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lustspren · 2 days

Text

All Of The Lights ft Mina, Sana, Momo.

length: 27,1k words✦

Flashing Lights sequel.

Male reader, Male character x Mina, Sana, Momo.

genres: fivesome, anal, voyeur, hard sex, double/triple blowjob, creampie, double penetration, striptease, oral sex, facefuck, squirt, facial, bi, footjob, titjob, thighjob, butt play, daddy kink, sauna, sweaty sex ✧

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The stars had aligned. The opportunity had presented itself to you, once again. With a promotion of stratospheric proportions and a long, well-deserved vacation. You had every reason to aim high. Budapest. You had to go back to Budapest. Your body was begging you, the universe itself was begging you. It was an imperative need. That damn place seemed to attract you like an industrial magnet, and you had no intention of resisting that call.

Besides, you had a promise to keep. A promise you had made over a year ago to a gorgeous Japanese girl who managed to win your heart in just three days. You remembered her face every day, and not just hers, but also the girl who had stopped you from getting beaten up in the first place.

You needed them. In the UK you felt incomplete, counting the days and hours. Not living, just killing time. The only way was to go back.

And there you were, in front of that place again. You had to admit that during the flight to Budapest you had an irrational fear that for some reason the establishment no longer existed. But no, it was still there, standing tall, mysterious and elegant. You could also hear the loud music booming just a few meters below. It was still operational, thank God.

And still not a single damn security guard at the door. Who knows how many other poor bastards with less luck than you have already been beaten out.

Your stomach was in knots, but you went in anyway.

Inside everything was exactly the same as you remembered it, except that this time you didn't know what you were getting into, with a mixture of fear, uncertainty and curiosity. This time you knew exactly what you were doing, and as you went down those stairs you could do nothing but think about that girl. Was she still there? There was no reason to believe otherwise, but when you got downstairs you didn't see her anywhere.

Another girl, however, immediately caught your attention. Among all the dancers, waitresses and assistants, she gave off a very different aura and kind of beauty, standing on one of the small circular platforms for everyone to see her dancing to Dua Lipa's New Rules. Her light brown hair ran free, shiny and silky. Slim body, but full of perfect curves in every possible place, covered by a black lace outfit, under which she wore a black top and shorts. And damn, her face was downright a gift from the gods.

The way she moved was hypnotic, mesmerizing, with the energy of a person who was confident of herself and her charms. And bloody hell... those facial expressions were everything. She had every single man's mouth watering. Many offered bills in exchange for touching her, but she only mocked them with an incredulous laugh and a haughty look. You had never seen anything like that before; you were stunned. She…

"You here again?" A male voice said from your left, snapping you out of your trance. “You’re a fucking pain, kid.”

You never thought you’d be glad to see the man you turned around to see.

“And you’re a fucking grouch, Takashi,” you said with a smirk, looking at the burly man who nearly killed you a year ago. He looked better this time, with a visibly more expensive suit and a decent haircut. “Still no security guards at the door?”

“Still not learning Japanese?”

A laugh escaped you.

“Touché.”

“If you’re looking for the bosses, they’re not here right now,” he said, crossing his arms.

You frowned.

“The bosses?” you asked. “Plural?”

“Yeah, bosses. Miss Myoui now runs this club in conjunction with Miss Hirai.”

You knew a lot could change in a year, but that wasn't part of your assumptions. A pleasant surprise, indeed.

"And where are they? Momo was always here."

"It's none of your business, boy!" Takashi pointed at you with his finger. "Wait as long as it takes or fuck off!"

"But..."

Takashi didn't let you finish, he just glared at you and went into the club to do his respective patrol. What a grumpy fucking lad.

With no other option but to wait, you went straight to the bar, this time without any Japanese bouncers to stop you. The girl was still dancing a few meters to the right, but all you could think about was refreshing your throat with something really cold.

There were a couple of not-so-friendly-looking men sitting at the bar, chatting between arrogant laughs. You took the stool as far away from them as possible, not because you were scared, but to avoid controversy over the fact that you were the only non-Asian there.

As soon as you sat down, a cute, slim girl in a sleeveless black dress, with her dark hair down, approached you. The bartender.

"Shitsurei itashimasu ga, go-chūmon wa nani ni nasaimasu ka?" she said, of course, in Japanese.

"Uh..." you scratched your eyebrow. "Do you know any English, dear?"

