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â â â â â â â â đą COULDâVE BEEN aeri uchinaga x reader
â â đą JIHYORURI 106 FM | jihyoruri 106 FM catalog for today brought to you by your very own jihyoruri! new music by aeri uchinaga will follow up next ; idol!au, oc group, fluff, angst, yearning
âI ainât just just your friend, no, whatâs the point of lying? tryna sell a story ainât nobody buyinâ look me in my eyes donât feel nice?â
âI couldâve been him, more than your friendâ
now playing : couldâve been by aeri uchinaga 1:35 ââââââââ 3:47 â ââ â
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when aeri first met yn during her trainee days, she was just the annoying younger girl who always stuck by yizhuo's side.
aeri had only exchanged a few words with her here and there, but honestly, she tried her best to avoid yn altogether. she was immature, and had complete unfiltered qualities. aeri couldnât wrap her head around, especially in someone aspiring to become an idol.
but aeri couldnât deny it, yn had this strange way of standing out. even if she annoyed her, aeri often caught herself watching yn interact with others, finding a surprising amount of entertainment in the chaos she brought with her everywhere she went.
she kind of missed the chaos yn used to bring, the way she managed to turn everyone's day upside down with that relentless energy.
that was until about two years after aespaâs debut.
aeri was lounging on the couch, half-watching a movie on the tv, when she heard the front door open. she didnât even need to glance up to know it was yizhuo, her footsteps were unmistakable. but what stopped her cold was the voice that followed.
her head snapped up, the tv forgotten. eyebrows furrowing, she stared as the person walking in beside yizhuo came into view. they looked so familiar yet so... different.
confident, polished, and undeniably good looking. it took her a second to connect the dots, but when she did, her breath hitched.
yn.
âwhaâŠâ she trailed off.
âlook who I found!â yizhuo exclaimed with a wide grin as she wrapped an arm around ynâs shoulders. âour yn! sheâs still a trainee at sm.â
aeriâs gaze immediately locked onto yn, who gave her that crooked smile she always used to give to her during training.
âynâŠâ aeri said, sitting up a little straighter. âyou lookâŠâ she trailed off, her face heating up as yn raised a brow, clearly waiting for aeri to finish.
âsorry, I forgot what I was gonna say,â aeri quickly covered, waving it off. âwhoa, dude, I havenât seen you in so long! and youâre still a trainee? howâs that going?â
âitâs been good,â yn replied smoothly, her voice carrying a more confident tone than aeri remembered. âIâm supposed to debut next year, so you guys can look forward to that.â
yizhuo squealed with excitement while aeriâs eyes widened in surprise. âcongratulations! thatâs awesome. I remember you were really into songwriting are you working on stuff for the group?â
yn opened her mouth to answer, but yizhuo cut in enthusiastically. âshe is! she was just talking about songwriting on the way here, and I told her youâve been struggling a bit with your own songs. you guys should totally help each other!â
trainee aeri wouldâve run for the hills if someone had told her she'd end up working in a studio alone with yn. the thought of spending hours with the loud, unfiltered girl who once wreaked havoc during practice sessions would have been unbearable.
but now?
âthatâs a cool idea.â
aeri glanced at yn, who was leaning casually against the desk, her eyes fixed on aeri with quiet patience as she waited for her answer.
this wasnât the same yn she remembered. there was something calmer about her now, more refined, though the spark in her eyes remained.
âthatâs a cool idea,â aeri finally said, her voice steady.
and thatâs how it all started.
and it only took four prominent moments for everything to shift completely.
the first session was awkward, to say the least. aeri sat stiffly in the chair, headphones on, scrolling through their tracklist. yn was unusually quiet, sitting across from her and tapping a pen against her notebook. finally , she broke the silence.
âso, uh⊠how do you usually start these?â yn asked, tilting her head.
aeri sighed, pulling off her headphones. âI donât know. sometimes I just hum random stuff and see if it sticks.â
âhuh,â yn said, her lips curving into a smile. âsounds messy. I like it.â
aeri rolled her eyes but couldnât help the faint smile tugging at her lips. âwhat about you? got any lyrics hidden in that notebook of yours?â
yn hesitated before flipping open the notebook, revealing a page covered in scribbles. âItâs kinda rough,â she admitted, handing it over.
aeri read through it, her eyebrows raising. âby rough, do you mean really good?.â
âreally?â ynâs eyes lit up, and for a moment, aeri felt a pang in her chest. It was the first time she noticed how sincere ynâs smile could be.
after a couple sessions , the awkwardness had melted away, replaced by easy banter. as they worked on a melody, yn suddenly asked, âdo you think Iâll be a good idol?â
aeri paused, looking up from the keyboard. âwhy would you even ask that?â
yn shrugged, spinning her chair in slow circles. âI donât know. Iâve always felt like Iâm⊠too much. too loud. too all over the place.â
âthatâs ridiculous,â aeri said firmly. âyouâre passionate, and you care. and honestly? youâve grown a lot since we were trainees. I think youâll be amazing.â
ynâs spinning stopped, and she looked at aeri with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. âthanks,â she said softly.
the room felt heavier during their later sessions. yn would lean in close to adjust something on the screen, and aeri could feel her breath against her skin. they worked late into the night, and the air between them felt charged.
âthis is turning out pretty good,â yn said one night, sitting back and listening to their latest track.
âyeah,â aeri murmured, her eyes focused on the screen but her mind elsewhere. ynâs voice had gotten deeper, more confident, and it lingered in aeri thoughts long after their sessions ended.
yn stretched, her shirt riding up slightly, and aeri quickly averted her gaze, her face heating up.
âyou okay?â yn asked, her tone teasing but her eyes curious.
âfine,â aeri said quickly, fumbling with her notes
this session was unknowingly their last one and it was filled unspoken emotions. they had just finished writing the bridge of a song , and the energy between them was undeniable.
yn leaned closer, her voice low. âyou know⊠I donât think Iâve ever felt this comfortable with anyone before.â
aeriâs breath caught as ynâs eyes flickered to her lips. she knew what was coming and felt her heart hammering in her chest.
but as yn moved closer, aeri panicked. âdonât,â she whispered, her voice trembling.
yn froze, confusion flashing in her eyes. âwhatâs wrong?â
âyouâre still young, yn,â aeri said, standing up abruptly. âyouâre yizhuoâs friend. and with your debut next year⊠this could never work.â
ynâs expression shifted to one of hurt, but she nodded slowly. âif thatâs how you feelâŠâ
âIt is,â aeri said, though the crack in her voice betrayed her.
âokay, cool.â yn replied she look down at her phone and saw the time, it was pretty late, she gathered her things and left not without muttering a quick bye.
aeri sat back down, her hands trembling and thatâs when she got the feeling that this was their last session.
she couldnât believe how far theyâd come or how much she was already starting to miss her.
but it was for the best, for both her and yn.
aeri and yn hadnât talked since that night. yizhuo asked a few times what had happened, but aeri always brushed it off, saying yn was getting closer to her debut and was too busy.
but that wasnât true.
yn had always made time for her.
if there was one thing aeri knew she would always regret, it was that night. months had passed almost a year and she couldnât shake the hollow feeling that came with it. sometimes, it felt like she was forgetting yn entirely, her voice, her laugh, the way her presence could fill a room.
that was until one early summer morning.
utopia.
that was the groups name.
aeri curled up in her bed, the glow of her phone screen illuminating her face as she replayed the music video over and over again. yn looked so good.
the internet was already going wild over the group. they were a surprise debut, sm had dropped hints here and there, there was even an instagram account with the groups name that had little secret promotions but no one had pieced it together.
now, utopia was all anyone could talk about and itâs only been a couple hours since they debuted and it was clear they were destined for massive success.
aeri felt a bittersweet ache in her chest as she watched. she was proud, so proud, that yn had finally debuted with three other girls who seemed to care about her deeply. but there was also a selfish part of her that couldnât ignore the sting of jealousy.
the whole world knew yn now. theyâd see her the way aeri did, cherish her the way she always had. and aeri wasnât sure how to handle that.
this was awkward.
aeri and jimin stood across from yn and sooyoung, utopiaâs leader. aeri recognized sooyoung immediately, she was a former member of loona, someone aeri had always respected from afar.
one of utopiaâs managers stepped in after the brief greetings. âokay, yn, youâll be teaching aeri the choreography, and sooyoung, youâll work with karina. we need to move quickly since thereâs an interview right after this, so letâs keep it efficient.â
aeri shifted on her feet, stealing a glance at yn, who was already watching her with an unreadable expression. this was going to be interesting.
jimin had already walked over to sooyoung, eager to learn her small part of the dance, leaving aeri standing there, unsure of what to do next.
yn squinted at her for a moment, as if sizing her up, before she walked closer, her steps confident. âletâs start.â she said, her tone calm but direct.
aeri felt a flutter in her chest at the proximity, but she quickly shook it off. âright. letâs get to it,â she replied, trying to sound casual, though her nerves were starting to show.
yn didnât say anything more, just motioned for aeri to stand in the center of the room. âokay, watch closely.â
as yn demonstrated the first few steps, aeri couldnât help but notice how fluid and natural her movements were. there was no hesitation, no self doubt. just pure confidence.
aeri tried to focus, but the heat in her chest was hard to ignore, she doesnât know how ended up learning the dance properly but she thankfully followed ynâs moves smoothly.
after the four of them finished filming the dance challenge, yn and sooyoungâs managers were already ushering the girls out of the room, leaving aeri and jimin to gather their things.
jimin glanced at aeri,âso, thatâs her?â
aeri froze for a moment before looking at jimin. âhuh?â
âthe girl.â
âyeah, thatâs her.â
âsheâs cute.â
"she is," aeri sighed, the words slipping out before she could stop them. seeing yn again stirred up emotions sheâd been burying for months, feelings she thought sheâd finally gotten under control.
but now, with yn so close yet so out of reach, it felt impossible to keep pretending. aeri wasnât sure how much longer she could keep this up.
aeri hadnât been wrong when she said utopia was destined for success. in just a few months, the group was everywhere, on billboards, variety shows, and music charts. it felt impossible to avoid them.
impossible to avoid yn.
it was overwhelming. every time she saw yn, every time they crossed paths or exchanged even the smallest interaction, the feelings aeri had been desperately trying to bury came rushing back, stronger than ever. no matter how hard she tried to push them away, they always found their way back to her.
she kept her expression neutral as she watched the four juniors deliver their thank you speech. glancing around, she noticed the way all the other groups were looking at them, faces full of awe, especially when yn stepped up to the mic.
just seeing yn on that big stage, accepting a well earned award, made aeriâs heart ache. soon, countless idols would approach yn to congratulate her, offer their praise and admiration.
and she wouldnât be one of them.
but she had to be.
she couldnât keep going on like this.
the show was over before aeri even realized it, her mind racing as she slipped away from her group, ignoring their confused looks.
she wandered through the backstage hallways, her heart pounding as she searched for any sign of yn. it took a while, but eventually, she found them, utopia standing in front of their dressing room, proudly chatting as they waited for their manager to unlock the door.
aeriâs eyes landed on yn, who was wrapped in aprilâs arms, laughing softly as they waited. for a moment, she just stood there, unsure of what to do. finally, she cleared her throat, the sound breaking through their conversation.
all four girls turned to look at her, their expressions shifting to polite surprise as they bowed immediately.
âhi, I actually just wanted to talk to yn,â aeri said, her voice awkward as the door to the dressing room swung open.
april unwrapped her arms from around yn and stepped inside, offering aeri a small smile. aihan followed without sparing a glance, while sooyoung lingered for a moment. she gave aeri a look that sent chills down her spine before disappearing into the room.
the door closed and yn turned to fully look aeri in the eyes, âheyâŠâ
âhi, I just wanted to say congratulations, on everything, utopia is so successful, Iâm so happy for you.â
âhi,â aeri began, her voice a little shaky. âI just wanted to say congratulations on everything. utopia is so successful. Iâm... Iâm so happy for you.â
"thank you," yn said softly, her tone calm. "is that it?"
"no, actually," aeri replied, letting out a nervous sigh. "yn, Iâm sorry aboutâ"
"itâs okay," yn interrupted, her voice even but firm. "I canât force you to like me. I completely misread the situation, and... youâre right."
"what?" aeriâs voice cracked, the weight of ynâs words hitting her like a punch to the chest.
"youâre right," yn continued, her gaze steady but distant. "Iâm younger, Iâm just starting my career, and itâs off to a good start. I shouldnât have even thought we couldâve been something. that was my mistake."
"no, Iâ" aeri tried to protest, but yn wasnât finished.
"itâs okay," yn said again, though her voice wavered at the edges, betraying a crack in her composure. "letâs just not talk about it anymore and be cool. weâre cool, right?"
the slight break in ynâs voice at the end nearly broke aeri completely, but she swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. "I... yeah. weâre cool
"good." yn offered her that classic crooked smile, one that used to make aeriâs heart race, before she turned and opened the door to the dressing room. "thanks. see you around."
the door shut softly behind her, leaving aeri alone in the hallway.
aeri stood there for a moment, the lump in her throat growing heavier by the second.
this wasnât how it was supposed to go.
#aespa#aespa x reader#aespa giselle#giselle x reader#aeri x reader#aeri uchinaga#aeri unchinaga x reader#girl group imagines
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Rekindling The
Flames đ
Toji x reader, second chance! Angst,
Fluff :3
This is just a one-shot.
Tokyo had always been a city that felt alive, a constant hum beneath the surface. But for you, the city felt hollow, like a stage set waiting for a performance that never came. After years of quiet solitude, you'd managed to carve out a life that was... safe. Predictable. But that didnât stop the ghosts from haunting you. And none haunted you more than the ghost of Toji Fushiguro.
You hadnât seen him in over four years.
When you met him, you were captivated by the rawness of him. Toji wasnât like anyone else. He was a sharp-edged, dangerousâan assassin who lived by no rules except his own. It didnât matter that your love for him was filled with chaos and danger. He was everything you needed at the time: exciting, unpredictable, a storm in human form. But eventually, the storm became too much. The blood, the lies, the constant fear that he would disappearâalong with you. You walked away, left him behind, and tried to move on.
But you had never truly moved on.
That morning, as you walked through a quiet street market, you didnât expect to see him. Toji had a way of blending into the shadows, becoming invisible to the world, but not to you. And yet, there he was, standing at the edge of a cafĂ©, as if time hadnât passed, as if you hadnât left him all those years ago.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but they still held that familiar intensity. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, not quite a smile, but enough to remind you of the way his grin used to make your heart race.
"Well, well. If it isnât the ghost of my past," Tojiâs voice was rough, gravelly, yet somehow comforting in its familiarity.
You took a steadying breath, unsure whether you were relieved or angry to see him again. "What are you doing here, Toji?"
"Same as you, I guess. Trying to stay out of trouble," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe of the cafĂ©. "Didnât think I'd ever see you again."
You narrowed your eyes. "And yet, here we are."
He chuckled low in his throat. "Yeah. Here we are."
You hesitated, unsure if you should walk away or stay. You had spent so much time pretending you didnât care about him, pretending that he didnât affect you. But the truth was, you had never truly let him go. And now, faced with him again, all those emotions you thought were buried resurfaced.
"Howâve you been?" Toji asked, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer to you. His presence felt like a heavy weight, but it was one you had never quite been able to escape.
You swallowed. "Iâve been fine. I moved on."
"Yeah, sure you did." His voice was soft, almost teasing. It didnât sound like the Toji you had knownâwho was often sharp, indifferent, and blunt. There was something different about him now. Something... vulnerable? You couldnât place it.
He gestured for you to join him inside the café, and after a long pause, you did.
The cafĂ© was quiet, filled with the soft murmur of a few patrons and the clink of coffee cups. Toji didnât look like the same man you had walked away from. His once-polished, dangerous exterior was now rougher, like heâd been worn down by the world. He had that haunted look in his eyesâlike heâd lost something, or maybe never had anything to begin with.
"I thought you were done with this life," you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you took a seat opposite him. You hadnât planned to confront him like this, but there was no hiding from the truth.
Toji shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "I thought I was too." He met your gaze, his eyes hardening for a moment. "Guess life has a funny way of pulling you back in."
A silence fell between you both. The years that had passed seemed to disappear in the space between words, but the scars from the past remained, as fresh as ever.
"Iâve been⊠trying to live a quiet life," you confessed. "I didnât want that chaos anymore, Toji. I wanted peace."
Tojiâs eyes softened for a moment, and for the first time, you saw something akin to regret in them. "I know," he said quietly. "I never wanted to drag you into my world. You deserved better than that."
You clenched your fists under the table, fighting the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. "Then why did you pull me in at all? Why couldnât you just walk away from it?"
Toji's jaw tightened, and you saw the familiar frustration flicker in his eyes. "Because I couldnât. I didnât know how to." He looked down at his hands. "Still donât know how to."
The honesty of his words hit you like a punch to the chest. This wasnât the Toji who had pushed you away so easily. This was someone who had been through hell, who had been broken by the very things that had once made him feel alive.
"I didnât want to hurt you," Toji said, his voice almost too soft. "I was never good for you. You deserved someone who could give you more than what I had to offer. But I... I couldnât stop thinking about you. Even after all these years."
Your heart skipped a beat. His confession was raw, vulnerable, and for a moment, it felt like the walls you had built between you both were starting to crumble.
You took a deep breath, your emotions swirling inside you. "You left me, Toji. You didnât just walk away. You shut me out completely."
He winced, the pain evident on his face. "I know. I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was doing what was best for you by keeping you away from my life. But I was wrong."
You didnât know what to say to that. You had spent so many nights wondering if he ever thought about you, if he ever regretted walking away. Now, hearing him speak so openly, you felt like a weight had been lifted from your chestâbut at the same time, you didnât know how to navigate the broken pieces of your past.
"What now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Toji leaned forward, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "I donât know. But Iâm not going to walk away this time. Not unless you want me to."
The silence stretched between you both, thick with unspoken words, raw emotions, and the weight of the past. It wasnât a simple decision. It never could be with Toji. But for the first time in years, you felt a glimmer of hope.
Later that evening, as you walked side by side through the streets of Tokyo, you couldnât help but wonder if you were making a mistake. Toji Fushiguro had never been someone who played by the rules, and yet, here you were, stepping back into his world.
But as you glanced at himâhis tall frame, the hardened lines of his face softened by the quiet of the nightâyou knew one thing for sure: You werenât walking away this time.
#jjk#pp218#jujutsu kaisen#jjk angst#toji fushiguro#toji fluff#toji fushiguro x reader#anime#anime and manga#jujutsu toji#fushiguro#jjk oneshot
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at this point this fic is writing itself.
#you know when the scene just sorta unfolds in your mind and all of a sudden you've been writing for hours#without realising it?#it's one of those nights#mine#im really happy with this scene#it's definitely going to be a longer fic so the question is now like#if I should upload the first chapter and do it chapter by chapter#or if i should wait and polish everything#then take a step back and edit for flow#the thing is i want the instant validation#anyway I'm having a great time now#channelled the trauma triggers into a fun fic (except for the horrific bits it's really fun and light-hearted)
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Remember when Brodie Grundy and Tim Broomhead were broommates
#i want to be a broommate#goals#Tim's in Albury now and Brodie's in Sydney#do you think Brodie takes trips down in his caravan to see Tim#he walks into Albury and there's a huge billboard with Tim broomhead on it#in the town square there's a statue of Tim#Brodie just like 'oh my god is Tim the mayor of Albury?'#asks the locals about Tim and they all gush about his heroic feats#holding up the queue at the grocery store because he asked the cashier about Tim and people push their trolleys over to join in#they live in a mansion on the hill#Brodie is worried that Tim's moved on and is so popular now that he's forgotten his old broommate#Brodie nervously knocks on Tim's door and Luka answers like 'daddy there's a strange man here'#'Luka finish your caviar I'll get it' Tim says as he comes into the foyer and he sees who's at the door#'it's me' Brodie says hope spreading through his limbs that Tim hasn't forgotten him#'Brodie' Tim says amazed 'come in'#shows Brodie around the mansion where there's a bedroom for each child plus a room for every cat#dea steps from the kitchen 'hey i was just in the middle of a Belgian feast Brodie stay for dinner'#'oh i really should get going---' Brodie starts and dea looks at her boyfriend 'have you shown him the basement yet?'#Tim blushes shyly and shakes his head#'oh what's in the basement?' Brodie asks intrigued 'is that the wine collection?'#dea pushes Tim toward the basement stairs and he cautiously descends into the basement Brodie following#Tim waits until Brodie is standing next to him in the darkened basement then flicks on the light#The room illuminates and reveals framed Grundy portraits on the walls and every newspaper clipping ever written about Brodie Grundy and#everything shining and polished and gleaming and 'i come down here to polish it all every day' tim boasts#'what's that?' Brodie points to an old dusty couch in the middle of the room#'sometimes i come down here and sit there and just think' Tim says 'it's our old couch from our broommate days'#'when we'd sit together and discuss the world's problems' Brodie reminisced wistfully#'it's beautiful' Brodie said walking throughout the room and gazing at all his paraphernalia with his name on it#'I even had a Brodie Grundy inspired chess set made' Tim said gesturing to the porcelain pieces on the coffee table#'awww you changed the chess pieces to incorporate my ideas for them!' Brodie cried picking up the two kings
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NDA | Coriolanus Snow
When you get hired as a nanny for President Snow and his wife's firstborn, youâre beyond thrilled and grateful. But quickly, the perfect facade melts, revealing the ugly truth of what actually goes on in the Snows' house.
Warnings: NON-CON, Capitol! Reader, Innocent Reader, Cheating, Coercion, Blackmail, Power Imbalance
This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.
Your worried eyes track the frenzied glide of the womanâs quill over the notepad. You squint, hoping to discern some of the words sheâs scrawling that way, but they are indiscernibleâŠjust like the stone-cold expression of the bespectacled woman on the other side of the desk.
She catches you trying to peek. Your heart jumps.
As her sharp green gaze zeroes in on you, you clear your throat and shift in your seat.
She puts her quill down and twines her fingers.
âSo what do you think sets you apart from the other applicants?â
You chew on your lip. When you arrived to offer your candidature this morning, you naively believed youâd be early. Instead, you were forced to join the tail end of the massive waiting line stretching far outside the Snowsâ estate. It didnât hit you before that moment, how prized the position is. Each of the women and girls you saw radiated excellent breeding and impeccable manners. Many probably attended the University and could double as a tutor if the need presents itself.
This isnât your case. Your parents left you and your brother Laertes with nothing when they suddenly passed away in a rebel bombing. You couldnât blame them. This wasn't the plan. Who plans on dying and leaving their two children to fend for themselves?
Still, you now have a list of bills the length of your arm coupled with a massive mortgage to pay every month. And as Laertesâ sole caretaker, you must ensure you can afford to send him to University once he completes his education in the Academy.
Circumstances denied you that chance. Despite being of universityâs age, you couldnât afford the cost of tuition and had to drop out as soon as you got accepted. You want better for your little brother.
So as soon as you heard the news that President Snow and First Lady Livia Cardew were in search of a nanny for their son Martius, you jumped on the opportunity to apply. You rose before the sun, rummaged through your motherâs closet to find her best dress, and hailed a car to come here.
Itâs a long shot, of course. Youâre not as polished and impressive as some of the other women. Youâre also noticeably younger. But the wages promised alone compelled you to take a chance despite the odds being unfavorable.
Fiddling with your hands, you meet the womanâs impassive stare head-on.
âWhat sets me apart?â You mull over your answer. You could paint a false, august portrait of yourself, your skills and your accomplishments. Or try to at least.
But what would be the point of pretending to be someone youâre not only to be found out later on? So you elect to tread the path of honesty.
âNothing,â you say. âBut Iâm a hard worker. A very hard worker. In fact, I already have three jobs, one at a bakery, another as a clerk in an antique shop and I assist Fabricia Whatnot at her boutique sometimes.â Panic quivers inside you as the woman quickly jots something down on her notepad. You swiftly specify, â...But Iâll quit all of them if I get the position, of course.â You lick your lips as knots tie your stomach. âI can learn everything there is to learn on the spot. I love children, andâŠâ You trail off, gaze traveling to your lap as you muse if you should reveal more. Your fists clench as you add, âI have a little brother whoâs a few years older than Martius, and Iâm really hoping I get this opportunity so I can give him the life he deserves.â
An unnerving quiet occupies the air. The wait is agony, your nails digging painfully into your palms. The jagged drumming of your heart bleeds inside your ears as she studies you.
Eventually, she leans back in the velvet chair, her face betraying no thought or emotion.
âYouâre dismissed,â she says.
Your heart plummets to your feet. You shakily rise, dispirited as you drag your heels towards the door. You steal a glance above your shoulder. The womanâs attention has already drifted away from you as she shouts for the next applicant.
You sourly exit the office. You try to swallow your dejection as you note how many women are still waiting in line, each of them likely more qualified and experienced. Itâs obvious you tanked the interview. Shoulders slumping, you take resigned steps through the elegant, palatial hallways of the Snowâs mansion. You get lost in admiring the crystal and gold chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. There isnât an inch of the house that doesnât scream excessive, unattainable wealth.
You take your time soaking it in. Chances are youâll never step foot in such a place in your lifetime ever again.
Distracted, you donât notice the person in front of you before itâs too late. You bump straight into a hard, inflexible body.Â
The sudden collision threatens your balance.
Fingers coil around your wrists as you stagger back, preventing your impending collapse onto the marbled floor.
As your attention drifts skywards, your jaw drops at who fills your vision.
âP-President Snow, my deepest apologies, s-sir,â you stammer, flames licking your cheeks.
As if you didnât make yourself look dimwitted enough before, you now carelessly crashed into the leader of all of Panem. Just when you thought the day couldnât possibly get worse.
You take him in. It truly is him. Shock fills you.Â
 Tall and dazzling in a crisp white shirt and crimson vest that hints at his lean physique beneath the clothes, his signature blond waves slicked away from his face, he looks every bit the important figure that he is.
The flickering TV screen you own at home doesnât do him justice.
A gentle smirk unfurls on his lips.
âItâs quite alright. Iâm not made of sugar,â he jests.
âNoâŠyouâre not, your highnessâŠmajesty...I mean sir.â
Your blunder expands his smile. His cerulean gaze drags over your frame.
âAre you here for the nursemaid position?â
âI am, sir.â You unleash a deep exhale, his inquiry tossing salt on the fresh wound. The interviewer clearly wasnât impressed by your less than stellar performance. Maybe you should have tried to mimic the way the girls with whom you attended the Academy behave more. They carry themselves with such confidence, wading through the world with the certainty of their destinies being secure, bereft of hardships unlike district dwellers.
You envy how carefree they get to be. Everyday you wake up worried youâll come up short on a bill and you and Laertes will be forced to leave your family home. No matter how diligent you are at work, there never seems to be enough money to sustain the two of you. Even with three jobs, youâre barely eking out a decent living for you and your little brother. Many times, youâve gone to bed hungry just so Laertes would not.
You donât even realize tears have filled your eyes to the brim until a handkerchief is daintily pressed into your cheeks.
Flabbergasted, you blink up at President Snow.Â
âThank you,â you exhale, stunned by his kind gesture.
âWhatâs the matter?â he asks.
You search his eyes. Genuine interest lights up his pellucid blue orbs.
Without much thought, you confess, âI just donât think I did very well with my interview.â
As he scrutinizes you in silence, cocking his head sideways, embarrassment rushes through you.
Words anxiously leave your lips in a tremulous string.
âGod, Iâm so sorry, spilling my problems to you as if youâre not an extremely busy man, sir.â
He shakes his head. âItâs quite alright. And do not count yourself defeated, sweetheart.â Your pulse stutters when he bends over you to whisper, âYou may have left a stronger impression than you think.â
He nudges the pocket square between your hands. Itâs still damp with your tears. You gape at it in awe. President Snowâs initials are elegantly etched in the left corner of the fabric.
âHere. Keep it. Though Iâd much prefer it if you didnât cry.â He pauses, studying you. âGirls as lovely as you never should.â
His words send your heart into a frenzy. For a while, youâre too stunned to move. You then shake yourself back to reality, noticing youâre now staring at the empty space where he used to stand. Heâs gone. You look ahead. Heâs already miles away from you, wrapped in conversation with who seems to be an assistant of his.Â
Your thumbs press against the soft fabric of the pocket square. Cheeks ablaze, you hold it to your nose. It smells like roses, the same delicate scent that wafted from him a few minutes ago. Your back prickles. You pivot and are astonished to find the envious glares of some of the applicants still waiting in line zeroed in on you. Self-conscious, you rush to continue your exit, fleeing away from the hateful stares.Â
As the outside gates come into sight, you canât suppress an elated smile. Itâs not everyday someone meets President Snow and receives such a gift from him. Shoving the handkerchief in your pocket, you vow to place it somewhere safe and always cherish it.Â
When you return home, your brotherâs already sitting in the living room, his tiny brows scrunched in concentration and his nose buried in his books. Your stomach sinks. Everything you did today was for him. You canât help but feel you missed out on a huge opportunity, one thatâd have changed the course of his life forever. You glance around at the apartment. The walls are crumbling. The wooden floors are creaking. The pipes in the kitchen have been leaking for weeks, a measly bucket you must empty every morning the only thing preventing a flood. And at night, the pitter-patter of rodentsâ paws resonates from the ceiling.
Every inch of your family home is in dire need of repairs.
Unfortunately, every penny you earn goes into rent and food, meaning the house falls apart a bit more everyday. Perhaps one day, you and Laertes will awake beneath the rubble of whatâs left of your childhood home. Nightmares of that sometimes keep you up at night.
âHow was the Academy today?â you chime, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. Worry twists your chest. There isnât much left. Youâll need to make do with cabbage and whatever other veggies are left. Perhaps you could toss in some leftover dried meat and make a stew.
âMy teacher signed me up for advanced trigonometry,â your brother announces.
You close the cabinet and beam at him.
âOh, that sounds hard. Iâm proud of you.â It doesnât exactly surprise you. Laertesâ always been exceptionally smart. Even his teachers noticed how gifted he is from an early age. Unlike you, he breezed through middle school and now the Academy.
Itâs why itâs crucial you make sure he can go to the University. A mind like his shouldnât be wasted.
You brother shrugs, exuding nonchalance.
âItâs fine.â
You rush to him. You wrap your arm around him playfully and hug him in his chair, pulling his cheek like when he was little. You know he hates when you do that but you canât help teasing him a bit. Itâs your duty as a big sister after all.
âDonât downplay it. My little brotherâs a genius.â
He wriggles his way out of the hug, rolling his eyes.Â
âStop it.â
You head back to the kitchen and fire the stove.
âIâll make you something,â you say, smiling at your brother.
His brows knit. âMake something for yourself first.â
You nibble your bottom lip. You truly hoped he wouldnât notice, how much smaller than his your portions are. But heâs growing; he needs it. Much more than you. Besides, how can he focus at the Academy and be the brilliant boy he is supposed to be with a growling stomach? You wonât allow it.
âLaertesâŠâ
He shakes his head, his expression firm.
âNo. You always do this. This time, we split whatever is left.â
Heaving out a resigned exhale, you nod. You whirl to resume preparing dinner.
You gather a boiling pot from the overhead cabinet and place it on the stove. With the ease of practice, you begin chopping vegetables and tossing them into the pot. You add spices and water. The mouthwatering aroma quickly fills the kitchen. Pride swells in your chest. Your cooking skills have improved so much in the last year since your parents passed. You now manage to bring flavor to the blandest of meals.Â
Once the stewâs ready, you pour a portion in each bowl, putting just a little more in your brotherâs and praying he will not notice.
You place the steaming bowls on the table and take a seat opposite him.
âNo books at the dining table,â you admonish, mimicking the exact tone your mother used with your brother. Admitting defeat, Laertes sighs and sets his homework aside. The tiny victory tugs your lips skyward.
He tells you about his day at the Academy while the two of you eat. Youâre delighted to hear heâs making a lot of friends and heâs at the top of his class for most science subjects. Heâs struggling a bit more with his poetry and ethics classes, but you encourage him by reminding him he can just ask the teacher for extra assignments to keep his grade up.
âI interviewed for a new job today,â you reveal, stirring the spoon in your bowl while waiting for your brother to eat more of his food.
âHow did it go?â
âWell, it pays really well so Iâm hopeful.â
The hope dancing in his eyes makes your chest ache. You donât have the heart to tell him you made a fool of yourself today. You may not be gifted like your brother, but you want him to know he can rely on you at least.
Pursing his mouth, he looks down at his stew.
âThatâs great. Itâd be good if you didnât have to work as much.â
Your smile falters. âDonât worry. I have everything under control.â
âOkay.â
His dour tone stirs your concern. You wish you were better at hiding things from him, making his childhood as normal as possible. But your brotherâs twelve now, and thatâs old enough to sense when things are wrong.
He rises from his seat. You frown as you note thereâs still food left in his bowl.
âFinish your plate before going to your room.â
Annoyance pinches his features but he still picks up his bowl and hastily guzzles down the remainder of his stew.
âHappy now?â he says, wiping his mouth.
âYes. Very,â you cheerfully respond.
He gathers his books and strides towards his room.Â
Your voice rises.
âDonât stay up too late to study, okay? I love you.â
âIâŠlove you too,â he mumbles.
You bask in the moment as you clean the table. Thankfully Laertes is still at an age where he says it back. One day he might not. So you must cherish every instant. Every conversation, every hug, every âI love youâ. Because it could all vanish in a second. You learned that the hard way a year ago.
The day of the interview recedes to the back of your mind as you keep living your life. Work is harrowing, as usual, but you tend to your tasks as best as you can. Your arms ache as you knead the dough in the back of the bakery. You give yourself a second to wipe the sweat off your forehead. Itâs been a hectic afternoon. Thereâs a massive pastry order for some Capitol heiressâ birthday due tomorrow. So youâve been racing between the front desk and the kitchen in the back. A baker called in sick today, leaving you with twice the workload.
You know it wonât take much to crash into your bed and fall asleep tonight.
To make matters worse, the day hits its nadir when you get your pay that day. You peer inside the envelope for the umpteenth time. An anxious chuckle peals out of your lips.Â
âIâm sorry I donât want to complain, butâŠthis doesnât match the hours I put in.â
The owner scratches the back of his neck, a contrite expression etched on his face.
âIâm sorry too. With the new taxes imposed by the Capitol, I had to cut your salary.â
Slack-jawed by the news, no word leaves your mouth as you stare at him. He sighs.
âIf itâs a problem, we can find someone else-â
âNo, no,â you interrupt, blinking in panic. âPlease, I need this job.â
He acquiesces and youâre forced to thank him despite feeling cheated. You actually scaled back your hours for your other part-times since this one paid more. What a waste.Â
Dispirited, you return home. As you give the driver a bill for the fare, your insides wrench. Every bill counts. Perhaps youâll need to walk back home from now on. The streets of the Capitol are notoriously dangerous but you canât see any other way to save your dwindling wages. You already know youâll need to request an extension for rent this month. How will you pay it, however?
You suppose youâll have to figure it out. You always figure it out.
These are the somber thoughts swaying in your mind as you check the mailbox.Â
Bills. Bills. And more bills. Your already sour mood plummets even more. But a slim, silver envelope sticking out from the pile corrals your focus. Curiosity surges inside you. It looks fancy and thereâs a wax seal with the Capitolâs symbol keeping it shut. You rush to open it, heart fluttering in strange anticipation.
You unfold the neatly folded letter inside. As you read the words, you gasp, dropping the letter. Still trembling from shock and excitement, you bend to pick it up.Â
You take a deep slow breath before reading it again.Â
This time, a squeal escapes from your lips.Â
You read it many more times to make sure your eyes arenât just conjuring wild fantasies.Â
After a while, you realize they arenât. Itâs true.Â
Holding the letter to your chest, you toss yourself on your bed and kick your feet excitedly.Â
You then place your palm on your forehead. In disbelief, you beam at the ceiling.Â
SomehowâŠyouâve been hired to work for the Snows. You actually got the job.Â
Perhaps there is light at the end of the tunnel.
You fidget before the iron gates, smoothing absent wrinkles on your skirt. Itâs one of the best outfits you could find on short notice that wasnât moth-eaten or visibly overworn. You pray itâs enough. You let your gaze wander. The Snowsâ estate truly is majestic. The lush gardens. The beautiful architecture. You feel a little small as you admire the mansion.
Remembering yourself, you pivot to the man who drove you there. You fish inside your pocket for a bill and hand it to him. He stares at you blankly from the driverâs seat.
A weary sigh ripples behind you.
