#this hand is too fruity sir

[bsdtual]

Is he...... you know, 🏳️‍🌈❓

[pucksandpower]

Too Sweet

Toto Wolff x Reader

Max Verstappen x ex!Reader

Summary: Max used to think that you’re too sweet for him … now he has to learn to live with the fact that Toto has quite a sweet tooth (inspired by the song that I’ve had on repeat)

I take my whiskеy neat

The doors to the upscale restaurant swing open and Max strides through, his fingers lightly grazing the small of your back as he guides you inside. The dimly lit interior is bustling with the chatter of well-heeled patrons enjoying their evening repasts. A sharply dressed hostess greets you with a polite smile.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to The Sazerac Room. Do you have a reservation?”

“Verstappen,” Max replies curtly.

The hostess consults her tablet, then nods. “Right this way please.”

She leads the two of you through the elegant dining room, weaving between tables topped with crisp white linens and elaborate floral centerpieces. Max keeps his hand at your back, his thumb idly stroking in a soothing pattern as you take in the opulent surroundings with wide eyes.

“This place is incredible,” you murmur, craning your neck to admire the ornate chandeliers glittering overhead. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He simply grunts in acknowledgment as the hostess stops before an intimate table tucked discreetly in the corner. After pulling out your chair for you with a flourish, she sets two leather-bound menus on the table.

“Your server will be right with you,” she informs them before departing with a polite nod.

You waste no time in opening your menu, hungrily perusing the offerings. “Oh Max, look at all these amazing cocktails! The La Vie en Rose sounds divine — rose liqueur, raspberries, lemon ...” You glance up at him hopefully. “We should get a couple of those to start.”

Max barely glances at his own menu before shaking his head. “I’ll just have a whiskey neat.”

Your face falls slightly at his brusque response. “Are you sure? These all look so good! We should live a little and try something fun for once.”

He fixes you with a stern look from across the table. “You know I don’t like frilly drinks. Now stop pestering me about it.”

Chastened by his harsh tone, you lapse into a wounded silence and continue reading the menu with diminished enthusiasm. A few moments later, a dapper middle-aged gentleman in a crisp suit appears at your table.

“Good evening, and welcome to The Sazerac Room. My name is William and I’ll be your server this evening.” With a polite smile, he produces a notepad from his breast pocket. “May I start you off with something to drink?”

You glance back at Max, giving him one last chance to change his mind. When he simply gazes back at you impassively, you sigh. “I’ll have the La Vie en Rose cocktail, please.”

William jots down your order before turning to Max expectantly.

“Whiskey neat,” Max says flatly. “Redbreast 27 Year, if you have it.”

“An excellent choice, sir.” William makes a note. “And may I bring you both some bread from our bakery while you decide on your meals?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” you reply gratefully.

William departs to place the drink orders, leaving you and Max alone once more. An awkward silence stretches between you, filled only by the tinkle of silverware and murmurs of conversation from surrounding tables.

Finally, you try again. “Max, are you sure I can’t tempt you with one little sip? This La Vie en Rose cocktail sounds absolutely divine. You might lov-”

“For fuck’s sake!” Max suddenly explodes, slamming his menu down on the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want any of your ridiculous fruity bullshit? I’m a fucking race car driver, not some ridiculous Instagram model trying to look pretty with my drink.”

His nostrils flare as he leans across the table, eyes flashing with irritation that you would dare continue to push the issue. “I’ve had a long fucking day and I am going to drink whatever the fuck I want. So order your stupid fucking girly cocktail if you must, but don’t act so goddamn disappointed and keep shoving it in my face when I say no.”

You shrink back in your chair, eyes widening with hurt at his enraged outburst. The crestfallen look on your face is enough to douse Max’s fury like a bucket of ice water. He slumps back, remorse already stirring as he witnesses the light dimming in your eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly as you blink back sudden tears.

“I … I was just excited to try something new together,” you whisper shakily. “But never mind. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The arrival of William with a basket of assorted breads and your glittering pink cocktail garnished with raspberries provides a merciful distraction from the tension.

You immediately reach for the drink, wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and taking a large gulp — both to avoid making eye contact with Max and to sample your coveted libation.

A look of bliss softens your features as the tart, sugary concoction bursts across your taste buds. “Mmm, this is incredible!”

For a beat, Max can’t help but drink in your look of pure enjoyment — the way your eyes flutter closed in delight, pink lips quirking into a contented smile as you savor each sip. It simultaneously tugs at his heartstrings and fills him with an irrational stab of resentment.

Here you are, sweet and radiant, able to find joy in the simplest of things … while he is just a miserable bastard who can’t let himself enjoy anything without getting irrationally angry.

You deserve so much better than him.

The thought is sobering and he feels shame burn hot in his gut. Unconsciously, his shoulders slump as he watches you take another euphoric sip of your cocktail.

“I knew it, this is amazing,” you sigh happily, seemingly recovered from his earlier tantrum as you bask in the deliciousness of your drink. “Max, you have to try just one little-”

“No.” The refusal is automatic, the word slicing through your offer before he can think better of it.

Your face shutters once more, the bright light in your eyes dimming as your smile fades into resignation. With a soft exhale, you set your glass down and reach for the bread basket instead.

“Suit yourself, then.”

As you silently butter a roll, Max finds himself at a rare loss, anger dissipating into regret as the knot in his stomach tightens painfully. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration after his impressive win on the track, a chance for the two of you to enjoy each other’s company and make more happy memories together.

Instead, he’s gone and ruined the mood … again … just like he always does.

***

“Another round?” Checo’s voice cuts through the sound of laughter and chatter around the table.

Max glances up distractedly from pushing the remaining bits of food around his plate. He, Checo, and a few other members of the Red Bull team are celebrating a successful Monaco Grand Prix. Despite making the podium, Max’s mind hasn’t really been on the festivities.

“I’m all set, thanks,” he mutters, raising his glass of whiskey with a tight smile before taking a sip. His gaze drifts across the opulent dining room of Cipriani Monte Carlo, idly scanning the crowd of wealthy patrons enjoying their evening meals.

That’s when his eyes catch on a shockingly familiar figure.

You.

Sitting at an intimate corner table, bathed in the soft glow of a candle’s flickering flame. For a moment, Max’s breath catches in his throat as a thousand bittersweet memories assault him all at once.

The hurt look on your face that night at The Sazerac Room … the resignation in your eyes as you accepted, yet again, that he would never be able to appreciate the sweet, simple pleasures that brought you such joy ...

The cold, empty silence that descended over your apartment when he finally left for good, stuffing his belongings into a duffel bag as you watched with trembling lips from across the room ...

Max blinks, and the moment passes — but his gaze remains riveted to your table. Because there, sitting across from you with adoration written across his insufferable face … is Toto Wolff.

Max feels his lips curl into an unconscious sneer as the Mercedes team principal murmurs something to you with a gentle smile, reaching across to delicately brush a lock of hair behind your ear. You catch Toto’s hand as it falls, pressing a tender kiss into his palm that makes the older man’s expression soften even further.

Your waiter arrives then, providing a momentary distraction as he lays out a couple of fresh cocktails on crisp white linen — a bright purple concoction garnished with a sugared rim and a plump cherry for you and an amber-hued old fashioned for Toto.

Your eyes light up as you take in the colorful beverage, immediately wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and bringing it to your lips to sample. A look of pure delight crosses your features as the no doubt sugary drink bursts across your taste buds.

“Mmm ...” you hum in pleasure, causing Toto to chuckle affectionately as he watches you enjoy the first reveling sips.

Setting your glass down, you gesture enthusiastically toward it as you address Toto. “This is incredible! You have to try it.”

Without hesitation, the Mercedes team boss dutifully leans across the table to take a long pull from your straw. Max watches with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination as Toto’s expression morphs into one of surprised enjoyment.

“Wow, that is quite good, isn’t it?” Toto remarks with an indulgent grin, licking a telltale dab of purple syrup from the corner of his mouth.

“I told you!” You crow in delight, eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.

The pure joy radiating from you in that moment is enough to make Max’s heart clench in his chest. He has seen that look before, so many times — whenever he deigned to let go of his surly demeanor for even a moment and actually indulge whatever fleeting whim or simple pleasure you desired to share with him.

But it was always so short-lived with him, stamped out by his own stubborn refusal to truly embrace anything resembling happiness or frivolity. You deserved so much more than his constant scowling and gruff rebuffs.

As if reading his thoughts, Toto then leans across the table to tenderly capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The gentle intimacy of it makes Max’s gut churn as a feeling too complicated to fully unpack blossoms in his chest.

When you finally part, both of you are smiling at each other with such open, unguarded adoration that it’s almost obscene to witness. Toto reaches out to cradle your face in his palm as your lips find his once more in another chaste, loving caress.

This time, when you pull away, you let your head loll back with a look of pure bliss. Something deep within Max cracks and splinters at the sight. In a haze, he finds himself drifting back through the churning currents of memory ...

… that last, fateful shouting match in your living room, both of you red-faced and furious as the dam holding back all the anger and resentment and accusations that had been building for months finally burst ...

… you weeping silently as you clutched a meager trash bag containing what little remained of his belongings, not even able to look at him for fear of collapsing completely ...

… “I’m too sweet for you, Max. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

The acid words burn in his mind even now, feeling as fresh and raw as that night they were spat out like venom between you. His chest constricts as his gaze falls guiltily back to the present day scene in front of him.

Toto and you, basking in the warm, rosy glow of new love — careless and unrestrained in your public affection. Delighting in each other’s company and simple pleasures … just as you always desired for Max to do, yet he could never fully surrender to.

The display is like a twisted mirror, taunting him with the vibrant reflection of what he threw away. What he was too foolish, too emotionally stunted and uncaring to fully appreciate at the time.

Stumbling from his chair in a daze, Max barely registers the questioning looks and concerned murmurs from his team as he staggers from the dining room. He hardly makes it to the privacy of the restroom before bending at the waist, hefting the contents of his stomach into the thankfully pristine porcelain basin.

The whiskey burns on the way back up.

Max grips the edges of the counter, face contorted in anguish as a realization washes over him in searing waves.

You were the real prize all along … and now, he’s lost you for good.

My coffee black

The drone of announcements over the PA system and the dull roar of hundreds of people bustling to and fro mingles into an ever-present white noise hum. Max trudges ahead, the brim of his ball cap tugged low as he weaves through the teeming crowds filing through the airports’ terminals.

It’s just after 5 am, the start of another grueling race week. This time the travel will take you from the Middle Eastern leg of the circuit to the other side of the world in Australia. Twenty-plus hours of planes, layovers, and jet lag beckon — a prospect that grows less and less appealing with each passing season.

A warm weight presses against his side as you shuffle along beside him, head lolling adorably as you struggle to keep your eyes open. One slender hand is looped through the crook of his elbow, gripping the strap of your carry-on bag with the other. You let out a jaw-cracking yawn, leaning into Max’s solid bulk.

“I need coffee,” you mumble groggily. “I’m barely conscious.”

He shoots you a sidelong glance, mouth quirking ever-so-slightly at your dramatics. As grating as your tendency for excessive cheerfulness can be at times, he does admire your ability to shake off the fatigue and stress that plagues him more and more these days.

“There’s one of those chains up ahead,” he grunts, nodding toward the familiar logo peeking through from around the corner.

You light up immediately, straightening and quickening your shuffling steps in anticipation of the caffeinated boost soon to come. By the time you reach the counter, there’s a bright spark back in your eyes that makes the exhaustion plaguing Max’s own limbs feel slightly more bearable.

The barista, a pimple-faced youth who can’t be any older than 18, greets you with a too-wide smile. “Welcome to Daily Grind! What can I get started for you?”

You lean in eagerly, surveying the massive display of chalkboard signs advertising the latest sugar bombs and “coffee” concoctions designed to appease the basic palates of everyday people who wouldn’t know a good cup of joe if it slapped them across the face. Max scowls, already anticipating some ridiculously saccharine order.

“I’ll have a large cinnamon honey oat milk latte, please,” you chirp, as expected.

The barista marks down your request with a perky nod. “Excellent! And for you, sir?”

“Black coffee,” Max replies flatly. “Medium.”

Your brow furrows as you shoot him a quizzical look. “Just black coffee? Not even a splash of cream or anything?”

He shakes his head tersely, one hand already rummaging in his pocket for his wallet as the barista rattles off the total. “We’re in a rush as it is, and that sugary nonsense you ordered takes forever to make with all the fussy bullshit they do to it.”

You wince at his blunt assessment, shoulders slumping a bit in a way that makes a pang of guilt flicker through Max’s chest. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh … but sometimes it’s like the more considerate side of his nature has been ground away by years of constant training and calculating every single variable down to the most minute detail.

The poor kid working the register seems to shrink under the intensity of Max’s gruff demeanor. With shaky hands, he quickly processes the payment before stammering out your total. As you shuffle off to the side to wait for your orders, Max can’t help but keep picking.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on ordering those stupid drinks that are 90% milk and trash,” he mutters, shooting you a disapproving look. “Barely any actual coffee at all.”

You frown, immediately hunching into yourself a bit as you cradle a handful of napkins against your chest. “It’s not like that coffee flavor isn’t there at all,” you argue meekly. “And I have to get some kind of caffeine boost to stay awake during all these flights and race weekends. I just … I don’t really like the taste of black coffee.”

Max scoffs loudly at that, shaking his head in open derision. “Sure, because drinking just regular black coffee like an adult would be too difficult. Instead you have to get your ‘caffeine boost’ from some tooth-rottingly sweet concoction that looks like something a child would order.”

The barista shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, clearly flustered by Max’s abrasive tone. Not that he cares — he’s been dealing with people gawking at him in public for years now. What does rub him the wrong way is the wounded look spreading across your delicate features, eyes dropping to stare dejectedly at the floor.

He opens his mouth to continue chiding you, but at that moment the barista appears with your drinks. The sweet, cinnamony aroma of your order hits Max’s nostrils like a slap in the face, making his nose wrinkle on instinct. You accept your oversized paper cup gratefully, hands automatically curling around the comforting warmth.

With visible enthusiasm, you bring the drink to your lips, unable to resist taking a sip despite the scalding temperature. Max tracks the minute changes in your expression — the slight widening of your eyes, the upward quirk of your lips into a smile of unalloyed contentment. Your lashes flutter closed on a quiet hum of blissful appreciation.

“Mmm … heaven,” you practically moan, hunching over your cup as though to better inhale the revitalizing notes of sugar and spice.

It makes Max want to retch, watching you so unashamedly indulging in such vapid, artificial flavors. How can you find such simple-minded pleasure in that, when you could be savoring the bold, robust notes of a proper cup of black coffee? One meant to awaken the senses and caress the taste buds with its smoky aroma and rich, nuanced flavor notes.

“You can’t honestly get any enjoyment from basically drinking hot milk and flavored syrups,” he mutters, sneering at the offensive beverage in your grasp.

In response, you simply shift closer to him until you’re pressed alongside his body. Your free hand snakes around his bicep, squeezing gently as you tilt your head back to gaze up at him imploringly. Exhaustion and hurt war openly with the angelic softness of your delicate features.

“Max … can’t you just let me enjoy this?” You plead in a low murmur. “It’s early, and we’ve got a long flight ahead.”

His jaw clenches stubbornly, unwilling to back down so easily. Caffeine and sleep deprivation have eroded his already thin sense of decorum.

“I’m just saying, drinking a syrupy dessert drink loaded with sugar and god knows what else isn’t doing you any favors. You might as well just stick to black coffee like a normal adult if you want to be awake and energized.”

The wounded look in your eyes deepens into something more somber and resigned. Slowly, you pull away from Max’s side until a noticeable distance stretches between your bodies. Something inside him shrivels at the loss of contact. Your slender fingers work feverishly at the cup’s lid until it pops off with a dull thunk.

Max stares blankly as you march over to the nearest trash can and upend the contents of your cup into the receptacle. You don’t even seem to hesitate — simply turn on your heel and hurl the now-empty cup in after the wasted drink. It clatters hollowly against the canister, mocking and empty.

When you turn back to face Max, the sight makes the now-lukewarm coffee sitting neglected in his own cup feels like a lead weight in his gut. Your arms are wrapped protectively around yourself, hunched against some unseen foe. Head bowed, you refuse to meet his gaze as you slowly make your way back over to where he stands rooted to the spot in stunned silence.

It’s only as you draw up beside him that Max notices the twin tear tracks striping your cheeks. Your chin remains stubbornly trembling, but you make no move to wipe at the tears now falling freely. Max’s chest constricts almost painfully at the sight of your misery, the guilt gnawing at him as the reality sets in.

He is the reason for it. His harsh, uncompromising tongue has wounded you in one of the cruelest ways once again. Too strict, too unyielding, too incapable of allowing even the smallest indulgences that bring you simple joy without sneering dismissal.

For several agonizing moments, the two of you stand in silence amid the milling crowds of travelers streaming past. Max can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, knowing he’ll only find the depths of his own callous thoughtlessness reflected back at him in your swimming eyes.

Finally, you release a shuddering sigh that sounds far too weighted for someone of your sweetness and light. When you speak, your voice is little more than a tremulous murmur laced with dejection.

“Let’s just go to the gate, Max.”

You brush past him without another word, leaving him to trail numbly in your wake as shame burns a hole through his gut. He watches as your form disappears into the throngs, shoulders already beginning to hunch inward as that spark of happiness in you gutters and fades.

Lingering behind, Max’s gaze falls to the empty cup lying crumpled and discarded in the trash. A reminder of yet another instance where his unchecked tongue and inability to empathize has spoiled an innocent attempt at simple pleasure.

His coffee suddenly tastes like ash on his tongue.

As he moves to dump the neglected drink into the nearby basin, Max wonders with a sinking feeling just how many more times he’ll be able to snuff out your light before it dwindles to nothing.

***

The late morning sun bears down with oppressive force, causing a mirage-like haze to shimmer over the sweltering asphalt of the paddock. Despite being early summer, the Spanish air is already thick and heavy enough to bathe Max’s skin in a sheen of perspiration as he trudges toward the Red Bull Energy Station.

Ahead, he spots a cluster of people milling aimlessly near the entrance to the Mercedes motorhome. At the center appears to be you, head tilted back in unrestrained laughter at something George Russell is regaling you with. The British driver is equally animated, pale features scrunched up in exaggerated motions as he relays what is no doubt an amusing tale.

Max feels his steps gradually slow of their own accord as he takes you in from a distance. You seem utterly at ease and in your element — cheeky grin splitting your face, one hand toying idly with the ends of your hair as your eyes crinkle with unbridled mirth.

A pure vision of effortless contentment.

His gut clenches unexpectedly, unbidden memories of how he methodically chipped away at that very lightness in you until it was all but extinguished washing over him in a nauseating wave. How quickly he took such simple joys for granted ...

So transfixed is he by the sight of your open, honest amusement that Max barely notices the figure slipping up behind you. Not until Toto Wolff raises a conspiratorial finger to his lips, eyes twinkling impishly as he pantomimes for silence at a sputtering George.

You remain oblivious even as the Mercedes team principal slides flush against your back, looping one arm around your waist to tug you snug against his chest. With his free hand, Toto cups it teasingly over your eyes — to which you release a tinkling peal of laughter.

“Guess who?” The playful lilt of the older man’s Austrian lilt is unmistakable, dripping with honeyed warmth.

“Hmm … I wonder,” you murmur coyly, making a show of tapping your chin in feigned confusion. “Is it a dashing gentleman caller here to sweep me off my feet?”

Toto chuckles deeply in your ear, the sound positively dripping with unguarded affection. “Only if you’ll have me, liebling.”

Craning your head back with a cheeky grin, your arms instinctively wind around his neck as you stretch up on your tiptoes to greet him properly. Toto meets your lips in a lingering, languid kiss that has George hastily clearing his throat and looking resolutely anywhere but at the affectionate display before him.

When you finally part, all radiant smiles and flushed cheeks, it’s like the rest of the world has completely fallen away. Toto gazes down at you with such pure adoration that Max feels his throat constrict as though a belt is suddenly cinched tight around it.

“I have a surprise for you, schnucki,” Toto murmurs huskily, lips brushing your temple as he speaks.

You light up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically vibrating with excitement at his words. “Oh? Do tell!”

With a wink and roguish smile, Toto brandishes his other hand from behind his back — in it, clutched protectively, is a large cup topped with whipped cream and what looks like edible flower petals sprinkled over the top. The light purple hue of the iced contents catches in the bright sun, refracting a prism of soft, delicate colors.

“I had the barista in our hospitality whip this up for you,” Toto explains fondly. “After I mentioned how much you enjoy trying unique coffee flavors. It’s a lavender vanilla iced latte.”

Your mouth drops open in a perfect ‘o’ of delight as you instinctively make grabby motions toward the tantalizing beverage. Max recognizes that earnest enthusiasm all too well. It’s the same look you used to get whenever presented with any unique taste or experience to appreciate.

A look he always met with disdain and scorn.

Toto doesn’t hesitate for a second before depositing the cup into your greedy hands. You immediately cradle it reverently, as though it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held. Ducking your head, you take a long pull through the striped paper straw.

The expression that blossoms across your features as that first taste bursts over your tongue is one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Your eyes flutter closed on a muffled moan of sinful enjoyment, lips pursing as though savoring each individual note of flavor. Max hasn’t seen you look that unguardedly delighted by anything in … well, he can’t actually recall the last time.

“Oh Toto, this is heavenly!” You gush, swiping your tongue across your lower lip to catch a stray drop of condensation. “The lavender is subtle, but gives it such a uniquely fresh and floral twist. And the vanilla adds this creamy sweetness that keeps it from being overwhelming.”

You open your eyes to beam radiantly up at the older man, who returns your luminous smile with equal warmth. “It’s perfect, thank you! You have to try it.”

Without prompting, you eagerly offer the cup up to Toto. He accepts it with an indulgent chuckle, locking eyes with you as he takes a contemplative sip — no doubt eager to share in whatever fleeting moment of bliss the simple drink has brought you.

Unlike Max, who would have turned up his nose and likely received it with derision, Toto seems to savor the complex blend of flavors. Humming thoughtfully, he swipes his tongue across his upper lip as though committing each separate note to memory.

“You’re quite right, liebling,” he agrees readily, “this is delightful. So refreshing for this heat. I may have to acquire a taste for these iced coffees myself.”

You positively glow at his assessment, lighting up from within like a joyful little sun. Max is helpless before the storm of emotions suddenly ripping through him at the sight.

“Oh! That reminds me,” you chirp giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “I was talking to the barista about maybe incorporating some other floral syrups for iced coffees too. Like rose or hibiscus! And maybe we could get her to try making those fun layered drinks with the espresso on the bottom-”

Toto’s deep belly laugh cuts off your stream of eager rambling. Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him once more. You let out a startled giggle as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips brushing the feverish pulse point just beneath your jaw.

“You adorable thing,” he rumbles warmly, words slightly muffled against your skin as he presses a languid line of kisses along the sharp line of your jaw. “So enthusiastic about the simplest pleasures in life ...”

Pulling back, Toto lifts one hand to tenderly cradle the side of your face. You automatically nuzzle into his palm with a look of such smitten devotion that it makes Max’s heart stutter behind his ribcage. When Toto leans in to seal his lips over yours once more, the kiss is deep and thoroughly unhurried — as though the two of you have all the time in the world to savor this intimate little moment.

Max’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists, blunt nails biting crescent moons into his clammy palms. He should turn away, leave you to your blissful display with someone who so clearly appreciates you. Yet he remains rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

It’s like witnessing an alternate universe version of your shared lives play out in vivid, scorching detail.

In this reality, Toto is the one tenderly stroking the pad of his thumb over the elegant arch of your cheekbone as the two of you part, drinking in the sight of your passion-addled features hungrily. He is the one basking in the radiance of your bright and unrestrained joy. Celebrating each of your simple thrills, from the most frivolous of flavored coffees to the sensual graze of skin on skin.

And where does that leave Max? An outsider peering in at paradise with his face smeared against the glass, watching the warmth and affection he could never fully embrace slowly slip through his calloused fingers.

And my bed at three

The mattress shifts, the subtle movement rousing Max from his slumber. He cracks one eye open to find the space next to him empty, the sheets disheveled where you had lain.

A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells him it’s not yet 5 am. Where are you going at this hour?

He hears faint rustling from the living area of the hotel suite, followed by the soft click of the door. Groaning, he kicks off the covers and pads out of the bedroom, the plush carpet warm beneath his bare feet.

You’re sitting on the couch, slipping into a pair of flats. “What are you doing up so early?” He asks, his voice still husky from sleep.

You look up, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” A soft smile plays on your lips. “I was going to watch the sunrise.”

Max rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because it’s beautiful.” Your eyes sparkle with an excitement he can’t comprehend this early in the morning. “The colors, the way the light slowly creeps over the horizon — it’s just magical.”

He snorts. “It happens every day. Nothing magical about it.”

Your face falls ever so slightly, and it tugs at something in his chest. But the feeling is fleeting, replaced by annoyance at having his sleep disturbed for something so trivial. “So you didn’t want to join me, then?” You ask, almost timidly.

“And wake up before the ass-crack of dawn? No thanks.” He flops onto the couch beside you with a huff. “I was up until 3 am sim racing. Not all of us find staring at the sky such riveting entertainment.”

You say nothing, simply nodding as you avert your gaze. The light in your eyes has dimmed, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he shakes it off — it’s far too early for this kind of whimsical nonsense.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters. “I’m going back to bed.”

He doesn’t see the way your shoulders droop as he turns and trudges back towards the bedroom. Doesn’t see the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes before you blink them away and readjust the set of your jaw with determination.

Max burrows under the covers, fully intent on drifting back into oblivion. But sleep evades him, his mind buzzing with a peculiar restlessness. He punches his pillow into a more suitable shape, flips it over to the cool side, but still he lies awake, listening to the silence that fills the suite.

After what feels like an eternity, curiosity gets the better of him. He kicks off the covers once more and pads over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city street below. Sure enough, there you are, a tiny figure perched on a bench across the way, your face tipped up towards the slowly lightening sky.

Max leans his forehead against the cool glass, watching as the inky blackness of night gives way to soft shades of periwinkle and lilac. Slowly, the colors deepen into blazing pinks and vibrant oranges that streak across the heavens. The sky ignites in a brilliant blaze of crimson and gold, the clouds set afire by the rising sun.

And there you sit, bathed in the dawn’s ethereal glow, utterly transfixed. In this light, your features seem softer, more at peace than he’s seen you in a long while. A smile plays on your lips, genuine and unguarded, as you take in the spectacle unfolding before you.

Max finds himself holding his breath, as if the slightest movement might shatter the magic of this moment. He’s never seen you look more beautiful, more alive than in these fleeting minutes as day breaks over the city.

A rare pang of tenderness blooms in his chest, quickly overshadowed by a creeping sense of unease. He isn’t certain how much time has passed before the brilliant hues fade into the pale blue of morning, but eventually you rise from the bench, taking one last, lingering look at the sky before turning and disappearing from view.

Max exhales slowly, his breath fogging up the glass. He isn’t proud of how he dismissed your simple joy, that spark of wonderment at the little things that he so often takes for granted.

An emptiness settles in the pit of his stomach, the guilt heavier than before. How many other moments has he trampled on in his relentless pursuit of success?