The girl stared at you with a frown, one elbow on the bar.

"English," you repeated more slowly.

"Oh, eigo!" she nodded quickly. "Little bit," she finally replied.

You sighed. Well, you'd have to be clear and concise.

"Uhm... whiskey?" you asked under her watchful gaze. "Scotch?"

"Scotch whiski?" she asked, and turned to the shelf of bottles to give it a quick glance. "Oh! That one?"

She pointed, thankfully, to a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label.

"Yes!" you nodded. "One, with tonic water, please."

"Hai!"

The girl got to work, with frankly surprising speed. She had your drink ready in less than a minute, without a single hint of error. You didn't remember seeing her a year ago, but she most likely had quite a bit of experience already.

"Thank you very much, dear," you smiled at her once she handed you the drink.

She just smiled back, and after a small bow she went to serve the other customers. So you were left alone with your glass of whiskey, which like a good Brit you knew how to appreciate once the first sip went down your throat. It was just what you needed to relax your body.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed someone sitting next to you. You only saw the shadow, so you didn't know if it was a man or a woman. You, minding your own business, decided not to turn around so as not to attract attention.

"Moka-chan!" the person said. A woman. "Osake wo ippai choudai, onegai. Tsukarechatta!"

She said that last word with a tired tone and a sigh. You frowned and turned your head just a little. This time you managed to see the silhouette, pale and darkly dressed. Was it...?

"Ah! Sana-chan!" said the bartender, who you deduced was called Moka, with a smile. "Sugu ni ne! Asoko de sugokatta yo!"

The girl next to you, Sana, let out a cute giggle.

"Arigato, arigato!"

Her voice was extremely sweet, like a sugary melody made for tired ears. You stared at your glass still full of whiskey, but curiosity had you by the neck, and in the end forced you to turn to look at her, as discreetly as you could.

She was, indeed, the girl you had seen dancing a few minutes ago, and if she looked beautiful from so many meters away, from this distance it was like seeing the love child between two angels. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, attentive as Moka served her whatever she had ordered, her chin resting on her knuckles.

"Hai, douzo!" said Moka, handing Sana a small glass with a clear liquid that could well have been vodka, tequila, or who knows what. "Uchi no sutā ni ippai!"

Sana accepted the small glass with a nod of her head and a charming smirk. She then took it and, without even thinking twice, drank it all in one gulp before tapping the bar with the empty glass.

"Ah, oishii!" exclaimed Sana, visibly happier.

But what you didn't notice was that you had been staring at her for too long, so as soon as she turned her head slightly, she caught you. You quickly looked back at your glass, and tried to cover it up by taking a sip while looking in the opposite direction. With a bit of luck, she would forget about it and...

"Nee..." she said. "Nani miteru no?"

Shit. The implied question tone made it clear that she was talking to you. You couldn't just ignore her; that would be rude, but you also didn't know how to look at her after you'd been doing it in secret.

"Hm? Matte..." she paused, and you noticed how she leaned forward a little to get a better look at you. "You're not Japanese, are you?"

You sighed and looked at your whiskey, with no other option but to give up.

"You got me, I guess," you replied, and now you looked at her. Bad mistake. That only made you nervous, as she was too close and her beauty worked twice as effectively.

"You are aware of where you are, sweetheart?" she asked.

"Quite aware, yes," you nodded with a chuckle. "Do you speak English?"

"I do, and apparently you too..." she picked up her stool and moved it closer to yours. "Which leads me to think that you are definitely not Hungarian, you are a foreigner."

"What makes you think that I am not just a Hungarian who speaks very good English?" you asked, and took a sip of your whiskey with your gaze fixed straight ahead.

"No one here has that accent," Sana replied with a smirk. "But okay, let’s say you’re actually Hungarian. That doesn't answer the most important question of all..." she moved even closer, her face on the side of your shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, does my presence bother you?" you asked, glancing at her.

"Not at all, sweetheart," she said, shaking her head. "But I'm surprised you're still sitting here without Takashi-kun kicking your ass."

"Well..." you swirled the whiskey in your glass. "Let's just say I'm not an unfamiliar face to him. I've been here before."

"That doesn't answer my question, in fact it gives me a better one: what did you do that time to not get your ass kicked and why are you back?" she asked, tilting her head to meet your gaze. "You don't seem interested in us dancers... even though you should definitely be interested in me."

