to her deskmates in the coffee station. “Did any of y’all hear from the advertising team? Some of ‘em were really wild.”

“I did hear that some guests did it,” Suhyeon adds. “But there were some other things they managed to keep under wraps. You got any guesses on what it could’ve been?”

“Well, I don’t know if this is a big tea,” Chaeyeon whispers to them. “But Joonie-sunbae said that some server from the kitchen almost pissed off one of the board members—”

“Come on, Chaeyeon-ssi, you guys actually believe the advertising department?” Kotone interjects the talk between her colleagues, skeptical at whatever they were discussing. “I mean… If there was any tea that would’ve been spilled at the gala… I would’ve known.”

“Tone-yah!” Chaeyeon and the rest of her buddies get surprised. “Are you sure nothing scandalous happened at the event? You lucky dog… What are you not telling us?”

“At this point, I couldn’t care less whether their rumors are true or not, Tone-ssi,” Suhyeon whines. “Dang! I just wanna hear something extraordinary that might have happened last Saturday. A good office drama will keep us going for the rest of the year.”

“Believe whatever you want girls,” she warns them with a chuckle. “But save some of your tea for later. It’s time for lunch.”

“Tone-ssi… You’re really not telling us anything?” Miyu sounds like she’s pleading.

“Fine! I’ll tell you after lunch.” Kotone gives in to their desperation. “I don’t know too much gossip, but I know some projects that’ll definitely get you excited for the year.”

“Deal!” Suhyeon shakes her hand out of the blue.

Considering that not everyone at the company eats there during every lunch, dining at the ModHaus Cafeteria was not as grand or fancy as its events, but it is just as, if not more hospitable and relaxing to eat there, thanks to their Kitchen’s service and passion to cook up and serve excellent food. Open from Monday to Friday (sometimes Saturday), most of the residents and workers take their time dining while talking about how crappy or superb their day is so far. On some days, friends don’t even have time to eat together.

In the ModHaus Cafeteria, only twelve members of the staff are working at lunchtime.

“I hope it’s not a hassle for you to be working at this hour, Daewon-ssi,” Hyerin tells him. “I know this may be a sudden change in your schedule.”

“It’s okay, Chef,” the newcomer lightens up. “You and Head Chef Geum are the ones who gave me this offer. And it’s one that I can’t say no to.”

“You probably could have if you didn’t want it…” she points out.

“That’s true, Chef,” he nods. “Anyone else could’ve taken the promotion.”

“No. You deserve that promotion as much as anyone else, okay? You’ve proven that you can work under pressure” she defends him from his own misgivings. “Now, do you want us to regret making you an apprentice? Or do you want to prove yourself by learning?”

“I wanna learn, Chef!” He bows to her with enthusiasm, confirming his new position.

It is Tuesday afternoon when the Kitchen’s Head Chef Junghoon takes off his toque and the rest of his uniform, taking a break after cooking during the morning shift, leaving his most trusted crew to run it throughout the afternoon shift. Unfortunately, his usual hour of peace and relaxation becomes a state of confusion and discomfort the moment he sees the last face he expects to meet in this building.

The same woman who approached him outside the Grand Hotel’s kitchen. He can see her talking to her assistant. “I can take it from here, Yoojin. Use this company card to treat the rest of the teammates. Just like yesterday, arachi? Have fun!”

The latter bows to her and walks away from the cafeteria, while the woman follows him as she waves at him, like any other coworker who hasn’t seen their colleague in a while.

“Good afternoon, Miss Zhou,” he bows to her while holding his meal-filled tray. He tries to go on with his usual routine—but he feels the persistence of the woman from his past. Wearing glasses while in a business suit, she looks more or less distinguishable from her more revealing and standout attire since their last encounter, although she still manages to stand out on this one.

“I didn’t expect to meet you here, Chef Geum,” she follows him after falling in line and receiving her own tray of meals from the cafeteria line, only a minute after the chef got his. One of the perks of being beautiful, one would guess. Despite their distant meeting last week, her casualness is restored, showing her willingness to catch up with the man. “I really thought you’d be running a restaurant of your own, but now that I think about it, it makes more sense that you are the head of this cafeteria.”

He maintains his silence, while she keeps walking behind him. “Are you not with your team and colleagues, Miss Zhou? I just saw one of yours walk away just now.”

“I wanted to be more acquainted with this place myself,” she answers. “My team wanted to treat me to lunch, but I gave them my card instead so they could eat somewhere fancy outside... It's the least I can do on their first day joining my team.”

“Why didn't you go with them?” “Surely, a woman of your position would be more comfortable dining at a luxurious restaurant.”

“Is there anything more luxurious than The Kitchen who served us the most diverse and delicious cuisine at the gala?” she flatters, though the chef himself is not too amused. “If I’m gonna start working with ModHaus in person, I’d rather spend more time and get used here, my new home.”

“Well…” Junghoon reaches a vacant table. “Make yourself at home, Miss Zhou.”

She’s still in disbelief, yet deep inside, she feels that his behavior is nor unwarranted.

“Come on. Don’t you wanna talk about anything?” the woman becomes blunt with him, though she keeps her tone amiable. To his ears, however, her persistence is now starting to break through his clueless facade and his wall of politeness. “Do you really not wanna catch up, Mister Geum? It's been years since we’ve—”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Xinyu-ssi,” he finally snaps back, even with his low voice. Despite this sudden temper, he puts his tray on the table with no noise for others to hear.

Junghoon immediately realizes what he’s said to her. Xinyu’s eyes widened at the sound of her name. Not Felicia—but her native name. Aish… He thinks to himself with chagrin.

She freezes in shock and awe at his sudden response, even struggling to breath for a second until she mutters her next words. “So you do remember me… Junghoon-ah.”

In the man’s thoughts, he thinks revealing the truth to her would be enough to push her away and walk out of the cafeteria. Even though his heart is feeling the opposite, he just wanted his own sorrow to end. As selfish as his feelings may be, he does not know what else to do in dealing with this situation someone like him would not even imagine. Who knew she’d actually be back? She’s not the same person you knew.

“You were my sunbae in college,” he tells her bluntly. “How could I not remember you?”

“But that night,” she confronts him. “It was like you pretended that we were strangers.”

“We are strangers,” he keeps her pushing away. “Aren’t we, Zhou Xinyu-nim?”

Her heart keeps sinking, but she musters up to go on until she finds the remnants of the same man she used to know. “We used to know each other.”

“We did,” he maintains his coldness. “But I don't think that matters to you now, Felicia.”

She looks down as guilt clenches her heart. I’m guessing he remembers me… Everything about me. But deep inside, Xinyu wants to answer his hurtful remarks. However, just as she would’ve muttered another word, the harrowing silence between them was abruptly broken thanks to someone else’s interference. Another friend who somehow recognized her from back in the day. One who made her reminisce about the better days of the past, considering that the other didn’t when he saw her face once again.

“Zhou Xinyu-nim? Is that really you?” Out of nowhere, Kotone asks her with her mouth agape. Junghoon takes a seat on the corner of the table by himself, hoping to avoid any attention from what’s about to happen.

As she turns to see another familiar face, Xinyu’s reactions are beyond her control. “Omo… Kamimoto Kotone-chan?”

The two squeal as they unleash their joy and excitement. Junghoon cannot help but hide a snicker from the side of his seat. In this moment, he puts his strong emotions aside for the reunion that is unfolding before his eyes.

He's almost forgotten that he's not the only person who’s known Xinyu here from a personal level. Kotone looks at him, but he appears to be focused on taking sips of his soup. Surprisingly, her attire makes her look like anyone else. Everyone seems to be falling for her Clark Kent or Kara Danvers effect. For most workers, Xinyu is just a new employee who’s gonna bring nothing but annoyance, eye candy, or endless curiosities to them—at least in the meantime. Attention from everyone is the last thing she needs right now, so they join the head chef’s table to blend in the herds of corporate life.

“What are you doing here?” Continuing her conversation with the older woman, Kotone lowers her voice just as she takes a seat right beside Junghoon. “I thought you only went here for the gala event?”

Xinyu follows her move, taking the seat in front of Junghoon, as they continue talking. “I’m here to oversee the partnership between my company’s team and ModHaus.”

Kotone steals a glance at Junghoon, quietly taking a bite of a piece of tonkatsu and a spoonful of rice. My God, I can’t believe that things are still rough between these two. After six flipping years? She wonders, before looking at Xinyu once more with a bright smile as their conversation continues after joining the vacant seat on Junghoon’s table.

“Oooh…” Despite her position in ModHaus, Kotone’s formalities begin to drop around Xinyu, embodying the comfort and familiarity of their past as college friends. “How long will you be staying here then?

“Well, I don't know yet,” she humbly admits. “It depends on how our meetings will go... The heads preferred online meetings, but I proposed we also hold face-to-face meetings as well, so maybe I’ll stay here a little longer so I can check the progress of our project in person.” Xinyu takes a quick glance at Junghoon. He’s already halfway through his meal.

“I can’t believe the CEO of China’s top fashion brand is in our cafeteria!” Tone squeals.

“Please. I’m only the Associate Director of the Emporium,” she humbly corrects her. “That’s not even close to the Vice President... And come on, just call me unnie.”

Junghoon looks out to the rest of the cafeteria, noticing some employees trying to take out their phones and aiming their cameras. Thankfully, guards are there to moderate.

“Well… You never know, unnie,” Kotone embraces their renewed casualness. “This is a huge partnership between two of the greatest companies in Asia! If you keep it up, this may just get you promoted by the end of the year, don't you think?”

Xinyu chuckles. “That’s not really what’s on my mind, but we’ll see… For now, I’m just  helping out ModHaus with designing their next installment of clothing among other projects… And get in touch with some of our college buddies if I have time, of course.”

“Sure, you’ll have time!” Kotone hypes up her plans, despite its uncertainties. “And if you’re ever interested in taking a ‘trip down memory lane’ at our university, that can certainly be arranged. I know a few folks working there.”

“That would be great! I haven’t been at SSU in a long while… Wah, I wonder how much has changed here.”

“Oh, you have no idea, unnie. Just you wait.” She looks at Junghoon beside her with a raised eyebrow. “Yah! How about you, Chef Junghoon? You think you have the time?”

Junghoon is only chewing his food until the woman repeatedly taps his shoulder. “Huh…” He swallows and turns to her. “What?”

“Do you wanna tag along with us?” Kotone recalls. “We’re doing a tour of our university.”

