#pink floyd x femreader

[ash5monster01]

Hi dear!! I absolutely loved your Pink fics so much! I hope you can think about doing a cute fluff on him with him saying this prompt "Maybe I am a little bit jealous. But who wouldn't be?" to his best girl friend & all his friends know he’s head over heels for her but she’s somehow oblivious to it and finds out later on!

<33

Can’t You See?

Pairing: Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, jealousy, minor angst, brief plot, best friends to lovers, no use of y/n

Summary: Oblivious to Pink’s feelings it takes one odd night to finally come to your senses. In the end neither of you could be happier.

word count: 1.1k

Masterlist

You jump as your locker slams shut in front of your face, some lip gloss smudging along the inner corner of your lip. Your eyes instantly land on the suspect beside you, a cocky smirk painted across your best friends face. You glare at him quickly, finger immediately fixing the makeup error as you shove the lip gloss away with your other hand.

“Don’t you have a class to actually attend?” you sneer, now free hand dialing your combination again to reopen the locker. Pink just grins, arms crossed over his chest.

“Free period” he explains, not the least bit affected by your annoyance. In fact he was a bit amused by it.

“Then do you need something?” you ask, grabbing the books you need and shutting the locker yourself this time.

“Was just curious if you were going to the Emporium tonight?” he smiles, nodding his head and already planning to pick you up. He’d spend all night cruising just the two of you, it was one of his favorite things in the world.

“Actually no, I have a date” he can’t stop the way his face falls, shock filling him and not expecting this answer to come from you.

“A date? Why, we always do something on Fridays?” he sounds desperate, he hopes you don’t notice. He just never thought there would be a day you actually went out with someone other than him.

“I was asked and he seems sweet. Why, you jealous?” you tease and Pink nervously chuckles, trying not to show how jealous he actually is.

“Maybe I am jealous, but who wouldn't be?" he says with the shrug of his shoulder, feigning as much of his jokester and friend personality your way. You don’t catch on to the nerves or the fact this is the truth.

“Whatever Pink, I’ll call you tomorrow. You can tell me all about the Emporium then” you tell him, holding your books tightly to your chest and starting for the class you were now late for. Yet Pink just watches you walk away, a little hurt you were going out with someone else and disappointed in himself for not making a move sooner.

Sadly the date doesn’t live up to its expectations, you now walking alone from the Top Notch in the direction of the Emporium. The guy had been kind and ever the gentleman but you never really clicked. He talked about chess nearly the entire time and maybe it was interesting but you didn’t know how to play. So when he offered to drive you home you denied it, hoping Pink was still at the Emporium to drive you instead. In fact you had wished it was him with you the whole time, that way the conversation wouldn’t have ever been lacking in any way.

“Hey, you made it!” Slater is the first to greet you, sat against the curb and smoking probably his millionth joint of the night. You smile at him before nodding your head inside.

“Our good friend Randy still around?” you ask and Slater snorts, nodding his head.

“Yeah he’s been moping over the pool table all night about your date. How was it by the way?” you’re confused what Slater means but you chalk it up to the marijuana, choosing to answer his question instead.

“It was fine, I’m gonna go find him” you say and Slater nods as you step into the Emporium, a haze of smoke and loud rock music filling the building. This was where you should have been all night.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here” Don says, passing by you with hands full of beer. You furrow your eyebrows, confused why your absence had meant this much.

“I didn’t realize my attendance was imperative” you say and he snorts, nodding his head back where you finally spot Pink leaned against a wall. A beer in hand and sad look on his face.

“It is tonight. If I have to listen to Pink whine anymore about this date I’ll go insane” he says and you keep your eyes trained on your friend, him not noticing your appearance just yet.

“I did’t realize it was such a big deal to him” you say and Don shakes his head, a knowing smile on his face.

“Wake up doll, that boys in love with you. Now take him out of his misery and ask him on a date instead” he nods his head in the direction of the boy. It’s then Pinks eyes catch your own, his features easing and form standing up straighter at the sight of you. It makes your heart stutter and it hits you then how you had wished it was Pink every time you were on a date, because it had always been him.

“Thanks Donny” you grin, stealing one of the beers and taking a swig before heading your best friend’s way. His smile grows wider and wider the closer you get and it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“Hey, I thought you were on a date-” but you don’t answer the question, your lips pressing against his own and cutting him short. He’s shocked for only a moment before easing into it, his arms wrapping around you and holding you close.

“Screw my date, I’d rather be here with you” you say when you pull away and Pink smiles so wide you’re certain it has to hurt his face. He doesn’t even respond as he intimates the kiss this time, hugging you tight. It’s then your friends erupt in cheers around you, thankful you finally caught on.

“God this night couldn’t get any better” he says and you smirk, hand lacing with his own. Determined to show him it could.

“We’ll see about that, let’s get out of here” and he doesn’t hesitate to follow you out of the building. Letting you guide him to his car where you slide into the drivers seat and don’t give him much room to join. He had dreamed of having you pressed against him as he drove around town on a night like this. Now it was finally going to happen.

“What made you pick me?” Pink asks as he starts the car and you smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek and snuggling close.

“I didn’t pick, I just finally realized it would always be you” you tell him and he just smiles, backing out of the parking space and driving with no destination in mind. He didn’t need to go anywhere as long as you were by his side.

“It’s always been you too”

[chokchokk]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 18.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Missy!”

“Me, sir?”

No wonder the economy's fucking shit.

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

“Yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Idiot, he’s only got a daughter!”

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

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

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

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

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

Ka-Ching.

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

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

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

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

And, oh, how excited he gets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

"Peace comes free."

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

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

"Sweet missy!"

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

"Yes, sir?”

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

“A Cuban, coming right up, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

"Be careful, missy!"

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

"They bite!”

Maybe choke them with their own money bills?

Yes, “Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, they give me bad breath.”

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Control yourself."

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

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

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

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

"Poetic."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is not business.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna clean me up, baby?”

“Pardon?”

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

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

“Sir, how—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything about him is so big…

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

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

“Sir!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make her louder.”

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

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

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

It is one shameless show.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Change of plans.”

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

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

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

"Five.”

“Five? Make it ten.”

“You only last ten?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go."

What the fuck?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And holy fuck, his back looks even crazier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir–” 

Wrong deduction.

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

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

"The chairman?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, sir, just… fuck me, please…”

“Louder.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BANG!

"Sir, what—!"

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

BANG!

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

BANG! BANG! BANG!

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

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

BANG!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S- sir, please I–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ding!

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

"Sir, are you—"

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

"Fuck, sir!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"San, hold her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clean?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aw, you’re so sweet, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Speaking of, brother..."

Yes, with no shame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D- don’t!”

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

“Don’t leave me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Killed?

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

Killed?

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

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

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

Oh, Y/N.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck is he on again…

“You’re making this hard on yourself.”

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

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

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

“Ahhh, fuck you, brother.”

“Pathetic.”

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

The night is over.

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

“Yes, princess.”

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

“Ah…”

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

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

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

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

“Just please, let me live…”

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

“Brother.”

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

“Brother?”

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

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

[hanmaspookie]

kokomoi hajime x femreader

summary : Koko is home late again so you decide to tease him.

cw: SMUT, established relationship, money kink, porn without plot, mention of “slut”, anal

all characters are aged up !

————————————————————————————

You have spent all day alone at home waiting for Kokonoi to get home, you’re longing for him. You even made a fancy pasta dinner, put the nice tablecloth on, poured some wine and lit some candles. You decide to sit down at the table and wait for him. When 30 minutes have passed you know he’s gonna be a bit later, so why not play with him? You decide to put on some beautiful white lingerie and throw an robe over it.

After being an hour late Koko finally arrives home, he opens the door holding a tiny white bag in his hands. “Sorry I’m late baby.” He says as he takes a whiff of the air. “Smells good.” You give him a blank stare, to let him know you’re not happy with him being late.

“Look what I got you.” He holds out the tiny bag in front of you and you shoot him a judging look. “You really think you can make it up to me with a present?” You say as you open up the bag to find a jewelry case, you open the case to find a beautiful golden necklace with a dark-blue diamond hanging in the pendant. “It’s 24 karats.” Kokonoi says as you are trying to hold in the urge to hug him and kiss him all over, you’re trying to stay mad at him. He pulls up the other chair at the side of the table so he is sitting closer to you. You lean in to give him a tiny kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.” You quitely say while looking at your lap where the necklace is beautifully sitting. “What did you say?” He hums. “Thank you, Koko.” You say in the same tone.

He smirks at you and puts his finger under your chin to lift up your head so you’re looking him in the eyes. “What do we have here?” He starts to play a bit with your robe and pull it off your shoulder to reveal the lingerie. “You’re such a little slut aren’t you? Waiting for me to get home in your lingerie.” You shoot him a smirk. “200 bucks for an hour, 500 for the whole night.” He chuckles at your comment as he pulls out his wallet. “You offer this deal to any other guys?” You take of your robe to reveal the beautiful lingerie that fits your body perfectly, accentuating your waist and lifting your breasts. “Hmm, just to the ones I like.” Koko looks you up and down with admiring eyes and shoves five 100 dollar notes in between your breasts and the lingerie fabric. “Now you’re mine for the night.” He says as he lifts you up off the chair, making sure to take his wallet with him while walking towards the bedroom. He lays you down on the bed. “So, with this deal I get to do anything I want?” He says as he hovers over you and leans in to kiss you. “Hmmh” you hum approvingly, hoping Koko will do something new and exciting he hasn’t done before. “I can’t get enough of your beautiful body.” He says as his hands explore your entire body and slowly start to remove your bra. “So perfect.” He cups your breast as he starts circling around your nipple with his tongue. His other hand starts traveling towards your panties to take them off, already drenched from the excitement he gives you. He runs a finger through your slit and hummingly approves. He takes his mouth of your breast “Nice and wet.” All of a sudden he moves of you and grabs his phone, leaving you there all vulnerable and lonely. He starts to put connect it to the speaker and plays Money by Pink Floyd, the sound of clinging coins fills the room up. You roll your eyes at this as he takes off his shirt, revealing his lean body. “Come on Koko, I need you.”

You say as you start to reach over to his pants to unbuckle his pants. “You’re so needy. Can’t even wait a little huh?” You immediately pull his pants down to reveal his huge cock, rock hard and dripping. You lick away the pre-cum. “You’re mine for the night so do as I say.” He says as he grabs you by the waist and flips you over quickly, you yelp by the sudden action. Koko taking you from behind isn’t something that occurs often, but you like it. The sound of money can still be heard throughout the room. He starts pumping his throbbing member. “You better behave, or i’ll have to give you a punishment too.” He lines himself up with you and enters your soft walls. You immediately start to moan as he drags in and out of your walls over and over. Suddenly his pace starts to slow down as he reaches over for his wallet and taking out his creditcard. Then his pace quickens again and he swipes the creditcard through your ass. He moans at the sight of this. You’ve never seen Koko do this before. “Fuck, money.” He moans out as his thick ropes fill up your ass. “Did you just swipe a card through my ass?” You ask when pulls out. Turning over to face him. “I’m not done here. We have the whole night.” He says as he puts the creditcard into your wet pussy.

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Becoming A Stark (21)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader

Word Count: 3067

Warnings: swearing maybe

Author’s Note: Should this have gone up Sunday? Yes. Did it? No. But it’s up now so let’s just pretend I remember what days I’m supposed to upload on lol

Chapter One || Previous Chapter || Master List

“So what kind of shopping are we doing?” Pepper has a feeling that this is something more specific than just you wanting to go shopping, but she’s trying to let you broach the topic. She’s hoping that Peter finally got the nerve up to ask you to the dance.