"To start off, darling, that's two questions and one self-centered statement," you replied, shoving your hands into the pockets of your windbreaker, then turning the stool around to face her. "That time your boss saved my ass."

Sana frowned and opened her mouth in surprise.

"Momo-sama?"

You nodded.

"Back then Miss Myoui was still a dancer," you said. "I'm waiting for them right now."

"Are you a business partner or something?" she asked.

"I don't remember at what point this turned into an interrogation," you picked up your glass of whiskey on your left and took a sip, looking at Sana. "Anyway, it's my turn to ask the questions now."

"And what if I don't want to answer them?" she asked, shifting her crossed legs.

"Oh, you'll want to answer this one," you said with a smile. "You said I should definitely be interested in you, why?"

"The answer to that question lies in how you were looking at me before I caught you red-handed," she subtly took the glass from your hand. "So you tell me," she then took a sip of your whiskey, her eyes fixed on you.

You looked into her eyes and then away to her now whiskey-wet, tantalizingly kissable lips.

"Because you're a delight. You look like the real thing..." you took the glass back from her and drank from the same side as her. "And I'm sure you must taste like the real thing."

Sana smiled.

"There's your answer. Still, I have one last question..." she took the glass from you, but this time she set it on the bar to stand up and between your legs, her hands on your thighs and her face inches from yours. "Do you want to taste me?"

Having her up close put all your senses on full spurt. Your heart began to beat faster, and her hands on your thighs caused the bulge in your pants to stir as you woke up. You were supposed to sit there waiting for the girls to come, but it was rare to see such tempting Japanese candy like that.

"Aren't you going to get in trouble?" you asked, taking the liberty of putting your hands on that small waist. "You seem pretty famous around here."

"Trouble?" She laughed out loud, as if the question offended her. "I'm the star of this club, I can do whatever I want..." She brought one of her hands to your bulge to give it a gentle squeeze. "Even fuck a cute foreign boy who's maybe too god damn lucky."

"Too lucky, indeed…”

Then she kissed you.

Sana only needed five seconds to prove that she was the hell of a good kisser. Your lips were wrapped in a sensual exchange of saliva, her hand constantly massaging your bulge until your cock was hard under your pants. She was smart; she did it knowing that from the other side of the bar no one could see what she was doing with her hand, so Moka couldn't stop you.

You put your arms around her in the middle of the kiss, delighted to be able to feel that sexy slim body under the tip of your fingers. When you lowered one of your hands to grab her ass she squeezed your cock harder, and as you began to massage one of her butt cheeks she let out a small moan against your lips.

"To give you an idea of how lucky you are..." she said between kisses. "The last time a man tried to do what you're doing..." another hard squeeze to your now painfully hard cock. "He left with broken wrists."

"Ouch..." you said.

"Shall we go to the bathroom? To your place?" she asked.

"The bathroom suits my urge to bury my cock deep inside you better," you replied.

Sana let out a sly smile.

"You're a bold son of a bitch, have you been told that?"

"A couple of times," you admitted.

She let go of you to walk away from the bar, but not before looking over her shoulder at you, indicating for you to follow her. You did so, after taking a last sip of your whiskey.

"Oi, omae!" a female voice called out from behind you, as you were halfway to the bathroom.

You stood very still, staring at the floor. Sana had also stopped to turn around. You knew that voice, more than perfectly. You ended up turning around, very slowly.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs was she. Myoui Mina. As beautiful and graceful as ever. It was the first time you saw her dressed like that, in black shorts, a turtleneck sweater, and a black trench coat with beautiful silver engravings on it, a clear sign of her now well-deserved new status. Her countenance was stern, unyielding. Like that of a supreme empress who knew she could have a mountain moved for her with just one word.

But still, that countenance softened and transformed into something completely new the moment she recognized you.

Mina took slow steps towards you, and you towards her. Instantly she quickened her pace, and a smile formed on both her face and yours. The last few meters she shortened with long strides, until finally, you wrapped each other in a strong embrace.

"I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!" She squealed against your shoulder, her arms wrapped around your neck, and yours around her waist. “I knew you were coming back!”

“I had to, didn’t I?” you replied, and buried your face in her hair to breathe in her familiar scent. “A promise is a promise.”