“What for?” He steals a glance at Xinyu. She’s looking down at her meal, taking a bite of her salad. She doesn’t know how to face him either, especially not after he acted to her. Junghoon doesn’t know how to feel either. Kotone, on the other hand, is also far from amused by his blasé response to her nostalgic suggestions.

“What do you mean what for? she scoffs at his question. “For old times sake!”

“Who else will be there then?” He challenges her plan.

“Anyone else who we’ve met in college, who else?” she retorts.

“Are you sure this isn’t just one of your half-baked plans that you’re just coming up with now just to prove a point?”

Xinyu can’t help but laugh at Junghoon’s banter, but she prolongs her reaction to make herself look like she’s coughing instead. Kotone smirks at the two right after. Well, well, well… She thinks about them. Who knew? Junghoon shakes his head, but he still smiles.

“It will happen!” she insists to him, pointing a finger to both of them. “Just you wait... And I’m gonna have a good look on your faces once you’re back on campus.”

= = =

No matter how many times he avoided her, it seems that there's always a time and place where the two meet eyes and cross each other's paths. They’re now working in the same building after all. Hours become days. Days turn into weeks. He tolerates her countless persistence through the veil of her elegance and courteousness towards all the workers she passes by across the building, while she endures his attempts at often cutting their interactions short under the guise of the head chef’s busy mundane cafeteria schedule.

Regardless of their movements, the cats are out of the bag between these two. A former actress-and-model-turned-fashion-designer and a respected corporate head chef—only themselves and a few people are aware of their personal history. This game of hide and seek isn’t gonna end anytime soon.

= = =

February. It’s way past midnight on a Friday. The head chef had finished organizing and locking the kitchen by himself and is now making his way outside the ground floor of the parking lot to exit the building, considering the main entrance is closed during this hour.

A car stops beside him. He tries to look through the driver’s window out of curiosity, but it’s too dark to recognize anyone from outside. The driver rolls out their window to face Junghoon, revealing to be none other than Xinyu herself. “Where’s your ride?”

“I don't have any,” he bluntly tells her.

His answer confuses her. “What do you mean you don’t have–?” To the point that trying to make sense of it irritates her. A high-paying chef doesn’t own or drive a car? “Wait. Is this one of your excuses to avoid me again?”

“No, I’ve never had a car,” he tries to answer both her questions. “And I’m not avoiding you… I, umm, usually take a walk to the bus stop, if that’s what you’re wondering about.”

“The bus stop?” she scoffs in disbelief. “At this hour?”

“Yeah..? I don’t own a car,” he tells her, hoping it will throw her off and she’ll leave him.

Xinyu doesn’t know if she feels annoyed or dejected about his distance towards her. How he keeps pushing her away now. It didn’t matter because she feels both. In her heart and mind, the woman feels compelled to take initiative in this weird dynamic between them. It’s the least I can do, she thinks to herself. She sighs before looking back at him.

“Get in the car,” she tells him with a straight face.

That’s a response he doesn’t expect to hear from her. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll take you to your apartment…” she shakes her head. “I–I mean drive you there.”

“Thank you for your offer, Zhou Xinyu-nim, but I can still catch the bus.”

“Please don’t give me that honorifics crap, Junghoon-ssi. I’m not here to kidnap you… And besides, it’s already late. Do you really think you can still get a ride out there?” She looks down, hiding her sorrow towards him. “And besides, you don’t have to talk to me.”

Junghoon takes another look at the distance, down the streets. The stop had little to no bystanders. He takes a quick glance at his holographic wristwatch. It’s already 1:44 AM. She has a point. What am I thinking? Junghoon walks up to Xinyu’s car, to which she clicks a button, opening the door to the front passenger seat. But his hand reaches the door beside it, on the back seat. Awkwardness fills the air between the two, but Xinyu rolls her eyes and quickly opens the back seat door. Junghoon immediately opens it.

“Thanks,” is the least he could say to her.

“Don’t mention it.”

Driving outside the ModHaus Parking Lot, she can’t help but steal glances at the back seat through the rear view mirror. He’s looking outside the window. Even in the comfort of his seat, his posture is straight. A bit too straight. She feels the hint of discomfort from him, but his mostly blank somber face and silence tries to hide it.

“Where to?” she asks.

“It ain’t too far from here,” he explains to her. “But I can tell the address to the GPS, if that's okay with you.”

Xinyu clicks on the screen in front of her, activating its built-in digital assistant. He tells AI his address and within seconds, the route to the location pops up. She takes a look at the screen with a nod before easily shifting her gears and stepping on the pedal for this fifteen-minute ride.

He got a new place. Such thoughts begin to pop up in her mind. I mean, of course, he would. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal. She can’t help but be curious. Minutes pass, they leave the ModHaus Headquarters. The woman tries to get her mind and eyes off her passenger on the backseat by looking outside the window as she drives across Seoul. Certain memories resurface to her. Ones that put a still smile on her face. Simpler times.

The scenery makes her contemplate. “After all these years, Seoul still looks beautiful.”

“Aside from the bullet trains, brighter and more colorful neon lights, and noisier businesses on the streets, nothing much has changed if you look from a distance.”

“I know I can’t say the same about everything, but…” she smiles at the sight of Seoul. “I’m glad some things stayed, well, the same.”

“I guess some things did,” he concurs, taking another glance at her.

She sets her wheel to semi-autopilot, before taking a deep breath. “Can we talk..?”

“We’re talking right now,” he tells her.

“No, I mean talk about something else,” she continues. “Please…”

Junghoon himself sighs. There’s no energy of anger or resentment left for him, perhaps because that’s not how he mostly feels about Xinyu. Deep down, he feels tired. Tired of running away from her. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Just you know,” she pulls anything from her mind just to keep the conversation going. “How have you been?” She starts with the basics. Surely, that one will lead somewhere.

“I’m doing alright.” So much effort from that response.

“You didn't seem like you’re alright,” she snaps back.

“Well, not everyone gets happy days,” he confesses. “I’m sure you can agree sometimes.”

“I can,” she nods. “And you got a point. I guess I’m just stuck with the past and all…”

Such an answer sends a shiver down in his spine. “How so?”

“You're not as cheerful as you were… Not as optimistic as I knew you.”

“You really are stuck,” he scoffs. “Things change… So do people.”

She can only nod. “But hey… It seems you're doing great… You're a head chef now.”

“You also seem to be living a great life,” he agrees. “I guess it was worth it.”

Her nerve is also struck by his words, knowing what he means. “I guess it was…” she whispers, even though such a response is something that she isn’t sure she believes.

They arrive at Junghoon’s residence. A fifteen-story apartment in the middle of a quiet downtown neighborhood in Cheongdam, Seoul. At least it’s quiet this hour. While not the tallest within the block, it's the same height as most of the buildings alongside it.

Junghoon exits the car and bows to her with respect. “Thank you again, Miss Zhou.”

“It’s…” she bows to him, lowering her head from her seat. “No problem, Junghoon-ssi.”

He reminisces about who she was to him. Before the sorrowful memories. Before she left. The thought of her leaving again constricts his heart. Instead of letting his own past spite keep on pulling him into silence, Junghoon takes a deep breath.

“Xinyu-ssi…” he mutters. To him, it doesn’t matter if he’s shameless for calling her now. Let alone if he’s called an asshole for changing his tone when she kept on putting up with his attitude. Screw his own grudges. Screw his ego. Screw himself. At this moment, all his heart tells him that he just wants to see her again. Even if it’s for a second.

“Yes?” She halts the windows from rolling up, looking back at him with a hopeful gaze.

For a moment, Junghoon looks her in the eye. Yet his mouth hesitates to say something else. At least what he wants to say to her. Like any other sane person with a conscience, he wants to make up for what he’s done. For how he’s treated this person like a brick wall for days.

“Take care.”

Close enough. He still doesn’t know what to think of this. What to feel about any of this. Yet it already feels fifteen times better than how he treated her the last time they’ve met.

And so what else can Xinyu do at the moment? She lets out a smile the second Junghoon turns his back and enters the apartment lobby. The woman drives off away from him, yet not a second, could she think without thinking about what just happened tonight.

Entering his room, Junghoon looks through his window and sighs in silence, slowly unveiling the despair on his face in front of the silent and glistening lights of Seoul. Through the reflection of the glass, he sees a glimpse of himself at a time he rarely reminisces, at least at his own will.

Eight years ago.

= = =

so that's the prologue. if some may have gotten confused by the "cover" of this chapter, I'll just clarify that this isn't a harem story lol. but don't worry, I'm not stopping my one-shots and the other series because they're also w.i.p.s. I just decided to give a taste of this one. there will also be smut here, but right now, I'm setting up this series as it is. stay tuned and, as usual, tysm for the read. if you're a wav, don't forget to stream aya & a25! until next time. ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

[witchingwithscissors]

Agathario AU | She’s a single mom with a badge. She doesn’t do feelings—until Rio walks in. Words: 6,769 (hehe)

Thursday, 10:03 pm

Agatha had given up on pretending she was reading. The book lay open on her lap, one hand resting against the spine, but her eyes hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. The house was quiet in the way only houses can be when a child is asleep: every creak sharpened, every hum somehow louder.

The sound machine in Nicky’s room pulsed its soft static lullaby. The kitchen light glowed faintly in the next room. Agatha sat curled in the corner of the couch, long legs drawn under the flannel throw she’d pulled off the back.

Her phone vibrated against the armrest.

Rio: You still up?

A small smile tugged at the edge of her mouth. She didn’t answer right away. She just looked at it, like the letters themselves carried heat. They usually did, this late.

She replied.

Agatha: Yeah. You?

Rio: Of course lol Finished reports after a long phone call with my mom about Christmas plans already. Brain’s soup.

Agatha exhaled slowly, sinking deeper into the couch. Rio had a way of talking that always felt like the warm side of the pillow. Even through a screen.

Rio: Miss you…is that allowed?

Agatha let her head fall back against the cushion. Stared at the ceiling like it might have answers.

Agatha: I miss you too

She didn’t send another message. She figured that would be it—some late-night affection exchanged in coded softness. She’d close her book. Rinse her mug. Go to bed.

Her phone buzzed again.

Rio: Can I come over? Just to see you. Nothing wild.

Agatha looked toward the hallway. Nicky’s door was closed. The nightlight cast a thin gold stripe across the hardwood floor.

She read the message again. Then again.

Her fingers hesitated over the screen.

Agatha: Yes please

10:47 pm

The knock was barely audible—three light taps, cautious, almost reverent. Agatha was already at the door. She opened it without a word.

Rio stood there in the soft wash of the porch light, hair loose, her gray coat clutched shut with one hand. She looked impossibly good for someone who claimed to be exhausted—flushed cheeks, bare legs under a dark skirt, eyes heavy-lidded but bright.