“Um I need a dress.”

“Like go to Buffalo Exchange dress?”

“Something a little nicer than that.” You avoid her gaze as you mutter the next sentence. “I got asked to Homecoming.”

“Ah.” Pepper smiles to herself. “Who’s the lucky person who gets to be your date?”

“Peter.” 

“And have you told your dad yet.” You shake your head. “You worried about his reaction.” 

“That and I’m technically grounded.”

“Well, I give you the official pardon to go to the dance. But you do need to tell him you’re going.”

“Really?” Your eyes pop up to meet hers.

“Really. So what kind of dress are you wanting? Cocktail length? Floor length? Any particular color?”

“I think cocktail length and something with pockets so I don’t have to worry about Queenie.” Pepper turns to Happy and tells him to take her to her normal dress store. 

“We’ll find you a couple nice dresses.”

“I only need one.”

“But there’s a couple SI events coming up in the next six months or so that I think Tony would like you to be at so having a few nice dresses would be a good thing.”

“Ok.” You’ve grown more open to spending money in the past few months of living with Tony, but you don’t love doing it. “How many events are coming up that I have to go to?”

“There’s three that I can think of that your dad will probably want you to be at attendance at.”

“So can we set the bar at three dresses?” Pepper looks at you in confusion. “I can wear the same dress for Homecoming and one of the events so then I just need two more.”

“Always more practical. If your dad was here, you’d walk out with half a dozen.”

“And that’s why we didn’t invite him.” You shake your head imagining buying six dresses at once. Happy pulls into a parking spot outside of the fanciest dress shop you’ve ever seen. Pepper sees the hesitation marking your face. She takes one of your hands in hers.

“It’s ok. This place is great at doing alterations which is one of the reasons I love them. Which means we can make sure that if your dress doesn’t have pockets we can add it.” You nod as you try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Now let’s have some fun.” You follow Pepper towards the front door, feeling too shabby in your jeans and Pink Floyd Carnegie Hall T-shirt. Part of you also wishes you had chosen shoes other than your red high tops, but at least your feet will be comfortable. 

“Pepper Potts! We’ve missed seeing you here.”

“Hello Jeffrey.” Pepper is enveloped in a hug by a tall, dark skinned man. “I’d like you to meet Tony’s daughter Y/N. She needs some dresses for some events coming up.”

“Aren’t you a stunner? I see Tony in your eyes and your smile. And I definitely can think of some wonderful pieces we could put you in.” He ushers the two of you towards a couple racks of dresses. “But I would love to see what you’re drawn towards before I just pick up anything that I think you would look killer in.” Pepper smiles at you. You look towards the racks of dresses in front of you to see what you can find. This is a different experience than any other time you’ve been shopping for dresses. Usually it’s whatever you can find that you like in your size at a thrift store. But this time, there’s so many different sizes of the same dress and signs saying if they don’t have your size they can order one for you. You let your hands run along the fabric in front of you, feeling the different dresses. The first one your hand falls on that you can’t take your eyes off of is a navy blue dress that is cocktail length, with a v-neck and spaghetti straps.

“That one is beautiful.”

“We also have that one in red on that rack over there.” Jeffrey points to the other rack. You’re pulled towards the blue color, but red could be a good option. 

“Can I try them both on?”

“Of course.” Jeffrey glances at the tag for the size and pulls a matching red dress off the rack a moment later. He offers to take the blue one from your hand. “Keep looking. I’ll hold on to these.” You push through some of the dresses until your hand falls upon another navy dress. This one is a high/low dress, at least in terms of the over layer which is a gauzy material. It also has spaghetti straps, but this time it has a sweetheart neckline and is accented with sequins.

“That one would be a great one for homecoming.” Pepper comments.

“One more.” You say thinking back to the comment about three dresses.

“You can try more than three styles, honey.” Pepper replies with a smile. “Even if you say we’re only buying three.”

“I don’t want to be greedy.” You say as you look through the dresses in front of you. There are two that are calling to you. The first is a lilac one. It has cap sleeves, a higher neckline that the other two you’ve pulled already, and will probably hit at about knee length with it’s lacey overlay. Plus it has a sash to it that you like the look of. The other is white, which you normally wouldn’t be drawn towards but you are. It’s fairly simple, mostly tule with some blue flower accents sewn into the overlay. You pull both off the rack.

“That one is stunning.” Pepper says looking at the white one. It doesn’t have sleeves, but you kind of like that it doesn’t. “And lavender would be a great color on you.” Jeffrey takes both from you. “Do you want to try on some longer dresses as well?” Pepper asks.

“Do I need longer ones?”

“Not necessarily, but you could have a long dress for some of the events your dad may suggest going to as a backup.”

“Uh, ok then.”

“How about you try on the ones you pulled and I’ll pull some longer ones based on what it seems like you like?” Jeffrey suggests, noticing you seem a little overwhelmed.

“That sounds like a plan.” Jeffrey leads you to a dressing room where you strip out of your clothing and put on the first of the dresses, the navy dress. It’s fairly low cut, but you don’t hate it. Plus it already has pockets so that’s an added bonus. You step out of the dressing room to show Pepper.

“How do you feel about it?” She asks.

“Well it has pockets which I like. But I feel like with how low cut it is Dad will never let me out of the house.”

“It’s not that low cut. Plus it comes up higher here to make it classy still.” Pepper points out. “Can I take a picture of it?”

“Sure. I should probably send it to Astrid and Betty since I told them I was going to go dress shopping with you instead.”

“You should have invited them to come along.”

“I don’t think they could have afforded this place.” You say honestly. You had already seen the triple digits on the price tag on this dress and now feel guilty about agreeing to even three dresses.

“Your dad-”

“Don’t say Dad could have bought them dresses too. That’s too much. Even buying one of these dresses seems like too much. I could have gotten a dress at Macy’s for like sixty bucks.”

“Your dad doesn’t mind.”

“I know he doesn’t but I do.” The words burst out of you before you can stop them. “I’m sorry Pepper.”

“It’s still new, I get it.” Pepper reaches her arms out to you and pulls you in for a hug. “It’s overwhelming isn’t it.”

“Yeah.” You mumble into her shirt. “It just doesn’t feel like I should be the one to receive all of this.”

“Well you deserve this. Your dad wants you to have anything and everything you want. But more importantly, he wants you to know you’re loved.” 

“I know I am. You two tell me a lot.”

“Well you are.”

“I shouldn’t be freaking out over a dress. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“You don’t freak out over him buying you clothing.”

“That’s because I worked for him before I dated him. Him buying stuff for me wasn’t unusual. You got thrown into having him be your dad out of the blue. It’s a different situation. And if it takes more time to handle it then that’s what we do. If we just walk out of here with one dress, or no dresses, then that’s what we do.”

“That would be a waste of today though.”

“Not if it makes you more comfortable.” Pepper’s hand runs through your hair. “We’re doing what makes you comfortable.”

“I think…. we should keep on trying on the dresses and then make decisions.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” She looks at the dress you’re wearing. “So a picture of it to send to friends and then which one next?” 

“I think maybe the red one. I know I like the dress so see what it looks like in another color.” You make your way through the dresses, cutting the sequin dress, the red one since you like the navy version better, and the lilac one since there was just something about how it sat that both you and Pepper didn’t like. The white one might be the winner so far, but there was something about the blue one that you still loved. Pepper took pictures of both so you could send them to Astrid and Betty. 

“I have a few long dresses that I think would look good on you Y/N.” Jeffrey says. “What did we think about the short ones?”

“I think right now only these two are still in the running.” You say pointing at the two that you’re waiting to hear from Betty and Astrid about.

“Perfect. I’ll take the others off your hands. So I have three dresses for you to try. There are probably a million more I could find that would look amazing on you. But I thought I’d limit it for right now.” He hangs three more dresses in your dressing room before taking the dresses you decided against.

You take the first one off the hanger. It’s a pale baby blue color with a neckline that matches the navy dress you like. However all over the tulle skirt and body, it’s covered with little flower details. You slip into it and look at yourself in the mirror. It’s a little long, seeing how you’re not that tall, but you like it. As you walk outside, Pepper smiles at you. “That’s a gorgeous dress.”

“It’s too long though. I’d spend all night tripping over it.”

“That’s an easy alteration.” Jeffrey points out. “And Pepper was saying about how you want your dresses to have pockets. I know the other two for sure adding pockets would be easy and I don’t think it would be that hard to add it on this one either.”

“But more importantly what do you think about it?” Pepper asks.

“I like the dress, but I’m not sure if I like it on me?” Your answer comes out like a question since you’re not sure if that even makes sense. “I think it’s the color. I think it’s too pale for me right now.”

“Ok, well how about you try on one of the other ones?” Pepper suggests, not trying to change your mind. You make your way back into the dressing room, lifting the skirt so you don’t fall and unzip the dress. You slide it off, making sure to not let it catch on Queenie. The next dress is a dark emerald green color and you kind of already love the color. It rests off your shoulder and it has pockets already so no alteration is needed there, you think to yourself as you clip Queenie on. The only thing you’re hesitant about is the huge slit up the left side of the dress. Is it too mature in your dad’s mind? 

“You look stunning.” Pepper says as you walk out of the dressing room. “What do you think?”

“I think Dad might have a heart attack over this.” You point to the slit. 

“He let you waltz in and out of the house in shorts. I don’t think the slit is going to be that big of a deal. Can I take a picture of it?”

“The slit?”

“The dress, honey. You look so pretty in it.”

“Oh sure.” You smile as Pepper snaps the photo on her phone. She sends it to you, thinking you’ll probably want to send it to your best friends. “I’m going to try on the last dress.”

The last dress is gorgeous too. Even just on the hanger you can tell that. But as you slip it on you think you might be torn between this one and the green one. This one also rests off your shoulders, but unlike the last one that went straight across, this one dips into a little bit of a sweetheart neckline. The bottom of the dress is entirely tulle. You clip Queenie to the back of the dress for now. That’s the only thing this dress needs- pockets. You walk out of the dressing room and can tell just from her face that Pepper likes it too.

“That one would be perfect for the SI Christmas Gala if you like it.”

“It’s really pretty, but I also really like the green one.”

“There’s nothing saying you can’t get both.” Pepper says.

“But then I need to choose between the other dresses.” You bite the inside of your lip. “Can you take a picture of this one so I can send it to Astrid and Betty? If I don’t send them all the options, I might get murdered.” Pepper takes the picture for you and after you send it, you start to turn around to go get changed. 

“If you’re torn between the other two but you’re going to get this one, we can get the alterations done while we wait for your friends to reply. We can put the other three behind the counter while you make up your mind.” Jeffrey suggests. 

“Sure.” Pepper is glad to hear that you’ve at least made up your mind on at least two of the dresses. If it is up to Pepper, she would buy you all the dresses. But she doesn’t want to overwhelm you so she’ll let you make a decision. As the alterations go on with the red dress, your phone blows up with Astrid and Betty making comments about your dresses. You glance at the screen and read over their messages. “Pepper we have a problem.”

“What’s the problem? I’m a pretty good problem solver.”

“Astrid voted for the blue dress and Betty voted for the white one.” You run a hand through your hair. “So we’re at an impasse. I don’t know which one to get.”

“You know who could give you their vote?” Pepper says.

“Who?”

“Your dad.”

“Won’t he just freak out on the why I’m buying dresses?”

“He knows there’s functions coming up. He doesn’t have to know they’re for Homecoming.” Pepper offers. “I can even send him the pictures if you want.” 