You turn, your eyes widening. Itâs the woman who interviewed you that day. She wears the same stern expression.
âYou donât need to pay him,â she explains, dismissing the man with her hand. He nods and drives away. âHeâs your assigned driver. Heâll pick you up each day and take you back home.â
âOh.â You offer your hand. âNice to meet youâŠagain.â
She gives you a lengthy onceover, completely ignoring your gesture. Then she motions at you to follow her. You let your hand fall to your side. Heat blooms in your cheeks. Perhaps, you were too enthusiastic just then. Straightening your spine, you try your best to keep pace with her quick strides.
âIâm Pandora. I supervise most housekeeping duties for the president. Iâll show you around the estate. Then youâll meet the young Master.â
She gives you a tour of the mansion. Youâre even more amazed than last time though you try to suppress your awe and not stare excessively. She shows you the garden as well. The sea of snow-white roses makes your head spin. She specifies that the only part of the house that is off-limits is the west wing of the mansion, as these are the First Ladyâs apartments and she must have rest and quiet.
She ends the visit by taking you to the nursery. A smile spontaneously finds its way onto your lips. A toddler plays with his toy train on the floor. With his blonde curls and bright blue eyes, he bears a striking resemblance to his father.
âThatâs him? Heâs so cute,â you whisper. Even the stern womanâs expression thaws a little as she looks at the child, softening ever-so-slightly. You send her a questioning glance. She gives you a nod of approval.Â
You approach the boy and crouch in front of him.
âHi. Youâre Martius, right?â
He lifts his head and beams at you. Youâre immediately endeared. Again, his smile reminds you of President Snow. You suppose one could probably take over the world with a smile like that.Â
You turn to Pandora.
âIs his mother around? I should probably introduce myself.â
Her face pinches. âMistress Livia has been unwell as of late. She is not to be disturbed today as she is quite tired.â
âOf course.â Your lips squeeze shut for a few seconds but curiosity gets the better of you. A question burns on your lips, one that nagged you ever since you got the job. It slips out before you can think it through. âIs thisâŠIs this why the president and his wife require a nanny? The First Lady is sick?â
Pandora glowers at you. You flinch as she steps further inside the room, her searing tone like a whip.
âYou are here to do your job, and nothing else. Mistress Liviaâs health is no concern of yours. Do you hear me?â
You rise on shaky feet. You forgot yourself.
âI-I understand. Iâm sorry I asked.â
âThis reminds me. You have to sign this,â she says, handing you a pen and clipboard. A thin stack of papers are attached to the clipboard. The front page spells âNon-Disclosure Agreementâ in bold letters at the very top. You scowl as you flip through the pages.
âWhatâs that?â
âItâs a contract, one signed by every one of the Presidentâs employees.â
âI donât understand most of whatâs written hereâŠâ
A frustrated exhale peals from her lips.
âIâll make it simple for you then. For the duration of your employment here, nothing you see or hear must ever leave this house. You are here to care for the young master, that is all. Nothing else should concern you. Is that clear enough?â
You swallow thickly. It doesnât sound hard at all. Discretion is essential in every job, isnât it? But the way Pandora makes it sound, youâd assume there are bodies buried beneath the Snowsâ estate. Youâd laugh if her death stare werenât so disquieting.
You peruse the contract, perplexed by most of the legal mumbo jumbo filling the pages. None of it rings any bell. You understand the gist of it however. You must preserve the president and his wifeâs privacy. While you donât know the specifics of the first ladyâs condition, her public appearances have been few and far between in the last few years.
She used to be the envy of every woman in the Capitol. Beautiful, young and married to the dashing President Snow.
She was a fairytale princess come to life.
Then their son Martius was born. And when they held him up from the balcony of their mansion for all of Panem to gaze upon, they truly seemed like the perfect family.
Until one day, Livia Cardew simplyâŠvanished.
She was noticeably absent from all the events of the season, some she even hosted herself. Tongues wagged of course, rumors and wild theories spreading like wildfire.Â
But no one knew the truth of what had happened to her.
The matter seems delicate. You promise yourself not to bring it up again.
You click the pen and scribble your name at the bottom of the very last page.
âIâveâŠnever signed a contract like that before starting a job.â
Pandora lets out a wry chuckle.
âWell, youâve never worked for President Snow.â
As promised, you quit your two other jobs to focus solely on Martius. Youâre hesitant at first. Your departed parents taught you never to put all your eggs in one basket. And itâs exactly what youâd be doing by trusting the Snows. But when you receive your first paycheck, long before the end of the week, every qualm you had fades. Itâs more money than youâve ever had, more money than you expected. Rent isnât an issue anymore. Neither is food.
Besides, gifts keep coming from the estate. Clothes mostly, for both you and Laertes, but also jewelry, perfume and other fancy things you donât need. Overwhelmed by President Snowâs generosity, you try to send some of it back, but you donât have the heart to return everything when you see your brotherâs happy face when he opens his wardrobe one day.
Youâve caught the self-conscious glimpses he casts at his classmates sometimes, when not wearing the Academy uniform. Their clothes are always brand new and custom, perfectly tailored while his are stitched back together by your clumsy hands whenever they fray at the seams. Youâre not a seamstress but youâve always done your best. But you know your best doesnât compare to the access and privilege those kids have.
Other than those blessings, your time with Martius has been a breeze. Only hazy memories of your brother as a toddler linger in your mind, but you donât recall him ever being as sweet and calm as the little boy is.
It hardly feels like work, caring for the small child. You spend the day playing along with his games, reading stories to him and, as the day nears its end, the two of you feed the ducks in the massive pond behind the mansion. He even gives them names and gets upset when they fight with each other.Â
âLily doesnât like James anymore,â he whispers to you one day, a sullen pout scrunching his tiny features.Â
âAnd why is that?â
âI think sheâs angry that he steals her food.â
You chuckle and ruffle his golden locks. The little boy always has a story for everything he sees. At all times, his world must make sense. So if he cannot find a reason to explain what fills his gaze, heâll weave a tale that matches it. His stories are each more wild than the other and he sometimes utters words youâve never heard a four year old use.
But you surmise it is expected from the son of the president. When he isnât with you, the little boy is often with his private tutor. Even at his tender age, the importance of manners and eloquence is impressed upon him.
Martius tugs at your skirt when you make your way to the door. You look down. His blue eyes are pleading.Â
âYouâre leaving again?â
You heave out a long exhale. The little boy wasnât so clingy before but with your bond growing, heâs been expressing more sadness from watching you go at the end of every day.Â
You hunker down to his level.
âMy little brotherâs expecting me.â
His forehead puckers. âStayâŠâ
âI told you before, Martius. I have a brother. Heâll miss me if Iâm not here.â
âOkay,â he mumbles, giving a begrudging nod. Tears already swim in his eyes though. Panic flows through you. You didnât want to upset him. You pick him up and bounce with him in your arms to try to soothe him.
âOh, no. Donât cry, sweetie.â He buries his head in the crook of your neck, nearly squeezing you to death when he wraps his arms around your neck. His loud, tearful sobs swell in the room. âHey, itâs okay. Iâll see you tomorrow like always, okay? So I need you to be brave for me.â His grip on you loosens as he sniffles. You put him down and the two of you pinky promise that youâll return. Your heart twists at the sight of his tear-stained little face.Â
You give his hair one last affectionate pat before rushing outside. If you stay, he might throw another tantrum. No matter what, you can never get mad at Martius. Heâs just a child. In the absence of his mother, heâs bound to grow attached to any woman filling a role adjacent to hers. You loathe that youâre taking those moments from the first lady. Though it pleases you to have a steady job and spend time with the sweet boy, it feels wrong that she isnât there. She should get to see her baby grow up. She should hear his inane ramblings and eccentric stories.
As time wears on, youâre dying to meet her and tell her about Martius. Is she truly so sick that she canât even see him for a mere few minutes? Youâre itching to break the rules and visit the west wing of the mansion. Sometimes you hear blood-curdling screams and wailing coming from the dark halls but you never dared venture through them. You know that if you did, Pandora would crucify you.
Laertesâ well-being matters more than your curiosity.
Humming absently, you halt in your tracks in the middle of a hallway. Confusion has you blinking. A peculiar noise bounces faintly against the walls. Your gaze drifts sideways, where the noise seems to come from. Youâre clocking out. Whateverâs going on in the house isnât any of your business at this hour.
But what if someone needs help? What if itâs something bad? Youâd feel awful if you learnt something happened the next day and you pretended to ignore it. So you gingerly approach the wall. Your fingers graze the tapestry covering it.Â
Your eyes widen when the wall moves, a tiny crack forming in it.
Your eyes bulge. Itâs an ajar door, you realize. A secret door one wouldnât notice if they werenât aware it was there. Light spills from the slight opening.
Confining your breath, you bend over the crack in the wall to get a glimpse of whatâs behind it.Â
The vision crowding your sight makes the blood in your veins freeze.Â
President Snow rutting into a maid with his pants down to his ankles. His usually neat blonde locks are tousled, a few damp curls kissing his forehead. His massive cock glistens with the girlâs essence, disappearing into the girlâs spread lips over and over again. Her body is bent over the railing of the bed and her maid outfit is bunched around her hips, exposing her ass, the flesh trembling with each of the presidentâs harsh, pointed thrust.
Each time he snaps his hips he draws a broken moan from her. One of his hands is around the back of her throat while the otherâs on the small of her back. He grunts low in his throat as she clenches around him, thrusting into her even faster than before.Â
The obscene sound of their coupling rises, coalescing with the feral grunts spilling from the presidentâs mouth. In that moment, heâs not the poised gentleman youâre used to seeing, he is an animal in rut chasing his high.
A shocked exhale escapes your lips. Your hand flies to cover your mouth. President Snowâs head snaps up, his gaze landing straight on you.
Your heart slams against your ribcage.
You jump back from the door and push the secret door closed. You dart across the hallway, determined to find the exit as quickly as you can. You donât glance back, your steps hasty and panicked.Â
Pandora was right. Itâs best not not to hear or see anything, to become a tomb in which secrets are buried.
You can only hope he didnât recognize you through the tiny crack in the door.Â
Though youâre shaken to your core, you continue your work as a nanny. You still need money. You may have set aside everything you made thus far, but it will only sustain you and your brother for a month or two. Besides, youâve already handed in your resignation for your other jobs. The positions have likely been filled. You canât exactly show up out of the blue and ask for your former job back.Â
No. So you convince yourself that itâs alright. You have a good thing going anyway. Youâre making more than you hoped. The child is happy. Youâre happy. All is well. Or it would be at least.
âŠIf you could conjure the memory of President Snow railing into the maid far away from your mind.Â
You want to forget it, bury the moment so deep in the abyss of your thoughts, it can never be unearthed.
But it isnât so easy. Because every time your mind wanders even a little, you see him again. Skin glistening with sweat and blue eyes alight with lust. The image is tattooed into your brain.Â
You wonder if the first lady knows. Perhaps itâs why sheâs hiding away. The weight of her husbandâs indiscretions may have grown too heavy to carry. It sours your heart. President Snow seemed so kind, good and noble. He was nice to you. You still have the breast pocket he gave you tucked away in a drawer. You loathe to think heâd do that to his wife. No woman deserves this.
You lift your head when your name is uttered. You get to your feet. Adrift in your thoughts, you didnât realize Pandora was in the nursery.Â
âYes?â
âThe president wants to see you in his office.â
Dread wrenches your gut. Itâs exactly what you feared. Does he know? Did he see you? Your pulse picks up. What other reason would there be? He never summoned you before.
âReally, why?â
âHe didnât say, but Iâm assuming itâs to congratulate you.â
Befuddlement wrinkles your forehead. âCongratulate me?â
Pandora heaves out a weary sigh. âWell, youâve done much better than we thought,â she begrudgingly admits. âThe young master smiles all the time.â She rolls her eyes. âEven if we must deal with his tantrums when you leave.â
A sliver of pride flutters through you with her admission. Pandora made her doubts about your capabilities plain and obvious from the beginning. It gladdens you that you may have changed her mind a little.Â
âIâm sorry.âÂ
âItâs fine.â She turns to him, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. âItâs a small price to pay for his happiness.â
Your smile vanishes as she adds, âNow let me escort you to the presidentâs office. He doesnât like to be kept waiting.â
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you trail behind her. The entire trek to the presidentâs office, your stomachâs in knots. You keep wondering if itâs the day youâll lose your job for being too nosy. You should have walked past the noise. You shouldnât have peeked.Â
You inhale a lungful of nerve as Pandora opens the door to his office and frees room for you to enter. Your clammy hands wrench in your lap. Heâs sitting behind his desk. You stagger further inside the room as he motions for you to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. He looks the same as the first time you stumbled into him, disarmingly handsome in an impeccable shirt and pants that flatter his long legs.
A sharp contrast to the version of him that has plagued your thoughts lately.Â
His sky gaze follows you as you take a trembling seat.
âAre you settling in well?â he asks.
âHm, yes,â you stammer, anxiously twining your fingers. âItâs pretty much the perfect job. I get to be around a cute child all day.â
âI hear my son is very fond of you.â
You bashfully dip your head. âHeâs very easy to like. Heâs such a good boy, sweet, kind, and curious. You and your wife are raising him well, sir.â
He hums in thought. âI canât take much credit for that. Iâve tried my best to carve out time for MartiusâŠbut workâs kept me busy. As for Livia...â He lets out a humorless chuckle. âWell she isnât quite herself these days.â
âIâm sorry to hear that.â
He places one hand under his chin, scrutinizing you. You try not to twitch beneath his stare, your insides tight with dread.
âHm, itâs strange,â he states after a minute that goes by like an eternity.
Your head rises. âWhatâs strange?â
âA girl like you.â His lips drag upward. âSweet, nurturing, beautiful. Shouldnât you be married already?â
Your lips part in astonishment. This isnât the line of questioning you expected. âI-Iâm not.â
âNo fiancĂ©?â
âNo, sir.â
âA lover then?â
Warmth rushes to your face.
âNoâŠâ
He laughs, mirth dancing in his cobalt orbs.
âYou must pardon me for being so forward but I simply find it astonishing. No suitors? Itâs hard to believe since youâre so lovely, sweetheart.â He tilts his head. You shift in discomfort, his attention making you feel see-through. âI mean, a husband would have made your life easier than itâs been thus far, wouldnât he, dove?â
A long exhale flows from your lips. âIâve had offers, after I graduated from the Academy. There was even this boy, he was so kind to me.â The memory draws a small smile from you. âHe proposed. Iâm sure heâd make a great husband, butâŠâ
âButâŠâ
Your mouth dries.
âI know itâs probably naive and unrealistic but I want to marry for love, that great, life-changing love, like in those romance novels my mom used to love, not money or status.â
His eyes twinkle. âOr financial stability?â
Shame gathers in your chest. You know it sounds silly when uttered aloud.Â
âI know, Iâm an idiot.â
âNo, youâre not. Itâs sweet that you still believe in love.â He appears lost in a faraway memory, his gaze hazing over with remembrance. âI used to believe in it too. I used to think, âWho needs wealth and success and power when love conquers all?ââ
He chuckles but itâs bereft of amusement.Â
âReally? What happened then?â
His gaze locks with yours.Â
âI grew up.â
Confused, you frown.Â
âBut arenât you and the first lady in love?â
Another laugh bursts from his chest.
âGod, youâre sweet.â His tone lowers to a dulcet whisper. âItâs like none of the worldâs ugliness has gotten to you yet.â He reveals matter-of-factly, âMy wife and I hate each other.â His smile widens at your flabbergasted expression. âAlways did. Itâs best that way, moreâŠefficient. Of course, there was a time, when we hadâŠpassion.â He licks his lips, something you canât pinpoint flickering in his gaze. âBut not anymore. Sheâs far too gone for that.â
He rises from his chair. You stiffen as he circles the desk, making slow steps towards you.Â
âWhich is why I mustâŠsatiate my needs wherever I can,â he mumbles, fingers lurking under your chin, forcing your eyes to fall upon him. âDo you understand my meaning, dove?â
âIâŠyes.â
Discomfort flares within you. Tension hangs in the air, so heavy it clogs your airways.Â
He cocks his head, lips slanting crookedly.
âDo you really? With that innocent look in your eyes, itâs hard to tell.â His thumb sweeps over your shuddering bottom lip. âMen have needs. And am I not a man, sweetheart?â
âY-Yes you are, sir.â
He bends over you to whisper in your ear. âYou saw everything that day, didnât you?â Your heart stops.
Flames lick your face as you bow your head. âI-I didnât see anything.â
His warm breath ghosts over your earshell.
âLiar,â he mumbles.
Your pulse quickens.
He leans back and nudges your chin upward.
âSince my wife fell sick, Iâve been very lonely. And sometimesâŠâ He looms over you, crowding your space as you peer up at him, fingers squeezing the arms of the chair. âI need something soft and warm to forget that feeling.â
President Snow slowly falls to his knees in front of you. His fingers find your thigh, starting to creep under your skirt. A devilish glint sparkles in his cobalt gaze. He finds your center, pressing the sheer fabric into your folds. You gasp. He chuckles at your reaction. He starts teasing you through your panties, tracing your slit and dragging over your tender bud. Your breath hitches as the air around you grows hotter. You grow slick beneath his finger, your thighs shaking as tingles bloom on your flesh.
âSirâŠâ you whimper, tears welling up in your eyes.
He pushes further inside you, adding another finger, and you unleash an audible breath. You try to close your thighs. He places his other hand on your knee to keep you open for him.
The air in your lungs grows thinner as he rubs your core through your soaked panties. The friction is a delicious torture. Pleasure pools in your belly causing your face to burn with shame. Youâre getting embarrassingly wet with President Snowâs attention.
âI just want a little taste,â he murmurs, his deep timbre bleeding lust. âJust one time and itâll never happen again,â he promises fervently as his lips graze your ankle. You find some relief when his fingers disappear from your drenched center. But your respite is ephemeral. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs at your panties.
Panic widens your eyes. Cheeks ablaze, you pull at the material between your legs with both hands. But heâs stronger than you and effortlessly drags the fabric along your legs. A wicked smile plays on his lips as tears glisten in your eyes. Itâs soon down to your ankles. You squeal when the president yanks the panties off your foot, tossing them aside. Cool air sneaks beneath your skirt, swirling over your bare folds.
Hands over your knees to keep you spread, his wolfish gaze sweeps over your glossy folds.Â
Your skin heats, embarrassment gathering in your chest. Youâve never been this vulnerable and exposed in front of anybody before.
âPlease, President Snow, s-stopâŠâÂ
âBut youâre dripping, sweetheart,â he states smugly, sinking a finger inside your weeping core, as if to make a point. Your breath hitches. He takes his finger out sluggishly. You clench when he grazes one of your sensitive spots. âJust as sweet as I expected,â he hums, obscenely licking your essence off his long digit.
Without a warning, he buries his head between your thighs. A sharp exhale leaps from your mouth. His cool tongue traces a wet trail over your folds. President Snow traces maddening patterns over your swollen bud causing your eyes to roll back.
You card your fingers through his silken platinum locks, hoping to push his head away. But the delightful sensations grow too overwhelming. You unravel beneath his sinful ministrations, your limbs twitching as the thread of your thoughts comes loose.
Your grip on his hair weakens. Your belly tightens, your chest rising and falling rapidly.Â
You jolt as his tongue flickers over your tender heap of nerves.Â
âP-PresidentâŠâÂ
He purrs against your folds and the vibrations rock through your core. You squirm in the chair. Your thighs quake. Your vision dims, your mind blank as waves of pleasure swaddle you in their tide. Protests scatter on your tongue, replaced by wanton whimpers and moans.
Electricity ripples through your spine as you cry out.
Bliss engulfs you and your legs turn liquid. Shame swirls in your gut as your juices coat his tongue. He drinks your nectar, elation rumbling in his chest.Â
When he lifts his head, you hardly recognize him. The feral glow in his gaze chills your blood.
There is no time to collect yourself, realize what just occurred, as the blonde gathers your limp frame from the chair and places you on his desk. Documents and papers are flung to the ground as he grabs your thighs and presses his throbbing hard-on against your cunt.Â
He hastily unbuttons his pants, freeing his hard length. He fists his cock and guides it through your wet entrance. Your back arches, the sudden intrusion robbing you of air. He reaches the hilt of you in a few seconds, giving you no time to accommodate his thick girth. You collapse over the desk, weak whimpers leaving you as your walls are stretched to their limit. He drags out of you, his pupils flaring as they trace the motion of his length in and out of you. Coriolanus leans over you. He snaps his pelvis into your hips, each of his thrusts tearing tearful moans from your throat.
When you turn your head, hot tears flowing down your cheeks, he grabs your chin so youâre forced to meet his lustful stare. Bracing himself on the desk, he reaches between your bodies to pinch your swollen clit. He plucks at your soft bud until you shatter around him with a sob. His throat bobs, a look of sheer bliss flitting across his face when you clench around him.
âIâve been dying to fuck you the minute I saw you,â he confesses, trailing soft pecks over your collarbone. A sinister chuckle peals from his lips. âThe way you looked at me with those sweet, innocent eyesâŠit made me rock-hard.â He tilts your chin towards him, his thumb skimming over your parted lips.
Satisfaction glimmers in his eyes as they flick over your prone form.
âYou should thank me. Those boys at the Academy wouldnât know what to do with a girl like youâŠâ His cock twitches inside you. Sticky warmth spills from him, painting your walls and dripping past your hole. Drops of his seed leak onto the desk. A throaty sigh pours from President Snowâs throat as your cunt flutters around him.
His teeth nip the skin of your neck.
â...But I do.â
After what occurs in his office, you hope to avoid President Snow. Those hopes are swiftly dashed however. President Snow lied to you. It doesnât happen once. In fact, you begin to lose count of the actual number.
Every time the president finds a little spare time, he summons you.
Sometimes you end up bent over the desk in his office as he pours the frustrations of the day into your warm hole. Sometimes he prefers you sprawled on your back in one of the multitude of luxurious beds in the mansion while he devours you as if you were his very last meal. And at times, he grows even more impatient and simply shoves you against a wall before ravaging you.
More than once, a maid or footman has walked in on the two of you, and youâve had to swallow your shame and embarrassment.
As youâve come to learn, the entire staff is aware of Coriolanus Snowâs insatiable appetite and none of them seems to care.
You feel sick, desperate, trapped in something twisted and awful you never signed up for.
But how does one say no to President Coriolanus Snow? The entire Capitol yields to his every whim. And you are the same. Here to bow and smile and lie back whenever he demands it.
You long to focus on your job, to care for Martius and nothing else. Whenever the boy looks up at you with those innocent blue eyes, eerily similar to his fatherâs, your stomach wrenches. You pray he never comes to learn what kind of man his father is. You wish heâd stay just as kind and sweet as he is now.
Those are the thoughts drifting through your mind as you watch Martius play with his toy trains. Your eyes wander towards the window. Outside, orange and purple hues are bleeding into the sky, the afternoon nearing its end. Your stomach coils. Itâs during times like these that President Snow often seeks you out. Youâve tried to run away from him but itâs all a game to Coriolanus, and he always delights in chasing you through the hallways.
Your brows crumple as you note that Martius has stopped playing. He drops his toy and rushes to your side. Confounded by his behavior, youâre on the cusp of asking him whatâs wrongâŠbut your gaze follows what caught his attention on the other side of the room.
You fall silent, your eyes rounding in shock.
âMartius. Come here, my love,â says the blonde woman in a white robe and nightgown, her arms wide open.
Time stands still for a few seconds. It takes you a while to realize who stands before the door. She looks so different, more ghost than woman, her glassy blue eyes hollow and sunken. But her likeness is unmistakable. Even with her graying, limp tresses and ashen complexion, you recognize Livia Cardew. The presidentâs wife.
You bolt to your feet. Arms still open, Livia takes slow steps towards Martius.
âIâm your mom, sweetie. Donât you remember me?â
The little boyâs fists clutch your skirt as he hides his face against your leg.
âYouâre not my mom.â
A stricken look twists Liviaâs features as she shrinks. As if her own son just drove a knife through her heart. Your chest twinges. While her abrupt appearance is a shock, you canât imagine how she must feel. You place a hand on Martiusâ back and try to nudge him forward.
âMartius. Itâs the First Lady, your mother. Go on, hug her,â you urge softly.
He shakes his head, tears filling his eyes as he hides behind you even more.
Youâre stunned. Has it truly been that long?
âMartius-â
You donât get to finish your sentence, Livia lunging at you, her eyes wild with fury.
âYou! This is all your fault,â she hisses. She points at you and scoffs, âYouâre his new whore, arenât you?â Her mouth wobbles as she grips her head. âFirst you take my husband, now my son.â
Martius begins to sob. His loud cries overlap with his motherâs frantic yelling. You cover his eyes, tossing Livia an apologetic look.
âFirst Lady, I never meant-â
Before you can explain yourself, she grabs a nearby vase and smashes it. White roses scatter on the floor. Stomping all over the petals and broken glass, she collects one of the shards and races towards you. Terror numbs you. You freeze as Livia aims the shard at you, scarlet droplets dripping on her nightgown as she squeezes her fist around the glass.
Your eyes shut as you wait for the inevitable strike.
You shiver, waiting still.
But it doesnât come.
âLivia, darling, thatâs enough. Itâs time for you to sleep and take your medicine.â
The familiar sound of Coriolanusâ voice causes your eyes to snap open.Â
You watch him restrain a struggling Livia. She curses at him, fighting him with all her might. Itâs a painful spectacle.Â
âNo, donât touch me!â Other staff members rush into the room. It takes several people to hold Livia down, colorful expletives pouring from her mouth as she punches and kicks whoever comes close. âYouâre killing me! You bastard! Give me my son back! Martius! Martius!â
The child trembles against your skirt, his tear-filled gaze stuck to the floor.
Eventually someone manages to stick a needle into Liviaâs neck. She instantly goes limp, arm still reaching for her son in her last conscious second.
âTake her away,â Coriolanus instructs.
The first ladyâs flaccid form is dragged out of the room. Still shaken by what you just witnessed, you donât move a muscle. President Snow approaches you, worry swimming in his blue orbs.Â
âAre you alright, dove?â He cups your cheeks, his brows crumpling as his gaze settles on your neck. âIâll have Doctor Gaul look at you. She has an ointment for that.â He caresses your cheeks, smiling. You gape at him. How can he smile at a time like that? âIt wonât even scar. I promise.â
You graze your neck. Your fingers come away bloody. Oh. Livia nicked you with the shard but you didnât even feel it. Perhaps adrenaline numbed you to the pain.
âDada,â Martius chimes, lifting his chubby arms.
Coriolanusâ face warms as he picks up his son. He tosses him in the air and catches him. Martius giggles through his tears.
âMy sweet boy. That was very scary, wasnât it?â he says, balancing his son on his hip. Martius nods and wipes his nose. Coriolanus flicks his cheek, beaming at him. âDonât worry, son. The scary lady wonât bother you anymore in a few months.â
A wave of ice blows through your veins. You wonder why the president uttered those words with such certainty. Like a promise. Or a prophecy. Almost as if he knows exactly when the grim reaper will come knock on his wifeâs door.
The next day, you hand over your resignation to Pandora. Her expression is skeptical as she gauges the manila folder you give her.
âThis is for the president,â you announce.
She unleashes a deep exhale. âYou should reconsider, sleep on it.â
You almost laugh. Sleep on it? You can hardly find rest, the picture of a disheveled Livia Cardew crying out for her son haunting your nights. Whatever befell upon the poor woman, you wouldnât be surprised if her husband somehow had a hand in it. It broke your heart, seeing her like that, her own son unable to recognize her. You also despise the role Coriolanus forced you to play in erasing her memory.
All of it feels wrong.Â
And most of all, you donât want President Snow to use you to satisfy his lewd desires anymore. He took all your firsts, all the moments that should have been beautiful, and made them a nightmare you have to relive every time he touches you.
You respected him; you admired him. Now you canât be in his presence without dread whispering through you. What will he make you do this time? How will he make you small and powerless again?
âI canâtâŠI canât do this anymore. He can hire someone else to care for him.â
Pandora purses her lips and shakes her head.
âItâs really not that simple. The president has developedâŠa fondness for you.â
You bristle. âI have to go back home. Laertes is expecting me.â
âYou wonât like what comes next, trust me.â Her gaze narrows. âNo one leaves the president.â
Ignoring the shudder elicited by her daunting words, you pivot and make a beeline towards the exit. Pandoraâs voice echoes down the hallways.
âDonât say I didnât warn you.â
Depleted, you glumly make your way to the gates. You enter the car that takes you back home everyday. Your thoughts wander as the Snowâs house grows smaller through the car window. You were thrilled when you got this job. It felt like kismet after the year you and your brother had. A rainbow after the rain. A slice of hope.
How it all went to hell so quickly. Youâre still reeling from it. Youâve no idea what youâll do next. The only thing you know for certain is that you will not step foot into the Snowsâ estate ever again.
The car suddenly halts. You bump your head into the passengerâs seat. Wincing, you grip the sides of your head. As you retrieve your senses, you look around. You stopped.
You toss a questioning look at the driver.
But before he can respond, the car door opens and youâre yanked outside. Two pairs of strong arms drag you away from the car.
You take in the blue uniforms of the men. Terror pulses through your blood.
Peacekeepers.
Noting the guns at their sides, you stop trying to resist. Thereâs no fighting against them, ever. They are the Capitolâs fist and carry the Presidentâs will. You donât stand a chance. In fact, you likely never did. You slump in their grip, despair thrumming inside you.
They escort you to a black car with tinted windows. Your pulse soars. Youâve only ever seen one individual step out of this car.
The peacekeepers toss you inside and slam the door shut.
Your fearful gaze rises to him.
He casually sits in front of you, his eyes narrowed.
âYou disappoint me, dove.â He lets out a weary sigh. âAfter everything Iâve done for youâŠyou try to leave me. I thought you were smarter than that.â
You twine your hands, sputtering, âI-Iâm not the right person for this job, sir.â
He slides his fingers under your chin, tilting it upward.
âOh but youâre perfect. My son loves you. Youâre sweet, dutiful and most importantlyâŠâ He smirks. âYou are mine. Mine to hold, spoil and fuck whenever I please for however long I please.â
The prospect fills you with dread. He wants you to be his toy again, submissive, available whenever he pleases.
âSirâŠâ
His jaw ticks, his hold on your jaw tightening.
âWouldnât it be wonderful if your brother could attend the University, free of charge? A bright young mind such as his, I believe he deserves it.â His blue eyes twinkle. âInstead of, letâs sayâŠend up in a District, his name chosen as a tribute in the next Hunger Games.â Your heart sinks to your feet. âThatâd be awful, wouldnât it? So cruelâŠâ he mumbles, stroking your trembling bottom lip.
âNo, please,â you beseech, tears swelling in your eyes. Your brotherâs all you have left in the world. Nothing can happen to him.Â
Coriolanus fondles your cheek, the tender gesture a sharp contrast to the wicked words rolling off his tongue.
âItâs all up to you, then, dove. As long as you behave, Iâll give you the world. But if you act like a little brat againâŠâ A threat lurks in his soft tone, a glint of madness swaying in his cobalt orbs. âI really donât know what I might do.â
Chills dance over your spine.
âI promise to never do it again,â you blurt out.
He pulls out a square from his breast pocket. Itâs identical to the one he used the first time.
But a lifetime seems to have passed since that moment, the world now so different from what you imagined, and the man before youâŠeven more so.
âGood girl,â he lauds while swiping away your tears.Â
He shoves the pocket square back in its place. Coriolanus then beams at you as he starts unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his pants.
âNow, Iâve had a long, exhausting day. So how about you get on your knees for me and make it better with that sweet mouth of yours, dove?â
#dark!coriolanus snow#tbosas fanfiction#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#coriolanus snow#hunger games#coriolanus snow x reader#dark!coriolanus snow x reader
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data about where carbon emissions are coming from is so frustrating cause there's all kinds of huge, sprawling, just fucking vast breakdowns of What Causes The Most Carbon Emissions Out Of All Everything In The Entire World, but those are aggregations of numerous smaller but still vast aggregations of data, which are processed and polished from various aggregations of crunched numbers, which are patched and pieced together from various studies, estimates and calculations, which are sieved out of numbers crunched from various measurements, estimates and records, which have been collected, estimated or otherwise conceived through an unspeakably huge variety of methodologies with unspeakably huge variety in limitations, reliability and margins of error.
Even if some of the data was very fine-grained at the beginning, it was filtered through some very coarse number-crunching techniques for the sake of the coarse data, so the results are only as good as the wrongest thing you did in any part of this process, but the plans of action are getting thought up from the top down, which makes the whole thing a hot fucking mess.
For example. And I just made this example up. Say you want to know whether apples or potatoes have a worse impact on climate change. So you look at one of these huge ass infographic things. And it says that potatoes are bad, whereas apples are REALLY good, the BEST crop actually. So it's better to eat apples than potatoes, you think to yourself. Actually we should find a way to replace potatoes with apples! We should fund genetic engineering of apples so they have more starch and can replace potatoes. Great idea. Time to get some investors to put $5 billion towards it.
But actually. Where'd they get that conclusion about apples? Well there's this review right here of the carbon footprint of all different fruits, seems legit. Where'd that data come from? Well it's citing this study right here saying that tree-grown crops are better because they sequester carbon, and this study right here about the distance that different fruits get transported, and this study right here where different fertilization systems are compared in terms of their carbon footprint, and this study over here that sampled 300 apple, peach, and orange farmers comparing their irrigation practices and rates of tree mortality, and this study...wow, okay, seems really reliable...
...what's the first study citing? oh, okay, here's a study about mycorrhizal networks in orchards in Oregon, saying that there's a super high density of fungal mycelium in the 16 orchards that they sampled. And here's a study about leaf litter decay rates in Switzerland under different pesticide regimes, and...okay...relationship of tree spacing to below ground vs. aboveground biomass...a review of above and below-ground biomass in semi-intensively managed orchard plots...
...That one cites "Relationship between biomass and CO2 requirements...carbon immobilization in soil of various tree species...mycorrhizal fungi impact on carbon storage...
...wait a second, none of these are talking about apples, they're about boreal forests...and orange trees...and peanut farms! They're just speculating on roughly applying the non-apple data to apples. You have to go backwards...
Yes! "A review of belowground carbon storage in orchard cropping systems!" Seems like overall the studies find potentially high carbon storage in orchard environments! Walnuts...pears...oranges... intercropping walnuts and wheat... intercropping apples and wheat... wait a second, what about orchards with only apples?
Time for you to go back again...
"New method of mulching in apple orchards can lower irrigation and pesticide needs..." okay but if it's new, most farmers aren't doing it. "Orchards with high density interplanted with annual crops show way more mycorrhizal fungus activity..." "Mycorrhizal associations with trees in the genus Malus..."
...And pretty soon you've spent Five Fucking Hours investigating apples and you've got yourself in this tangled web of citations that demonstrate that some orchard crops (not necessarily apples) store a lot of long-lasting biomass in their trunks and roots really wellâand some apple orchards (not necessarily typical ones) have high amounts of mycorrhizal fungiâand some techniques of mulching in orchards (not necessarily the ones apple farmers use) experience less erosionâand some apple trees (not necessarily productive agricultural apples) have really deep root systemsâ
âand some environments with trees, compared with some conventional agricultural fields, store more carbon and experience less erosion, but not apple orchards because that data wasn't collected in apple orchards.
And you figure out eventually that there is no direct evidence anywhere in the inputs that singles out apples as The Best Crop For Fighting Climate Change, or suggests that conventional apple farming has a much smaller carbon footprint than anything else.
The data just spit out "apples" after an unholy writhing mass of Processes that involved 1) observing some tree-grown crops and deciding it applies closely enough to all tree grown crops 2) observing some apple orchards and deciding its applicable enough to all apple orchards 3) observing some tree-including environments and deciding its close enough to all tree-including environments 4) observing some farming methods and deciding it applies closely enough to all farming methods
And any one of these steps individually would be fine and totally unavoidable, but when strung together repeatedly they distort the original data into A Puddle of Goo.