“Hey,” she said, her voice hushed and already intimate.

Agatha stepped back and let her in. The smell of her hit immediately—perfume, rain, something floral threaded with heat. Agatha shut the door behind her and bolted it out of habit.

Rio unbuttoned her coat slowly and shrugged it off. Beneath it, she wore a fitted cream cardigan, unfastened just enough to show a hint of lace. Her skirt clung to her hips. Her thighs were bare.

Agatha stood a little straighter.

“You always look at me like that,” Rio murmured.

“Like what?”

Rio smiled, walked past her, and curled herself into the armchair like she belonged there. She crossed her legs slowly and looked up through her lashes. “Now you’re just staring.”

“You’re in my spot,” Agatha said.

Rio smirked. “So come take it.”

Agatha didn’t move.

Rio patted her own thigh. “Or sit here.”

There was a moment—a long, charged silence—and then Agatha walked forward. She didn’t sit. She stopped in front of the chair, standing between Rio’s knees.

Rio looked up at her, eyes bright despite the hour. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not,” Agatha lied.

Rio reached for her, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of Agatha’s black tank, touching the bare skin of her waist. Her hands were warm.

“I’m not here to push,” she said. “I just wanted to end the day with you. That’s all.”

Agatha exhaled, slow and shaky.

“I want you,” she said. Quietly. Honestly. “But I’m not sure I know how to do this. Not with a kid asleep down the hall. Not when I keep thinking I’ll mess it up.”

Rio’s hands slid higher, settling gently on her ribs. “Then we don’t do anything you’re not ready for.”

Agatha looked down at her—at the softness, the certainty—and nodded once.

Rio stood and kissed her.

It started slow. Soft mouths, tentative at first. Then firmer. Then messy. Agatha kissed like she didn’t know if she was allowed to, and Rio kissed her like she was determined to convince her she absolutely was.

They ended up on the couch. Agatha sat first, and Rio climbed into her lap with quiet purpose. She straddled her like it was the most natural thing in the world, her thighs pressing against Agatha’s hips, cardigan slipping from one shoulder.

Agatha’s hands hovered before they landed. One on Rio’s waist, the other braced against her own thigh.

“You okay?” Rio asked.

Agatha nodded. “Just figuring out how not to combust.”

Rio laughed and kissed her again. Deeper this time.

They kissed for long minutes, hands exploring slowly. Rio’s touch was confident, sensual without being rushed. She ran her fingers through the ends of Agatha’s hair, over the curve of her neck, along her collarbone.

Agatha’s breath hitched when Rio pressed closer, her skirt bunching around her thighs. She could feel her heat. Could feel her heartbeat. Could feel the way her hips moved ever so slightly.

“I want you,” Rio whispered. “But I’ll stop if you ask.”

Agatha cupped the back of her neck. “Don’t stop.”

She let her hands slip beneath the cardigan, palms brushing the soft skin at Rio’s waist. Rio arched into her, mouth parting in a quiet gasp.

It didn’t go further. Not fully.

But there were hands under shirts, under skirts. Soft groping. Mouths grazing necks and shoulders. Rio’s breath caught when Agatha sucked lightly beneath her jaw. Agatha’s body trembled when Rio’s palm slid beneath the waistband of her sweats and stopped, not pushing further, just resting there. Intimate. Trusting.

The restraint was hotter than anything else could’ve been.

Eventually, they stilled. Pressed close. Foreheads touching.

“I could stay like this all night,” Rio murmured.

“You should,” Agatha said.

Rio pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around both of them. She curled up against Agatha’s chest, one leg thrown over her lap, arm tucked between them.

They didn’t speak for a while. Just listened to the house breathe around them.

Agatha stared into the middle distance, heart still pounding. She wasn’t used to wanting this much and still having it be okay. Still having it held with care.

“You good?” Rio asked sleepily.

Agatha nodded, then said softly, “You make it hard to keep pretending I’m not.”

Rio smiled against her neck. “Then stop pretending.”

Agatha let her head fall back against the cushion and closed her eyes.

3:56 am

The alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but Agatha was already awake.

She blinked up at the ceiling, slow and heavy, disoriented in the way that only came from interrupted deep sleep. Her shoulder itched. The couch cushion under her hip was starting to go stiff.

And there was weight across her chest. Rio.

Still asleep, breathing steady against her. One arm tucked under Agatha’s black undershirt, her palm resting flat against her ribs. Her leg draped between Agatha’s, cardigan slipping off one shoulder. She smelled like sleep and shampoo and something floral Agatha couldn’t name but had started to associate with safety.

Agatha didn’t move.

She wasn’t used to people sleeping this close. Especially not to her.

She’d spent a long time building mornings around stillness. Around being alone. That was the whole point—no one in her space. No one to knock her off rhythm.

But now there was Rio. Warm. Breathing. Not hers, but here.

She could get used to it.

Agatha exhaled quietly. One hand moved instinctively, brushing a curl off Rio’s cheek.

Then the alarm buzzed at 4:05 am.

She reached for it fast, silencing it in under two rings.

Rio stirred against her chest, groaning softly. “Already?” she mumbled.

“Yeah.” Agatha’s voice came out thick. “I’ve got to be out by five thirty.”

Rio turned her face away from the light coming in through the slats. “That’s disgusting.”

Agatha smirked. “That’s my work schedule.”

“I thought you were exaggerating.”

They lay there for another breath. Maybe two. Rio’s hand shifted slightly beneath her shirt, brushing against Agatha’s stomach.

“You don’t have to go,” Agatha said, quieter.

“You’re sweet,” Rio murmured. “But you’re not ready for me in the kitchen with your kid. I get it.”

Agatha didn’t argue. She couldn’t. Because Rio was right.

Rio sat up slowly, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Her hair was a mess. She pulled the cardigan tighter over her bare legs, then looked down at Agatha with a small, half-smile.

“You’re a furnace,” she said, rubbing her hand across her neck. “I’m leaving before I melt.”

Agatha reached for her wrist. “Hey.”

Rio paused. Looked back at her.

Agatha sat up and kissed her. Nothing elaborate. Just real. Lips against lips, warm breath, morning taste. Rio kissed back with something like focus—brief, deliberate, but soft around the edges.

When she pulled back, she touched Agatha’s chin once before standing. “Shower,” she said. “I’ll see myself out.”

Agatha moved through the shower quickly. She didn’t linger. But her mind kept cycling through the shape of Rio’s body pressed against her. The stillness of it. The weight.

She dried off, dressed, rubbed her hands over her face, and stepped back into the hallway barefoot. The living room was empty. The blanket still smelled like her.

The kitchen smelled like coffee.

Her favorite mug was already out on the counter—red ceramic, chipped at the lip. The one that said TOUGH GIRLS DON’T FLINCH. Oat milk sat beside it. The filter was full.

On the island: jeans, a fresh black tee, flannel folded with the sleeves already rolled, her badge set on top.

Agatha stared at it for a long moment.

Rio had done it like she knew her. Like she knew how to move through her space without disturbing it.

She poured the coffee and took a slow sip.

Then she looked at the fridge.

The trout magnet was gone. That dumb carved thing. Crooked smile, half the varnish chipped off. Nicky had found it at a yard sale and refused to let it go. “He looks like he wandered into the wrong house,” he’d said. “So we should let him stay with us.” So she paid a buck for it.

Now it was gone.

Agatha didn’t have to guess. She knew exactly where it had gone.

Her phone buzzed.

Rio: Made it home. Text me your lunch order, I want to eat outside today.

Agatha stared at the message for a second.

Smiled as she typed.

Agatha: Don’t you need a warrant to seize property?

Rio: You’ll never take me alive!

Agatha didn’t reply. She just stood there a little longer, hand around the mug, feeling how quietly Rio had gotten under her skin.

4:45 am

She knocked on the edge of Nicky’s door, then let herself in.

The room was mostly dark. The blue nightlight cast slow, moving stars across the ceiling. His blanket had fallen halfway off the bed. He was curled tight around Spider-Man, knees to his chest.

“Hey,” she said gently. “Time to get up, kiddo.”

He grunted. Didn’t open his eyes.

“Waffle day,” she said.

“Mmmnngh.”

“That’s not a real word.”

He rolled over, hair sticking up at all angles. “Is it Saturday?”

“Nope.”

He peeked at her, half-suspicious. “Why’re you smiling?”

Agatha blinked. “I’m not.”

“You are. Like… you had a good dream.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand over his hair. He yawned into her arm.

“I did,” she said. “But I’m not telling you about it.”

“Was it dinosaurs?”

“Definitely not.”

Nicky looked at her again, then flopped dramatically onto his back. “Okay. Waffles. But only if there’s syrup and no crusty stuff.”

“Yes, sir.”

She stood, fixed his blanket, and paused at the doorway.

She didn’t look back.

But she thought—just for a second—about what Rio might’ve looked like sitting at their table. Coffee in that chipped mug. Hair up. Quiet. Probably smirking while trying to pretend she didn’t overhear Nicky’s breakfast order.

Then she shut the thought down. Too early for that.

Her phone buzzed again on the kitchen counter.

Rio: Can’t stop thinking you btw. Might come in early just to annoy you.

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

She just pressed her fingers to her lips. Then picked up her badge, slung on her flannel, and walked out the door—heart quiet, but not empty.

She was learning how to leave space open.

Even for someone who’d already slipped in.

Three weeks ago.

The coffee machine was wheezing like it had something to prove. It let out one last sputter and clicked to a stop, releasing the unmistakable scent of burnt beans and something vaguely metallic.

Agatha poured anyway. She held the station’s paper cup steady as the brew dripped in—black, no sugar, no cream.

The break room was half-lit—one bulb flickering above the fridge, casting a pale, sickly glow across the floor. A fan rattled somewhere behind the vending machine. She could hear the low murmur of voices down the hall and the faint slap of boots on tile.

But in here, it was quiet.

She liked the quiet. No one asking about her caseload. No one bringing up Nicky’s school drop-offs or how tired she looked. Just old linoleum, hums and rattles, and a coffee machine that didn’t ask questions.

She braced one hand on the counter and rolled her neck, slow and tight. The tendons along her collarbone pulled with a dull, familiar ache. Third night in a row without more than five hours of sleep. The house had been cold again this morning—radiator still rattling like it hadn’t decided if it wanted to work. Nicky had refused toast, so she caved and grabbed him a Pop-Tart from the gas station. And since she was already late, she shoved a chocolate donut in her mouth in the parking lot before walking in.

This morning had been a morning.