“Ok. I guess we can get his vote.” Pepper sends the text off to Tony with the two dresses it’s between. 

P: Pick one of these.

T: Buy her both.

P: That doesn’t help. She wants to make a decision between the two.

T: They both look good on her. She can save them for a later date if she doesn’t wear them to whichever one. But don’t we have like three events coming up? 

P: I didn’t say these were the only dresses she’s looking at.

T: Show me all of them. 

T: Please

“Your dad votes to buy both. He also wants to see the other dresses. Can I send them to him?”

“I should have known he would be no help in the situation.” You roll your eyes. “Send him the pictures if you want. He’ll see them eventually anyway.” Pepper shoots off the other pictures.

T: You’re getting those two right?

P: If she let’s me, yes.

T: She should get all of them, she looks amazing.

T: Tell me where you are and I’ll come buy all of them. 

P: Buying them isn’t the issue.

“Your dad is just saying get them all.” 

“We said three though.”

“Technically you said there. I have no problem with getting all of them if you want to. And Tony is clearly ok with the idea of getting them all too.” Pepper says as you two walk towards the front counter to make a final decision.

“But I have no need for four dresses.” You say looking to where the four dresses are hanging.

“If you’re worried about that, your dad gets a million invites a year. He just chooses not to go to a lot of them. You and I can always go for him so we can use the dresses he buys. It’s more do you want them or not.”

“Wanting them isn’t the issue. I can want a million different things. I shouldn’t spend that much money on just dresses.” You say with a shrug.

“How about we get them and when you’re done with them we can find a place that utilizes dresses for girls who aren’t as fortunate?” Your eyebrows come together as you think about what Pepper’s offering. “Plus I have some that I can probably already get rid of. We can take a look when we get home.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now let’s buy your dresses and get home. I think I hear an afternoon of movies calling our names.”

Becoming A Stark Tag list: @persephonehemingway​  @iamaunicorn4704​  @furiouspockettoad​  @daughter-of-stark​  @eternalharry​  @huntective-kyeo​ @riiis-stuff​ @sunnyoongles @cosmicqueenieb​ @sovereignparker​ @bbarnestan​ @teenwishes08​ @iamthescarlettwitch​ @skyfallstilinski @cutie1365​ @a-mnd​ @youarethereasonimsmiling​ @thefemalestorywriter​

Permanent tag list: @wormonastringonastick​

[ash5monster01]

Hi again! Can I request hugging and kissing Randall pink Floyd while dating? ♥️🖤

Can’t Get Enough

Pairing: Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, PDA, allusions to smut (barely), lots of kissing, annoyance, established relationship

Summary: You just can’t get enough of your boyfriend and it’s starting to annoy your friends.

word count: 400+

Masterlist

It’s no surprise to anyone that you have Pink’s lips pressed against yours the second you’re at his locker. The boy barely reacting before kissing you back, hands settling on your hips and guiding your back against the lockers. Groans from Don and Kevin follow, annoyed that you had cut them off and Pinks attention was now on you. There was no limit to the PDA and all of your friends were close to being over it.

“Get a room” Don says, shoving Pinks shoulder and breaking his lips from your own. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, not the least bit ashamed by the small obsession with your boyfriend.

“We would if we could” Pink answers for you both, body still pressed against your own. You could stay trapped between him and these lockers all day.

“It’s getting old always seeing you two suck face, save it for after school” Kevin says and you laugh, hugging your boyfriend close.

“You guys yell at us then too, so what I like to show my boyfriend how much I love him” you say, tone innocent and soft cheek pressed to his chest as you wrap yourself around him.

“I love you more” Pink says, lips finding your own again and both Kevin and Don wave their arms, eyes rolling as they walk away from the both of you. Uninterested in watching you two suck face.

You happily and shamelessly make out with your boyfriend against the lockers, never tiring of how his mouth always tastes faintly of cherries and weed. Butterflies erupt in your stomach as his tongue trails along your bottom lip, slowly slipping into your mouth and curling against your own. When your fingers tangle in his hair you wish more than anything you were somewhere other than the school halls.

“Alrightttt” Slater’s familiar voice cuts you off, laughing against each others mouths at your clearly stoned friend who passes by.

“What do you say we skip class?” Pink whispers and you smile, arms wrapped around his form as you think of his entirely welcoming El Camino parked in the parking lot.

“I mean we’re already late anyway” you whisper back and he only grins, knowing that had answered his question. His arm wrapping around your shoulders as he guides you out of the school, ducking away from the sight of teachers.

That way he can have you to himself as much as he wants.

[ash5monster01]

i saw you wrote for randall pink floyd and i RAN to your inbox

could you please write a best friends to lovers confession with our dear boy randall? and i’m not sure if you do smut or anything like that but if it could be just slightly smutty that would be wonderful!!

Always You

Pairing: Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, language, drug/alcohol use, jealousy, emotional struggle, foreplay, implied smut, fluff, no use of y/n

Summary: You’re in love with your best friend and on accident he finds out.

word count: 2.9k

Masterlist

You wait in the dark, eyes cast out the window, watching for your best friend who would appear any second. You both had done this every Friday night for the entire year, it was a system by now. Just in time you see headlights flash out, the sound of a rumbling engine cutting off, as his El Camino rolls to a stop in front of your house. You wait a beat to ensure your parents didn’t hear before you scurry out the front door and across the dark lawn to your best friend.

“That’s never gets old” he says as you jump inside. He’s shaking his head in amusement and you just roll your eyes at him as he starts up the engine and drives away before anyone can spot you.

“It’s getting pretty old for me, I’m lucky I haven’t been caught yet” you tell him as you pull some lip gloss from your bag and drop it to the ground. Pink’s eyes glance over at you as you pull the mirror down and apply the product. He tries to ignore the way his throat dries as he watches your plump lips pucker at your reflection.

“You won’t get caught, our system works pretty well” he tells you, hands flexing over the steering wheel as he drives to the Emporium since Pickford just had to get caught and cancel his party.

“C’mon Rand, I’m so over sneaking out. I wish we didn’t get too big for sleepovers” you pout, arms crossing over your chest, and lifting your breasts in the process. The series of actions and words has Pink shifting in his seat, trying to hide the way his pants have tightened. If only you realized what you had just suggested.

“Sorry sweetheart, but if you still aren’t gonna admit to your parents that you party then you’re stuck with our plan” he tells you and you finally eye him up and down, the nice purple shirt on his form and the tight cream bell bottoms.

“Who you all dolled up for? Simone?” you ask as you wiggle your eyebrows, your teasing and suggestive tone making him roll his eyes at you. You ignore the jealousy that burns in your stomach, the desire to be the one he actually dresses up for. Little did you know, it was you.

“No not Simone, we’re just talking” he says and it sounds unsure, like that might even be the wrong choice of words for the little blonde girl he had somehow obtained. In fact he had quite forgotten about her until now, not even remembering he said they’d meet up at some point tonight.

“Either way you look handsome Pinky, I’d swoon” you tease him, digging in your bag for the joint you had stashed away earlier. Your words are true but he doesn’t know that.

“Please don’t call me Pinky. I prefer Rand or Randall even over that” he begs, you being the only one to still call him by his given name. Comes with the territory of being best friends though. You knew him long before he was ever Pink.

“Oh little Pinky is grumpy” you tease in a sing song baby voice, poking his shoulder and scooting closer along the front seat. He chuckles, knowing you’re only messing.

“You gonna light that joint or what?” he finally asks and you giggle, hands retrieving your lighter before flicking the ignite. Pink watches as you wrap your glossed lips around the end and light it in the dark of the car. The flame illuminates your face bright enough to remind him how gorgeous you truly are.

“Whoo, that’s a strong one” you say, voice thick with the smoke and Pink smiles as you pass it to him and he puts his lips where yours just were. He’s certain this is the closest he’ll ever get to kissing you.

You pass the joint back and forth the whole ride to the Emporium, each pass getting you closer and closer to him on the seat. By the time there’s only a roach to share between you, your thigh is pressed tightly against his own. His whole body buzzes with the sensation of you against him and the weed. He’s actually disappointed to see the Emporium come into view while he pulls into a parking spot.

“You want a beer?” you ask, head turning to face him and the closeness doesn’t go unnoticed by either of you. Pink takes a moment to study the deep color of your eyes before nodding.

“Sure, let me give you some cash” he says, digging in his pocket and you finally spot the remnants of your sparkly lip gloss stuck to the corner of his lip from your shared joint. As he frees some bills you giggle and use your thumb to brush it away, causing him to freeze.

“I guess I should’ve waited to apply my lipgloss after we shared a joint, wouldn’t want our friends thinking we were hiding something” you say, chest tightening and wishing he would admit his feelings for you. Tell you he didn’t care what his friends thought and kiss you for real. You wished you never dared to cross the best friend line.

“Maybe I just decided to start wearing makeup” Pink finally says when he realizes it’s taken him too long to answer. Why could he be confident around every girl but you?

“I’ll go grab some drinks, don’t start a game of pool without me” you tell him and in a flash you’ve slid out the car, waving and smiling at your friends who cheer and greet you. Pink waits till you’re inside the liquor store before taking a few moments to collect himself.

“Hey man” Wooderson is the first to greet him as he steps out the car. Pink smiles, greeting him with a handshake before leaning up against the wall beside him.

“Man that girl of yours has gotten real cute” he grins, eyes still cast in the direction of the liquor store where you had just disappeared into.

“Not my girl” Pink mutters despite everything in him going against it and the older guy snorts, foot wedging up to press against the wall behind him.

“Still cute” he says and Pink chuckles, hoping it’ll mask the jealousy he carries over other men being into you. He knew Wooderson would leave you alone, he wouldn’t dare mess with a girl he knew Pink cared for so much. It still didn’t change the fact it made his chest burn.

As if on cue you exit the liquor store, smile wide on your face, as you carry two cases of his favorite beer. Pink’s stomach flutters at the sight, watching as you cross the parking lot and dump both cases in the truck bed of his car. You’re so gorgeous, and you knew him better than anyone, a girl hand crafted for him. If only he wasn’t so afraid of losing you.

“Thirsty?” you ask, hands freeing two of the beers and holding them up for him to see.

“You got one for me doll?” Wooderson calls out and you laugh, shaking your head at your overly flirty friend.

“Depends on how much Pink likes you?” you call back and Wooderson pouts at Pink almost instantly. Your bestfriend just sighs and gives you a nod which makes you grab a third beer before approaching them both.

“Thanks” Pink says, arm coming to wrap around your shoulders and pull you against him. You don’t fight it, leaning into his embrace as you open your beer and take a swig.

“Can’t believe we’re officially seniors” you say as another load of classmates pull into the parking lot and hop out. Pink smiles, knowing all day he felt like a King about everything but one. You.

“Enjoy it” is all Wooderson says and you both nod, accepting these words and knowing there was only one shot to embrace this moment as it was. That’s why in your head, you’re certain you’ll tell Pink how you feel before the end of summer, hell maybe even tonight.

As always the chaos of the night ensues and without fail you manage to still find a way to party. You’re unsure how much alcohol you’ve consumed, you just know it was a lot. At least enough to give you the small buzz you were currently sporting. It was the very reason Pink had laid down a blanket in the bed of his truck and had laid you in it with the promise of returning. He holds up his end of the bargain when the suspension of the Camino dips down with him lifting his body weight into it.

“Sorry, had to say goodbye to Simone” and maybe it’s the alcohol, you want to blame the alcohol, when your face scrunches up with something he can only read as disgust.