He thinks of your radiant smile, how it lit up the pre-dawn gloom more vibrantly than the sunrise itself. With a sigh, Max turns away from the window, already dreading the apology he knows he owes you.

Because in that single, breathtaking moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. Someone who can find magic in the mundane, beauty in the simple things he’s become blind to along the way.

Someone, Max fears, who may be too sweet for him.

***

Max gives up on sleep around 4:30 am, as he has for the past several weeks. Insomnia has become his constant, unwanted companion, leaving him tossing and turning until the first hints of dawn creep through the curtains. On nights like this, slumber remains persistently out of reach no matter how exhausted he feels.

He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as the brightening sky slowly illuminates the room. It wasn’t always this way — he used to be able to sleep like the dead after a race weekend, knocked out by the physical and mental exertion. But lately, his mind refuses to shut off, thoughts swirling endlessly until his head pounds.

With a groan, Max kicks off the tangled sheets and drags himself out of bed. Maybe going for a run will quiet the racket in his brain, at least for a little while. He dresses quickly, lacing up his trainers and grabbing his earbuds before heading out into the semi-darkness.

The pre-dawn streets are blissfully empty as he starts off at an easy jog. He despises becoming one of those obnoxious morning people, but exhaustion has a way of stripping away one’s self-respect. If pounding the pavement before the rest of the world awakes is what it takes to catch a few hours of sleep, so be it.

His route takes him along the harbor, the gentle lapping of the waves against the seawall providing a soothing soundtrack. The first rays of sunlight glint off the glassy surface, and he finds himself averting his gaze, oddly resentful of the impending sunrise.

It wasn’t so long ago that he scoffed at your eagerness to greet each new day. But ever since you’ve been gone from his life, those brilliant, fleeting moments of beauty have begun to mock him at every turn.

He picks up his pace, as if he can outrun the rising sun and the flood of memories it brings. But there’s no escaping the vivid flashes of you, smiling radiantly as the world awakes in a blaze of fiery hues. Or the hollow ache that twinges somewhere beneath his rib cage whenever he’s reminded of just how little he appreciated you.

So lost is he in his circling thoughts that he nearly runs right into you, appearing abruptly on the path ahead. His trainers skid against the pavement as he grinds to a halt, his heart stammering in his chest.

“Max?” You blink up at him, clearly startled by his sudden presence.

He opens his mouth, an automatic apology rising to his lips — until his eyes zero in on the camera clutched in your hands. Of course. Still chasing sunrises after all these years.

A wry grin tugs at the corner of your mouth as you take in his rumpled running attire. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Max says nothing, his gaze flickering briefly towards the brightening horizon before fixing on you once more. You look … well, radiant as ever, lit by the soft morning glow. A small pang of something — longing, maybe — twists in his gut.

“Out enjoying another sunrise, I see,” he says at last, nodding towards the camera.

You glance down at it fondly. “Well, you know how it is. I have to capture them while I can.” A teasing lilt edges into your voice. “Not all of us are night owls.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’ll never understand what’s so fascinating about watching the same thing happen day after day.”

“But that’s just it — each one is different. Unique and fleeting and … breathtaking.” Your eyes spark with that gentle wonderment he remembers so well, the sight sending a tremor through his chest. “Like getting a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth, but it’s one you’ll never see again.”

You trail off with a small shake of your head, seemingly at a loss to put the feeling into words. Max doesn’t need the explanation — he’s seen that look of childlike awe on your face more times than he can count.

An awkward silence stretches between you, laden with the weight of history and unspoken apologies. You shift your stance, mouth opening as if to say something more.

But Max cuts you off before you can get the words out, unable to bear whatever sentiments might cross those sweet lips of yours. “Toto not joining you this time?” He asks gruffly.

Your expression softens into a fond smile, and it’s like a physical blow to Max’s sternum. He knows that look, has been on the receiving end of it more times than he cares to remember. The way your entire being seems to brighten when you so much as think about someone you love.

“Ah, you know Toto — he’s more of a sunset person,” you say with a light laugh. “I’ve never been able to drag his grumpy butt out of bed for a sunrise.”

Even as his insides curdle with jealousy, Max can’t help the quirk of his lips at the mental image. He could all too easily picture Toto swatting irritably at you, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape the blasted sun.

“But we make it work,” you continue, that loving glow refusing to dim from your eyes. “I take photos of the sunrise to share with him later. And he does the same with the sunsets for me. That way, we both get to experience it in a way.”

The gentle sound of your voice washes over Max like a salve, momentarily easing the tangled knot of regret and longing that’s taken up permanent residence inside him. He watches, transfixed, as the early morning light bathes you in ethereal radiance.

In that moment, he sees it so clearly — the depth of give and take in your relationship with Toto. The effort, large and small, that you both put into nurturing one another’s happiness.

Even when your desires don’t perfectly align. Even when compromise is required.

It’s such a simple gesture, capturing those magical moments to share with your loved one. But it’s one Max was never willing to make when you were with him.

A lump forms in his throat as realization washes over him with unforgiving clarity. You weren’t too sweet for him, as he had so arrogantly assumed time and again. No — the truth, much harder to swallow, is that he was simply too sour for you.

Too selfish, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to make even the smallest concession. Too blind to recognize the magic in the simple things that brought you unbridled joy. Too bitter and jaded to embrace and nurture the beautiful nature that made you … well, you.

And now, after all his careless cruelties and wasted chances, he can only stand idly by and watch as someone else basks in the sweetness of your affection. As someone else goes out of their way, day after day, to put that blinding smile on your face and those stars in your eyes.

Something in Max’s chest cracks and crumbles at the injustice of it all. At the agonizing truth that he let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to change his sullen ways.

Because you were never too sweet for him … he was too sour for you.

[smileysuh]

fuck your ex

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol & Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “Cuddles don’t hurt either,” Mingyu muses, pulling you to his chest. “If we get to your bedroom and you decide you just want someone to be with, I’m not going to pressure you. I know I said the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, but, skin to skin contact - even if it’s not sexual - can be an amazing way to get over an ex too.”

tw/cw. Protected sex, unprotected sex, pussy eating, fingering, hand job, dry humping, grinding, foreplay, threesome, bathroom sex, using a shower head as a vibrator, multiple sex scenes, multiple reader orgasms, slight cum kink, Cheol cum’s on reader’s chest, size kink, dirty talk, praise, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.3k 

🍭 aus. Non idol au, cop au, poly au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know cops are a touchy subject, but I've had this idea for months, and I figured it's fan fiction so hopefully it's just a fun au :)

Prologue

You’re so busy blasting nostalgic break-up music that you’re not paying attention to how fast you’re driving down the speedway. The loud Kelly Clarkson song drowns out your sorrows, but it doesn’t drown out the sound of the siren when a Police car lights up behind you.

“Fuck!” you scream, immediately turning down your stereo and pulling over onto the shoulder of the road.

Your heart is racing in your chest- being pulled over isn’t something you’re used to, and you fumble to roll your window down while two cops exit their vehicle and approach.

You wipe at your eyes, which are tearing up again, and you reach for your purse to pull out your license.

The man standing next to your window leans down to look at you, and you try to flash him a smile. His expression is cold, blank even. “Do you know how fast you were going?” he asks.

Now, your heart sinks. It’s such a direct question, and for some reason it makes you snap. You can feel tears begin to roll down your cheeks, your skin heating in embarrassment at having been caught doing something wrong.

“Officer- I’m so sorry, I don’t know how fast I was going- I just broke up with my stupid ex-boyfriend, and I was listening to some breakup music to distract myself from how I’m feeling, and I wasn’t paying attention-”

The second cop pulls up to your window, and the two of them exchange a glance while you cry and blab your reasoning behind doing something wrong.

“Are you headed home?” the second officer, whose nametag reads ‘KIM’, asks. 

“Yeah, I just went to get a bottle of wine, and now I’m going home to drink and watch movies and cry myself to sleep,” you admit, voice shaky.

“Have you had anything to drink tonight?”

“No, sir.” 

The first officer, ‘CHOI’, sighs, and you see him scan the surrounding freeway. “We’re going to let you off with a warning,” he says finally. “It’s late, there’s hardly anyone driving right now- you were doing the wrong thing by speeding, but it sounds like your day is already pretty shit as it is.”

“Really?” You blink up at him, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “No ticket?”

“No ticket,” Choi confirms. “But don’t get caught doing this sort of thing again.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Good luck with your wine and your movies,” Kim nods, and with that, the two officers go back to their vehicle.

You wait patiently, watching them in your rear-view mirror as they pull out and drive past you. Only then do you release a deep breath.

One

“Oops!” You let out a squeak as you turn from the bartop and nearly run straight into someone. Your drink sloshes over the edge of your glass, coating your fingers in fruity liquid.

“My bad,” the tall man immediately apologizes, steadying you with a hand on your hip.

Your eyes meet, and your heart leaps into your throat. It’s not common to see men who are this attractive out and at bars-

“Wait, have we met before?” he asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

“I’d remember if we had,” you retort quickly.

The man cocks his head to the side, and after a moment of studying you, his face lights up. “Wait, I remember! You’re that chick we caught speeding two or three months back! The one who’d just had a breakup!” 

Your eyes widen as the memory washes over you. As you look up at this tall man, you realize he’s right. You hadn’t recognized him at first, without his officer hat and uniform he looks much more boyish.

“I’m Mingyu,” the large man says, holding out a hand. Without a second thought, you shake it,  which is when you remember your skin is still sticky from your spilled drink. 

“Shit, sorry-” you apologize. 

Mingyu only laughs. “You’re still a bit of a hot mess, aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately,” you agree with a sigh.

“Are you here with people?” he asks next, looking around. 

“Waiting on some friends.”

“Want to come join me and Cheol for a bit while you wait?”

“I really couldn’t-” you try to side step the question, but Mingyu insists, and soon, you find yourself seated at a table with the two sexy cops who had let you off with a warning three months ago. 

“This is the chick who was speeding, the Kelly Clarkson break-up one,” Mingyu introduces you to his buddy, and you watch recognition blossom over his face. 

“Y/N,” you correct, swallowing thickly. “My name is Y/N.”

“Seungcheol,” the stoic cop says, introducing himself. “How’ve you been?”

“Better than that night,” you admit, feeling a little off that they’re so interested in you.

“You’d be surprised how often we pull over girls for speeding after rough breakups,” Mingyu tells you, easing your anxiety a bit. “It must have been a pretty shitty split to have been driving the way you were.”

“It was bad,” you admit with a frown. “In fact… I still don’t think I’m fully over it.”

You’re not sure what’s come over you, what’s bewitched you to the point where you’re divulging your personal secrets to two strangers, and cops no less-

“Fuck your ex,” Seungcheol grunts, taking a sip of his beer.

Mingyu nods. “Fuck your ex.”

You swallow thickly, lifting your drink. “Fuck my ex.” 

You wish your voice sounded more confident, but Mingyu flashes you a smile regardless, clinking his beer to your cocktail. 

Your shoulders relax a little as you sip on your drink, and Mingyu begins asking you very surface-level questions. It’s clear he’s doing his best to make you feel welcome while you wait for your friends, who arrive after about fifteen minutes of chat.

“Well, my girls are here,” you announce.

“Shame, we were enjoying your company,” Seungcheol muses, and his words make your skin heat. He’s quiet, or at least, not as much of a talker as Mingyu is- 

“Hey listen,” Mingyu distracts you, pulling out a pen and paper, where he begins to scribble a few numbers, “you know what they say, the best cure to get over someone is to get under someone else. If you ever need one of us, or both, shoot us a text or something.”

You’re in complete shock as he hands you the slip of paper, wherein two phone numbers and names are written. 

“Are you…” you swallow thickly, looking between the men, “is this kind of behavior allowed from cops?”

Mingyu flashes you a wink. “We’re off duty.” 

Two

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, opening the door to your apartment, allowing Mingyu inside.

He only chuckles, pulling you into a hug. You let out a breath, relaxing against his chest. Once you feel a little more settled he releases you, pinching your cheek gently, in a shockingly affectionate way. “You’re getting over your ex,” Mingyu says softly. “Everyone needs to take that step sometime, I’m just glad you reached out to me instead of some tinder dick head.”

“Yeah, cuz a cop is so much better than some online random,” you roll your eyes.

“I’m definitely better than some online random,” he agrees. 

“This isn’t very cop like of you,” you point out, watching Mingyu remove his jacket.

“I’m not just my profession,” Mingyu says smoothly. “I’m a hot blooded male, and you’re a cute girl who needs some rescuing.”

You cock a brow, amused. “Rescuing?” 

“Uh huh.”

“And you’re going to rescue me with what? Your cock?” You’re giggling already, and Mingyu joins in.

“Cuddles don’t hurt either,” Mingyu muses, pulling you to his chest. “If we get to your bedroom and you decide you just want someone to be with, I’m not going to pressure you. I know I said the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, but, skin to skin contact - even if it’s not sexual - can be an amazing way to get over an ex too.”

You can’t help yourself, you lean forward, going on your tiptoes to press your lips to Mingyu’s. He kisses you back immediately, cupping your cheek with one large hand. It’s a gentle kiss, the kind of kiss that tells you you’re safe, and you realize how right Mingyu is- maybe you just needed a companion, someone to distract you from how lonely single nights can be.

Even so, the two of you make your way to your bedroom, and you find yourself shockingly shy as you invite Mingyu into your bed.

You’re in comfy clothes, but Mingyu isn’t, and he toys with the hem of his shirt as you get under your covers. “Should I take this off?” he asks.

“Whatever you want,” you agree, watching him carefully.

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he explains.

“It won’t,” you tell him, in fact, you’re curious as to what he looks like under his shirt.

A minute later, you’re rewarded by getting a full view of Mingyu’s beautiful body. He’s all muscle, but it’s not the kind of muscle you gain just in a gym. No, Mingyu has a work hardened physique, what some might identify as practical muscle, and it’s clear he doesn’t skimp on food either. He’s perfectly built, you decide, as he gets into bed next to you, immediately pulling you to his broad chest.

You release a deep breath, one you didn’t know you’d been holding.

A large hand strokes along your back, and Mingyu gives you space to just be quiet and enjoy his presence. 

Finally, though, you get to the point where you can’t contain yourself any longer. You look up at him, and Mingyu mirrors the motion. It’s like he can already read you, and you wonder if that’s due to him having a lot of experience with girls, or psychological cue reading as a cop. Either way, he leans down to kiss you, and you melt into it, letting out a pleased groan.

Mingyu returns the sound with one of his own, his tongue gliding across your lip. You open up for him, shifting so you’re half on his chest while the kiss deepens. Mingyu’s hands find your waist, and he pulls you fully on top of him, your knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips.

It’s been so long since you kissed someone, but your body easily picks up the natural instinct again. Mingyu is just so sexy- in no time at all, you’re wriggling on top of him, eager for stimulus against your already aching core. 

You find yourself completely relaxed, but completely on edge at the same time. It’s an odd contrast. Mingyu makes you feel comfortable, without fear, and yet- he also sets you on fire in the best of ways. Each touch is like electric shivers across your body, and you can’t help the way you’re moaning from just a bit of kissing and dry humping.

“Wait,” Mingyu’s voice makes you stop, and you pull away, looking down at him with confusion. “I think- before we fuck or anything, I think you should let me eat you out. I bet you’re tired of toys and fingers, and I want tonight to be about making you feel good.”

He’s literally prince charming. Like- how did you ever find this sexy giver. 

You swallow thickly. “We can do that.”

Mingyu kisses you again, and then he rolls on top of you, pinning you to the bed. You love the way his hands skim across your body, teasing across your waist and ribcage. 

“Can I take your clothes off?” he asks.

“Maybe… uh… maybe just my pants for now?” You’re not sure why you want to leave your shirt on, but that’s the boundary you’re comfortable with right now, and Mingyu doesn’t question it. He presses another kiss to your lips before sliding down you form, hooking his fingers in your sweatpants to drag them down your body.

The large man adjusts between your legs, peppering your newly exposed skin in soft kisses.

Your core is throbbing in your panties, and you bite your lip when his breath fans across your pussy.

“These off next?” he asks, looking up at you.

“Yeah.” The word comes out a whisper, your body tight with suspense.

Mingyu pulls your panties down slowly, and the cool air of the room on your exposed core  makes you twitch.

Large hands smooth up your calves and thighs, and Mingyu’s eyes meet yours as he closes the distance to your pussy. You hold your breath, waiting-

The first lick of your clit makes your toes curl, and you moan deeply, earning a smile from the man who’s clearly intent on devouring you.

“I kind of like being told what to do,” Mingyu explains, kissing your inner thigh. “So if you have anything you want me to do, just say something.”

“I will,” you promise, shifting your hips to get your core closer to his face again.

Mingyu takes the motion as a direction in and of itself, and he immediately puts his mouth back on you, but this time, it’s not a kitten lick. There’s no hesitation now, it’s clear you want this, and Mingyu dives in, pressing his tongue into your core.

You groan, thighs already shaking at how good it feels.

Your hands reach down, tangling in his soft hair, and Mingyu releases a moan of his own. The vibration from it goes straight to your clit, and you whimper. 

“You’re good at this,” you tell him, doing your best to be verbal, as it’s pretty clear Mingyu’s a verbal sex kind of guy.

He rewards your words by sucking his lips around your clit, flicking at it with his tongue.

“Can you…” you shift slightly, “your fingers-”

Mingyu adjusts, focusing on your clit with his mouth while a finger strokes between your pussy lips. He eases it into your wet core slowly, being gentle with you while ravaging your sensitive bud.

Your eyes close at the feeling, your head thrown back against your pillows. “That’s good-” you tell him, groaning when he slips a second digit into your pussy.

You can feel him smile against your clit, working his fingers up toward your gspot with each calculated thrust.

You’re supposed to be using Mingyu to get over your ex, but you can’t help the way you compare them- how had you ever thought sex with your ex was good? He’d never eaten you out like this- never prioritized your pleasure- fuck, you haven’t even had sex with Mingyu yet, and you’re already convinced it’s going to be mind blowing.

Releasing a breath, you focus on Mingyu, focus on the feeling building deep in your core. 

One thrust has Mingyu’s fingers hitting the exact right spot, and you let out a squeal of delight. “Right there- fuck- right there!”

Mingyu does as he’s told, repeatedly hitting the spot that draws you closer to your orgasm with record speed. His mouth on your clit is also pure pleasure, and before you even know it, you’re releasing a groan. “I’m gonna cum, fuck- don’t stop, please-”

Your words break off as your high slams into you, moans of ecstasy escaping as your body surges with pleasure. Your pussy is pulsing deliciously around Mingyu’s fingers and he works you through your orgasm like an absolute champ. He’s unrelenting, fully focused on drawing out your pleasure until you’re practically shaking.

Mingyu pulls away, and you let out a shaky gasp, opening your eyes to look down at the gorgeous man. His expression is one of pure lust, and you watch him wipe his mouth with the back of his palm. 

“You taste like peaches, baby,” he tells you, straightening onto his knees at the foot of your bed.

You don’t say anything, you only motion for Mingyu to come closer, and you grab the back of his neck, drawing his lips to yours so you can taste yourself on his tongue.

He moans into the kiss, and you writhe beneath him, hooking your leg over his hip.

Mingyu begins to grind down against you, and you can feel how hard he is in his jeans. You love that eating you out had that kind of effect on him, and you find yourself reaching down to cup his cock.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, breaking the kiss to breathe heavily, pressing his forehead against yours. “Are we going to do this? You can still back out-”

“We’re doing this,” you confirm.

“Okay, give me a sec.” Mingyu pulls away from you and you whimper at the loss. “Wanna take your shirt off now, while I take off my pants?”

“Yeah,” you agree, immediately working on the remainder of your clothing.

You’re naked in seconds, and you watch Mingyu step out of his jeans next to the bed. He’s produced a condom from his pants, and you watch with bated breath while he rolls it onto one of the biggest cocks you’ve ever seen in person- in fact, it might be the biggest cock, and your core throbs at the mere thought of it. 

“I’m on birth control, and I’m clean,” you find yourself saying softly, toying with the fact of unprotected sex.

“Me too,” Mingyu breathes. “But, it’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

Leave it to the cop to be safe, you guess that’s a good thing, but part of you sinks at the idea of not being filled with his cum.

Mingyu gets on top of you again, kissing you deeply. 

Your legs wrap tight around his body, and with pressure, you prompt him to grind down against your core again.

The feeling of his cock gliding between your soaked pussy lips is amazing- and you do your best to ignore the sensation of the condom. 

He kisses you for a long time, until you’re aching for him from the grinding, and finally, you can’t take it anymore. “Please,” you whimper, looking up at him. “I need you.”

“Anything you want, baby,” he says, pressing his lips to yours again while he adjusts ever so slightly, pushing his hand between your bodies so he can grab the base of his cock and line it up with your core.

He starts by rubbing it between your pussy lips, lubricating himself before pushing just the tip inside of you.

You moan against his mouth, shocked at the stretch. It’s clear from Mingyu’s gentle, controlled motions, that he’s used to giving grace for his size, and he slowly works you open more and more, sinking inch after inch of himself into your core.

His kisses are a wonderful distraction, and you focus on relaxing, allowing your body to open up for the large cock. 

When his front is flush to your own, his cock completely buried inside of you, you both release groans of pleasure.

The kiss breaks, and you pant against each others lips, opening your eyes to look at each other.

“You good?” he asks.

“Good,” you nod. “You can move.”

Mingyu lets out a shaky breath, and after a moment, he begins to fuck you. 

Each thrust is euphoria, his cock dragging against your inner walls deliciously. Mingyu begins to kiss you again, and you grab at his strong shoulders, clutching him desperately while he fucks you into your mattress. 

“You’re so tight,” Mingyu groans, lips moving to your neck. He licks at your sweet spot, and you shiver, wrapping your legs around him even tighter.

“You’re just so big-” you counter.

“Maybe a bit of both,” he admits with a chuckle.

You don’t mind that you’re in missionary, don’t mind that he fucks you stupid this way- it’s a very intimate position, and once again, the thought of your ex pops back into your mind. 

You realize, as the two of you get closer and closer to your highs, that maybe you weren’t ready for this- you don’t regret it, but you’re clearly not over your ex in the way you’d wished you would be at this point.

Maybe Mingyu’s just too soft, too gentle, too domestic- 

It’s not his fault, he’s being sweet to you, but maybe sweet isn’t what you needed, not really. It just makes you miss being in a relationship.

The two of you cum together, and you hate that you’re still distracted. You wish you could give all your focus to Mingyu, after all, it’s clear he’s completely zoned in on you, but it is what it is.

If nothing else, he’d distracted you for a little, given you perhaps the best dick and pussy eating of your life- and as the two of you cuddle up to fall asleep, it’s a small blessing at least that you’re not sleeping alone.

Three

You’re at a bar waiting for your takeout when you run into the most unlikely person.

Seungcheol is dressed in work out clothes, a loose shirt, sweatpants, and a baseball cap, but he still looks downright lickable. His strong shoulders- the handsome face only partially hidden by his cap- he’s so recougnizable, and it’s clear he knows who you are too, because he walks over.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you retort, playing with the straw of your cocktail. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t expect to see you either,” he admits with a laugh, and you’re delighted at how his smile lights up his face. “You waiting on food?”

“Yeah, just a dinner order, figured I’d get one drink while waiting.”

He nods. “I’m waiting for food too. Just came from the gym, didn’t feel like cooking.”

“I get that,” you agree, looking down at your drink.

“You eating alone tonight?” he asks. “We could always just ask the kitchen to switch our orders, you know, get a table, eat here.”

“Are you asking me to have dinner with you?” you grin.

“If you’re up for that sort of thing,” he shrugs.

“You know what?” You let out a sigh. “Let’s do it.”

Seungcheol grins, and after talking with the bartender, you find him leading you over to a booth, having sorted everything out.

He’s got a beer now, and you’re enthralled with the way he looks while taking a sip.

He’s just so masculine- you’re extremely attracted to Seungcheol. He’d been kind of scary while dressed in work attire, but this gym outfit is much more your style. 

“So,” he starts, releasing a breath. “Heard you saw Mingyu last week.”

Your skin heats with embarrassment. “Oh, yeah.”

“Don’t be shy,” Seungcheol grins, reaching across the table to nudge your hand. “I don’t judge. He’s my best friend, and we talk, so of course he mentioned it.”

“And now… you’re having dinner with me,” you point out. 

Seungcheol shrugs. “Mingyu’s not the jealous type.”

“Are you?”

Seungcheol leans back against the booth, cocking his head to the side. He grins, and it’s one of the sexiest expressions you’ve ever seen. “I can be,” he admits. “It depends on the situation.”

You swallow thickly, reaching for your drink, in need of some sort of reprieve for the way your throat has gotten dry. “Do you and Mingyu do this a lot?” you find yourself asking.

“Do what a lot?”

“Go after the same girl?” you clarify.

Seungcheol takes a moment, and you can tell he’s deep in thought about how to approach this line of questioning. “It’s happened once before,” he admits. “Definitely not a regular thing.”

“Tell me about last time,” you suggest, interested in the story now.

“Not much to say,” Seungcheol shrugs. “He and I have been friends forever. In university there was this one girl, she wanted us both so we figured it would be interesting.”

“Was it? Interesting?”

Seungcheol flashes you a dark look, the kind of look that says ‘are you serious?’

“It was fun,” he says finally. “But, the conditions have to be perfect for sharing to work.”

You’re about to ask for more details, but your waitress comes over with your food, so you put your questions on the back burner.

Seungcheol had ordered a salad with four extra chicken breasts, and you stare at him in shock for a while.

“What?” he asks, taking a bite.

“I’ve just never seen someone order greens and four orders of chicken,” you admit.

“It’s good for you,” Seungcheol insists. “Protein.”

You look down at your rice bowl, letting out a sigh. 

“Bet you’re wishing you’d got what I got,” Seungcheol teases. 

“Never,” you laugh.

“Anyways, I bet you’re wondering about the conditions that make threesomes work,” Seungcheol sighs, returning to the topic at hand.

“I’ll admit, I’m curious. When you and Mingyu gave me your numbers, you did say I could have both of you if I wanted.”

“You still can, but I wouldn’t be shocked if you wanted to stick it with Mingyu. It wouldn’t offend me. He’s better with girls than I am.” You love how direct Seungcheol is about this, and it shows a good sense of self for him to be able to admit he’s not as much of a lady killer as his friend.

“Why do you think he’s better with girls?” you inquire.

“Most girls like that whole puppy dog thing. He’s a giver, and I respect that.”

“And you’re not a giver?” you toy, cocking a brow.

“More of a taker really,” Seungcheol admits, flashing you a grin. “If you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

“Honestly?” You let out a sigh, relaxing back against the booth. “That might be just what I need right now.”

Four

Seungcheol’s mouth is hot on yours before you’re even inside your apartment. He’s all teeth and tongue and grabby, greedy hands. But there’s something so exciting about him as he pushes your front door closed with his foot, wrapping you up in his strong arms and lifting you off the floor, prompting your legs around his hips.

There’s no talking, no assuring you that you don’t have to fuck-

You know you’re both here to fuck each other’s brains out, and it makes things simple as he carries you to your room.

To your surprise, however, he doesn’t take you to your bed. “Where’s your shower?” he asks, breaking the kiss to look around.

“Through there,” you point to the door to your ensuite, and Seungcheol follows your directions. Once in the bathroom, he sets you on the sink, and you flash him a questioning look.