The door creaked open behind her. She didn’t turn.

“Morning,” came a voice. Female. Smooth, but not overdone. A little husky. Like someone who actually used their voice for things.

Agatha turned just enough to see her. She didn’t recognize her right away, but she didn’t need to. The woman was clearly federal. She had the relaxed, well-paid posture of someone who hadn’t been chewed out by a precinct lieutenant in a while. Blazer, dark jeans, boots that were scuffed but expensive. Hair pulled up into a clip. Makeup. A badge clipped clean to her hip.

“Detective Harkness, right?” the woman asked.

Agatha nodded. “That’s me.”

“I’m Rio Vidal. Fentanyl task force. They just stuck me on with Hart’s team.”

Agatha had heard the name. A few people had mentioned it during shift change—“The one from Washington,” someone said. “She’s sharp. Real calm.”

Agatha hadn’t thought much of it. Transfers came and went.

But this one had a presence.

Rio opened the fridge like she’d done it before. Her movements were smooth, efficient, not the awkward fumble of someone trying to play it cool. She pulled out a canned coffee and turned back toward Agatha.

“You always drink it black?” she asked, nodding to the cup in Agatha’s hand.

Agatha shrugged. “Easier.”

Rio raised her own can in salute. “I get that. I went through a black coffee phase in Quantico. Got mistaken for a sociopath for six months.”

Agatha smiled faintly. “That tracks.”

Rio grinned. “Harsh.”

“You asked.”

They both took a sip. The room hummed between them.

Rio leaned against the opposite counter, mirroring Agatha’s stance. But she didn’t crowd. She left the space between them untouched.

Agatha clocked the way she stood—weight on one leg, hip barely touching the drawer beneath her. Not trying too hard. Comfortable without slouching. Her shoulders were relaxed, but her eyes weren’t drifting. They stayed focused. Present.

Agatha cleared her throat. “You settling in okay?”

“So far. The briefings are long, and the bathrooms smell weird, but otherwise, yeah.”

Agatha snorted without meaning to. Short. Loud.

The sound bounced off the tile before she could swallow it down. She winced.

Rio blinked once. Then smiled slowly. “Was that…?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on.”

Agatha’s ears warmed. “It was a sound.”

“It was a snort.”

“It was involuntary.”

“Even better.”

Agatha shook her head, but the edge of her mouth curved. She didn’t laugh like that often. Not at work.

She took another sip of her coffee. Let the heat center her.

“I caught your notes on the warrant,” Rio said. “The one from Tuesday.”

Agatha blinked. “You read that?”

“I read everything. Old habit.”

“Most people skim.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who likes being skimmed.”

Agatha didn’t answer that. Just sipped again.

Rio shifted her weight slightly. “You’ve been here a while?”

“Long enough.”

“People seem to listen when you talk.”

Agatha raised a brow. “I don’t talk much.”

“Exactly.”

She should’ve bristled at that. But Rio didn’t say it like a judgment. More like… admiration. Like she respected it.

Agatha looked at her again. Slower this time.

Rio’s expression wasn’t flirtatious. It wasn’t challenging. It was curious. Open in a way Agatha wasn’t used to—not here, not anymore.

“You asking me something, Agent Vidal?” she asked.

Rio didn’t flinch. “Just testing the water.”

“Careful. It’s cold.”

“I can handle cold,” Rio said. Then, after a beat: “You watch basketball?”

Agatha blinked. “Used to.”

“I’ve got Knicks tickets this weekend. Box seats.”

Agatha stilled.

“Was gonna offer one to my cousin, but he flaked,” Rio said. “Figured I’d ask if you were interested.”

“That’s a pretty expensive maybe.”

“I like good company.”

Agatha tilted her head slightly. “Are you offering me a ticket… or a date?”

Rio’s smile tugged at the corner. “Would it be weird if it was both?”

Agatha didn’t look away. “You always ask people out over burnt coffee?”

“Only the ones who look like they need a night out.”

Agatha gave her a slow blink. “You’ve been here five minutes.”

“I’ve asked around.”

That made her stiffen. “About me?”

Rio held up a hand. “Not in a weird way. I just… paid attention.”

Agatha nodded, slowly. “You trying to vet me?”

“No,” Rio said, her voice low, with just a hint of a smile. “I just didn’t want to be that girl—flirting with someone’s partner at work.”

Agatha opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Rio grinned. “But there’s no ring. No photos on your desk. No ‘sorry, I have plans tonight.’ So I figured maybe you’re single. And maybe—” she paused, biting the corner of her lip, “—you’d let someone like me take you out.”

Agatha let out a slow breath.

Then, quietly: “I don’t really date.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ve got a lot going on.”

“I figured.”

They were quiet for a long second. The fridge kicked on again with a low hum. The coffee in Agatha’s paper cup had gone lukewarm.

“I don’t expect anything,” Rio added. “I just think you’re interesting.”

Agatha stared at her.

That wasn’t what people usually said.

Most people wanted charm. Or convenience. Or someone to lean on.

But interesting?

“I’ll think about it,” Agatha said.

“Good,” Rio said. “It’s a good game. You’d like it.”

She pushed off the counter. Tipped her coffee can in salute.

“Oh,” she said at the door. “You like beer?”

Agatha raised an eyebrow.

Rio smiled. Then she was gone.

Agatha stood there, alone again, the silence pressing soft around her.

She looked down at her coffee. Took one last sip.

Still burnt.

Still better than most things.

The weekend came. Babysitter booked. Outfit picked out. Nerves buzzing in her boots.

Agatha showed up early—not that she’d admit it. She sat inside her parked car, spine straight against the leather seat, coat buttoned to the collar, hands on the wheel. Just a date. Just a basketball game. Just a Friday night she’d already said yes to.

She swore she wasn’t nervous.

But her shoulders sat higher than usual, and her stomach had the restless edge of a day that had started long and refused to end quietly.

The streetlamp overhead flickered once. Across the lot, the station’s windows glowed dull yellow. Familiar. Fluorescent. Safe in the way routine always was.

Then the passenger door clicked open.

“Hey,” Rio said as she slid in, the faint scent of citrus and something warmer—sandalwood, maybe—trailing in behind her. She wore dark jeans and a bomber jacket, her hair pulled back and loose at the crown. There was something confident in her posture, the way she settled into the seat without hesitation. Like she belonged there.

“You’re early,” she added, glancing at Agatha.

Agatha shifted slightly behind the wheel. “So are you.”

Rio smiled, not wide, but with easy amusement. “We’ll call it punctual. Points for discipline.”

Agatha started the engine. “Seatbelt.”

“Always.”

They slipped into the city like a rhythm they hadn’t rehearsed. Traffic bled into tunnels, the skyline sharpening ahead in the dusk. Rio adjusted the air vents with one hand and fiddled with the radio until she landed on a sports station. Then she settled in, elbow against the window, legs crossed at the ankle.

“You always this quiet?” she asked, not accusing—just curious.

Agatha kept her eyes on the road. “When I’m driving.”

Rio nodded once. “Makes sense. You’ve got that ‘in control’ thing.”

“I am in control.”

“Exactly,” Rio said, flashing another grin. “You don’t bluff. It’s hot.”

The Garden loomed ahead, loud with light and people. As they joined the stream of bodies flowing toward security, Agatha instinctively placed a hand on the small of Rio’s back, guiding her gently through a cluster of college-aged boys in matching jerseys. Rio glanced at her but didn’t say anything.

Inside, the scent of popcorn and beer clung thick in the air. The arena buzzed—footsteps, music, announcements, the rising electricity of a crowd waiting to be fed.

Their seats were better than Agatha expected. Private but close, a clean view of the court with enough distance to feel safe. She sat with her coat still on, legs square, eyes scanning exits, stairwells, potential crowd pressure points.

Rio dropped into her seat and stretched out, arms resting on the chair beside her.

“You should try watching the players sometime,” Rio said, nudging her boot gently. “They’re kind of the point.”

“I am watching.”

“Uh huh.”

But she didn’t tease further. She just leaned back, relaxed and humming along with the pregame music.

Agatha let her shoulders settle by inches. The lights dimmed. The crowd rose. And the game began.

The first quarter passed in a blur of sneakers, whistles, and back-and-forth momentum. Rio narrated under her breath—quick analysis, soft curses, sharp observations about the team’s defensive gaps. Her leg bounced when the score got close. She sipped from her water bottle like it gave her something to hold.

Agatha found herself watching her mouth more than the game.

“You want something?” she asked during a timeout.

Rio blinked. “Huh?”

“Drink? Food?”

“You’re offering?”

“Yeah. I’m getting up anyway.”

Rio considered, then handed her a twenty. “Popcorn and a Sprite, please.”

Agatha stood, sliding the bill into her pocket. “I’m not bringing change.”

“I’ll let it slide if you bring back the good kind of napkins.”

The concession line moved slowly. Agatha adjusted her collar and stared at the menu board, half-reading. She wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t like the pause in motion. Stillness made her think. She didn’t want to think too hard tonight.

When she returned, Rio was slouched in her seat, legs stretched long, scrolling through her phone. She looked up and grinned.

“Mission accomplished?”

Agatha handed over the drink and popcorn. “No napkins left. You’ll survive.”

Rio gave her a look of mock horror. “Sabotage on the first date?”

Agatha shrugged. “Building trust.”

Rio took a sip, smiled into the straw. She nudged the popcorn toward her. “Try some. If it’s terrible, I’ll take the fall.”

Agatha reached in and pulled a few kernels free. Salt clung to her fingers.

They sat like that for a while—eating in tandem, watching the game, shoulders brushing when they both leaned in at the same time. The contact was incidental. Natural. But Agatha didn’t shift away.

“You were a basketball kid, weren’t you?” Rio asked during halftime, picking at the kernels.

Agatha nodded. “Defense. I didn’t shoot well.”

“Big guard energy.”

“I fouled out a lot.”

Rio laughed. “I bet you were scary.”

Agatha smirked. “I was twelve.”

“Exactly.”

There was a beat.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Rio added.

Agatha looked over. “I almost didn’t.”

Rio blinked. Then smiled slowly.

In the third quarter, the Jumbotron found them.

Agatha realized too late—Rio pointing upward, wide-eyed.

“Oh no,” she said, leaning in fast. “Do not kiss me. I will cause a scene.”

Agatha froze, unsure whether to laugh or panic. Then, awkwardly, she lifted her arm and draped it behind Rio’s seat. Her fingers brushed Rio’s shoulder before finding the top of the chair.

Rio smiled up at her, her head tucked near Agatha’s collarbone. The camera moved on, but Rio stayed there. A little longer than necessary.