And it wouldn't be that bad even to string them together, if trees didn't vary that much, and farming didn't vary that much, and soil didn't vary that much, and mycorrhizal networks didn't vary that much, and regions that grow apples didn't vary that much, and pre-conversion-to-apple-orchard states of apple orchards didn't vary that much, and economic incentives controlling apple farming didn't vary that much, but all of these things DO vary, a Fuck Ton, and if the full range of variation were taken into accountânay, intentionally optimizedâthe distinction between apples and potatoes might turn out to be be MEANINGLESS GOO.
anyway big size piles of data about Farming, In General, make me so bitchy
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Hot Wheels [M] Pairing: Kim Mingyu x Fem!Reader Tags: 15.9k, 90's AU, Co-Workers to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, Smut 18+ Collab: Now That's 90's Summary: There has been something brewing between you and your part-time co-worker (full-time hottie), Kim Mingyu. Endlessly flirting on the clock at Wheelies, making out in the back of the movie theater, rolling around in the sand with a mighty good man...no other 90's dreamboat could ever compare. Warnings: SMUT 18+, MINORS DNI!! mxf (consensual) sex, fingering, low-key breast play, making out (in public), hickey talk, Mingyu is hung (obvs), he's also portrayed as 'taller' than the mc in interactions, mild to moderate language use, gyu's roomies are sloshed at the end (unrelated to smut or main characters), that should cover all the bases...
Fridays at the roller rink are always busy but this is the first official skate-night of Summer Time â99 and itâs like opening day all over again. The schools let out just a few hours ago, releasing hoards of teenagers with pent-up energy loose on your small town and there is a line out the door waiting to get into Wheelies to jump-start their next few months of freedom.
Thankfully, the owners prepared and bought a whole new stock of skates so when you inevitably have to help out at the rental counter youâll have enough to go around without having to argue with some sixteen-year-old about not having their size.
For now, youâre on the floor making sure everything is running smoothly, gliding around in circles with your hands in your pockets. Itâs not too packed just yet even though you can see the steady stream of kids filtering through the doors after hitting the ticket booth. Mothers are packing up their little ones knowing itâs time to head out before it picks up pace and the exchange in skaters coming on and off the floor keeps things pretty even for a short while.Â
As you pass by the DJ booth for the hundredth time this evening, Vernon pauses to make a goofy face at you while he sets up his equipment. Heâs probably the one person who enjoys the summer nights the most because he gets to put on light shows and mix tracks to his heartâs content.Â
After letting the floor empty a bit more, you come to a stop in front of him for a quick break, crossing your arms and resting them over the top of his carpeted booth.Â
âYou gonna play something special for me tonight, Nonnie?â
He rolls his eyes but grins all the same. âYou ask me that every night.â
Laying your head on your arms, you look up at him with a pout, âAnd yet, no romantic song dedications to your favorite Wheelies girl,â you pick your head up and bat your eyes at him, âIâm starting to think you want to break up with me.â
âI promise if I want to end our made-up relationship, Iâll tell you like a real man. Besides,â Vernon laughs and tilts his chin up, looking at something behind you, âI think youâve been seeing other people. Hotter Wheels if you catch my drift.â
âHeh, I think he hates that name,â you turn, catching sight of Mingyu ducking into the locker rooms to change out and stow his bag, most likely coming straight from hockey practice. Vernon is back to messing with things when you turn, humming, âLets be real. I only like boys who donât like me, Nonnie, thatâs why youâre the one.â
âWhat if heâs like you and only goes for girls who donât want him?â
At that you laugh, preparing to depart as the floor begins to steadily fill again. âWell then, heâll be lonely forever because I am pretty sure everyone wants him.â
âIncluding you?â
Very stealthily, you flip him the bird.
Vernon just laughs it off and gets back to work as you skate away, toying with the whistle tied around your neck. You can tell heâs about to get started with his new set when the lights dim and the carpeted walls and floors outside of the polished skate floor start to glow. The little whirls and shapes coming to life with a neon purple hue.
You catch the line piling up at the rental booth but thankfully, it looks like they called in a few extra hands tonight to help there and in concessions which means you get to stay on the floor. Rentals isnât the worst, that would be birthday party hosting, but you also hate concessions so you donât put up a fuss when youâre asked to help with skates or in the front on the rare occasion one of the sweet old ladies manning the ticket windows is out.
As more people start piling onto the floor you slow your pace and skate backward for a few feet to check out your surroundings and find teenagers everywhere, loud and wildly unaware of their surroundings. They arenât too awful this early in the night but youâre sure youâll have to escort someone off the floor before closing time.
Youâll enjoy your leisurely pace for now and it seems Wonwoo is keen to do the same on the opposite side of the crowd. He weaves in and out of skaters bobbing his head to the music. His glasses are sitting lower on his nose than usual and youâre sure heâs broken them againâŠor his little brother did and heâs waiting for their exact replacement to come in so he can switch them out without his brother noticing and feeling any more guilty.Â
Heâs only eight but Wonwoo is his very best friend. They come in on Saturdays together, one of Wonwooâs only days off, and he teaches his brother to skate for an hour or so before he lets him loose in the arcade and they leave with matching ice cream cones in hand. They even have matching shaggy hairstyles. Itâs adorable.
In truth, youâre fond of many of your co-workers but Wonwoo is definitely in your top three for that reason alone. You get along really well with any easy-going personality, it's the same with Vernon. They are both just nice, quiet guys and the exact opposite of the giant shadow hanging over your left shoulder.Â
Although, you suppose you get along just fine with him as well.
âQuit checking Wonwoo out, youâre breaking my heart.â
Even before he opened his mouth, the distinct cologne he always wore told you Mingyu was finally on the floor, ready to chase you around for the rest of the night like it was his full-time job. He spent more time trying to charm your pants off than doing what he was actually hired to do but he is so damn charming that he somehow gets away with it.
Besides, this is just a part-time gig for him. Might as well enjoy himself while heâs at it.
When you donât answer right away, he decides to show off his stupidly impressive hockey maneuvers and he swings around in front of you, casually skating backward without bothering to look behind him. Heâs big enough that people canât miss him and they tend to move out of his path pretty quickly. Now that he sees your face, heâs smirking because you donât even have it in you to hide your smile tonight. âOh, thatâs pretty,â he coos, âMy heartâs healing already.â
You grab his arm to pull his hand away from his chest and he spins around to skate at your side, eyes briefly scanning the floor until theyâre back on you.Â
âI wasnât checking him out but believe me⊠youâre going to be absolutely devastated when Vernon finally admits heâs in love with me. Game over, buddy.â
Mingyu looks wholly unconvinced. âWell, heâs had long enough and youâre going to fall in love with me by the end of the week soâŠâ he pinches his lips together like heâs just delivered the real, honest, awkward truth and youâre battling butterflies in your stomach.Â
âEnd of the week, huh? Are we sure?â
He gets distracted by an increase in volume but for only a moment because Wonwoo is already on it and the quick, sharp sound of his whistle means Mingyuâs full attention is on you again. âThatâs what I have circled on my calendar,â he shrugs, âNothing we can do about it now but let it happen.â
Mingyuâs sense of humor and playful nature are the literal nails in your coffin. You can handle hot with no personalityâŠthis one is hot with an overabundance of personality.
You look up at him, probably grinning ear to ear, âBet you have little hearts doodled all over it with a hot pink gel pen, donât ya, Hot Wheels?â
He grumbles something under his breath and it makes you snicker. Wonwoo started that one and it seemed to spread throughout the building like wildfire. Now, even the ticket ladies call him Hot Wheels though youâre sure they mean it quite literally whereas Wonwoo was actually just busting Mingyuâs balls about a particularly embarrassing tumble he took.
âPurple gel pen, actually,â he turns and pouts as you both bank around the curve again, âLost my pink one.â
âCould always steal another one from your little sister.â
At that, he scoffs, the corner of his lips pulled up into a half-smile, âShe threw a Barbie car at my head the last time I visited,â he doesnât even sound upsetâŠitâs more proud than anything, âShe reminds me of you sometimes.â
When you go to respond, a young boy accidentally skates too close to you and his wheels knock into yours throwing you both off balance. You catch him by the arm, meeting his panic-stricken eyes, and wait to hit the floor but you rock back against a hard chest and thank all your lucky stars Mingyu was there to save you. The older you get, the harder the floor feels.Â
âIâm so sorry!â The boy exclaims once youâre all steady again, âIâm not good at this! I promise I wasnât trying to take you out!â
His genuine concern is sweet and you laugh it off. âItâs totally okay and nobody got hurt,â you tell him and he takes a deep breath, âWanna go around together a few times?â
The boyâs eyes shine and he nods his head rapidly. Mingyu drops back a few paces and you hold out your arm, elbow tucked into your side. âOkay,â you pat your forearm, âHold on hereâŠthere you goâŠand weâre going to push off at the same time with the same foot. Hey, Gyu,â you call over your shoulder and he comes back up to your side, waiting for your instructions, âWill you skate a little ahead of us so he can watch you?â
âFor sure,â Mingyu grins, picking up speed until heâs far enough away to slow his pace again and remain ahead of you.
The kid is a bit wobbly but heâs trying really hard and it makes you smile. You remember when you first learned to skate and how intimidating the rink was though you were around eight and he looks to be around fourteen. There wasnât a floor full of bigger, faster kids to compete with though so you think maybe you got off easier.
âYouâre doing great,â you encourage him, âWatch him go around the curve to get a better idea of how to steer yourself.â
Mingyu banks it beautifully, as usual. Itâs surprising to most people that someone his size could skate so fluidly especially after learning that he only started playing hockey in his early teens. It was just something he had a natural talent for and trading out blades for wheels hadnât altered his ability to move with grace whatsoever.
You work through the turn together, a little less smoothly, but you make it around and he lets out a short laugh. âHe makes it look so easy.â
âYeah, well heâs had lots and lots of practice and likes to show off.â
Your eyes settle on Mingyu again and as if he can sense you watching, he turns over his shoulder and winks which is not solely witnessed by you because the kid chuckles, following through the next curve with more confidence. âIs he your boyfriend? Heâs kinda cool.â
The question catches you off guard and you laugh, covering your mouth with your free hand. âNot my boyfriend but yeahâŠI guess heâs kinda cool.â
He looks up at youâŠalmost mischievously youâd think, if you knew him better. âI think he wants to be your boyfriend,â he snickers, âHe keeps looking at you.â
You huff out a laugh, placing your hand over his before swinging you both into a stop out of the way. âIâm starting to think this is all a ruse and heâs paying you to put in a good word.â
The kid laughs and shakes his head, âNo, Iâm just nosey and a really lousy skater,â he says, looking up at Mingyu whoâs come over and stopped next to you, âThanks a lot for helping me out,â he looks a little sheepish, hand reaching around to scratch the back of his neck, âThere is this girl at school I like and sheâs a figure skater. She asked me out on a date at the ice rink when she comes back from vacation with her family in two weeks and I said yes even though Iâm probably going to make a fool of myself. Figured I should start practicing now and falling on wheels is less intimidating than falling with knives on my feet.â
You laugh softly and Mingyu grins, shaking his head. âI admire your dedication to getting the girl, kid. Listen, I coach a youth hockey league at the ice rink down the road and have a free hour a few days a week that I use to practice myself. Iâd be happy to teach you if you want.â
The boyâs eyes light up. âThat would be so cool!â
Mingyu chuckles, âAlright, awesome. Are one of your parents here with you? I can go talk to them and give them my information.â
âYeah! My grandma is sitting over there,â he points to the corner where you both make out an older woman sitting alone with a book in hand, surrounded by way too many boisterous young people.Â
You meet Mingyuâs eyes and both make a face. âYikes, okay, letâs go save grandma.â
The boy thanks you again and starts to merge back into the flow of skaters as Mingyu smiles at you, pushing off with a âDonât miss me too muchâ and a stupid kissy face.Â
His grin is wild and gorgeous when you wiggle your fingers and whisper, âBye, lover boy.â
Vernon is smiling at you when you reach his booth and you hop up onto the small ledge that allows a good look at the floor as a whole while also giving your legs a needed break. Heâs playing one is his 80âs to 90âs pop mixes and tweaking the rotating lights that dance over the skaters until they start changing colors, neon polka dots as far as the eye can see.Â
There is a steady exchange of kids coming on and off the floor. Most of the early group heading into the arcade or bombarding the concessions counter while the later crowd takes their place. In between all that, you catch sight of Mingyu speaking with the boy and his Grandma. You donât even realize that youâre unabashedly smiling at the scene, thinking about how kind and attentive he is when heâs listening. The way he leans in and pulls back, grinning and laughing.Â
âStill think youâre not into him?â Vernon says over your shoulder, laughing when you startle.
You purse your lips, eyes wandering back over. âIâm simply admiring his social aptitude,â you flick your eyes back up to Vernon and grin, âWhy? Is it making you jealous darling?â
He smirks, âNot yet. Gonna have to try harder.â
âUgh,â you swoon, hand over your heart, âI love it when you play hard to get.â
Vernon nods his head laughing, âYeahhhh, I know you do.â Then he notices youâve got your eye on an issue that needs handling and reaches out to pat the top of your head, âTwo more hours and they all have to go home to be someone elseâs responsibility. Iâll throw in some of your favorite jams.â
Ten oâclock couldnât come soon enough but you appreciate his offer and toss out a few songs for consideration though heâs pretty familiar with your tastes. You step back down onto the floor and blow Vernon a kiss when you immediate recognzie the song heâs jumped intoâŠjust for you.
 âYou really are the best. Check on you in a bit, undercover lover.â
He throws up a peace sign and you cut across the floor to ask a couple of kids who were just blowing and popping bubbles to go spit out their gum as itâs clearly stated that it's not allowed on the floor. They donât love your request and start to argue but Mingyu sneaks up behind you again and dazzles them with a smile. Just like that, the two young girls start giggling and falling all over themselves to do exactly as askedâŠall because the pretty guy said âPleaseâ.Â
Itâs comical, honestly.Â
Mingyu is smirking when he rolls along beside you, bending at the waist to peek up at your face because itâs aimed at the floor as you try to school your features. Heâs so irritatingly flirtatious and youâre too quickly playing into his hand tonight. Youâre usually better than this, holding out well until youâre pulling out of the parking lot.Â
âOh, yeah,â he intones, âTonight is definitely the night. Youâre giving in. You canât resist me any longer. It was bound to happen. Youâre still smiling! I can see it!â
Laughing, you pull your head up and give him a look that you would have loved to be firm but itâs not in the slightest. How can you be serious when he is so not serious? âDonât you dare,â you warn with a loose laugh tacked on at the end, âI told you, weâre not going on a date.â
Mingyu shrugs, âSo, movies tomorrow night?â
âDonât you work tomorrow?â
He bats his eyes with a saccharine smile, âI love that you know my schedule by heart,â he ignores your eye roll, âWonuâs covering my shift since he owed me one and also because heâs a true romantic. Heâs rooting for us and we canât disappoint him.â
âWell, I suppose if itâs what Wonwoo wantsâŠâ you look up at him, eyes glittering with excitement, âWhen are you picking me up?â
For as calm and cool as Mingyu keeps it on the outside, heâs buzzing on the inside because heâs been toying around with the idea of taking you out forever. And heâs askedâŠmore than onceâŠbut youâve kept him on his toes and heâs enjoyed the playing the game but heâs elated that youâre finally saying yes.
He tries to school is face but heâs still beaming as he tries to casually say, âIâll pick you up at seven.â
âSeven?â you snicker, âIsnât that a little late to get started? You keeping me out all night?â
He just shrugs, grinning. âMaybe.â
Mingyu shows up nearly twenty minutes early and you can see his car outside your condo. He doesnât make a move to get out and itâs amusing to watch as he nervously drums his fingers on the steering wheel for a few beats before reaching for the door like heâs going to get out, and then shaking his head before resuming the fidgeting. Itâs also a relief to know heâs feeling the same jitters you are.Â
The thought crossed your mind to pop your head out to wave him inside but he might be giving himself a pep-talk and youâre still contemplating your outfit.Â
The movie theater is always so cold. You debated the pros and cons of wearing something short-sleeved because on one hand, if youâre cold it might prompt your date to keep you warm but on the other hand, if he didnât, youâd be freezing the whole time.Â
You could bring a jacket, but thatâs an extra thing to carry.Â
Digging through your closet, you pull out a fuzzy black long-sleeved sweater. You hold it out, admiring the way itâs cropped a little shorter in the front, and then turn back to the mirror, holding it up to your chest. It would look cute with the Leviâs youâre wearingâŠdecisions, decisions.
A car horn beeps and you peer out of your window seeing Mingyu rigid behind the wheel. You laugh, thinking he probably did not mean to do it and is embarrassed at having accidentally made too much noise. Thatâs pretty obvious by the way heâs looking around, paranoid and frustrated. Itâs actually super cute and youâre lingering by the window now just admiring him from afar without care
Until you see Mingyu cut the engine and get out of the car. Then the panic sets in because youâre still not ready and wellâŠitâs the first time heâs seeing you outside of work and not in uniform. You want him to be wowed and are probably still taking too long to get moving considering how brisk of a stride you know his to be. Heâll be here any second.
You scramble to pull on the sweater in your hands and run into the bathroom to grab your gold hoops, fix your hair, and check your makeup one last time. Your heart is racing but you smile at your reflection. He sees you all the time at work looking not even half as done-up as you are right now and thinks youâre a solid 10, so there isnât really any doubt heâll be pleased. Then the doorbell rings.Â
A few deep breaths to calm your nerves comes first. When you open the door, Mingyuâs mouth is fixed like he had a line locked and loaded but when he sees you, he chokes on the words. Heâs so flustered that he stumbles back a step, laughing at himself. âOh, youâre not going to take it easy on me, are you?â
That lights you up from the inside out and brings your confidence back around full circle.
âHave I ever made things easy for you?â you snicker, grabbing your purse off the hook by the door, âI think you like a challenge.â
âNah, I just like you,â he smirks, tongue poking the end of his pointed canine as he watches you close and lock the door, trying his hardest to be respectful, âYou look really good. Have I said that yet?â
Stashing your keys in your purse, you turn and grin up at him. âYou alluded to it but I wouldnât mind hearing you say it out loud.â
Always playing and teasing and flirting. Itâs almost too much for you both to bear at this point.Â
âIâll tell you as many times as you want,â he says softly but he reaches toward you, slipping his hand just behind your hip to pull you closer with a bold, sharp tug. Startled, you bump right into Mingyuâs chest and look up at him with wide eyes. He doesnât say anything for a minute and then tilts his head back, sighing into the sky above. Heâs mostly amused when he looks back at you.
âYou look incredibleâŠand we should get in the car before I ruin the illusion of me being a gentleman.â
âThat image has been splintering for a while but I donât think Iâll mind if a manner or two slips,â you tease as you pull apart, taking the time to look him up and downâŠ
Light-washed jeans, crisp white t-shirt, open flannel hanging off his broad shouldersâŠâYou look really good too,â you murmur in appreciation.
Heâs about to sweating straight through his shirt if you keep looking at him like that.
â...yepâŠtime to go,â he mumbles, pinching is lips together as he grabs your hand. He pulls you toward the parking lot which isnât far, and opens the door for you to slip into his passenger seat. He doesnât let go until youâre settled and takes it a touch further when he reaches in and grabs the seatbelt before you. His hand purposely grazes against the exposed skin between your pants and top as he buckles you in and you let out the breath you were holding the second he closes your door.
Itâs getting more difficult to play hard-to-get by the millisecond but youâre willing to give in first if your reward is Mingyu breaking down bit by bit right in front of you.Â
You bite your lip to keep from giggling when he quickly rounds the car and settles into his seat next to you. Heâs still shaking his head, quietly laughing at himself for getting so easily worked up. He turns over the engine, shifting into drive, and peers over at you with an air of disbelief.Â
âIâm starting to think weâre gonna have to sit in separate rows at this rate.â
Thankfully, the tension melts into easy banter and conversation on the ride to the theater. Mingyu entertains you with stories about his family and asks after yours, specifically your beloved niece whom he loves hearing about. He lets you toy around with his radio and blare some Spice Girls song that neither of you sings along to with the correct pitchâŠor words. Itâs a blast either way.
Bold flirtation aside, Mingyu has always been a gentleman where it counts.
When you arrive at the movie theater, he opens all the doors, holds your hand every chance he gets, pays for your tickets and snacks despite your protesting, and lets you choose where to sit. The theater isnât very full, though the movie you both decided on has been out for a while so itâs not all that surprising to see so many open seats. There are a few people scattered here and there and you donât particularly love sitting next to others if you can avoid it.Â
That leaves the very front or the very back.Â
You glance over your shoulder at Mingyu, patiently waiting for you to decide, âYou really donât care?âÂ
He shakes his head again with a soft smile and you sigh looking back at the open seats, âI donât like being super closeâŠare you okay with sitting up top?â
Mingyuâs eyes scan the very empty top rows and widen like he hadnât actually realized how secluded they were until just now. âTotally cool,â he manages after a moment, âLead the way.â
âOh boy,â you whisper to yourself, turning to make your way up the stairs. You have to focus ahead and calculate the distance of each step so you donât screw up and trip because that would be awfully embarassing. Itâs dark, cold, and quiet, and there is a huge gap between the section youâre headed toward and the next closest couple sitting in the middle.Â
The very last row was almost too intimidating as if it somehow was the designated spot reserved for horny, depraved teenagers, and you were mid-twenty adultsâŠso you stopped once you hit the second to last row and cut in a few seats before deciding that sitting in the middle was also weird so you dropped into the fourth seat from the aisle and forced yourself to stay put.Â
PIcking a seat and sticking with it has never been so daunting before.
Mingyu doesnât say anything at all about your choice, much to your relief. If he cracked a joke about it, you think you might just burst at the seams. He just sits down in the seat next to you folding his very large frame into the too-tight space between the armrests. Youâre both quiet as the lights dim and the previews start rolling but you can still feel him wiggling and adjusting himself next to you.
Your eyes meet when he accidentally bumps your arm and you smile at the fact that he is genuinely embarrassed, for no reason at all other than unintentionally taking up extra space. âIâm so sorry,â he whispers, âI donât remember the seats feeling this cramped.â
âItâs really okay,â you turn, tucking his elbow safely into his side as you lift the armrest between you to give him more room, âWe can share.â
âAre you sure?â his eyes seek yours again in the darkness, âI donât want you to be uncomfortable.â
You quietly snicker at his worry when he was the one being so brazen with your proximity earlier. At the same time, you can appreciate his consideration and reassure him with a gentle smile. âI really donât mindâŠthe extra body heat is appreciated.â
You can feel the moment Mingyu lets the tension flow out of his body. His shoulders relax until your arms touch lightly, his legs spread a little further apart as he sinks into his seat, firm thigh now pressed to the outside of your own. Heâs warm and his cologne, as usual, is so rich and alluring that you know youâre going to be fighting the urge to mold yourself to his side for the next hour and a half.Â
Surprisingly, the movie isnât half bad even though it was one you chose because every other film out was either super sad or overtly romantic and neither genre felt like a good fit for a first date. âBlack Maskâ had a decent balance of action scenes and suspense that pretty easily kept your eyes on the screen, at least for a little while, sharing sour gummy worms and a soda between the two of you.Â
Your attention began to wane after the third time you bumped hands with Mingyu and it was lost entirely when he decided to simply hold your hand instead. Movie plot gone in an instant.
Instead of the screen, your eyes fall to your joined hands resting in his lap. They climb up to his chest, slowly rising and falling with each measured breath. Carefully, you let them slide higher, admiring the shadows projected over his throat and jaw. Higher to admire his handsome face. Higher again, just to get a little more of him, and when you get there, you find him staring back.
Neither of you shy away this time. Mingyu nervously licks his lips and his eyes flit down to yours, only for a second, just to reassure himself that youâre both on the same wavelength even though the chemistry between you has always been pretty clear. He still hesitates before he leans closer but youâre done waiting and choose to kiss him first.Â
Itâs soft, brief, and when you part, you can see the smile on his handsome face and it brings the butterflies in your stomach back to life all over again. He cups your cheek and pulls you back into another kiss, and then another, and another. A million times youâd thought about kissing Mingyu and this was still far better than any youâd imagined thus far. Â
Actually kissing him highlights the small details you were missing. The bits of it that are unique and a part of him only. Itâs the way his thumb strokes against your cheek, how he tilts his face and changes his angle so fluidly that you follow him like itâs completely natural, the tender way heâs slow to let go of your bottom lip and how he kisses it afterward.Â
Itâs certainly not your first kiss or even the first time youâve made out with someone at the movies, but this feels entirely new. Mingyu is not some hopped up, horny kid. He takes his time with you, heâs gentle, patient. Itâs not sloppy or rushed. He isnât trying to clumsily cop a feel the whole time, though, you think youâd probably let him and that he wouldnât fumble around at all. It feels like he knows exactly what heâs doing, even if he doesnât.
You hope that you feel natural to him too.
He pulls back with a slow hum of appreciation and thatâs good enough for you.. When your eyes meet, youâre both smiling, and Mingyu takes that as his good sign. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and tucks you into his side until he feels your body relax against his and you finish the movie just like that.Â
Well, youâre both looking at the screen but youâre more focused on the way he continues to kiss your hair every few minutes and heâs locked on to the feeling of your nails gently drawing a line up and down his thigh.Â
Eventually, the lights come on and youâre a little slow to untangle as the rest of the theater clears out. Itâs entirely empty by the time either of you hit the stairs.Â
âSoooo,â Mingyu hums, trailing behind you half a step, âThoughtsâŠopinionsâŠ? On the movie, of course.â
You laugh without turning around and nod your head, âRightâŠthe movie, yeah. Just as the trailer promised,â you focus on your feet moving a step at a time and not tripping, âPerfectly executed action sequences.â
He grins to himself, tucking his chin into his chest. âIâm glad it lived up to all the hype,â he balances his weight on one foot before taking the next step, âNothing worse than all that anticipation ending in disappointment.â
You peer over your shoulder at him, smiling coyly, âOh, no disappointment here. Iâm sure iâll be thinking about it for quite some time.â
He huffs out a laugh, âAre we talking about the movie or the kiss?â
âWhat kiss?â you smirk, quickly turning around to hurry down the rest of the steps but heâs right behind you the whole way.
Just as you whip around the corner and into the dim hallway that leads to the exit, Mingyu catches you around the waist and pins you up against the wall. You can feel his heart thudding under your palms, the thrill of excitement hardly contained in his chest as his lips crash into yours.Â
Disappointment is so very far from your realm of feeling at the moment. Any expectation you had, which admittedly was already pretty high, was shattered and elevated yet another level each time his tongue danced across the seam of your lips or when his hands made another pass over your body.
From the beginning, you theorized that Mingyu was more than just a smooth talker. You had him pegged as a man with follow-through and youâre simply rolling in it, knowing you were right, and now youâre experiencing it for yourself which makes things that much more gratifying.Â
Mingyu was a certified lover boy. Called and confirmed it.
The very best part, you think to yourself as you feel him grin against your lips, is that heâs yoursâŠor at least, he wants to be. You donât have to let him know heâs already won.
Heâs still smiling when you slide your hands over his arms, pointedly squeezing the ample muscle there, and he finishes you off with a few final, fluttering kisses.Â
When your eyes meet, there is a buzz of nervous laughter and Mingyu again asks, âSo, the movie or the kiss?â
Your gaze drifts back down to his mouth and your stomach twists torturously when his knowing smirk reveals a prettily pointed canine. The same thatâs bitten into your bottom lip a few times already this evening. You look back up and narrow your eyes playfully, âI donât recall any kissi-â
He leans back down, slotting his lips against yours and the second he so much as breathes the door at the end of the hall clicks open and you hear two voices, likely the staff coming to clean the theater, and here you two delinquints are still splattered against the wall playing tonsil hockey.Â
Mingyu freezes and your eyes are wide as saucers. âGo, go around the other way!â
You have to slip out from under his frame and drag him a few feet before his mind catches up and youâre both scrambling back across the theater to the exit on the opposite side. As quietly as you can, you peek out of the small window to make sure the coast is clear and pop the door open for you both to come tumbling out.Â
The wide corridor outside the theater is mercifully empty but the adrenaline in your bodiesâ leaves you jogging toward the side exit, laughter bubbling up and out into the open space around you. Itâs all so silly and exhilarating, and when Mingyu grabs your hand, pulling you through the doors out into that warm summer air, youâre sure you canât remember the last time youâve felt soâŠalive.Â
Or maybe there is just something about the moon and stars, and the way their enchanting glow seems to make everything in their wake just a little more beautiful. Heâs one of those things - bright, beautiful, feathered and soft around the edges.Â
Youâve stopped to catch your breath but it remains trapped in your chest the longer you look at him. Itâs suddenly a little heavy, this crush of yours, weighed down by impression of his hands on your hips, your face, the small of your back. Flirting and teasing was easy. Agreeing to finally go out with him was easy. Realizing the potential for more was real and standing in front of you was a shock to your system because youâre uncovering very quickly how much you want that with him.
âWe should definitely go to dairy queen.â
It takes a minute to process his words and then with a little shake, you lift your head to find Mingyu smiling back down at you. âFeels like the movie might have left you with a lot to think about and nothing helps me sort through my head quite like ice cream.â
You cock your head to the side, the tension in your chest evaporating just like that.
âHave you always this charming?â
âWhen I put in the extra effort, which is only for you, sure,â he chuckles, using your joined hands to pull you a little closer as you walk alongside eachother through the parking lot, âIâm not everyoneâs cup of tea though.â
âI donât believe that for a second,â you scoff, bumping into his arm with your shoulder, âEveryone loves you. Iâve seen it with my own two eyes.â
His tongue pokes into his cheek, rolling his eyes skyward, âYou missed the guy I had to escort out of the rink a couple weeks ago who took a few swings at me in the parking lot. Pretty sure he was not enthralled by my dazzling smile and strapping good looks.â
âOne personâŠthatâs all you got?â
Reaching his car, Mingyu opens the passenger door for you and waits until youâre seated and looking up at him expectantly. He licks his lips and smirks, âBuckle up, youâre in for a ride.â
After grabbing ice cream, you decided making your date drive over to the shore was favorable to sitting on the sticky red tables outside the DQ, so instead, youâre sitting side by side on a small gym towel he miraculously had in his trunk, eating your deserts and swapping stories to the tune of the gentle waves crashing ashore.Â
So far, youâve learned that the sole reason Mingyu got into hockey in the first place was because he was in constant trouble as a kidâŠin school, at home, or literally anywhere else he happened to be. His poor mother tried to put him in every sport and hobby she could think of to keep him busy and out of trouble but baseball wasnât a fit, basketball ended in another fist fight and suspension, football benched a few and landed one kid in the hospital, and any form of martial arts was out of the question.Â
Finally, she found an ad in the newspaper for boyâs hockey team tryouts and the rest was history. You can clearly hear the admiration in his voice when he spoke about his original coach and his teammates. How it was touch and go from the start but no matter how much hot water he found himself in, they wouldnât quit on him. When he realized that, he started pouring all of his pent up energy into the game and it changed him in all the best ways. Itâs the whole reason he coaches todayâŠto be someone who can make a positive change in a kidâs life the way his coach did for him.
Honestly, itâs hard to imagine Mingyu as anything other than the kind, gentle, playful guy you know him to be but everyone grows and changes. He still has a wild sort of glint in his eyes at times that lead you to believe every word heâs said about his younger years.Â
The sea breeze is crisp and almost a little chilly despite the warm air it mixes with so you push a little closer into Mingyuâs side and he wraps an arm around your shoulders. âCold?â
âA bit,â you roll your head toward him, resting it against the crook of his shoulder, âKinda just wanted to be close to you againâŠdespite your delinquent past, I think I like you a little.â
âA little?â he smirks, eyes darting to your mouth briefly, âI think you like me a lot.â
Scrunching your nose, you make a face at him and he tosses his head back and laughs.Â
âIf you donât admit it soon Iâm going to have to make a huge, probably embarrassing, for you, romantic gesture,â he counters, looking very half-serious, âA big old fashioned declaration of loveâŠin publicâŠloudly.â
âYouâre still a little shit, arenât you?â
âDonât pretend you arenât loving the reformed bad boy thing.â Heâs spot on because Mingyu is the exact kind of guy you would have had a crush on back then too.Â
You let out a long sigh and pick your head up, leaning to the side to bury your now-empty cup in the sand so it doesnât blow away just like Mingyu had on his side. In the process, Mingyu slips his arm a little lower on your back, his hand curled around your hip to keep you balanced. You love every single point of contact so you fall right back into his side when you sit up again.
âTo be fair, I think youâre only partly reformed,â more smirking, âMhm, thatâs exactly what I mean,â you hum in amusement, âListen, Iâll give inâŠjust a littleâŠand admit that there are a lot of things I love about you..â
âIâm listening,â he purrs, ready for the boost in confidence youâre surely about to give him. Anything that could even vaguely resemble a compliment would send him over the moon coming from you.Â
âI love the wayâŠyou genuinely enjoy helping people,â you start quietly, soothing the subtle nerves beginning to tingle in your fingertips, âI love that you put so much time and effort into coaching your kids and how much you love talking about themâŠhow youâll roll your eyes and shake your head telling me stories about them and yet you always finish with a smile because âtheyâre a handful but theyâre good kidsââ
Mingyu snorts softly and you knowingly ask, âThereâs lots of little Mingyuâs on your team, arenât there?â
He nods slowly, pushing the tip of his tongue against his teeth. âOhhh yeahhh,â he breathes out with a light chuckle, âI understand now why my coach made me run drills until I dropped. Iâve got a couple that have already outshined my reputation at their age and some days itâs a battle of wills but theyâve come along way,â he ducks his head, grinning, âHoping theyâre the extent of my karma and it doesnât come back to bite me in the ass when I have kids one day.â
He makes a face right after he says it and looks down at you almost apologetically, âWas that weird to say on a first date? I feel like thatâs something youâre supposed to avoid but youâre easy to talk to and words just fall out of my mouth sometimes.â
âYou donât have to apologize,â you laugh, quirking an eyebrow at him, âI know itâs a first date but weâre not strangers, besides, Iâve always just assumed you were a family kind of guy. You talk about yours all the time, super close with your little sister, and from all iâve witnessed, youâre just kinda great with kids in general,â you shrug, easing his worry, âI promise, itâs not a shock to me that youâd want your own and Iâll save you the torture of wondering whether to ask or notâŠyes, Iâd like to have kids someday. Someday farrrrr away in the future.â
âOh, good,â he chuckles, âMe too...lightyears away.â
Itâs not on either of your radars currently but itâs nice to know that you have common goals for the future. It leaves a brief pause in the conversation, though not an uncomfortable one. Just a quiet moment to soak things in.Â
First date, first kiss(es), and itâs all goingâŠperfectly.Â
Itâs one thing to flirt and banter with a cute co-worker but taking the leap and going on a date together is a whole different game. There are very real feelings on both sides of the court and the potential for something real and permanent is so palpable you can feel it pushing you closer to one another. Leap again. Put yourself out there and trust the other will catch you.
Mingyu breaks the silence first and you feel his fingers twitch against your back.Â
âI really like you,â he says steadily, like that was the easy part, âI think youâre beautiful inside and out, stop laughing iâm being serious,â he grins and you try to reel it in for his sake, âMy first day on the job I was blatantly called out and laughed at by Wonwoo after he caught me spacing out and staring at you for the third timeâŠI donât think I even made it an hour into my shift before I was hooked.â
âOh, I thought you were being serious?â you grin.
âShhhh,â he counters, âIâm not done.â
âWhere was I? Oh yeahâŠyouâre a good friend and a good person, and I like having you in my life,â he says softly, picking up your hand and pulling it into his lap, âI want to bring you home to meet my family so my mom can drag out the photo albums the way sheâs always joked about doing while my sister spends the whole time telling you embarrassing things about me. They would like like you a lot. The boys on my team already like you.â
âOh?â
He laughs, âOh yeah, theyâre always in my business and I made the mistake of bringing you up at a practice once so youâre a regular topic of discussion. I should have known I was doomed from then on and theyâre brutal sometimes. One kid called me a loser because heâs fourteen and has a girlfriend and I donât.â
âIs that how youâre asking me out? Trying to get the sympathy vote because youâre getting picked on by a bunch of kids?â you smirk.
âMaybeâŠis it working?â he asks, gaze dipping to your mouth for the millionth time tonight.
âI donât know yet,â you inch a little closer, âMaybe you should try softening me up a little more before you ask again.â
He pauses, hovering just a breadth away from your face and his open mouth pulls into a sly grin, âBy any means necessary?â
âDo what you have to do I suppos-â
âNiiccceee hickey.â
You slap a hand over the mark you swore youâd covered well enough with concealor, apparently not, and whip your head in Vernonâs direction. âCan you not announce it loud enough for everyone to hear?â
Vernon glances side to side. âThere is literally no one except us in here and that thing announced itself.â
âWhat thing?âÂ
Wonwoo comes in and drops his bag on the wooden bench, pulling out his uniform top to shrug over his shoulders. His glasses sit askew on his face and you really hope heâs got good insurance because theyâre always in awful shape.Â
You turn and press your forehead against the cool metal of your locker door and Vernon chuckles, stowing his things noisely. âThe physical evidence to prove that her date went abundantly well.â
Wonwoo smirks, walking closer to pry your hand away from your neck. He whistles. âDamn, Mingyuâs a biterâŠnot surprised. Good luck hiding that thing - itâs going to be with you for a while.â
âOk. Hickey expert. Thanks for your input,â you grumble.