“If you wanted to take her home you should’ve just left me with Cynthia, I can handle myself” you say, voice clipped and eyes cast on the bright stars of the Texas sky above you.

“I’m not leaving you, besides I didn’t want to take her home” Pink assures you, heart racing at the idea of you being jealous. If it wasn’t for the alcohol in your system he’d swear it was.

“Yeah okay” you snort, shaking your head and trying to ignore the cool night air on your skin. The sounds of engines starting and rumbling away surrounding you both.

“What’s your deal? I thought you liked Simone?” Pink finally asked, rolling to his side to face you and you smile despite not being amused.

“I do like Simone I just don’t like her for you” you say, a bit exasperated and a little tired of keeping all these feelings at bay when they’re begging to burst out of you.

“Why? Why not? She’s a good girl, just like the rest” he argues back and the fire ignites inside you, annoyance and anger bubbling over.

“Because Rand, because no one is good enough for you. No one would ever deserve to love you, not even me-” your mouth snaps shut, words moving faster than your mind and it reels as you try to comprehend what you just said to him. What you may of just admitted.

“What?” Pink says, blinking as the words you just said sinks in. You instantly start shaking your head, panic spreading over your entire body, realizing your plan came true without being planned.

“I didn’t mean, I- I’m sorry-” you blubber, words suddenly not coming to you or forming, much different than how they had just spit out of you. Yet it doesn’t matter because Pink’s hand is falling on your cheek, holding your head to face him. His expression is unreadable and the panic makes you want to flee.

“You deserve me, just as much as I deserve you” he says slowly, wanting you to understand what he’s saying. Your eyes are wide and when you can’t get your mouth to open and say anything, he’s leaning forwarding and pressing it against his own.

You gasp lightly but he keeps you close until you realize this is really happening. Slowly you kiss him back, realizing in this very moment you’re actually kissing your best friend. The excitement hits you all at once and you grasp at his shoulders tightly, kissing him feverishly. When Pink notices your eagerness he glides his tongue along the seam of your lips and you let him in without hesitation. The second his tongue curls against your own you find yourself climbing into his lap, searching for a better and more controlled angle to make out with him.

“Careful baby” he warns against your lips as you grind down on him. Yet the confidence from the alcohol and the desire for him is controlling your actions.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you muse as his lips travel along your jaw and down your neck. He smiles against your skin, grunting when you grind down on him again.

When his lips find that sensitive spot on your neck you trail your hand down his chest, fingers grazing his bare skin in his shirt that had been further and further unbuttoned throughout the entirety of the night. When you reach his abdomen his stomach jumps and finally he pulls away from you.

“Wait, is it true? You really have feelings for me?” he asks, wanting to make sure he hadn’t misinterpreted or worse taken advantage of you in your tipsy state. You smile as you admire the sparkly lip gloss that now covers his own lips shamelessly.

“Yes Pinky, for a long time. I just never had the courage to say anything” you tell him, hands stabilizing yourself on his chest. He grins wide, hands tightening on your hips and the action makes you grind against him again.

“Me too” he admits, a soft blush covering his cheeks and you don’t fight the urge to lean down and kiss each of them. Yet the new angle has you able to feel his length perfectly in those tight pants of his. You use the opportunity to kiss his lips as you grind against him again. His hands tighten somehow even more on your hips and you love the idea of being able to see where his hands had been tomorrow.

“I didn’t know you liked me this much Pinky” you say using the embarrassing nickname he hadn’t felt the need to correct with you above him like this.

“You have no idea” he mutters a little breathless and a little nervous. This is all he ever wanted and now he didn’t possibly want to screw it up.

“How have I never noticed?” you muttered, not looking particularly for an answer, before kissing him deeply again. You shiver when his hands push up your shirt, large palms gliding against your bare back. When he reaches the clasp of your bra you grind against him, indicating he had full permission to take it off. He doesn’t waste a second, the material loosening and slipping down your shoulders.

Realizing you don’t want to get caught without your shirt you slip the straps off your arms and pull it out of under your clothes. Pink watches as you toss it up by his head and he gulps, his hands moving from your back and under the fabric that laid over your chest. Your lips meet his own again when he finally grasps your breasts and you realize fairly quickly you need to get him out of his pants as soon as possible.

Pink lets out a small squeak, your mouth muffling the noise, as your hands reach down and start fumbling with the button of his pants. He grips tighter at your breasts and it makes you whimper against him. You’re both so lost in each other you can’t believe it’s taken you this long to ever admit your feelings for him. As soon as you slide his zipper down you feel his length twitch against your palm and you grin against his lips. Slowly you slide your fingers against him, dipping into the pants you hoped to get off of him.

“Hey we’re going to the 50 yard line to smoke, you guys in?!” Don’s voice bellows out, hands slapping against the bed of the truck. You jump off of Pink quickly, hand sliding out of his pants, as Don rounds the back of the vehicle. A sly grin cracks along his face as he notices the heavy breaths Pink lets out and the open fly of his pants. When he spots you with glazed eyes and swollen lips it only confirms his suspicions.

“Yeah we’ll come” Pink answers, eyes glancing at you and back at his buddy. Don chuckles, a finger pointing between you both.

“Best friends my ass” is all he says before he starts walking back the way he came, probably in search of Shavonne.

“We’ll meet you there” Pink calls out and Don waves a hand, amusement covered his features as he stalks away from you both.

“You think he knows?” you ask in a joking tone and Pink laughs as he falls back against the bed of the truck, eyes cast to the sky.

“Yeah, he knows” Pink confirms before turning his head and looking you in the eye. All he can think about is how beautiful you are, eyes full of adoration knowing he finally has you the way he has always wanted you.

“Guess we better go to the 50 yard line” you say softly, hand coming to brush some of the long hair out of his face and Pink smiles as he turns his head and kisses your palm.

“I guess so, sleepover at mine after?” he asks, a smile he struggles to hold back tugging on his face. You laugh as you remember the conversation from earlier and slowly nod.

“Yeah, I like that plan” you agree and he grins widely before capturing your lips in a kiss then hopping out the back of the truck. He holds a hand out for you to join him and you don’t hesitate in taking it as you both slide into the car.

In this moment, your life was everything you wanted it to be.

[ash5monster01]

Hi, can I request cuddling and falling asleep with Randall pink Floyd?❤️🖤

Only Comfort

Pairing: Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, insomnia, anxiety, mentions of drugs/alcohol, friends to lovers

Summary: It’s not unknown to your friends that you struggle to sleep, insomnia being your biggest curse and the number one reason you’re the most fun to party with. Yet one night spent with Pink you discover he just might be the key to getting some rest.

word count: 1.9k

Masterlist

You couldn’t believe it. It was your senior year, a Friday night, but suddenly all your friends were too tired to party. As much as you understood where they were coming from, how you all had been doing the same thing every weekend, a part of you still wished they’d agree to go out. Mainly because it was the only time your nights weren’t so lonely. Sleep never coming to you in the late hours and emptiness filling the void. Weekends with nights that never ended was where you thrived so the idea of a Friday night spent home alone was the worst form of torture to you. A nightmare to be exact.

Pink doesn’t miss the panic on your face, how an anxious hand reaches to pick at the rips in your jeans. You’re uneasy all because no one felt like hanging out tonight. He knew you struggled with sleep, pretty much everyone did, considering that even when they got tired you were still ready to go. He just didn’t know it bothered you so much, made you this nervous to not be surrounded by a little life. So he jumps to attention before you spiral too hard.

“I’ll hang out with you, we can let these guys get their beauty sleep” Pink says, hand clasping over your shoulder and he can feel how you immediately relax at his recovery. You offer him a thankful smile and Pink decides it’s worth it to lose a little more sleep.

That’s how you find yourself in the passenger seat of Pinks El Camino after football practice. His hair was still damp from the locker room shower but he looked so soft in this light. The sun setting and caressing his golden skin. It was no surprise all the girls fell for a boy like Pink. Kind, handsome, charming, he checked all the boxes. Thing was, with everyone taking a break from partying, not a single soul was out tonight. Not even Wooderson had made an appearance and it almost made you double check if it was a full moon. The entire earth off its axis, something had to be explanatory for the quiet weekend.

“We can just go to my place and watch a movie?” Pink offers as you pass the Emporium for a third time just to see there was still only two cars in the parking lot.

“You sure?” you question, not wanting to feel like you’re overstepping but Pink just flashes a smile, chuckling lightly.

“Yeah, why not. Apparently we don’t have anything better to do” he says and you can’t help the wide smile that crosses your face as he pulls into the Top Notch for supplies.

You make it back to Pinks house in no time, juggling some milkshakes, fries, onion rings, and whatever other grease filled food you could get your hands on. It wasn’t your first time at Pinks before, having done the long trek up to the attic space that had become his own. The room is in a slight disarray but you don’t mind as you move to set the food on the small trunk used as a coffee table in front of his couch. There was something homey about it, how everything here had been passed down and worn in. Patches covering old holes in the couch and blankets tucked around cushions Slater had accidentally burned. His bed covered in a homemade quilt and mismatching pillows. It was Pink, in the simplest terms, and no other way to describe it.

“Any particular movie in mind?” he asks, clicking on the small television set, an old T-shirt hanging off the side. You smile around a bite of french fry as you slip off your shoes and begin to settle in.

“Not at all, something good” you tell him and he laughs before grabbing a VHS of American Graffiti and popping it into the TV. It’s not long until the boy has joined your side, the couch dipping you into him with the added weight. You accept it and settle in as the tape begins to play.

In no time, majority of the food has disappeared, and you’ve both been sucked into the movie. You lasted only ten minutes before wrapping a blanket around your form and maybe thirty before you rested your head against Pinks shoulder. He doesn’t mind, actually quite content with the situation he’s found himself in. He doesn’t question any of it but after the better part of an hour you’ve rolled against him, arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him tight, which makes him freeze. Dropping his eye-line he spots your closed eyelids, the soft breaths falling softly out in an even pace. You’re asleep and the idea makes him freeze because you never sleep. Not once in front of him at least, and he’s spent over 48 hours with you before.

The movie had been over for twenty minutes but Pink doesn’t dare move a muscle, knowing how much you need this, even if you hadn’t meant to curl against him. So slowly and carefully he begins to adjust you both on the couch. Turning to lay back against the cushions and lower you down with his chest. Once you’re tucked safely between him and the back of the couch, he pulls the blanket over you both, the wrapping his arms around your form and getting comfortable against your side. Allowing sleep to overcome him as well.

When you wake the next morning you’re more than confused, having not remembered falling asleep last night. It had been a long time since you felt so rested, so blissful, and so delirious. The room you open your eyes to is not your own, and the pillow beneath you is not a pillow but instead rises and falls with a breath. Eyes darting upward you find Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd evenly breathing and dreaming away, soft golden sunlight framing his face that peaks through the sides of his mismatch curtains. It’s then you feel the firm grip he has around you and realize your own. You must’ve fallen asleep during the movie but what was more unsettling about the predicament you were in, was how easily you had.

Breaking your thoughts, Pink lets out a soft groan, shifting in his sleep and rolling into you. You freeze as he snuggles closer, knee nudging between your own and tangling you whole. It’s then you realize you had only fallen asleep due to how comfortable you had been. Pink and this room had offered you something you hadn’t felt in a long time. The idea nearly brings tears to your eyes because he made you feel safe. Safe enough to fall asleep here and feel protected. He allowed you to get some real rest that you desperately needed, wanted more than anything. As you look at the long lashes that graze his cheekbones and his soft pink lips, your heart swoons. Pink was worshipped by every girl but in this moment you swear you love him. So you hug him close before kissing his cheek, soft yet firm.