“I showered at the gym, but still,” Seungcheol says, tearing his shirt off from the back of the neck. “I feel like shower sex is a good way to go about this.”

“I don’t usually like shower sex,” you point out.

“Well, you will with me, baby, trust me on that.” Seungcheol slips out of his sweatpants and briefs, his cock rising to attention. “Come here,” he instructs, pulling you off the sink.

His lips are feverish on your own, and he undresses you as quickly as he’d undressed himself. His hands grope your breasts, and he leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth while you thread your fingers through his hair.

“Now turn the shower on,” he commands.

You step toward the shower, following through- and you feel Seungcheol’s hulking, built body behind your own. His chest presses to your back, and his hands begin to explore your form while the water heats.

You tilt your head to give him access to your throat while one hand massages your breast, and the other slips down to your core, teasing through your pussy lips.

“Wet already,” he muses with a grin. “Mingyu said you’re a sensitive one.”

A tingle of sinful delight rushes through you.

You wonder how many details Mingyu shared- you wonder if Seungcheol’s been eager to get a taste of you for himself.

The water begins to steam, and with a nudge, Seungcheol prompts you inside. He joins you quickly, pinning you to the wall while his lips devour your own.

He breaks the kiss a short time later, looking up at your detachable shower head, then a grin spreads across his face. “Guess I can be a giver today, but don’t tell anyone,” he teases, taking the shower head off.

You’re not even shocked when he brings it between your thighs, wet pressure surging up against your clit while you squeal in shock.

Seungcheol bends down, capturing your nipple between his lips again.

“Fuck, this feels good-” you groan, gasping and grinding down against the shower head.

“I’ll let you cum first, because when it’s my turn, it’s my turn,” he warns. 

“Whatever you want,” you tell him, enjoying the way his mouth returns to your breasts.

He’s so rough, but it feels so good as the pressure from the shower continues on your clit. The dual feeling of his lips around your nipple, and the pressure on your sensitive bud has you getting close to the edge shockingly fast.

Seungcheol - like Mingyu - seems able to read you, and he adjusts, bringing a hand between your thighs. Two fingers slip into your wet core, and he focuses on applying the water to your clit while he begins to finger fuck you.

“Fuck,” you groan, clawing at the wall, trying to stay standing while he works you closer and closer-

“Want to see you cum,” he says. “Want to see you come undone on this fucking shower head and my fingers before I take what’s mine.”

Your stomach flip flops at the possessive tone, your breath coming out in a shocked gasp.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, baby?” Seungcheol asks. “Tonight, you’re mine. Don’t want you thinking about Mingyu, or that stupid fucking ex of yours. It’s just you and me, and if I see you drifting, I’ll bring you right back here, with me, got it?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

“Such a good girl for me, grinding against my hand-” he groans. “I can see how close you are.” He leans forward, his lips ghosting past your ear. “I’ll admit though, I’m not a very patient man.”

Your skin tingles at his words, and you find yourself reaching for his cock, using the water as lubrication as you begin to stroke him off.

“That’s it,” Seungcheol says, voice low. “I be good to you, you be good to me, that’s the way this should be, don’t you think?”

“Uh huh,” you nod, closing your eyes as your abdominal muscles tense, warning you of your oncoming orgasm.

“Squeezing me so good, come on, baby, cum on my fingers.”

Seungcheol’s hand works even harder, digits stroking your sweet spot- and that’s all you need to be thrown over the edge.

You let out a strangled gasp, your orgasm slamming into you.

“That’s it,” Seungcheol groans, pressing his forehead against yours while he works you through your high. “Keep cumming for me, baby.”

You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to- your entire body is Seungcheol’s to control, and he prolongs your orgasm until you’re a shaking mess. 

You can hardly stand, but that doesn’t matter, Seungcheol puts the shower head back and simply picks you up. “I don’t have a condom on me,” he explains, sinking you onto his cock and releasing a hissing sound of pleasure, “so I’m just going to have to pull out and paint your chest.”

“Whatever you want,” you tell him, drawing his lips to your own as he begins to fuck you against the wall of your shower.

His fingers dig into your thighs, and he uses you to his own pleasure, fucking you like a mad man. He’s so strong- and you feel like some weightless doll in his grip. His lips are hot against your own, and his moans are some of the sexiest sounds you’ve ever heard.

There aren’t any thoughts in your head as he uses you in an animalistic, almost primal way, and you love every second of it, your sensitive pussy clenching tight around his aching cock.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans. “You’re pussy’s too good, gonna cum.” He pulls out of you abruptly, and you sink to your knees on your shower floor, looking up at him. “That’s a good girl,” he tells you, wrapping his hand around his cock and beginning to roughly stroke it. “Push those pretty tits up for me.”

You do as you’re told, watching Seungcheol- the way his bicep and abdominal muscles flex with each strained stroke of his rock hard cock.

He’s a fucking vision, and you don’t mind him using the sight of you to his own end- in fact, when he releases a strangled groan, throwing his head back as his hot seed shoots out across your tits, you kind of realize you love this. 

His large thighs flex, his entire muscular body alive as his orgasm washes over him.

He works himself through it, and finally stops, hand falling to his side while the other reaches out to press to the wall. He looks down at you, offering you that sexy smile. “Good girl.”

Five

You’d given it a week of thought, and now here you are, looking at both Mingyu and Seungcheol as they stand in your kitchen.

“Are you sure you want this?” Mingyu asks, ever the softie of the two.

“She wants this,” Seungcheol confirms, looking you up and down. “She’s probably wanted this since the moment you said she could have us both.”

“It’s a big step,” Mingyu points out.

“It’s the ultimate distraction,” Seungcheol counters.

You let out a sigh, opening your robe to reveal the lingerie underneath. “Let’s do this.”

Seungcheol moves first, stepping forward and grabbing you by the back of the neck, drawing your lips to his. You kiss him desperately, cognizant of Mingyu watching. It feels amazing to have the attention of two gorgeous men, and you feel downright elated as Seungcheol lifts you off the ground and begins to carry you to your room.

You watch Mingyu over Seungcheol’s shoulder, and he follows closely.

“How do you want to do this?” the taller one asks as you make it to your bed, where Seungcheol tosses you down.

“No condoms,” you respond.

Both men laugh, exchanging glances. “Baby wants to be full, huh?” Seungcheol asks.

“So full,” you agree.

“I think we can deal with that,” Mingyu grins. “Any other requests?”

You swallow thickly. “Whatever you want.”

Mingyu and Seungcheol look at each other again, and the taller one shrugs. “I’ll go first,” Seungcheol decides. 

“Sounds good to me,” Mingyu agrees.

The two nod at each other, and then they both begin to strip. They get down to their boxers quickly, and Seungcheol joins you on the bed first, making you face him on your knees as he captures your lips with his own. His hands are everywhere, massaging and groping-

A second set of hands joins the first as the bed dips, signaling Mingyu’s arrival behind you. His soft lips find your throat, and you moan at the sensation of two sets of mouths on you.

Their touch is everywhere now, but it’s clearly Seungcheol who pulls your panties down, rubbing your wet pussy while Mingyu works on your bra. 

“So wet for us,” Seungcheol groans. “She’s been wanting this for ages, Gyu- haven’t you, baby?”

“For too long,” you agree with a whimper, looking up at him.

Now it’s Mingyu’s turn to moan a sound of appreciation, and he pushes your bra off your body, hands immediately cupping your breasts. His fingers pinch at your nipples and you moan desperately, pushing your ass back against him-

Fuck, Mingyu’s already hard, his cock straining against your butt-

Seungcheol captures your attention again, kissing you as his fingers push into your core, crooking up to hit your sweet spot. 

You’re so wet- with each stroke, you can hear your juices on Seungcheol’s fingers, and it sets your entire body on fire.

It feels like nothing else you’ve ever experienced to be captured between these two gorgeous men- there are absolutely zero thoughts in your head, you’re so overtaken by this wordless need-

“Fuck this,” Seungcheol says. “I’m not huge on foreplay, need to fuck you.”

Mingyu snickers behind you, it’s clear which of the two men is better at patience, and you suppose that’s why the taller of the two men gets to go second. You can’t imagine making Seungcheol wait his turn, but that’s part of what’s so endearing about him.

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” Seungcheol sighs. “I’ll fuck you doggy, Mingyu can be under you, and as soon as I’m done, he can get his turn, sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect,” you admit.

Seungcheol leans close, his lips ghosting over your own when he says, “Then be a good girl and get into position for me.”

All three of you stip the last bit of clothing from your bodies, and you’re quick to get on top of Mingyu. He immediately kisses you, cupping your cheek as you grind down against his cock- you’re trying to be patient for Seungcheol, but patience, it would seem, is a strong suit that neither of you have. 

“If you put his cock inside of you, I’m going to prep your ass,” Seungcheol warns, and you pause your writhing on top of Mingyu. “That’s what I thought.”

Two hands roughly grip your hips, and Seungcheol pulls you up, off of Mingyu. A cock glides between your pussy lips, and Seungcheol smooths his palm along your back. “Be good for us,” he warns before slipping into your wet core.

You let out a moan, resting your head against Mingyu’s chest while he strokes you, holding you close. He nuzzles at the crown of your head, a gentle contrast to the man who begins fucking into you.

You’re kind of obsessed with the duality- the dichotomy of the two men is enough to keep you satisfied and on edge, enraptured with the act of making love in this way. 

It’s clear already that you’re kind of in love with threesomes- there’s just something about this, or maybe- there’s just something about Mingyu and Seungcheol.

Seungcheol’s hands are rough on your hips, pulling you back to every thrust, and you finally relax enough to be able to kiss Mingyu again. His lips are desperate against your own, and his cock presses up between your bodies- you can’t help but grab at it, stroking him off in time with Seungcheol’s thrusts.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, rutting up to meet you.

“You’re being too nice on him,” Seungcheol muses, and you can hear his smile.

Neither you nor Mingyu respond, too busy kissing to care.

It’s clear, after a few seconds, that Seungcheol doesn’t enjoy being ignored, because one of his hands snakes around your body, fingers finding your clit.

“Shit-” you whimper, breaking your kiss as pleasure surges through you.

“Knew that would get your attention,” Seungcheol says smugly, rubbing you even harder.

“You gonna cum for us?” Mingyu asks, lips attaching to your neck, one hand groping your breast while you continue to stroke him off.

“Yeah, I’m close-” you gasp, pussy tensing, clenching tight around Seungcheol, who groans deeply at the feeling.

You feel so perfectly taken care of, two men working your body closer and closer to the edge until your orgasm takes over. You release a strangled whimper, body surging with white hot energy that pulses through you like an electric shock.

Seungcheol lets out his own sound of pleasure, and his thrusts falter ever so slightly- then he goes as hard as he’s ever gone before. Each rut is skin on skin as his hips hit your ass, and you can tell from his rough panting that he’s just about to tip over the edge too-

He cums with a deep groan, and the sound makes your pussy flutter even harder as ropes of cum coat your insides, filling you perfectly.

You’re fucked practically stupid, reduced to animal instinct as you stay captured between two large bodies. All you can do is stay on shaking thighs, crouched over Mingyu, as Seungcheol finishes up and pulls out of you with a “Fuck.”

 “My turn?” Mingyu asks, stroking your cheek to get your attention.

“Yeah, fuck- fill me up even more,” you whimper.

“You got it, baby,” Mingyu grins, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before he reaches between your bodies, grabbing his cock to line it up with your pussy. He helps you down onto him, and you moan.

You’re still tight from your orgasm, but it’s substantially easier to take Mingyu after having just enjoyed Seungcheol’s girth- and the cum inside of you helps with the lubrication. You’re fully seated on Mingyu’s cock not a moment later, and you both moan from the sensation.

His lips attack your own, and you thread your fingers through his hair as he begins to thrust up into you.

You’re too weak to ride him, but from the way Mingyu bucks with the energy of a stallion, you doubt he cares.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans against your mouth. “You feel so good, baby.”

“You feel good too,” you tell him, words shaky as they escape you.

“She’s cock drunk already,” Seungcheol muses, and you hear him heading to the bathroom to clean up while Mingyu has his way with you.

“Are you cock drunk, baby?” Mingyu asks, pausing to look up at you with lust filled eyes.

“So good,” you whimper.

Mingyu grins. “Definitely cock drunk.” He cups your cheek, drawing your lips back to his own. He rolls you over so you’re now on your back, and then he sits up onto his knees. “Can you get onto your side for me, gonna push your leg up to your chest and fuck you like that.”

You do as you’re told, shifting into the position. Mingyu grabs your thigh, anchoring himself as he begins to rail into you. He has more maneuverability in this position than when you’d been on top, and he hits as deep as anyone has ever hit before, making you whimper and claw at the sheets. 

“You look so good like this,” Mingyu tells you. “Being so good for us.”

“Mingyu-” you whimper.

“I know, I’m close too,” he promises.

Each thrust is hitting a spot that has your toes curling, and you’re quickly working your way to another high, pussy still sensitive from Seungcheol.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, digging his fingers into your thigh as he holds you open for himself. “Can’t cum till you do- fuck, wanna feel you squeezing my cock-”

“Gonna fill me up,” you whimper.

“Gonna fill you to the fucking brim, baby,” Mingyu agrees.

You close your eyes, so overwhelmed by pleasure-

“Let me fill you, come on, cum with me baby,” Mingyu urges, and that’s all it takes for you to explode on his cock.

He releases a grunt, fingers gripping you tight as he falls over the edge with you, fucking you roughly through your dual highs. You love how you can just relax as pleasure like you’ve never felt before surges through you- both men take care of you in their own ways, and this is what heaven must feel like.

But all good things must come to an end, and slowly, Mingyu’s motions begin to falter. He collapses half on top of you, breathing heavily as his lips eagerly seek yours out.

“Well aren’t you two cute,” Seungcheol’s voice makes you both laugh, pulling away from each other.

“Is that jealousy in your tone, Seungcheol?” you tease.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Jealousy doesn’t work if you’re planning to do threesomes with the same three people more than once.”

“Oh, are we doing this again?” you ask.

Seungcheol grins. “Baby, what do you think?”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! Gyucheol is low key one of my most favourite pairings

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. “Bet you’re happy with yourself,” Seungcheol muses, bringing his hot mouth to your throat. “Making him cum untouched like that.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, threesome, fingering, pussy eating, breast worship, dirty talk, praise, slight cum kink, slight exhibitionistic foreplay, inklings of roleplay, groping, size kink, cumming early and in his pants, etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.5k I teaser wc. 150

🌙 starring. Seungcheol & Mingyu x afab!reader

bonus

You’re standing at the bartop waiting for your drink when hands grab at your hips. You’re pulled back to a broad chest, and lips press to your throat, prompting you to tilt your head and grin. “Cheol,” you breathe, “what are you doing?”

“Keeping track of my prisoner,” he muses, grabbing at the orange jumper you’re wearing. “Can’t let my dirty little prison escapee out of my sight.”

It had been his idea to dress as cops and a prisoner for Halloween- and you think there must be some sort of rule against Seungcheol and Mingyu wearing their actual uniforms as costumes on a night like this- but fuck, they look so good in their navy blue.

You know you look good too, the orange jumper isn’t revealing per se, but it’s tight in the right places, and Seungcheol is feral for you regardless of what you’re wearing… or not wearing. 

☀️to read the full 2.5k bonus, subscribe to my Patreon - then - click here

👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here

🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list

general taglist

@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

@runahways - @d-abin - @milkteade - @woogyuhae 

@anothershorthuman - @nihxxy - @vantxx95 - @bangshii

@poutypoutybin - @notbeforelong - @creepybakeoven

@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf

@chogiwapadada - @librarian-stacks - @meowniee

@learnthisfeeling - @gigilame - @cumtrov3rsy

@mocha000 - @darthlunaa​ - @just-here-to-read-01​ - @shiningnono

@lovelyhan - @grilledbananas

svt taglist

@candidupped - @cheolussy - @aaniag - @imprettyweird

@xcynthiaaa

Thanks to those who interacted with the teaser :)

@sourkimchi - @icedearlgreytea - @binnyluvcoups

@ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken - @gyuguys -

@nejiiiiiiii - @okiedokrie-main - @clownprincehoeshi

@gyuminusone - @ne0mile - @drinkingrumandcocacola

[princessdimondheart]

Tells | Ghost x Secret Wife! Reader

Pairing: Ghost x f! Reader

Warnings: blood, wounds, pregnancy, 🥺

Edited: No

A/N: I really wanted to do my own take on this idea. Hope you like it.

Masterlist

Character banner ©️ Me

Johnny wasn’t sure how he hadn’t realized it before, after being introduced to his Lieutenant’s wife. There were small, subtle tells that gave away Ghost having a significant other, but he never put the pieces together. Honestly, Johnny was a little upset because he’s in the SAS- he should be able to see things like this. 

The first time he noticed something was strange with Simon was when they were gathering their gear right before going to another mission. They were placing the last of their equipment into their bags. Simon had not put his black skeleton gloves on yet so his wrists were exposed. Johnny didn’t notice anything different until Simon rolled up his sleeves like usual. And there it was. 

A hair tie. 

He didn’t think much about it. Maybe he found it laying around the base. No. That would be weird and there weren’t that many women frequenting the same places as Simon anyways. 

Could he be using it to snap at his wrist when or if he got anxious? Nah.. Ghost stays focused on missions. Johnny doubted Ghost would let anxiety pull a fast one on him in the field. 

Oh! Simon is definitely growing his hair out. Johnny wondered if his balaclava was comfortable with long hair. So he pointed it out. 

“Growing your hair out L.t.?” His lips curled into a little smirk. 

Simon looked up from the full magazine in his hands. Only his eyes gave away his confusion. “No? Why?”

“Your hair tie.” Johnny nodded to his right wrist. “Never took ya for a purple-wearin’ kind of guy, sir.”

Ghost blinked at his Sergeant and then glanced to his aforementioned wrist. Sure enough a bold purple hair tie was bound to his lower arm. Simon was sure he had removed it before leaving home earlier that day. 

“Oh… must have forgot.” Simon spoke absentmindedly. He was remembering his wife. He had gotten home before her and when she came he helped her remove her ponytail, completely forgetting about the hair tie once their kisses got the better of them. 

Simon didn’t say anything else, so Johnny shrugged it off and continued filling his bag with ammunition. Not even two minutes after he forgot what they were talking about when Captain Price called them over. 

~~~~~

The next time something was different with Ghost, Johnny wasn’t even the one who noticed it first. It was Gaz who pointed it out. 

After a long and hard mission, Task Force 141 had finally arrived at base. The team desperately needed showers, so right after hoping off the helicopter everyone went straight to their barracks. 

After their most loved showers everyone went to the mess hall for some real food and not the field MREs they had been eating for the past few weeks. There Kyle had already gotten his portion of food and was digging in. Soap and Price were sitting across from him too, but no Ghost in sight. Simon came in almost halfway through their dinner and sat next to the young Sergeant. The food on his tray was not being eaten. 

That’s when Kyle smelled it. A fruity smell was wafting from the freshly showered SAS powerhouse next to him. Ghost smelled of fresh cut pomegranates and some other fruit notes. It took him by surprise. Kyle would have normally pictured Ghost as a strict standard-issue soap kinda user, not a fruity one. 

“Did they change the regular soaps, sir?” Gaz took the risk. 

Johnny had finished chewing and looked up at his L.t. and Kyle with a questioning look. Then he leaned forward on the table to take a sniff. 

“Is that pomegranate, L.t.?” Johnny chuckled. He’d take any chance to tease his superior. 

Ghost gave them a subtle glare. He had hoped no one would have noticed his mistake. He’d been in a hurry to leave home and well…

“I grabbed the wrong bottle.” He deadpanned then turned to Price, who was shaking his head in disapproval at the two, to ask about any new leads. Clearly, the conversation was over. 

~~~~~

The third time was when their mission went FUBAR. Ghost and Soap had gotten separated from Captain Price and Gaz when their enemies tried to ambush them. In the chaos Soap was shot in the leg, but with Ghost’s help, he was able to escape and hold out until it was safe enough for them to head to the rendezvous point for extraction. 

Now that they were relatively safe, Ghost was searching his packs for supplies to help Johnny with. Johnny wasn’t particularly paying too much attention to what he was doing since he was bleeding out and moaning in pain, but he definitely noticed when Ghost used a tampon to plug the gunshot wound in his thigh. 

“Fuckin’ hells, Ghost! Where’da fuck yous get a bloody tampon from!?”

“It’s an essential tool for survival.” He honestly had no idea how that slipped into his med pouch. Johnny guessed it was so if Ghost had said it. 

~~~~~

Next time they were somewhere in Africa, most definitely melting with the heat. A great bonding experience for the two of them. Their only relief was a slow moving breeze. Soap and Ghost were staking out one of a known terrorist cell’s many compounds. All was quiet for now. 

“Johnny?” Ghost didn’t move from his position, eyes dead on his scope. 

Johnny looked over. “Yeah, L.t.?”

“Once we’re done here, I’m taking you somewhere important. Keep your schedule clear.” Simon’s deep voice sounded out softly. 

“Oh… alright.” He didn’t know what to say. “Okay. Definitely, Simon.” 

He looked back towards the compound. Simon had glanced at that moment to see his little smile. His eyes crinkled. 

~~~~~

True to his word, after their stakeout mission was completed, Simon hauled Johnny into his car and began to drive them to who knows where. All Johnny knew was that the drive took several hours from their base in London to wherever they were in the countryside. 

They were nearly at their destination when Simon pulled them into a long driveway and pressed a button controller on his shade that opened the metal gates. Going through, the road was surrounded by open pastures on both sides. When Johnny looked around more closely he noticed a few horses, and, was that a cow? They were grazing on the lush grass. Was his L.t. taking him to a farm?

“Where are we, sir?” He had to ask. 

“You’ll see, Johnny.” Simon had slowed down so as to not spook any of the animals grazing. 

Two minutes later and the car pulled up to a nice two-story cottage home. It was made from stone and appeared to be like a fairy tale type of house. Johnny quite liked the look of it. He noticed that the lights were on. 

Simon opened the locked door, then took off his skull balaclava. It was clear that he was comfortable enough to forego it. “I called ahead, so dinner should be ready soon.”

Dinner? Who’s made them dinner? Johnny didn’t question him and just nodded. Simon stepped inside, none of the wooden boards squeaked when he walked in them unlike when Johnny stepped on them. His steps alerted the person in the kitchen. A delicious smell was coming out in soft waves. The person poked their head out to see who was there. They weren’t worried because they knew that only Simon had the extra key. 

“I’m home.” Johnny noticed a softness in his voice that he hadn’t heard before. Simon’s large frame was blocking his view of the person. A dog suddenly burst from the kitchen barking at Simon before realizing who he was. It sat down when he started to pet him, his butt wiggling with the fast beat of his tail. Cute. Then the dog, a German shepherd, turned to him and started sniffing him with caution. Johnny let him sniff his hand and after a bit he licked his hand and wagged his tail. Approved. 

“Welcome home, Simon!” The person’s voice was distinctly feminine. Johnny had moved closer to Simon and the kitchen, so when the woman fully came into view he saw her right away. 

She went in for a hug and that’s when Johnny noticed a small, yet significant distance between the two. She was pregnant and her baby belly was making it a little harder to hug her. But that didn’t stop Simon from embracing her as tightly as he could. When her hand came up to rest against Simon’s shoulder, Johnny noticed again the large diamond on her ring finger. 

“L.t.?” The two lovers separated to look at him. 

“Johnny, come meet my wife.” Simon gave him a knowing nod which Johnny instantly returned. 

He almost couldn’t believe it. His L.t. had brought him home to see his little family. Johnny almost choked up upon realizing the significance of Simon trusting him with this information. Right then and there, Johnny gave Simon a mental promise to help keep his family safe, no matter what.

Bonus: 

“Oh! The baby is kicking! Want to feel ‘em, Johnny?” Simon’s wife asked. 

“Oh, sure! If that’s alright with you?” She took his larger hand in answer and placed it near the top of her baby bump. A few kicks hit his hand. They were rather strong kicks too. Definitely a football star, or another SAS kid, in the making. 

“Woah!” Johnny exclaimed. Then, turning to his L.t. who was watching them interact, his mouth turned into a wide grin. “Does that make me their uncle, Simon?”

“Don’t push it, MacTavish.” His wife giggled. 

Masterlist

[sweetimpurity]

༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚ day 30!! ahhhh what the heck I can't believe it's been a month already ahhhhhhhh wc: 2.4k cw: use of Daddy, if that's not your thing, keep scrolling and love ya!!

“Baby, would you bring me a light?” His deep voice calls out from his office, making you turn your head. He’s your boss. Savvy businessman with more money than anyone would ever need. Friends with almost as much money as he’s got. But you’ve spent more than a few nights wound up in his bed. Smelling his cologne on your skin, in your hair. It would be complicated if he wasn’t solely set on having you. But he’s a man who knows what he wants. And that’s you.  

 You get up from your desk outside his office door, grabbing the lighter you keep there for him. Walking into his office and hearing the wealthy laughter of his business partners discussing something at his desk with smiles and scotch on rocks, cigars in hand. The room full of the smell. Only Miguel’s cigars smell somewhat decent. Smelling floral and fruity. The other men, it just smells like gasoline, choking you. 

“Here you go, sir…” You smile with a nod, being polite in front of his guests. Holding out the lighter to give it to him. He laughs along with whatever his associate is saying, placing the cigar between his lips before looking up at you. His brown eyes, reddish in the light. Leaning forward for you to light it. Once it lights up, the embers glow, he leans back in his seat, his eyes roaming you like he’s appraising you. 

“Hey pretty thing… Can I get a light too?” His business partner asks, leaning forward with his pipe in hand. You go to reach the lighter forward but Miguel tosses a small box of matches across the desk to him. Giving the man a subtle glare. But it sends the message. He had matches all along? 

Once the man leans back in his seat, taking the box of matches in defeat, Miguel looks back up at you. Admiring you, unashamedly so. 

“Would you get me some more wine please baby?” He asks softly, pushing his almost empty wine glass across the desk. You can tell he’s feeling the effects. The way he’s looking at you. The deepness of his voice. After being his personal assistant for this long, you know. Nodding softly, picking up the glass but there’s still a bit inside. His hand comes around yours, his long fingers wrapping around your hand on the glass as he tilts it back to dribble into his mouth, his lips getting a bit of a reddish tint from the strong wine. “Thank you…” He sighs, letting go, catching the flush on your cheeks matching his own from the alcohol. when he looks back up at you. Smiling to himself as you walk away to pour him more wine. 

The men’s eyes follow you as you walk away. Smirking to themselves and watching the way your hips sway. “I gotta get an assistant like her.” One of the men comments. Making Miguel look their way. “My wife would kill me…” The man chuckles. “Who could keep their hands off a hot piece like that?” 

Miguel suddenly frowns. Seeing the way they both look at you. Not liking it in the slightest. A frown overtaking his features. “I think we’re done for today.” He says suddenly. Giving them both a hard look. Staying in his seat but expecting that they get up. And leave. 

“Right, yes… we’ll talk another time.” They mumble goodbyes, getting up once they get the hint. Smiling awkwardly at you as they walk out of the office. Just as you’re bringing the glass of wine back over to the desk. “Meeting over?” 