A few feet ahead, just down the stairs, the woman who had made it all possible in the first place appeared. Hirai Momo looked as sexy and alluring as ever, dressed in a two-piece outfit that looked like a full-body dress, her body as delicious looking as you remembered, only now she had shorter hair.

Her expression was a bit different from Mina’s. Funny, to say the least. She looked like she had seen a ghost, but you still managed to notice small hints of a smile. She was pleased, but she couldn’t seem to believe it as she slowly walked towards you.

“One year and four months, you jerk…” she muttered, clinging to you like a koala to its branch. "You took too long."

"I know, sweetheart, I'm sorry..." you murmured back, rubbing her back with your hand. "But there wasn't a single day that I didn't think about you... and here I am."

Mina pulled away from you slightly, to look you in the eyes up close. She then cupped your face with her soft hands, and without warning, she kissed you. It wasn't something that bothered you at all, of course, but the surprise lay in where she was doing it, not caring what her employees or her customers thought. You didn't care either, that's why you gladly accepted the kiss.

The remorse of conscience, however, made you break the kiss a few seconds earlier than you would have liked. Meters behind you the cause must have still been standing, maybe confused, maybe angry, maybe disappointed, or a mix of all three. You really had no idea.

“Damn, you two can’t wait for a moment of privacy, can you?” Momo asked, standing behind Mina before shifting her gaze behind you. “Soko de nani shiteru no? Ojō-san. Nanika matteru no?”

That last bit was for Sana. You pulled away from Mina to turn and look at her. Sana had her arms crossed, a mischievous smile plastered on her face as she watched you and Mina. That ruled out your previous assumptions; she looked satisfied.

“Oh, nothing, boss,” Sana replied directly in English. She took a few steps towards the two of you, but kept her gaze locked on you. “Definitely not a business partner, huh?”

Mina furrowed her brow, and looked at you and Sana.

“I assume you two have met already.”

“Hai, at the bar,” Sana pointed at it with her chin, her hands behind her back. “Your cute boyfriend was waiting for you like a good boy.”

On your quest to find a place to look without looking suspicious, you met the knowing eyes of Momo, who was watching you with a small, sly smile. She nodded at Sana, which you interpreted as a yes or no question. You just shrugged and nodded, a yes.

“I see,” Mina crossed her arms. “But you two seemed to be going somewhere. May I know where?”

Sana gave you furtive glances.

“Well, he asked me very nicely to show him where the bathroom was,” she replied before fixing you with a look. “Right?”

“Ah yeah yeah,” you laughed. “That whiskey filled my bladder faster than I anticipated.”

That didn’t seem to convince Mina, who raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly to look at you.

"Lucky, huh? Thank goodness our Sana-chan is so kind," she stared at you without blinking, hoping to fluster you so you'd give yourself away.

You didn't know how to respond, so you gave Momo a quick glance to signal her to stop holding back her laughter and help you out.

"Oi, Mina-chan," she finally chimed in, standing next to the three of you. "I really need a seat and a drink, let's go inside."

"You're right, I'm thirsty too," Mina replied without taking her eyes off you. "Will you join us, sweetie?" she raised an eyebrow.

"What do you think?"

She smiled.

"Come on then."

Mina was the one who took the lead. You then looked at Sana, who winked at you once Mina's back was turned.

"Alright, you two," Momo said, standing very close to the two of you. She put one hand on your back and the other around Sana's waist. "I don't like being lied to. Who's going to tell me the truth first?"

"We were going to fuck in the bathroom until you two came along, boss," Sana replied, bluntly, without mincing words, unfazed.

You glared at her, and gave Mina a quick glance to see if she had heard; she didn't seem to have, she was watching you at the entrance to the hallway leading to the office, expectantly.

Momo couldn't help but laugh.

"You work fast, huh?" she looked at you. "At this rate you're going to fuck even Moka."

"Actually," Sana chimed in. "I was the one who seduced him and made him drool all over me. It wasn't his doing, boss."

"Oh my god..." you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. She was only making you look worse with every single thing she said.

"Did you see his cock already?" Momo asked, biting her own lip and looking at you.

"Actually no," Sana giggled and looked at you too. "But I did touch it... and I wanted it deep inside me right away."

"You're coming with us then?" Momo looked at Sana, and you noticed how she squeezed her waist. "You know... we'll drink something, chat, and maybe put on a great little show."