He shrugs. âWe all have interests and hobbies, and youâre welcome.â
You roll your eyes and turn around, leaning back against your locker with a pout. âIâm kinda nervous that weâre working together tonight for the first time since we went out. Do you think it will be weird?âÂ
Vernon makes a goofy face. âWhy would it be weird? I thought you said everything went well and youâre like, dating now? Did something happen?â
âNo, everything was great,â you slump down a little further, âLikeâŠtoo great. Iâm trying not to jinx things or be weird. Are we too old to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend? Is that a thing for adults? Or did we grow out of that after high school?â
Wonwoo rolls his eyes, fixing the notch on his belt, âNo, weâre not too old for that. Heâs your boyfriend. Youâre his girlfriend. Simple.â
âIs it?â you reply with a unintentional snap that doesnât phase either of them.
Vernon sits on the bench in front of you and stretches his back out, groaning like an old man. âYes, simple. You like him and he likes you, and you have fun together. I fail to see the problem.â
âYeah, thatâs like, the opposite of a problem,â Wonwoo agrees, âBesidesâŠbeing left alone in the rink after hours sounds mighty convenient if you ask me.â
Snapping your jaw shut, your eyes widen, âWhat exactly are you suggesting?â
Wonwoo smirks, âIâm not suggesting anything but an opportunist would use their imagination.â
Both you and Vernon peg Wonwoo with a suspicious stare.
âWith all due respect,â you say slowly, your eyebrow steadily raising with each word, âI didnât think you rolled like that.â
âNeither did I,â Vernon adds, equally intrigued.
âYouâre kind of a freak, arenât you?â
âWhoâs a freak?â
All three of you startle and whirl around to see Mingyu coming through the door. His hair is wet, likely freshly showered after hockey practice, and heâs looking at each of you with a clueless grin.Â
âNothing and no one!â you reply with a grin, already floating toward the hunk in the doorway, âHi.â
âHi,â he grins down at you, âI see you and I got stuck closing tonight.âÂ
You swallow down the knot in your throat and hold up a middle finger behind your back directed at Vernon and Wonwooâs snickering.Â
âYep,â you bounce on your toes, âJust you and IâŠclosing everything downâŠtogetherâŠtonight.â
Mingyuâs lips pinch together to hold in a laugh. You were always so bold and confident when it came to teasing him and now, he can tell youâre having to make a great effort to hold it all together. âIâm sure weâll find a way to make it fun,â he chooses, satisfied when your eyes widen just a touch, âI think Jimâs looking for you by the way. If youâre done getting-âÂ
âYes,â you squeeze his arms and then move past him at lightening speed, rushing out the door.Â
Mingyu just stands there and laughs quietly before looking up to see the grin on Vernon and Wonwooâs faces. âAlright, how much did she tell you?â
âDidnât have to tell us much at all.â
Wonwoo shakes his head. âThe bite marks you left told us everything we needed to know.â
Mingyuâs eyes drop to the floor as he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. Heâs glad the ones you left on him are covered by his collar because he just barely got away with blaming it on equipment mishandling when one of the older boys in his youth league pointed one out with a mischievous laugh.
Vernon claps a hand over his shoulder on his way out the door causing Mingyu to look back up again. âHappy for you, dude. Sheâs a good one.â
Mingyu smiles softly, âThanks, man.â
When he leaves, Mingyu pushes further into the room and starts getting himself situated, glancing over at Wonwoo every now and then like heâs waiting for him to say something.
âI can feel you staring,â Wonwoo mumbles, eyes now glued to his Game Boy Pocket as he tries to save his progress from earlier.
Mingyu shrugs his shoulders up to his ears, pushing his bag into his locker.Â
Wonwoo puts his game down and looks up. âWhaddaya want, Hot Wheels?â
He pauses, making a face at the nickname, and then carefully asks, âOn a scale of one to ten, how bad of an idea is it for me to-â
âMake a move tonight?â
Mingyuâs mouth pops open. âOh,â he blinks, âYou read minds too?â
Wonwoo sighs and leans back a touch, both hands gripping the edge of the bench beneath him. âTo be fair, thatâs exactly what Iâd be thinking about if I were in your position. Empty buildingâŠgorgeous girlfriendâŠâ
Mingyu scoffs, âAlright, easyâŠâ
He gets a smirk in return and Wonwoo stands, stretching his long limbs. âIâm not wrong and also not interested in your girl so relax,â he leans down and tugs on the laces of his skates and then straightens out, âYou both think too much. Just be normal. Do the same lovey dovey, flirty shit you always do and see how the night goes.â
âYouâre kind of good at this,â Mingyu compliments, his lips pulling into a half-smirk, âWhat do you get up to when youâre off the clock and not playing big brother of the year?â
Nearing the door, Wonwoo just turns over his shoulder and tosses Mingyu a wink.
Heâs handed out enough advice for one night.
You were still jittery when Mingyu joined you out on the floor but falling into the same routine was pretty simple, just like Vernon and Wonwoo said, and it took loads of anxious tension off your shoulders. If anything, Mingyu was more playful with his teasing and a little more bold with his physical affection when others werenât paying attention.Â
It was like a game of how flustered he could make you without getting in trouble for fooling around on the job. The floor was crowded which simply meant he got to stay a little closer to you without looking suspicious which allowed him to find out how fun it was to pull you around by the belt loops of your pants.Â
He loved the little noise of surprise you let out every time he snuck up behind you, hooking his finger through the loop to tug you back against his chest where he pretended to tell you something important. Like he was just trying to talk to you over the sound of the music when he had nothing but more teasing to whisper in your ear.Â
The hours flew by unnoticed and before long, you were bidding your last goodbyes to the rest of the staff having finished their own cleaning and closing duties.Â
Mingyu went into the office to toy with the audio system after you asked to throw something on just so it wasnât silent in the big dark building while you followed Vernon and Wonwoo to the doors to lock up after them.Â
Vernon shifts his bag on his shoulder and cuts a sideways glance in your direction. âYou gonna be okay?â
You shrug, touched and confused heâd asked. âYeah, Iâve closed up a million times. All good.â
Wonwoo pats the top of your head like a puppy. They both have a habit of that.
âHe meant, are you gonna be okay here alone with Mingyu? Are you comfortable with us leaving - not that I think heâd ever do something to hurt or upset youâŠIâd kill him and he knows itâŠbut you give us the word and weâll stay.â
âOh,â you blink and wave your hands dismissively, âNo, weâre good! I was just worried about being a loser earlier but weâre totally fine!â
âWe thought so,â Vernon grins, pushing the glass door open, âJust checking.â
Itâs sweet and embarrassing that theyâd thought to ask and you tell them as much as you gently push Vernon through the doorway. âThought for a minute you were finally ready to confess,â you joke, fake pout on your lips and all, âIâll drop him like a hot potato if you ask, Nonnie.â
Wonwoo follows him out and laughs, âYouâre full of shit but Iâm sure he appreciates the sentiment. By the way, if you find yourself in needâŠJihoon keeps condoms in his locker.â
You slap a hand over your mouth, covering your shocked laughter. âFirst of all, mind your business and second, what the hell?!â
Vernon shrugs, âMan likes to be prepared I guess!â
âŠ.Line cooks are one of a kind. Truly.
Youâre shaking your head as they wave goodbye and walk off toward Wonwooâs car as it must have been his turn to carpool. Pulling the doors shut, you carefully lock each one and double check them before turning on your heel and then the music cuts on over the speakers. Itâs not crazy loud but enough to keep the odd sounds that accompany a big old building from rattling in your ears.Â
Mingyu pops his head out of the office when you round the corner and you cock your head in question, âBeastie Boys?â
âCouldnât get the discs to work so radio it is,â he shrugs, âI can find something else if you want.â
You shake your head, brushing past his shoulder into the small office to sit down and reconcile the financials for the night. âIâm not picky. Did you already grab the bags from the registers?â
He nods, âYep, everythingâs there and Jim left the keys for the safe in the desk,â Mingyu squeezes your shoulders when you sit down and you smile up at him. âIâm going to knock out the kitchen and rental walk-throughs while you count if thatâs okay? After that we will just have shut down the arcade and I can take out the left over trash bags.â
âThat would be amazing,â you tell him, head still cushioned against the office chair as you smile lazily up at him, âI just love a man that knows how to take charge and get the job done.â
He immediately chokes out a laugh and turns on his heel muttering something about how âheâs not going to get anything done if you keep that upâ as he walks away.
It takes another full minute to bring the task at hand back into focus and you have to consciously fight off the intrusive inappropriate thoughts clouding your brain when itâs supposed to be crunching numbers. You even have to recount a few bags because the image of Mingyu sitting you on the desk youâre working at to do dirty things with you keeps popping into your head and itâs getting harder and harder to focus. After probably twice the amount of time it usually takes you to do the financials, youâre finally done and locking the safe when Mingyu returns.Â
âOh, hey,â you perk up when you notice him in the doorway, âReady to go do the arcade?â
âAlready done,â he snickers, âI came back after walk-throughs and caught you cursing and restarting your counts so I just went ahead and finished up the list.â
âOh!â you shift on your feet, â...guess weâre all done then.â
Mingyu crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame looking extra swoon-worthy. Not a single poster of your favorite 80s and 90s heartthrobs plastered to the walls of your old bedroom held a candle to the picture in front of you and he knows it.Â
âYou sound disappointed. Iâm sure we could find other things to do if you wanna stay a little longer,â his eyes shift over to the audio system, still playing a mix of alternative and pop hits, and fixes his eyes back on you, âEver considered making out with someone in an empty skating rink with No Doubt playing over the speakers?â
âCanât say I have. What about you?â
Mingyu grins, shifting his weight to tower over you, âThought just now crossed my mind.â
He slides one hand beneath your jaw and the other over your hip, slotting his lips against yours as he walks you back until you bump into the desk behind you. After teasing you with your belt loops all night, you decide to return the favor, licking at the seam of his lips as you hook your fingers in his front loops and pull him closer. He laughs against your lips and pulls back to meet your eyes. âThatâs my move.â
âI liked it, so I think Iâll steal it,â you smirk, tugging at the loops still.
âWe should probably get our things and head out before I do something stupid and incredibly irresponsible,â he chuckles though there is a very real edge to his tone like heâs trying hard to behave himself right now.
âWhat kind of stupid and irresponsible things?â you test him, releasing his belt loops to hook your index finger into the waist band of his pants instead, âI might be interested.â
The hand on your hip squeezes and he bites out a laugh. âWhoâs the delinquent now?â
âStill you, but I recounted those bags because I kept getting interrupted by steamy office fantasies popping into my head so if youâd rather take me home before we make questionable decisions, we should probably leave now.â
He groans, torn between having to wait or giving in and having you right here, right now. The cons would be that itâs A.) your work place, B.) itâs not the cleanest place to hook up, and C.) he has to wait when his body is begging him otherwise.
As luck has it, you decide for him.
âCan we go to your place? My roommate is home tonight and sheâs got hard rules against hooking up when the other is home. She doesnât even really like when I have friends over but her name is on the lease so I donât argue much.â
Mingyu shuts off his internal debate processing, grateful to have you choose for the both of you. âMy roommates work the late shift at the bar on 89th so they will probably come home at some point but they donât care about guestsâŠor girlfriends. We respect that rule in regards to privacy.â
âUgh,â you rolls your eyes, relaxing in his hold, âThat must be so nice. Got an extra room at your place?â
âGot plenty of space for you in mine,â he smirks, âAlright let me grab our bags from the locker room and weâll get out of here. Did you drive?â
You shake your head, moving to turn off the audio system, âNo, I took the bus today.â
âSweet, weâll take my car home and wonât have to worry about leaving yours.â
Itâs funny how youâre both being so casual at the moment as if you werenât pinned up against the desk, debating whether you should desecrate the business office, and now youâre both going about your normal routines as if you didnât just agree that youâre leaving to go directly to his place to hook up for the first time.Â
It catches up with you when Mingyu pulls up to the front of his shared beach house and cuts the engine. You look at the light blue house and catch the subtle sounds of the ocean not far off. âI had no idea you lived on the island,â you share as you get out of the car and walk together toward the door.Â
Mingyu hands you the key and takes your bag so you can open the door. âYeah, weâve been here about a year now. Used to share a condo a little further in but we spend a lot of time at the beaches here so when this place opened up we snagged it as quick as we could.â
Pushing inside, itâs exactly what you imagine a triad of bachelors to live in. Everything is clean but the couch is a futon, there are two cd towers filled with music youâd love to check out, a few bean bag chairs, a stereo system big enough to take up half a wall, and theres a couple of empty corona bottles spread on the low table in the living room next to a few gaming controllers.Â
Mingyu groans when he sees them and glances over apologetically. âI definitely asked them to clean those up when I left this morning. Youâd think a couple of bartenders would know how to recycle empty beer bottles. I swear we have manners.â
You laugh and follow him to what you assume is his bedroom down the hall. He opens the door and drops both bags next to his dresser before flicking on a lamp. âWasnât expecting to bring you back here so I am glad my cleaning habits are something of use,â he pulls open a drawer and grabs a random t-shirt before handing it to you, âHere, you can wear this if you want and Iâll show you where the bathroom isâŠI just uhhh..I thought maybe youâd be more comfortable changing out of your uniform.â
You raise a brow at him, âWhat? My Dickies and pinstrip ref polo arenât sexy enough for you?â
He smirks back, âAnything you wear is sexy enough for me but the sex and dating column in Cosmopolitanâs spring magazine says a womanâs comfort comes before all else and is the key to a healthy, thriving relationship.â
âYou read Cosmo?âÂ
He shrugs, âHad to pick my mom and sister up at the hair salon and got there on time which was apparently thirty minutes early. There was nothing else to do.â
âLearn anything else?â you ask just before he leaves you at the bathroom door.
Mingyu tugs the frosty bleached tips of his hair. âLearned six new ways to accesorize with butterfly clips and that my horoscope for last month was only half correct,â he grins, âLet me know if you need anything, babe, iâm gonna use the other bathroom to clean up.â
You mumble back an OK and shut the door, bumping into the counter. âBabe?â you repeat quietly, looking at yourself in the mirror.Â
The reality of you having a super-hot-hockey-player boyfriend who is also insanely sweet and volunteers his free time to coach a youth league, and is an amazing kisser, and the kind of guy that calls you babe, crashes into you completely and youâre scrambling to clean yourself up, change, steal some mouthwash, and give yourself a full pep talk before you emerge god knows how long later.Â
Following the same path back to Mingyuâs room, you pause at the door and take a deep breath before re-entering his space.Â
Heâs laying in his bed tossing a small blue ball up and down with one hand while he waits. Youâre pleased to see that he decided not to put a shirt on, lounging only in a pair of basketball shorts, because you also decided to ditch half your clothing. The opposite half.
The ball lands in his palm with an audible smack and he looks up when you step into his room, closing the door behind you.Â
âWait right there,â he throws out a hand as you take a step closer and you hesitate, âI just want to burn this image into my memory for all of eternity.âÂ
Rolling your eyes with a soft laugh, you walk the rest of the way over to Mingyu who reaches for your hand and pulls you up onto his bed to straddle his lap comfortably. His hands move up and down your thighs and heâs smiling at you all the while. âYouâre so beautiful,â he sighs and then shakes his head when you try to brush him off. âGenuinely. Iâm not just saying that to get in your pants. Youâre not even wearing pants to get into.â
Heâs amusing and captivating when heâs like this, hands exploring every inch of exposed skin, chest pressed against yours, his face turned up as he looks at you with that white-hot gaze. It further drives your need to touch and feel him so you wrap your arms around his shoulders loosely, letting your fingers dance over the muscle in his back.Â
Mingyuâs eyes flutter closed, only for a moment as your nails trail over his spine, and you smile to yourself, overjoyed with the feeling of his body beneath yours. Â
âThis feels a little surreal,â you speak quietly and he hums in response, setting his eyes back on your face, âI meanâŠâ
âAhhhhhh,â he grins, lacing his fingers together where his hands rest on your lower back, kept warm under your shirt, âBecause youâve been dreaming about me every night since we met?â
âSomething like that,â you sigh and Mingyu shuts up, not expecting you to give in so easily. You pinch the hair at the nape of his neck tugging it nervously, âYou should probably kiss me before I say something even more embarrassing.â
Mingyu chuckles and his eyes dip to your mouth. He captures your lips easily, moving his hands against the planes of your back as he kisses you until your mind clouds over.Â
His hair is soft between your fingers, the silly frosted ends tickling your skin when you give a little experimental tug. Wonwoo teased him endlessly for falling for the fad but you had to admit you liked it on him.Â
Youâd probably like anything on him though. Besides, it wasnât long before Wonwoo broke down and tried it too albeit a bit more subtle and less Backstreet Boys.Â
Mingyu braces his forearm behind your hips and tugs. His skin is hot and he keeps you still against him, not like you plan on shifting away, but the need to be touched, heldâŠanchored to him is met without needing to ask. It feeds into your confidence allowing you to move more freely, rolling your hips, arching your back until your chest is pushing into his and he just canât stand the fabric in the middle.Â
The shirt heâd given you doesnât even fully hit the ground before his arms are wrapped around your body again and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, lips trailing over your throat, shoulders, collar bones. Whatever he can reach without letting go.Â
A sharp gasp hits the air when his tongue dips to the base of your throat and he closes his lips over that same spot with a kiss. Thighs trembling, you hope he doesnât comment on the pathetic way your cunt squeezes around nothing. He says nothing though. Instead, he groans deep in his chest and his hands tighten possesively.Â
Then he does it again, and again. He encourages your real, raw reactions, full intending to pull them from you until you let go of whatever mental block is keeping you from letting him know exactly how much you love the way he makes you feel.Â
Pretty soon he succeeds and youâre no longer trying to hold yourself together, holding your breath, or trying to be quiet.Â
Mingyu drags his teeth along your collarbones and grins at the soft hum you let out, so at odds with the way your body jumps at the sharp sensation.Â
âYou like that, huh?â
It take an extra few seconds to process his words, brain near mush from his attention.
âSo you do like it,â Mingyu laughs, pecking a small kiss to your shoulder, âWhat else do you like?â
Youâve only just now formed a response to his first question and now heâs asking another and heâs smirking. Itâs almost like heâs doing it on purposeâŠ
Your mouth pops open to say something, what that might have been, youâll never know because at the same time, Mingyu leans back a little and drags your hips over his, grinding his erection against your sensitive cunt. âYou like that?â
At this point, you give up on words and just nod your head fervently. Yes, I fucking like that.
His hands ghost up your sides until his thumbs are brushing against your breasts. He pauses, testing the water before diving in, and he catches the hitch in your breath. The way your head drops back just a touch like all this is making you a little dizzy. He leans forward and presses a kiss against your sternum before falling back against the pillows to take in the full picture.Â
You, perched in his lap with your back arched, pushing your aching breasts into his hands to play with. Itâs the exact shit heâs fallen victim to in a wet dream but this is real and far better because here you are, in the flesh, gripping onto his wrists and rocking your hips against him for an inkling of relief from how much heâs turned you on.
Itâs wearing his patience down and is going to bite him in the ass if he doesnât move things along. He prematurely finished one time and it still haunted him at night. Never again.
Hopefully.
Mingyu makes a miraculous maneuver, with you landing on your back at his side, somehow, without twisting or pinning someoneâs limb in the process.Â
âThat was very smooth.â
Youâre staring back up at him in wonder, partly because youâre not used to being tossed around like that, but also because heâs looking down at you with a serious, heated expression and itâs making your heart beat a little too fast.
âCan I touch you?â he askes softly and youâre immediately nodding. âYeah?â he mimics the motion in a daze, eyes glued to your mouth, âCome here.â
Easy. You kiss him, well, itâs pretty equal efforts but you get to him first, too impatient to wait even half a second more. His hand moves over your hip slowly, then shifts to brush against your naval where he rests it for a moment, heat from his skin seeping into yours.Â
Heâs planning on making good on his request, though you beat him to it again.Â
Mingyu parts his lips with a sigh when he feels your hand slide over his. Your fingers curl around his palm and you guide his hand lower. He asked to touch you and then made you wait - whether it be on purpose or just his own nerves - youâll help him help you.
He doesnât seem to mind and rewards you instantly with his thick fingers rubbing against your cunt through your panties. Your mouth falls open with a soft moan and his brows knit together right as the sound hits his ears. His gaze is unwavering and you almost wish he would just kiss you again instead of studying your face this closelyâŠthen his middle finger presses down a little harder and the sound you let out that time makes the corner of his mouth turn up into a half-smirk.Â
It doesnât even slip away when he leans down and kisses you, his smirk still obviously tugging at his lips when they touch yours. His hand pushes inside your underwear and he groans into your mouth when he feels how wet and warm you are but he doesnât have time to waste or savor the feeling because he needs you to cum on his fingers at least once before he fucks you and his will to wait it out is all but gone.Â
Youâre responsive to every stroke, gasping and whimpering, digging your nails into his arm. Your back arches up off the bed every time he pumps his fingers faster, rubbing them up against your g-spot with expert ease because, hell yeah he reads cosmo, heâs too fucking good at it to not have been guided by the devine-feminine mind.Â
Mingyuâs mouth envelopes one of your nipples and his tongue rolls against it at almost the same pace and pattern heâs rubbing your own slick into your clit and thatâs enough to send you over the edge. He tries to be patient, to let you come down before he goes reaching for a condom but he catches the time on his digital alarm clock, the numbers glaring at him in bright red.Â
It was already past midnight meaning having the house to himself is ending relatively soon.Â
You donât need the extra recovery time though, in fact, itâs the opposite. What you need is more and you need it now. âMingyuâŠâ he hums in response and you will your mouth to work again, âDo you even play basketball?â
He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. Poking your tongue in your cheek you nod and point to his shorts, â...Off.â
Mingyu grins as he leans down and kisses you before rolling out of bed and your lips turn up into a smile, a breathless laugh floating up into the air. He drops his shorts and steps out in white Calvin Kleins stretched taut over his golden thighs, showing off every inch of his assets, and you have to prop yourself up on your elbows to even get the full picture.
Move over Marky Mark.Â
Youâre too busy staring at Mingyuâs body to notice him taking the opportunity to appreciate yours. Itâs just a brief moment to sate both your curiosities because though neither of you would prefer to admit it, youâve thought about each other naked and probably more than once. Getting handsy on your date gave you a bit of an idea but the overwhelmingly obvious dick print staring you in the face at the moment confirms your indecent theory about what Mingyu might be packingâŠ
And that has got to be the âPonyâ Ginuwine was singing about.
When your eyes meet somewhere in the middle, you both turn away quickly, embarrassed only slightly for getting caught. It was a good feeling to know that the attraction is mutual. You hear a drawer close softly and feel the dip in the bed when he slides under the covers next to you. Rolling over, you land almost nose to nose and Mingyu grins, âI like it when you check me out.â
You answer him with a kiss that starts out innocently enough but itâs such a dizzying sensation to be so wrapped up in him that whatever witty retort you had been thinking of is lost in the way his fingers squeeze into your side. He sighs against your lips when he drags you closer and your thigh settles high on his hip, wrapping your body around him tightly. Without thought or hesitation, he drives his pelvis forward, rubbing his erection into your sensitive cunt.Â
It makes you break for air, drawing too much of it into your lungs just to sharply moan through the exhale when he doesnât stop. The muscles in his arms are so taut beneath your fingers that you know heâs not doing it to tease you - heâs at his breaking point and really just canât help himself.
One hand slides down and pushes against the waistband of his briefs, rolling the material down as best you can until it catches his attention so his can finish the job himself. He groans, mostly to acknowledge your intentions, but also because heâs slowly trying to reel himself back for a moment. Just long enough to peel the last bits of clothing off you both and get a rubber on. Itâs probably one of the most ridiculously inconvenient things heâs been made to do in a long time.
Neither of you say a word as he rips open the foil, trying to keep his hands still enough to roll the condom on correctly. It feels like static in his veins, trying to sit still when everything inside his body is screaming go, go, go! You can feel it too, the buzz of anticipation, the pulse between your thighs.Â
Then, there is a pause after he rolls back over, covering your bare body with his own, and he just looks at you for a moment, mouth tight. Your hands slide over his arms, up his shoulders, and settle on his face. âEverything ok?â
âJust wanna do this right,â he whispers back, turning his face to kiss the palm of your hand.Â
The corners of your lips lift in a small smile. âFeels pretty right to me, if that helps.â
The tension in his shoulders melts away and he relaxes his pinched brows. âIt does help,â he says, one big hand stroking the outside of your thigh around his waist, âJustâŠtalk to me if there is anything you want or donât like.â
âI will,â you reassure him and he eyes you wearily one more time until you sigh, âI promise.â
That seems to be enough for him as he shifts between your legs and you let your hands fold over his shoulders, trying hopelessly to relax your body when you feel his fingers on you again. He doesnât keep them there long, just enough to make sure youâre still wet before heâs gripping his cock, guiding himself into your heat.Â
The pressure is immense and Mingyu feels you tense up beneath him. He pulls his other arm up and shifts his weight over to one side, grabbing your face with his free hand. âBreathe,â he says quietly, tipping your face up to look at him, âJust breathe, baby.â
Easier said than done but you exhale shakily and his thumb brushes against your cheek. Mingyu draws his hips back slightly and pushes further in, eyes falling to your mouth when it pops open. The feeling of fullness is all encompassing and all you can think about. So full you might burst at the seams but again, you will yourself to relax and he finally, finally bottoms out.
You let out a sharp breath and just canât seem to catch it.Â
Mingyu seems unsure of whether he should move or not and he barely gets the question out before youâre nodding. The first few thrusts are still tender and heâs still mindful of that but after a minute or so, the tides turn and youâre digging your heels into his backside, pulling him deeper.Â
Mentally, emotionally, physically deeper.Â
Heâs a romantic through and through, including in times like this where heâs drunk on pussy and pure infatuation. He canât get enough. The way you feel around him, clinging to his body, hands against his chest, eyes glued to his. Heâs in severely dangerous territory and clamps his lips shut until the words sitting there fizzle out. Patience is what he needs. In his mind and in his heart.
His body is on an entirely different page.Â
Mingyu is smooth and consistent in his movements, like water in and around you. His name spills from your lips reverently, whispered into the air between you and it feeds him, pushes him to fufill your needs in a way you knew deep down he would. Heâs a pleaser in every way.Â
So, when you slow him down with your palms firmly planted against his chest, he stops and listens. His attentiveness almost makes it harder to speak.
âCan I uhâŠlike would you mind if IâŠlaid on my stomach?â you ask unevenly, not really sure why youâre hesitating to share what you want when that is what heâs asked of you.
Mingyu looks like heâs died and gone to heaven. He doesnât even answer. Carefully, he pulls out and moves so he can roll you over, prop your hips up, and fill you right back up. This time there is no slow start. His hand settles on your back, just between your shoulder blades, and he holds you there, pinning you in place in such a way that your eyes close on contact. Perfectly content to stay put.
The room is filled with lewd noises. Skin slapping against skin. Deep grunting and moaning sounds mixed together. Your muffled voice chanting his name over and over again. Mingyuâs quiet praises tickling your ears when your head turns fuzzy.Â
Itâs a good thing no one is home because itâs almost embarrassing how loudly passionate you both are. You regret not asking Mingyu to turn on the radio to drown out the noise but itâs too late now and with another tug upwards on your hips, heâs stroking your walls just right and you hit an entirely new set of notes.Â
Mingyu can feel you squeezing around him, mewling into his pillows and heâs hanging on for dear life because youâre still skirting around the edge and heâs seconds from toppling over. An idea pops into his head, a catch twenty-two really because in doing this, he puts himself at further risk of finishing first but itâs still too enticing to pass up.Â
Somehow, he manages to roll your bodies together until he hits the mattress, successfully claiming his spot as your big spoon. He hooks his left arm under your head so that itâs rested on his bicep while his hand is free to roam your chest and his right arm snakes over your hip before you feel his middle and ring finger slip between your folds.Â
With you tightly wound up in his hold he picks up a brutal, finishing pace. He hits all the right spots and works your body until youâre seeing stars. Your breathing now harsh and uneven limits your ability to speak but you donât need to say anything at all.Â
Mingyu knows your coming and heâs going right along with you. When your orgasm hits, you bear down against him, crying out in broken sounds as he pumps his hips through his own release. He continues to hold you against his chest, gently kneading at the fleshy part of your hip.Â
He presses kisses against your hair and then carefully, he pulls out before rolling you onto your back. Mingyuâs smile is adoring and beautiful, it makes you want to bury your face in the pillows again. The blanket will have to do.Â
âWhy are you hiding?â Mingyu chuckles, grabbing at the blanket, âWas it that bad?â
You flip the sheet down and give him a blank stare.Â
âShut up,â you bite, a hint of a smile appearing, âYou know it was good. Better than good.â
âHow good?â he smirks.Â
With an eye roll, you pull the blanket up just high enough to cover the lower half of your face. âReally fucking goodâŠand youâre not even slightly winded.â
Heâs on top of the world.Â
âMy stamina is just another one of my many desirable qualities,â he half-shrugs, âIf youâre still not in love with me, Iâm happy to keep trying.â
âWill you stop when I do?â
âNot a chance,â he grins, one hand squeezing your thigh as he swoops in to steal another kiss, âStay with me tonight. Iâll make you anything you want for breakfastâ
You pretend to think about it when you know youâll say yes, and not just because you donât have a car. A sleepover? With your hot boyfriend? Who just rocked your world and will probably do it again and then cook for you in the morning? Yeah, thatâs a no-brainer.
âI could probably be convinced if you find me something comfy to wear and have a spare pack of noodlesâŠIâm starving.â
Mingyu jumps out of bed, the sight of his bare cheeks making you turn and giggle. âIâm about to make you the best noodles of your life,â he walks over to his dresser pulling out underwear for himself, a clean t-shirt, and blue-plaid pajama pants, then he tugs open another drawer and turns to you, holding out a big soft-looking jacket, âI think youâll like this one. I donât have any pants that will fit you but this is pretty long. Oooh,â he pauses, âI didnât think about underwear when I-â
âRuined mine?â you raise your brow teasingly, sitting up and making grabby hands for the sweater he tosses to you.
He scoffs, tip of his tongue poking at his teeth. âYeah, thatâs my bad.â
Your voice is muffled as you pull the sweater over your head before climbing out of bed, pleased that it indeed covers you well. âItâs okay. Itâs not the first time and Iâm sure it wonât be the last. Iâve learned to keep an extra pair in my bag.â You mention this so casually that heâs stunned when you walk over to grab said panties from your bag and kiss his cheek before turning to leave, âIâm gonna go clean up. Meet you in the kitchen for those mind blowing noodles?â
Mingyu hollers back as you near the bathroom door. âIâll blow your mind in the kitchen alright!â
He slumps against the dresser when he hears you respond with, âIâm sure you will, babe!â
Babe. Ugh, youâre so it for him.Â
The steam of the shower mixed with some kind of masculine aroma in Mingyuâs body wash gives off the same feeling of being in his arms and the thought warms your belly again. Itâs almost embarrassing, how much you want him just after having him in full, but youâre sure heâd be happy to oblige even if you so much as hinted at it.Â
Maybe he will blow your mind in the kitchen.
As youâre wrapping up and getting dressed you hear music, oddly loud for the hour but itâs vaguely familiar, still muffled by the sound of the vents running to air out the steam in the bathroom. Then thereâs a crash, not earth shattering but enough that youâre slightly concerned. You hurry to hang your towel and pull on your clean underwear and his sweater when you hear another bump against the wall. ThenâŠsinging?
âKiss meeee out of the bearded bobby~â
âNIGHTLYYYY beside the greanbeann grass~â
You poke your head into the hallway, âUmâŠMingyu?â
âSWIIINGG SWIINNG-â
âSwing the spinnnning stem~â
Definitely not Mingyu. Also, definitely not the right words to this song but your interest is piqued.
You come around the corner to find him in the center of the living room, quietly laughing, holding the hand of one of his very jovial (probably drunk) maybe roommates while the other (definitely drunk) maybe roommate is spinning around them in circles, bumping into things along the way.Â
The one with bright blonde hair pokes Mingyu mid-spin, âYou wear the shoes and Iâll wear a dressss~â
Then the his drinking partner joins in and their both belting out, âoOHHH Kiss meeee, beneath the melting twilight~â
Mingyu points to the blonde and shouts over the noise, âThat oneâs Hoshi.â
 âLead meeee, out on the moonlit flooOr!â
He gestures at the one hanging off his arm, the tall boy with shaggy black hair, âThis oneâs Minghao. Theyâre plastered, obviously.â
Theyâre delightful and Hoshi is coming your way with a cat-like smile. He bows, almost stumbles, and reaches for your hand which youâre happy to share. âLift your open handâŠâ he serenades, lifting yours into the air, âStrike up the band and make firefights dance silver moons sparkly~â
And he spins you away so quickly you almost stumble but Mingyu catches you around the waist with Minghao singing over your shoulder in a whisper, âSo, kiss me.â
And Mingyu does, of course, heâs not going to miss the opportunity. Minghao grins, leaning against the wall to catch his balance, and Hoshi clapsâŠa little bit like a buffoon but you really like them both. Mingyu must really love them because he doesnât complain one bit about the noise and overly dramatic show, especially with it being your first impression. It helps that he knows how laid back you are and can see the delight still dancing in your eyes.Â
He does however, turn down the music on the stereo so everyone can talk without shouting.Â
âYou do know you guys are supposed to be serving the alcoholâŠnot drinking itâŠright?â
âDonât be r- *hiccup* -rude!â Hoshi flaps his hand dismissively, âIâll tell your pretty girlfriend about all the times we had to hold your hair back, our sweet little Mingoo ~â
Minghao giggles, bumping into Hoshiâs shoulder, âOr about how you,â he pauses, the two of them bursting into hysterics as Mingyu sighs like he knows whatâs coming. Minghao wipes away a tear, still cackling, âAbout how you got totally tanked that weekend you first started working at Wheelieâs and whined alllll nighttttt-â
Hoshi whacks Mingyuâs shoulder laughing and then looks at you, âHe wouldnât shut up about you the entire night. Crying into his beerâŠbecause he thought you were dating the DJ.â
Your hand flies over your mouth, giggling up at your boyfriend who is being a really good sport right now. Even as he pokes his tongue into his cheek, shaking his head at his friends.Â
âVernon and I were never dating,â you fake sniffle, âSadly.â
âSadly?!â Mingyu swings his head around toward you, âI thought the soulmate thing was a joke?â he laughs.
âOh, baby, it is a joke,â you reassure him, patting his chest gently but just when he relaxes you whisper, âUntil it isnât.â
Hoshi sticks out his hand as heâs stumbling toward the kitchen and you land a low-five as he goes, and one up top when Minghao follows behind him excitedly mumbling about making drinks for everyone, then Hoshi is shouting about noodles âfor the love of god, we need more noodles!â
Mingyu sighs and you know heâs about to complain that he no longer has you to himself. Can practically hear it in your head already. So, you cut him off before he can start, tugging him down into a kiss hot enough to make him groan against your lips as his hands dip down to take handfuls of you.Â
Then heâs laughing, falling out of rythym and you pull back, smiling. âWhat?â
You squawk in surprise when he smacks your ass and says, âYou know youâre still not wearing pants, right?â
Actually, you forgot because of the whole song and dance thing.Â
âThatâs embarrassing,â you mumble, tugging his sweater further down your thighs, âI could go throw my work pants-â
âI can try to find you som-â
You both look toward the kitchen when music starts playing and Mingyu shakes his head, almost regretting stowing his portable radio in there for when heâs cooking. Itâs quiet for a few seconds and then, like someone cranked the volume all the way up, itâs starts blasting and theyâre both singing.
âOoooh baby, baybay, b-baby, baybaby, oooh baby-â
Mingyu just laughs. âOn second thought, donât even worry about it. They arenât going to remember anything tomorrow morning anyway.â
âI like them,â you grin.