When he doesn’t wake you kiss his other cheek before peppering him in kisses anywhere you can. Forehead, eye lids, chin, nose, and when your lips finally grace the corner of his own his eyes slowly flutter open. You watch as he processes the sight in front of him, you in his arms, and kissing his face. A dramatic turn around from the friendly and teasing relationship you had shared before this. “Hi”

“Morning Pink” you reply, hoping he doesn’t move from his hold on you. If you could stay like this forever now you would, sleeping right here peacefully in his arms.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, a small crease forming between his brows as he realizes he has no idea why you’d be kissing him the way you were.

“Yeah, I just wanted to say thank you” you say, throat already tightening as you use your hand to push some hair away from his face. That way he was easier to see.

“Thank you for what?” he questions, trying not to shiver from your touch. Mind reeling in how soft and warm you were against him. How beautiful you looked in the morning.

“I haven’t slept through a whole night in a very long time. It’s the one thing in life that makes me the most uneasy. So thank you for making me feel comfortable enough to finally sleep” tears fill your eyes and Pink notices, one slipping out and over the bridge of your nose due to your shared horizontal position. Quickly he reaches to brush them away before hugging you close.

“Of course, yes of course. Anytime” he mutters into your hair and you smile through your tears, feeling so much adoration and love for the boy beside you.

“I can leave though, I understand that I’ve probably overstayed my welcome” you say, beginning to lift yourself from between him and the couch but his hold tightens on you. Dragging you down and close.

“You have not overstayed, in fact you can’t leave until you tell me what all that kissing was about” he states and you blush cherry red, having realized that your joy for him had prompted some spontaneous action.

“I was just excited that I slept through a whole night. It was a thank you” you answer, unable to look him in the eye and he snorts.

“Really, that’s it?” and you groan, the blush darkening as you drop your head to his chest.

“Fine, I may or may not have been a little charmed by you. Couldn’t help myself” you offer and Pink chuckles, hand tucking under you to lift your chin. You allow him to pull your gaze back into his eye-line.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to a few more thank you’s” he whispers, lips close to your own and you gulp nervously. Feeling that magnetic pull and the thrumming of your heart that beat just for him in this moment.

When you’re sure you’ll combust you finally press your lips against his own, hands tangling in the chocolate strands of his signature hair, holding him close. Pink kisses back just as eagerly, unknowingly nudging his knee up more between your legs. His kiss is everything you imagined and when his tongue grazed along the seam of your lips you allow him entrance. Whining softly at the taste of him and how his tongue meets your own. He kisses you hungrily, desperately, wanting nothing more than to keep kissing you. In this moment you wish to keep him, not just for the comfort of sleep but for everything in between and after. You never want to stop thanking him.

“How was that for thank you?” you ask when you pull away for air and his grins, lips swollen and red from your own. He’s even prettier than before and when he tucks your hair behind your ear you know he’s meant to be yours.

“I don’t know, maybe we should try again” and you snort in laughter, hitting his chest lightly, but he draws you near again. When his lips brush against your own you stop fighting him and allow him back into a kiss.

Perfectly content with kissing him all day and sleeping in his arms all night.

[ash5monster01]

I LOVE PINK SO MUCH OMG!! Could you do a story with Pink and the reader just like hanging out on the football field after school studying or something? I'd literally love you forever, there's so few fics of him.

This Moment

Pairing: Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd x FemReader

Warnings: language, fluff, expression of fear

Summary: What’s supposed to be a normal hang out with Pink turns into deep conversation and thoughts for the both of your futures.

word count: 1k

Masterlist

The hot Texas sun pounds down on the turf, warm underneath your fingertips as you run your hands across it. The bright blue sky illuminates as you lay on the 50 yard line, Pink smelling like spearmint and a faint hint of weed beside you. Only one more week. One week until the last day of school and you were officially seniors. Kings of the school and one step closer to a future that was daunting to you both.

“You ever think we’re not taking things as seriously as we should?” Pink asks, head turning to look down at you, his hair falling in his face just slightly.

“What do you mean?” you curiously ask, hand brushing through the turf until it meets his thigh, fingertips grazing along his jeans.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just worried I mess around too much. Blow things off, and in a year when we’re out of this hell hole, no one is going to take me seriously” he confesses, shifting his weight to his hand so he can lean over you and brush some hair out of your face. You smile at his sweetness, that caring part of him that made you fall for him in the first place.

“You don’t blow things off and you will always be taken seriously Pink. You have to remember we’re just kids and people will forgive that” you tell him and he smiles, but you can see on his face that the words don’t resonate. Giving him a soft smile, you sit up, and scoot closer to him.

“Baby, I’m blowing off class right now to be here with you” he says and you chuckle, head falling against his shoulder.

“Pink you are so much more than you’re giving yourself credit for. This is the time to have fun, enjoy life, before we have to take it seriously” you tell him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder and he smiles, leaning his head a top of your own.

“And if this turns out to be the only good part of my life?” he asks and you sigh, eyes darting up to the bright blue sky and leaning against him just a touch more.

“Then at least we did it together” you tell him and he laughs, the seriousness of the conversation lifting as he turns to look at you.

“You always have the answers” he teases, fingers pushing into your side and you yelp. Giggles fall past your lips as he continues to tickle you, smiling as you fall back on the turf, and he crawls above to continue his attack.

“Pink please, it hurts” you laugh, wriggling to escape his attack and suddenly he stops, weight falling on top of you as you both laugh together. Pink folds his hands over your stomach, chin coming to rest on them as he looks at you with a soft and loving smile.

“Promise me one thing” he says and you fold your arms behind your head, tipping up to look at him.

“Yeah, what’s that?” you ask, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. Looking at the boy who had become so much more than the most popular guy in the school to you.

“That after high school, whether we’re complete strangers or not, you’ll still think highly of me” he says, a forlorn look on his face at even the idea of losing you. If there was one damn thing he planned on keeping from this school it would be you. The girl who saw him for so much more than a football star or cool guy in town. You rode in his El Camino for him and not for the popularity, you encouraged him to actually do his homework, and work towards something that made him better. You didn’t use him to make yourself look better. You loved him and that was all he needed.

“We’re not going to be strangers, there’s no possible way, but I promise. There’s nothing you could ever do that could make me forget what a good man you are” you tell him earnestly, a hand reaching forward to cup the side of his face, and he smiles wide at the answer. Suddenly he’s lifting up, making you squeal as kisses your face, peppering them along your cheeks and neck.

“I love you, so fucking much” is the last thing he says before his lips meet your own and you smile against him, hands sliding into his hair as you keep his face pressed against your own.

Pink kisses you in a way to convey every single emotion he feels in this moment. Still some fear but a little more hope, surrounded by love. A love he didn’t think capable until he met you. In just a week you would both be seniors, you’d have to start applying to colleges, and face the fact you might not end up together. Yet right now, you were just two kids in love, kissing each other silly on the 50 yard line, and knowing that things could only really get better from here.

“We should probably get back soon, any longer and we’ll get caught” you tell him when you break apart and he chuckles, lips a little swollen and eyes glazed from either you or the weed.

“Just a little longer?” he pouts, desperate to stay right here and continuing kissing you before he pops this blissful bubble.

“Fine but as long as you promise to save this midlife crisis stuff for mid life” you tell him and Pink nods, hand reaching up to meet his chest.

“Cross my heart” he promises, hand motioning over his heart and you smile, hands sliding across his shoulders.

“Good, now come here and kiss me” and Pink doesn’t waste a second to obey your orders, lips meeting your own again as the Texas sun now pounds down on you both. A warmth that you would always associate with the boy above you. A love that made your heart yearn for him even when he was around.

No matter what ended up happening to the two of you, at least you had this moment. To hold and cherish forever.

[ash5monster01]

Smoke Sesh

Pairing: Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, oral (male receiving), semi free use, dirty talk, degradation kink, little to no plot, use of drugs, friends with benefits?

Summary: A hangout in Pink’s garage ends up much differently that you originally had planned.

word count: 1.6k

Masterlist

The garage is dim, barely lit by a half dead light bulb that dangles from the middle of the ceiling. Every once in a while it flickers but you never bother to say anything because it really just could be the weed in your system. The haze of smoke doesn’t help the lighting situation either, there’s so much of it you almost wonder if you should lift the garage door so it would seep down the driveway. It wasn’t supposed to be just you two but Slater and Wooderson decided they’d rather find chicks and cruise the town. That’s how weed enough for four ends up split between two.

“You want to pick a record?” Pink asks around a heavy exhale, white smoke pillowing past his lips. You shrug as you stand from the old musty couch and head for the record player. The Lynryd Skynyrd album has spun to a stop, the needle frozen in place. You’re quick to remove it and replace the silence with a Rolling Stones album. Brown Sugar starts to play and you turn only to find Pink unbuttoning more buttons on his green shirt.

You’re suddenly aware of how much saliva is in your mouth, watering as you eye the tan chest that had been blessed from the summer rays. His hair had gotten longer than normal, bangs hanging in his eyes, and every time he reached his hand to brush them away more of his chest peaked through. He was so handsome it actually drove you nuts. Almost made him hard to look at. When your eyes travel to the crotch of his pants it’s then he realizes you were standing and staring longer than normal instead of returning back to your spot.

“See something you like?” you’re sure it’s the weed talking, Pink is normally too kind to point something out so blatantly. He’d rather save someone the embarrassment. Your cheeks flush but the weed keeps your movements slow.

“Usually” is your response and whatever sober brain cell is left in your body screams internally. Yet as of right now you couldn’t care less because it was just you two and you’re pretty sure the weed had made Pink half hard. That or his pants were suddenly smaller than you remembered.

“Well are you gonna just stand there or are you going to do something?” Pink asks, almost daring you to make a move. If you had the normal amount of weed intended you probably wouldn’t move, more than likely roll your eyes, but that’s not the case. Instead you’re not even sure how you end up in front of him, lowering to your knees instead of sitting back in your spot. Pink lazily smokes his joint, seemingly unbothered despite the way he internally panics. Slowly your hands undo the last two buttons of his shirt and start with the one on his pants. He never actually expected you to do something.

You’re no longer in control of your body as you pull down his zipper and start to tug his pants down. Pink lifts his hips only slightly to help, a confirmation that this is more than okay. In one swift motion you drag down his pants and his boxers with it. Just as predicted he is half hard and gorgeous here too. Your mouth waters even more and if you haven’t surprised Pink already, your hand wrapping around the base of his dick does. It was your goal now to get him completely hard and finally get a taste of the guy who was the main character of all of your fantasies. It didn’t matter if you were borderline greened out, you were going to have this. Even if just for one night and nothing in return.

“Just as pretty as the rest of you” are the words you choose to mutter before kissing his tip ever so gently. Even though Pink is as greened out as you are, he almost regrets that you haven’t kissed his lips first. Yet who has time to dwell when those perfect lips are now wrapped around his length, tongue tracing the vein on the underside of his cock. It must be the weed because this is the best getting head has ever felt and you’ve barely even started. It’s when your tongue traces around his tip he fully hardens to the point it’s almost painful.

“Shit, you really know what you’re doing” Pink says while trying to keep a steady voice, sucking another puff of the joint as you bob down his now hardened length. He’s doing his best to act uninterested but at the same time your lips meet the base of his cock your hands cup his balls and give a slight squeeze. He’s lucky to have not cum right there and then. How easily you talk all of him in your warm throat.