"A great little show?" Sana gasped in surprise. "I'll get to dance for my bosses?"

"With your bosses," Momo corrected, and looked at you. "The dance will be for our extra exclusive customer."

"I see..." Sana nodded slowly, before giving a quick glance to Mina, who was already getting impatient. "His girlfriend won't be upset?"

Momo let out a laugh.

"She's not even his damn girlfriend," she paused to think about it. "Well, not for now at least. But in the meantime he can do whatever he wants. He’s single."

Sana shrugged with her head cocked to the side, showing false innocence.

"Then I don't see why not, boss."

"Saikō!" Momo clapped her hands, grinning from ear to ear. "Follow me then."

You were about to complain about the hasty decision, but held back as you assumed there was nothing you disagreed with. You wanted that more than any of the three of them. The only drawback was Mina; you didn't know how she was going to take it, but you didn't think she was going to put up too many obstacles either. After all, you only had an emotional bond, nothing formal: she wasn't your girlfriend.

Yet. Who knows what was going to happen in those four days.

"Come on, sweetheart," Sana urged you as Momo walked towards the office. She leaned close to your ear. "I'm dying to taste that juicy cock."

Sana pulled away from you with a mischievous smirk, and winked at you before turning around and following Momo. You followed her as well.

To your surprise, the entire office had been remodeled, so nothing was in the place you remembered. The floor, now level and without steps, was made of elegant dark wood planks that made a soft creaking sound under your feet. The famous pole was no longer at the back of the room, it was now near the entrance, in front of the large semi-rectangular shaped couch, where Mina was now comfortably seated, cross-legged, while eating peanuts from a glass bowl.

The ceiling was still as high as before, made of a beautiful wooden facade with warm bulbs embedded in it. On each side of the room extended long, low chests of drawers, on which they displayed objects of all kinds, from books to small gadgets. The walls were decorated with paintings, the most notable one on the back wall. The corners, meanwhile, were adorned with tall plants and a majestic marble statue, representing a swan in full flight.

And of course, there were now two desks instead of one.

"I was going to ask what you were talking about without me, but I don't think I need to," Mina said, seeing Sana enter with you.

You took a few steps forward, carefully observing the entire space. The gold color was everywhere, especially in the details of the furniture and the ceiling. Even the pole seemed to be made of the precious metal. You doubted its authenticity, but with the amount of money Momo handled, you wouldn't be surprised if it was real.

"Sana-chan will be joining us to celebrate tonight, my dear," Momo announced, walking past the couch towards her desk, to set her handbag down.

Sana, still near the entrance, gave a small bow to Mina.

"It's an honor, Mina-sama," she said, her hands clasped together on her belly.

You sat down next to Mina, who immediately offered you peanuts. You grabbed a couple and ate them. The couch was considerably more comfortable than the old one, and the lilac velvet gave it the perfect touch. The only drawback was that the backrest was lower, making it difficult to fully support your back.

“Please call me Mina, sweetie,” she waved her hand casually, leaving the bowl of peanuts on the coffee table. “Come sit with us.”

“Hai!” Sana bowed again, and with slow steps went to sit right next to you.

“What are you celebrating for?” you looked at Mina. “Is that why you were out?”

“That’s right!” Momo appeared again, now with a bottle of chilled champagne in one hand and four glasses skillfully held in the other. “We bought an apartment!”

She set the bottle and glasses down on the coffee table around the bowl of peanuts, then walked past Sana, sitting on the right side of your lap to wrap her arms around your head and hug you. You hugged her back.

"Our dream apartment," Mina clarified, watching as Momo pressed your face into her big melons. "What better reason to celebrate than that? Besides, your return is a good reason too."

"Damn, you've been doing well, haven't you?" you managed to say against Momo's breasts, then turned your face to look at Mina with a smile. "That's great sweetie, congratulations."

Mina smiled back, looking at you with a cute sparkle in her eyes.

"Thanks baby," she leaned forward to look at Sana beside you. "Though you have to give our cute star dancer a lot of credit; she's a money-making machine."

Sana leaned over to look at Mina as well, a proud smile on her face. She took some peanuts from the bowl.

"Thank the horny brained men too, boss, they're pretty pathetic."

Mina and Momo laughed.

"You're certainly not wrong," Mina said. "But I've never been handed as much money as you."

Sana shrugged, munching on some peanuts.