His shoulder shake with mirth, âOf course you do.â
You giggle when one of the guys starts shouting the words and grab Mingyuâs hand, pulling him along behind you. âCome on, noodles, drinks, Salt-n-Pepa,â he fake groans and you squeeze his hand, âThis is the most fun Iâve had at a sleepover in years.â
Then heâs grinning, âWell, we can make it a regular thing if you want.â
You turn, just before you get to the kitchen and push up to kiss his cheek, âWhatever you say, Hot Wheels.â
âOh, come on,â he drags his feet after you, âCan we pick a new nickname?!â
âSure. Come on, Coach Kim. Letâs go play in the kitchen.â
He stumbles a step and shakes his head. âAm I supposed to pretend it doesnât make me kind of horny when you call me that? God, please donât hold that against me. I am only a man.â
Oh? Good to know. âWhatever you say, Coach.â
Thanks for reading! đ
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Part 2!
Finally finished moving house so hopefully Iâll be updating semi-regularly again.
Content: brief and non-descriptive explanation of Rasputinâs backstory (injury and illness)
Agatha is over again.
You donât know why. She doesnât like you, your cats, or anything as far as you can tell. It seems her primary motivation for talking to you at all is to exercise her role as neighborhood matriarch. She âkeeps tabsâ on everyone, but especially you - the unmarried woman living alone that keeps odd hours.
A rebellious part of you wants to roll your eyes and make snarky comments whenever she sniffs at your life choices. The same part of you that would make scenes at holiday dinners or slam doors when you were a teenager. That girl has long been smoothed and polished - or maybe just worn down. Itâs so much effort to make rude, nosy, traditionalists clutch their pearls. Much easier to smile in their face and do what you want anyway.
Still, that part of you itches at the surface sometimes. Makes your eye twitch.
âI know your generation is different but thatâs just not the type of neighborhood we live in,â sheâs saying.
Youâre a bit foggy from a late night patching plotholes and havenât registered much of anything sheâs said. You really just want to go inside and stare at the TV until words make sense again.
âWhat do you mean?â you ask, for once not feigning your confusion. But of course this is the one time she doesnât buy it.
She looks down her frail little nose at you, cornflower blue eyes baleful. You donât feel scolded, but you sense that youâre supposed to.
âNow you know just what I mean. People will talk.â
People always talk, itâs an unfortunate byproduct of the human condition. Like a deaf bird, youâve never understood all the chatter.
âTalk about⊠the buttercups?â you wonder, pointing at the blossoms. Youâre quite proud of them actually.
Agatha puffs up and hisses out a breath. âYou ought to keep to this side of the street. Away from those men.â
You blink. Men�
A bang comes from across the street, followed by rough German cursing. (At least you think itâs cursing.)
Ah. Those men.
âI was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.â
It comes out of your mouth automatically, innocent excuses for something you remind yourself you donât need to justify.
âIâd rather they didnât feel welcome,â she snips. âBetter they sell that awful house and go somewhere else.â
You flick your eyes over her bony shoulder. Konig passes by a window, massive biceps on display as he lifts something outside of view.
âTheyâre nice,â you say. Nice to look at. Kruegerâs face alone quite makes up for his conversational shortcomings.
âThe only reason men like that act nice is because they want something,â Agatha snaps. âThis is a respectable neighborhood.â
Yeah, soooo respectable when Bertram rifles through your mail or Lisa looks into your backyard.
âWell,â you muse, âbetter to be on good terms with them, I think. They're not the type you want to piss off.â
That defiant streak lights up at the way her face sours. If only she knew what sort of words you use when itâs just you and the cats.
âYouâve just proven my point. Those are not the type of men young ladies should associating themselves with.â
You have to try very hard not to scrunch up your face. One blessed day, people will stop referring to you as âyoung ladyâ in that insufferably condescending tone. You canât wait for that day.
Some of your mounting irritation must show on your face because she takes on a sickly sweet âteachingâ tone.
âNeighborhoods are like gardens. Everything grows best when the rows are kept separate. Thatâs why the farmers plant them that way.â
You glance pointedly at your own yard, where the flowers are blooming in haphazard sprigs wherever you tossed the seeds. Agathaâs lips get thin.
âBest that you stay on this side of the street, missy. Thatâs the last Iâll hear of it.â
She spins on her heel and stalks off like a particularly drab bird. You stand on your porch for a second longer, face contorted in annoyed confusion. You donât even have strong feelings about the three men; the simple act of someone - Agatha of all people - labeling them as âOff Limitsâ makes them instantly more appealing.
Maybe you should see someone about that or something. Then the pathetic cries of Guy through the window lure you back inside.
Itâs nearly sundown when thereâs a knock at your door. Still agitated from your talk with Agatha, you puff up like Shithead when Rasputin sits on her favorite toy. March up to the door, fling it open - and come up short when you see the three men looming on your doorstep.
Before you can recover, a little gray blob scrambles past your ankles, crying like the sky is falling.
âOh!â Konig gasps in pleasant surprise. âHallo, Bubchen!â
And all 6-foot-plus of Austrian instantly folds to scoop Guy up. Youâve barely managed a now-useless shout of alarm when Shithead wedges her fat head between your calves. Behind you, Rasputin politely screeches his little chainsmoker call.
And somehow, in the chaos of fumbling for furballs, you end up with all three men in your foyer.
Guy is purring away in Konigâs thick arms. Shithead is attempting to scale Kruegerâs tight cargo pants. And Rasputin is pawing the air at Nikto, visibly calculating the jump to his wide shoulders.
Which leaves you with the clean serving platter you dropped off just yesterday. You blink at it for a moment, then glance at them.
âSo⊠the cookies were good then?â
âVery good!â Konig rushes to say. Krueger and Nikto each nod, almost comically solemn.
âWe have no baking or cooking skills,â Krueger continues, âso tell us what needs fixing.â
It takes you a moment to understand what he means. The house. He wants to fix your house. Itâs surprisingly sweet, and you laugh a bit, shaking your head. âYou donât need to do that, I was just-â
âIs custom,â Nikto interrupts.
Konig nods with all the enthusiasm of a bobblehead as Krueger crosses his arms. (Whatever effect heâs going for is ruined by Shithead clinging to his pocket and screaming.)
âIn our country, we bring gifts as guests. Our gift is repairs,â he explains.
You arch your brows playfully. âI donât remember inviting you to be guests.â
He arches his brows right back. âWe did not invite you either.â
Well shit.
âOkay, okay. I guess thereâs a couple thingsâŠâ
Konig perks up. âWe would be happy to help, Biene!â
Itâs strange having men in the house. You think you should be more nervous about it, canât remember the last non-family man allowed into your space. Especially alone.
Thereâs a sharp awareness, of course. Hard not to be aware of them. Itâs not just that theyâre big, dwarfing all of your you-sized furniture. Thereâs a presence to them, something felt but not seen by your untrained eye. Maybe itâs in the set of their shoulders, the way they stand with both boots firmly planted. Maybe itâs the precise way they speak and move, not just separately but as a unit. Acting more like a collective consciousness than as individuals.
Whatever it is, you couldnât ignore them if you tried. And youâre definitely not trying.
You set Krueger to work on the kitchen cabinet youâve been meaning to replace. He clicks his tongue at the tape-and-lean method youâve been using to keep the old one in place. Shithead immediately sets to work helping by gnawing at his shoelaces.
Konig is stationed in the guest bathroom, where the sink doesnât run right. Guy comes mewing into your arms when heâs set down, effectively tattling that his new friend is mean and awful for withholding affection for even a moment.
You try not to visibly hesitate when you corner yourself in your own laundry room. Nikto has followed you right in, seemingly unaware that heâs invading your personal space. Heâs not even looking at you though, eyes zeroed in on the dryer you point to.
âItâs not heating up, so the clothes stay wet or take forever to dry,â you explain.
He grunts in acknowledgement, then nods to Rasputin, who has taken up residence on the washer. His one golden eye blinks slow and serene at the two of you.
âWhat happened?â he asks.
You hum, softening in pleasant surprise at the question.
âIâm not sure how he lost his eye. It was infected when I found him. But I know for sure the tail and leg are from getting hit by a car.â
You sigh, scratching at Rasputinâs chin. A rusty purr starts up as he tilts his head, revealing some nasty scars around his throat.
âThe vet said that thatâs probably from a fight with another cat,â you add.
Guy steps from your arms to cuddle up to Rasputin, shoving his face into his ragged ear. Grooming time, then. Thatâs as good an indication as any that Niktoâs probably safe enough.
âI ran down from an office building to save him.â You blink hard, eyes stinging just from the memory. âBut anyway, he gets to rest and be pampered now.â
When you glance up from Rasputinâs happy little face, you almost startle at the sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. Your face feels warm, even though youâre not embarrassed.
âIâll, um, get out of the way,â you say, clearing your throat. âKeep an eye on things, Ras.â
With the men occupied, you find yourself once again at loose ends. You drift towards the den, but it feels awkward to sit on your ass watching TV while your neighbors fix your house.
You check the time on your phone - ignoring the text from your mother - and figure itâs not too early to start dinner.
âWill I be in the way if I start cooking?â you ask Krueger.
He flicks you a dimissive glance. âA little thing like you?â
You scoff and cross to the fridge. âYou could have just said no.â
âNein,â he snorts.
Rude bastard, you think - though not without fondness, unfortunately. The surly attitude is already growing on you.
Thereâs meat and spare boxes of pasta and veggies - thatâll work. You start tugging out ingredients, mentally doubling portions for your guests. They look like they work out even beyond the construction labor, hopefully youâll have enough to satisfy their appetites.
âSo whatâs the plan with the house?â you ask as you get to work. âJust fixing it up to sell orâŠ?â
âWe will live there, the three of us,â Krueger answers. He swipes a screwdriver from Shitheadâs batting paws. âSomewhere to stay when we are not working.â
You hum, biting back the next obvious question, loathe to become as nosy as the rest of your neighbors. Still⊠getting to know people, right?
It sounds like they expect to travel a lot. You canât imagine them as business types - not in the traditional sense anyway. Though the image of Konig sitting in a tiny cubicle does make you smile a bit. Between their statures, their clothes, their shoes, and the occasional nasty scar, you take a guess.
âAre you guys military?â
âContractor,â Krueger corrects.
You perk up. âWait, really?â
He scowls. âDoes it sound like a joke?â
You huff and turn back to the veggies youâre cutting. âNo, no. I just - you know about guns and knives and things, then?â
He pauses. You shoot him a curious glance, only to quickly look away at the intense scrutiny directed your way.
âYes,â he answers slowly.
âThen⊠could you maybe answer some questionsâŠ?â
His eyes narrow. âQuestions?â
You keep your gaze on the cutting board. âOkay, wait, it's not suspicious. Iâm a writer and itâs hard to google very specific questions sometimes. Itâs just easier to ask an expert in person.â
Never mind that majority of your readers would never know the difference. It bothers you when things arenât accurate.
He makes a considering noise. âA writer?â
You flush. âThatâs what I do. Why Iâm always home? I publish fiction.â
He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. You peek his way, shocked to see a task youâve been putting off for weeks already done. Hell, it looks sturdier than the rest of the cabinet doors, too.
âAnd your fiction requires knowledge of guns and knives and âthingsâ?â he asks.
Your face feels like itâs on fire. âSometimesâŠâ
âFine. I will answer your questions,â he allows.
You beam. âThank you!â
He grunts, snatches a slice of pepper and pops it into his mouth.
âWhat else needs doing?â
Dinner ends up much more pleasant than expected. Nikto abstains from eating, you assume because he doesnât feel comfortable removing his ever-present mask, but he sits at the table with Rasputin in his lap. He speaks little, and has that intense gaze that prickles at your freeze instinct, but you grow used to it as the meal progresses.
Konig, however, becomes chattier with food in his belly. Heâs much more forthcoming when he answers your polite and totally casual questions - though you notice Krueger kick him under the table once or twice.
You suppose he gets you back by effectively announcing to the others what your career is. Which just kicks off the usual line of questioning about how and why you got into writing. Still, thereâs no judgment from these men that make their living in labors of blood and sacrifice, where you expected censure. You only find genuine curiosity and intrigue, good-natured questions. Not even Krueger makes backhanded comments about it not being a ârealâ job.
Before you know it, the moon is high and youâre sending the three of them off, bellies full and a little friendlier than before. Nikto nods to you (and Rasputin) as he leaves, a big Tupperware of his dinner portion in hand.
You tell yourself itâs not anticipation that goes through you, knowing theyâll be back with it soon.
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Masterlist
#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#dark fic#cod krueger#sebastian krueger#konig#konig cod#cod nikto#polyamory#bad neighbours#men at work
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I am not closely following the election results tonight, but I am occasionally seeing flashes of them out of the corner of my eye. The most obvious sign that things arenât going well right now is the complete lack of celebrating on my dash. I know what tumblr looks like when itâs happy. Maybe Iâll go to bed tonight and see something different in the morning. I hope to god that is the case. But Iâm thinking about the way Iâm thinking right now, and I want to get some stuff down before the future kicks in.
In 2016 I was in a period of my life I affectionately refer to as as my fuckup era. I wasnât even fucking up really. More just chilling out and falling short of the vague expectations Iâd had about what I was supposed to be doing after I graduated college. While my friends from college rented apartments in the city and got jobs that didnât supply you with a uniform shirt, I lived at home and worked as a barista at a fancy movie theater. Thatâs a real job you can do for almost five years. I didnât have a clue what the back half of my twenties should look like. The only long term plan I had in my life was moving out west with my best friend, and my plan for finding a job once I was out there was basically to cross my fingers and hope.
Those days werenât bad on the whole, but it felt like I was not actually living a life so much as I was goofing off in the waiting room. Sometimes that felt embarrassing, sometimes it felt fun, and sometimes it felt like I was completely pointless to the world.
On 2016âs Election Day, I went to bed early. After watching the votes come in, I needed the night to be over. I woke in a world that felt different than it had been the night beforeânot just in the actuality of who would be president but down to its foundations. I realized for the first time how much hope Iâd had in human nature because now I didnât feel it anymore. Itâs almost silly when I think about itâso many horrible things had already happened that year, people had done horrible things as long as there have been people, and I didnât think I was naive to thatâbut something clicked into place that morning.
It felt the same way my world had changed a year earlier, in 2015 during my last semester of college. My college victory lap felt like a prolonged downward spiral. Very early in the morning on a Monday, after pulling an all-nighter and overwhelmed by self-loathing that I could not just motivate myself to work on a paper that had been my only thought all weekend, I self-harmed for the first time in a way that was impossible to pretend it was anything else. Earlier that weekend, Iâd tried staving off the urges drawing or writing on my arm, something that did (and does) usually work. Iâd written this quote in silver sharpie on my forearm: âGood is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.â
I picked that quote from the Ms. Marvel comics and liked the words so much, I thought that I wouldnât be willing to purposefully mess it up by hurting myself there. Didnât work. They just made me feel more ashamed of myself as I did it.
That was the worst I had ever felt. Then, on the Friday of that week, a friend of mine was senselessly, brutally murdered.
It doesnât feel now like there was ever a time before her death. My memoir class is now where I wrote about her. My favorite professor is now the one who held me as I cried. My final thesis, the culmination of my history degree, never got finished and certainly never got polished. I turned it what I had and got an A minus. Sometimes I think of rereading that paper to see if thatâs the grade it actually deserved. We hadnât been the closest friends, but my name was still on the email admin sent to professors, listing students who might be emotionally affected by this tragic event. Graceâs murder hangs over every memory I have with her and everything she ever touched. It feels like its own type of obliteration to leave her reduced to her death.
Grace wanted to be a lawyer because she believed in justice and also liked arguing. She could be rude when she wasnât interested in what you were saying. When you caught her attention, you felt like the most fascinating person in the room. She was so proud of being Jewish. I watched her become proud of being gay. She was so universally friendly that it took me a year to realize that she actually liked specifically me. She had a somewhat silly laugh and an astonishingly luminous smile.
I thought less of the world and the people in it because of how she died. Trumpâs election in 2016 felt like that.
After he won, I left stasis. From November through December, I thought harder about my future than I ever had before. Who did I want to be? What did I most value? What did I think was worth protecting? What work wouldnât kill me to do? At one point, in presumably a fit of madness, I thought, âwhat if I got into politics.â Epiphany eventually hit me. By the time of Trumpâs inauguration, I was already enrolled at community college, getting my pre-reqs for nursing school.
Now itâs election night again, eight years later. I live on the west coast with my best friend, in a house that we bought together. I work as a nurse in a hospital in a city where there are homeless encampments off every highway and someone begging for change on every corner. Meanwhile, thereâs Palestine. Meanwhile thereâs Sudan. Meanwhile refugees drown in the sea and border patrol shoots jugs of water. Even hurricanes have human cruelty now.
I donât think people are inherently good or the universe inherently kind. But I am very good at tricking myself into thinking it for a little while, and when I do, I can remember the a specific feeling from Friday of my senior year, from that morning in Novemberâ how fucking hard the disappointment hit me because I had expected people to be better than this. It makes me want to be better than that.
I believe, and hope that I always will, that we can make a better world. I donât know what it looks like, but I think I will see it in my lifetime. Those of us who can believe such things owe a bit of that naĂŻvetĂ© to the worldânot to excuse atrocities or think them impossible but to believe that we can stop them at all. You have to have a couple people sprinkled around who are genuinely shocked when people do bad things. Itâs not that the pessimists are wrong, but you need the occasional counterbalance. I want to be a reasonable cynicâs pleasant surprise.
Every shift, I interact with people at their lowest and worst. I see the direct pipeline from pain to anger to violence, and how fragile that pipeline can be. So many situations can be changed by things as small as a warm blanket or a kind word. Violence can be quite easy to avert. Crises can be quite simply to resolve. Even when I know that whatever I do that shift will not change the circumstances of a personâs life, I think that what I do that shift still matters.
Iâm lying in bed, writing this post instead of looking at the news. I wonder how tonight will change me. Been thinking about what Iâll do if Trump wins. Been thinking about how whatever I think I need to do under Trump will still need to be done if Harris clutches out a victory. I guess this is a pessimistâs optimism: to a degree the election doesnât matter. Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do. Our better world will always take a lot of work.
But please god please, why canât it be just a little easier to do it?
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The Weight of Approval
Kinkvember Day 19: Facesitting
(G)-IDLE Cho Miyeon x Gender Neutral reader
Itâs just another shift at the cafĂ©âa grind that blurs together with yesterday and all the days before. The worn counters, the hum of the coffee machine, the clink of mismatched mugsâitâs all routine. The same cracked tiles beneath your feet, the same smudged menu board hanging above the register. The cafĂ© isnât much, tucked into the corner of a busy street, frequented more for convenience than ambiance. Itâs the kind of place that serves as a pit stop for hurried commuters, not somewhere anyone lingers.
You barely register the motions anymore. Each cup you fill, every polite smile you force, feels like another tick of the clock until your shift ends. But even then, that only means returning to your tiny apartmentâthree floors up in a creaky, aging building where the walls are thin, and the heater groans louder than it works. Inside, thereâs a stack of unopened bills on the kitchen counter, a fridge that hums louder than it cools, and shelves lined with little more than ramen packets and canned soup. Payday is still a week away, and youâve already done the mathâit wonât stretch far enough.
Every month is the same. Rent looms like a guillotine, always just one mistake away from coming down. The cafĂ© job was supposed to be temporary, just something to cover the basics until you landed something better. But âtemporaryâ stretched into months, and now it feels like a trap, closing in around you as the bills keep piling higher. Nights at your other jobâa late shift at a dingy convenience storeâblur into exhaustion. Between the two jobs, sleep is a luxury, and dreams? Those have been shelved for âlater,â though youâre no longer sure when âlaterâ will come.
The bell above the door rings, jolting you from your thoughts. Itâs automatic to glance up, expecting a regular with their usual small talk and routine order. Instead, she walks in.
The woman is striking, her presence undeniable from the moment she steps inside. Everything about her is sharp and precise, from the tailored fit of her sleek black suit to the effortless grace in her stride. The glint of her designer heels catches the dull light of the cafĂ©, momentarily outshining the worn surroundings. Her dark sunglasses obscure her eyes, but you feel the weight of her gaze, like sheâs sizing up the entire room in a single sweep. Sheâs out of place here, like a panther wandering into a pet shop.
She doesnât wait in line. Instead, she glides directly to the counter, her movements fluid and purposeful, ignoring the subtle whispers and curious glances from the few other patrons.
âIâll take my usual,â she says, her voice low and polished, each word perfectly enunciated.
You blink, caught off guard. Thereâs an air of expectation in her tone, as though her usual should be obvious. For a second, you feel like youâve failed an unspoken test, unable to recall what sheâs asking for. âIâuhâIâm not sure what your usual isâŠâ
Her sunglasses slide down just enough for you to see her eyes. Theyâre sharp and assessing, a piercing gaze that seems to cut straight through you. âIs there a problem?â The question is more of a challenge than a clarification, her tone daring you to falter.
Before you can stammer out an apology, your coworker Minnie steps in, her movements quick and anxious. âIâll take care of it,â she says, her voice soft and hurried. She doesnât look at you as she nudges you aside, her trembling hands already reaching for the espresso machine.
The woman steps back, folding her arms as she waits. Her gaze, however, doesnât leave you. Itâs piercing and unrelenting, a quiet power that feels suffocating. She doesnât speak, doesnât need toâher presence alone commands the room.
Minnie works quickly, though her nervousness is evident. She fumbles slightly with the milk, spilling a few drops as she pours. When the drink is finally ready, she hesitates, glancing at the woman as if trying to gauge her mood. After a tense moment, Minnie takes a deep breath, picks up the cup, and walks it over.
You watch as she offers the drink, her posture stiff, like sheâs bracing for something. The woman leans in slightly, inspecting the cup with the precision of a jeweler examining a diamond. She murmurs something, soft and deliberate, but her eyes remain locked on you.
Minnie freezes for a beat, her shoulders tightening before she nods and turns back toward you, her steps quick and unsteady. Her face is pale, her usual cheerful expression replaced with unease.
âSheâŠâ Minnie begins, her voice barely above a whisper as she sets the cup down on the counter in front of you. Her hands fidget with her apron. âShe wants you to bring it to her.â
You glance at Minnie, confused. âMe? Why?â
Minnie shakes her head, her eyes wide. âI donât know,â she whispers. âBut you should just do it. Donât⊠donât upset her.â
The anxiety in Minnieâs voice sends a chill down your spine, but thereâs no time to question it. The woman hasnât moved. Her gaze is fixed on you, calm and unwavering, yet it carries a weight that feels oppressive, like a predator sizing up its prey.
You pick up the cup, its warmth doing little to steady your trembling hands, and step toward her. Each movement feels deliberate, exaggerated by the tension in the air. Her eyes track your every step, sharp and unrelenting, leaving you feeling utterly exposed. The cafĂ©âs noiseâthe hum of the coffee machine, the soft chatter of patronsâfades into a dull background buzz as all your focus narrows on her.
When youâre close enough, you extend the cup toward her, your pulse hammering in your ears. Her fingers brush yours as she takes it, her touch cool and fleeting, yet it sends a shiver racing through you. Her lips curl into a faint smileâsmall, deliberate, and unsettling, like sheâs amused by some private joke youâre not in on.
âWell arenât you adorable,â she murmurs, her voice low and smooth, with just enough of an edge to leave you unsure if itâs a compliment or a taunt. Her gaze lingers on you, unhurried, peeling back invisible layers like sheâs already learned more about you than youâd ever willingly share.
You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat as she tilts her head slightly, her expression shifting into something closer to curiosityâor is it calculation?
âHow would you like to earn some extra money?â she asks, her tone casual yet deliberate, as if the question is part of a test.
The words land like a thunderclap, unexpected and disarming. You blink, caught off guard, the full weight of her presence pressing down on you as the question hangs in the air. The answer should be obviousâof course you do. You think of the bills piling up on your kitchen counter, the hollow ache in your stomach from skipping meals, and the rent looming over you like a storm cloud. But thereâs something about the way she asks, something that makes your pulse race with more than just hope.
âIâuhâŠâ Your voice wavers, and you hesitate, but the intensity of her gaze pushes you to nod, slowly at first, then more firmly. âSure.â
Her smile deepens, but it doesnât reach her eyes. Instead, thereâs a flicker of satisfaction, like sheâs just confirmed something she already knew. She reaches into her purse with a deliberate, practiced motion and pulls out a business card. The action feels almost ceremonial as she hands it to you with a lazy grace. The card is pristine and minimalist: Ascend International. Cho Miyeon, CEO.
âCome to this address at 8 pm tonight,â she says, her tone smooth and unyielding. âDonât be late.â
You glance down at the card in your hand, its edges crisp and cool against your fingertips. The weight of it feels disproportionate to its size, like itâs a key to a door youâre not sure youâre ready to open.
Her gaze flickers down to your mouth, and for a moment, she pauses, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as if an idea has just occurred to her. âStick your tongue out,â she says suddenly.
The request catches you so off guard that you hesitate, unsure if youâve heard her correctly. But her expression remains unchangedâno humor, no patience, only expectation. The air between you feels heavy, charged, as if sheâs testing you.
Against every instinct, you comply, your face heating as you stick out your tongue. You feel ridiculous, exposed, yet thereâs a compulsion in her gaze that makes resistance impossible. She studies you for a beat, her smirk deepening in satisfaction before she straightens, her presence as composed and commanding as ever.
âGood,â she murmurs, almost to herself, before turning and striding out of the cafĂ©, her movements fluid and unhurried, like someone who always gets exactly what they want.
As the door swings shut behind her, Minnie sidles up beside you, her voice low and shaky. âYou⊠you have no idea who she is, do you?â
You shake your head, your fingers clutching the card tightly. âNo. Should I?â
Minnieâs eyes widen, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by something cautious, almost fearful. âCho Miyeon,â she whispers, glancing toward the door as if expecting her to walk back in. âShe owns half this city. If she wants something from youâŠâ She trails off, shaking her head. âJust donât screw it up. People donât usually get second chances with her.â
You look down at the card again, its elegant design somehow intimidating. It feels out of place in your hands, like it belongs in a world far removed from your own. Yet, as the weight of her gaze lingers in your mind, you think about your realityâyour landlordâs last warning, the meals youâve skipped, the endless grind of multiple jobs that never seem to be enough.
Maybe this is the kind of risk you need to take.
If you can survive it
-----
Stepping into Ascend Internationalâs headquarters feels like stepping into another world. The building itself is a towering monolith of glass and steel, its sleek facade reflecting the city skyline with an almost arrogant perfection. The sheer scale of it is intimidating, a symbol of power that dominates the horizon, making everything around it feel insignificant by comparison.
The lobby is no less imposing. Itâs cavernous, every surface polished to a mirror-like gleam. The pristine marble floors stretch out endlessly, their subtle veining shimmering under the soft, calculated lighting. Minimalist artwork, abstract yet commanding, adorns the high walls, while brushed metal accents catch the light in subtle, expensive flashes. Itâs a space that whispers sophistication but demands reverence, as if even the air inside has been curated for those who belong.
The people moving through the lobby only add to the sense that youâre out of place. They stride with purpose, their designer suits immaculate, their gazes fixed straight ahead as if theyâre always on the brink of something important. No one lingers. No one hesitates. Everyone here seems to belong, moving in seamless synchronization, like pieces in a machine that runs on ambition and authority.
Clutching the business card Miyeon gave you, you force yourself to breathe steadily as you approach the reception desk. It looms ahead of you, an enormous slab of black marble so flawless it seems to absorb the light around it. Its size and stark design make you feel even smaller, dwarfed not just by the desk but by the sheer magnitude of the world youâve just stepped into.
Behind the desk sits a young woman, impeccably dressed and exuding the kind of confidence that only comes from being part of something this powerful. Her name tag reads Song Yuqi, but itâs her sharp eyes that capture your attention. They snap up the moment you approach, and in a single, sweeping glance, she seems to assess everything about youâyour clothes, your posture, the nervous energy you canât quite suppress. Itâs a look that feels both brisk and invasive, as if sheâs already reached a conclusion before youâve even spoken.
âHi, Iâm here for an interview with Ms. Cho,â you manage to say, though your voice sounds smaller than youâd like. You straighten your posture, hoping itâll help mask the nervous tension tightening in your chest.
Yuqiâs lips twitch into a faint smirk, a flicker of amusement crossing her otherwise polished demeanor. âOh, I know what this is about,â she says, her tone light and almost playful. Her gaze drifts over you again, slower this time, adding an unsettling layer of scrutiny. Itâs as if sheâs sizing you up for something youâre not privy to, enjoying a private joke at your expense.
Without another word, she opens a drawer with precise, practiced movements and pulls out a slim stack of papers. She hands them to you with a flick of her wrist, her smile deepening as though sheâs waiting for your reaction. âHere,â she says, the amusement in her voice unmistakable. âYouâll need to sign this.â
You glance down at the papers, your breath catching as your eyes skim the first few lines. The text reads: Employment Contract. The words jump out at youâpersonal assistant, non-disclosure agreement, exclusive servicesâbut most of the document is dense with legal jargon that blurs together as your eyes dart across the page. Then, a number leaps out at youâthe salary.
Itâs staggering. More money than youâve ever made in your life. More than youâd even dared to dream of earning, even after years of grinding through multiple shifts and sleepless nights. For a moment, the weight of it all hits you at once: no more overdue bills, no more rationing groceries or waking up in a cold sweat over rent. This could change everything.
You glance back at Yuqi, whoâs watching you with that same faint smirk, her amusement sharpening as if she can read every thought racing through your mind. Thereâs something unnerving about how much she seems to knowâlike sheâs been expecting you to react this way all along.
Your hand hesitates over the contract. Rationally, you know this is unusual. Signing a contract before even meeting with Miyeon feels strange, almost reckless. But the rational part of you is quickly drowned out by the sheer allure of the number staring back at you. Slowly, almost dreamlike, you pick up the pen and sign your name. It feels surreal, like youâre crossing an invisible threshold into a world youâre not sure you belong in.
When you look up, Yuqiâs smirk has widened, her amusement shifting into something sharper, almost predatory. She takes the papers from you with a practiced efficiency, her fingers grazing yours briefly before she sets them aside. âTop floor,â she says, her voice smooth and a little too cheerful. âRoom 2601. Donât keep her waiting.â
You nod, your throat too tight to respond, and turn toward the elevator bank. As you walk away, Yuqiâs voice trails after you, light and teasing but with a faint edge of something you canât quite place. âGood luck,â she calls, her tone carrying a hint of pity that sends a shiver down your spine.
As you press the elevator button, the weight of what just happened settles over you. The sleek lobby, the polished marble, the silent power radiating from every corner of this placeâit all feels like itâs pressing down on you, reminding you of how small and out of place you are. Yet, in your hand, the signed contract feels heavier than it should, a reminder of the door youâve just opened.
After stepping into the elevator, the doors glide shut with a smooth finality, sealing you off from the world below. Yuqiâs soft chuckle lingers in your mind, faint yet cutting, like the echo of something you canât quite grasp. Was she mocking you? Warning you? The question gnaws at you, but thereâs no time to dwell on it.
The elevator begins its ascent, smoothly but at an unnerving speed, and each floor that flashes by on the display only amplifies your anxiety. By the time you reach the top floor, your heart is pounding, each beat echoing in your ears.
The doors open with a soft chime, and you step out into a long, dimly lit hallway. Itâs strikingly different from the bright, bustling lobby belowâquiet, almost unnaturally so, with thick carpeting that muffles your footsteps. Floor-to-ceiling windows line one side of the hall, offering a sweeping view of Seoulâs glittering cityscape far below, the lights sprawling endlessly in the night. The silence is profound, almost oppressive, heightening the tension coiling within you.
At the end of the hallway, a single door waits: Room 2601. The numbers gleam in brushed silver, unassuming yet undeniably foreboding.
You approach the door slowly, each step making your breath come shorter, the weight of anticipation settling heavily on your shoulders. Reaching the door, you raise a hand, hesitate for just a moment, then knock. The sound is barely more than a whisper against the thick, quiet air. Then you wait, each second stretching out into tense silence, your mind racing as you imagine the woman behind the doorâthe woman who is already reshaping the course of your life with a single, strange offer.
Finally, the door opens. Miyeon stands there, poised and composed, her gaze sharp enough to cut through the tension youâve built up in your mind. Her presence fills the room instantly, commanding and undeniable. The tailored lines of her outfit emphasize her power, every detail of her appearance deliberate, perfected. She doesnât say anything at first; her cool, assessing eyes are enough to strip you of any lingering confidence.
âDid you sign the contract?â she cuts the silence, her tone calm but unyielding, the question landing with an air of finality. Her gaze doesnât waver as she waits for your response, clearly expecting nothing less than the truth.
âYes, Ms. Cho,â you reply automatically, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nervous tightness in your chest.
A faint, almost predatory smile touches her lips, curving with just enough subtlety to unsettle you. âGood.â She takes a step closer, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. The weight of her gaze feels unbearable, as though sheâs deciding whether youâre even worth the moment sheâs spending on you. âLetâs begin your orientation,â she says smoothly, though thereâs something in her tone that makes it feel less like an introduction and more like a trial.
You nod, swallowing hard, trying to push down the uncertainty tightening in your stomach. She watches you for a moment longer, as though savoring your discomfort, then parts her lips, her words delivered with meticulous precision.
âI need to know if youâre capable of handling my needsâwhatever they may be,â she says, each syllable deliberately enunciated. Her eyes stay locked on yours as she takes another step forward, her voice low and unyielding. âThis position demands complete obedience and total surrender. Is that clear?â
Her words hang in the air, their weight almost suffocating. You hesitate, the gravity of her demand pressing against you. âYouâŠwant me to surrender?â The words tumble out before you can stop them, exposing the crack in your resolve.
A flicker of disappointment crosses her face, quick and sharp, like a blade slicing through your hesitation. âYes.â Her tone is calm, yet thereâs an edge to it that leaves no room for misunderstanding. âIf you want to work for me, I expect unquestioning compliance.â
She lets the silence stretch, forcing you to absorb the weight of her words, her gaze unrelenting. Then, her expression hardens slightly, and her voice lowers, smooth and controlled. âDo you understand?â
You nod quickly, a flush of heat rising to your cheeks. âYes, Ms. Cho.â
She pauses, her eyes narrowing further, as if testing your sincerity. Then, with a measured look, she speaks again. âGood. Fetch the bench from the corner.â
The command catches you off guard, but her tone leaves no room for hesitation. You glance around quickly, spotting the object she means. The benchâs design immediately captures your attentionâsleek and purposeful, with polished steel legs and padded leather cushions. Its unique height and tilted headrest stand out, clearly crafted with precision, though its exact purpose escapes you. Thereâs an air of deliberate intent in its construction, as if it was made for something specific, yet unknown to you.
Miyeonâs gaze remains fixed on you as you approach the bench. The weight of her stare makes you hyper-aware of your movements as you grip the sides of the bench and carefully drag it to the center of the room. The polished floor amplifies the sound of the legs sliding into place, each scrape making your pulse quicken. The act feels symbolic, a deliberate display of your compliance, and the tension between you thickens with every passing moment.
When youâve positioned it where she wants, you glance back at her uncertainty. Her expression remains unreadable, but the faint quirk of her lips suggests satisfaction. She steps closer, her heels clicking softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
âLie down,â she commands, her voice calm yet leaving no room for doubt.
The words catch you again, and you hesitate for a brief moment, your body instinctively stiffening. âMs. Cho, Iâwhat exactly do you mean byâŠ?â
Her gaze sharpens instantly, silencing you with a single look. Her voice, deceptively soft, cuts through the air like a blade. âAre you questioning me again?â she asks, her tone laced with challenge. âI thought you understood what surrender means. Lie down. Now.â
Her words land with finality, and you feel a flush of shame rise at your hesitation. Swallowing hard, you nod and lower yourself onto the bench, the cool leather pressing against your back as you settle in. The elevated headrest cradles your head, tilting your face upward as though the bench itself is positioning you for her. The chill of the leather seeps into your skin, grounding you in the moment, while the faint scent of her perfume lingers in the air, mingling with the tension that fills the room.
Miyeon steps closer, standing above you, her presence towering, her gaze unbroken. Slowly, deliberately, she reaches down and hikes her skirt up to her hips, revealing toned thighs and the delicate edge of lace. Her movements are smooth, calculated, as if every motion is part of a performance meant to remind you of your place. She slips her panties to the side with practiced ease, her poise never faltering, and positions herself above you.