“It is, indeed, baby…” He nods, watching you put the wine down, standing on the other side of his desk. He puts out the cigar, saving it for another time, slumped casually against the cushions. In his black fitted suit, stretched in places where his broadness and musculature threatens the thread. “Taste some… it’s very expensive.” He smiles. 

You look down at the dark wine in the glass. “I’m still on the clock, Mr. O’hara…” You sigh with a knowing smile. He chuckles, looking up at you before standing up from his seat, towering over you, picking up the glass gingerly. “Always so formal… you know better…” He sighs, slowly walking around his desk to be on your side. 

“Do I not make you feel… comfortable by now?” He asks, standing behind you. His tall hulking form. His voice by your ear, the heat of his breath on your skin. “Or… do I… make you feel something else… entirely… hopefully…” He whispers, his face dipping into the side of your neck. Arms coming around you from behind. His free hand pressing and sliding down your tummy, smoothing over the fabric of your office attire. Getting lower.

“Drink some, babygirl…” He hums, lifting the wineglass in front of you with the other hand, closer and closer to your lips. The same glass that his lips were just on. Smelling the strong alcohol as it comes closer, along with the fruity smell. Until it meets your lips and he watches carefully as he tips the glass back, gently letting some dribble and pour into your mouth, past your lips. Making sure not to drown you in it. Letting you have a taste before pulling it back. 

You swallow with a small breath. He drinks the strongest wine ever made it seems. The burn down the back of your throat. 

“You’re a very good girl…” He says. Quite unprompted. His sharp white canines glinting in the light as he smiles at you. All you did was drink the wine. Turning your head slightly to catch his eye. “So obedient… so loyal… so so pretty…” He whispers, the tip of his nose grazing against your cheek and his lips ghosting over your skin. In a feather light touch. 

“Thank you…” You whisper. Feeling positively breathless under his touch, in his arms. His hand on your tummy pressing in, his fingers to your womb. “You can do better than that, baby…” He whispers, kissing the corner of your lips. And the answer comes to you quickly. You know exactly what he wants to hear. “Thank you, Daddy…” 

His beefy arms tighten around you at the name. His face pushing into the crook of your neck and biting down, little bites here and there, and wet hot kisses too, making you gasp. Before he pulls away, lifting his head and chugging the rest of the wine. Gulping it down with a satisfied huff, lips red and plump and wet with wine, placing the glass down haphazardly before grabbing your chin to turn your face to him, kissing you hard and deep. His tongue instantly invading your mouth, the taste of wine mixing with the cigar he had. Mixed with the natural taste of him. “Say that again.” He huffs once he finally separates himself from you. 

“Daddy-” You can’t help but whine, coming out at half a gasp, his lips smacking back onto yours instantaneously. His brow furrowing, a primal sort of fire lighting inside. The need to take you. To push you down and take you right now is too much to ignore. He holds your face again, glaring down at you as he pulls away again. “Strip down, baby…”

He steps back, turning around like he’s looking for something. But you don’t need to be told twice. Quickly unbuttoning your blouse, working it off. And then wiggling your way out of your skirt, then your nylons. Kicking your heels off. And he’s looking for something in the cabinet of his office. 

This isn’t the first time this has happened obviously. But it feels like the first time everytime. Every time your wealthy boss, who's nearly 15 years older than you, tells you to get naked, you do it. 

“I have something for you…” He says, finding something in his cabinet and bringing it over. A small blue velvet box. You stand there in your bra and panties, wondering what it is. And he comes back over, raising a brow at the sight of you still partially clothed. “I said strip, sweet girl…” 

You blink, long lashes fluttering and an ache already between your thighs. Submitting to his dominance every damn time without question. The fact that he can get you naked in a matter of a few minutes without having to remove a piece of clothing himself just proves it. Bending down to push your underwear off. Letting it pool at your feet on the floor. His dark eyes flicking down over your exposed nakedness. And then working off your bra for him. Falling free of the material. Looking up at him, like waiting for his approval. You’re used to being naked with him by now. “Such a pretty girl…” He whispers, leaning in and smooching your cheek, leaving a few hot kisses along your throat before pulling back. Holding the box out to you. “This is for you…” 

He lets you take the box before stepping away, walking behind you and letting you see for yourself. You look down at the fancy container, feeling the velvet under your fingertips. Placing it on the desk before opening it. White satin cushions inside supporting a sparkling diamond pendant. A single sparkling diamond on a simple silver chain. Perfectly beautiful. 

Your eyes widening at the sight. He’s given you gifts and spoiled you always but this is a lot. “Do you like it?” His deep voice hums next to your ear suddenly. Pressing up against your back. His bare chest through his dress shirt which is now open. 

“It’s beautiful…” You manage to say. Speechless at the gesture. Leaning into him when he starts kissing your neck again. Suckling and biting down on your skin. “What’s the occasion?” You smile, breaking from your trance. 

“No occasion… just thought you needed it.” He hums, moving up on your jaw and pecking your lips. “Go away with me?”

“What?” 

“Let’s go away… anywhere in the world… just you and me.” He says. And you can’t help but turn in his arms, to face him a bit more. His hands roaming your naked body, long fingers pressing into your flesh. “I’ll give you anything… everything you want.” He whispers, looking in your eyes.

“What’s going on with you?” You whisper with a smile. The stoic, hardened man seems to become mush when he’s wrapped around you. He smiles. “I just can’t get you off my mind…” 

“Allow me.” He says, reaching his hands around you to the velvet box. Pulling the stunning necklace out. Opening the clasp and pulling it up around your neck. Sitting pretty and sparkly against your skin. Clasping it closed at your nape. Letting his fingers brush through your hair gently, then down your back. “I wanna be the only one on your mind… the only one in your heart… in your perfect pussy too…” 

He huffs, holding you tight and nuzzling his nose against yours. Dripping between your thighs and trying to press them together. “Just say ‘yes, Daddy’ and you’ll be mine…” 

You swallow hard, feeling hazy, fuzzy from his words, his touch. “Yes, Daddy…” 

“Say… ‘please, Daddy’… say it.” He whispers, dark eyes piercing into you. “P-please, Daddy…” The words leave your lips in a tiny hum, meek like a mouse caught by the cat’s claws. “Tell me what you want...” 

The bluntness makes you blush, the embarrassment of admitting the need for his attention, his love, his cock. It’s intoxicating. “I want… I… want to be yours, Daddy, please?” 

“That’s a good girl…” His lips press to yours, gathering you up in his arms. Moving his lips against your mouth, parting your lips with his tongue, tasting you again. One of his hands pushing some things back on the desk, out of the way. Lifting you up smoothly and sitting you on the edge. Nudging your legs apart and slotting between them. Your slick cooling from the air, your clit buzzing for attention. 

His fingers move down between your legs, finding your core and caressing you, making you tremble and whine into his mouth. Parting from his lips in a gasp and rolling your hips into his hand when a thick finger slips in you. “That good babygirl? Dime…” 

“Mmm so good… more Daddy… please more” You whine, your head rolling back and feeling his digits plunge into your velvet heat. Two fingers slipping in now and his thumb on your clit to get you there. To stretch you out for his cock, get you wet to take him. You always take him so well. 

“Ooh.. Da-addyyy…” You gasp, grabbing his wrist and squeaking as your impending orgasm threatens any shred of composition you still possess. ”Unghh” You growl, clenching around his fingers and coming soon after. His arm anchors around your back to keep you from squirming away. Smiling down at you and watching you fall apart. “Beautiful girl…” He whispers in praise after watching you climax, pulling out from your cunt and holding you closer still while pulling his belt out. The clink of metal and leather slipping out from the loops. Falling with a heavy clank onto the desk beside you. His pants pushed down only far enough for him to be free. Rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your heat. 

The warmth and slick tempting him. 

“You’re my good girl huh? Yeah?” 

“Y-yeah… mmmhmm…” 

“Mhm…” He hums, looking down at you almost sympathetically like you’re in heat. Pushing his tip to your entrance and prodding. Testing it out and seeing what you’ll take yet. And when you pull him closer, your legs around his waist, he pushes in more, a few inches in. The both of you hissing from the feeling.

He works you out, pushing deeper, all the way to the hilt. The dark hair at his base pushing up against your clit and tickling. The hair that travels up to his navel, dark and pretty on his skin. And then across his chest. Your hands on his chest and head in his neck as he pumps into you, squishing into you over and over. Your hands push and grab at his shirt, trying to push it off. And he lets you pull it off him, his deep skin so warm, almost like burning up. All over you, smothering you in the best way.

“You wanna come on Daddy’s cock?” He huffs, suddenly grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling back, nose to nose and pounding into your cunt faster now. “You want that, huh?”

“Mmmmnghmmm” You whine over and over. “Yes yes yes yes…”

You're his... for sure.

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

@palomanh @maxad99 @muuuwoppppp @reader-1290

@sp0ck136 @lazyninjaphilosopher

@pinkdizzyship @opalwitchart

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

[razrbladekiss]

GUILTY AS SIN? | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: your dad’s ex-best-friend explains just why your old-man no longer associates with the man whose blood once ran through his veins.

PAIRING: dads(ex)best friend!joel miller x afab!reader. joel is in his fifties, reader is early twenties.

WORD COUNT: no idea i raw-dogged this on tumblr dot com.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ WORK BELOW THE CUT. kinda established friendship between reader and joel, despite not seeing one another for a few years. insinuated NSFW, nothing strictly dirty. just wordy shit.

PART TWO

He’s a lot grayer than you remember. Broader, too. He looks positively stacked beneath the faded red flannel he’s donning today. For an old-ish man, Joel looks good.

Too good.

Much, much too good for a man who has the audacity—the absolute temerity—to show his face in this town after all that he said about, and did to your father.

Apparently—though, you’ve never been too sure how true the tale of brotherly betrayal had been—Joel had broken the “sacred” pact between himself and your father, when you had moved out of state four years ago, and neither spoke a word to the other since.

Joel left Point Pleasant and took with him his shame for whatever it was that he’d done. But now he’s back—to the dismay of your father—and you’ve just so happened to cross paths with him.

And though you don’t understand—or care to learn about—just what happened between the two who’d been friends since childhood, you respect your old man and his desire to keep you from Joel.

That was, until today.

When you bumbled through town—hunting for a padlock to secure the gate in your backyard that keeps blowing open with the fucking wind—you didn’t think you’d come face to face with him.

You’d waltzed into the hardware store on St. John’s Road, roaming the aisles—feeling uncomfortable in the mundane—for the biggest, brassiest lock you could find and when you got your hands on it, a familiar—though not entirely expected—voice filled the space between you and the monotony of being back home.

He showed himself and you all but shit yourself. You hadn’t expected to see Joel God damn Miller in your town, but you did. And it knocked you for six.

The two of you made small talk for a few minutes—mindful of who could’ve been around—before Joel was inviting you out for drinks later that evening. And being the sweet—slightly intrigued as to what happened between him and your father—soul you are, you said “yes.”

And that’s how you wound up in this position.

Joel sits opposite to you, puttering with the beer mat between his pointer finger and thumb. He flashes you a smile whenever you speak, and you’re filled with a strange sense of warmth in his presence. Nostalgia, perhaps.

“And college was a drag.” You say honestly. “I dropped out after the second semester, but I didn’t tell my parents.”

He laughs in disbelief, not for one second thinking that your father would’ve let that slide.

“What’d dad say?” Joel cringes when he realizes the way he’s spoken about your old man, remembering that they were no longer on friendly terms. “Sorry, Mike.”

Tight lipped, you smile.

“I didn’t tell him for six months. Mom knew, but she never told him.” Breezing past that hiccup, you tell him. “But when he did find out, he kicked my ass. Didn’t speak to me for a year. Didn’t want me back at home for Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas, my Birthday. Didn’t want nothin’ to do with me, ‘til I re-enrolled.”

“And did you?”

You shake your head. “No, sir. I moved to Atlanta, instead. Got a job in marketing, worked my way up to a senior position, met a great guy and got engaged, built the best life I possibly could’ve.”

Proud of you—genuinely pleased—Joel smiles. “So what brings you back here?”

The wine glass in your hand is suddenly bone-dry, empty of it’s once fruity contents. You laugh wryly. “Got fired. Fiancé cheated on me with the CEO of my company. Lost my house in the split. So I came back here last summer.. taken me ‘til now to be able to move outta dad’s place.”

“Oh, sweetheart..” He sense that you don’t want his sympathy, but he can’t help it. “How did d—Mike take it?”

Again, you laugh.

“Badly. Didn’t speak to me for a while.” You smile tight-lipped. “Common theme, that. Dad not speaking to me.”

Joel whirls his whiskey around its tumbler, refusing eye contact. “I know how that feels. Been four years since he last said a word to me, and I kick myself for that everyday.”

It’s sad. Meditative. Almost makes you want to keep your nose out.

Almost.

“Yeah,” you put down your glass. “What happened there, then? ‘Cus nobody seems to tell me jack-shit here, anymore.”

Usually, Joel would say something along the lines of “darlin’, it’s best you don’t know,” or “none ‘a your damn business.” But he supposes that it is your business—what with it being your father.

And the fact that you’re the fucking reason for your dad wanting to murder Joel, and use his guts as drapes.

“Well.” He begins—feeling his chest constrict and heart pound wildly inside of its ribcage. Joel takes a deep, drawn out breath, and a swig of his liquor for some well-needed fucking courage.

But it doesn’t work.

He’s a trembling mess, now.

“Alright, you needa know…this ain’t somethin’ I’m proud of.”

You blink at him, feeling crimson bleed into your cheeks while simultaneously knowing that all color is draining from your face.

“And I’ve been on my own for years. Since Sarah’s mother died—“

“Joel.” You say, warningly. “Spit it out.”

He swallows thickly the residual bile on the tip of his tongue. Joel didn’t think he’d ever be in this position. Least of all today.

“Your father and I, we got drunk at a yacht party one night.” He begins. “Some hot-shot at his company invited us and I wasn’t gunna go, ‘til Mike convinced me.”

You can tell he’s trying to drag it out, and so you stare at him pointedly.

Joel clears his throat, continuing. “Anyway. We got hammered, told one another some shit and shared a few heart-to-hearts. And then I crossed a boundary that—darlin’—I know I never should’ve crossed.”

“Go on..” Apprehensive, you say.

He rubs his lips together, sending you a very apologetic gaze.

“I told your father that I had a crush on you.” Finally he admits, and your heart falls out of your fucking cunt. “Now—this ain’t somethin’ I ever wanted to act on—“

“You had a crush on me?” He nods, ignoring the venom in your tone. “Joel! That’s fucking—that’s—“

You can’t find it in yourself to be disgusted with him. In fact, you’re quite flattered, actually. Because for as long as you can remember, Joel Miller was desired by every single woman that he’d ever known, and yourself would’ve been included in that.

Despite being the father of one of your closest childhood friends, you often fantasized about what it’d be like to screw around with Joel. Because he was so handsome—so rough and rugged—and he made you squirm whenever he put a friendly hand to your shoulder or hugged you at a family event.

You’re completely dumbfounded, actually.

He says your name as you’re lost in your lascivious thoughts, hastily plummeting you back to reality.

“I’m sorry—“

“Don’t be.” Completely unfazed, now, you say. “My dad’s a drama queen. I should’ve known it’d be something stupid that split the two of you up.”

He stares blankly at you, brows fused together.

“If I’m being honest, Joel, I’ve wanted to fuck you for years.” Candid, you tell him. “So I guess that now you and my dad hate one another, I have nothing to feel bad about.”

“What the f—I mean—thanks? But, sweetheart, this is wrong.” He reasons. “Your father ground me into the sidewalk when he found out, and I can’t imagine what he’ll do to me if he finds out you’re sayin’ all these things—“

You wave, completely detached from reality. “Aw, fuck him. Never cared much for him, anyways. Was always tryna control my life.”

Joel actually can’t believe what he’s hearing. It’s like some strange music to his ears, but it feels so wrong.

“And, y’know what? He can’t control me now.” You say matter of fact before you’re hopping off your bar stool, and shifting to stand in front of Joel. “I’d love to hear his thoughts on this.”

In a moment of completely blind, unadultered passion, you fuse your lips to Joel’s. His left hand comes up to take purchase on the skin of your neck while the right lands on your waist. He moans, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

You laud the sweetness of Honey on his tongue, and drink the lustrous flavor of him. He’s so steamy. So beautiful, for an older man.

And now that you’re back in the same town, then who knows what’ll happen?

“Joel?”

He hums against your lips, holding tightly your skin.

“Take me home with you.”

[fanaticsnail]

Drinking Drabbles

Masterlist Here

Themes: Two of scenarios with a few one piece characters x reader, gn reader, suggestive in some, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, romance, friendship. Drink responsibly!

Characters: Rosinante/Corazon, Mihawk, Buggy, Sir Crocodile, Koby, Smoothie, Fukaboshi, Vivi

Notes: Trying to get my sparkle back. Expressing gratitude to Discordant's OP OC discord server for hanging out and suggesting characters for me to try for. Love the characters, and I adore writing for new ones to me.

Drinking with Rosinante / Corazon

Looks like: sharing a glass of wine over dinner, hearing the uproar of laughter at the head of the table - his brother cackling at a joke he told. Sharing subtle glances, pouring a new glass for one another while stealing a moment where your fingers brush together while reaching for the same bottle.

Also looks like: Sharing rum in the cold, willing your bodies to keep warm while caring for the sick child in the snow. The burn ignites in your throat, but the heat is makes the night pass in a more comfortable fluidity. The only blanket available to you is tucking the child in, but you both make do by sitting beneath the dark cloak. Shrouded in feathers, sharing those touches you longed for back at the dining table, the rum feels more like home now than that wine ever did.

Drinking with Mihawk

Looks like: a bottle of his private reserve label, uncorked by a methodological approach of a saber to the glass lip. Expertly decanted, rested for the appropriate amount of time, and shown how to enjoy the glass properly. He does not invite your glasses to touch, for fear it would disturb the wine with such a crude approach, but he does indicate for you to drink it with him in unison.

Also looks like: drinking straight from the bottle neck, poured by his hands and coaxed back into your lips by cradling your head and ensuring you don't spill a drop, before doing the same for himself. Anything to get through the voice of the clown at the table. He will have you closer to him for moral support, and will enjoy ensuring you are both equally topped up while glaring at Buggy for the duration of your stay with Cross-Guild.

Drinking with Buggy

Looks like: Something fruity, decorated with an outrageous amount of umbrellas and shaved ice dancing at the brim. It's too sweet, too bubbly, and too much all at once. Paired with a nasally cackle, lively music, linking his arms with yours and dancing a jig on the table, drink sloshing from the side, everything is perfect for the clown: the star of the show.

Also looks like: Aiding him to drink straight spirits as he sits on the bathroom floor, icing the bruises he's received at the hands of Crocodile and Mihawk while he openly sobs and apologizes for looking pathetic. A quiver to his lips, the swell in his bruised eye, he expresses his gratitude by silently whispering it as intimately as he can to you.

Drinking with Crocodile

Looks like: a circular short glass with a small cubic stone cooled by frost, drinking the most expensive and lush whiskey to ever be produced. Not dampening the flavor with water falling from ice, simply cooling it to enjoy over the palate. Everything is lush, filled with luxury, and likely paired with a cigar as he gazes at you with a predatory look in his beady expression.

Also looks like: Sneaking it in your clothes and fishing it out once below the cells in Impel Down, feeding him through prison bars and apologizing that it's not his favorite. He's looking up like it is his lifeline and an angel is offering him their tether to the great beyond. Those eyes that once looked like a predator on the prowl now humble themselves before you as he sits on his calves and drinks messily from the glass lip of the rum bottle.

Drinking with Koby

Looks like: Sitting at the table surrounded by Alvida Pirates, letting the pink-haired ‘chore boy’ fill your tankard from the barrel and giving him praise for it. Alvida chastises you for expressing gratitude to the smaller pirate, but you hush her with a crass joke and continue to dote on him while you drink. You offer him a sip from your glass that he throws back with practiced precision, causing you to laugh with him and invite him to sit with you for the remainder of the evening.

Also looks like: Bound in chains, on your knees and contained within the brig, a pink haired captain, once pirate from long ago, offers you a kindness of a drink while transferring you to Impel Down. He was not as quiet as he once was, but his kindness was still present as you knew it to be. You humored him by drinking all he offered you with your hands tied behind your back, as submissive as he was all those years ago. Your gratitude is on your lips, smiling as a drop is collected and wiped by the pad of Koby's thumb. He utters apologies, and you reassure him that you won't take it personally.

Drinking with Smoothie

Looks like: Sitting at the table, surrounded by her siblings, enjoying something a little on the sweeter side. Something mixed in with juices, a precious concoction that paired beautifully with the sweets offered at the table. Brushing glasses with one another, your eyes meet hers and she gifts you a rare, soft smile reserved for when he desires to showcase her sweetness.

Also looks like: Draining the life out of her enemies, blood gushing over her full lips and spilling down her chin, she bows her head to you and gives you a mischievous grin. Pulling up a cloth, you press the material to her lips and remove all blemishes of fluids from the human she drank from. You would rather watch than participate in this brew, but she enjoys watching you squirm as she presses her lips delicately to yours soon thereafter.

Drinking with Fukaboshi

Looks like: A room filled with tension, barely a look shared between you while negotiations between humans, mink, and fishfolk sit and discuss how to progress in a proper manner. Once decided, all raise their sake bowls and salute them with one another. Finally making eye contact with the mer Fishman, you both share a glance before pressing the sake to your lips and draining it of their contents to solidify your fresh alliance.

Also looks like: Tucked beneath the figurehead of the vessel you served aboard, sharing a moment with one another in the silence. All softness, all secretive, all in a world carved just for you, you both enjoy a swap of culture. He, a bottle from his homeland, you, a bottle from your own. Discussing the differences in textures and flavors, you both feel a pull in your chests as the sun slowly slips over the horizon.

Drinking with Vivi

Looks like: Sitting around a table, shrouded in darkness and surrounded by the vapors of sour cigar smoke, and raising your glass to your glorious leader a the head of the table. Bananawani in the corner, several of the members strike up conversation, and you and Miss Wednesday are no different. There was something in her tone and demeanor that seemed out of place, but you paid it no mind because you had secrets of your own. Drinking and cringing a little at the burn, you both drank and discussed the various interweavings of Baroque Works and where your missions would take you next.

Also looks like: An uprageous celebration for the return of Arabasta’s princess, drinks of all bubbles and honeys swirling in a variety of glassware. Watching as she flawlessly navigates the room full of her supporters, she gives you a look like the one not so dissimilar from your years serving together in Baroque Works. Catching you in the corner, she brushes her glass against yours with a hidden smile peaking at the corner of her lip: a silent promise that she will keep you by her side all the remaining of her days as ruler.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

[jd07201990]

“Oh, come on Chuck! This’ll be my second time! You can’t keep forcing me to work another 40 years, just to make it to retirement and do it all again! It’s not yours or my fault that there aren’t enough young folk to take over our jobs! Hell, maybe if we paid a bit more, the few of them out there would apply!”

“It’s Lieutenant Roth, Billy. Now go change out of that equipment and take a shower. Whatever this remote does to strip away all those years, it sure does leave a young man ripe!”

“Don’t call me Billy! I haven’t been Billy in 30 years! Its Bill Damn it! And how am I supposed to explain this, again! to David?! You know he’s not into, well… this!”

“Put your shirt down Billy and quit your complaining. We’re doing something different this time, changing things up, trying something new. See, we couldn’t afford to pay higher wages all these years, because we’ve been stashing extra money away, for a new program. This remote can do a lot more than just wipe away years, Billy. The company has a whole app-store full of features, but they cost a hell of a lot. We only had enough for 2 new features, and we think it’ll really help solve this town’s aging population issue.”

“Wha… what the hell are you saying? What do you mean, something new?! Chuck, dude… you’re seriously starting to crack! What the fuck does any of this have to do with David?! And who is, “We”?!”

“I’m only going to tell you this once, son. It’s Lieutenant Roth. Now, I guess there’s no beating around the bush with you young-bloods. So I’ll get right to it. “We” is me, the Governor, and the Town Board. We investigated every possible fix, and it comes down to this. All the youth are moving out in droves, going to college, or fleeing to the city for excitement, leaving us aging folk to do the hard work around town. With the remote able to take years off a person, we’ve decided that all our current retirees, in every department, will be regressed, and the new feature we purchased will ensure you all follow your new, youthful instincts, providing us with a full generational bump in population.

You will be the hot-blooded virile stud you were way back in the day; you remember? Except this time, just as David isn’t attracted to this prime of your life look, YOU won’t be attracted to David, or any man for that matter. You see, we need all the help we can get, so with this little app, you’ll be chasing pretty women, and will certainly end up settling down, once one of them catches. Ah, by the look on your face, you know exactly what I mean.

Good, because you and the rest of the retirees are going to have your hands full, working these jobs getting paid just enough for a double-wide and a truck, leaving a trail of gals before you settle in with one, and have a whole mess of kids. "

“Ch… Lieutenant, sir… Wha… you’re insane dude! Fuckin’ totally cracked! You hear yourself! You can’t do this! I can’t be… I can’t chase… I don’t… don’t like…. Fuck… fuck dude… what the fuck are you doing?! Quit pointin’ that shit at me bro! My.. my head!”

“Don’t worry son, I’ll let you off the hook for all that mouthing off. It’s got to be rough having your brain completely flipped inside out, dumped out and filled with everything you need to be a, productive, member of society. Isn’t that right Billy?”

“Wha.. Oh, hey Lieutenant! So uh, is it ok if I head off to the showers and hit the road? Kind of a slow night huh sir? If it’d be alright, I want to go down to the Strip and hit the bar. The dudes and I figured we’d start the weekend early, ya know? Gotta get get some tail on lock before the storms hit. Thinkin’ I might run into Becka too, you know, from Thornton Stables? God she’d look real pretty, all knocked up good n’ proper!”

“Oh alright son. Go ahead, take the night off. But you’re on call. Got it! One or two beers, maybe a shot, take some cash and buy the lass one of those fruity drinks, and you treat her like a lady, young man. Got it?”

“Got it Dude! I mean Lieutenant! I’ll make a lady outa her yet! Thanks for the money too! Ya know how rough it is on the town’s wages! Although you and the Board seem to be doin’ alright. I hope I can get to where you are, Sir!”

“Don’t worry Billy, you’ve got a good 40 years or so to work your way up! Go have fun tonight!”

[kteezy997]

Chocolate Boss: part one // Willy Wonka

If I end up going to hell, it’ll be for this.

I blame @gatoenlaciudad

Warnings: smut, licking chocolate off reader’s body, nipple play, slight boss/employee power dynamic

Y/n was the chocolate factory’s most dedicated employee. She worked hard, stayed after hours, and really strived to make the business the best it could be. She was also a wizard in the kitchen, much like Mr. Wonka.

Willy admired his diligent employee, in fact, he had a bit of a crush on her. He’d seen her work with the candies, cakes, and pastries. He noticed that she had a real passion for it.

It was way passed closing, and Willy was heading out of the factory after a long day. He noticed that the kitchen light was still on, however. The aroma of fresh, warm chocolate filled his nose. It was divine. He knew exactly who was still in there.

He walked through the swinging doors of the factory kitchen. Y/n had a large pot of chocolate on the stove. She was stirring it, obviously stuck in her own head, thinking of whatever recipe or concoction she wanted to bring to fruition.