Agatha’s hand didn’t move.

The Knicks pulled ahead by eight, and Rio started whispering play predictions under her breath. Agatha nodded along, more amused than invested. She liked the way Rio talked to the court like it could hear her. She liked the way her fingers tapped against the cup between plays.

They left before the final buzzer.

The city outside was colder now, the streets damp and reflecting gold.

“Halal cart?” Rio asked.

Agatha blinked. “Now?”

“It’s tradition.”

She pointed across the street to a food cart steaming under fluorescent light.

Agatha gave in with a sigh. “Fine. But I’m not sharing.”

They stood on the curb eating out of foil containers, steam rising between them.

Rio blew on a piece of lamb and said, “This might’ve just become a top-five date.”

Agatha glanced sideways. “You keep score?”

“Of course I do. I’m competitive.”

“What’s your worst date?”

Rio grinned. “Blind sushi tasting because I’m allergic to shellfish. Got hives on my neck. Very sexy.”

Agatha huffed a laugh. “What about best?”

Rio chewed, thoughtful. “Toss-up between this and a stargazing thing I did in Maine once. But you’re winning on popcorn points.”

Agatha dipped her head, not smiling exactly—but close.

The drive back was quiet.

Not silent. Just… full of the kind of calm that lingers after good company. Rio rested her head against the window, legs curled under her. Her voice was softer now when she spoke.

“I had a whole script,” she said. “Lines. Questions. Jokes I thought would land.”

Agatha glanced over.

Rio smiled, not looking at her. “You kind of threw me off.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m not complaining. It’s just—refreshing. You’re not trying to be charming.”

“I’m not.”

“I know. And that’s kind of the point.”

Agatha let that settle.

At Rio’s apartment building, the street was empty. A light above the door flickered. Agatha shifted into park but didn’t kill the engine. Rio unbuckled her seatbelt but didn’t move to open the door.

“Can I kiss you?”

Agatha nodded.

Rio leaned in a little too fast. Their noses bumped.

“Shit,” Rio whispered.

Agatha laughed, low and surprised.

“Reset,” she murmured, then reached up and cupped the back of Rio’s neck, steadying her.

The kiss was soft. Lingering. Warm without being urgent.

When they pulled apart, Rio rested her forehead against Agatha’s for a moment.

“You really are a teddy bear,” she whispered.

Agatha sighed. She waited until Rio disappeared inside. Then sat for a moment longer.

The air inside the car still smelled faintly of popcorn and citrus. Her shoulder was warm where Rio had leaned.

One Week Ago

Agatha didn’t knock. She sent a short text—“Here”—and stood beneath the rusted porch light with her hands in her jacket pockets, as if still on duty. Her boots were already damp from the sidewalk, a slick film of late-spring humidity clinging to the evening.

A moment later, Rio opened the door barefoot, a wooden spoon in one hand and a hair tie clamped between her teeth. Her hair half-up and uneven, hoops catching what little light filtered from the kitchen. She looked surprised to see Agatha standing there so still, like a figure sketched against the doorway.

“I was gonna put on socks,” Rio said, tugging the tie free. “But I figured it’s past that point.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “You cook like that?”

Rio shrugged. “Multitasking is a lifestyle. That a problem, Detective?”

Inside, the apartment smelled like something warm—garlic, ginger, a whisper of spice thickening the air. The lighting was soft, half the bulbs out by intention. Books lay in irregular stacks, the throw blanket draped over the couch looked like it had been used in earnest, and a pie perched like royalty, cooling in the windowsill.

Agatha unzipped her coat and toed off her boots. “You live like a college student with some taste.”

Rio grinned. “That’s the dream.”

They ate on the couch—Agatha with her legs drawn close, Rio sitting cross-legged with one foot tucked under her thigh. The sauce had just enough heat to sneak up on the second bite. Agatha dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin and realized, too late, that she’d already folded it into a tight square.

“You always do that?” Rio asked, nodding at it.

Agatha looked down. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

After dinner, they cleaned up without ceremony. Rio hummed while rinsing the plates, Agatha drying with a towel that said “I LICKED IT, SO IT’S MINE” in faded embroidery. When they returned to the couch, a bad procedural played silently in the background—overlit and full of actors trying too hard to look serious.

Rio sank into the cushions with a dramatic sigh. “There’s no way she’s chasing a suspect in four-inch heels.”

Agatha studied the screen. “She hasn’t blinked in two minutes.”

“TV’s version of intensity.”

“Or dry-eye syndrome.”

Their laughter felt unpracticed but clean. Like air after a storm.

Rio leaned into Agatha’s side gradually, like testing the weight of her against the silence. When her shoulder settled into Agatha’s, she let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh.

Agatha let her arm rest behind the couch but didn’t make contact. Not yet.

“You ever let people touch you without a reason?” Rio asked, not looking at her.

Agatha shifted. “What counts as a reason?”

“Helping someone up. Breaking a fall. Pretending to flirt at a wedding.”

A pause.

“I guess I mean… do you ever let someone touch you just to be close?”

Agatha’s throat tightened before she spoke.

“Not often.”

Rio didn’t flinch. “Okay.”

And that was it. No follow-up. No disappointment. Just space.

Agatha breathed in slowly, the scent of Rio’s hair—lavender and something else, maybe cinnamon—rising softly.

“You know you’re hard to read, right?” Rio said after a while, still curled against her.

“Everyone says that.”

“You think it’s a compliment?”

“It’s a defense.”

Rio nodded. “Yeah. I get that.”

She shifted slightly, her thigh brushing against Agatha’s. The contact sent a pulse through Agatha’s chest that surprised her—not because of the sensation, but because of how welcome it was.

“I like trying to figure you out,” Rio added. “I just… like seeing you. Like this. In real time.”

Agatha exhaled. Her arm finally dropped from the couch’s edge and rested—gently—around Rio’s waist.

Rio smiled into the space between them.

“Teddy bear.”

Agatha groaned. “You’re going to keep calling me that.”

“Yup.”

Later, they curled together without much fuss. Rio pulled a knit blanket over both their legs, her bare feet cool against Agatha’s jeans.

“I’m still figuring out what I want,” Agatha admitted. “That’s not code for go away. It’s just… honest.”

“I don’t mind,” Rio said, brushing her fingers along Agatha’s wrist. “I’d rather figure it out with you than try to guess from the outside.”

The line could’ve been rehearsed. But it wasn’t.

Agatha knew the difference. She always had.

The kiss came slow, but it wasn’t hesitant. They moved toward each other like they’d already done it a dozen times in dreams.

Agatha’s mouth was warm and certain. Rio tasted like cinnamon gum and something earthier underneath. Their breathing fell into sync before either of them noticed. Rio’s hand slid beneath the hem of Agatha’s shirt. Her touch wasn’t searching—it was gathering. Like she wanted to learn skin by memory, not hunger.

Agatha leaned into it, letting herself be held. Not as a question. As an answer.

When they pulled back, there was no rush to speak.

“You feel like something I wasn’t expecting,” Agatha murmured.

Rio smiled. “I’m okay with that.”

They sat that way for a long while—legs entangled, hearts not quite in their throats but not resting either.

Outside, the wind picked up. A bottle clinked against the curb. On the screen, the detective caught her suspect. In heels. Without blinking.

Agatha didn’t even pretend to watch.

Eventually, she stood to leave. She didn’t say why. Didn’t have to.

Rio walked her to the door, still barefoot, still glowing in that quiet way that wasn’t about light at all.

Agatha paused with her hand on the knob.

She almost said: I have a kid.

She almost said: I haven’t let someone kiss me like that in years.

She almost said: You’re going to matter to me if you don’t stop.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she looked at Rio—barefoot, bright-eyed, steady as ever—and said, “Thank you. For tonight.”

Rio leaned up and kissed her jaw. Just once.

“You’re welcome. I hope it wasn’t just my cooking talking.”

Agatha smiled, soft and real. She let herself hope for a third date.

Wednesday, 11:57 am

The break room smelled like scorched beans and bleach wipes. Agatha stood by the counter, watching the old coffee pot drip like it owed her something. She wasn’t tired, exactly. Just… on edge. Like her body was running ahead of her thoughts.

Rio walked in and didn’t speak right away. She reached for a paper cup, poured from the same half-burnt pot, and stood beside her like it was routine.

Agatha didn’t look over. “You still good for tonight?”

Rio sipped. “Unless you’re bailing.”

“I’m not.”

Rio smiled. “Didn’t think so.”

They stood there a beat longer. Not close, not touching, but aware of each other.

“Should I be nervous?” Agatha asked.

Rio took another sip. “I’m still not telling you where we’re going.”

“Then yes.”

Rio bumped her shoulder lightly. “You’ll survive.”

Agatha didn’t smile.

But she didn’t move either.

7:14 pm

The theater was a record store basement with mismatched chairs and a painted cardboard set. A sign read “Antigone, Kinda.”

Agatha looked at Rio.

Rio raised a brow. “Trust me.”

Agatha sat down.

The first scene involved two men arguing over a pomegranate and shouting about social decay. The second act included a woman in roller skates monologuing about Zeus.

Agatha sat stiff in her seat, arms crossed. Rio, beside her, was clearly trying not to laugh.

When the fourth wall broke—again—and the actor crawled into the audience, Agatha leaned in.

“We’re leaving.”

Rio didn’t argue. Just stood, grabbed their coats, and followed her out.

The bar they found was quiet, tucked between a corner deli and a laundromat. It smelled like beer and wood polish, and the bartender barely looked up when they came in.

They found a booth in the back. Agatha slid in first. Rio sat across from her, elbows resting on the table, eyes scanning the drink list.

“You’re lucky I like bad theater,” Agatha said, already sipping her beer.

“You liked it?”

“No.”

Rio grinned and they both laughed. It wasn’t big or loud, but it felt like something had been unlocked between them.

They talked about the worst restaurants near the station. About Rio’s amazing terrible taste in horror movies and Agatha’s suspiciously deep knowledge of obscure sports statistics. When Rio’s knee bumped hers under the table, neither of them moved.

Rio leaned back, drink in hand, and looked at her for a long beat. “You don’t flirt much.”

Agatha tilted her head. “I don’t have to.”

Rio’s smile widened. “That so?”

Agatha didn’t answer.

But her boot nudged Rio’s under the table. Later, at the dartboard, Agatha lined up with perfect form. Rio leaned casually against the wall, watching her the way someone watches the tide roll in—waiting to be pulled under.

“You seem tense,” Rio said quietly.

Agatha didn’t respond. She threw the dart. It landed just left of center.