After accomplishing the mission of getting him hard you’re now determined to make him finish. He tastes just as delicious as predicted and the way your mouth waters only adds the sensation of his heavy length rested on your tongue. The only thing indicating he enjoys this is how hard he feels in your mouth but you wouldn’t stop until you finally got to hear Pink moan. That explains why your movements speed up and you get sloppier as you continue to suck him off. Determined to make him feel good.

“You like this don’t you? Blowing me while I relax and smoke a joint. It’s turns you on, the idea of me using your mouth while I catch a high” the dirty talk is unexpected but it turns you on more than expected. Whether it’s from the weed or pleasure, you’re not sure. What you do know is that it makes you wet, knees meeting each other as you squeeze your thighs together. Maybe you’d ride him next, if he let you.

“What a pretty cock drunk slut you are, I never would have guessed” it must be the weed because Pink would never actually call a girl a slut, especially not in a degrading way, but the moan that reverberates around his cock shows you took it as praise in the very moment. You had wanted Pink to use you for so long, staring longingly at him with daydreams guilty as sin in your head. If it wasn’t for the haze you’re certain this would feel like a dream.

“You liked that didn’t you? Me telling you what a slut you are, letting me use your mouth to keep my cock warm. I bet you’d blow me all night” you’re certain he’s rambling now to hold off his finish but even high you doesn’t back down from a challenge. You hollow your cheeks tighter, hum a slow tune to add sensation, and massage his balls until you finally get the guttural moan you had been waiting for. His dick twitches against your tongue and the way he starts shifting in his seat almost makes it harder to keep going, but you don’t stop, you don’t slow down even as he lets out an angelic whine. Exactly what you had been hoping for.

“Shit okay, ah. You’re killing me” he pants, squirming and clearly trying not to cave but you’re just too good. You take him deeply once more, lips meeting the hair at the base of his shaft and it’s then he finishes. Painting your throat as you slowly suck him through his release. He’s awestruck when you finally stop and leave his length practically clean. Your face is a mess, tears running down your cheeks, and lips swollen and messy. Yet the smile you wear shows you don’t mind at all and he swears you’ve never been prettier.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself” you shrug, a sly smile crossing your face as you look up at him. You’re sure your knees are numb but at this rate it was worth it.

“Jesus, why haven’t we been doing that sooner?” Pink asks, almost a little embarrassed by how wrecked he is. He shouldn’t still be hard, he’s never cummed harder in his life, yet here he was still a little wound up.

“You’ve been too preoccupied with other girls to ever look at me, besides we’re never alone. Today just happened to be your lucky day” you tell him, arm wiping your chin and standing to your feet. Pink watches you closely, a little intimidated and a little embarrassed. How stupid he had been to have never given you the chance before. He always thought you were pretty, you just happened to be one of the guys. Kind of like the stoner version of Cynthia. He never could’ve guessed you were kind of a freak. It made him question Cynthia now too. He’s brought back to reality when you sit back down beside him and steal the joint from his fingers.

“Well now it’s time for me to return the favor” Pinks already dropping to his knees, shirt open and practically falling off of him, member still proud and tall. Your knees press together despite the panicked look on your face.

“You can’t be serious” you say, suddenly extremely mindful of the skirt on your form. Pink’s mouth waters and he nods, hands settling on top of your knees and slowly sliding up your skin, fingers disappearing under your skirt.

“God yes” he practically begs and it’s then you’re certain the evening couldn’t get any crazier, so you open your legs for him just to find you with no panties and a glistening core. “I’m such a fool”

“Why’s that?” you ask, anticipation tangling with the arousal in your gut. Pink smiles as his hands slowly slide around your form and to your bum. In a swift movement he tugs you to the edge of the couch, your skirt flipping up for more access in the process.

“For not having considered you before”

[ash5monster01]

could I request some randall floyd angst…

Why You?

Pairing: Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd x FemReader

Warnings: angst, lots of arguing, heavy sarcasm, misguided hatred, admitting feelings, fluff

Summary: Everyone held Pink up on some high pedestal, worshipping him as a King of the school. It was your job to knock him down a peg.

word count: 2k

Masterlist

The roll of your eyes is so heavy nearly no one misses it. Especially Pink who instantly shoots a glare your way. It was silly how instantly you were annoyed by him, him simply showing up late to the study hall where you sat amongst all your shared friends. They all jokingly cheered when he had finally made an appearance but you found no reason to applaud. Pink was just another guy no matter what all your friends thought.

“Nice to see you too Angel” Pink smirks at you, slinking into the only open seat by your side. You scowl at the nickname, him only calling you that since you acted anything but.

“Give him a break” Cynthia whispers in your ear and you sigh, plastering on a fake smile as you look at the boy.

“Nice to see you to Pink, how’s your day?” the sarcasm is heavy, dripping like venom from your tongue and Cynthia instantly has her head in her hands.

“It’s delightful Angel, will be even better when I see you at O’Bannion’s party tonight” his overly nice voice reacts to your own. You roll your eyes again before looking to Cynthia and Mike who had definitely blabbed. Tony wouldn’t blow you in like that.

“Good luck with that” you say as the bell the rings, the boy having nearly missed the entire period from whatever dilly dallying he had done. You don’t give him a chance to respond as you collect your books and start for the parking lot, eager to leave this school.

“I don’t understand why you don’t like him, he’s done nothing to you” Cynthia says catching up with and you sigh, fixing the bag on your shoulder as you continue down the hall.

“He’s annoying. All proud and cocky just because he’s some football star. All of you look at him like he hand created earth and personally I prefer to worship a different kind of higher being” you explain and Cynthia chuckles, shaking her head as she looks at you. After a few dates with Wooderson she had really come out of her shell. A little less afraid to tell you what she thinks.

“It’s not that. We look at him like that because he’s the nicest guy. He’s friends with everyone and genuinely cares about each of us. That includes you” she tells you, almost amused how you don’t see it. That Pink was as loved as he was for just being a good guy. That was something you were not used too.

“Whatever, I’ll see you at 7” is all you say before shoving your sunglasses onto your face and disappearing into the flurry of students on their way to their vehicles.

Cynthia sees you again at 7 o’clock sharp, standing on the curb, features illuminated by the glow of the joint pressed between your fingers. When you spot her you take one that final hit of the roach before dropping it to the cement and stomping it out. She one day wished to be as cool as you. Which was funny because you didn’t think you were cool, not even the slightest, especially as you slid into Cynthia’s car to attend a party you didn’t even want to in the first place.

“What, no Tony or Mike?” you ask, eyes a little hazed and relaxed smile on your face. Cynthia wished you could be this version of you around Pink. Not so tense and worked up. This was the version of you that had come to be her best friend.

“They caught a ride with Pink” you roll your eyes, a common notion at the mention of the long haired boy and Cynthia just chuckles. So stubborn.

“Whatever, I need a drink. Lets go” you tell her, dropping your lighter back into your bag and turning to radio up on a Lynryd Skynryd song.

The party is in full blast when you arrive, bodies of students littering the yard and clearly stuffy house. It looks like the last place you want to be but the idea of an alcohol strong enough to get you through the night being in that very kitchen was encouragement enough. So you step out of Cynthia’s car anyway and stalk towards it, the heavy music getting louder and louder with each step. More and more familiar faces waving and smiling.

“Hey I see Wooderson, I’ll be right back” Cynthia calls, smile wide and you don’t even fight it. Even if she’s left you alone it clearly makes her happy to be pursued by an older guy.

“Okay, I’ll grab us some drinks” you call back but she’s already halfway across the yard in the direction of Wooderson and Slater who share a heavy a joint. You just shake your head in amusement and duck inside the home.

Navigating the sea of bodies is difficult, especially when you’re not entirely sure where you’re going. Finally after two wrong turns you’re welcomed to a kitchen with an island covered in various liquors and a punch bowl that was guaranteed to be lethal. The only bodies were a few boys surrounding the kegs along the wall so you’re quick to help yourself. Actually a touch excited to let loose and have this moment just to yourself.

“Here, let me” the familiar voice makes you scowl. The warmth of his body to close in your space, the loose blue shirt unbuttoned one to many, and long brown hair bouncing softly.

“I can handle myself” you tell him, side stepping and continuing to mix your drinks as you had intended. Pink just chuckles, shaking his own head at you.

“Nothing I do will be good enough for you huh?” the question has caught you off guard, freezing under his stare as you bring one of the finished drinks to your lips and taking a much needed sip.

“I don’t know what you want from me Pink, so what one person doesn’t like you?” You tell him with the shake of your head, setting the cup down as you deem the drink consumable.

“Yeah but that one person is you!” he states, exasperated and annoyance run thin towards you. It brings you to look him in the eye, shocked he was actually losing his temper with you for once. You wonder what his words mean, why it made any difference at all.

“Look Pink, go out there and enjoy the high life. You’re the king of the school, you might’ve already peaked, so enjoy it while you can” your words are mean and the way he winces makes guilt swirl in your stomach.

“That’s the very thing Angel, I don’t want to peak. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life saying these were the best years of my life. I’ve done nothing but try to be your friend and it’s killing me” he says, stepping closer and facing you. In this proximity the height difference is noticeable. Pink didn’t always look like a football star but his size would surprise you when you least expected.

“Why? Why do we need to be friends? You’re friends with literally everyone else. I’m nothing special” you argue back and Pink groans, actually annoyed with how fucking oblivious you were.

“Because Angel, I like you. I like that you’re stubborn and I like that you do your own thing. I wish I was cool enough to go against everything I knew and still be acknowledged for it. I especially like when you make snide comments at me and it makes me want to kiss the scowl straight off your face!” he rants, determined to make you get it. To finally push some sense through that thick skull of yours. You tense at his words, never would you have expected Pink to be into you.

“So you’re telling me that I’ve done nothing but treat you like shit for years and instead of hating me, you’re into me?” you ask, a little baffled and trying to reel your thoughts in. It’s not like you thought Pink was ugly, in fact you’ve had to remove your stare quite a few times. Yet even you couldn’t explain your distaste towards him. Then that’s when it hits you, that all this anger directed toward him had been you trying to ignore your attraction. You were embarrassed for being just like everyone else and falling head over heels for Randall Floyd.

“Yeah Angel, gonna harass me for that one too?” he asks, seeing the thoughts flashing behind your eyes. Clearly gears were turning, trying to comprehend and react accordingly. Yet he had broken your normally quick witted brain. Struggling you’re unsure what to say or even do, until you shock you both.

A shaky hand grasps the blue shirt on his form, tugging him close and going against everything you stand for. Pinks eyes widen as you lift on your toes and seal your lips against his own. What’s the most surprising is how it isn’t weird, in fact it feels normal. Especially the way heat pools in your stomach and urges you to kiss him more. Just when his hands lift to hold you close, you’re pulling back, eyes blinking and trying to decide if that had been the best move. Your hand is still gripped on his shirt while Pink stays silent.

“I think I finally discovered an effective way to shut you up” you finally say, breaking the heavy silence between you both and Pink snorts. Your smile wide as you look at him wearing a smile that matches his own. He never thought there’d be a day you finally would smile at him like that.

“Does this mean you’re not gonna be mean to me anymore?” he curiously asks and you roll your eyes, yet this time it’s in a loving way. Now he could get used to that.

“That I can’t guarantee, but I would like to kiss you again” your honestly shocks him but he removes your hand from his shirt and takes it into his own anyway.

“Then let’s get out of here, I only came to this damn party because I heard you were going to be here” he tells you and you blush, feeling like a fool when not so long ago you rued his existence.

“And what do we tell our friends?” you ask and Pink smirks, clearly devious and unashamed. Whether it embarrassed you or not, he finally got what he wanted.