“Miss y/l/n, I don’t want you working yourself too hard. We should both really get out of here for the night.” Willy said politely, approaching her side.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wonka. It’s just that this idea has been in my head all day. It’s like a chocolate bar with strawberries and cream and ugh, it sounds so delectable.”

Willy raised his brow, “I love it. We will work on your idea tomorrow, just you and I. I can’t wait to see how it turns out.”

“Oh really?! Thank you, Mr. Wonka!” she exclaimed, hugging him.

He smiled with glee as he hugged her back.

“It’s a pity that this batch of chocolate will go to waste if I go home now though.” she said.

“That’s alright.” Willy replied with a wave of his hand. “We can start over in the morning.”

“Or…” she began stepping over to the counter across from the stove and picked up a fresh strawberry by its short stem. “Maybe we could try some?” She bit her lip suggestively.

Willy’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he swallowed hard. “Oh, yes, we certainly could.”

Y/n smiled in victory, “Here, Mr. Wonka.” She dipped the small fruit into the liquid chocolate, coating it up to the tiny bit of green at the top of it. Letting the excess chocolate drip off, she held it up to Willy’s mouth.

Carefully, he opened his mouth. He felt the warm chocolate on his top lip, then there was the bright pop of the fruitiness of the strawberry when he bit into it. The chocolate coating was an excellent contrast, like a creamy, decadent blanket surrounding the fruity taste.

“It’s perfect.” he declared dreamily.

“May I, sir?” she asked.

Willy cocked his head to the side, not really understanding what she was meaning. Next thing he knew, y/n was leaning in and her lips met his. He was surprised but definitely not disappointed. He indulged in her, opening his mouth up for her to explore with her tongue.

Now he knew what she was doing. She was tasting her creation in his mouth.

“Mm,” she moaned softly when she parted from his lips. “It is pretty good. Forgive me, Mr. Wonka, I had to taste it. I-I wanted to… taste you too. I hope this doesn’t mean I’m fired.”

“Far from it, my dear.” he said, assuring her.

“Oh, good.” she grinned. "May I kiss you again, Mr. Wonka?"

"Yes, please. And as I've told you before, you can call me 'Willy.'"

Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck, "Willy." she giggled, leaning in and kissing him softly, running her hands down his arms sensually.

He in turn, put his arms around her as well, and their bodies became flush with one another.

She parted from his lips but remained still just an inch from them when she said, "I've got an idea." She then stepped back and started to remove her clothing.

"Wait-what.." Willy stammered.

"Shh," she put her finger on his lips, silencing him for a moment, "let me try something."

Willy could barely breathe as he watched her get completely naked before him. He watched her painstakingly. She then dipped her hand into the pot of liquid chocolate. It dripped down her hand and she gave him a cheeky grin before smearing the chocolate onto her breasts, covering her nipples.

"Oh, Willy, can you clean this up for me?" she asked, acting innocently as she brought her chocolate covered fingers to her mouth and started to lick the sweetness off of them.

Willy cleared his throat. His cock was already hard, pressing against the fabric of his trousers. "Fuck." was his only verbal response at this point, but he was able to answer her with a head nod.

He sunk down a little bit to be eye level with her breasts. He licked his lips and put his mouth around her right nipple. He sucked and swirled his tongue around it as it puckered in his mouth, making sure to get every last bit of the sugary goodness off her tit. He couldn't help but moan at how delicious it was. Oh, how it turned him on. His two favorite things: Y/n and chocolate.

"Mmm, don't forget the other one, my sweet." cooed y/n, cupping his face as he suckled her.

He obliged and switched to her left breast, clearing up the rich coating with his tongue and lips. He looked up at her as he was latched onto her nipple, sucking softly on the tender bud.

"Willy, feels so good. You're getting me so clean." she praised him, giggling and running her fingers gently through his curly hair.

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!Reader

Chapter 2

Your second meeting with Nikolai

cw: cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, blow jobs, piv, abusive relationships, shower sex, he gives her alcohol to calm her down

Masterpost

You knew the drill this time. All your clothes taken off, this time folded, and left in a stack on the floor. The panties and bra he left you were still too small and were a light pink this time. He must have a collection somewhere, hopefully one he bought rather than gathered. The door beeped and unlocked. 

“Kotenok, come here,” He called down the hall from the living room. You hurried over, footsteps softened by the rugs he had laid everywhere. “Ahh, there you are. Prekrasnyy”

He was standing by the bar, shaking a cocktail, shirtless with his various tattoos on display. “Do you drink?”

“Not normally, Sir.” You stood next to the bar, hands at your side. He poured out the shaker into a glass and slid it over to you. 

“I don’t want you shaking as much tonight.” He gave you a pointed look till you picked up the glass and took a sip. It was fruity and strong, burning a bit as you swallowed.

“Thank you, Sir.” 

“Go wait for me on the couch.” He turned his back to grab another bottle off the shelf for his own drink. 

His house was always a bit cold, making your nipples hard and your skin pimple. Your feet were always cold since he never gave you shoes. A double edged sword considering how others had made you pace for hours wearing six inch and higher heels. 

You sat on the couch trying to seem sexy, back straight with your chest jutting out and a leg extended across the cushions. Just be an object, a pretty object for him to stick his fingers into. 

A hand gripped the back of your neck, not painfully but forcibly. He held you still as you gasped.

“Finish your drink, Kotenok.” He tilted your head back so your eyes were on him. You drank it down in three quick gulps, maintaining eye contact with him. You watched carefully for any sign of pleasure or approval but nothing came. “No more shaking, yes?”

You nodded and he let go of your neck. The liquor sloshed around in your stomach. He had a heavy pour that was clear. 

He sat down and motioned for you to come over. He guided you till your head was laying on his lap, face up towards the ceiling. He held your neck again, massaging the sides of it. He smelled like oud and musk and tobacco and gunpowder.

“You fuck anyone else today?” He asked, taking a sip from his own drink glass. 

“Yes, Sir.” Don’t shake, you screamed at yourself. “I cleaned myself before coming. I remembered how you like it.”

He gave you a pleased sigh,  “Good girl.”

You tensed up as he sat his drink down on your forehead. “Don’t spill.”

One of his thumbs forced its way into your mouth, his ring catching on your teeth. You dug your nails into your legs, transferring all your anxious energy to other parts of your body. Both your hands fit around his one, holding it gently while you sucked on his finger. Condensation from his glass dripped down onto your forehead. 

“Are you afraid of me, Kotenok?” He asked, pulling his finger from your mouth only to flick it against one of your nipples. You bit down on your tongue to stop yourself from flinching. 

“No, Sir.” His hand trailed down to rest on your stomach. You avoided looking at him, not wanting to see if he caught your lie. You were in his den, laying between his teeth, praying he wouldn’t clamp down. You knew enough about the men who paid Arno to know he was dangerous. Outside of these meetings he exchanged blood for gold. The security, the art, the liquor, the sheets all cost money. A lot of money. The tattoos were the same you saw on Russian mobsters. 

“Are you afraid of Arno?”

Yes. Arno was in charge of the club, of you, and the rest of the girls. He was the one who trapped you into debt, threatened your safety if you tried to flee. His threats weren’t empty. A couple months ago a girl got as far as Glasgow before being dragged back here. He gathered everyone into the main club room and broke her legs. You never saw her again. You imagine she went to one of the clients that paid extra to break their toys. 

Arno slapped you across the face once because he thought you gave him a dirty look. He rarely fucked any of his girls. His drug habit prevented him from getting hard so it was more to save himself embarrassment than a lack of desire. On good days he kept to himself in his office.

“Kotenok, answer my question.” His fingers flexed against your stomach, claws ready to come out and gut you. 

“Yes,” you said meekly. 

“He take the money I gave you?”

“No.” It was tucked away safely in the lining of your coat. You told no one about it. A hundred years ago the Romanov girls sewed jewels into their petticoats. It caused the bullets to ricochet around the room when they were killed. Pound notes wouldn’t protect you the same but the coat was yours. You slept in it most nights, a better blanket than you’d ever been given. 

“Good.” He patted your stomach. “He’s a fucking siklo.”

“What does that mean?” The question slipped out before you could stop yourself.

“He’s a pussy,” he chuckled. “You can tell him I said that. Might not work well for you if you do though.”

He took the glass off your head and downed it one gulp. He took your chin between two fingers and turned your head to his crotch. He stopped you from sliding off the couch to get between his legs. “Want you up here with me.”

It was an awkward angle as you rolled over onto your stomach. His hand rubbed circles on your ass as you undid his trousers. You looked up at him through your eyelashes as you rubbed his cock through his boxers. His head was already tilted back, eyes closed. 

You wondered if you could bite his throat hard enough to kill before he could stop you. You took an anatomy class once, the vein was right up front, right? That’s where they always cut in movies. He’d kill you before he died or someone else would kill you afterwards. You could get a lick in before that. Get an ounce of flesh for revenge before he cracks your skull under his foot. 

He pinched your ass. You’d stopped moving.

“Sorry, Kolya.” You kissed his cock through the fabric. 

He hummed pleasantly, eyes still closed. You stroked him to half hardness before taking his tip into your mouth. You bobbed your head, sucking on his tip when you went up. He groaned softly, bucking his hips up as you took him deeper and deeper. His breath hitched when you licked his slit. He pinched your ass again when you took him out of your mouth completely, only to rub the spot apologetically when you took his balls into your mouth, stroking his length with your free hand. 

“Want to come in your mouth, Kotenok.” A hand tangled in your hair and pulled you upwards. You took him back into your mouth, lavishing your tongue around the head of his cock. His groaning turned to growls. He flooded your mouth with hot salt. He held your head still, lazily thrusting his twitching cock down your throat. 

When he moved his hand you finally pulled yourself off him and laid your head sideways on his thigh. 

His thumb tugged your lower lip down, opening your mouth for him to look inside. You stuck your tongue out, showing you swallowed him. 

“Did they feed you tonight?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“No, sir. They didn’t.” 

He sighed, “Arno never takes care of his girls.”

He moved you off his lap and left. Your head was busy. You didn’t know what to think of him. He had been kind but you weren’t here because you wanted to be and he knew that. He knew Arno made money off your rape. He paid for it and presumably for the pleasure to do the same to other girls before you. You told yourself to remember that. No matter how nice he was to you, he was not a good man. He’d just as soon kill you as fuck you.

You sat up when he reentered the room, a plate in hand. A chicken breast and some roasted vegetables. Your mouth watered. Food at the club was protein bars and whatever snacks you could get your hands on. You didn’t remember the last time you ate meat. 

“Eat. You’ll need the energy.”

“Thank you.” You said, taking the plate as carefully as you could. Part of you was afraid he’d snatch it back before you could get one bite in. You ate slowly or so you thought.

“Hungry, Kotenok?” He chuckled.

“I’m sorry.” You rested your fork on the plate, face turning hot.

“Don’t be. You need to eat. Finish your meal.” He nodded at you.

You sat cross legged beside him, moaning as the juice from the chicken hit your tongue. He rubbed the back of your neck. There was a fascination in his eyes like he’d never seen someone eat before. 

“You don’t go hungry when you’re here, understood? I don’t want to hear your stomach growling when I’m trying to sleep.”

You nodded as you swallowed a mouth full of veggies. He wiped the corner of your mouth, “Good girl.”

When you finished eating he tucked you under his arm and turned on the news. His fingers played with the elastic of your panties. He leaned in to press his lips to your hairline, “Touch yourself. I want you wet for me.” 

You might have played it up, breathing heavy against his side as you played with your clit. Two fat, ringed fingers pushed their way into your mouth. You remembered his words from last week, “I don’t like liars.” You quieted down, sucking on his fingers obediently. His arm kept you pinned to him in a pseudo headlock. The hair of his arm tickled your face. You felt a pulse in your cunt, liquid heat pooling inside you. Last week’s lube was a courtesy, you understood that now. You rolled your hips a little, grinding against your hand. 

His cock was still out. You watched him grow larger and perk up under the curve of his stomach. Drool was seeping out around his fingers and dripping down your chin onto his leg. He hooked one of his fingers against the corner of your lips and pulled, letting a cascade of drool pour out with a chuckle.

“Want you to ride me, Kotenok.” He wiped his wet fingers on your stomach.

Straddling him on the couch was when you first became aware of how small you were to him. There was a burn in the muscles of your thighs. Your hips fit perfectly into his hands as he lowered you down on his cock. You held his shoulders tight, gasping and whining as each inch disappeared inside you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown out. It was a hungry look. Men often looked like they wanted to devour you, he was the first who might actually be able to do so. 

He let you take a moment as you sat flush with his hips. He rubbed your spine, murmuring in Russian against your cheek as he laid small kisses. He’d never kissed you before. You hadn’t moved yet and your thighs were shaking. You felt overstuffed, your pussy clenching around him as it adjusted. You let out a shuddered breath. 

He leaned back, arms stretched out across the back of the couch as you started to roll your hips. You tucked your head under his chin, riding his cock. Your ass smacking against his thighs. The head of his cock dragged against your walls and you couldn’t help but keen when his cock bumped against that spot inside you. 

“Yebat,” he groaned, a hand slapping against your ass. He suddenly gripped your hips and started thrusting up into you. “Pussy fucking made for me.”

You dug your nails into his shoulders, “Kolya…fuck…Kolya.”

Part of you hated how good his cock felt inside you. Hated that this is what you had to do to survive now. Hated how you shivered when his stubble rubbed against your cheek when he nipped at your earlobe. Hated how vulnerable you were yet you were moaning wantonly on his cock.

You slipped a hand between your legs to rub your clit, scissoring it between two fingers. His hot breath skated across your face,“Going to come on my cock again?”

“Yes, Kolya,” You cried. You hardly knew how to discern between pretend and actual pleasure anymore. What want really was. You did want to come but you’d rather be alone with a toy between your legs rather than riding the cock of a large Russian man. A large calloused hand gently pushed yours away and began to rub your clit with fervor. 

“Come.” He ordered. You melted in his hold, your teeth dragging against his chest. Your thighs gave out, collapsing you fully on his cock. He fucked you through your orgasm, muttering about how tight you were. “Going to fill you up, Kotenok.”

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head backwards, your chins touching. “Open your mouth,” he breathed. You did and he spit into it. You kept your eyes on him as you swallowed. He grunted loudly, cum filling any space left in your cunt. 

He slumped against the couch while you did the same against his chest. His heart was beating wildly under the hair and tattoos. 

He kept you on his cock, lighting his cigar as he went soft inside you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and laid your head under his chin. He smelled good. You tried to let yourself relax. He’d turned the news off at some point, letting the two of you sit in silence. He laughed softly. You glanced up and he was staring down at you.

“You’ve made a mistake.” You opened your mouth to apologize, confused as to what you could have done in this moment. “You’ve made me like you too much. Going to call you back every Tuesday. You’re a good cocksleeve.” 

He made you another drink and then another. Then fucked you on the floor doggy style. He fucked your throat again after turning on a football match. You started to lose track of what was happening when he pushed you down onto the floor again. Several hours later you were splayed out on the rug, cum dripping out of you and “Kolya” coming out like a mantra. He heaved you up and over his shoulder.

“Did I tire you?” He chuckled, smacking your ass. Your head rolled listlessly as he carried you upstairs. 

He wiped you clean with a warm wet rag before pulling the comforter over you. You drifted off quickly. His bed was soft and warm, much more comfortable than the cot you slept on in the club’s basement. A lot of men didn’t let you sleep in their bed. One even handcuffed you to the couch for the night so he could sleep without worry. You woke up an hour later with Kolya’s arm around your middle, his nose buried in your hair. He didn’t grumble when you got up to drink water or use the bathroom. Only beckoned you back to him, pulling the covers back over the two of you. 

At one point woke up to him pulling one of your legs over his hips, cock sliding between your folds. 

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “Want you like this.”

Exhaustion pulled you back under easily even with his hips hitting your ass and his hand groping your breast.  

You woke up alone in bed. No tea left for you on the side table. Through the bathroom door you heard the shower running. You dragged yourself out of bed and to the bathroom, knocking on the door.

“Come in!” He called. 

The bathroom was so full of steam you could barely make sense of where anything was. A wet hand reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the shower. He pinned you to the wall of the shower while kissing you sloppily. It felt intimate in a way you weren’t familiar with. He cradled your face while stealing the air from your lungs. His knee slid between your legs and you felt his cock on your thigh.

“Dobroye utro,” he purred.

“Good morning…?” You guessed his words. 

“You learn quickly,” He grinned. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, opening your mouth for his tongue to slide in. Kissing clients was not a regular occurrence, wanting to kiss them back never happened. Yet here you were, moaning softly as his tongue tangled with yours. He rolled one of your nipples between his fingers. “Want you again.”

He fucked you against the shower wall, your legs wrapped around his middle as he bucked into you. You were sure you’d cut open his back with your nails. He sucked a mark against the crook of your neck. He moaned when you tugged on his hair. He came on the tiles only to pin you to them again and rub your clit till you were jelly. 

“You’re shaking again.” He said, holding you by an arm around your waist as he cleaned you both up with a washcloth. 

“I’m hungry,” you answered, honestly.

“Let’s get breakfast, then, yes?”

He got you a plush robe to wear.. He padded around the kitchen in his boxers. From your place atop the counter you watched him make batter and pour a small amount into a pan. He was making you crepes. 

His phone started ringing and he sighed as he looked at the screen. 

“Go wait in the dining room for me, okay, Kotenok.” You nodded and left quickly, hearing him switch to Russian on the phone. He sounded upset and you wondered if you were going to actually get food before leaving. 

You sat to the right of the head chair, resting your chin on the table as you waited. You could hear him get loud every so often. 

“Eat up and I’ll call your car.” He laid a plate in front of you. Two crepes layered with strawberry jam and whipped cream. He was tense, you could tell by the way his hand held the plate. 

“Everything okay?” A dangerous question. It was none of your business. Nothing to concern yourself with. You added quickly, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have.” He rested a hand between your shoulder blades, at the base of your neck. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. My Kotenok’s just worried about me, yes?”

You nodded, looking up through your lashes. Sweet as a lamb you could be. Don’t shake. Don’t shake.  You took his hand and kissed his rings, “Yes, Kolya.”

“Eat your food.”He ordered, sitting down beside you with a cup of espresso in hand. 

“Thank you, Kolya.”

The bottom of one crepe was burnt. You ate it without a word.

He walked you to the front door this time. Kissed your shoulder as he took the robe off. 

“For you,” he handed you another stack of hundred pound notes. Six this time. You held it close to your chest. 

He pushed your hair from your face and kissed your cheek. “See you next week.”

He shut the door behind you, locking you out. You put your clothes on as quickly as you could before shoving the notes into the lining of your coat with the rest. 

The car was idling outside. 

“Hurry up,” Abel snapped. He was one of several drivers Arno had on hand. He was also the meanest. Acted like he was dropping off and picking up girls from the lap of luxury instead of the equivalent of a haunted house.

You stayed quiet in the backseat. You’d forgotten one of your socks.

You were hurried into the back door. Men and other girls moving around chaotically..

Someone grabbed your upper arm and yanked you roughly into a side room.

“At least he hasn’t fucked up your face,” Marcus said, holding your chin and moving your head around roughly. Despite being the reason you were in this situation he was still aggressively possessive of you. Hands clenched in fists whenever he saw you head to a client’s. “Whatever you did, Arno’s pissed. Expected to see you with broken teeth when you got back. ” 

“I…I didn’t do anything. He said he wanted to see me again.” You didn’t know his actual name. Kolya had to have been a diminutive of something but you didn’t know enough Russian to guess. He ripped the letter from your hands. He had sealed it with wax. Funny honestly. Probably knew that every man in this building was itching to climb over another for an extra dollar. 

“Let’s find out for sure, then.”

He dragged you down the hall in a bruising grip. 

“Arno! The Fixer’s bitch is back!” He knocked on the office door.

“Marcus, stop!” You hissed. You didn’t want to be in a room with Arno during one of his bad moods especially not if Marcus was intent on making it worse. 

The door opened. Arno barely scraped six feet tall but he was thin with a square jaw and blue eyes that always seemed blown out. It was no secret he had a nasty coke habit. He always looked a little strung out, a little manic. 

“There she is. ” He hung onto the frame of the door, looking over you and Marcus. He always seemed surprised to see you, like he forgot he’d imprisoned you. He grabbed the front of your coat and pulled you into the office with Marcus at your heels. 

You were shoved onto the couch in the office. Marcus sitting next to you with an arm around your shoulders, holding you against him.

Arno sat on his desk, seething.

“You know what Nikolai said to me today?”

“I don’t know.” You answered meekly, wringing your hands in your lap.

“He’s fucking giving me orders now. Said you weren’t allowed to fuck anyone twenty four hours before going to visit him.” Arno let out an incredulous laugh and threw his hands into the air. 

“He didn’t say anything to me.” You tried to assure. You never rocked the boat, just held onto your oar and hoped your life preserver worked. Marcus grabbed your arm roughly, almost pulling you into his lap. 

“I don’t believe you. I think you’re trying to milk him for everything. You suck his cock extra good? He’s sweet on you now?” Marcus laughed and pulled on your cheek. “Maybe I’ll send you back to him with my cum dripping out of you. How do you like that?”

“I didn’t ask for that.” You pleaded, looking at Arno desperately for some relief from Marcus’s taunts.

“He’s fucking with me,” Arno sighed, rubbing his face harshly. “He’s fucking fucking with me!”

He angrily slapped the lamp off his desk, sending it shattering against the wall. You leaned back against the couch. You had to get out of this room. 

Marcus released you and leaned back on the couch. “Just don’t send her back. What’s the old cunt going to do?”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Marcus.” Arno glared. You bit your tongue to hold back a laugh. “You know I can’t do that. We need his money. That’s why he’s fucking with us. Probably doesn’t even like her that much.”

“Hear that? Don’t get attached.” Marcus pulled on your cheek again. “Nikolai will dump you in a ditch soon enough. Right, Arno?”

He stared at you, blinking slowly, his brow furrowing in anger. He must have forgotten you were there. His brain barely making connections with his own eyes. 

“Get her out of here, Marcus! What the fuck is she even doing here!” Marcus jumped up and pulled you with him. “She shouldn’t be hearing any of this!”

“Sorry. You know how these sluts are. Nosey cunts” He shoved you out of the office, growling close to your face, “Wait for me in my office.”

His ‘office’ was a storage closet with an old desk in it. The door was slammed in your face. He was going to punish you for his own humiliation.  

Through your coat you felt the notes. You would get out of here. You would be your best for Nikolai. He would keep paying you and you’d get out of here. Get on a plane and never be seen again. You were getting out.  

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [CHOICELESS HOPE] ❞ — one. the drumroll.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summary: the moment leading up to the kiss, the drumroll, is as good as the kiss itself. it's certainly more innocent. it's completely harmless. content warnings: very canon divergent because criminal minds timelines fuck me up. emotional cheating (not on reader). no happy ending (for now). angst. right person wrong time. no use of y/n. word count: 1,5+k. a/n: summary based on himym's victoria and her theory.

    Laughter fills the room and you feel your cheeks grow warmer, the scotch you told him earlier you were not going to drink burning your throat as Hotch called you a weak drinker, “This is supposed to be a celebration, Hotchner, why would I want this hellish thing burning my insides?” You complain even though it’s the third time he refilled your cup already. 

    “Burning insides is not that bad of a feeling.” He probably doesn’t mean it to sound as dirty as it does, but the proximity, the alcohol and the attraction you can’t help but feel for him turns almost everything that leaves his lips into an invitation you just can’t accept. 

    Still, you laugh and raise an eyebrow, “it depends on the cause of the burning, sir, would rather something else warm me up, scotch isn’t my first choice.” His own laugh is more contained, air leaving his nostrils and cheeks flushing at the path the conversation was taking. 

    Unconsciously, or you both rather believe it was, you scooched closer to him, his hand landing on your thigh and suddenly none of you two were laughing. His hand felt like fire ablaze on you, a fire only Aaron himself could extinguish and it was obvious he felt the same, his eyes glued to your lips and breathing heavy as the drinks on your stomach. 

    You close your eyes, that feeling of anticipation running over you and you sense his other hand lift, cupping your cheek affectionately, you lean on it and the cold feeling makes you come back to reality, opening your eyes and getting up quickly. 

    His wedding band. 

    He was married. Recently married to his high school sweetheart. 

    This could not be happening.

    You were both in the hotel room you were sharing as Rossi and Gideon shared other, alone, drinking.

    This could not be happening.

    Aaron shakes his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts of you filling his mind, a pained expression as he did so. "That's enough scotch." It's merely a whisper but to you it sounds loud as a drum, ringing right through your ear.

    "Yeah, I–I'm gonna take a shower." You take your whole bag, no time to sort through anything and lock yourself in the bathroom, banging your head to the wall a few times softly.

    This could not be happening.

    The sun does nothing but upset his pale skin, it doesn't matter how many times you’re both burning under it looking through a crime scene, he never gets even slightly tanned. His neck is starting to get red but you can’t help but love the Las Vegas desert for forcing him to wear sunglasses that give his boyish features more edge. 

    “Stop staring at me, I'm red as it is.” Caught. He doesn’t look at you to call you out, feeling your eyes on him whenever you get lost on his features. He never gave you the grace of not calling you out on it, like you did whenever you caught him staring at you. Truthfully, you were too afraid he would stop looking for good if you did. So you let him stare at your profile, your hands, and even your ass when he thought you weren’t looking. He's a guy, if someone else caught him it wouldn’t be too damaging. 

    “I'm not staring, did you even put sunblock before coming?” By now you’re both just walking back to the car, parked way too far from the scene not to disturb it. 

    “You know I don't like the feeling of it on my skin.” You do know it, as he knows you like it when your chapsticks taste fruity instead of sweet. As both of you share the knowledge of the smallest and biggest things about each other. 

    “You’re gonna look like an old man in less than five years.” 

    “And you’re still gonna love me.” The nonchalance of his voice is what kills you the most. He knows he shouldn’t be saying these things. He knows he shouldn’t smirk like that when he does it. But by keeping it light it gives the feeling of innocence. Just banter between two co-workers who spend way too much time together.

    “Yeah, sure…”

    Stuck between a rock and a hard place would be the perfect explanation for the conundrum you were put in. Taste of the last beer you mouthed down in one go still on your tongue as you took the hand Aaron so willingly offered you. 

    Haley was just some steps away, graciously dancing with Dave, nothing weird or suspicious about it, as it had been when you danced with him, Gideon and other people from the Bureau that night.

    When Aaron got to asking you for one you couldn’t tell him no without being suspicious, but even though you two had never crossed any physical lines, the uneasy feeling by the pit of your stomach made it seem like everyone around knew how you shivered whenever he touched you. 

    It was a slow song, purposefully so as he waited anxiously for one so he could dance with you, his eyes looked like flames as they burned holes into your skin before turning away. No words came from you nor him, his hands gripping on your waist as yours delicately stayed on his shoulder desperately trying to look normal was enough for you two to know exactly what was going through each other’s minds. 

    How he wished he could be like that forever, feeling your warmth and your trembling under his fingers, and how he knew he shouldn’t feel like that.

    He loved Haley. She was his best oldest friend. His high school sweetheart. She brought him back to earth whenever he was too into the horrors of his work. His beautiful caring wife. Aaron would never do anything on purpose to hurt her, he wouldn’t cheat, even if working with you made him think about it every single day. 