She turned. “You talk too much.”

Rio pushed off the wall, close now. “You like it.”

Agatha blinked.

Then walked past her.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get some air.”

The alley was narrow and cold. Rio leaned against the wall. Agatha stepped closer.

No words.

Just a breath shared between them.

And then Agatha kissed her.

Slow. Steady. Like she’d decided and wasn’t going to ask permission.

Rio kissed back with more than warmth—her hands sliding under Agatha’s coat, anchoring her there.

When they pulled apart, neither of them looked away.

“I should kiss you again,” Rio said.

“You should.”

She didn’t. Yet.

They stood there in the hush of the city, not quite touching.

And then Agatha said, “I have a kid.”

Rio blinked.

Agatha didn’t wait. “He’s six. His name’s Nicky.”

Rio’s brows lifted. Her voice was careful. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

She exhaled, rubbing her palm against her hip like she needed to do something with her hands.

“He’s smart. He loves geology. Named his rabbit Señor Scratchy.”

Rio smiled, softly. “Respect.”

Agatha looked at her. “I haven’t told anyone else I’ve dated. Not for real.”

Rio didn’t move. “Okay.”

Agatha stepped back. “Diner?”

Rio nodded.

The fluorescent lights buzzed. The counter was sticky. A teenager behind them was crying quietly over an omelet.

Agatha slid into the booth. This time, Rio sat beside her instead of across.

She didn’t say anything about it. Agatha didn’t either.

They ordered. Fries. A sundae. Coffee.

Silence stretched between them—but not empty. Just full.

Agatha finally said, “I was married. To a man. A long, long, long, long, long time ago.”

Rio’s face didn’t change. She waited.

“I tried to be good,” Agatha said. “The kind of daughter who smiled in church and wore the right things and didn’t ask for more than she was given.”

Her fingers tapped the edge of the coffee mug.

“I didn’t lie exactly. But I didn’t tell the truth either.”

Rio nodded once.

“I found out I was pregnant and everything cracked open.”

Agatha looked down.

“I left. Filed for divorce as soon as I knew I was pregnant. He didn’t want to be a father—signed over his rights without hesitation. Cut off contact with Nicky before he was even born. Cut off contact with my mother, too. I just… I couldn’t raise a child living a lie. Couldn’t be that kind of woman. Nicky is the best thing that ever happened to me. No question.”

Rio’s voice was low. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”

“I want to.”

Rio didn’t speak. Agatha didn’t fill the silence.

They sat shoulder to shoulder. Rio’s knee brushed hers.

Agatha didn’t move away.

“I don’t date much,” she said. “I work. I parent. I go to bed too late. I wasn’t planning on this.”

Rio turned her head. Agatha was staring at her coffee like it might give her an answer.

“Nicky sounds like a great kid. And yeah, I’d love to meet him someday,” Rio said gently. “But not yet. I’m not asking for that—not unless you’re ready.”

Agatha looked at her.

“But I want to be someone you don’t shut out.”

Agatha nodded. Just once.

Then, after a beat, Rio added, “I didn’t see this coming either.” Her pokerface fading.

Agatha glanced at her, smile tugging at her mouth.

“I lied. I totally saw this coming.”

“You’re such a dork.”

Rio leaned in slightly. “I told you I asked around. I liked what I heard about you.”

Agatha didn’t answer.

And then Agatha leaned in—not to kiss her, just to rest her forehead against Rio’s for a moment.

[namfinessed]

drabble game (dialogue prompt. 3)

prompt - "only tonight, it's all we have." for jeon jungkook (2.5k)

requested by @moonjinniecafe (sorry for the long, long wait angel, i hope you enjoy <3)

drabble masterlist masterlist prompt list!

-

a night lasted for 12 hours.

12 hours was either a lot or nothing at all.

for jungkook, tonight was nothing at all.

he watched the bags crowded on your doorstep with indignation that wasn't valid, he watched your figure move silently in your closet, emptying the cabinets, emptying the cupboards, emptying parts of you and stuffing them into overloaded suitcases.

and he could just watch.

because he was a friend and friends watch when their friends move out of town for big, exciting things.

"i think that's everything," you hummed, rolling out the suitcases and placing them by your door but you forgot one thing to pack.

him.

he's never felt so desperate to be stuffed into a suitcase and flied across oceans.

he's never wanted to bolt a door shut so badly that you could never escape.

he's never been so pathetic about being left behind.

"how much time do you have?" his mouth was always faster than his brain and you grinned, "jungkook, you've asked me that 5 times already," maybe, his mouth could be slower at times.

"but i have 13 hours to my flight, why?" you asked the same question with different numbers as the evening peeked and left but he never answered.

"i planned something," he didn't plan anything, he was busy weeping in his room, "because you know, only tonight, it's all we have," jungkook liked to think he sounded cooler than how he felt.

"what did you plan?" you leaned forward excitedly, with a happy glint in your eyes and maybe, jungkook could become a liar for the rest of his life.

"can't tell you," he doesn't know himself, "let's go," he grabbed his car keys and jingled them in his hands, hoping that the sound would jerk his brain to start running, to start catching up with his mouth.

and your mouth opened and closed, jungkook was never spontaneous, he messaged about 5 times before the plan ever began on a day to make sure everything was going smoothly but nevertheless, you grinned at him and ran out the door, with him following right behind you.

how the night would go, you didn't know.

but fuck, jungkook didn't know either.

-

he looked at the clock.

12 hours.

"so, where are we going?" jungkook gripped the steering wheel tightly at your question, you looked at him with those big eyes and asked questions that he would pay to have answers to but for now, he was only driving down every road he saw.

"you'll see," he tried to smile but inside his mind, he cursed himself over and over again.

you were giving him your last night in your hometown and he couldn't even give you a good time.

just as you opened your mouth to complain, jungkook slammed on the brakes and pointed to his left.

"let's go!"

-

he looked at the clock.

11 hours.

"mine is good, how is yours?" you looked up from the ice cream in your hands and nodded, "mine is good too."

an ice cream.

that was the best he could do.

jungkook wanted to run his own car over him.

"this is just a pitstop," he hurried to explain and you tilted your head at him.

he never knew what you were feeling.

was this disgust?

were you thinking he was a waste of time?

should he just drop you back hom-

"jungkook, i like ice cream, i like this," and he swears angels are not in the sky, they are across the booth from him, singing in a tune he couldn't get out of his head and smiling in a way he couldn't say no to.

so, the next stop, wherever it was.

it had to be good.

jungkook would do anything to keep his angel happy.

-

he looked at the clock.

10 hours.

go-karting was probably not his brightest, but when you zoom past him in your little cart and your little helmet, and your giggles trail behind you, jungkook can only shake his head and follow you.

like he always does.

but this time, with a foot pressed tightly on the accelerator and the wind slapping his face, his hands turning red on the wheel and his eyes well, on you.

and he tries to catch up.

like he always does.

but you're always just a few metres ahead, you're always leaving a trail of laughter behind but you don't match his pace.

and you'll be going away.

jungkook was a rational guy but he slowed down at the realisation, he slowed down at the thought of the next ten hours being the only ones he has left.

but he still has to follow you.

so, he does.

-

he looked at the clock.

8.5 hours.

"that was so fun!" you gasped breathlessly, pulling the helmet off your face, "careful, careful," he whispers, hair can get so easily tangled in helmets, jungkook immediately pats your hair away and tcakes the helmet from your hands, you shouldn't ever carry heavy objects around him.

he returns all the equipment, listens to you gush about the speed, the track, the kart, your cheeks are red, your hair is messed up, your eyes are twinkling and jungkook smiles.

because tonight, he had no plan but you were smiling, you were here and so was he.

and when you grab his hand to pull him towards a tteokbokki stand, he follows.

-

he looked at the clock.

7.5 hours.

"jungkook, i didn't know you were so sentimental," he forces open the door to your high school, "or this reckless," you hum and jungkook bites back a laugh.

"just wanted us to relive it, i guess," he means him, he wants to relive the moment he first met you, you were young, you were bold, you were annoying to his nervous system which couldn't quite process how much it could feel for a person.

"isn't this breaking and entering?" you whisper with caution but you're staring at the building in awe, maybe you were reliving it too, maybe not so in love as him, but enough to appreciate a memory of meeting a friend.

"do you care?"

"nope," you smile and march into the building with passion and jungkook, he followed.

-

he looked at the clock.

less than 7.5 hours.

"my seat!" you squealed, running a hand over the top of the table and he smiled at your excitement, he was feeling pretty damn good about himself.

"and there is yours," you walk over to the corner of the class, from where jungkook admired you for the longest time until one day, you walked up to him, asked him to hang out with your friends and since then, didn't leave him behind.

"you used to be so quiet," a fond smile took over your face and jungkook's heart ached, "you still are," you nod and he laughs.

"you talk enough for the both of us," and you gasp in mock offence, "how dare you, i was there for you through everything."

and he knows you are joking.

he knows you are being dramatic.

but it was true, wasn't it?

no one else had stood by him the way you did and now, you were...leaving.

"you were, i'm grateful to you for that, i wouldn't have grown much without you," his face feels warm, his fingers feel tingly and he knows that one more word out of him would slip out the inevitable, would slip out the 'i love you' that he's hidden so well over the years.

"you were there for me too, jungkook, i only grew because i had you," your eyes are glassy, and your head drops, his heart sinks, he never meant to make you cry.

so, he's reaching forward, stepping forward, following you like he always does, to console you, hold you, say something, anything to stop you from crying.

but you're lifting your head, shaking the tears away and grinning at him.

"where to next?"

-

he looked at the clock.

7 hours.

you fell asleep in the car.

after pushing him out of the high school to go to his next 'plan', you got into the car, with excitement waving off you and then...you fell asleep.

out like a night.

or as jungkook would say, an angel resting on its cloud.

and jungkook shook his head with a smile that he didn't have to contain anymore, it's not like you were awake to see his smile that would give him away.

he stopped the car, he covered you with his hoodie and he twisted his body sideways to watch your body gently rise and fall.

what would he do without you?

how can he not worry about you if he can't see you with his own two eyes?

who will be his friend?

who else will never leave him behind?

but jungkook knew that your world wasn't just him, and his world would remain just you, but he wouldn't expect the same back.

he wasn't that greedy.

he just wanted to love.

and he wanted to keep loving.

even if seas came between you two, jungkook would send his love on a speedboat to reach you, he would swim the sea himself if you called out to him.

for now, jungkook will watch you with his own two eyes, and let his heart rest because you were safe, you were sound, and you were with him.

-

3 hours.