Her movements are deliberate as she lowers herself onto the bench, aligning her body perfectly with yours. The height of the bench leaves her perfectly positionedânot too low, ensuring her weight presses against you with satisfying firmness, yet not so high that she feels unsupported. The angle of your head allows her to settle fully, her thighs bracketing your face as her warmth and presence close in around you. The air feels thick with her scentârich, musky, and faintly floralâflooding your senses and leaving your head spinning before sheâs even settled fully.
Leaning forward, she braces herself on the bottom of the headrest, her hands naturally finding the spots perfectly molded for her grip. The design seems intentional, as if tailored for this very moment. Her fingers tighten briefly as she steadies herself, her gaze flicking down to meet yours. Thereâs no softness in her expression, only a sharp, expectant coolness that cuts through the haze clouding your mind.
âStay still,â she murmurs, her voice calm but carrying the weight of command. The words feel like a seal on the moment, binding you to her expectations. Then, with deliberate ease, she presses down, enveloping you completely.
Your world narrows to herâthe pressure, the weight, the intoxicating heat of her body as it moves against you. Tentatively, you extend your tongue, pressing it to her for the first time. Her taste floods your senses, earthy and rich, tinged with the saltiness of her skin. Itâs overwhelming, disorienting, but also grounding, her presence completely consuming every thought, every breath. Encouraged by the faint shift of her hips, you try again, moving with more intention. You let your tongue trace slow, deliberate strokes, convinced youâre finding the rhythm she expects.
Her thighs press firmly against your head, creating a perfect seal that traps you beneath her. The leather of the bench beneath you feels immovable, your position leaving you utterly at her mercy. With her weight pressing down, each inhale becomes a struggle, your breaths reduced to shallow pulls of air through your noseâand every one of them is filled with her. Her scent is heady, musky, and floral, a potent blend that seeps into your senses and clouds your thoughts. It feels like youâre breathing her in completely, your lungs filled with nothing but her presence.
Her body feels warm, responsive, as though sheâs relaxing against you, her hips beginning to move in slow, deliberate rolls. The grind of her pelvis against your face is measured, controlled, and demanding, and you adjust your movements instinctively, matching her pace. Her thighs tighten subtly around your head, holding you even more firmly in place, leaving no room for error, no room for escape. You feel every shift, every slight increase in pressure, and interpret it as a signal that youâre doing something right.
The faint tension in her breathing seems to deepen, her exhalations growing slightly louder, and you take it as a sign to focus more, to give her exactly what she needs. You adjust your tongue, letting it trace patterns you think sheâll enjoy, responding to the subtle cues in the way her hips shift. Her warmth spreads against you, slick and inviting, and you press more firmly, convinced youâre making progress, that sheâs responding to your efforts.
Her scent grows stronger, mingling with the heat radiating from her skin, and you lose yourself in the rhythm sheâs setting. Each movement feels purposeful, deliberate, as if youâre aligning perfectly with her desires. Her faint exhalations become the only sound you can hear, soft and measured, a quiet reward that urges you to keep going, to match her pace with precision. Her thighs flex against your head, squeezing slightly, and her hips grind down harder, forcing you to adjust to her increasing demands.
Trapped between her thighs, the pressure becomes all-encompassing, the weight of her pressing down leaving you barely able to think beyond her. Each inhale feels heavier, as though her scent is suffocating you in the most intoxicating way. You pour everything into your movements, your tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, convinced that her silence is approval, that the steady roll of her hips means youâve found exactly what she wants.
The seconds stretch into minutes, your efforts intensifying as her body shifts with increasing deliberation. The grind of her hips becomes more insistent, demanding, and you press harder, moving your tongue with more purpose. The pressure of her weight feels all-encompassing, her thighs gripping your head tightly, leaving you immobile, entirely at her mercy. You focus entirely on her, responding to her every movement, certain that youâre meeting her expectations.
Then, you feel itâa subtle, unmistakable slickness spreading against your tongue. Itâs warm, intoxicating, and sends a jolt of confidence through you. Her arousal feels like confirmation, a silent acknowledgment that youâre doing something right. You match her movements with renewed focus, interpreting the growing wetness as proof of your success.
But then, without warning, her weight lifts.
The sudden loss of pressure is startling, disorienting, and you blink against the light as your eyes flutter open. The brightness of the room feels blinding, a harsh contrast to the cocoon of warmth and scent youâd been engulfed in. Her essence still lingers heavily in the air, clinging to you, intoxicating, making your head spin like youâve been drinking something far too strong.
âWaitâŠâ you murmur, the word slipping out unbidden as she rises fully. Without thinking, you push upward, your body instinctively trying to follow hers, desperate to maintain the contact, to hold onto the sensation. You feel drunk, untethered, and you try to lift your head toward her, as if that alone could pull her back down.
But Miyeon moves with calm, dismissive ease, pulling her skirt down and smoothing it into place with the same practiced precision she began with. She steps off the bench, her movements steady and composed, as though what just happened was a passing thought, nothing more than a fleeting interruption.
Her expression remains untouched by the moment, her gaze sharp and appraising as she looks down at you. The cool detachment in her eyes feels like a splash of cold water, banishing the haze that had clouded your mind. The confidence you felt just moments ago evaporates as she folds her arms, her lips pressing into a thin line.
âTimeâs up,â she says smoothly, her tone businesslike, almost bored. Thereâs no emotion, no warmth in her voice, as though sheâs closing a meeting rather than commenting on your performance.
You sit up slowly, your body unsteady, your breath uneven as you try to process what just happened. The remnants of her scent and taste cling to you, making your head feel light, dizzy, as though youâre still intoxicated by her presence. Your mind clings desperately to the moments when you thought she was respondingâthe subtle shifts, the pressing weight of her hips, the slick warmth of her against you. You were so sure youâd succeeded, but the cold finality of her words shatters that illusion.
Miyeon steps back, her expression unchanging as she watches you. Her gaze remains fixed, cool and detached, giving nothing away. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, as you wait for her to say something, anything, that might redeem the moment.
But she doesnât. Her stance, her tone, her movementsâall of it makes one thing clear: youâve fallen short.
Her silence stretches, heavy and oppressive, before she finally speaks.
âYou get a C,â she says, her voice unhurried, calm, and somehow all the more cutting for it. Each word lands with surgical precision, slicing through the hope youâd just started to build. Her tone is devoid of emotion, her expression cold and detached, as though grading a forgettable report. âYou missed the mark entirely.â
The words feel like a punch, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stare at her, struggling to process, grappling with the sudden weight of failure. âYouâre giving me aâŠC? But I thoughtâI felt you get wet, Ms. Cho. I thoughtâŠâ
Her eyes narrow just slightly, enough to silence you before you can finish. The room feels colder as her gaze sharpens, pinning you in place.
âDid you?â she replies, her tone so detached it feels clinical. âJust because my body has natural reactions doesnât mean you were doing anything remarkable. Donât confuse basic biological responses with skill.â
Her words hit like ice water, cutting through the fog of your confusion and hope. She takes a step closer, her presence looming, her expression hardening as she begins to dissect your performance with brutal precision.
âYour efforts lacked strength,â she begins, her voice carrying a steely edge. âYour tongue was weakâunfocused. No rhythm, no consistency. I set a pace for you, and you couldnât even manage that.â
She pauses, letting the words sink in, her critical gaze sweeping over you as though sheâs already dismissed you. The weight of her disappointment presses down harder than her thighs ever did.
âAnd you completely ignored my clit,â she continues, her tone growing colder, harsher, each syllable cutting deeper. âI practically guided you there, made it obvious, yet somehow, you missed the most important part.â Her lips curl into a faint smirk, but thereâs no humor in it, only a razor-sharp derision. âI even grinded myself against you, practically handing you the answer, and still, you failed to deliver.â
Her words are relentless, brutal. Each one dissects a flaw you hadnât even realized, exposing every weak point you thought youâd hidden. Itâs as if sheâs stripping you down to the core, piece by piece, revealing everything you couldnât see in yourself.
She takes a measured step back, her voice dropping lower, colder. âThe bare minimum,â she says, enunciating each word with icy precision, âis to make me cum. And you couldnât even come close to doing that.â
The words hit like a hammer, reverberating in the silence that follows. The finality in her tone leaves no room for argument, no possibility for redemption. Her gaze remains fixed on you, sharp and unwavering, her disappointment so palpable it feels like itâs physically crushing you.
âI donât need someone who merely tries,â she continues, her tone growing colder still, like frost spreading across the room. âI need someone who performs, who instinctively understands what I require without me having to spell it out. Excellence isnât negotiable in this position.
The words leave you hollow, your confidence shattered under the force of her critique. Each syllable lands with precision, tearing apart every scrap of pride or hope youâd felt during the act. The air feels suffocating, thick with the weight of her disappointment.
âPlease, Ms. Cho,â you manage, forcing the words out even as a lump rises in your throat. âGive me another chance. I can do betterâIâll work on everything you said, Iâll improve if you justââ
She raises a hand, cutting you off, her expression turning to stone. The gesture alone silences you, her gaze cold and unrelenting.
âThere wonât be another chance,â she states, the words cold and final. âNot here. I donât invest my time in mediocrity.â
Her dismissal feels absolute. Her attention shifts away from you, as though youâre no longer worth a moment of her time. She steps back to her desk, picking up a pen with the same calm precision sheâs shown all evening, and resumes her work without so much as a glance in your direction. The sound of the pen scratching against paper feels deafening in the silence.
âYou may leave,â she says coolly, her tone as unyielding as stone. âThis position requires skill, precision, instinctâand youâve shown none of those.â
The words hang heavy in the air, sharp and final, cutting through the silence like a gavel. Your body feels frozen in place, unable to move as the weight of her judgment presses down on you. Slowly, numbly, you rise, your legs unsteady beneath you, your chest tight with the sting of failure.
Each step toward the door feels heavier than the last, your mind replaying her critique with relentless clarity. The sharpness of her dismissal leaves you feeling stripped bare, your confidence shattered completely. Youâd thought youâd done well, thought youâd sensed her responding, but her cold, clinical analysis has left no room for doubt. You fell shortâentirely.
As you reach the door, you glance back once, hoping for even a flicker of warmth or reconsideration in her expression. But Miyeonâs gaze remains fixed on her paperwork, her focus already shifted, as though youâve ceased to exist in her world.
You leave, her scent and the weight of her words lingering heavily in the air around you, each step away from her office feeling like another layer of failure pressing down.
The weight of her words settles heavily in the silence that follows, each one lingering in the air like a closing door. You stand, feeling hollow, the sting of failure biting deep. Each step toward the door feels impossibly heavy, as if youâre dragging your very sense of self along with you. Her critique replays in your mind, each cutting line driving the shame and disappointment deeper. By the time you reach the door, her dismissal has stripped you of whatever pride you had left, leaving you exposed and aching with the sting of her judgment.
As you step out of the building, the scent of her perfume still clings to the air around you, subtle but intoxicating. Her taste lingers on your lips, and her piercing gaze haunts your thoughts, replaying again and again with relentless clarity. You canât stop thinking about every moment, every mistake, every opportunity you missed. Her words echo in your mind, each replay stinging more than the last, but beneath the pain and disappointment, something else lingersâa pull, an inexplicable need.
Thereâs something magnetic about her, something that refuses to let go. The effortless authority she carried, the way she dismissed you without a second glanceâitâs intoxicating, a force that leaves you restless, unsettled. The intensity of her presence lingers, drawing you back even as the humiliation burns. Somehow, you want another chance, not to prove yourself to anyone else but to herâto earn her approval, to be exactly what she demanded.
-----
The morning after that unforgettable Monday encounter with Miyeon, you wake with her still lingering in your mindâher voice, her scent, the calm precision with which she had dismissed you. The memory of her critique, her unyielding detachment, plays over and over, cutting deeper each time. Somehow, she has taken root in your thoughts, filling them in a way you canât ignore. Her essence lingersânot just a memory but something that feels alive, woven into every corner of your mind, unrelenting and impossible to shake.
The cafĂ© where you usually spend your mornings feels miles away, though itâs just down the block. Instead of showing up to your shift, you find yourself sitting at your small kitchen table, staring blankly at your phone, waiting for somethingâanythingâthat might offer a way forward. The thought of pouring coffee, of going through the motions while she dominates your thoughts, feels unbearable.
By late morning, desperation pushes you to try a respectful, measured call to her office. Yuqiâs voice is professional, polite, and painfully impersonal. You introduce yourself, forcing your tone to stay steady even as urgency tinges every word.
âI wanted to see if Ms. Cho might be open to reconsideringâŠâ you begin, your heart pounding with every syllable. âI know I didnât meet her expectations, but if I could just speak with her, Iâm sure I couldââ
âSheâs made her decision,â Yuqi replies with finality, her words cool and unyielding. âMs. Cho has a very clear standard.â
The line goes silent, and youâre left holding the phone, the emptiness pressing down on you like a weight. Your heart sinks, but the idea of giving up feels unbearable. That night, you sit down at your desk, composing an email that takes far longer than it should. Every word feels inadequate, yet you pour your sincerity into each sentence. You admit your mistakes, express your deep respect for her, and humbly ask for another chance. As you hit send, you close your eyes and release a shaky breath, hoping your words will reach her, that sheâll sense your sincerity.
By the next morning, thereâs no reply. The cafĂ© calls to ask if youâre coming in, but you barely register the message. You canât go backânot yet. The silence from Miyeon feels sharper now, amplifying your anxiety. Without thinking twice, you call her office again. This time, your tone carries a quiet urgency, though you fight to keep it professional.
âI understand Ms. Choâs standards are high,â you say softly, your voice earnest, almost pleading. âBut I know I can meet them. I just need a chance to show her.â
The rest of the day drags, heavy with unanswered questions. As evening falls, you find yourself composing another email, this time rawer, more vulnerable. You lay everything bareâyour mistakes, your desire to improve, and just how much this opportunity means to you. With trembling hands, you hit send, feeling both exposed and hopeful.
By midweek, the desperation gnaws at you like a dull ache that refuses to leave. Miyeon has somehow consumed your every thought. Her presence is no longer just a memoryâit feels like sheâs there, looming in the edges of your mind, controlling your every emotion. Her scent, her voice, her unyielding controlâthey haunt you in the quiet moments, filling your chest with a weight that grows heavier with each passing day.
Youâve stopped checking your work schedule entirely. The thought of being surrounded by noise and chatter while Miyeonâs critique echoes in your mind is unbearable. Itâs as if nothing else matters but reaching her, proving yourself worthy of her attention, her approval.
That afternoon, you decide to go in person. Nerves buzz under your skin as you step into the sleek lobby of Ascend International, the companyâs towering headquarters. Yuqi greets you at the desk with a polite but distant smile, her practiced professionalism impossible to crack.
âHi,â you say, trying to keep your voice steady. âIâm here to leave a message for Ms. Cho. Iâd like to speak with her if sheâs available.â
Her smile doesnât waver, though thereâs a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. âIâll be sure she receives your message,â she says with polite finality.
As you walk away, hope mingles with dread. You tell yourself she must knowâmust feelâhow far youâre willing to go to prove yourself. Itâs impossible to imagine her being unaware of your persistence, of how deeply sheâs embedded herself into your thoughts. Yet the silence continues to gnaw at you, relentless in its clarity.
Thursday passes in a haze. You leave another voicemail, your voice trembling with the weight of your growing need.
âPlease,â you say softly, almost whispering into the receiver. âI know I fell short. But if she would just allow me one more chance, I wonât disappoint her.â
The intensity of your plea surprises even you, but at this point, pride is irrelevant. Youâd give anything just for the chance to redeem yourself. As you leave the office, you find yourself in the lobby once more, hoping for even the faintest sign of acknowledgment. Yuqi looks at you with that same polite sympathy, her small kindness like a bitter reminder that youâre clinging to something fragile.
By Friday morning, the weekâs silence feels unbearable. Every unanswered call, every unread email, weighs on you like a sentence passed. Miyeonâs critique plays in your mind with brutal clarity, her voice sharp and cutting as she dismisses you. Itâs as if she left a part of herself with you, tethering you to her, drawing you back no matter how much it stings. You canât let her go, and yet you fear that every effort has been futile.
Then, just when your resolve begins to waver, your phone rings. The unknown number on the screen sends your pulse racing, and you answer with shaky hands.
âMs. Cho has agreed to see you,â Yuqi announces, her tone brisk and efficient. âTonight at 8 p.m. sharp. Do not be late.â
Relief crashes over you like a wave, your heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and gratitude. Youâve been granted another chanceâa chance to prove yourself, to rise to her impossible standards. As you hang up, the tension that has consumed you all week begins to dissipate, replaced by a renewed determination. Tonight, everything will change
-----
By 7:30 p.m., youâre pacing in the sleek lobby of Ascend International, nerves thrumming under your skin like a live wire. The buildingâs towering glass walls reflect the cityâs lights, casting long shadows across the pristine marble floor. Yuqi sits at her desk, her posture casual yet poised, her sharp eyes occasionally flicking up to you as you move restlessly.
When the clock hits 7:40, you finally gather the courage to approach her desk. Yuqiâs gaze snaps to you, her lips curving into a faint smirk as she leans forward slightly, her tone light and teasing. âNervous?â she asks, though itâs clear she already knows the answer.
You nod, swallowing hard. âSheâs expecting me,â you manage, trying to keep your voice steady, though it cracks slightly under the weight of your nerves.
Yuqi doesnât hide her amusement. âOh, I know,â she replies, her tone bordering on playful, though thereâs something sharp beneath it. She taps a perfectly manicured nail against her desk before gesturing toward the elevator. âSame room. Youâre cutting it close, so Iâd suggest moving quickly. Miyeonâs not known for her patience.â
Her words make your pulse quicken, and you nod quickly, stepping toward the elevator. But just as the doors slide open, Yuqi calls out, her voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. âGood luck,â she says, a hint of mock pity in her tone. âYouâll need it.â
The elevator ride feels endless, the quiet hum of the machinery doing nothing to calm your racing thoughts. By the time you reach the top floor, your hands are trembling, and a bead of sweat rolls down your temple. You step out into a long, dimly lit hallway, its polished floors gleaming beneath your shoes. The door to Miyeonâs office looms at the end, imposing and unyielding, and you force yourself to move forward, each step heavier than the last.
At exactly 7:45, youâre standing outside Miyeonâs office. The weight of the moment presses down on you, suffocating, as you glance at the sleek double doors. This is itâthe culmination of a week spent consumed by thoughts of her, by desperation, by the need to redeem yourself. Her dismissal on Monday has been looping in your mind, relentless and unforgiving, and youâve been preparing for this moment every second since.
Taking a deep breath, you press your hand to the door and push it open.
The atmosphere inside Miyeonâs office is heavy, almost oppressive. Everything about the space exudes power, from the minimalist decor to the sharp angles of her desk.
Miyeon is seated behind it, her posture as precise as ever, her face unreadable. Tonight, though, thereâs a sharpness to her expression, a tension in the way her hands rest on the desk. Her gaze lands on you the moment you step inside, freezing you in place. Her eyes are piercing, cutting straight through any pretense of confidence youâve tried to muster.
âYouâre back,â she says, her voice sharper than you remember, each word clipped and deliberate. The skepticism in her tone slices through the air, leaving no room for pretense. She lets the silence linger, her gaze unrelenting, before she adds, âI suppose youâre here to prove something.â
âYes, Ms. Cho,â you manage, forcing yourself to stand taller, to appear more confident than you feel. Your voice is steady, but inside, youâre unraveling under her scrutiny. âIâm ready to meet your standards.â
Her lips curl into the faintest smirk, though it holds no warmth. If anything, it feels like a challenge, an unspoken test to see if youâll falter. She stands slowly, her movements deliberate, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she rounds the desk. Every step feels measured, calculated, as if sheâs sizing you up all over again.
When she reaches you, her gaze doesnât waver. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. âYouâve had an entire week to think about Monday,â she says, her tone cool, almost conversational. âTell meâwhat makes you think this time will be any different?â
You swallow hard, the question hitting you like a punch to the gut. âIâve⊠Iâve thought about everything you said, Ms. Cho,â you reply, your voice quieter now, but no less determined. âI know I fell short, but Iâve prepared. Iâm ready to prove that I can meet your expectations.â
Her eyes flicker, the faintest glimmer of something unreadable passing through them. She doesnât respond immediately, letting the silence stretch until your nerves feel like theyâre about to snap. Then, with a brisk motion, she gestures toward the center of the room.
âThen show me,â she says simply, her voice low but charged with authority. âAnd donât waste my time.â
Without needing further instruction, you step toward the corner of the room where the bench waits, sleek and polished under the dim office lights. You retrieve it carefully, its weight familiar in your hands, and position it in the center of the room. The leather gleams, the elevated headrest perfectly angled for what you know is to come, designed to cradle you in place beneath her.
You lower yourself onto the bench, the leather cool and firm beneath you, grounding you as you settle into position. The headrest cradles your head, tilting your face upward in a way that leaves you open, exposed, perfectly aligned beneath her. Your breath quickens as Miyeon steps closer, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Each step feels deliberate, each sound echoing the weight of your expectations.
She stops just in front of you, her sharp gaze sweeping over you, calm and detached, as though calculating every detail. Without a word, she slips off her heels and sets them aside. Her fingers move to the hem of her skirt, gathering the fabric upward with fluid grace. Her thighs come into view, smooth and commanding, a contrast of elegance and strength. The edge of her lace panties teases at your vision before she moves them aside with a simple, routine motion.
Her scentâmuskier, richer than you rememberedâimmediately fills the air. Itâs overwhelming, a heady blend of something primal and intimate, saturating your senses as she steps forward and positions herself above you. Itâs a smell that haunted you this entire week, lingering like an ache in the back of your mind. Youâd tried to forget, to push it aside, but nothing could dull the memory of herâthe way she consumed you so entirely, only to dismiss you without a second thought. Now, as her warmth radiates above you, it feels like youâre being granted water in a desert, but only if you can prove youâre worthy to drink.
When she lowers herself, her weight presses down fully, engulfing you in her presence. Her thighs press against your cheeks, trapping you completely beneath her. Each shallow breath you manage is filled entirely with her scent, and for a moment, youâre paralyzed by how familiar it feels, how much youâd been craving this. Itâs as though the week of rejection, of begging for this chance, has only amplified your hunger. Nothing else could satisfy you but her.
Tentatively, you begin, pressing your tongue to her with slow, cautious strokes. Her taste fills your sensesâearthy and rich, tinged with saltiness, intensely familiar and utterly consuming. The longing youâve carried for days surges forward, and you push past your hesitation, tracing deliberate patterns as you adjust to the faint shifts of her body. Her warmth grows against you, and you focus entirely on her, on the faint signals she givesâthe flex of her thighs, the subtle tilt of her hips.
Her breathing remains steady, restrained, and her body feels poised, in control, as if sheâs still testing you. You move with more purpose, pressing your tongue more firmly, hoping to draw a reaction, to prove youâve learned. Her hips begin to move slightly, setting a measured rhythm, and you match it, your tongue tracing careful circles in time with her movements.
Her thighs tighten slightly, holding you in place, and her warmth presses against you more firmly. For a fleeting moment, you think youâre succeeding, that youâre drawing her into the moment. But then, her weight begins to lift.
The change is subtle at firstâthe brief press of her thighs as they shift upwardâbut itâs enough to make your heart drop. Her warmth pulls away, leaving a sudden void that feels unbearable. Her expression is faintly impatient as she rises, her movements deliberate, as though confirming what she already suspected: that youâve failed her again.
A horrible sense of dĂ©jĂ vu washes over you, sharp and unrelenting. The rejection from your first evaluation, the cold detachment in her voice, all come rushing back, amplifying the ache in your chest. The memory of that moment has haunted you all week, and now it feels as though itâs happening all over again. Panic claws at you, raw and immediate.
Her voice cuts through the silence, low and unimpressed. âI see you havenât learned anything.â
The words slice through you, sharp and final, and desperation surges in their wake. You canât let her leaveânot again. Before she can move further, you reach up, your hands trembling as they find her hips, gently but firmly holding her in place. Your lips brush against her folds, pressing soft, pleading kisses that linger just a moment longer than they should.
âPlease, Ms. Cho,â you whisper against her, your voice breaking. âDonât leave. I know I can do better. Pleaseâjust let me try.â
She doesnât move. You press another kiss to her, slower this time, the desperation in you mounting. âPlease,â you murmur, your voice shaking. âI need this. I need to show you. I wonât fail you.â
Another kiss. She doesnât lower herself, doesnât speak, and the silence feels crushing. Your kisses grow more frantic, more desperate, your lips trembling as you pour every ounce of pleading into them.
âDonât go,â you whisper between kisses, your voice cracking with emotion. âPlease, Ms. Cho. Iâll do anythingâjust give me this chance. Let me prove I can please you.â
You press another kiss, and this time it lingers, your lips soft and reverent against her warmth. âPleaseâŠâ you murmur again, the word barely audible, carrying the weight of everything youâve felt this past weekâthe sleepless nights, the ache in your chest, the obsessive need to have this moment again.
For a moment, the air is suffocatingly still. Her body remains poised above you, her thighs tense, her piercing gaze boring into yours, unreadable and unwavering. Youâre left hanging, each second dragging painfully as you wait for her to decide if your pleading, your desperation, is enough.
Finally, she shifts, lowering herself back down slowly, deliberately. Her weight settles on you again with a quiet finality, her thighs bracketing your face and trapping you completely beneath her warmth. Her presence floods your senses again, her scent, her taste, her closenessâmore consuming now, more intense after nearly losing it.
âContinue,â she says, her tone clipped and cold, leaving no room for hesitation. âThis is your last chance.â
Her words settle heavily in the air, fueling your determination. She lowers herself slowly, her weight pressing down on you with deliberate command. Her warmth engulfs you completely, her thighs framing your head, trapping you in place. Her scent surrounds youâintense, musky, and deeply familiar, stirring the longing that had haunted you since her rejection. This is your moment, your chance to prove yourself, and you wonât squander it.
You press your tongue to her carefully at first, savoring the sensation. Her taste floods your sensesâearthy, slightly salty, and utterly her. Itâs overwhelming, a reminder of everything youâve been craving since that first evaluation. You move cautiously, tracing along her in slow, deliberate strokes, letting her subtle shifts guide you.
As you work, her hips begin to move slightly, a faint rhythm that you match immediately. You focus entirely on her clit, finding it with purpose and letting your tongue trace precise circles over the sensitive spot. Her body responds subtly at firstâa slight flex of her thighs, a faint deepening of her breathingâbut then she begins to grind against you, her movements deliberate, setting a demanding pace.
Her thighs tighten around your head, holding you firmly, and her warmth spreads against you as her arousal builds. The faint scent of her grows stronger, more intoxicating with each passing moment. The low sounds that escape herâsoft, unrestrained moansâcut through the silence, quiet but impossible to miss. The sound of her pleasure fills you with renewed purpose, driving you to push harder, to make her lose the control she clings to so tightly.
You adjust seamlessly to her movements, your tongue pressing more firmly as her hips set a rhythm that grows more demanding with each passing second. The warmth of her envelops you completely, her scent thick and intoxicating, saturating your senses until nothing else exists. Her thighs flex around your head, tightening their hold, as if to anchor herself against the rising tide of sensation. Every inhale you take is filled with her, each shallow breath a reminder of the position she holds over you.
Her soft moans slip past her lips, each one slightly louder than the last, their restrained nature fraying at the edges. The controlled grace she carried moments ago begins to falter, her movements sharpening as her hips grind against your tongue with increasing insistence. You respond instinctively, letting your tongue trace circles that align perfectly with her pace, adjusting to every subtle cue her body gives.
Her thighs tremble against your cheeks, their strength faltering as the tension in her body builds. The moans grow breathier, tinged with urgency, and her weight presses down more fully, holding you in place beneath her. Her breathing becomes uneven, hitching with every deliberate motion of your tongue as you follow her lead, unrelenting in your efforts to meet her every need.
Suddenly, her movements grow erratic, the control she held so tightly slipping entirely. Her body tenses above you, her thighs clenching tightly around your head, cutting off your world to everything but her. A sharp, shuddering moan escapes her lips, low and unrestrained, the sound raw and involuntary. Her hips press down fully, grinding against your tongue with forceful, almost frantic motions, riding the crest of her climax.
Her body tightens completely, trembling violently as wave after wave of pleasure overtakes her. You remain steady beneath her, your tongue moving with careful persistence, guiding her through every pulse, drawing out each lingering sensation. Her knuckles whiten as her grip on the head rest tighten, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps.
For a long moment, she remains like thatâtense, trembling, pressing herself fully against you as the final shudders of release course through her. Only when her body begins to relax does her grip loosen, her thighs softening their hold on your head. Even then, you donât stop entirely, your movements gentle now, offering a last, tender caress as her breathing begins to steady once more.
Her breathing slows as her movements begin to still, her weight easing slightly as she lifts herself just enough to create space. But as her warmth pulls away, a thought flashes through your mind: this isnât enough. You canât just meet her expectationsâyou need to surpass them.
Sliding your hands up, you let your palms glide over the curve of her hips, steadying her as you adjust her position slightly. Your fingers trail downward, curling firmly to grab handfuls of her cheeks. The sensation of her soft skin under your hands is electrifying, and you feel the tension in her body shift as you grip her firmly. You spread her open with care, creating the perfect angle to access her most sensitive, tightest spot. Itâs a bold moveâone she hasnât guided you to, one she hasnât even hinted atâbut you know you need to take this risk. You have to make yourself unforgettable.
With deliberate intent, your tongue traces lower, teasing the sensitive curve of her entrance before pressing further, exploring the tight ring of her ass. The sensation is new, unexpected, and her reaction is immediate.
Her body jolts slightly, her hips lifting momentarily in surprise as a sharp, breathy gasp escapes her lips. For a split second, your heart races, unsure if youâve overstepped. But then her hips press back down against you, a reflexive movement that tells you everything you need to know. Her thighs tremble against your cheeks as her weight shifts fully onto your face, and the tension in her body gives way to something rawer, more unrestrained.
Her moans begin to spill freely now, soft and breathy at first, slipping past the tight control she holds so carefully. The sound fuels you, driving you to press deeper, to let your tongue move in slow, deliberate circles over her most sensitive areas. Her grip on the desk falters as her hips grind harder against you, her movements growing more erratic, more demanding.
You alternate between her ass and her folds, moving with seamless precision. Your tongue delves deeply, savoring her, while your nose brushes against her slick warmth with each shift. Her hips jerk, grinding against your face as though her body canât decide which sensation to crave more. The weight of her bears down heavily, leaving you struggling for air, but all you can think about is her. Every detailâthe way her thighs tighten around your head, the faint tremble in her muscles, the unrestrained sounds spilling from her lipsâit consumes you entirely.
Her thighs shift slightly, and then, with a deliberate motion, she lifts her legs off the floor, letting her entire weight press fully onto you. The headrest beneath you creaks slightly, adjusting to the added pressure as she settles in, trapping you completely beneath her. The shift is overwhelming, her body sinking into yours entirely, her warmth and slickness engulfing your senses. Each shallow breath you manage is filled with her scent, and the sensation is intoxicating.
Your hands tighten on her cheeks, spreading her wider as you focus entirely on her ass. You let your tongue explore deeply, pressing into her with slow, deliberate strokes, circling and teasing the sensitive area with unrelenting purpose. Her body tenses above you, her thighs trembling violently as her breathing turns ragged and uneven. Each exhale is sharp, shaky, and punctuated by guttural moans that grow louder and less restrained as she begins to lose control.
Her hips grind down against your face, her rhythm faltering, her movements desperate. Her breathing becomes erratic, catching with each flick of your tongue, until the sounds spilling from her lips dissolve into broken gasps. The pressure of her weight presses down harder, and her thighs clamp around your head with such force that it feels like sheâs grounding herself entirely in you, refusing to let you go.
Her body begins to quake above you, losing all rhythm as her hips move erratically, chasing the sensations building within her. Her breathing stutters sharply, and then, with one raw, unrestrained cryâthe loudest, most primal moan youâve ever heard from herâher climax overtakes her.
Her entire body shudders violently, her hips grinding down fully, pressing you deeper into the headrest as she rides out wave after wave of intense pleasure. Her slick wetness spills onto your face, warm and undeniable, marking the raw power of her release. The sensation spurs you on, your tongue moving with soft but purposeful strokes, coaxing every last tremor from her body.
Her thighs quiver uncontrollably, gripping your head like a vice as she rides through the overwhelming storm of her climax. Each moan spills from her lips in sharp, uneven bursts, her control shattered entirely. Her grip on the headrest tightens, her knuckles white, as though anchoring herself against the intensity of the moment.
You can feel her unraveling completely, her body vibrating with aftershocks that seem to go on forever. Her weight remains heavy on you, holding you in place as she takes in shallow, ragged breaths, her body still trembling with the echoes of her release. Even as her movements begin to slow, her thighs remain locked around you, as though sheâs reluctant to let go of the sensation. Every ounce of her focus is still on you, every ounce of yours entirely on her.
Finally, her body begins to relax. Her breathing slows, and her thighs loosen their hold, trembling slightly as she lifts herself off you with deliberate care. Her legs are unsteady as she straightens, smoothing her skirt with the practiced precision youâve come to expect. Her breathing is still uneven, her chest rising and falling as she regains her composure.
For a moment, she stands there silently, her gaze heavy and unreadable as it lingers on you. The scent of her, the taste of her, clings to you, saturating your senses entirely. The room feels charged, her presence commanding even in stillness. You dare not assume anythingâsheâs still the one in control, and any sign of approval must come from her. Yet, in the weight of her silence, you canât help but feel that youâve done something right.
Her chest rises and falls evenly as she regains her composure, her expression remaining as poised and inscrutable as ever. You think youâve proven yourself, think youâve risen to her exacting standards, but the thought lingers, unspoken, as you wait. Every second stretches, heavy with anticipation, until finally, she speaks.
âWell done,â she murmurs, her tone softer than usual but still carrying that commanding edge. The weight of her approval lands squarely on you, and a quiet sense of pride begins to unfurl in your chest. Then, with a slight glance back at you, her lips curve in what could almost be a smileâsubtle, fleeting, but unmistakable.
âBold,â she says, her tone as measured as ever, but thereâs a hint of something beneath itâimpressed. âUnexpected, but⊠effective.â
The words hit you like a wave, filling your chest with pride, though you keep your expression neutral, refusing to let the satisfaction show too openly. Still, the acknowledgment lingers, affirming that your risk wasnât just noticed but appreciated.
âReport here Monday morning,â she continues briskly, her tone returning to business. âYouâve earned your place.â
Her words hang in the air, settling over you like a blanket of relief. You donât let the triumph show too openly, knowing sheâs still watching you, but a quiet sense of accomplishment blooms within. She turns away, stepping back toward her desk with deliberate, unhurried movements, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. The sound carries finality, a subtle dismissal, but also an acknowledgment of what youâve achieved.
You remain where you are for a moment, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath, her scent and taste still vivid, still clinging to you. The weight of her words settles warmly over youâa victory hard won, a moment of validation youâll carry with you. Youâve proven yourself tonight, but you know better than to assume itâs enough. This is only the beginning.
A faint trace of satisfaction flickers across her face as she glances at you one last time, her gaze lingering briefly before returning to her work. With an elegant nod, she dismisses you, her attention already shifting back to her desk.
Carefully, you rise, your legs unsteady from the intensity of the moment. Before leaving, you reach for the bench, the familiar weight grounding you as you lift it and carry it back to its original place in the corner of the room. The small act feels significant, almost ceremonial, as though returning it to its spot closes this chapter of the evening. Once itâs in place, you step back, sparing a glance at Miyeon, who is already engrossed in her work, her demeanor as composed as ever.
Each step toward the door feels deliberate, carrying the weight of everything it took to earn this moment. As you leave her office, the memory of her wordsâand her bodyâlingers in your mind, a reminder of what youâve achieved and whatâs still expected of you.
The quiet buzz of the building greets you as you exit, a stark contrast to the intensity of the room you just left. The evening air feels cooler, crisper, as you step outside, but the warmth of her approval stays with you. Miyeonâs words echo in your mind, solidifying the pride swelling in your chest.
âBold. Unexpected, but effective.â
Those words, more than anything, stay with you, reminding you of the risks you took and the reward you earned. Monday will bring new challenges, but for the first time, you feel fully prepared to meet them. Youâve been given a chance to prove yourself again, and youâre determined to exceed every expectation.