    Still, you felt like the mistress. The other woman. You felt your morals twirl inside you as if they were stored in your stomach ready to be thrown out any time he was close–which was all the time, it was the job. 

    The way you tethered between the acceptable and the borderline cheating with the lingering hugs to feel each other and each other’s scents, the late night talking that began with just work but always ended in something completely different–how he loved The Beatles and The White Album and you loved telling him each time a different album of theirs that was better, simply to piss him off. Abbey Road gave us Come Together and Here Comes the Sun, Hotch, White Album has nothing on it. That was the last one, but once it was Revolver, then Rubber Soul, you just had fun seeing his brows furrowed for something other than work.

    Haley got him out of it, but you embraced him for his full self. The nearly obsessive FBI agent and the nerd who used to collect coins. You would put your hand on his shoulder and sit by his side, take half of the files and go hours and hours on end analyzing it with him, even when the case was classified inactive. If he didn’t give up on it, neither did you, and it always went both ways. 

    For him, truly, it was nearly impossible to give that up. And it was impossible to bury his feelings too deep, it was always bubbling up at the surface, like a finger always brushing against a trigger but never pulling it. 

    The song ends after a mix of eternity and seconds, and the beat of the next one pulls you both back to reality, your hands leaving his strong shoulders as if they were filled with thorns ready to hurt you. “I need a drink.” You say more to yourself than to him. 

    He doesn’t reply, but his eyes tell you the only thing he wants to say. 

    I'm so sorry this can’t happen.

    He’s the one to take you to the airport, and he won’t cry or ask you to stay, he tried it already when you told him about transferring to the Crisis Negotiation Unit. But his eyes do water at the thought of not having you by his side at arms reach, even if you were just a few miles away in Washington. It was far enough to cut the cord. To put an ending to whatever it was that existed between you two and had been brewing for the past two years. 

    Instinctively he holds you as if there was nothing to come between you, his forehead touches yours and you both close your eyes. Lips so close they could touch. That doesn’t happen. 

    It won’t happen. 

    Shamelessly you let your tears fall and Aaron soaks it up with his thumbs, “no crying. I'll always have your back, understand? Anything you need, call me.” The underlining of it is a silent prayer, begging you to call either way, to not forget him. You won’t call, he knows it, still, he begs. 

    You won’t forget him, and still, you won’t call. 

    The last glance you share says it all. 

    I wish this could’ve happened. 

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Mile High Club

A/n: Was reading Steven Adler's book and couldn't get this idea out of my head, don't ask where the connection was I couldn't tell you, but have this anyway :3 Also! If you enjoy reading what I post and want to request something please feel free to!

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, oral sex(f!reader receiving), daddy!kink, let me know if I missed anything :3

Being a flight attendant you were used to going on flights of all kinds, obviously, it was your job. Recently you were told that you’d be on a private flight with a big metal band, though you were never told which band, honestly you didn’t care all too much either. You were going to Sydney, Australia and getting paid to do so.

The day of the flight came and you couldn’t be happier, not because you were meeting some big band but because you’d always wanted to go to Sydney, and now you finally were. You got boarded with the rest of the crew though you still hadn’t met the band yet. Your coworkers were talking about them non-stop and it was starting to itch at you. You didn’t want to care who you were with, but you couldn’t help it at this point.

You were walking through the plane when a man with silver hair and sleeve tattoos called out to you. “Excuse me, sorry, can I get something to drink?” He asked in a polite tone. You stopped and stared at him for a second, thinking that this must be one of the members of the band.

“Uh, yeah, there’s a bar right over there.” You told him, gesturing to the bar just down the aisle. He nodded and looked back at you.

“Do they serve non-alcoholic beverages?” He asked with a slightly worried look.

“Um, I’m not sure.” Chewing your cheek, you continued. “I’ll go ask and try to find you something to drink, sir.”

“James.” He introduced, holding a hand out to shake yours. You hesitated before accepting the friendly gesture. “We’re gonna be on the flight for a while, might as well get to know each other, right?”

“Right.” You said with a nervous smile and walked away. He never called you back to ask for your name and you were too scared to go back until you got the drink.

After looking around for a bit you managed to come up with some fruity drink that had no alcohol in it. You were bringing it back to where you had seen James but he was gone, nowhere to be found. You went to a nearby attendant and asked if they knew his whereabouts. “Oh, he said he was going to his room.” They explained. You took a step towards the band's rooms in the back but they stopped you for a second. “Everyone’s talking about the two of you, you know.”

You were confused. “What do you mean? What’s there to talk about?”

“Well,” they started, “the band hand picks out each crew member they want, we were told that Mr. Hetfield chose you specifically.” You could feel your cheeks heating up, you had no idea why he would or what everyone was really  talking about, but now you at least had a clue.

You nodded and went on your way to the back of the plane where the band’s rooms were and found the door that had a paper taped to it with ‘James’ printed in big, bold letters. You knocked but there was no answer. “Mr. Het- er, James?” You heard strange sounds coming from the other side of the door but couldn’t quite figure out what it was. “James, I have your drink.” You called, knocking again.

“Fuck- just come in, sweetheart.” You couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your stomach at the name. You kept your head down as you opened the door, quickly closing it behind you.

“I have a fruity drink, it has strawberry, banana, um...” You trailed off, trying to think of what else you saw on the juice carton. You turned around and froze at the sight. James leaning back on the bed, cock out in his hand. His head tilted back with his mouth opened in a soft ‘oh’. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything and just stood there, paralyzed.

James chuckled at you and patted the space next to him on the bed. “C’mere, I’ve been waiting for you.” Hesitantly, you made your way over to him, setting the drink on the bedside table and sitting on the edge of the bed. Your gaze glued to his hard member. James' free hand went to your face, stroking your cheek. “I thought you were just the cutest thing when we were picking out our crew, you know.” He said, voice soft and airy. You swallowed, still staring. “What’s your name, sweet girl?”

You took a deep breath before responding, finally tearing your eyes away and looking in his eyes. For a brief moment. Your eyes quickly flickered to his lips. “Um, Y/n, sir.” James let out a soft groan when you called him sir.

“Thought I told you you could call me James.” You didn’t say anything, biting your lip nervously. He leaned closer to you, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Maybe I’ll just have to fuck that into you.” He whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. You sucked in a breath, cheeks going bright red. “Go lock the door, sweetheart.” You nodded as you stood and went over to the door, quickly locking it and turning around only to be met with James right in front of you. His cock was still out, it was bright red and pushing up against you as he smashed his lips against yours.

He backed you against the door, his kisses trailed up your jaw and down your neck while his hand explored your body. He tugged at your uniform, unzipping the pencil skirt and dropping it to your ankles. He didn’t even bother with your button-up, he ripped it open, sending buttons flying every which way. “Fuck, I-I don’t have any other shirts.” You said with a pout, looking down at your now exposed chest. James’ big hands went to cup your chest, admiring you.

“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart, just be here with me.” He pecked your lips again before dropping to his knees. He placed a few kisses over your thighs as he helped you out of your shoes, paying special attention to your inner thighs. He could see how wet you were getting through your panties and brought his right hand up, caressing your thigh for a moment and dipping into your lace underwear. “So pretty, so needy, just for me, right?” He asked, looking right up at him. You bit your lip and nodded. James gave a displeased hum and shook his head. “Now that didn’t sound genuine.” He kissed you over the lace. “Guess I’ll just have to show you, no one will make you feel as good as I can.” Without warning he ripped your panties off, that plus the cool air hitting you making you yelp.

James placed his hands on either of your thighs, spreading your legs for him and pulling your folds apart. “What a pretty girl.” He mused, licking a strip over your slick, tongue dipping into your hole. You tried to hold back your noises as he ate you out, licking, slurping and sucking like his life depended on it. His tongue went as deep as it could in you and his nose kept bumping against your clit, adding extra stimulation. James began sucking on your clit as he pushed a finger into you, starting off with deep, slow thrusts to get you even wetter before adding another finger. “You’re so tight, gotta stretch you out a bit so you can take me, sweetheart.” You whined and nodded.

James curled his fingers in you, finding your sweet spot and making sure to hit it repeatedly. He continued swirling his tongue around your clit. By the way your whines were getting higher he could tell you were getting close. “That’s it, that’s a good girl, come on my fingers.” Your hands went to his head, holding it in place while you rode his face and fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck~! Gonna- ngh! Gonna-gonna cum, gonna cum!” You cried, thighs trembling around james’ head. “Fu-ck, cumming, cumming, fuck, daddy!” You cried as you came all over him, hips bucking against his face. James waited a moment for you to come down from your high before he pulled away and stood up, wrapping his arms around you.

“What was that you called me?” He asked, leaning down to kiss your lips. “Did you just call me daddy, sweetheart?” You tried to apologise or deny it, nothing but sputters came out of you. James laughed at you and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart, daddy’s gonna make you feel so good it’s the only thing you’ll be thinking about, alright?” He picked you up, you wrapped your legs around him, grinding against his throbbing member. “Fuck, if you keep doing that-” He cuts himself off with a deep groan. “Fuck it.” He muttered, taking his dick in his hand and lining it up with your entrance before shoving it in. Your head fell back as you moaned, the stretch a bit much but nothing unpleasant.

James waited a moment for you to get comfortable before he started moving. He thrust into you nice and slow, soon picking up pace and slamming his hips against your, fucking you against the door. You couldn’t contain your moans, crying out for him. “Fuck, daddy, feels so good.” You’d whine. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, your face was hiding in the crook of his neck, occasionally falling back when he hit a particularly good spot on your gummy walls. The silver headed man hooked his arms under your legs, pushing your knees to your chest so he could go deeper. “Fuck- fuck, daddy, ‘m close, please.” You whined.

“Please, what? C’mon, use your words for daddy.” James teased, grinding into you in a way that had his pelvis rubbing your clit.

“Please-please, can I cum? Please, let cum, daddy, feels so good, please.” You begged, planting soft kisses to his neck. James chuckled at your pleads.

“Go on then, cum for daddy, cum on daddy’s dick.” Just like that, you came on him, your juices dripping down your ass. Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing him just right. “Fuck, so good for me, sweetheart.” His thrusts were getting sloppy and you knew he was getting close to his own high. You started bouncing on him as best you could, it wasn’t much but it was enough for him. “Holy fuck, sweetheart, gonna cum in you, alright? Gonna fill you up real nice.” A few more thrusts and you could feel his seed spurting into you, hitting your warm walls. He kept bucking his hips into you as he groaned, holding you close.

James carried you over to his bed, laying down next to you and pulling you close as he got the both of you under the blankets. “Was that good?” He asked, kissing your forehead sweetly. You nodded and nuzzled against him. James pulled you right up against him, letting you rest your head on his chest. “Good, good, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, pretty girl.”

[jiminiecrickets]

jeon jungkook ♡ series masterlist

wc. 2.9k

tags. smut | dom top!m!reader, bondage, toys, blindfold, edging, temp play, nipple play, handjobs/frotting, sir kink, size humiliation

you've gotten daring. it feels as if he's constantly in wait for a wolf to jump out of the bushes to attack him in the kitchen, the dining room... or even actual bushes. and it wasn't just the sex that had his skin burning under his clothes. it was the way you shifted your arm casually around his waist, over his shoulders, claiming him as yours – it was the way you looked at him differently, eyes dark and dangerously playful. it was the way a corner of your lips twitched up and pride glittered in your eyes whenever anyone mentioned how cute he was, tucked into your side like a doll.

it excited him, doing something so dirty in the shadows and having it leave its mark on him so visibly that others picked up on it.

when you greet him in the morning with a fruity breakfast-in-bed of your famous pancakes with a bundle of red bamboo-silk rope on the side, he picks up the rope first.

he twists the soft ends between his fingers, admiring the nylon-like sheen to the vibrant fibres. he turns the bundle over in his hands, admiring the contrast against his skin. "so pretty," he whispers, taking his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes sparkle up at you ardently. "do you know how to use these?"

"i've been doing some light reading," you tease, kissing his cheek and throwing open the curtains to let the morning light in. "got them on tuesday. been waiting for a time when i can really let them shine as a centrepiece."

"you should've gotten a blindfold, too," he laughs, giving the rope a harsh tug. it barely moves, holding steady. he blushes. if you decide you don't want him moving a single inch, these will certainly get the job done.

"would you like one?" you ask liltingly, moving towards the wardrobe. "you have all day to pick one." since the beginning of the week, he'd grown more comfortable with giving up control over the little things in his life – like now, allowing you to pick out a nice, casual outfit for him.

"mm... maybe i would." he sets aside the rope, his chest already brimming with anticipation, and picks up the fork. delicately, he pierces a dewy blueberry with a single silver tine and drags it against his teeth with a soft hum. the syrupy glazing gives the tartness a tingling rich weight.

his eyes widen at the outfit you've thrown on the end of the bed next to his feet. you close the wardrobe. "that's just your hoodie. where's the rest of it?"

you smirk, scooping up a familiar pair of fishnets folded into a neat square, a loop of leather clinking on top. you lift the pair of polished black heels in your other hand and they glint sharply in the light. "here's the rest of it."

flames engulf his face. "h-hyung! i can't wear that!"

"why not?"

 "it's not – it's so suggestive," he whispers. you smile; there's your sweet boy. "aren't you worried people will stare at your boyfriend?"

"no. i know they would – that's why i chose them." you set them down, perching on the edge of the bed next to him and taking the fork gently from his hands. you carve a bite out of the fluffy pancake stack and lift it to his lips, humming when he wraps his lips around it with more of a pout than usual. "you love the attention, my darling. i'm just giving you what you want."

 he shivers at the familiar sentence, which sends a twinge of arousal up his spine. he just woke up, too – maybe you'll help him with his little 'problem' if he asks nicely. "i think i should wear pants. what if the wind picks up the end of the hoodie? i'd get in trouble for public indecency – you'd have to fuck me in a jail cell."

"fine," you huff, pushing another mouthful of pancakes into his mouth as you stand. "jeans, then. your black calvin klein denim, maybe? let's go for an all-black look today. you can cuff the hems to show off your shoes."

with a laugh, he spears half of a strawberry and waves it towards you. you accept it, teeth dragging lightly against the silver. "you have to go change, then. wanna match with you, baby."

"i made you a cute breakfast and you're still ordering me about..." you sulk. "okay. but that's the last thing you can ask of me. i'm in charge, you little minx."

"yes, daddy," he drawls, rolling his eyes as he giggles. "big man pays for our dates and gives good kisses. what else to i have to want for?"

"oh, trust me. tonight, you'll be wanting."

—

it's hot. it's cold. your thumb tweaks his nipple and he flinches at the suddenness of it, swallowing his groan of pleasure.

"mmnh... oh, fuck, fuck you..." he jolts as the wet heat of your tongue circles his pebbled nipple, your teeth dragging against the soft, cold skin. it's fascinating, really – you can feel his heat, his red-blooded muscle, simmering beneath his skin, and yet what you take between your lips is arctic. the zing of cold tastes sweet with his bitten moans.

"what did you say, darling?" you drag the ice cube down along the defined edge of his apollo's belt, teasing it up and down the place where it smooths out – right at the junction of his thigh.

he whimpers – really whimpers – and bucks his hips feebly, arms flexing against the red bamboo-silk blend. you made sure to tie them nice and tight, framing the swells of his delts and biceps. he whips his head left and right, trying to find the source of your voice. it's coming from all around him, enveloping him, drowning his senses, bubbling in his tummy like a glass of mellow, nutty champagne.

the bullet vibrator, discreet and black, has been buzzing away inside of him for what feels like hours. it's shorter than your fingers, thinner than your cock, and barely brushes that sweet sport two inches inside of him. he grinds his ass against the bed, fighting desperately to rub it against his prostate for some proper pleasure. the used fleshlight knocks his hip and he shivers as your fingers brush his side while you pick it up and set it aside.

"nothing, sir," he says between clenched teeth, his chest arching into your mouth as your tongue flicks and rolls against his sensitive chest. his stomach tenses and you drag the flat of your tongue down the split of his chest and trace the dips of his toned muscles, lips firm and warm and wet and—

he cries out as the searing ice presses against the underside of his throbbing cock. you wrap your hand entirely around him – his heart flutters – and the heat of your hand and his shaft have the ice dripping down your first knuckles, sandwiched unflinchingly as you lazily shuffle your palm up and down, up and down.

he whines tearfully and his hips jerk away, writhing as he tries to pull away from the numbing cold and shattering heat. it's so slick. "n-nothing! i said nothing!"

the icy water drips down his balls and constant sticky precum bubbles from his tip, pooling on his tensing stomach. his hands flex behind his head and he tilts his mouth against your neck when he feels you bury your face in his shoulder, humming softly as you jerk him off so terribly sweetly. the pulsing rage of heat, the steady glacial chill that hums at the base of his cock...

"'m sorry," he cries out against your skin, pressing his lips to your jaw quick and messy. he's frantic. you smile. "i – mmh! – didn't mean it, please, just wanna come, please... s'hard, so hard, i wanna see you... wanna touch you, wanna feel you against me, in me, i don't care anymore!"

 he sounds almost broken. granted, you've never toyed with him like this before – you're not usually one to play with your food too much before you eat. but this week, his words, his cute little smiles when he teases his hand across your crotch... maybe you're less of a square than you thought.

"you didn't mean it?" you tilt your head, middle and index fingers brushing against the rim of his asshole, nudging the vibrator. he spreads his legs wider, thighs hooked over yours, and you smirk. "it just... came out, right? ah, i understand... but that doesn't mean that you're forgiven. you'll have to earn that."

he keens, nodding so hard his head's in danger of falling off. he humps your fist, his cheeks dark pink. "yes – yes, sir. i'll do better for you, hyung."

"hm." you sit back on your knees, stroking his body. he shivers under your touch, flinching and gasping softly at each cold twinge. his fawn nipples are swollen and dark. "you will."

"i will," he parrots softly, a tiny breath of dazed acquiescence. his head tips back – your hand, god, he'd been trying to ignore it, focus on your voice, but even that got him all worked up. he can barely remember what the bedroom looks like. all he remembers is you.

"that's right, darling," you croon, tugging faster on his cock as he judders and moans, grinding into your fist and against your bulge at the same time. you glance down at his cock and can't help the soft huff of laughter that escapes you at the sight.

he clenches around nothing at the sound. "w-what?"

"mm, nothing," you jest, "just admiring how pretty your little cock looks in my hand."

his gut zings with deep, hot pleasure. he can't steady the wobble in his voice. "i-it's not little...!"

"really? can't you feel it, baby?" you wrap your fingers tight around his length one at a time so you can truly appreciate the look of it, snug in the tunnel of your palm. "my hand wraps around it entirely. you can't even see it anymore. i've never realised how dainty you truly are. doubt you could please anyone with this."

you tug sharply and his moan snaps in the middle. his pulsing, leaking red cock dribbles onto his stomach and runs down his sides with all of his writhing. you squeeze slowly on every upwards stroke, as if milking him, and a thick spurt of precum drools over your knuckles.

"'m not dainty," he nearly sobs, yanking on the red ropes caging his arms and chest. they hold strong; he's powerless against you, his heels digging into your lower back in a feeble attempt at getting you to grind on him. "nngh – 'm not..."

"no, you say?" your fingers circle his asshole and you admire the way he grips that little toy like a vice. he whimpers, grinding down on your fingers in a desperate bid to get them inside of him and to fuck him good. "then what are you, my darling?"

he jerks into the mattress as he feels a hot, heavy weight slide along the prominent vein of his cock, slipping in beside his in your loosened fist. you rock your hips and heat engulfs his cock as he trembles, feeling your balls pressed against his in the filthiest kind of intimacy.

"take a look, baby. i want you to see it for yourself."

your fingers hook under his blindfold and toss it somewhere into the darkness to be picked up in the morning. he blinks, disoriented, up at you, his pupils swallowing his irises and his expression loose and wanton.

you take his chin, angling it down, and his eyes travel down his flushed, messy body to the big prize... and was it big.

"don't come." your hand tightens around your cocks. you drag your hips back, then push forward, watching his expressions closely as his mouth falls open and his eyes flutter shut. "good boy. now, watch."

you grab his jaw and tilt his gaze to yours, eyes hungry and ruthless. your hips pump faster. your cock dwarfs jungkook's as it slides over it, the thick head catching on his, and he shuts his eyes tightly, unable to swallow the rapid, ceaseless, embarrassed moans you're yanking out of his guts by the handful. you increase the speed of the vibrator from minimum to maximum and he wails.

"open your eyes, sweet thing. i told you to watch."

he babbles half-words and pleas for things he doesn't know. your hips quicken, the hot drag of flesh on flesh almost deviant. a thick spurt of his precum smears your cock and you groan softly, pumping you together as you thrust against him.

the quick wet smack of your balls against his brings him close to tears. each jostle and rub tugs the string out of his thoughts, unravelling them like a stray thread. the white-hot coil tightens.

nervously, between hiccups and cries, he cracks his eyes open, hands flexing into fists behind his head. the warm pad of your thumb rubs his wet, icy nipple, flicking and pinching erratically. he keens your name, arching his back into the radiating heat of your palm against his ribs.

he feels so small. your hand wrapped over his upper ribs, cupping the softness of his chest. your body, looming above his. your cock, rutting against his like a beast...

he can't help it. his eyes roll back into his skull and he comes.

everything tightens. it's as if his whole body is a spring loaded with a single high-calibre bullet, and in that flash of sun-surface heat, everything slows down. everything is more: your touch, your body, your love. tingling white pleasure bursts in his core, bleeding out to his fingers and toes like blazing petrol trails.

his head spins. his lungs ache.

what's his name, again?

you release on his stomach and cock, making more of a mess of him. his own glazed cum drips down his sides and pools on the soft hotel towels he stole from somewhere he definitely shouldn't have been. you shift your grip, fisting his cock rapidly as he sobs, his chest heaving and tears glittering along his lash line.

you milk him dry until he's a twitching, gasping puddle of cum on the bed, thick trembling thighs pinning you in place. his unfocussed gaze trails over the ceiling. he whines softly through tears as your fingers glide against his sensitive asshole, popping the still vibrator out of him. he clenches around nothing and rolls his ass against your cock – it's sloppy, needy, and tired.

it's always been hard to say no to him, especially when he gazes up at you with a slick swollen pout and those huge, glistening eyes, but you have to. the rope's made pink indents into his skin where he's pulled and pushed against him, and you're glad that you splurged a little on the rope. he wouldn't be able to wear short sleeves for a week if you got him something coarser.

you hush him gently as your fingers work deftly at the knots. when his hands are free, thumping softly to the bed, they're immediately up again, snaking around your shoulders and yanking you down to his chest.

he buries his face in your neck, breathing in your scent shakily. his fingertips glide absently up and down the middle of your spine; you can feel the tremors wracking his body, muscles tensing and relaxing as often as he breathed.

you kiss him softly. he moans into it, lips moving hungrily against yours, and he arches himself off of the bed in an effort to get closer to you. you hold him up with an arm over his shoulders, your other arm braced against the bed.

when you part, gasping for air, he moans softly, chasing your lips. you indulge him one last time, and when you pull away, you move to his throat, sucking a dark hickey into his skin high above where any t-shirt collars might fall. he doesn't bruise easily; you have to put special care into it.

his ankle slips down around the back of your knee as your teeth sting. you kiss the reddening bruise – one day you're going to make it a heart just to embarrass him – and his throat bobs. you give his adam's apple a chaste kiss – he giggles, dazed and airy, and presses his cheek to yours as he comes down from his high, still panting softly.

he opens his mouth and coaches himself on how to talk again. he feels loopy. "don' want this week to end, hyung..."

 "i know." you stroke his side. "just ask me to play mario kart with you again. you've incensed me to try harder."

he coos, giggling softly through deep, shaky breaths. "ah, but it won't matter. i'll beat you anyway – it's genetic. i'm a natural winner."

"winner?" you lift a brow. "just now, you did the one thing i specifically told you not to do, gold star. i don't think that's 'winning'."

"anytime i get to see you naked is a win for me, hyung," he teases, pecking your lips. he tucks his hands behind his head, mimicking the shape you made with the ropes, and spreads his legs. "let's see if you can beat the 'high score' you won tonight."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Show Stopping.

This is the concluding story to the corresponding blog event, It’s Raining Crows and Dogs! I took inspo from Cruella (2021) while writing this piece.

Please note, I was not able to respond to all interaction requests, as many were sent after the submission period, disregarded rules, or simply did not catch my interest 💦 Apologies!

By My Hand.

Drinks dulled the senses, distracting from the din of the charity ball. Alcohol was forbidden on campus—but the sugar and the carbonation was enough to be ride that high, to loosen from the binds of stiff suits, glittering gowns, and falsified formalities.

The orchestra’s song swayed and sloshed like liquid in her ears. The golden lights refracting off chandelier crystals, kaleidoscopic.

Was it the juice or the tiredness messing with her senses?

Knocking back her glass, Raven let the fizzy, fruity concoction tumble down her throat. Bright citrus washed away her worries, the bubbles tickling her nose as it went down. She set the glass, now empty, down and called out to the anxious mob student manning the bar.

“Another, please.”

“… D-Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Raven-san?” Octa A asked. “That’s your seventh drink.”

She stared at him with blank, lifeless eyes.

Octa A immediately set to preparing the eighth. Club soda, fruit syrup, crushed mint leaves, and cubed ice.

“Long night?” he wondered out loud, attempting at conversation.

“Yes.” Raven groaned, nursing her aching head with one hand. “I was up for all of yesterday assisting Crewel-sensei with the final touches on his ensemble for this evening. Didn’t get a lick of sleep.”

“Oh. I-I’m sorry to hear that…” Octa A muttered. He topped off the fresh drink with a twisted lime wedge and then slid it to her. “Did your efforts at least pay off?”

She accepted the beverage with a tired yet grateful smile. “I have no clue. He has yet to arrive.”

Even though he demanded that I be here to witness ‘the fruits of my labor’…

“I’m sure he’ll show up soon.”

Raven cast a glance at her phone. 11:59 pm. Late—far too late.

“I highly doubt—”

BAM!!

The instant the clock struck midnight, the doors to the venue swung open, as if on cue. In strutted two Dalmatians, each fitted in a diamond encrusted collar. Trailing them was a figure in a white cloak with a long train, hood pulled over their face.

Heads turned. Onlookers gasped.

“Who is that?”

Raven stilled.

They produced a wand from a billowing sleeve and waved it in an arc. There was a dog collar looped around the end of the wand, a square magical gem on it.

Fire sprouted at the end of the mysterious guest’s train. It formed a coil, snaking up their body and engulfing the white. The exterior fell away into crumbling ashes and cinders, revealing what was underneath: a handsome face in a black and white eye mask, his suit a sinisterly shimmering crimson.

Divus Crewel, fashionably late.

Raven exchanged looks with Octa A.

The venue bursted into sound like a balloon popped. People rushed at him, flocking like birds, swarming like bees.

“Sir! What a grand entrance! How did you do it?”

“What a show stopping performance.”

“I thought my heart was about to beat out of my chest!!”

“Where did you get this outfit? I would like to own one for myself. Oh, you must pass me along the name of the brand.”

Crewel, right at home among his throng of admirers, chuckled. “I appreciate the compliments, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to find a replica of this look in any store or boutique. This ensemble is an original designed by yours truly.”