"jungkook! what the fuck? how could you let me sleep?" your wails startled a half-asleep jungkook, your hands are in your hair, you look stressed, you look...guilty.

"it's okay, you needed the rest," and he was out of places to show you.

he looked at the time.

he was also out of time.

"let's go pretty, let's get your smart ass to the airport," even if his heart felt like it could fall to the sole of his shoes and get stomped over and over again, jungkook headed on.

you had places to be.

people to see.

things to achieve.

and he was no one to stand in the way.

"jungkook," you sounded distraught and he stopped what he was doing to look at you.

tears in your eyes.

trembling jaw.

and he follows.

jungkook's hands move on their own accord, they wipe your tears away, they cradle your jaw and his mouth whispers reassurance, 'you just slept, you didn't run someone over'.

but the guilt stays in your eyes.

and he feels an invisible spear pressing into his chewst.

"it was our last night together," you softly whine, sadness, regret and so much more wrapped in your tone.

and oh, he's known, he's known for the past 12 hours.

-

he stopped looking at the clock.

airports were always so depressing to jungkook.

and especially depressing because you couldn't stop crying all the way from your home, where you bid your family goodbye, to the airport where you stood now.

jungkook's tried everything.

like how you would for a baby that won't stop fussing.

bright music.

reassuring whispers.

offering of food.

but you seemed truly set on crying until you got on the flight.

and well, jungkook's a loyal follower, he lets you do just that.

jungkook takes your suitcases from the car and puts them on the ground, almost thinks of running away with them so you can chase him but he shakes his head, you would just cry more.

he stares at your sniffling figure as you try to hold your tears but fail, and jungkook feels a pain so acutely spread through him because he knows he'll be crying once he leaves you here.

"so, that's everything," jungkook comes forward in small steps as if big movements would trigger more tears from you and you choke back a sob anyway.

jungkook had tried everything.

but one thing.

he stepped forward, arms out and wrapped them around you.

and almost broke down crying too.

because you push your face into his neck and start whispering about how you're scared, how you don't want to say goodbye to everyone, how you do-

"i don't want to leave you jungkook, i never want to leave you, i would pack you into a bag and take you with me right now," and you sound like you would do it.

"i don't think that's allowed, love," he doesn't care what he lets slip anymore.

"honestly, fuck them," you groan and jungkook pulls back to look into your tear-soaked eyes with his eyes that weren't going to hold off much longer, "yeah, fuck them," he whispers and you let your head fall back on his body.

jungkook gets busy cursing the world.

fuck them for taking you away,

fuck them for putting a sea between you.

fuck them for not letting jungkook follow you.

it's all he's ever known.

and you were going away, leaving no hand behind for him to hold onto.

"jungkook, are you crying?" your own gravelly voice comes through his fog and he sniffles, "yeah."

you bury his arms closer around you.

"you can cry, it's okay."

"fuck them, y/n, fuck them so hard," and this time, you're pulling away to give him a weak smile, "fuck them."

he looks at the clock, one last time.

it was daylight.

the night was gone.

and he was out.

he was out of all time.

and just when he wants to grab your hand and run, you turn back to look at the clock too.

now, you knew you were out of time too.

"jungkook, i have to-"

"go, don't worry about me," he tries to smile and your face falls as the time clicking by suddenly becomes the only sound you two could hear.

jungkook brings your suitcase to the entrance, he hands them over to you and you take each suitcase from him silently.

how will carry all this by yourself?

maybe he could buy a ticket, maybe just to help you with the bags-

"jungkook."

his eyes are back on you.

"i know."

and he stops moving, stops breathing, because maybe he's hidden it yes, but he never said he was good at hiding it.

he knew the glint in your eyes could always see right through him.

jungkook always feels sheepish, a bit shy, a bit awkward, a bit sad that he might not get to tell you himself.

but he had just enough seconds on the clock to say,

"i love you."

the smile on your face makes him wish he had told you this many moons ago but even with the handful of seconds you had left, you say,

"i love you too."

he watches you go.

and jungkook lets you go.

to a place where he cannot follow just yet.

he lets you go with your new love blooming in him and his old love growing a garden in you.

and he thinks to himself, he's done a damn good job after all.

-

[kireilien]

my bdsm & maki thoughts!

pair. dom!maki x fem!reader; wc. 870

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing, rambling so no proper grammar or spelling; race neutral reader, explicit bdsm... will leave contents as a surpise~

note. was supposed to be a quickie as a reply to 🐆/🙀/🪸 anons... somehow made it this long... so here you go unexpected brain ramble in a fat minute... heavily inspired by the 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂pen concept photos

thinking about maki n size training (AGAIN) but this time instead of size training your pussy, its your mouth and a ball gag ♡︎ maki getting a medium ball that slides right past your teeth— the buckle only a little loose around your head; tight enough to stay in place but loose enough to move around. you’re naked with your hands and bound behind your back, ankles tied too, your pretty little ass sitting on your legs under you, with the glossiest puppy eyes! your lashes are already so wet by feeling the stretch against your cheek. maki’s fully clothed, sitting on your shared bed, caressing your cheek, kissing faint smooches on your neck. he comes back up to your lips, mumbling a “puppy’s so perfect for daddy, yeah?” with the coat of sweetness. he presses his fingers against the gag, having it bob against your throat so carelessly as if it wasn’t already so hard to take in when it’s behind your teeth. your eyes are screwed shut, feeling your tongue pressed down so quickly. the ribbons are tight, causing friction to imprint into your joints, but daddy ties you up in pretty ribbons rather than rough ropes instead, so there’s no need to complain too if your throat is being played around with. his fingers keep bobbing the gag as he hums once more, “remember, puppy, this is smaller than daddy’s cock— don’t fight it now because i won’t fit.” your thighs are firmly pressed together, you swear there’s pins and needles forming in your calves and you can feel some tears start to actually form and threaten to fall.

okay more hard dom maki bc what’s not maki if he’s calling you puppy AND treating you like one? this is a more continued version of brat tamer!maki in my previous love letter teehee. i just love love love thinking of him talking to you like a pup when you “suddenly” don’t know how to act! telling you the typical, “sit,” “stay,” “down,” or even my favorites, “bow,” or “come”! and remember how i said maki would basically have you obey him by verbal cues alone? what’s a tamer and their puppy without a collar— and even better a leash ♡︎ after all since maki is an idol and i don’t think he’d indulge in public bdsm, he’d keep it at home but max level. if the two of you were serious about your bdsm relationship, maki would have you wear the collar and maybe even the leash in his hands as long as he can. he loves the cute bell and dog tag saying your name, how it fits around your neck perfectly, and how the leash feels so right. he loves his little puppy sm! i talk about this later but he’d prefer js a simple collar and leash only if you weren’t so adamant about a color or style ahem pink ahem white ahem dog tag in a heart shape ahem with a charm ahem maybe add a bow ahem maybe bedazzled ahem my ideal collar ahem WHO SAID THAT

another thought is of that lotion wax play??? have you guys seen those candles that when the wax melts you can pour it onto your skin and it can be used as lotion??? maki would love that alternative since he’s a little hesitant to be actually using wax on you. but the lotion is a better way to relieve that fear— plus he can massage you once the heat is gone! when you’re blindfolded, bounded once more, maki is sosososososos sweet and probably kisses the place he’s gonna pour wax over before he does it (then what’s the whole point of the blindfold whatever). he’s watching the wax pour and seeing you jolt and flinch at the heat. it almost feels like it stings when it first hits contact with your body, but it soon turns all warm and soothing when maki runs his thumb over the area to massage it all in, making sure to watch how your lip twitches— are you biting it? are they parted? are you pursing them? it’s all for you making sure you like the experience~

etc bdsm daddy maki thoughts: isn’t the type of daddy to have various items. would rather have one tool for flogging and paddling, one type of ribbon, one type or rope, one blindfold, one singular things only to keep it neat. maki reaches towards shibari when he’s domming you too, don’t think he’s too keen on other bdsm acts, only if the time is right but shibari is his go-to! prefers basic black items but won’t complain about pink items for his puppy princess aka me this was just for me i also would say that maki isn’t a 24/7 fsog-like hard dom obviously but i do think if his partner likes that lifestyle, he’ll indulge in it, but wouldn’t go all the way. he funnily enough sees it almost domestically. when he’s clasping your ankles to the spreader bad he can’t help but feel all giddy. like ‘aww my puppy trusts me so much we get to have this fun time together!’ (he’s sick in the head) (i am too).

© KIREILIEN 2025 | please like, repost, and/or comment! ♡︎

[blissfulbluee]

Not Weak. Just Tired.

Since we're talking about whump!Gi-hun here — I just gotta say it: if that man even survives Season 3 by some miracle, he'd be the perfect candidate for addiction. Not because he's weak. But because it's impossible to keep living inside a brain that's turned into a war zone. To shut out the screaming of the people he couldn’t save. To find — just for a few hours — something that feels like peace. Or hell, just silence.

I can see exactly how it starts. With regular pills. The “harmless” kind doctors hand out like candy — something to help you sleep better, take the edge off, numb the aching in your chest and joints. At first, it works. You sleep a little. Cry a little less. Stop shaking so much when you wake up in the morning.

Then one night hits harder than the others. You take two pills instead of one. Then four. Because the silence in your head is getting shorter, and the guilt’s getting louder. Because you're still here — and the people you loved aren't. Not Sang-woo. Not Sae-byeok. Not your mom. Not hope.

You tell yourself, "Just a little more. Tomorrow it’ll be better." But it doesn’t get better. So you up the dose again. Because at some point, you stop being a person and start being a machine trying not to fall apart.

Give it a couple weeks — the pills stop working. Booze? Too soft. Too slow. It doesn’t pull you out — just slows down the crash.

So you go for the hard stuff.

Like:

Tramadol — 'cause you “just need a painkiller” at first, and then boom — there’s that first warm high. Xanax — just to survive the damn evening without your chest caving in. Oxy — because it makes the pain feel far away, almost soft. Fentanyl — 'cause at some point, you stop caring if you wake up. Meth — when you’re so burnt out you just want to feel something, even if it’s rage or agony. Or hell, heroin, when nothing else hits anymore and all you want is someone to turn off the noise inside your skull.

Because sometimes addiction isn't about pleasure. It’s about survival when you don’t want to survive anymore.

And Gi-hun — the guy who clawed his way out of hell just to come back to a world that forgot him — he’s exactly the kind of person who ends up choosing: pain or oblivion. Until he can’t even remember what choosing used to feel like.