-----
Back in the office, after the door softly clicks shut, Yuqi steps inside and leans against the frame, arms crossed and a smirk on her lips. âAlright, spill,â she teases. âWhatâs the deal? You actually allowed a second chance? I thought that wasnât your thing.â
Miyeon glances up from her desk, amusement flickering in her eyes. âOh, please. I knew from the start I was going to,â she says smoothly. âThere was potential. I just needed to see it under the right conditions.â
Yuqi raises an eyebrow, the smirk widening. âSo the whole week of calls and emails? Youâre telling me that wasnât just for your entertainment?â
A faint smile curves Miyeonâs lips as she leans back in her chair. âMaybe I enjoyed it,â she admits. âBut desperation does something extraordinaryâit strips away everything unnecessary. Whatâs left is either weakness or strength.â
âYou and your tests,â Yuqi mutters, shaking her head with a laugh. âYou couldâve just brought it up on Monday.â
âThat wouldnât have shown me what I needed to see,â Miyeon replies with a knowing glance. âPressure reveals everything. Itâs like a diamondâonly the right conditions bring it out.â
âWow,â Yuqi says, stepping forward to nudge Miyeonâs shoulder lightly. âSoft-hearted Cho strikes again. Admit it, you like a little drama.â
Miyeon chuckles, her tone turning playful. âOnly when the effort is worth watching.â
âNoted,â Yuqi replies, heading for the door with an exaggerated wave. âDonât worry, Iâll mark this historic event down. Second chances with Miyeon Choâtheyâre like spotting Bigfoot. Rare and highly debated.â
Miyeon shakes her head, unable to suppress a laugh. âGet out of here, Yuqi.â
Yuqi grins, pausing at the door. âHey, if you get bored over the weekend, you know where to find me. Or maybe Iâll just swing by Monday with popcorn to watch the show.â
Miyeon points to the door, her expression feigned exasperation. âOut.â
âFine, fine,â Yuqi says, throwing her hands up in mock surrender before slipping through the door with a grin. âDonât get too sentimental on me, boss.â
As the door closes behind her, Miyeonâs smile lingers. Her gaze drifts back to the now-empty space, thoughtful yet satisfied. She had known all along what could be achieved, but sometimes the right kind of desperation was the key. Pressure, determination, and gritâit all had to surface naturally, and it had.
With a quiet exhale, she turns back to her desk, already contemplating the days ahead with a sense of certainty.
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Dr kry x nurse reader
Like imagine nurse reader was college student wanted to be a nurse to learn some medicine or help people sick and taking care old people
Sea sick
Doctor!yandere OC x nurse!reader
Summary: being the only one to be granted as Dr Kryâs apprentice on board a hospital ship ends in tragedy
Warning: yandere, sinking ships (fictional ship and incident), poisoning, indirect killing, mentions of dead bodies and autopsies, blood, sharp objects
Word count: 8k
A/N: a lot of people hav wanted a story where darling is a nurse and I have tried writing it so many times over a year, but haven't been able yo. So I tried changing location and it seemed to work, so it is not exactly what was asked, but I hope that it is enjoyable anyway!
He stands on the promenade deck, watching out over the harbor, breathing in the fresh air. People carried on stretchers catch his eyes.Â
He used to get sea sick during his first weeks out at sea. There was something about how the ship rocked back and forth during the stormy days that made his stomach turn inside out and want to eject the food he had eaten. But now that he's been here for three months, it's barely noticeable. He hasn't thrown up for three weeks. A new record.Â
He has grown to like the rocking motion of the sea, but doesnât care much for the people he shares the ship with. The female nurses try to invite him into their cabins, the male nurses fight over who will be his apprentice and the doctors either watch him with jealousy or ignore him. Itâs only for a few more months, until he has saved up enough money. Until everything is over.Â
Theyâve just picked up a town hall full amount of wounded soldiers and new nurses. Doctor Kry has heard that his new trainee will be among them. He scans the crowd of people walking towards the gangway, trying to guess which one will be his to deal with. He hopes that they are obedient â he has no interest in scolding them â and that they arenât stupid.Â
âWatching the fresh blood?â a voice asks.Â
He turns to the side to see one of the other doctors coming out to look at the new herd. Doctor Hart is an asshole, always in everyoneâs business. One could almost think that he was getting paid for it.Â
âYou could say thatâ, Doctor Kry replies shortly.Â
âHow many dead, do you think?â
Doctor Kry let his eyes wander over the crowd below.Â
âFifty, maybeâ, he says.Â
Itâs a cruel game, he knows that, to guess how many wonât survive the trip to the mainland. But he doesnât know how to converse with the other doctors unless he joins in on their sad games.Â
Sometimes, he plays with the nurses out on deck. Thereâs all sorts of games tucked away in boxes, ready to be taken out whenever.
âI heard that your trainee will be among thoseâ, Doctor Hart says and nods down at the group of waiting people. âWhoâs the lucky one?â
âI donât knowâ, Doctor Kry replies shortly and stops leaning on the railing. âI should go find out.â
He doesnât wait to hear the reply. Heâs not sure where to go for his trainee to find him, but he decides to go to his cabin â if not to be at a static place, then to get away from everyone. Him getting a trainee must be the only hot topic they have.Â
He navigates the white naked steel corridors to get to his cabin. Itâs hard to believe that this naked ship should be covered with polished oak panels, golden details and expensive paintings. None of that can be afforded to be lost, in case the ship is sunk.Â
They have lifeboat drills every morning to make sure that everyone on board knows what to do. Since they rotate staff often, those drills need to be done. Theyâre boring, but handy.Â
The ship is nothing more than an empty shell of what sheâs supposed to be, stripped of anything that gives her personality. All thatâs left is bare necessities, nothing for pleasure.
He opens his door and walks in. The room is small and only contains a bed and a desk, the walls bare steel. It has a rectangular window overlooking the forecastle and he canât help but think that he has gotten one of the best cabins on the ship. He knows that doctors, officers â both military and ship â and a handful of passengers, get better cabins than the wounded or nurses.Â
Doctor Kry sits down by the table and opens his notebook to write. He has time to finish two pages before there is a knock on the door. Itâs a drastic knock, as if the person on the other side of the door is either nervous or eagerly excited. He stands up, not knowing what to expect as he opens the door. Outside stands a young thing, with their hands clasped in front of them. You take him by surprise. Youâre not what he expected â but then again, what had he been expecting?
âAre you Doctor Kry?â you ask.Â
âYes, I amâ, he replies.Â
âIâm told that I am your apprentice.â
He lets his eyes wander over you. You seem so ⊠small? Youâre younger than he had thought, and thereâs something naive about you. He canât help but wonder what events has led you to end up here.Â
He realizes that he canât have you standing out in the corridor forever and steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You walk past him into the small room and look around.Â
âYou have a better cabin than I doâ, you say with a small â nervous â laugh, as if to bring some kind of humanity into the conversation. Itâs as if you want to skip right past the awkward small talk. You grimace. âI have to share a cabin with five others. We only have a small porthole.â
Doctor Kry closes the door.Â
âWhatâs your name?â he asks.Â
âOh, sorryâ, you reply quickly, eyes widening with realization. âY/N.â
Doctor Kry canât help but tug at the corner of his lips.Â
âAre you always this light-headed, Y/N?â he asks.
You look down in embarrassment.Â
âNo, doctorâ, you say. âI am just nervous. I havenât done anything like this before. Sorry, doctor.â
âSit down.â
You look around for somewhere to sit and end up on his neatly fixed bed. Doctor Kry sits down on his chair by his desk. You fiddle with your hands in your lap as your eyes follow him.Â
âYouâre going to be my trainee, which means that you have to listen to me at all timesâ, Doctor Kry says. âThe medical field is a profession that requires precision. One faulty move and someone could die. Is that clear?â
âYes, doctor.â
âIâm responsible for you, so I donât want you doing anything stupid, do you get that? No breaking rules, no stupid behavior.â
âYes, doctor.â
He stretches his neck.Â
âThis doesnât have to do with you but I will tell you this anyway, in case it should occurâ, he says stiffly. âIf any of the other nurses give you any trouble, youâll come tell me right away, understood?â
âYes doctorâ, you reply.Â
âGood. In that case, let's get started. A lot of people have boarded the ship today, and we need to check up on them. You might have thought that youâd get a day to settle in, but thatâs not how we do things here. On board, things can happen at any hour of the day and you need to be prepared.â
You nod.Â
âGoodâ, he says, pleased. âLetâs go then, we have work to do.â
When he stands, so do you. He walks towards the door and so do you. You follow him through the corridors like a puppy, in silence. You donât say anything. Maybe this will work for him after all?
You come out to the main staircase, a pathetic excuse of what it should be, and walk up a flight of stairs. What should be the lounge is now an operating theater and bedroom to wounded soldiers. He can hear you draw a breath as you walk in. The smell must hit you, he guesses, the smell of pain and blood.Â
You follow him around the open room as he talks to different men and women who have all kinds of painful injuries and sickness symptoms. Youâre quiet behind him. When heâs done with his round, he takes you out onto the promenade to get you some fresh air. You hold onto the wooden railing.Â
âThat can be unpleasantâ, he says, leaning onto the railing beside you with his elbows. âEspecially if it is one's first time. Youâll get used to it.â
âI wasnât sure what I was supposed to expectâ, you reply. âI knew that it would be ⊠bad ⊠I just didnât know what type. Tomorrow will be better. Now I know what to expect.â
You give him a small smile. Donât give up on me yet, I will prove myself to you. You are weirdly cute.Â
âWhy are you here if you lack so much experience?â he asks.
âGood questionâ, you sigh. âMoney problems, I suppose. My family has it rough.â
âHow long will you be here?â
âA few months, until I've saved enough money.â
Doctor Kry nods. âSame here.â
âIs life on board tiresome?â you wonder. âWhat do you do out on sea?â
âSome play deck games, some write, draw or readâ, Doctor Kry says. âSome spend time with the wounded. Everyone comes up with different activities.â
âI would like to explore the ship, see what the home I will have for the coming months contains.â
âIf you want I can give you a tour.â
âReally? Thank you, I would love that.â
You follow the doctor inside again. He decides to start from the bottom of the beast and show you up to the very top.
The orlop deck is the one right above the boilers. The two of you shouldn't wander further below, in case of danger. The orlop deck contains a mailroom and the cargo hold. It's chilly inside the ominous cargo room. Wooden boxes stand in groups.
âThese contain everything from weapons to medical equipment to food and alcoholâ, Doctor Kry says and taps the top of a wooden box. âSome people â of the military staff, I've been told â sneak down here to steal some of it. I wouldn't advise you to explore down here. The ones you'll meet will most likely be drunk beyond measure and not trustable.â
âI understandâ, you say.
âThat being said, let's go upstairs.â
G-deck is filled with bunk beds, rows and rows of them. Walls that used to separate cabins have been demolished and left are the marks on the floors where they should stand. People are in bed, either sleeping or chatting with each other. Theyâre wearing bandage.
F-deck was the same as G-deck, filled with bunk beds and cabins.Â
E-deck has a pool with crystal clear water. Itâs a simple pool, only there for exercise. It used to have much more detailing, a childrenâs part of the pool and some childrenâs floating toys.Â
âIt would be nice to swim hereâ, you say. âAfter long hours of standing.â
âI think it is niceâ, Doctor Kry says. âI havenât used the pool yet. I think itâs seawater but, like I said, I havenât tried the pool yet.â
Before he has time to think, youâve crouched down, sunk your cupped hand into the water and taken a lick. Doctor Kry gasps and twitches forward.
âWhat are you doing?â he questions.Â
âIt is seawaterâ, you say.Â
He grabs your wrist, pulls you up on your feet and shakes your hands free of the water.
âThat is disgusting, do not do that againâ, he says sternly.
You laugh slightly, meeting his eyes. Doctor Kry shakes his head, but has to restrain himself to not smile.Â
âGet outâ, he says, nodding at the door.Â
You walk before him. Your youthful behavior is going to wear him down.Â
D-deck has more dim corridors than the others youâve explored. Doctor Kry stops in front of a steel door with his hand resting on the handle.Â
âThis room is the morgueâ, he says slowly. âI donât expect you to like this room, but I do expect you to treat it with respect. Donât do anything âfunâ here, like you did in the pool. Understood?â
You nod. Doctor Kry opens the door. A chilly wind blows through you. You hug yourself. The room is colder than the winds up on deck and you look at Doctor Kry to see if heâs also feeling the cold. Along the walls of the room are numbered hatches. You donât need him to explain what is inside them. Doctor Kry opens a door to the right, showing a small room with an operating table on it.Â
âHave you ever performed an autopsy?â you ask.Â
âMany timesâ, he responds and closes the door.Â
âDo they get ⊠easier every time?â
âEasier? I wouldnât say easier, but you learn to shut off your brain. Youâll learn that too while working here.â
He walks you out of the morgue. D-deck also contains even more wards.Â
C-deck has the first class dining saloon, now nothing more than a school cafeteria. The tables are simple, the chairs looking uncomfortable. A few men sit by a table eating. Doctor Kry is quick to get you out.Â
B-deck has more cabins and open wards, along with an enclosed promenade deck filled with beds, where patients can rest in fresh air. Thereâs nothing left of the verandah cafe, the suites have been emptied and the hairdresser doesnât have the equipment that it once had.Â
A-deck is the only deck on the ship left with some of her old personality. The lounge has some armchairs and couches and the smoking room still has the painted glass windows. You look at the painted mermaid on the window.Â
âItâs beautifulâ, you say.Â
âIt isâ, Doctor Kry says. âI think it has something to do with Greek mythology, but I havenât asked.â
The enclosed promenade deck the two of you had been on is on the same deck. Boat deck, on the other hand, has nothing enclosed. Nothing to shield anyone from wind or rain. Rows upon rows of lifeboats stand in their davits, collapsible ones are positioned on the roofs for easy access.Â
âOkay, I think youâve seen it allâ, Doctor Kry says and sighs. âNot much, as you can see. Majority of it have been removed in case anything would happen to the ship.â
âIs there a risk of something happening?â
âThe ship is painted white with a green line and big, red crosses. People know better than to sink a hospital ship.â
âBut at night you canât see what color the ship is painted.â
âI assure you that has been thought of. I will show you. Meet me at my cabin at sunset.â
âOkay.â
You knock at his door as the sun is resting on the horizon. Doctor Kry stands up from his chair a bit too quickly.
âGood eveningâ, you say. âIâm here.â
âSo you areâ, he replies and grabs his beige coat. âLetâs go, we can get dinner afterwards.â
You follow him out to the main staircase and up to the boat deck. The red shade above you is fading into dark blue skies. Wherever you look, nothing breaks it. You follow Doctor Kry to the stern where you have a good view of the ship. A strand of green light lights up the side of the ship, big spotlights turned to the red crosses. The green light gives your face a magical shade, one which makes the doctor stare at you when youâre not looking.Â
âYou can sleep soundlyâ, he says. âAs you can see, there are lights showing other ships what we are. Now, how about some food?â
âYes, please.â
The two of you walk back inside and make your way down to the dining hall. You donât say anything, but the way your hand travels the railing down the main staircase makes him smile.Â
You get a bowl of soup and a piece of bread. Doctor Kry leads you to a table full of doctors where he always sits. Not because he likes their company, but because he doesnât want to sit with the immature nurses.Â
âSo this is your apprentice?â Doctor Hart says, eyeing you.Â
âYesâ, Doctor Kry replies.Â
You sit down beside him.Â
âIâm Y/Nâ, you say, remembering how you had forgotten to introduce yourself to Kry earlier. â
âYou are a voluntary nurse, right?â a doctor asks.Â
âYes.â
âWhat training do you have?â
âThe absolute minimum, sir. I didn't have time to learn more before being sent here.â
âThatâs why theyâre my apprenticeâ, Doctor Kry says before anyone else has time to say something that could invalidate your lack of knowledge. âIâm supposed to train them.â
âYou have gotten an unfortunate fit, Y/Nâ, Doctor Hart says jokingly. âKry is a good doctor, but probably the most boring man I have ever come across.â
You frown, looking between him and your mentor.Â
âI wouldnât say thatâ, you say slowly.Â
Doctor Kry looks at you with a small smile before taking a bite of his sandwich.Â
âIf you ever get tired of this boring man, I could always use a traineeâ, Doctor Hart says with a small smirk.Â
The other doctors laugh. You give them a small, uncomfortable smile.
âLet them beâ, Doctor Kry says warningly. âYou don't have to be an ass to the newcomers.â
He turns away from them, looking at you.Â
âDonât listen to themâ, he whispers.
âOkayâ, you reply quietly and give him a thankful smile.
He spends the rest of the dinner conversing with you, completely ignoring the other doctors. He asks you about your family life, the members in it, what your favorite memory is. For the first time in months, he's had a purposeful conversation, one he won't forget the second he leaves the dining hall. You've only been here less than a day and yet you've managed to put color in this white steel beast.
âI shouldn't keep youâ, he says suddenly. âI suppose that you're tired. You should rest. I will see you tomorrow morning. Will you find your way to your cabin?â
âI think soâ, you smile. âThank you.â
âBe at my door at seven tomorrow morning.â
You nod. Doctor Kry gives you a small nod before walking away. His heart pounds in his chest, already looking forward to tomorrow morning.
Days go by. You spend every waking hour with your mentor, following him like a dog. You don't get why everyone else calls him strict, why some pity you for having him. And some pity themselves for not being picked. It's a weird feeling, you find, that everyone has a divided opinion of you and you have no idea who thinks what. All eyes on you, and none seem to be in your favor.
Doctor Kry is awoken by knocking on his door. Still in his drowsy state can he recognize the pattern. You have a unique sense of knocking. The darkness still covers the sky.
You're standing outside, wet to the bone, wearing your pajamas and a guilty look in your eyes.
âYou told me to tell you right awayâ, you say quickly. âI'm not sure if you meant that literally but ⊠I have nowhere else to go.â
Your voice dies out. Doctor Kry frowns, looking at your wet form up and down.
âWhat happened?â he asks suspiciously.
âThey locked me out.â
âWhat are you talking about? Who locked you out?â
âThe other nurses.â
What?
âWhy are you wet?â
âThey threw water on me and threw me out of the room. I-I guess that it was a joke but ⊠I didnât really ⊠find it funny âŠâ
He can tell that you're shivering, although you're trying your best not to show it. It makes him unexplainably furious. Â
âCome insideâ, he says and steps aside.
He's quick to grab his towel from his trunk and wrap it around you. You sit down on his chair.
âDid they say anything to you?â he asks.Â
âNot from what I heardâ, you reply quietly, shaking slightly. âEverything went on so quickly. I barely had time to wake up before I found myself in the corridor.â
âThey threw you?â Doctor Kry asks, trying to understand.Â
âGrabbed me by my arms and threw me out.â
âYou must have hit the opposite wall in the corridor.â
âItâs fine.â
He feels his heart tug. His poor little apprentice, getting thrown around like trash. He knew that the nurses were assholes, but he is appalled that none of them even tried to befriend you. He knows that itâs because of him. In some way shape or form, it always leads back to him. Itâs his responsibility to take care of you now. And, like hell, heâll do it.
âLetâs get you out of those wet clothes to start withâ, he says and removes the towel from around your body. âYouâll get sick if you keep them on any longer.â
He helps you remove them and dress you in his spare pajamas, offering you his bed.Â
âDonât go back to that roomâ, he says.Â
âWhy?â
âI feel like I am responsible for you and thatâs why I canât let you back there.â
âWhat do I do then?â
Itâs such a simple question, but it makes him feel even more determined to take care of you. Youâre asking him how to proceed. You trust him enough to let him decide what should happen to you. Itâs enough to make him hear his heart in his ears.Â
âYouâll stay here for the night, and I will decide what to do with you in the morningâ, he says and removes the cover of the bed. âWhy donât you go to bed while I get you a hot cup of tea?â
âOkay, thank you, doctorâ, you say quietly.Â
âOf course.â
He smiles as he walks out, but the second he closes the door he feels a pain in his heart. He has been with you for two weeks by now and every day has been a pleasure. He canât remember the last time heâs been this excited to work. Every meal, he spends it with you. He plays deck games with you on your breaks and play board games in the lounge at night. Youâre interesting to him without being annoying. Everyone else gets on his nerves, being too much, too loud, too clingy and too ⊠much. You, somehow, seem to be just perfect in every category. Itâs such a rare trait for him to find. He doesnât care that no one else understands it â on the contrary, he finds it great that he is the only one you spend your time with â but he hates that the others are childish enough to mess with you because of it.Â
Sea air must bring even the sanest people to madness.Â
The morgue flashes before his eyes and he stops right in his tracks. He wants to. Oh, how he wants to. But thereâs no way that he could play it off. On a secluded place like a ship, there was no place to hide a crime. Nowhere to flee if he did get caught. Heâll figure it out, though. They wonât go unpunished.Â
He gets the cup of tea and makes his way back to the cabin.
âDrink thisâ, he says and holds the cup to your lips. âThis should warm you up.â
He notices how youâre trying to take the cup from him, but he won't let you. Wants to feed you. You drink slowly.Â
âWhat do I do from now on?â you ask.Â
âWell, firstly, I will talk to your roommatesâ, the doctor says. âTomorrow morning. You can take my bed, I will sleep on the floor.â
âNo, I canât do that. Iâve troubled you enough, doctor.â
He doesnât answer. Instead, he tucks you in and opens his trunk to take out a shirt to use as a pillow.Â
âDoctor, pleaseâ, you say. âI can take the floor.â
âDonât be absurd. Enough of this, now go to sleep.â
Thereâs no use in fighting him, he will not budge. You try to lay as still as you can, but itâs hard to drift off to sleep. Youâre unaware that Kry is awake as well, having an even harder time getting some rest. The only thing he can think of is how angry he is at those nurses ⊠but also a particular happiness. They sent you his way. In an unofficial way they sent you right into his clutches.Â
The very next morning, he awakens to find you there, in his bed, sleeping peacefully. He stares at you. There is something so heavenly about you. Something alive, among all this death and suffering.Â
He changes into his uniform before walking through the ominous corridors of your room. His knock must have echoed in the room because he can hear a few surprised gasps.
He recognizes the tired face that opens.
âIf you don't mind, I'll grab Y/Nâs thingsâ, he says and, before waiting for a response, pushes past into the room, hitting their shoulder intentionally. âWhere are they?â
âUnder that bunk bed.â
He follows the pointed finger and grabs a brown bag.Â
âYou should be ashamed of yourselves, you knowâ, he says without changing his normal calm tone. âI thought nurses were supposed to be caring, but what do I know? I never spend time with them. And now I see that it was with good reason.â
âWhat makes you so special?â one of the nurses scoffs. âThere are a lot of doctors people would choose before you too.â
âI'm aware of that, and I'm very thankful for it. But you shouldn't forget that there is a hierarchy on board. I might not fall for your charms, but I can still get you downgraded to kitchen staff.â
He walks out. You're still sleeping when he returns to his cabin and he decides to go get you breakfast.
âWake upâ, he says and places the tray on the desk. âI've gotten you breakfast.â
âReally?â you ask and sit up. âThank you so much. And thank you for letting me stay here.â
He doesnât answer. Instead, he gives you a cup of coffee.Â
âI brought your thingsâ, he says. âI donât think that you should go back to that room at all. I will try to get you into another cabin.â
âOhâ, you say. âThank you.â
âYou say awfully many âthank youâs.â
âWell, you do awfully many nice things for me.â
He tries not to show how happy he gets, but his ears burn a crimson red. You get out of bed and walk over to your bag, looking around for something.Â
âI want to give you somethingâ, you say and hold your hands behind your back.Â
âWhat?â asks.Â
You take out a little porcelain dog, a spitting image of a Golden Retriever.Â
âI donât have muchâ, you say, âbut I really value this little thing. Take it.â
âNoâ, Doctor Kry says simply.Â
âI donât have anything else.â
âWhich is why I canât take it.â
âPlease?â
He looks at the little dog in your hands and the pleading look in your eyes. His hand reach out and take it in his hand, knowing that he wonât keep it. He will find a way to give it back to you at a later time. But he has to accept it for now so that you donât feel stupid.Â
He places it on his desk and gives you the cup of coffee again.Â
âWhat will we work with today?â you ask.Â
âWeâre picking up some new people.â
Everytime they pick up new people, heâs reminded of your limited time. One day, sooner than desired, you will walk off the gangway ⊠and someone will take your place. No. Never. He doesn't want anyone else other than you.
Among the newcomers, you find a child. The six year old boy seems to like running along the big ship's decks.Â
You and Kry observe him from the promenade boat above.
âWhy is there a child?â you ask. âIsnât it dangerous to let a little boy run around?â
âHis parents must either be military, a nurse or woundedâ, Doctor Kry replies.
You let go of the railing. Doctor Kry follows you with his eyes as you make your way down to the boy. You introduce yourself, take his little hand and ask him for his. Nicholas. You play with him. Doctor Kry canât look away. Youâre a natural with children. The little boy seems to have genuinely fun with you. Youâre running along the deck, back and forth. You pretend to have a hard time catching up with him, making Doctor Kry smile. Heâs not much for children. Theyâre loud, unpredictable and lack consequence-think. He hates all of it. But you seem to have a natural talent for it. The boy seem so comfortable with you. Itâs adorable.Â
âDoctor!â you shout.Â
âWhat?â he replies without raising his voice.Â
âCome down, letâs play something!âÂ
He sighs and lets go of the railing before making his way down to you and Nicholas.Â
âThis is doctor Kryâ, you tell the boy. âHe wonât bite you.â
âBite?â Doctor Kry scoffs. âSince when have I ever bitten someone?â
âThatâs what Iâm saying â you wonât bite him.â
âI never bite to begin with.â
âThatâs what Iâm saying, so what are you arguing about?â
âY/N- ⊠nevermind, Iâm getting nowhere.â
You laugh. He shakes his head disapprovingly, but his heart aches fondly. Youâre like an annoying fly buzzing around, but he doesnât want to kill you.Â
You play curling on the deck and you throw lamely to let the little boy win. He tries to match it, tries to follow your lead.Â
The image doesnât leave his brain for the rest of the day. The only thing he sees is you with the little boy.Â
âDoctor, be careful!â
He doesnât notice how heâs slipped with the scalpel and cut himself in the palm. With a hiss, he backs away from the man on the operating table. You grab his other arm and pulls him with you. His head is awfully cloudy. The only thing he sees in front of him is your smile when you played with the boy.Â
âSit hereâ, you say and place him down on a chair. âAre you okay?â
âYes ⊠yes, Iâm fineâ, he says and clears his throat.Â
You clean his hand and wrap it in bandage. Your touch makes him want to pass out. But it also makes him want to yell in frustration. How could he slip up that easily? He has never been distracted during an autopsy and suddenly seeing you with a child puts him out of balance enough for him to slip the knife?
âYou need to be carefulâ, you tell him.
âI knowâ, he sighs, rolling his eyes. âI donât enjoy hurting myself.â
âI didnât mean that, I know youâre careful, I just-â
He realizes that heâs made a mistake.Â
âI knowâ, he says, cutting you of before sighing heavily and continuing in defeat. âI didnât mean to sound mad. Iâm not angry with you.â
He could never be. If anything, heâs furious at himself.Â
âItâs okayâ, you say gently.Â
You let go of his bandaged hand.Â
âIt should be okay nowâ, you say. âBut I donât think that you should go back.â
âI wonâtâ, he says. âThey need a steady hand and clearly my isnât.â
âDonât be hard on yourself, doctor. It happens to the best of us.â
He sighs and stands up, keeping his eyes on a point above your head.Â
âLetâs go outâ, he says stiffly and clenches his jaw. âI need air.â
âDo you want to be alone?â you ask.Â
His reply comes short. âJust come.â
You nod and hurry after him out on deck. His entire body screams anger. You donât dare to open your mouth, scared to upset him even more. Instead, you follow him like a shadow around the promenade deck. He suddenly stops and looks at you, as if he just only realized that you are still here. You back away a few steps to give him space. He flinches forward, as if his body wants to walk over to you, but his brain stops him. He wants to hug you. Wants so bad. But it is not professional.Â
âMaybe i should goâ, you say. âI think that you need some alone time to think. Iâll see you later, okay? Donât be so hard on yourself.â
âNo, waitâ, he says and grabs your arm. âDonât leave.â
You look at him questionably.Â
âLetâs just sitâ, he says and pulls you over to the deck chairs.Â
âAre you sure that youâre okay?â you ask hesitantly. âYou seem a bit on edge.â
âItâs not directed at youâ, he says.
âOkay, but youâre still upset. I know that you hurt yourself, but itâs okay, itâll heal quickly.â
âItâs not just that.â
He never makes mistakes. He never slips up. Youâre becoming dangerous for him.
âDo you want to tell me?â you ask.
He shakes his head and gives you a small smile. âNo. Iâm fine.â
âAre you sure?â
âYes.â
Itâs cute how worried you are about him. He gives you a smile.Â
It feels like a dagger through the heart when you tell him that it is your last week on board. What do you mean that youâre going home? You just came here. His mind spins as he tries to come up with something. He needs you here on this boat â or wherever he is â to work properly. Both figuratively and literally. He feels like he performs better, both in the operating theater and as a human.Â
The cut on his hand has healed by now, but he can still feel the burning sensation of your fingers against his skin. He canât â won't â forget it. He kept the bandage, despite the blood on it.
You need to be kept here ⊠and he needs to come up with a solution on how to keep you. He could make you trip down the stairs and have you break a leg. No, you could still return home with broken bones. He could tie you up and lock you in, but if you screamed loud enough someone would hear you through the thin steel walls. You need to blend in. How does one blend in, in a floating prison with wounded people.Â
Oh. Of course.
He makes his way to the medical supply room, looking around for something â anything â that he can use. He finds a little green bottle. You shouldnât drink it straight away, but if he dilutes it in water, it should be fine.Â
He decides to mix some of the dangerous substance in your tea the following mornings. For the first few days, there seem to be no symptoms of his little poisoning. Until the fourth morning when youâre not at his door when he expects you. He gets himself dressed and out of the room, marching down to your new â own â cabin. He knocks on the door.Â
âY/N, are you awake?â he asks.Â
âYesâ, he hears your voice through the door, your voice thick and hoarse.Â
âCan I come in?â
âNo.â
He opens the door. Youâre lying in the bed, curled up with your arms over your stomach.Â
âHow are you feeling?â he asks.Â
You shake your head weakly. âNot well. My stomach really hurts ⊠I think that Iâm going to throw up. I havenât been able to go get a bucket so Iâve been trying to keep it in.â
âIâll get you a bucket.â
He leaves the room. Out in the corridor, he canât help but smile. Itâs finally kicking in. He had been worried that it wouldnât work until you had left the ship ⊠where he canât care for you. He gets a clean bucket from a storage closet and returns.Â
âLetâs get you up rightâ, he says and helps you sit up.Â
The motion alone is enough to have you throwing up. He places the bucket under your mouth, letting you empty yourself.Â
âIâm sorryâ, you hiccup.Â
âItâs okayâ, he replies.Â
âI donât think I can work today.â
âI donât expect you to.â
âIâm sorry.â
âStop saying that.â
He opens the window and sits down by the desk.Â
âYou donât have to stay hereâ, you say weakly, leaning against the wall. âIâll be fine.â
âYou wonât be fineâ, the doctor says. âI can see that. You took care of me, now Iâll take care of you.â
âItâs different. I just put on bandage.â
âSo? You werenât skilled for more. I am, and I intend to put my knowledge to use.âÂ
He stands up abruptly, deciding to start right away.Â
âLetâs get you some fresh airâ, he says. âThis open window wonât do.â
âDoctor, I canât moveâ, you say, eyes widening. âI-Iâve tried, but I-I ⊠I canât.â
He frowns. Has he done too much?Â
âMy stomach hurts so much and my limbs donât seem to want to move.â
âItâll be okayâ, he says shortly and lifts you up in his arms. âIâll do the moving for you.â
He walks slowly along the decks, so as not to make your nausea even more unbearable. He walks out to the enclosed promenade where rows of beds stand along the walls and places you down in one of them, making sure to get you in the sunlight. With a smile, he tucks you in.
âSome fresh air and sunlight will do you goodâ, he says and sits down on the side of the bed. âWhy donât you try to get some rest? I suppose you havenât had much this night. Iâm not going anywhere, youâll be safe.â
You nod and make yourself a bit more comfortable.Â
âItâs hard to not be nauseous when the ship moves so muchâ, you mumble.Â
âI have the bucket, you can vomit as much as youâd likeâ, he says.Â
âIn that case I wonât vomit at all. Because I donât want to.â
Doctor Kry scoffs with a smile.Â
âI knowâ, he says. âTry to rest now.â
He sits by your side until youâve fallen asleep. You are so unbelievably sweet. In every single way. Doctor Kry stands up to go empty the bucket. He walks out the enclosed promenade, out onto the open deck and throws the contains over the side.Â
âWhatâs with your apprentice?â Doctor Hart asks, walking over to him with his hands in his pockets. âRumour says that theyâre sick.â
âYes, they areâ, he says shortly.Â
âWerenât they going home this week?â
Do not remind me.
âThey wereâ, he says, even colder. âNot anymore. I canât let them go back if they have some kind of sickness. Better for them to be isolated here where it canât spread far.â
âIs it contagious?â
âYes, very. I think that you should stay away from them â tell everyone else to be cautious and keep distance as well.â
He grimaces and quickly backs away from him, walking away. Doctor Kry smirks and shakes his head.Â
And you consider yourself smart enough to be a doctor?Â
âWhat are you doing?â
The little boy is back. Nicholas stands a few steps behind him, watching curiously.Â
âIâm emptying a bucketâ, Doctor Kry answers, trying not to sound short and cold like usual. You like this kid and if heâs impolite to him, heâs sure heâll hear about it from you.Â
âWhy?â
âBecause there was vomit in it.â
âEw! Did you get seasick?â
He rolls his eyes. âNo, not me. Y/Nâs not feeling well.â
âIs Y/N sick?â
âYes.â
He looks worried. His best friend isnât feeling well? Doctor Kry sighs.Â
âDo you want to come and meet them later?â he asks. âTheyâre resting right now but you can come visit when theyâre awake again.â
âWhen is that?â Nicholas asks.Â
âI donât know.â
âHow will I know then?â
âI donât know.â
He doesnât wait to hear more dumb questions. Doctor Kry walks straight back to the enclosed promenade and places the bucket by the bed. He sits down by your legs and takes your hand.Â
A few days go by. He continuous to poison your tea, and help you throw up. When your body doesnât want to do it anymore, when itâs too exhausted to work for your benefit, he has to help.Â
âAlright, open your mouthâ, he says, brushing any type of hair away from your face. âThis will not be pleasant, but I need you to throw up, okay?â
You sit beside him on the bed with the bucket in your lap, hugging it tightly. Your unsure grimace is enough to answer.Â
âI knowâ, he sighs. âItâll be quick. It wonât hurt.â
âOkayâ, you mumble and nod, opening your mouth.Â
He reaches in with his fingers until they touch the soft part of the back of the mouth. Your mouth is warm and soft, making him feel light headed. As soon as you gag, he pulls his fingers away. You hover over the bucket for the thirteenth time in twenty four hours. Doctor Kry pats your back.Â
âThere you goâ, he says. âSee? Quick and easy.â
âEasy?â you cough, giving him a stern eye. âNowhere near easy.â
âOkay, maybe not easy. Bad wording. But itâs over now. Good job, Iâm proud of you.â
A sad smile appears on your face. You lean your head onto his shoulder, sighing in exhaustion. Doctor Kry tenses. His heart stops.Â
âIâm so tiredâ, you whisper. âMy body hurts.â
He hesitates before wrapping his arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. Your scent clogs up his head.Â
âI should be home by nowâ, you whisper.Â
âI knowâ, doctor Kry whispers comfortingly.Â
You break out into sobs. Doctor Kry swallows. He can imagine how you must feel. Body broken and unresponsive, not back home with your family like you had planned and anticipated ⊠and you canât do anything to stop it. Doctor Kry turns your body to him and hugs you. Holding you feels like heaven. You fit perfectly in his arms, as if you were made for him, and him only. You were born to be his.
âI'm sorry if this is unprofessionalâ, you mumble.Â
âIt's okay, you're sickâ, he replies thickly
He closes his eyes, enjoying the embrace. Itâs everything he could â and have â ever dreamt of. His own little patient, in his arms, where they belong. Only for him. Oh, God, he can never let you go. You will be here for as long as he is, and then heâll take you back home to him. Whether you like it or not.
âIâm cold.â
âI'll go get you some more blankets.â
He dreads to let you go but he can't deny your request. Your warmth disappears from his embrace.Â
He decides to hurry, wanting to get back to you as quickly as possible. As he walks down the main staircase, he feels the entire ship shudder and hear a loud âbangâ. He has to grab onto the staircase railing to not fall over. The sound of porcelain crashing onto the floor in the distance hits him. He hurries down.