“Oh my!” A woman clutched at the string of pearls around her neck. “Would you be willing to do an original for me then?”

“Now, now! I had every intention of asking him first!” a mustachioed man protested.

“Unfortunately, I’ll have to turn down those requests,” Crewel interjected smoothly. “I am presently focused on my role as an educator. Your presence here at this event helps Night Raven College and its efforts to better the future and the local community.”

A murmur of agreement passed through the crowd.

“And another thing,” he continued, “I’m afraid I cannot take all the credit for my outfit. I may be responsible for the design, but the color of the dye was made in collaboration with a student.” Crewel searched the room and found Raven, letting his gaze linger on hers. She felt her mouth drying up. “This is the direction of the future.”

He flashed a dazzling smile. His handsomeness, a cutlass slashing through their defenses. Raven felt the entire room melt in response to Crewel.

“If you wish to support us and Night Raven College’s endeavors, we you may donate tonight. All proceeds will be going to an animal shelter on Sage’s Island.”

Several voices cried out simultaneously.

“I-I’ll donate! Of course I will!”

“Honey, we’ve got to support this cause.”

“You heard the man.”

“Night Raven College is such an exemplary learning institution!”

“Wow, Crewel-sensei strolled in and commanded the entire event,” Octa A mused. “Raven-san, the work you were doing yesterday… now it’s being seen by all of these people.”

“Well,” she said warily, absentmindedly swirling her half empty glass, “as long as he’s happy and NRC gets that money, I guess it’s fine.”

“That shade of red is nice,” Octa A commented. He was already assembling the ninth drink. “It suits Crewel-sensei very well.”

“I should hope so!” she huffed. “It took a lot of workshopping and several samples to find a shade that pleased him.“

“What did you name this one? Since you tend to label your homemade inks.”

“Ah, I call this one…”

Cruel Devil.

[bnm-girl]

gaz. Kyle? Gaz.

gaz has the biggest dick. mouth in bed. bartender!gaz x fem!reader

tw: name calling, rough sex, creep trying to approach reader, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

summary: While you came to the club to try and get over a guy, you cant help but notice a certain staff member looking over.

minors dni!

no bcz hdssfvhjkj this man has me in a chokehold rn.

The lights are dim and colorful in the club, and some song is blasting over the speakers. You nurse your fruity cocktail while looking over at the dance floor. You came here to get over your shitbag of a boyfriend, but it seems like it’s going to be more difficult than you thought. A glance around just shows drunk snobs. You look down at your drink, remembering the cute bartender that gave you your drink. Flashbacking to when he slid the drink down the bar like a pro, with a wink, getting a laugh from you.

Your thoughts are interrupted when some dude comes up to you, giving you a tap on the shoulder. You feel a slight moment of hope, hoping you would actuslly find someone at this god forsaken club. But when you turn around, you are met with the sight on a 50 year old drunk, who smells horrible and something dripping down his tank. You instantly scrunch your nose up at the sight (and smell). He grins with a rancid breath and asks “hey sweetcheeks, you wanna have some fun?” Grinning again as you reel away from him. “Sorry sir, i’m having enough as is.” You reply curtly. He stumbles right in front on your face and grabs your arm, “cmongirlll, you don look like your havinggfun, stopp being sucha bitch and letloose some” panick floods your system, not knowing what to do nor respond without escalating the situation.

“sir, would you like a shot? Iss on the house” he looks over at the drunken man, he quickly walks over to him. You look at his nametag, reading ‘Kyle’. The man downs the shot and stumbles off. Kyle walks over to you and says “you alright dear? My god, his breath stinks!”

You laugh, “yes, and thank you so much.. Kyle? for for that.”

He smiles, “just call me gaz. I think i did pretty good eh? To be honest, we usually don’t deal with this many assholes. Let me get you a drink, sorry about that. What would you like?”

You quickly reply, quickly realizing that you did find a guy at the club, just not who you expected. You respond “just giving out drinks to everyone today huh?” His face was all fun and smiles, but his eyes held another feeling.

“nope, only pretty ladies and drunk assholes” his eyes running down your body, but you could barely catch it.

“You flirting with me gaz?”

“Only if you wan’ me to, and you’re in luck, because my shift end just about now” looking at his watch. He leans over the bar, leaning into your ear “So, you flirting with me?” He murmurs, voice just above the blasting speakers.

“So what if i am?” You grin, standing up from your seat.

He walks around the bar so he’s right next to you. He leans down into your face, “is that a yes i’m hearing?”

“yes.”

With hearing your consent, he grabs you by the wrist and leads you to the car. Even when in such a rush, he opens the door. He hops in and starts to drive, hand on your thigh. He is definitely driving above the speed limit, but that’s the least of your worries. As you look around, you notice how nice his car is.

“Gaz, not to be mean, but you’ve got a really nice car for a bartender”

“well love, that might be because i own the club.”

You flush at the pet name, you can’t help but squirm from his hand thats a little too high on your leg. You just hope he doesn’t brush his hand along the wet spot in your panties. You try to play off your evident horniness by responding back, “so this is undercover boss now?”

“if you want it to be, never really tried roleplaying but never say no.”

You flush even more. He knew what you were talking about, but he thought it would be better to tease you. You look at the nice apartment complex he lives in. Wether it be from the alcohol, lust, or anticipation, going up to the apartment was a blur. The snap back to reality is the second the door clicks, his mouth is on yours, teeth clashing and tongues swirling. He nips at your lip, and Gaz is convinced he might bust a nut right then and there.

He pushes you against a wall and rasps, “jump” he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom. He sit you down and His hands wander all over, he then grabs the zipper to your dress and pulls it down. He groans, noticing you aren’t wearing a bra. He sucks on your neck, purple and pink blossoming on your neck. He makes his way down to your cunt,

“holy shittt, this has gotta be the prettiest cunt ive ever seen. Such a whore huh? Barely touched you and you’re already soaked through your panties huh?” He grabs the elastic of your underwear and snaps it against your stomach, causing your hips to buck. “Desperate slut.” He thumbs your clit through your underwear, causing you to whine out. He pushes your panties to the side and licks a long stripe up your pussy. You moan out almost instantly, trying to find purchase in grabbing the sheets. He sucks in your clit as you gush around his tounge, he licks it all up with eagerness. He then gets his middle finger and starts to probe at your hole. He pushes his finger in and curls up into that spongy spot. You moan out, the Pleasure becoming overwhelming. “Gaz- im gonna - gonna uh-“

“Come for me darling”

With noises you’ve only ever heard in pornos, you have the most earth shattering orgasmm of your life.

Gaz continues to lick up your juices as he finally, although begrudgingly, pulled away. His mouth was completely soaked in you. His shiny chin and lips were a sight to behold. The look of his blown out eyes and wet face almost got you to come again.

he notices you starting and says “take a picture, it’ll last longer”

He starts to unbutton his vest and shirt, when you start helping him unbuckle his pants. You kissed down his happy trail and noticed the veins leading to his dick.

“such a slut for this cock huh?”

When you finally pull his dick out of his boxers, your mouth starts to water. Long, but more on the thick side, slightly pointing up with a slightly red tip. It has a thick mushroom head and veins running alone the underside. You notice a bead of precum of his tip and kiss it off. He groans with delight.

“answer me pretty girl” he grabs his cock and starts tapping it on the side of your cheeck

“Just put it in you dickwad” you snap, the desperation becoming almost too much

“if you insist” he grins, he aligns his dick with your cunt, getting ready to put it in, but instead of sliding in, he rubs the head of his cock along your pussy. You whine, “please gaz, i need your cock in me”

He grins at your begging, his ego inflating. “As much as i would love to put my dick in your slobbering pussy, this is punishment for calling me a dickwad. Karma sweetie”

he continues to do that for what seems like forever, back an forth. You are so wet just from this that your fluids were dripping down his leg. Finally, with no warning, he shoves his cock into your pussy. You moan out, feeling like the breath has been knocked out from your lungs. His fat mushroom tip slams into your cervix every single time. The feeling of his veins along your walls feels euphoric. You were sure that the neighbors were going to call a noise complaint after this.

He leans forward and holds your back so he can thrust into you further. You wrap your legs around him and claw at his back and neck to find relief from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure.

He starts blabbering, “fuckk love you feel divine, what this pussy was made for innit? Yer cunts gonna mould to my dick, squeezing so tight gonna pull my dick off, betcha live this eh? Such a good whore, my little pretty slut— fuck”

You moan out, senses going into overdrive when he grabs your legs and slings then over his shoulders. “Gaz, i feel funny, i uh uh uh i feel like im gonna pee” He brings his hand down and rubs circles around your clit. Your back arches as his free hand plays with your boobs. You finally come again, but this time you squirt. You spray your juices all on gaz and you’re moaning so loud you know for a fact the whole building can hear.

He looks down and groans, “fuck yer a squirter huh, such a perfect little cunt, making such a mess on me eh? Betcha wont find anither guy like me” he them grabs your legs and folds you in half, solely focused on his pleasure now.

he continues to thrust into you, but soon later, he groans out “where?”

“in me fuck gaz, put a baby in me please lord”

with a few more thrusts, he leans in, filling you to the hilt, and busts a load in you. He pulls out and watches as his seed drips out of you, he grabs two fingers and pushes in back in.

“cant have you wasting my cum, no? Might be the hottest thing ive every done or seen”

you wake up the next morning in clean sheets and clothes too big, you see a note on the counter that says,

###-###-#### stay for today? Let me take you out on a date :)

-gaz

(lmk if yall wanna taglist)

[bestiesenpai]

Chef Getou

Yes i have watched the bear thank you for asking (i have also worked in kitchens before please respect me), fem reader in the way you are referred to as miss and daughter. All the dishes & names of people are from actual michelin star restaurants around the world

10.3k words

Your hands shook with excitement, practically falling down as you tried to stop yourself from sprinting to the restaurant. You’d been called by the executive chef himself to work at his esteemed restaurant; he already had one Michelin star under his belt and he was hungry for another as his letter said.

“Ah, you must be Miss (Y/N).” The maître d’ greeted you at the door, her hair tied back in a tight bun. “Right this way.” Swiftly turning, she didn’t check back to see if you were following her. Rushing to keep pace with her, you looked around the dining area quickly. It was lit with undoubtedly expensive hanging lights with some well placed candles on the tables. Sparkling silverware and intricately folded napkins atop glazed stoneware sat on the tables and a light scent wafted through the air, one of baked goods and something fruity.

Going around a corner, you entered the kitchen, immediately nudged to the side and back against the wall. The kitchen was bright, sterile almost from how clean it was - but also heavy with tense silence. Every worker stood at attention around the perimeter of the kitchen, all of them focused on the chef before them, someone you instantly recognized.

“So, tell me again what this is.” Getou spoke, his voice so calm it raised goosebumps on your arm. His hair was tied back in a tight bun and gripped tightly in his fingers was a spoon, a scoop of sorbet sitting atop it. It came from the small glass dish to his side, decorated with a mint leaf and a small slice of lemon.

“It’s- it’s a coupe colonel…” The person standing before him looked tiny compared to his foreboding stature. They were cowering in their spot, fingers twitching at their side but unable to move even an inch away from his deadly stare.

“Really? Because it tastes like absolute shit to me!” Letting the spoon clatter loudly onto the counter, Getou picked up the glass dish and held it between them. “You mean to look me in the eye and tell me that this is the coupe colonel I asked for? Where is the flavor, the tartness? And did you make this vodka in the fucking toilet? Tell me, answer me seriously now.”

“I’m sorry sir, I truly am. I can remake-”

“Not in this kitchen.” Taking a staggeringly deep breath, he put the glass down and looked at it with disgust. “You’ll never make another coupe colonel in this kitchen. Now,” Letting his eyes wander the room, he briefly looked at you before looking in front of him, “Go make something else for tonight or consider yourself out.”

No one dared move until Getou did, no one dared take a breath too loud until he did; they were all waiting for his next decision. Standing straight up, he closed his eyes for a moment to let his heart steady before snapping his fingers twice. And just like that, the hold he had on everyone broke and they scattered like rats back to their stations.

“You.” Getou came right up to you, excusing the maître d’ with a wave of his hand.

“Hello Chef.” Nodding quickly, you found yourself unable to hold eye contact with him.

“Do you know what a coupe colonel is?”

“I do?” Your brow furrowed for a moment.

“What do you think of it?”

“Personally?” Raising a brow, Getou gave you a slight nod of confirmation. “Not enough vodka for me.”

“I won’t have you make it either then; I want my guests happy, not drunk from a little sorbet.” Getou cracked a smile, the only indication he had any emotion before his face settled back down. “I trust you know my name and I yours.”

“Yes Chef.” It was disappointing Getou didn’t say your name, it worried you that maybe he hadn’t remembered it at all and that he called you here as a joke.

“Good. Follow me.” He walked through the kitchen with ease, glancing over line cooks shoulders and offering quick tips. “It’s good to see you got the uniform, a few more should be delivered to your new place of residence soon.” Coming to a stop in front of a freshly cleaned station, Getou pat the counterspace. “This will be for you when you’re ready.”

“Ready?” You’d already studied the menu and practiced making the dishes, even going back to previous restaurants Getou had been at and trying those as well.

“Yes. I need to make sure my choice wasn’t a mistake.” Getou pointed back to the front of the kitchen. “You will be with me, you’ll take notes and maybe take over as the aboyeur for a time.”

“Okay Chef.” Nodding, you felt your shoulders sag a little as your hopes dashed away. You’d been called here to be a sous chef and impress Getou, make him happy that he invited you to be here.

The rest of prep time was spent trailing Getou, getting to know all the other staff and where everything was. The pastry chef was quiet, looked tired and was so dedicated to his craft he was always the first person there. Under him was a baker, a young boy surprisingly passionate about bread making. And standing off to the side was the poor chef glacier who had gotten scolded in front of everyone.

Going through the restaurant, it was surprising to see how much space there was. A station for entremetiers, grillardin, a butcher and more. Seeing how many stations there were gave you peace in a way, there would be so many people to learn from and possibly make friends with.

“Everyone, front.” Getou announced, taking long strides to stand at the head of the long countertop at the front of the kitchen. A chorus of yes’s followed and it took less than a minute and a half for everyone to be lined up and looking at him.

“As you hopefully saw, we have someone new joining us today.” He gave a brief motion to you and your mouth opened to introduce yourself, but no chance came. “This is (Y/N). She will be my new sous chef in due time, but for now she will be calling orders with me.” No one replied as he continued to speak about the dinner menu and what high brow guests to expect. Getou didn’t mince words, calling out certain stations that were not up to par or praising some that were.

“Alright that’s it. Get out of my sight and get ready for tonight.”

“Yes Chef.” Everyone spoke in unison, their feet carrying them just a bit faster to their stations. Looking at the clock on the wall, there was only five minutes before service started. Getou was writing things down on a notepad, crossing lines out on a guest list and writing down food substitutions for a few stations.

“Three, two, one. It’s time.” Getou announced, clapping his hands loudly. Everything happened all at once: the sound of searing meat, sauce cooking in a pan, bottles of wine being uncorked and glasses already being run out to guests. Spotting your somewhat nervous expression, Getou nudged you. “Try to keep up, okay?”

“Chef.” Someone walked up, holding out a small dish of gazpacho.

“Delicious, add a touch more goat cheese and a dash of salt.”

“Yes Chef, thank you.” And away they were, going back into the fray.

“Monkfish filet for tables one and five. Table two has specifically ordered the lobster to be, in his words, ‘smothered in brown butter atop a smattering of potatoes and with a bottle of the finest cabernet sauvignon the sommelier has to offer’.”

“Red? Are you serious?” The sommelier, an older gentleman that you’d learned was named Guillaume, dramatically slumped over. “I have told him time and again- no, I will go out and show him.” Without another word, Guillaume left for the dining room with a bottle of white wine in hand.

“Don’t be too harsh!” Getou’s words trailed after him with a light laugh.

“Those two have history?”

“Yeah, it’s his son.” Laughing to himself, Getou flicked his chin over to the entremetier. “Go over there and help, it appears they’ve forgotten what a monkfish is.”

“Yes Chef.” Rushing over, you quickly introduced yourself before helping slice the fish and laying it in the pan, staying to ensure it cooked right. You dared not glance over your shoulder to see if Getou was watching you, if he was you wanted to impress him with your focus.

“Chef.” The plate was presented to Getou in just a few minutes, delivered directly from you. He looked over it while still calling out orders and quirked his head.

“Why are the vegetables like that?” Fishing a spoon from his apron, Getou gave you a glance. “I wrote it to be creamy, does this look creamy to you?” Analyzing the spoonful he held up, you thought they looked fine. Your lack of answer frustrated Getou and he ate it himself.

“Call the others over.” He said, voice low and face disparaging. Collecting the people in question, you stood before him. “Tell me why you think this is acceptable?” He’d taken a bite of the monkfish and spat it out almost immediately.

“We measured the internal temperature and did everything the exact same way as the trial run.” A line cook spoke up.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Giving you a pointed look, he asked again. “(Y/N). Why do you think this is acceptable? The texture of the fish is appalling, like chewing on a tire. And these vegetables are underdone to hell yet somehow you’ve managed to burn them and try to cover up the mess with the sauce.”

“My apologies Chef, I should have watched more closely.”

“Have you ever cooked monkfish?”

“Yes.”

“And did I not request you personally to come work here?”

“You did.” His words were cold, calculated. Humiliation started to waft over you, being scolded like this especially in front of the line cooks you’d helped.

“So then why have you decided to disappoint me on your first day here?” Shoving the spoon back in his apron, Getou scoffed at the plate, a silent demand for it be taken away. “Remake it immediately.”

The line cooks left hastily, not sparing you a glance lest they be scolded as well. You were left to stand there alone, head cast down and heart beating hard. The cacophony all around you deafened for a moment as you sank into the feelings swirling around you.

“Chef, do you think the beginning of dinner service is an appropriate time to sulk?” Getou quipped, snapping near your ear before barking out an order.

“Sorry Chef.” Your apology went unnoticed, Getou had already moved onto something else. Choking down the knot in your throat, you forced yourself to continue with service. Getou was right, you couldn’t let your feelings get the best of you so quickly.

“Hands!” You cried out ten minutes later as Getou went on a bathroom break. Dishes were leaving the kitchen quickly and you could faintly hear the chatter in the dining room with the sommeliers making lively conversation about their favorite picks for the night.

“Ice cream, please!” There was no way you would send out a subpar dish, especially not after what Getou had said earlier. It was presented before you by the same chef from earlier, their ego still bruised from the coupe colonel.

“I’ve been working on this for a bit, it’s a creamy chocolate and salted butter caramel atop a peanut ice cream.” Nodding along to their words, you took a bite. It was indeed all that they had explained and you smiled slightly.

“This is delicious, send it out.” Giving them a nod, you watched the chef walk away with a smile of their own.

“Delicious?” Getou’s voice sounded from behind you, his frame coming into your peripheral vision. “Let’s see if you’re correct.” Having a taste for himself, Getou’s face held no emotion. “Tasty, yes. Mind blowing? No. The guests will like it well enough though I suppose.” Taking his list back from you, Getou resumed control of the kitchen.

“Nice work everyone.” He announced when dinner was over. There wasn’t a hair out of place on his head and although there were a few stains on his jacket, Getou looked the same as when you walked in.

“Thank you Chef.” Responding in kind, everyone began to pack up, clean their stations or begin prep for the next day.

“(Y/N).” Getou grabbed the back of your jacket, stopping you from going to help.

“Yes?” By the tone in his voice you were sure his next words wouldn’t be particularly positive. Flicking his chin, he had you follow him out into the dining area where the servers were cleaning up. Leaning against a wall near the restrooms, he let his hair down and ran a hand through the dark strands.

“What do you think of your first day here? Is it everything you dreamt of, working for me?” Getou looked at you with a neutral face, as if he could wait all day for whatever answer you had to give him and he still wouldn’t like it.

“I…think it went well.” Taking a deep breath to study yourself, you noticed the way Getou glanced away for a few seconds.

“Well? If you would like to think that way you can.”

“What do you mean?”

“I expected more from you.” You knew you didn’t want to hear his answer, knew it would be something that would hurt your feelings, knew he was disappointed in you - and yet you still asked.

“I-I’m sorry but-” He silenced you with a raise of his calloused hand, a few burn marks and knife knicks on his palm.

“How could you let the monkfish possibly get to that state? You should have been more on top of the temperature and controlled it better. And the vegetables - were you playing around with me? Think you could get one over on me, maybe trick me? I know you can cook a better piece of fucking broccoli than that.”

“Chef, I swear that wasn’t my intention.”

“And that goddamn ice cream? Anyone with a functioning palate could tell the chocolate was much too rich and the ice cream was basically chunky peanut butter.”

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. I need you to be focused and actually taste the dishes, put some thought into them and consider for a moment that if you were paying this much to dine here, would you want to be served something as subpar as what you tried to send out tonight?”

“Y-you’re right.” Fighting back embarrassed tears was the only thing you could focus on now. You kept your eyes cast to the floor, hardly taking Getou into your peripheral at all.

“Go home.” Sensing your upset mood, Getou took a step back and motioned away.

“What?” This made you look up at him with wide, scared eyes. He couldn’t be firing you already, could he?

“Your shift is over. Go home, think about today and what you can do differently tomorrow. I expect you here a bit early, we’ll go over some basics.” Taking a step to leave, Getou stopped himself. “And grow a thicker skin, will you?” With those parting words, Getou left you all alone to lean against the wall and try to collect yourself.

Driving off into the night, you waited until you were a good few blocks away before letting out a wail. Pulling over and letting the tears fall down your face and into your lap, you let go of the emotions that had welled up. Getou had told you to grow a thicker skin and you would in due time but for now this was all you wanted to do.

Eventually your crying ran out and you made it home emotionally drained and hungry. Hardly having energy to take a shower, making proper food was the last thing on your mind and your hand landed on the first thing in the cupboard: a styrofoam cup of instant noodles. Setting the pot to boil, you answered a few text messages and tried to forget about the day. Eating the noodles in a haste, you collapsed into bed in a sorry huff, letting sleep take you quickly.

Was it as difficult for the other staff to return to Getou day after day? To be subjected to his painfully neutral face and demanding voice. It seemed the only people he could even feasibly stand were the pastry chef and the sommelier, but maybe that was because both of them were older and earned their respect from Getou long ago. The glacier chef had been fired and a new one was already in their place, making a perfect coupe colonel for Getou.

You fared no better than the others, what with adjusting to a new city and having to deal with a boss that wanted such a high degree of excellence from everyone you feared it would break you. He said he wanted better from you and every day you tried to do that for him but it wasn’t enough.

“This plating on the sea bream tartare, do it over.”

“Where’s the pear on this goat cheese tartellete? You can’t have seriously forgotten.”

“Nice try (Y/N), but this pasta is far past al dente.”

Every day it was something new, something that you missed and messed up on and needed to correct. This torment lasted a week and there seemed to be no reprieve, the only indication it was getting better was when he went down from scolding you three times to two times a shift. His word choices hadn’t gotten better but they had at least eased up.

“What’re you doing here?” Coming in through the back entrance Getou was surprised to see you tucked behind a corner of the kitchen, sitting at a small table peeling potatoes from a shipment received a day ago.

“I asked the prep cooks if I could do this for them.” Taking a brief pause, you looked behind you towards the rest of the kitchen. “I just…need a break, that’s all.” Keeping quiet, Getou nodded and said nothing more, walking further into the restaurant himself. Resuming your work in silence didn’t last long, your phone interrupting you with its incessant buzzing.

“Hello?” Putting the phone on speaker, you were confused as to why your parents would be calling you now when their timezone was a few hours behind yours.

“Sweetie, you’ll never guess what we have to tell you.” Your father started, a light buzz of people behind him.

“What is it?”

“We’re here!” Both your parents said in unison, your mother clapping her hands excitedly. “I know you said not to visit you just yet but this is such an amazing opportunity for you, we couldn’t bear the wait any longer!”

“I’ve hardly been gone three weeks.” Resting your head on the table, you let out a soft sigh. “I don’t know if tonight is a good night for you guys to come.” Or any night, really.

“Nonsense, we’ll be there right as dinner service starts! Besides, this was the only time we could manage to get a dang reservation!” Chuckling to himself, your father recounted the hassle it was to try and line everything up.

“We look forward to seeing you tonight.” Nearly breaking your neck from turning so fast, your jaw fell in shock at seeing Getou standing off to the side with his hair not tied or his jacket done up.

“Honey, is that who we think it is?” Your mother whispered excitedly.

“Y-yes, it is!” Your ears were burning, scalding even as Getou laughed behind his hand. You tried to rush and turn off speakerphone before she said anything damning but Getou beat you to it and picked up the phone.

“Hello, this is Chef Getou at your service. Once again, I look forward to having you here tonight and I promise it will be a night you won’t forget.” Excited murmurs broke out between your parents while you looked on in shock.

“Th-thank you so much for this, Chef! And for hiring our daughter as well, she has always been a big fan of yours and-”

“Okay, love you both bye!” Now you were desperate to turn the phone off. Slamming it face down on the table, you thought about taking an eye out with the peeler. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” Getou could hardly contain his amused look. “Are they allergic to anything?”

“Nothing.” Peeking out from the corner of your eye, you watched Getou take out a notebook from his back pocket.

“Perfect. Quail filet with fried duck liver, orange, sherry vinegar, dried fruits and a nut crumble. I wasn’t planning on pushing this out for another few weeks but two of the restaurant's arguably most important guests will be here tonight.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” You hadn’t the heart to say that your parents weren’t the most high brow when it came to their dining choices. This was the fanciest restaurant they would be in their whole life and no way would they know how to react to such an elaborate meal.

“Of course I do, they’re your parents after all. They’re spending time and money just to come and see you, see how well you’re doing and all your hard work. It’d be a disservice to them to give any less than my best.” Getou wasn’t one to give touches of reassurance to his staff but he broke the rule for you, giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder. “And it’s been too long since I’ve had parents to impress, I need to make sure I still got it.”

“Where are your parents?” Coming to a stand, you regretted it when Getou froze for a second.

“They passed away a long time ago when I was a teenager.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” You wanted to return the touch on the shoulder that he’d just given you but you didn’t want to risk it and push him away by being too forward.

“Don’t be, they’re in the family plot back home and I made a name for myself just like I promised them I would. They’ve funded my entire career, from my first day of culinary school all the way to now.” Taking a sharp inhale and exhale through his nose, Getou clapped his hands and turned around. “Enough about that though, we have some prep to do.”

When you were this early to the kitchen, it showed how quiet it could be; with just as much chaos and yelling there could be a time where you could hear a pin drop and know exactly where it fell. Seasoning the liver and watching Getou cut the quail out of the corner of your eye felt serene, almost like you could fall asleep to the atmosphere.

Getous face held no expression but there was a noticeable relaxation to his brows and his shoulders were lower than they usually were. He himself looked content standing over the cutting board with a look in his eyes that said there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

“So, what have you told your parents about this job?” Breaking the silence, the two of you made eye contact.

“I told them it’s going great.” Nodding to yourself, there were countless times you had told them parts of the truth about how your day went while fighting back tears of frustration, numerous days you had to splash your face with cold water and calm down before video calling them and lying through your teeth.

“Makes sense. You wouldn’t want to let them know how much of a piece of shit I am.” A bark of laughter came from Getous chest tinged with bitterness.