"I'm really good at sweet-talking them, and they seem to have never had any female contact in their life. They drop like flies."

"Sana, cutie, could you pour the champagne?" Momo asked. "I'd do it myself, but I missed my big boy and want to hug him some more."

At this point you felt like you were going to get a crick in your neck at any moment, but anything was worth it to have Momo's gorgeous ass on your lap and her breasts in your face. You had to be grateful for the privileges you had.

"Hai!" Sana nodded, and picked up the bottle as she examined the table. "Where's the corkscrew?"

"Right there," Momo pointed to the drawer of the coffee table. "It's electric, so you won't have to leave your wrist."

Sana opened the drawer and took out the corkscrew, then put the bottle on the table and got to work.

"Honey, sorry for the question," you moved away from Momo's breasts so you could look at Mina comfortably. "But how did you come to run the business with Momo?"

"Well, it's an easy question actually," she looked at Momo. "Do you want to answer it yourself?"

Momo finally removed her arms from around your neck and rested both hands on your right shoulder.

"She's a real beast at negotiating; she's much better with people than I am," she paused to look at Sana as she poured the champagne into the glasses. "As soon as I noticed, I gave her a few tests, and she passed them all with flying colors."

As she finished pouring the champagne, Sana took each glass and handed it to you one by one. You and Momo nodded in thanks.

"Thank you, dear," Mina told her with a smirk, then looked at you. "Well, yeah, I basically went back to college for a day."

"But it was worth it, wasn't it?" Momo raised an eyebrow. "Look at us now, we've taken the club to a whole other level thanks to you joining."

Mina nodded proudly.

"It was totally worth it."

"Cheers to that, girls, I really couldn't be more proud of you," you raised your glass with a smile.

Momo grabbed your face and planted her lips on your cheek. Mina leaned over to you as well and planted hers on the other one.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Momo raised her glass to the center. "Kanpai!"

"Kanpai!" you, Mina, and Sana said in unison, raising your glasses before taking a sip of the champagne.

"Baby, as much as I love having you on my lap, I can't feel my leg anymore," you patted Momo's lower back, your thigh growing numb.

Momo giggled.

"Woopsies, I'm sorry," she stood up from your thigh with an innocent little smile and went to sit on Sana's right. "Blame my big ass."

Mina took another sip of her champagne glass, set it down on the coffee table, and turned to raise one knee on top of your thighs. She then crossed her arms, looking at Sana.

"So? How was your evening, darling?" She raised an eyebrow. "You're in a good mood."

Now the real fun began. You knew Mina wasn't going to sit back and take the answer she got from Sana a few minutes ago; she'd try to get the truth out of her.

Sana raised her eyebrows for a moment. The question had caught her taking a sip of champagne.

"Really fun, boss," she set her glass down on the coffee table. You still had yours in your hand, as did Momo. "But I was hoping it would be a little more... spicy."

"You've got quite a spicy dance routine already, what do you mean?"

"I don't know," Sana shrugged, then clasped her hands on her knee to lean towards you. "Don't you sometimes feel like your night is missing something?"

Mina frowned.

"Every night since he's not here, why?"

You stared at Mina with a half smile. Apparently you weren't the only one who was feeling that way this whole time.

Sana let out a silly giggle.

"Aw, that's adorable! So you understand how I feel tonight."

"So that's how you found him then?"

"Oh, I didn't find him," Sana said, reaching for her champagne glass. "In fact, if it were up to me I would never have noticed his existence, you already know me. He gave himself away," she sipped from the glass.

The smile on your face faded. You sipped champagne to keep from saying anything. At that moment you met Momo's gaze. She was holding back her laughter again.

"He gave himself away?"

"Yeah!" Sana nodded. "I was minding my own business, ordering my usual sip of sake from Moka-chan, when I happened to notice this…" she leaned over to you and placed her hand on your chest. "cute gentleman gaze!"

You cleared your throat.

"I literally only looked at her for a second because she was sitting next to me and she happened to look back," you said, hoping to maybe clean up your image a bit.

Sana laughed out loud, as if you'd told a really good joke.

"For a second?" she raised her eyebrows. "You looked like you were about to pierce me with your eyes!"

You shrugged, skeptical.

"Your imagination, surely."

"So you met him purely by chance?" Mina asked.