“The truth, that you can’t keep your hands off me so we have to go somewhere a little less crowded” and with your free hand you hit him softly, but he continues to grin.

“I think that’s the other way around Mr. I like everything about you” you mock and he laughs, pulling you close. You almost hate how nice this is, not hating him for once. Cynthia was right and now you could only hope you wouldn’t screw this up.

“At least I’m not embarrassed about it” he whispers, face close enough you could kiss him just as easily as before. His arms slowly snaking around your waist as your palm lands on the bareness of his chest. It’s makes butterflies ignite in your stomach.

“Now this is not what I was expecting to see” Tony’s voice breaks your attention off each other. You’re red in an instant but Pink won’t let you step away, holding you flush against him and proud of it.

“Angel isn’t feeling good, I’m going to drive her home” yet the look on Pinks face says anything but the excuse he had just given. Cynthia and the others standing behind Tony entirely amused.

“I told him I could walk, this is kidnap” but the squeeze to your side has you jumping at the ticklish touch and sealing your lips closed.

“The delusion has already set in, we better go” and he gives no one any more room to talk as he drags you out of the house and towards his El Camino. When you’re both shut inside all he does his smile before sliding across the front seat.

“You’re something else” you mutter just before he seals his lips against your own.

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Becoming A Stark? (27)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader

Word Count: 4797

Warnings: Swearing probably

Author’s Note: One more chapter after this. It will be going up this Friday. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list which will turn into the sequel tag list after Friday.

Chapter One || Previous Chapter || Master List

“Wakey, wakey birthday girl.” Your dad’s voice comes from your doorway.

“If you really love me you’ll let me sleep.” You mumble, pulling your blankets towards your chin.

“Loving you has nothing to do with it. You have to get ready for school. But I wanted to be the first to say happy birthday.” You feel the edge of your bed sink in as your dad sits down. You look over, blinking as the bright light hits you a bit too hard. “How does it feel to be fifteen?”

“The same as it felt to be fourteen?” you shrug. “How did you know it’s my birthday?”

“I’ve seen your birth certificate. I’m not going to forget my kid’s birthday.” Tony reaches forward to push the hair away from your face. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you. So if it were me, I’d get up and get ready.”

“If it’s my birthday shouldn’t I be allowed to do what I want? Like stay in bed all day?”

“Pepper will never allow that. Get up kiddo. You’ve got school to get to.”

“So you’re saying Mom is the one who’s actually in charge?”

“Most definitely.” Tony says before kissing your forehead. “Now get ready so you can have your birthday breakfast before school.”

“Does it involve green juice?”

“Would it be breakfast without green juice?” You roll your eyes, but push your covers back and climb out of bed. Reaching into your dresser, you pull out a pair of black ripped jeans before going digging in your closet for a shirt for today. Sassy shirt or band tee? Which seems right? But then your eyes fall on the blue tie dyed Pink Floyd tour t-shirt. That’s what you want to wear today. It’s slightly cropped, but not enough for it to be a dress code issue. You pull on the shirt and the jeans and then reach for a pair of red high tops. You love how comfy casual this is. The last thing it needs is your favorite jean jacket and you’ll be set. At least clothing wise anyway. You’ll add a couple small pieces of jewelry, your heart pendant and some earrings, and maybe throw your hair into a ponytail just so it doesn’t annoy you throughout the day. After a couple swipes of mascara and a little lip gloss, you feel ready to head downstairs. When you walk into the kitchen, your mom and dad are both waiting for you. A stack of pancakes are waiting for you with a couple candles stuck in them. You look at them puzzled. “Pepper said I couldn’t give you cake for breakfast so I figured this was the closest we could get.”

“Cake would just spike you and then you’d get hungry way before lunch.” Pepper rolls her eyes.

“I love it.” Nana and Pops had always made your birthday special, but this is a completely different kind of special. Your dad takes a lighter and lights the candles. 

“Make a wish.” He pulls his phone out and snaps a picture as you blow out the candles. Tony can’t help but smile at you. “So anything you want to do for your birthday?”

“You don’t have today already planned?”

“I have some rough ideas, but I thought I’d get some input from the birthday girl herself.”

“I want to hang out with Peter after school.”

“Sure, invite him over.”

“I mean outside of the apartment.”

“Take Happy with you.”

“Dad-”

“Nope. Dead set on this one.”

“Fine.” You text Peter to see if he’s up for doing something after school. You’d be surprised if he says something other than sure.

“You have to be home by six.” Pepper adds. “Birthday dinner. But Peter can come too.”

“Where are we going for it?”

“Where would you like to go?” Pepper asks.

“Can we go to that Italian place we went a few weeks back?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Tony says.

“So what did you want to do?” Peter asks as he finds you after your German class.

“I don’t care. I just wanted to be free from the apartment for a few hours.” You admit. 

“Well it’s your birthday, so anything you want to do is on the cards.”

“I could go for coffee?” You suggest.

“Coffee it is for my girl.” Peter takes your hand and walks you to the side of the school but you shake your head. “What? This is the quicker way.”

“I promised my dad we would go with Happy. He’ll be waiting in front of the school.”

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me.” Peter’s nose scrunches as he says this but follows you towards the front of the school.

“That’s just Happy’s personality.”

“He likes you.”

“That’s ‘cause Tony’s my dad. I’m a Stark- he like has to like me or he doesn’t get paid.” You joke. “Did you tell May that my mom and dad said you’re invited to dinner?” Peter nods his head.

“Already texted her about it. She said to wish you a happy birthday.”

“Aw, May’s the best.”

“She is pretty great, as long as you don’t eat her cooking.” Peter says with a smile.

“The vegetarian food she made for me was pretty decent.”

“That’s because most of it was premade.” Peter smirks at you.

“That stuff is pretty hard to mess up.” You admit. You walk outside to the sound of your name being called and feel Peter drop your hand. You both walk over to where Happy is standing. 

“How was school kid?” Happy asks you.

“Not bad.” You say as he opens the door for you and Peter to climb into the back seat. 

“Where are we heading?” Happy asks as he sits down in the front seat. 

“Coffee.” You say, knowing Happy knows where your favorite shop is.

“Anything for the birthday girl.” Happy turns a blinker on and pulls away from the curb. You click open your phone and see that your dad tagged you in a picture from this morning at the breakfast table. 

“My dad can’t seem to keep anything private. The whole world knows it’s my birthday now.” You say to Peter.

“It’s just ‘cause he loves you kid.” Happy’s voice flows from the front seat. You roll your eyes, but you know he’s right. Now your notifications are filled with thousands of birthday messages on your dad’s photo. But you also see a few pictures you’ve been tagged in, so you click on your profile to have easier access to them. Some are from people you don’t know, edits of pictures you’ve posted or the paps have, but a few are from Betty, MJ, Ned, and then you see that Peter tagged you in a picture. You click over to peter_p’s profile and see the collage of photos from the few months you two have been dating and some from your snapchat streak before that, but it’s the comment that he posted that gets you.

Happy birthday to the best girlfriend I could have ever asked for @y/nstark. I’m my happiest when I’m with you and I’ve never laughed as hard as I do when you make me laugh. Here’s to fifteen years treating you the best it should. Hopefully fifteen is when I finally get you to watch Star Wars too. You have my <3 babe. Here’s the first of many birthdays together.

You look over at Peter, who is oblivious to the fact that you just read his birthday message. Feeling your eyes on him, he looks up at you. “What’s up?”

“You have my heart too.” Peter takes your hand in his and places kisses on your knuckles. It’s the closest either of you have gotten to saying ‘I love you’ in the almost six months of dating. It feels important. 

“I think mine was yours before we even started dating. But I wouldn’t tell your dad that or I might not live to your next birthday.” Peter admits.

“I’m pretty good at keeping secrets.”

“So Peter, how’s your year going at MSST?” Pepper asks after orders have been placed.

“Good. I think anyway. I’m waiting for a couple of midterm grades to come back, but besides that my grades are where I want them to be and I’m taking my SAT and ACT for the third time next weekend.”

“Wanting to score well enough for MIT?” Tony asks.

“He’s trying to aim for scholarship levels. He’s already scored high enough to get in.” You say, unable to not brag about your boyfriend. Peter’s ears go pink at your words.

“Good to hear. If I’m going to talk to them about admitting you next year, then-”

“You’re a year off Dad.”

“I think we could get Peter into college a year early. I went early. I think Peter could do it too. He’s smart enough.”

“I won’t have the necessary classes.” Peter says.

“So we talk to MSST and you could take some extra classes to graduate early.” Tony points out.

“You’re just trying to get him a few states away from me.” You point out before taking a sip from your water glass.

“I think May isn’t ready for me to head off to college for a couple years. Financially.” Peter says with a slight cough.

“Well there’s always the September Grant.”

“Yeah that’s what you told her about when you came over the first time. I don’t think she’ll go for that lie again.” Peter says, reaching for his own water glass.

“The September Grant is a real grant.” Pepper says. “And it is through MIT. Now if somebody,” she looks at your dad, “utilized the name to cover for something else, he’ll have to explain that. But it’s a very real grant.” She lifts her wine glass but before taking a sip she adds, “And whenever you’re ready to head to college, it’s open to you.”

“Wow, um thank you?” Peter says, his cheeks going red. “I think today is supposed to be about Y/N though.” You smile at your boyfriend.

“Right, our birthday girl. How has your birthday been so far?” Your dad asks, taking a sip from his whiskey glass.

“Good. I got a 100 on my English essay. And I passed my Chemistry and Biology midterms. So I won’t have to retake either of those classes next year hopefully.” 

“Never doubted you would pass.” Your mom says with a smile. Personally, you don’t love the fact that you have to take two science classes a year at MSST, but you’re doing it. 

“A 100 on your essay? That deserves a toast I think.” Tony raises his glass. You roll your eyes but raise your glass too. “To our English scholar and birthday girl.” After clinking glasses, your appetizers were brought out. Bruschetta for you and Pepper, a salad for your dad, and fried cheese bites for Peter. As you all munch on your food, the conversation flows between projects your dad and Peter are working on, SI things, and more school talk from you and Peter. This continues through entrees as well. Your dad offers to order dessert, but Pepper reminds him that there’s cake at home.

Little did you know, there are also a multitude of people waiting for you at home. Uncle Rhodey must have let everyone in, but when you walk into your house there’s a group of people shouting “Happy Birthday!”. You look around the room, seeing your friends- Astrid, Betty, MJ, and Ned- standing near Nana and Pops as well as Vision and, to your and Tony’s surprise, your Aunt Nat standing to the side of the room. Peter’s hand is wrapped around your waist, he knows you’re excited to see your aunt. However, his sixth sense tells him that some of the people in the room, Tony and even possibly Colonel Rhodes, don't seem to like that she’s here. Neither man seems ready to drag her out of the room, at least not in front of you, seeing how she’s part of the reasons that Captain America got away. But you don’t know that. No one except the people who weren't in Germany know that. So he’ll smile and play nice, to make you happy on your birthday. 

While you’re over giving hugs to your Nana and Pops, Rhodey and Tony make their way to say something to Natasha. “You’re here just for this. As soon as gifts are opened and cake is cut, you disappear, or-”

“I know. I wasn’t going to disappoint Y/N and miss her birthday.” Natasha says, squaring off to Tony, reminding him that he might be an Avenger but she’s not one to be messed with either.

“You’re still wanted for what happened in Germany.”

“I know.” Before any of them can say anything else, the birthday girl’s arms are wrapped around her aunt’s waist.

“Aunt Nat, you’re here!” Rhodey and Tony step away to give Natasha a moment with you.

“I am. I wasn’t going to miss your birthday.”