Hi anon! holy shit?? you dropped something so good my inbox. thank you.

given that gihun has already been addicted to gambling, drinking, and smoking, its not at all far fetched to say he’d get addicted to other things. i can’t blame him for wanting relief from the constant emotional turmoil he’s in.

“Because at some point, you stop being a person and start being a machine trying not to fall apart.”

stop, this is tragic. if he stays and sk and never goes to the US to see his daughter, i can see this happening. i would like to think he would stay strong for his daughter and not go to far. (i dont want to imagine his daughter having to see him like this. 💔)

he would just be a shell of a human at times :( he’d still have that remaining hope, but i can’t imagine life is easy after the games.

the drugs feel so good in the moment, and he has no one powerful enough to stop him. they just have to watch as he gets worse and worse, trying to constantly numb the pain.

maybe other survivors, or junho and wooseok move to help him. (if we are hopeful theyre even alive in this au) it is very hard to help anyone who doesn’t want help or sees that they need it.

imagine them finding gihun many days passed out from whatever he’s taken. they are so scared to lose him in a way like this, like he had essentially given up on normal life and was simply racing towards the finish line of overdose.

thanks anon, you broke my heart

[randomprose]

fated to pretend

satoru and shoko, and a discussion of the concept of normalcy, no matter how relative it may be [ao3]

“Hey, Shoko. Why do you never heal your eyebags away?”

If Shoko is surprised by the question, she doesn’t show. She just shrugs and continues munching on her sandwich as she looks over the charts of one of her patients. Just another working lunch for her, another bad habit that Satoru has tried to make her quit in vain.

“It makes me feel normal,” is her quick and succinct answer.

“Normal?” Satoru scoffs as if the mere mention of the word offends him. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” Shoko shrugs. “It’s just one of those mundane things that makes me feel human, you know?” That is all the explanation she is planning to give, but she elaborates at the slight downturn of Satoru’s lips in confusion, and just before he could open his mouth to no doubt try to annoy a longer answer out of her, or worse, debate her on it. “It’s like the way RCT works, right? The way it heals is not exactly what you would consider a normal or orthodox way of recovering. It’s not how humans naturally heal, unlike modern science and medicine. I understand the need to heal fast in our world; it’s almost always life or death after all, but I’d like my eyebags to go away naturally.” 

“Why?”

“It’s not something life-threatening and therefore worth using my cursed technique over. It’s just there. Plus, with the hours I work, it’ll just be a waste of time.” Shoko shoves the last of her sandwich in her mouth and downs the rest of the ramune Satoru bought for her to wash it down. “Besides, don’t you think it’ll be a good sign when they finally go away?” 

Satoru huffs out a laugh at her cheeky grin. He thinks about what she said and concludes that it makes sense. In a way. 

“I see your point. I guess.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You ever have moments when you just want to be normal?”

“Normal is relative,” Satoru scoffs and waves a vague hand. “Isn’t this our normal?”

“For the sake of this conversation not falling dead flat on its face, humor me.”

Satoru seems to really think about it and supposes he is being rather cynical about the whole ‘being normal’ take if he’s being honest. Of course, he’s thought about being normal and more…human now and again, even ordinary, sure. He has always had a curious mind, and Satoru has pondered the what-ifs of not being all knowing, all seeing, or all powerful. 

But being all three of those is all he’s known, and Satoru isn’t exactly sure how he would fare being ‘normal’ or ‘ordinary’. Or if he’d even like it. She tells her this much.

“Knowing you? Oh, you’d absolutely hate it.”

“You think?”

“I’m sure. Positively loathe it. You’d be scratching at the walls trying to find a way to stand above the rest.”

“Sure.” He shrugs, trying for casual. “You’re probably right, but I guess it might be nice to not have to put out fires every second of every damned day and just be, to use your term, ‘normal’,” he says as he puts up air quotations with his fingers. Then he grins and lightly bumps her shoulder. “But that’s why I hang around you.”

“Oh? What are you trying to say?” Shoko smiles at him, calm, serene, and oh-so-threatening. “And I advise you to be very careful with your next words. I do handle all matters regarding your health, just saying.”

“I didn’t mean anything bad by it, doc. Chill out.” Satoru laughs, fixing the Ray-Bans he decided to wear today, when Shoko pulled them down his nose. “Unlike you, I can’t turn off my technique. I can’t just not use the Six-Eyes or take down Limitless.” Because every time he does, tragedy and mayhem always happen. “And I don’t have anything I can just let be like your eyebags because I have to have my RCT always running in the background so my brain doesn’t get fried.”

“Any more than it already is, yeah.”

“Shut up.” Satoru pouts and teasingly tugs at the ends of her hair. “Anyway, with all that on top of being the next clan head, I’m pretty much handed everything I want on a silver platter since birth and—”

“We get it. You’re rich and a very, very special boy.  A gift to mankind, a god amongst men, a—”

“Shut uuppp! I’m trying to make a point here!” Satoru whines as Shoko snickers. “Anyway, as I was saying, before you just had to point out the obvious, things just happen for me. Sometimes, before I even ask for them, or even when I don’t need them. Inevitably, I grew up to be a spoiled, rotten brat.” He scowls when he sees her opening her mouth for another quip. “As you never fail to remind me, even now.”

“The biggest brat the jujutsu world has ever seen. Perhaps even the universe. I guess you’re kinda alright now, but, man.” Shoko shakes her head as she remembers their teenage years and how apparently insufferable Satoru was then. “High school you. Every time you opened your mouth, it took everything from Suguru and me not to punt you out the window. Or smother you in your sleep. Limitless be damned. Truly a herculean effort. The patience we exerted on you? Saintly. Even Yaga held back from really maiming you every time you open your mouth.” She pauses and looks up from the papers in her hands, squinting her eyes as if realizing something. “Maybe Geto was on to something, building a cult around him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it already. Damn.” Satoru rolls his eyes under his sunglasses, but makes no effort to refute Shoko’s words. There’s no use since she only speaks the truth after all. Teenage him was a real arrogant, spoiled brat. He still is, but he’d like to think he’s toned it down to a lesser degree, what with Shoko always humbling him and only very, very rarely letting him get away with anything. “But you see what I mean now, right? I mean, you basically just proved my point.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“You make me feel…normal. Ordinary. You don’t see me as the Six-Eyes or Limitless. Hell, I don’t think you ever did, you muggle .” Satoru uses an old taunt he used to call her and Geto for their lack of knowledge of jujutsu society and class standing. “And that was…nice, you know? You never looked at me and decided how you’ll treat me based on merits or what I can do for you, or the favors or status you’ll gain from being associated with me.” 

Not that Shoko ever had any designs of the sort other than occasionally making him pay for her bar tab—a small price to pay for everything she does for him. Satoru honestly wishes she’d ask for more. 

“You’re still in denial about how much of a dork you were then, huh?” 

“Hey! Don’t try to pretend you didn’t also cry at the end of Digimon Tamers when we were watching the reruns.”

“I never said Digimon was dorky. I said you were dorky,” Shoko easily counters. “And I didn’t wanna be caught dead with dorks like you, loser. You were gonna ruin my street cred.”

There is a pause before they both dissolve into giggles. But Shoko is right. She really was the coolest girl Satoru had ever met. Still is. 

“You know, I’ve never heard anyone oppose or turn me down until I went to Jujutsu Tech? And I mean, let's be honest, even Suguru spoiled me sometimes. Okay, a lot of times. But you—” Satoru cuts off with a soft laugh, shaking his head. He pushes his sunglasses up to his head and turns to her with a smile and his clear blue eyes full of mirth. “You know the first time I heard the word ‘no’ said to me was from you?”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Remember in first year when I asked to copy your biology homework and you said ‘no’?” 

“Yeah, that’s because I haven’t done it then either.”

“I know, but that’s not the point. You could’ve said you’ll let me copy it after you’re done, or offered to do mine.”

“Hah!” Shoko lets out a cackle and slaps the papers she’s holding on her thigh. “Fat chance I’d let you copy mine, and an even fatter chance I’d offer to do any of your homework for you.”

“Exactly. You don’t see me as Gojo Satoru, clan head and the first wielder of Six-Eyes and Limitless in the last three centuries, the Strongest sorcerer of our time,” Satoru says the titles bestowed upon him, which usually always come right after his name in an almost monotonous tone. “You make me work for things. You don’t see me as a god or a king or the strongest. With you,” he shrugs and pokes a finger to her cheek, “I could just be Satoru.” 

“Tch. You’re not a god or a king. You’re just, and still are, a spoiled brat.” Shoko turns and attempts to bite at his finger just as Satoru laughingly retracts it. “Shitty, spoiled Satoru. SSS. You should have that on a shirt or engraved on something.”

“I love it when you’re mean to me.”

“Masochist.” 

“Only for you~”

Satoru leans his weight on her as he singsongs and chuckles when Shoko lets him for a moment before shoving him off her.

“I don’t always make you work for things, you know?”

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh. For example, I’ve never made it hard for you to take a pretty girl out for a meal—” Satoru lets out a cackling laugh at this. “—and enjoy her company.”

“Is the pretty girl here with us right now?”

“I am,” Shoko counters smoothly. “I even choose where we go so your pretty little head doesn’t have to think about it.”

“How very generous.”

“You’re very welcome. Just a small payment for my ‘making you feel normal’ services.” Shoko smirks at him, cool as ever. Satoru barely held himself back from letting out a dreamy sigh. She gathers her things as she stands to leave. “Pick me up at six?”

“Six? Isn’t that too early? Your shift ends at nine, right?”

“Talked Okkotsu-kun into covering the rest of my shift so we could go to that bakery with the parfaits you like so much before it closes.”

Damn. Satoru really likes it when a woman has initiative and takes charge. Considerate too.

“Careful, Shoko. You’re spoiling me.”

“Sometimes you deserve it.” Shoko leans down to plant a kiss on his forehead, sweet and entirely indulgent, before turning to walk back to the Infirmary with a backhand wave. “See you at six.”

Satoru watches after her, wholly smitten and wishing the hours would go by fast.

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[arosebyan0thername]

If there are a million Reeve Carney as Orpheus fans in the world, I am one of them. If there are only two Reeve Carney as Orpheus fans in the world, I am one of them (Eva Noblezada is the other). If there are no Reeve Carney as Orpheus fans in the world, Eva Noblezada and I are dead 😔

[kaiserouo]

literally my entire day

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

My roommate and I had a conversation last night and I keep rotating it in my brain and I Don’t Like It

[u3pxx]

cleaning up and throwing away things is so difficult for me bc i get attached to even the smallest piece of clutter that i don't need anymore , like girl pls ....... it's a scrap piece of paper ........ throw it away PLEASE ...................