A man covered in soot runs past him. One of the men from the boiler room.
âThe ship is flooding!â he shouts in full panic. âWe're sinking!â
Doctor Kry widens his eyes. There's no way, right? They're a hospital ship! No one in their right mind would sink a hospital ship! His mind forgets the blanket. He needs a lifebelt. Not a blanket.Â
He runs past the room where you had stayed first, and he can see the nurses inside trying to scramble their belongings into small purses. Without thinking, he marches over, shuts the door and grabs the nearest fire extinguisher to break the lock. He throws the fire extinguisher to the side and hurries down the corridor, opening the first door he finds. It's a cabin for female nurses. He reaches over one of the bunk beds, to a net where lifebelts Are kept. He pulls down two and runs out.Â
The floor has started to shift beneath him. He can tell that it tilts to his left. She's going down by the stern.
He runs up the stairs, trying to push his way through a flood of people desperately climbing upwards. He wants to shout at them, but it won't matter. No one else will listen or care. Instead, he uses force to push himself through the crowd.
He has to get to you before anything happens. There's no certainty in how much time there is, but there is a certainty of death if he doesn't hurry up.Â
He runs through packed corridors, ripping open your door.
âWhat's going on?â you ask with wide eyes.
There's something horrific with your fearful eyes. Everything about you is dull and tired, besides your panicking eyes.Â
âWe've been hitâ, he says in a steady voice and forces the white lifebelt over your head, tying it tightly around your body. âWe need to get to a lifeboat as quickly as possible.â
âWhat?â you ask in shock. âWhat happened? You said that we were okay, that nothing would happen to a hospital ship!â
He doesn't answer. If he does, he's worried that he'll snap at you. Instead, he lifts you up and carries you out of the room. He makes sure not to trip, but carrying you through tilted spaces is harder than he expects. Giving up is not an option, however.
The boat deck is crowded. He manages to get through to a lifeboat and sits down with you in his arms.
âIâm scaredâ, you whisper.
âIt's okayâ, the doctor whispers back. âEverything is going to be okay.â
He holds you tightly when the lifeboat slowly sinks towards the water, scared that you might fall off.Â
Seeing the ship from afar as the lifeboat makes its way away from it finally puts things together in your head. You gasp. You had been on that ⊠and if Kry hadn't come get you you would still be on it, waiting for death.
The bow slowly rises out of the water, dripping with water. The sun shines right on it, as if it is the oceanâs main attraction. The room where doctor Kry locked in the nurses is far underwater by now. He hides a smirk under his hand. He had promised that they would be punished for what they had done. They'd have a chance if they hadn't been childish.
âI never thought that Iâd see something like thisâ, you say. âI never wanted to see the bottom of a ship.â
âMe neitherâ, the doctor replies.Â
âWill many die?â
âNo, not many. Iâm sure of it.â
You creep closer to him, shivering although you donât feel any cold winds. He holds you tighter.Â
The only thing left of the floating hospital is a steamy, bubbling mess, filled with debris. Itâs like you can hear her hit the ocean floor. You canât help but wonder what position she is in, if youâll ever get to know. If anyone ever will dive down and check. If that will be possible.
âItâs so silentâ, you whisper and meet his blue eyes. âIt shouldnât be silent ⊠should it?â
âI donât knowâ, he replies. âWhat is the other choice? People screaming?â
You shake your head quickly. Donât want to imagine that.
Hours go by. When the evening comes, youâre picked up by another ship and given blankets and food. Doctor Kry stays close to you, not letting anyone get close. He sits in a protective position beside you, arms crossed over his chest, eyes scanning everything and everyone around him.Â
The little boy clings to a woman who you guess is his mother. He doesnât seem to understand what has happened, how lucky he is, and you hope that he never will.
âWhat will happen now?â you wonder quietly.
âI will continue to care for you until you are wellâ, he says. âThatâs what will happen. I will take care of the rest, you donât have to worry about anything. Just lean on me and everything will be alright, okay?â
You nod. Doctor Kry smiles and straightens his neck.Â
âGood.â
You look up at the colorful evening sky and sighs. No one died this day â apart from a few nurses who doctor Kry didnât like, but he will never tell you that â and that is a comfort. But youâre unaware of the plans doctor Kry has for you. And maybe thatâs for the best. Â
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere drabbles#yandere oc x you#yandere oc x reader#yandere fics#yandere doctor
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⊠you should stay in my good gracesâđâ
(actress!wanda x fem!reader)
tags | romantic asf, a little hurt/comfort, wanda maximoff needs a hug, reader is a reassuring simp, together? theyâre both gross horny freaks :3 (18+)
Itâs late, around 9 PM, and the room is dimly lit, casting long shadows that dance along the walls. Youâre lounging on the couch of the hotel suite, feeling the gentle buzz of the wine youâve been sipping. Sheâs there with you, still dressed in her suit for her upcoming movieâs press junket. Her hair, now a shade of molten chocolate, falls loosely around her face, with random pieces tucked behind her ears. Sheâs wearing minimal makeup, despite her lips being coated in a subtle reddish oil, and her eyes shimmer gold with every bat of her lashes.
The evening has been easygoing since arriving back, a perfect blend of quiet conversation and shared silences as your girlfriend winds down from being social. You watch her as she took another sip of her wine, her eyes glinting in the soft light. Suddenly, she sets her glass down and rises from the couch with a playful glint in her eye. "I want to play a song for you," she announces with a smile.
You watch as she heads for the old record player tucked in the corner, a vintage piece that had caught her eye the moment you checked in last night. The suite modern charm was evident in every detail, from the heated floors to the spacious kitchen, but the record player, with its polished wood and brass accents, seemed to be the centerpiece of the room. Wanda had been drawn to it immediately, her fingers tracing the smooth surface, a look of nostalgia softening her features.
She flips through the small collection of vinyl records stacked beside it, her brow furrowing in concentration as she searches for the perfect track. After a moment, she lets out a triumphant little sound, pulling out a record with an old, faded cover. The worn label reveals the artist: Sam Cooke. She handles it with reverence, lowering it onto the turntable with a practiced hand. There's a small, satisfied hum as she brings the needle down, and the soft crackle that follows fills the room like the first breath of life. For a moment, everything is still, suspended in the quiet, until the first sweet, soulful notes of "Cupid" drift into the air.
The melody is timeless, a rich cascade of sound that wraps around you like an old, familiar blanket. You recognise the tune, though it's been years since you last heard it. The notes are tender and full of emotion, evoking memories of a time long past yet strangely present in this moment. The room, bathed in the warm glow of the lamps adorned around the space, seems to swell with the sound, the music curling around the furniture, the walls, and finally, the two of you, as if drawing you closer together.
Wanda turns back to you, her eyes bright with anticipation, waiting for your reaction. She knows you love this song, and she loves it too, perhaps even more.
âI love this song.â She reaches out a hand, gesturing for you to join her. You stand, taking it without hesitation, feeling the warmth of her fingers intertwining with yours. The music flows between you like a current, and Wanda begins to sway, drawing you into the rhythm. Her voice, soft and unguarded, rises to meet the melody as she sings along with Cooke:
âCupid, draw back your bow...â
With her eyes locked on yours, the world around you fades into the background. The record spins, the music lilting through the room as you both begin to dance, a slow, easy movement that feels as natural as breathing.
You follow her lead, letting the song guide your steps. Wandaâs voice, sweet and slightly off-key, weaves through the music, adding her own touch to the tune. There's something so intimate, so pure in the way she sings to you, for you, her voice a quiet confession wrapped in melody.
âYou know," she murmurs, her voice a soft whisper against the instruments, "I've never felt like this with anyone before."
"I feel the same, Wands. Every time I'm with you, it's like the world finally makes sense."
She tilts her head down slightly, her eyes searching yours. "Do you ever wonder if this is too good to be true? Like, maybe we're dreaming, and one day we'll wake up, and itâll all be gone?"
You stop swaying for a moment, cupping her face gently in your hands. "No, Wanda. This is real. Weâre real." You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, feeling her relax into your touch, âYouâre never getting rid of me, baby.â
Her hands move to your back, pulling you closer, as if she needs to feel you, to confirm that youâre really here. "Promise me," she whispers, her voice trembling just slightly.
You press your lips to hers again, a gentle, lingering kiss that holds all the promises you canât yet put into words. âI promise,â you whisper against her, âlet me show you.â
Her worries melt away, replaced by a deepening trust as your hands run through her hair, pulling her impossibly closer. The pressure of your lips increases, growing bolder as you feel her responding to you, her own lips parting slightly, inviting you to explore further. A soft sigh escapes her, and it echoes in the stillness around you, a sound that sends a shiver of warmth through your entire body.
The kiss grows, building from that initial, tender connection into something more passionate, more urgent. You can feel the tension in your chest, a yearning that rises and swells with every heartbeat, driving you to close any remaining distance between you. Your other hand slides to the small of her back, pulling her closer. Unable to feel the heat of her body through the thick suit jacket, your hands trail inside the material, mapping the thin waist of the taller woman.
Sheâs wearing nothing underneath.
You deepen the kiss further, your tongue brushing against her lower lip, seeking entrance, a silent request that she grants as her lips part further, allowing you in. Her hands find their way to your shoulders, gripping lightly as she leans in. The kiss is no longer just gentle; itâs filled with a fervent need, an unspoken desire thatâs been building between you since the beginning of the night. Since you first saw her in this outfit. Sheâs kissing you back with equal intensity, every movements matching yours, the both of you lost in this moment, hands groping all and everything you can.
âI want these off,â Wanda husks, pupils blown entirely, as she hurriedly pulls at the zip of your jeans, â⊠now.â
You donât bother helping the older woman, as you fling your arms around her to pull the jacket off her toned shoulders, a swift competition to see who can undress who first. You managed to discard the jacket before she can shove her hand down your pants, your fingers already groping at her chest. Your lips making their way down from her neck down to her breasts, lapping at the pebbled nipples before you.
With her hand finally between your legs, stroking ever so languidly, she guides you back towards the couch. Youâre too distracted to notice the change until youâre on your back and sheâs on top of you. Her tongue forces its way into your mouth before you could protest, hips doing most of the work appeasing you, as she thrusts ever so slowly. Giving up, your legs fall open, calves wrapping around the brunette as if to keep her flush against you.
The kiss comes to an end, much to your dismay, with a singular strand of saliva hanging between you both.
âYouâre such a brat. You joke, hands smoothing over her ass, pulling forward.
âSays the one who was racing to undress me first.â She immediately retorts, and you push your luck, retaliating by smacking her ass. She gasps before cutting you a sharp look. Grinding harder against you, her head bends to kiss along your pulse. Her canines sink into the soft skin, a sharp sting following closely before her warm tongue laps along the bruised skin.
âDo that again and I wonât fuck you.â
Your mouth opens a few times, but you weren't sure what to say. You only managed a please, which felt pathetic even to your own ears. The laughing quirk of her lips revealed how little Wanda takes you seriously, and why would she? You were already trembling, unable to form a single thought.
So easy.
Turning your head so she could press her lips against yours, she was licking into your mouth, just separating enough so you didn't suffocate, and even then, it did nothing to help the threads of spit remaining between you both.
But it didn't appear that she was going to stop anytime soon, as her fingers trail up your thigh until she reaches your underwear. Her lips twist into a smile at the feeling of the damp fabric, molding to you. Lithe digits sneak inside, spreading your lips, grazing just under your clit and then down low. âThis all for me, baby?â
The feeling so overwhelming, youâre unable to reply. Wanda merely laughs before pressing into you, revelling in how easily you swallowed her fingers, hips moving in time with her. The rooms fills with sounds of breathless moans and her fingers fucking you, her other hand snaked under your top to pinch at your nipples.
âFeels so good.â You manage to stutter out, and bring her down to your lips. Once again, locked in another fervent kiss, moans spilling into her mouth.
A knock on the door jolts you out of your reverie, lips smacking as you pull away, eyes drawn towards the source. Panic surges in your chest as you remember earlier Wanda had invited some of her cast mates to your suite for a games night. Helplessly, you attempt to get your girlfriend to stop, your hand curling around her wrist pumping into you, but she didnât. Instead, she speeds up, fingers now sliding in at a bruising pace in comparison to her earlier slower one. Your knees were trembling, cunt pulsing around her rigid knuckles, as her thumb circles your clit desperately.
âGotta be quick, baby,â She huffs, energy depleting with each thrust, whispering terms of endearment as you convulsed, muffling your sounds of pleasure into her neck. Her chest heaves, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on her skin as she hovers over you.
You couldn't help the way your body shudders, so sensitive, every nerve ending screaming for her to stop and yet for her to continue. Trembling a little less now, her fingers slip out of you cautiously, soothing along your flushed skin despite being coated in you. She studies the room accessing the damage before turning back towards you, noticing youâre already looking up at her, the buzz of your orgasm fading away slightly.
To be honest, you didnât want games night to happen.
You wanted to spend the rest of your night wrapped up in your girlfriendâs arms, listening to her steady heartbeat as she held you close. But you knew Wanda was shy, and in this industry, she struggled to make friends. It was a hard world to navigate, full of people who wanted something from her or who couldnât look past her fame to see the wonderful person she was beneath it all. You didnât want to get in the way of that, all because you were feeling needy and wanting her sole attention. It was her night. Wanda deserved to have friends, people she could laugh with, people who would remind her that not everyone wanted something from her. So, despite the ache in your chest, you pushed your feelings aside, biting down on your lip, trying to suppress the soft whimper that threatens to escape, but she notices.
She always notices.
âShh, itâs okay,â she coos, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, and then your cheek, and then your nose. Her lips were warm, comforting, grounding you back to the present. âYou did so well, sweetheart.â She leans down placing one last kiss â this time upon your lips, âYou know I love you, right?â
You nod, a shy smile curling at the corner of your mouth. âI love you too.â
âGood,â she hums softly, her voice carrying a note of finality. âNow, come on,â her hand behind your back guiding you to your feet, âhelp me tidy up?â
You groan playfully, your muscles protesting as you try to follow her lead. You wobble when you stand, a reminder of just how thoroughly sheâd loved you, and she chuckles, steadying you with a hand on your waist
âEasy there.â She teases, holding tight to your waist. You feel her breath tickle the top of your head, and then, with a gentleness that contrasts the intensity of earlier, she places a chaste kiss upon your tousled hair, before collecting her jacket and buttoning it up around herself like before.
"Oh, Tonyâs gonna have a field day when he sees you," she murmurs, the amusement in her voice impossible to miss. You can almost picture it nowâTonyâs raised eyebrows, the sly grin that would stretch across his face when he spots the two of you looking disheveled as ever, and the sex joke already bursting free from his smart ass mouth.
âWhatever, Maximoff.â You push her away and in the direction of the door, âgo let them in.â
#my fics! ê°áą. .áąê±âËâč#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x y/n
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Indie horror filmmaker Eddie Munson, high off his first big (underground but notable) success, knows the movers and shakers of the film world have their eyes on him.Â
They're just waiting to see if he was a one hit wonder before they open all the doors he's been trying to kick down.Â
His next upcoming film is his chance, his shot at finally making it. Of being like Rob Zombie and the other creators he looks up to that masterfully blended metal and horror.Â
This is his golden ticket.Â
The project starts off smooth. His last success has greased the wheels, and things fall into place faster than ever before.Â
He's got the best idea for this insane haunted house story, a true "mazes in mazes" type of deal with a queer twist. A real look at how a place can haunt a person just as easily as a ghost can.
 Everything's going swimmingly--until one of his leads drops out the day they're due to start shooting.
No call no show's, and later, Eddie will find out the guy got a last second call back to be a contestant on one of those Love Island bullshit romance gigs (and laugh his ass off when the main love interest takes one look at Billy Hargrove and goes on a five minute rant about ugly mullets on national television) but right now?Â
He's fucked.Â
He's called in every favor he has for this film. Maxed out every credit card he owns, tapped every contact, got on his hands and knees and begged his rising star journalist best bud to help him market it. (Which Nancy agreed too, for way less cash than she should have.)Â
 Eddie can't get anyone on the phone, much less find a replacement actor and the amazing place they rented, that is so dark and wonderfully eerie, is booked out the rest of the year as an AirBnB.Â
If he doesn't film now, he loses it all.
Cue the other lead, unknown theater actor Steve Harrington, watching his hair pulling, tire kicking, 'cursing and hopping while holding a toe' mental breakdown and asks why Eddie himself doesn't act in it.Â
"Just go full Kevin Smith man. Act and direct." He says, with an easy grin.Â
Jeff, Eddie's tried and true videographer, trades glances with Gareth and Grant (Eddie's long used special effects and makeup team, who double for about twelve other jobs because they're also his best friends and they're all in this together, make or break.)
"We don't really have a lot of other options." Gareth hedges. "You're already using me and Grant as background characters."Â
Eddie, hands fluttering around his face as though trying to wave away this entire situation, squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a pained hiss.Â
"Fine, fine!" He announces with the air of a man running towards a fire. "Fuck it, this is our one shot and so help me I will be shooting it!"Â
Steve politely hides a laugh with a cough.Â
"Chuckle all you want big boy, I'm going to tragically romance you so hard people will forget both of our characters actually live." Eddie snarls.
Steve, the handsome bastard, just winks. "Looking forward to it."Â
Eddie blushes, but hides it with a surge of frantic energy, conveyed by lots of yelling and moving and getting the ball rolling.Â
Two days later, Steve would give the performance of a lifetime down on his knees, covered in a literal pound of fake gore, booty shorts and nothing else as he sobbed about how a lover could become a home. His hands clawed at Eddie's jeans before resting a tear stained face on a slim leg as he bent his body towards Eddie like it hurt to be away from him.Â
Eddie would later receive equal praise in his own acting during the scene, with the world and every reporter in it asking how he conveyed an otherworldly panic so beautifully throughout Steve's performance. What was he thinking, to evoke those expressions on his face?Â
The way his own pale hand, unmarred by blood and acting as a metaphor for the plot, would come to stroke Steve's cheeks.
Eventually he'd come up with a smooth polished answer that cheekily pleased his audience, but nothing would ever come close to the truth.Â
("Eddie I've known you since grade school." Jeff said that night, a scant few hours after they'd wrapped. "You can act man, but not like that."Â
Eddie made a wild "shut up" gesture, looking frantically over his shoulder before admitting; "You saw how close his face was to the prince of darkness!? I was seconds away from popping a boner next to his lips, in front of the 4K camera!âÂ
Eddie bounced into Jeffâs face so he could hiss:Â âHe fucking had his chin on my thigh, Jeff, and I am only a man. A mere mortal!"Â
"So we're gonna unpack all of that later." Jeff said finally, when he'd managed to get his mouth working and Eddie back out of his personal space. "But dude, we've talked about you calling your dick the prince of darkness."Â
Eddie flipped him off.)Â
One year later and critics named Corroded the best horror film of the year, praising the camera work, practical effects, and how there wasn't a soul alive who was surprised to hear Eddie and Steve were dating after their explosive on screen chemistry.
No one ever quite understood the prince of darkness jokes or why Steve mentioning it made Eddie blush, but that was a secret to find out later.Â
Today on WIPâs I have no intention of writing, indie horror movie AU!
#at some point this became a warmup for the warmup#and it feels very silly#LOL#steddie#Steve harrington#Eddie munson#horror movie AU#no upside down#eddie would have the STUPIDEST names for his dick#I will die on that hill#that is a man who has put googly eyes on his third leg#and then cried because they wouldn't come off#its why he loves steve bc steve would talk to it like a beloved pet#daddy misssess youuuu#corroded coffin as a unit hates them so much when they do this shit its the bane of their existance
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I need to talk about sub Sylus. I got the mental NEED to go against the grain and spread the word, so here I am.
All lads' men can be subs. You guys aren't seeing it cause you vision what a sub should be is restricted.
Sub Sylus đ
š
an Introduction
Sylus has so much potential as a sub and you all are committing the nastiest sin for ignoring that possibility;
I'm gonna say that once: all that facade he proudly polished being the Onychinus leader is just to hide the fact that he's a finsub. And probably a SAM too;
Let me elaborate to the people who also knew he was into something but couldn't figure it out. Sylus doesn't fit what most people consider the standard for a submissive men is, but that doesn't mean that he's automatically a dom, or that the things making Sylus eyes spark â quite literally â are approaches reserved to doms only;
First of all, it is clear he's a finsub. Finsub is a shortcut to 'financial sub', and the term explains itself. I'm 100% sure that as soon as you enter the N109 zone, he was already requesting a credit card for your use exclusively. It didn't get delivered in time. That's why he landed his at the protocore auction;
"5 million. You offer will make people think I'm broke. Wouldn't want that, sweetie." That line alone explains everything, on top of he only sounding satisfied when you bought every protocore there;
He loves showing off to others how healthy he is and how no other but him is suitable to spoil his dom miss hunter;
Did you ever notice he's always spoiling you? Dresses, high-quality protocore-based weapons, week dates to expensive and exclusive restaurants, jewelry, even a private fireworks show. Luke and Kieran are always running down to Linkon to deliver you something new in the middle of the week because Sylus can't wait the entire week. He never can;
Sylus gets off watching his bank account movement as you spend his money. As higher the spent, better his orgasm;
You can spend all you want, but he made sure to request that every time you wish to buy a new set o lingerie, he could give his humble opinion on it;
On top of that, he always gives you hints about what he wants you to use on him. That's why you had to stop opening your message app on the hunter's association computer browser: Sylus can send you links to a new sex toy any time during the day. As I told you before, he can never wait properly;
"They made an exclusive high-quality leather collar craved in rubies." *sends the link of the N109 zone's craftsman* "Wouldn't that match my eyes, mistress hunter?"
It's a matter of three days wait to receive the said collar at your apartment's door. That's Sylus way to make you visit his mansion;
And THATS when his other side bloom. The SAM sub side. 'SAM' is also a shortcut that stands for a combination from "pain slut" and a brat. Sylus is both;
I mean, come on, he made you shoot him, and since the evol resonance failed, he acted like a desperate brat. When he noticed that his behavior was making you dislike him, Sylus noticed that it was better to show his freaky side little by little, to not scare his darling away from him;
But he couldn't even if he wanted to. You two are attached to levels that neither of you can actually understand. He knows that, and he wants to explore his desires with you because they're made to suit yours. He knows that deep inside, you want to devour him as much as he wants to feel the pain;
Is that threatening feeling that makes his eyes sparkle in blood red. That's why there's this push-pull dynamic happening with him. It's because he's desperately trying to bring out your dom side;
That's when the second name he refers about you appears. "Miss hunter," "mistress hunter," is just the surface level of Sylus as a sub;
It's when "ma'am" slips out his mouth that you know you have this man on your hands. And "ma'am" isn't "mommy." There's a substantial difference between them. That's why every sub is different;
As an example, let's use another lads man as an example: Rafayel. Rafayel is the type of sub that refers to you as "mommy." From his behavior to his tone of voice, his "mommy's" melodic calls are a meeting awaited for centuries, it's a sign of obedience, an eager plea for guidance to a comfort place where he doesn't have to worry anymore;
Sylus "ma'ams" are pleas for destruction. He wants more, and he wants harder;
"Yes ma'am. Can you do it harder? Fuck! I need it harder!"
You're entropy to his universe. As you two reach the chaos together in a complex dance of testing the others' nerves, more alive he feels.
He teases, and he teases way too much. You should always keep attention to his body signs cause he's reckless when there's a collar around his neck. When he watches the rubies of his now favorite collar shining on the mirror, all he wants is to you to break him;
Put a pretty gag on his convinced smile. He doesn't want praises, so when he starts drooling slut him out. Watch Sylus getting hard with your condescending tone. He will keep mumbling back cause he wants more;
Force him on his knees, kick his legs spread apart, and pull his hair back. The face of eagerness approval he will give you is gonna be priceless;
Slap his skin, face with your hands, thighs, and ass with the so commented good leather toys he bought. Do that every time he shows himself unable to keep his damm hands on the handcuffs;
Rip his skin with your nails. It isn't like he gives you other options. When Sylus notices you're scratching him, he will find a way to piss you off. "I thought your nails are sharper than that," "a kitten can't scratch it like tiger after all, shouldn't put my expectations too high." Watch him hiss and arch as you paint his torso with thin red fillets of his ripped sensitive skin;
I think he's also okay with spit, especially on his mouth;
He is large and tough. He can take anything, and I mean ANYTHING you give it to him;
Shove a vibrator right on prostate and keep pumping his cock, test him to see how much he can handle until he breaks;
Because when he, in fact, breaks, there's nothing left but a dumb slut that can only mumble unconnected words â swearing disconnected sentences in its great majority;
When you finish with him, he will be a mess, head too cloudy to think as you take care of his bruises;
Isn't it like you could prevent him from walking around with little to no fabric on his torso inside the house. He's definitely an exhibitionist. Those are bruises worthy to show of, anyway, he likes seeing himself in the mirror with them, it feels right;
As he watch them fade away, it is just a matter of time for him until he starts to get on your nerves again, to make your obscene art on his skin and on his mind.
#Sylus#l&ds#love and deepspace#headcanon#sub!sylus Ă dom reader#sub sylus#sylus l&ds#sylus love and deepspace#sylus x reader#lads sylus#l&ds sylus#sylus x mc
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â painting your nails for you âł w/ Gojo, Geto, Sukuna & Naoya
a/n: reader is gn! inspired by nothing but me being very tired of doing my own nails (ïœĄT Ï TïœĄ)
word count: 1k
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for someone who is naturally good at everything he tries, Gojoâs brows are deeply furrowed as he concentrates on the task in front of him: you, your hand resting on his knee, the open nail polish bottle between Gojoâs fingers
you baited him with something sweet in return for this favor (though you both know he would have done it without it, too. heâd do anything for you.)
Gojo will ramble nonstop to you while he paints your nails; stories about his students, or how he pranked poor Nanami once again, or that crepe shop he really wants to try out with you soon
heâs really just glad to spend time with you and doing something for you, knowing itâll bring a smile to your face and make you think about him
every now and then heâll look up from your hands in his, bright blue eyes catching your attention, silently begging for a smile or some praise from your pretty lips (heâll take a kiss without hesitation, too)
the paint is a little messy, some spilled color on his fingertips too, but he did a pretty good job for his first attempt and heâs proud of himself and hopes you are, too
âyou know, you could have just said that you wanted an excuse to hold hands,â he teases but heâs not complaining, not when your hand fit so perfectly in his
you gotta paint his nails in return too though, because itâll look cute in the photos youâll take together on your next ice cream date
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if gracefulness was a person, it would be embodied by GetoÂ
the way he tucks the loose strand of hair behind his ear before he leans over the table where your hand rests, the slight curve of his lips when he smiles at you, the warmth oozing from his fingertips when he touches your hand
âthat color is my favorite one on you,â he says in quiet admiration, knowing he was the one who picked it out for you a little while agoÂ
Geto paints your nails with a love for detail, taking his sweet time because it means he gets to spend precious minutes of your day togetherÂ
âactually, i think you should come sit here,â he smiles once heâs done with one hand and pats his lap, waiting till you sit down comfortably with your back resting against his broad frameÂ
a few kisses on the side of your neck before he rests his chin on your shoulder, now focusing his attention to your other hand to carefully paint your nailsÂ
you feel the soft chuckles in his chest when he notices the slight raise of your heart rate from being this close to him
how awful that youâre gonna have to stay in his lap for plenty of time until your nail polish dries up, and even after that heâll apply one or two layers of top coat âjust to be sureâ, a foul excuse to forget the world outside for a little while when he has everything he needs right here in his arms
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four arms and hands to help you with, how efficient!
Sukuna merely raises an eyebrow when you ask him for help, knowing youâre perfectly capable of painting your nails yourself, but he certainly enjoys the feeling of you being in need of him
heâs painting your nails black to match his, no questions asked
âso fucking tiny,â he mumbles under his breath while taking your hand in his to keep it still and steady, his thumb running over the back of your hand
Sukuna is very focused on his task, you can easily tell by the pink of his tongue poking out from between his lips; both on his face and on his tummy
heâs the King of Curses, of course he has to make sure your nails are painted perfectly, his S/O canât look any less dapper than him. now that he thinks about it, heâs gonna let Uraume tailor you some new clothes too that go along well with his
once Sukuna is done, he keeps your hands in his for a little longer, under the excuse of making sure the nail polish is dried properly so you donât smudge it
he doesnât release your hands before kissing the tips of your fingers gently while gazing deep in your eyes, maybe nibbling on them a little too, murmuring something about how heâs gonna keep you around forever and ever
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asking Naoya for help with a mundane task like painting your nails is such a big boost for his ego, because of course no one is more suited for this than him, heâs the best after all
he basks in the feeling of being needed and will use every opportunity to bring this up again whenever you do something you could have asked him insteadÂ
Naoya will flip through your nail polish collection until he finds a color that he thinks suits you best, doesnât matter if you agree with him or not
still, he is surprisingly gentle when you sit down together and he takes your hand in his, mustering it with intentâheâs not revealing what kind of intent though
Naoyaâs own hands are warm and soft, there are no calluses or bruises; they are the hands of someone who usually lets others work for him
so him sitting down with you, painting your nails for youâitâs special
someone who draws an effortless eyeliner like Naoya does also has no trouble in painting your nails evenly without spilling anything
he wonât say it out loud, but he does enjoy the way youâre sitting so close to him, watching every move of him and holding still so obediently
Naoya doesnât work for free, so you will have to kiss him and praise him after every nail he painted to keep him satisfied and motivated
#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#sukuna x reader#naoya x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#geto suguru#gojo satoru#naoya zenin#ryomen sukuna#jjk fluff#jjk headcanons#jjk imagines#jjk scenarios#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#naoya zen'in x reader#jjk x you#jjk x gender neutral reader
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hi!! i love your writing! i was wondering if you could do how arcane characters would react to their partner looking really good??
OMG YES, LETâS GO. Youâre serving looks, and these characters are LOSING it.
Jinx
Jinx is walking into the room, probably rambling about some crazy plan she has to blow something up, but then she sees you. Full stop. Like, rewind sound effects stop. Her jaw drops, her eyes go wide, and sheâs just standing there with a completely dumbfounded look on her face.
âWHO LET YOU LOOK LIKE THAT?!â she yells, pointing at you like itâs your fault. And then, without waiting for an answer, sheâs giggling and spinning around you like a little tornado, tugging at your outfit and gushing about how good you look. But itâs Jinx, so sheâll probably throw in something like:
âI could never wear thatâIâd blow it up in five minutes. BUT YOU?! Youâre, like, my shiny bombshell baby now!â
Vi
Okay, so Vi acts all tough and cool, right? But when she sees you? Girl is GONE. She leans back in her chair, smirks, and tries to play it cool.
âDamn, babe, whereâs the fire? Oh waitâitâs YOU.â
She totally thinks sheâs being smooth, but her ears are turning red, and she cannot stop staring. Sheâll make some excuse to touch you, too, like fixing a stray hair or adjusting your jacket, just so she can get a closer look.
âYouâre killinâ me here,â she mutters under her breath, and yeah, sheâs absolutely whipped.
Sevika
You walk into the bar looking too good, and Sevikaâs mid-drink when she sees you. She chokes. Like, literally sputters into her glass because she was NOT READY. She tries to recover, clears her throat, and narrows her eyes at you like you did this on purpose.
âAlright, who are you trying to impress?â she teases, but her voice is all low and growly, and sheâs totally jealous of anyone else who gets to see you looking like this.
If youâre lucky, sheâll slide an arm around your waist and pull you close, her mechanical arm whirring a little as she leans in to murmur, âYou keep lookinâ like that, Iâm gonna have to start a fight just to keep peopleâs eyes off you.â
Silco
Silcoâs usually composed, right? All cold, calculating power. But when he sees you, he goes silent. Like, dead silent. His heterochromatic eyes narrow just slightly, and you can tell heâs looking you over, taking in everything.
âImpressive,â he finally says, his voice smooth but with just enough edge to send a shiver down your spine. He doesnât say more because he knows you know exactly what heâs thinking, but the way his hand lingers on your arm when he passes you? Yeah, youâve officially ruined his ability to focus for the rest of the day.
Vander
Vander is polishing a glass behind the bar when you walk in, and the man literally freezes. The glass slips from his hand, clattering onto the counter, and for a moment, heâs just staring at you with this big, goofy grin on his face.
âLook at you,â he says, his voice all warm and soft, like he canât believe his luck. Heâs not one to gush, but youâll catch him sneaking glances at you all night, shaking his head like, How did I get so lucky?
And when you catch him staring, heâll just laugh and say, âCan you blame me?â
Ekko
Ekkoâs mid-sentence when you walk in, and he just stops talking. Like, whatever he was saying? Gone. Deleted. Replaced by you.
âUhâŠdamn.â He runs a hand through his hair, trying to figure out what to do with himself, because holy crap, youâre stunning. âOkay, but why are you trying to flex on me like this?â
Heâll pretend to pout for like two seconds before breaking into this huge grin and pulling you into a quick spin. âYou look incredible. Seriously. Youâre making it really hard for me to focus.â
Jayce
Jayce is a talker, so the moment he sees you, heâs throwing out compliments like confetti.
âWow. JustâŠwow. Is this legal? Youâre stunning. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Should I keep going? Because I could keep going.â
Heâs like a golden retriever, so excited and genuinely in awe, and heâll definitely try to take like 50 pictures of you, âfor science,â but really just because he canât get over how good you look.
Viktor
Oh, Viktor is a mess. Like, full-on short-circuiting. He notices you immediately, but heâs so shy about it, he pretends to be focused on his work, even though the pen in his hand is hovering three inches above the page.
âYou, uhâŠyou look very nice,â he finally mumbles, his face going completely red. But when you catch him staring (because heâs DEFINITELY staring), heâll push up his glasses and awkwardly add, âI mean, you always do, but tonight, especiallyâŠuhâŠâ
Just kiss him already. The poor man canât handle it.
Caitlyn
Caitlynâs the type to notice right away but say nothingâat first. Sheâll just smile, that soft little oh, youâve outdone yourself this time smile, and let you catch her admiring you.
âYou look incredible,â she says, her voice calm but with just enough warmth to make your cheeks burn. Sheâll offer you her arm, all proper and elegant, and lead you into whatever event youâre attending, acting like itâs your moment to shine.
But donât let her fool you. Inside, sheâs absolutely glowing.
Mel Medarda
Mel is a queen, and she acts like one. So when she sees you, she doesnât react immediately. No, she takes her time looking you over, a sly smile playing on her lips.
âYouâre stunning,â she purrs, her voice dripping with admiration. âBut then, Iâd expect nothing less from you.â
Sheâs totally the type to dress even better next time just so you two can be the most powerful, glamorous couple in the room.
Ambessa Medarda
Ambessa doesnât do subtle. The moment she sees you, she lets out this low, appreciative hum, her eyes gleaming with approval.
âYouâve outdone yourself,â she says, stepping closer, her presence almost overwhelming. âItâsâŠintoxicating.â
Sheâll rest a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but affectionate, and you can feel the pride radiating off her. She knows everyone else is looking at you, and she loves it.
Heimerdinger
âOh, my stars! My dear, you look absolutely radiant!â
Heimerdingerâs ears perk up, and his little mustache twitches with excitement. Heâll walk around you in circles, marveling at your outfit and making a bunch of overly enthusiastic comments about the âdesign workâ and âcraftsmanship,â even if itâs just a plain dress.
âYou must let me take a closer look at this fabricâitâs magnificent!â
Itâs adorable, really.
Salo
Saloâs not one to gush, but heâll give you this small, approving nod when he sees you.
âYou clean up well,â he says, his tone casual but with just enough edge to let you know heâs impressed.
If youâre lucky, you might catch him stealing a glance at you when he thinks youâre not looking.
Scar
Scar sees you and immediately whistles low under his breath.
âWell, arenât you a sight for sore eyes,â he says, his grin all crooked and playful. âWhatâs the occasion, doll?â
Heâll definitely tease you, but you can tell heâs really into it by the way he keeps sneaking closer, like he just canât help himself.
Maddie Nolen
Maddie is blunt, so when she sees you, she just blurts it out:
âDamn, you look good.â
She doesnât sugarcoat it, doesnât make it a big thing. But the way her gaze lingers a little too long? Yeah, sheâs head over heels.
Lest
Lest is normally composed, but the moment she sees you, she falters.
âYou lookâŠâ she pauses, searching for the right word, and then just gives up with a little smile. âAmazing.â
Itâs simple, but the way she looks at you? Like youâve hung the moon? That says it all.
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