“Is Dad and Uncle Rhodey going to send you away to some like prison or something after this?” You ask all worried, but your aunt shakes her head.

“I’m pardoned for one night. It’s a birthday gift I think.”

“I’ll take it.” You pull your aunt in for another hug. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. But today’s about celebrating you. So…” She trails off, motioning towards your friends and family. Across the room, Betty, Astrid, and Ned all look awestruck at the sight of you talking with the Black Widow. 

“Come meet my friends.” You say, pointing towards where your friends are waiting. The room fills with the sounds of you talking with the people you love and who love you. Tony queues FRIDAY to play some of your favorite music and everyone relaxes into celebrating you. You end up on the couch surrounded by your parents to open gifts, the rest of your family and friends sitting in various places in the living room. So far you’ve opened a lot of graphic tees and books. Peter got you a shirt that said ‘The Sass is Strong With This One’ in the Star Wars print as well as a sweatshirt that said ‘Friday is My Second Favorite F Word’ which got a laugh out of everyone, Natasha got you some books you had added to your Goodreads page recently, Betty got you two sweatshirts that read ‘Gangsta Napper’ and ‘I’d Rather Be Sleeping’. You’re now on the gifts from Nana and Pops.

“We thought it was time for you to finally have these.” You unwrap the first of the two boxes, a smaller one. Taking off the paper, you’re surprised to find a jewelry box waiting for you. Inside is a pair of pearl earrings. “These were your mom’s. When she went into rehab, she left them with us, because she wanted to make sure that you had something of hers, one day.” You try to swallow the lump in your throat as you take the paper off the other box, finding a matching necklace. You don’t know what to say. You don’t remember the woman who left these for you as she went off to required rehab after giving birth to a crack baby. When you hear Mom, your thoughts go to Pepper, not the woman who these belong to. But you let the cold, weighted stones drape over your hand as you hold the necklace. “She wanted you to have them one day.”

“Those are beautiful.” Pepper says softly from next to you, breaking the silence that you hadn’t known how to break.

“Right, yeah, thanks Nana. These are gorgeous.” Pepper can tell there’s something about the jewelry that is making you uncomfortable, but she’s not going to just ask you in front of everyone. She can wait until it’s just you, her, and Tony, or even just you and her later. But the Mama Bear in her wants to pull you into her arms and never let you go. You place the two offending boxes on the coffee table.

“My turn!” Astrid says holding a light blue gift bag out towards you. “I’ve been waiting weeks to give this to you.” You pull out the tissue paper and reach a hand in to pull out a pair of Mickey Ears that are sparkling black with a rainbow bow in the center. “It’s the pride ears you talked about!” 

“I love them Astrid!” Your friends know how obsessed you are with collecting new Pride stuff to have on hand for Pride Events or just day to day life. “Maybe I’ll wear them to Pride this year.” 

“There’s more in there.” You pull out a grey shirt that says ‘To Read or Not To Read, What A Stupid Question’ as well as a baseball tee that reads ‘God Said Adam and Eve so I Did Both’ in Blue, Pink, and Purple ink.

“Astrid, these are amazing.” 

Ned gave you a Labyrinth board game, Vision had gotten you some anti-math graphic tees, and now Uncle Rhodey was going to give you gifts before your parents give you their gifts.

“For you Baby Stark.” Your Uncle Rhodey hands you a box and you roll your eyes at the nickname.

“I thought my dad was the one who is supposed to be the one with all the nicknames.”

“Hang around him too long and you start up on them too.” You take the paper off and open the white box to find more graphic tee shirts. The first one you get not even halfway through reading when your dad shouts out.

“Absolutely not.” You finish reading the white print on the black shirt ‘Look Like A Princess Fight Like An Avenger.’

“You don’t like it, Tones?” Your uncle teases.

“Yeah Dad? I thought this would be my motto from here on out.”

“Burn it.” Your dad says angrily and your mom laughs. You turn the shirt around so your confused guests can read it. Everyone laughs as you set it on the coffee table to see what else is in the box. Underneath, there is a black sweatshirt that reads ‘The Trash Get Picked Up Tomorrow. Get Ready.’ Lastly, there’s a tee that reads ‘I’m Allergic to Mondays’. All of the shirts you’ve gotten so far are very you. 

“Thanks Uncle Rhodey.” You set the shirts with the growing pile of new ones you’ve received today. 

“Our turn.” Your dad says, reaching beside the couch to pull out a few boxes. 

“This is way too many.” Most people at the party had limited to one gift. But your dad seems to have forgotten that there is such a thing as limiting one’s self.

“It’s not every day your kid turns fifteen.” You raise an eyebrow, telling him that that excuse doesn’t work. “Plus these are from me and Pep.”

“Fine.” You roll your eyes. He hands you a bigger box first, one that if you had to guess is probably a pair of converse. You take the paper off the box and aren’t surprised to find the familiar black and brown box waiting under the paper. But the shoes you find inside the box, you’ve never seen before. “Galaxy hightops?” You look to your mom, knowing that she had to be the one to find these.

“Thought you might enjoy them.” She says with a smile. You throw your arms around her. 

“These are so cool!” 

“Wow I see that I’m just chopped liver.” Your dad teases. You wrap your arms around him too.

“Thanks Dad.” He places a kiss on your forehead. 

“Open the next one. I think you’ll enjoy that one too.” This box is a slimmer, flatter box and you guess it’s probably some piece of clothing, seeing as it doesn’t weigh a ton. You slide a finger under the tape to open the box open up after taking the paper off and open it up to find another jean jacket looking at you. You’re confused, since you already have one you wear a lot, but you take it out of the box and flip it to the back to look at the jacket before saying anything. And that’s when you see it. The tongue sticking out of a mouth. It’s a Rolling Stones jean jacket. You look between your parents.

“This one was all your dad.” Pepper says softly and the smile grows on your face. 

“Even though they’re only subpar?” You ask.

“They make you happy and that’s what matters.” This time, your arms are around your dad before you can stop yourself.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too. Always and forever kiddo.” Tony holds you close for a moment, before saying a little louder. “I think you’ve still got a couple more things to open.” He slides another flat box into your lap, saving the most important gift for last. 

“Ok, ok.” You say, tearing the paper from the box. You’re guessing this is another clothing item and if it follows the trend of everyone else's gifts, it’s probably a graphic tee. But upon opening the box, you realize your guess is wrong. Sitting in the box is one of the most beautiful dresses you’ve ever seen. It’s a black cotton dress with flowers printed on it. There’s a burgundy trim around the neckline of the dress as well as white iridescent buttons, and at the bottom of the dress is an almost tribal looking print covering the bottom of the dress. 

“I saw this in a shop and knew you had to have it.” Pepper admits. 

“It’s beautiful.” You breathe out softly. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Pepper says like it’s no big deal, and maybe it isn’t to her, but it is to you. It’s your mom buying things like this because she thought it was important that you have things like that. It matters to you. Tony grabs the last box and hands it to Pepper instead of you, which throws you off. There’s a moment of conversation that happens only between their eyes. But Pepper takes a breath and then holds the box out to you. You look at her, silently asking if you should open it. She smiles at you and you start to take the paper off the small box. As you take the paper off, Pepper explains. “This is something that has been passed down from mother to daughter in my family for generations and when my mom gave it to me, she told me to hold on to it until the day that I wanted to give it to my daughter.” You open another jewelry box to see a beautiful opal ring with two small diamonds on either side of the gem. 

“Wow. You want me to have this?” You can’t help but ask, staring at the ring in your hands. 

“Why wouldn’t I want my daughter to have it?” Pepper asks, wrapping an arm around you. You lean into her side. “It’s yours until the day you want to give it to your daughter.” She says, as if passing a family heirloom on to you was no big deal. You take the ring out of the black velvet and hold the gold band between two fingers for a moment before sliding it onto your middle finger, guessing that that finger is the one that it will fit the best on. “We can get it resized if we need to.”

“No, it’s perfect.” You say, looking at where it now sits. You might never take the opal ring off, because it looks perfect where it is. You look up from the ring to look at your mom, when out of the corner of your eye, you spot Nana and Pops. They had given you jewelry too and you hadn’t directly put it on. Are you insulting them? “Thanks Mom.” You say giving Pepper another hug.

Later that night you find yourself looking at the ring as you sit on your bed. Your birthday has been pretty perfect, but you can’t help but think about the situation with the jewelry and wonder if you should have handled it differently. Should you have put on your biological mother’s jewelry instead? Should you have put on both? The questions linger in your head as you stare at the ring that you love because it came from Pepper.

“So all in all how was the big birthday?” Pepper’s voice draws you from your thoughts. 

You smile before answering, “Good. I don’t think I could have asked for a better birthday.” 

“You know you don’t have to wear it if it makes you uncomfortable or anything.” Pepper says as she makes her way towards your bed to sit.

You don’t understand what she means. “Huh?”

“The ring. It’s yours. But you don’t have to wear it-”

“I don’t think I’ll ever take it off.” You cut her off before she has the chance to finish her thought. “I love it Mom.” You reassure her.

“If I had known your grandparents were bringing you jewelry too, I would have saved it for another day. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or try to, I don’t know, step over your mom’s place-” Once again you cut her off before she can finish her thought.

“You didn’t.” Pepper looks at you, trying to gauge where you are at with everything that happened tonight. “If anything, I don’t know how to feel about their gift. But I know how I feel about yours.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Pepper says. You let your hand fall so you’re not staring at the ring, but your fingers of your left hand reach to your right to twist it.

“You know how I told you she left for rehab right after I was born because I was born addicted?” Pepper nods, remembering the story you shared right after you moved in with her and Tony. “Well, that’s a story I heard from someone else. I don’t have any actual memories from her. And I have the quilt she made and now the jewelry, but…” you trail off for a moment, collecting your thoughts. “It’s hard… I don’t know if she actually left those pieces for me to have, or if Nana and Pops took them so she couldn’t sell them for drug money. Nana and Pops have told me the truth about why my biological mother isn’t here. But she was a drug addict. There was a lot of stuff that Nana would mention off hand to Pops about being gone that she missed in terms of jewelry and stuff because my biological mother sold it. So I feel like I only have these pieces because Nana hid them, not because my biological mother wanted me to have them. Getting them as gifts, it… it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Because it’s something that Nana more wanted me to have than the mother that left me to go back to the drugs that could have killed me.” You take in a shaky inhale before continuing. “But you? You wanted me. You adopted me and you gave me stuff that was meant for your daughter.”

“You are my daughter Y/N.”

“There’s nothing saying that you and Dad won’t have a daughter one day.”

“We already do.” Pepper corrects you. “Can I sit?” She motions next to you. You nod. She sits next to you, wrapping her arm around you. You lean into the scent of lavender that calms you especially when coming from Pepper. “You’re my kid. Whether or not your dad and I have more kids one day, you will always be my first born. That’s why I wanted to give the ring to you. Because it felt the way it did when my mom gave the ring to me. It felt right. And one day, you’ll feel the same way when you give it to your kid. You’re my kid.”

“I feel…” You stop yourself, not sure if you should even voice it.

“You feel…?” Pepper asks, but doesn’t push.

You decide to start it a different way. “I worry that Nana and Pops might hate that I found you to be my mom.”

“If they do, we can sit down and talk with them. With everything else you have on your plate, you don’t need to be worried about anything else. Right now, you just need to focus on staying with the things that make you happy.” Pepper says, running her hand through your hair, hoping it will calm you. “You don’t need to spend your birthday night stressing.”

“I love you Mom.”

“I love you too sweetheart. Always have, always will.”