“No you- you’re not-”

“Yes I am, you don’t have to lie to me.” Drawing out a few of the words, Getou put down his knife and turned to you. “I know I’m strict and demanding and never have anything nice to say to anyone or about the food they make. I’ve made people cry, too many to count; and I know I’ve made you cry too.”

Setting your knife down as well, you worried your lip. What could you say to that? He was right, there were plenty of nights you went to sleep hoping that he wouldn’t show up the next day or that he would get an offer from a restaurant across the world. And he was more than right about making you cry.

“I…” Struggling to find the words, you stared at the quail. “You’re right about it, all of it-” he cut you off with another bitter laugh, “but I can understand it?” Shrinking under his peculiar stare, you kept going. “You went to the best culinary schools in the world, trained under the best chefs and now you have a star - aiming for another one at that. All of that time, all of that effort, I can understand why you’re so…intense about everything.”

“Intense.” Getou repeated that word, a smirk on his face. “I guess that’s one way to put it, huh?”

“I guess.” Unsure of what else to say, you let silence fall over the kitchen again. As the minutes ticked by more people started to come in and the familiar noise of the kitchen was returning.

“(Y/N).” Done with his work, Getou took a step away and looked around, seeing the familiar faces of the staff and putting his hard exterior back on. “Thanks for being honest in such a…nice way.” Tilting his head and giving you a wink, Getou was gone and walking away with not only the quail but the liver too.

Your nerves were starting to get the better of you as dinner service started to approach. Your parents were coming with such high expectations of you and the restaurant, you didn’t dare want to let them down and make them think you had to come back home.

“(Y/N).” Getou spoke to you after nearly forty-five minutes of ignoring you, not looking your way or truly speaking to you. “When your parents get here, I want you to dine with them.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind being back here.”

“Have you yourself ever eaten at one of my restaurants?”

“No.”

“Then this is the perfect night to do so. I told the maître d’ to let your parents in early so they could see the place before it got all busy.” The sudden kindness from Getou was taking you back, knocking you off your feet and making you question if he’d taken something to change his mood.

“You’re being too kind.” Shaking your head lightly, you refused to believe such a thing.

“And Guillaume will pull out the best wine we have - they do like wine, don’t they?”

“I suppose.” Truth be told, you usually found a can of beer in your fathers hand and maybe a cocktail for your mother.

“Jeez, do you know anything?” Getou teased, laughing at your glare. Seeing the mask he had on slip away for a moment, allowing you to see that he did have feelings other than discontent for his fellow man, was nice. It made a gentle bloom spring from your chest and settle warmly into your mind.

“Miss (Y/N), it appears they’re here.” With a light tap to your shoulder, the maître d’ went to open the door of the restaurant.

“There she is!” Your parents entered in their best attire, your mother holding a gift bag in the crook of her elbow. You rushed to them, hugging and exchanging elated hellos.

“What’s this?” Attempting to reach for the bag, your mother swatted your hand away and motioned to the man you’d just left behind you.

“Sshh, not for you.” She muttered quietly, watching Getou stride over with his hands behind his back.

“Ma’am.” Outstretching a hand, Getou shook your mothers gently and kissed the back of it. “Sir.” Turning to your father, he shook his hand as well before turning and motioning to the dining room. “Welcome to my humble establishment.”

“Thank you for having us!” Your mother jumped in, holding the gift bag out to Getou. “We brought you something for giving our daughter an opportunity here. It means the world to us; all of us.” She snuck a glance over to you, remembering clear as day when you got the invitation.

“What’s this?” Getou took it gingerly, also giving you a glance as if you had any idea what it was. “Oh.” Pulling the contents out of the bag, his brows rose high in surprise when it wasn’t the usual bottle of scotch he received but instead a candy bouquet, something he could find in the grocery store.

“Oh my god.” Slapping a hand over your mouth to stifle your loud gasp, you looked between the two of them in horror. How could she give Getou this of all things?

“(Y/N) loves these, we always get her one for her birthday and she eats them up within a day!” Giving your shoulder a nudge, your father patted Getou on the arm. “Maybe you’ll be more patient than her, hm?”

“I-I’m so sorry.” Your knees were on the edge of buckling.

“I…” Getou looked over the candy, some he hadn’t eaten in years. “I love this, thank you.” Your jaw dropped open at his admission and if you looked just right you could see a slight glisten to his eyes. “Here, I’ll have the maître d’ put this in my office and I’ll give you a tour.”

It all happened so quickly: Getou escorting your parents around - explaining the inspiration behind the design and construction of the restaurant - showing them his notebook and what he had planned for future menu items. He even opened the door to the kitchen and showed them inside, proudly stating that you stood right by his side and helped him call out orders.

The restaurant opened soon after and you were seated at the best table in the house with three glasses of wine poured after Guillaume and your parents had a lengthy and passionate discussion about the best vineyards and types of grapes. Starting with an iberico ham salad as an appetizer, you made pleasant conversation, noise that mixed in with the rest of the dining room.

“Here we are folks, the main course.” Getou of course had to be the one to present it to you all, nearly making the whole dining room turn and watch as it was laid out before you. “As promised, fileted quail served as a rouleau with fried duck liver, orange, sherry vinegar dried fruits and a nut crumble.”

“Oh my.” Staring in awe, your mother didn’t move an inch. Your father, ever eager, took his phone out and snapped multiple pictures, even telling you to smile as he got a quick few of you.

“Thank you Chef.” You were quick to fill in the silence seeing as your parents were too busy.

“Enjoy, please.” Giving you a grin, Getou slinked away to the kitchen.

“Honey, what part of this did you work on?” Done with his phone, your dad waved his fork at the plate.

“I helped with the liver and a few other things.”

“Well this looks much too fancy to eat but I wouldn’t want your hard work going to waste.” You hardly blinked, watching your parents take their first few bites of the food. Maybe it’d be too complicated for them or the flavors wouldn’t mix well in their mouths, or maybe they’d force themselves to stuff it down and then complain about it later.

“Dear, this is amazing.” Reaching across the table for your hand, your mother grasped it tightly. “We are so proud of you.”

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, words of adoration and appreciation never too far from your parents' mouths. They loved any and everything they set their eyes on, even gushing about the hand soap in the bathroom. Dessert was crème brûlée with peach ragout and lemon thyme ice cream, the patissier even bringing it out himself.

As dinner ended, Getou gave your parents one last goodbye, even indulging your father in taking a picture with all of you. Despite Getou saying there would be no rush, you promised to come back quickly after walking your parents out to the car they’d rented.

“I feel like we’ve said it a thousand times but truly, we are so proud of you (Y/N).” Both of them had tears in their eyes, a flair for the dramatics in both of them. Both of them launched into small speeches about watching you grow up and rooting for you every step of the way.

“Thank you guys, really.” Even your eyes had become a little misty and you had to cut them off or you’d be there all night. Bidding them a goodbye and vowing to let them into your apartment, you went back to the restaurant with your head held high.

Coming back to the kitchen, it was a surprise to see Getou not at his usual position. Looking around and not seeing his tall frame anywhere, you knew he must be in his office. Coming around a corner, there he was sitting in his chair, gnawing away at a chocolate bar.

“Caught me.” He didn’t try to hide it at all, letting his mouth be covered in the sweet stuff.

“I’m surprised to see you actually eating that.”

“What, you think I’d throw it away?”

“Yeah, actually.” You had a vision of him tossing the whole bouquet into the dumpster out back and laughing at your parents' stupidity.

“You think just ‘cause I have a star I can’t eat commercial candy?” Giving you a teasing petulant look, Getou pointed to a Twix bar with chocolate coated fingers. “I’ll have you know, this is my favorite candy in the world.” Letting a beat of silence go, he huffed and shook his head. “It’s not all black forest cherry tarts and lobster thermidors for me.”

“Of course, of course! My mistake!” Giggling under your breath, you held your hands up in mock surrender. “I wanted to come by and thank you for tonight, truly. My parents will definitely not be forgetting it.”

“You’re welcome.” He says it sincerely and you can tell in his eyes he wishes he could do the same for his. “It’s always a treat having family here.” The two of you shared a look, one tinged with slowly growing warmth and what felt like could be a friendship of sorts - or at least a more positive relationship in general, maybe one where he respected you in the kitchen like he did with Guillaume and the patissier.

“I should…go back and help. Make sure everything is good.” You said it slowly, not wanting to leave whatever this was but having a sense of duty to the kitchen. Getou nodded, offering you a quiet ‘see you soon’ before you walked away.

The next few days were surreal, almost like the past few weeks hadn’t happened. You and your parents got to look around the new city you were in, comparing all the food you ate to Getou’s. He also started treating you better, still tough and a little sharp tongued, but gentler. Instead of yelling at you, calling you a half-baked idiot or dumping a dish you’d been trying to perfect into the trash, he offered more advice. Telling you tips and tricks to help make a dish come out the same way every time, helping you sharpen your knives and letting you ask all the questions you wanted.

Not wanting to be accused of favoritism, Getou offered more advice to the chefs as well; though their number of questions came with a limit. He still yelled at someone nearly every shift but no longer was there someone crying in the walk-in that you had to maneuver around.

“What’s going on?” You whispered to a prep cook. You’d gotten the message to come early with uniforms freshly pressed, just as everyone else had.

“We have a visitor. I saw him in the dining room.” They whispered back. Nodding wordlessly, you walked to your station, idly wiping it down as you waited for something to happen. Getou had finally allowed you to go to it a few days ago, saying you were ready to start your real work now.

“Everyone, front. Now.” Getou’s voice boomed much louder than usual and it made you jump, but you wasted no time in following the order. Lining up shoulder to shoulder, everyone peered at the man standing next to Getou with a tall white hat on. Getou owned one as well but he never wore it, claiming he didn’t want it to slip off his head and into someone's soup.

“Good evening. Thank you for coming early.” Getou started, his hands behind his back. “I’m not going to waste time, so let me introduce you to someone most of you probably know already: Nicolas Conraux.” A quick few claps sounded from most of the staff, only some of you not moving. “And for those that don’t,” Getou sent a look to you, “this is the man that trained me and got me to my first star.”

Your eyes widened upon hearing that; this man was responsible for Getou, for making him the way he is in the kitchen. The memories came back to you, of small times Getou opened up about his past working under a chef who pushed him so hard to be better than he was that it made Getou puke on one occasion. This man’s name would forever be attached to Getou and now here he was right in front of you.

“I hope my presence won’t disturb you too much, but I was eager to see how my protégé was doing. He also sent a few emails regarding some worries he had for getting a second star, so I want to help in any way I can.” A heavy French accent hung over his words forcing you to focus on them closely.

“But just because he’s offered his help doesn't mean you can all slack off or take it easy, not even for a second. Be more meticulous, more precise with what you’re doing. Think twice before sending a dish out and if any dish comes back…” Trailing off, Getou gave you all one of the scariest looks you’d ever seen. After a debrief of how the evening was to go, you broke off back to your stations.

This was the first time since you’d gotten here that you wished you weren’t at your station. It was in the direct line of sight of Getou and Nicolas, the latter of whom had his eyes set intently on you. Taking a deep breath, you ignored his gaze in favor of preparing for the evening.

Tonight should be easy, you mused to yourself; the menu was a familiar one brought back due to popular demand, Texel lamb shoulder with sweet potato and vegetable chips and a tenderloin as well with crispy oyster mushrooms. Getting to work on the lamb, you were able to ignore Nicolas until he went to watch someone else. Letting out a breath at his departure you weren’t able to relax long with Getou announcing dinner would be starting in five minutes.

Counting down the seconds as usual, once the clock struck it felt like a whole different atmosphere. The kitchen was a bit lively again, nowhere near the level of volume it usually was, but it wasn’t painfully quiet anymore either. You felt comfortable calling out to the others and walking around, tasting the harissa for the lamb and wincing at the strong flavor.

“Why are you doing that?” A familiar accent came into your ear and you couldn’t even turn your shoulder to look at Nicolas. He was almost leering at the way you plated the first order of lamb for the night.

“E-excuse me.” Taken aback by his sudden arrival as well as his closeness, you shuffled a few inches from him.

“Answer me.” He pressed, immediately filling the space again.

“This is how Getou and I planned it, we discussed it to-”

“It’s lacking.” Cutting you off sharply, Nicolas called Getou over. “What do you think?” Getou was caught in a hard spot now, looking between the two of you and the plate. You were doing exactly as the two of you had planned but now with Nicolas’ critical eye, Getou was starting to see things differently.

“Perhaps it is lacking.” He agreed, nodding and avoiding your surprised face. “How should we change it, (Y/N)?”

“Don’t ask her.” A brief roll of his eyes and a snap of his fingers and Nicolas was taking the plate from you and grabbing a new one. “She’s already got one idea in her head, she’ll just try to do it again.”

“Of course.” Getou had turned into a complete yes man in front of you. Both of you watched Nicolas replate the dish, adding only a few mild changes that you knew no one would notice.

“There, now it is perfect.” Letting you get a once over of it, Nicolas sent it out of the kitchen. “I hope you took note.” And then he walked away, going to lean over someone else's shoulder.

“What was that?” You hissed, finally catching Getous eye.

“He was right.” That was the only answer he gave you before Getou left you as well. Biting back an annoyed noise, you set to work on the next plate, trying to remember what Nicolas had just done.

By the middle of dinner you were ready to leave the kitchen. It felt like Nicolas took even more offense at the things you did than Getou did, finding a reason to come up to you at every step of your process and correct it. He even commented on the way you stirred a ladle for soup, saying that you would disrupt the flavor profile.

Getou was no help either; he either sat back and watched or actively participated, sometimes spewing a few harsh words your way. You thought you were done hearing him say you might cut it better as a window cleaner or him wondering aloud whether you really knew how to cook some simple carrots.

“(Y/N), this is awful.” You’d come up to the table with a plate of steak tartare appetizers. Spending a bit more time on it than you usually did just to make sure it was made to perfection, hearing those words and watching Nicolas spit it out into a napkin - it threatened to bring angry tears to your eyes.

“Please, you can’t be serious!” Getting fed up, you slapped a hand onto the metal table. “You’ve had nothing good to say about any of the dishes I’ve prepared!”

“That’s because they’re all shit.” Shrugging your words off like they were nothing, Nicolas pushed the plate back to you. “Try again, though I think with your skill level it might be too difficult.”

“Oh fuck you!” In your anger, you pushed the plate back and made it flip over. Getou made a surprised noise and was about to scold you when you turned to him. “And you! I thought things had changed with you, you weren’t going to be such an asshole anymore but I guess I was wrong.”

“(Y/N), stop it.” Getou squared his shoulders. “This isn’t appropriate.”

“But telling me I should see if the local morgue was hiring because that’s the only people that won’t get sick from my food? That’s appropriate?” All of the harsh comments and jabs that had been made at you this night came flooding to the forefront of your mind. You’d tried to ignore it, push it deep down and deal with it when you got home, but that was no use. Hot, angry tears burned at your lash line begging to be set free.

“You want to know why I say those things?” Now Getou was at the same level of emotion as you, his face getting flush. “Because I want you gone.” That was what did it, that is what made the first tear fall. “It was a mistake to fucking invite you here when all you’ve done is cost me time and money. I should have left you in that insignificant little restaurant back in your insignificant little hometown. You’d do better work scrubbing the grease traps there.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You couldn’t be bothered to wipe at the tears now free falling, couldn’t be bothered to care about who saw what now. Ripping off your white jacket and flinging it onto the counter, you turned away from Getou and all but ran off. Quickly grabbing your things, you didn’t spare a single glance back as you left through the backdoor and raced to your car.

Speeding off before anyone could try and follow you, you first stopped at a park to cry. It was cold without your chef's jacket on, it made you feel bare to the world. Now anyone could see that you, in fact, could not cut it working under Getou. That you failed, weren’t good enough and weren’t strong enough to push through.

An unknown number called you and you let it go to voicemail. There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d answer the phone now, not when your eyes were puffy, nose stuffed up and voice hoarse from crying. Even a slight headache started to develop, one which forced you to now drive home.

Dragging your feet and kicking the door closed, you slumped against it and slid down to the floor. Letting your knife case fall to the wayside, you dug your phone out and finally listened to the voicemail.

H-hey…it’s me, Getou. Just the sound of his voice made you roll your eyes.

Things got really heated just now and I want to- fuck, uhm - I want to apologize. I’m your boss I shouldn’t be saying those things to you and- and especially not to someone I’ve come to care about. I want to apologize in person, (Y/N), I really do, you deserve that much at least.

“What if I don’t want to?” You mumbled to yourself, but Getou quickly answered.

I understand if you don’t want to, if you’d rather never see me again for the rest of your life…that’s completely fine. Just let one of the other chefs know and I’ll make sure your final check is posted as soon as possible.

It had gone eerily quiet in the voicemail making you check to see if he’d forgotten to end the call.

Just please…call me, okay? Even if it’s just to curse at me.

Only after those words did the voicemail finally stop, the true silence of your apartment taking over. Your fingers hovered over the delete button, wanting nothing more than to be done with Getou and his ever changing attitude. But you couldn’t find it in you and instead shoved your phone in your pocket and got up, changing out of your uniform and into comfier clothes.

A few hours later, after decompressing and having a meal where no one could judge your plating, your mood was lifting. More tears had fallen during that time and the struggling realization that you’d have to tell your parents sooner or later was in the back of your mind. But for now, you decided to slip on some shoes and head out to treat yourself to a sweet treat.

Walking down the block, you looked at the time. Dinner service had been over for almost forty-five minutes and a couple other chefs messaged you, telling you they’d miss you badly if you decided to never return. Worrying your lip, you wondered if you would ever return, if maybe you could find it in you to push away Getou’s disrespectful words and make him beg for forgiveness.

Coming to an ice cream shop, your hand bumped into someone else's as you reached for the door handle. A quick sorry died on your tongue upon seeing who it was, his long hair and dark circles unmistakable. He was dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, a stark contrast to the bright white jacket he usually sported.

“After you.” Getou mumbled, opening the door. Standing still for just a moment, you took the opportunity and stepped in.

“Following me?” You couldn’t help but ask, standing in line with him beside you. He didn’t say anything, opting to read the menu instead. It was unclear whether that made you more mad or it helped that he was giving you space.

“What flavor are you getting?” He replied instead, glancing tentatively at you.

“Probably cookie dough.” Whispering back, you went through the line, fishing out your wallet when it was time to pay.

“She’s with me.” Getou told the cashier, already sliding some cash across the counter. Rolling your eyes, you took a step back; if he wanted to spend money on you in hopes of winning you back, so be it.

“I don’t know if I’m coming back.” The two of you had decided to take a walk, with you knowing he wouldn’t leave you alone otherwise. These were the first words you’d said to him since starting the idle stroll.

“I-I understand.” You didn’t miss the sudden falter in his steps. Sighing heavily, Getou took a bite out of his ice cream and once again you saw with him chocolate smeared across his face. “I would do the same too if I were you.”

“Why are you such a fucking jerk?” Stopping at a crosswalk, you turned to look at him. Under the light of a street lamp and the setting sun, you could almost mistake him as looking rather handsome.

“I don’t mean to be.” He tried to take a step forward but you refused to move.

“Really? Because everything you say seems rather intentional.” The grip you had on your ice cream cone threatened to break it into pieces.

“I know.” Hanging his head low in shame, Getou faced you properly. “I’m the last person anyone would want to work with in the kitchen, even for just a day. Hell, I don’t really have a lot of friends outside the kitchen either. I can hardly hold a conversation if it’s not about food, I glare at everyone so hard I already have premature wrinkles. And probably worst of all, I make pretty girls cry.” As the last words left his mouth Getou looked up at you through his lashes, a grimace across his face.

The urge to slap him in the face made you flex your fingers. How dare he send you such a pitiful expression when he had looked upon you with utter disgust just a few hours ago? He called you pretty and as much as it made you want to grin, it also felt like he was trying to compliment you to get out of this situation.

“If you think I’m so pretty then why do you do it?” You mumbled, leaving him to cross the road. Getou’s footsteps were behind you, a few feet away as he mulled over your words. He didn’t fully catch up with you until you made it to the edge of a park, a small green space that was starting to empty out.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Rolling your eyes heavily, you pushed forward.

“Yes, okay?!” Getou’s irritation grew in a flash, making him grab your arm. The motion flung your ice cream out of your hand and he threw his down in tandem. “What am I supposed to say? You want me to admit the reason I told you I wanted you gone is because I realized I had fallen for you?” His face became awash with a red blush both from anger at himself and embarrassment.

“That- that your stupid, pretty little face and the way you smile and the way you laugh with the other chefs made me jealous? I want you to laugh and smile that way with me but all I can manage to do is humiliate and degrade you, make you feel like shit whenever we’re together!”

“And your food is fucking amazing, by the way.” Running a rough hand through his hair, Getou groaned. “I loved it, still do. You’re so talented it hurts me.”

“Why lie to me like that?” The grip he had on your arm was loosening but you could still feel his racing pulse.

“Because if I told you it was bad then maybe you’d come to me for help. Maybe you’d talk to me more and I could impress you with what I knew and then maybe…maybe it would lead to something else.” Fully dropping your arm in defeat, Getou slapped a hand over his face and leaned his head up to the sky. “Maybe I could find out what it feels like to hold your hand, to have you smile at me so brightly and tell me I’m doing a good job and I’m more than just some good chef that’s a grade A asshole.”

A heavy silence hung between you, the weight of all of Getou’s words weighing down the air around you. It felt difficult to breathe but somehow, you managed.

“Amazing.” You whispered, making Getou crack an eye open to look at you.

“Huh?”

“You’re an amazing chef.” Dropping his head back down, Getou stared at you with mild confusion on his face. “You have a Michelin star and an incredible eye for detail and flavor. Don’t get me wrong, you’re absolutely awful to be around and sometimes your presence makes me want to-”

“Okay.” He interjected, a tiny grin on his face betraying him. “I get it, I’m awful.”

“And I would love to learn from you.”

“Seriously?” Raising his brows in shock, Getou was surprised you would even acknowledge that part of what he said.

“Yes.” Your face portrayed no lie, no intention of changing your mind just to hurt him. “You think I’d want to pass up on an opportunity like that from someone I’ve admired for so long?”

Getou swallowed thickly. He had an inkling that you were a fan, from your parents words and from how you were around him, but you finally said it out loud. And maybe admiration could be something more. It made his heart swell hopefully, stupidly. He couldn’t even think of trying to stamp it down.

“When would you like to learn?” He spoke slowly, words coming out carefully as his eyes watched your face, his dumb little heart deflating a bit at the sudden downturn of your lips.

“I don’t know.” Rubbing the back of your neck, you shifted awkwardly on your feet. There was a bench behind you and you motioned for Getou to sit down. “I don’t know if it’d be a good idea for me to come back.”

“Wh- no it is, it is.” Gripping the back of the bench, Getou turned to you with his mouth hanging slightly. “It’ll be better, I swear. I’ll be better.”

“But how long will that last? Until you get mad again and snap at me?” You itched to play with the fraying patch of fabric on his sweats, to give your hands something to do other than twist and turn within themselves.

“I won’t, never again.”

“How long will Nicolas be at the restaurant?” Raising a brow at Getou, you watched his mind work. He was uptight on a good day and with Nicolas’ presence it only made it worse. The strict, military-like regime he had only became tighter and it choked the life out of you.

“A week.” Getou hung his head in shame, knowing he wouldn’t see you again any time soon. “But (Y/N), I swear on my life. Every fiber of my being. I won’t let him talk to you like that anymore; I don’t care if he’s my mentor or not.”

Contemplating Getou’s words, you weighed your options in your head. You had faith that Getou could change his ways, but so suddenly? And with the pressure of Nicolas behind him? Any hope of him being even slightly different during this week was dashed out of your mind. But looking up at him, his worry written all over his face and in the way he chewed his lip, it sparked something in you.

“Okay, I’ll think about it.” Your quiet utterance of the words had Getou leaning back dramatically with the weight of the world off his shoulders. He made a noise from his chest, something akin to a groan and a holler. Taking a few breaths, he sat up and looked at you.

“Yes, please do.” It was then that you noticed, as a breeze rushed past, that it had gotten quite late out. The sky was considerably darker and you could just barely make out some stars between the glaring lights of street lamps.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” Getou was sliding off the bench and nudging you to stand as well. Walking at a slower pace with him at your side, you took a few turns and made it back to your apartment with no trouble.

“Home sweet home.” You motioned to the building, gradually coming to a stop.

“It’s funny how close we live to each other.” Getou mused, hooking his thumb behind him. “I’m 3 blocks down and to the right.”

“Well neighbor, have a good night.” Feeling emboldened by the cover of darkness, you reach out and pat Getou’s shoulder, letting your hand linger for a moment before sliding off.

“Good night.” Giving you a small wave, Getou waited until you were safely in your apartment before turning and leaving himself.

4:45pm. The clock's large red numbers stared back at Getou. He was waiting not so patiently at the door for your arrival. He knew you came in at about 4:30 and after the conversation the two of you had had last night he hoped you’d be a bit earlier than that.

“Chef!” Someone called for him and Getou’s legs twitched instinctively to go help, but he remained in his spot.

“Chef!” They called again and Getou groaned. 4:46pm, the clock stared back at him. He didn’t want to move, not even a centimeter. But there were more pressing matters to attend to than waiting for you like a puppy.

“Coming!” He yelled back and drug his feet away. He was a fool to expect you to come back so soon after what happened, and although you said you’d think about it, it wasn’t a definitive yes to coming back.

For the next 15 minutes Getou tried to sneak looks at the door whenever he could, hoping and praying you’d waltz right in. He had dry cleaned your jacket that you’d thrown off, the stain from the steak tartare now a memory and no longer glaring right at him.

“Everyone, to the front.” Getou announced like he usually did, fingers wrapped around the metal table in a white knuckle grip. Everyone was standing at attention in no time, everyone but you. “As a reminder for service tonight…” He started, face a little sullen from your lack of appearance. So wrapped up in his own head he was that Getou didn’t notice the sound of the back door opening and closing or the way you snuck in behind everyone.

“And that’s all. Let’s do good tonight.” As everyone dispersed and Getou went about checking his lists, one person remained at the periphery of his vision. “Come here, do you have a question about the menu?”

“I do.” The sound of your voice made his head snap up and a fervent smile fought its way onto his face. Nicolas was off to the side reading something from a list of his own, not wholly paying attention to either of you.

“You came.” Getous mouth hung open slightly. There you were before him looking as eager as the day you’d first stepped foot in the kitchen. He remembered that day so clearly and how he wished he could have made a better impression on you instead of yelling about a coupe colonel.

“I did.” Smoothing down the front of your jacket, you caught his eyes. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not.” Shaking his head, Getou tried to look away from you but he couldn’t. His fingers flexed if only to try and disguise the slight tremble to them.

“Well, service has started.” Inching closer to him, you tried to ignore the slight burn in your cheeks as he continued to stare. “Can I look at the list? I need to make sure we have enough oyster mushrooms for that appetizer.” Your fingers wrapped around his and deftly unwound them from the piece of paper he’d been clenching onto. The action pulled him out of his stupor, enough so that he finally noticed the few line cooks waiting off to the side.

“I-I’ll be right there.” Clearing his throat and giving them a glance, Getou turned to you. “Glad to have you here, (Y/N).”

“Glad to be here.”