"Hai! Although I must say, it seemed like he wanted us to meet," Sana replied, giving you sidelong glances. One of them went down; you knew exactly where.

Mina looked at you, and it seemed like she also looked where Sana had. She most likely already knew the truth at this point, but she seemed to be playing with you as if she were a cat and you were a mouse.

"Is that true?" she asked, and her knee tightened on your thighs.

You were between a rock and a hard place. You had to tell the truth, but the dilemma was how you were going to do it, whether to disguise it so as not to make yourself look so needy or to cut the crap and tell things as they were.

But fuck it. If you didn't get straight to the point, the only thing you would achieve was to delay the inevitable even further.

"Yeah, I saw her dancing when I got here and she left me stunned," you leaned back, propping yourself up with your elbows on the back of the couch to look at the two of them. "When she talked to me at the bar I jumped at the chance."

A small smile formed on Sana's face as she took another sip of her champagne. She looked only at you, eager for you to spill the beans.

"The chance for what?" Mina asked.

"To take my shots."

You watched Mina's reaction closely. You expected her to be upset by it, but you only managed to catch a tiny hint of a smile. She looked down, then back at Sana.

"You weren't showing him where the bathroom was, huh?"

"Nope," you shook your head, responding for Sana. "You know what we were going to do in there, sweetheart."

Mina didn't even look at you, she was still intent on Sana, arms crossed and unblinking.

"What do you have to say about that, Sana-chan?"

"That his shots hit the mark," Sana downed the last of the champagne in her glass in one gulp, then set it down on the coffee table. "We were headed straight for fucking until you came along, boss."

"Oh, do I have to apologize, then?" Mina raised an eyebrow.

Sana gently shook her head.

"Not at all. I don't think you could have known."

The office fell into a deep silence. Mina and Sana stared at each other without saying a word, and you could perfectly imagine the lightning bolts striking between their heads. However, you didn't notice an air of confrontation, but rather a defiant one.

"Go on, then," Mina broke the silence, after a few long seconds. "You must be eager to get back to it."

"Fuck, it was about time," you heard Momo say.

"Right now?" Sana laughed.

“Yeah,” Mina moved her knee off you and moved a small distance to the left, crossing her legs again. “But I’ll decide when you two stop.”

“Ahhh!” Sana whined, pouting. “How am I supposed to focus like that?”

“That’s your problem, sweetie, not mine. Come on.”

Sana looked at you and, after kicking off her heels, straddled your lap, her hands on your abdomen. She made to lean forward, but stopped to look at Mina.

“Can I at least ask for some music?”

“As you prefer,” Mina looked at Momo. “Would you?”

“I’d be happy to,” Momo nodded, and pulled her phone out of her handbag to connect to the office sound system, set up on four large speakers positioned at each corner of the ceiling. She put on Britney Spears’ Gimme More first.

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Sana then turned to look at you again. She smiled and bit her lip, and began to move her hips ever so slowly to the music, grinding against your bulge. After a few short seconds she leaned into you, her hands now on your collarbone, and with her face inches from yours, she kissed you.

Between Sana’s sweet lips and the satisfying rumble of the music it wasn’t hard to enclose yourself with her in a bubble of passion and lust. You wrapped your arms around her small waist, pressing your bodies together as she moved her hips. She cradled your face in her hands, your tongues swirling together until she pulled away to attack the right side of your neck with wet kisses and licks.

Mina’s gaze met yours, and you held it as your hands left Sana’s waist to roam the rest of her body. You touched every corner you could reach, but ended up focused on her pretty ass, which you noticed was bigger and softer than it seemed at first glance. Mina followed each movement attentively to the next, probably eager to see more.

"Damn, they really wanted each other," you heard Momo say followed by a giggle, watching as Sana kissed your neck and face and you groped her ass.

Sana untied the zipper of your parka and opened it to the sides to put her hands under your sweater. She caressed your chest and abdomen with her fingers, then kissed you again and proceeded to take off your upper garments. With your torso already naked, she lowered the kisses to your pectorals and then to your abdomen, where she stayed for a few seconds in which she grabbed the hem of your sweatpants and your boxers and pulled them down together to release your hard cock.

“Oh god, I knew I wasn’t wrong…” Sana smiled, exhaling hot breath against the back of your cock. “This thing is massive.”

The song changed to 50 Cent’s Candy Shop, perfect timing as she climbed off the couch, kneeled between your legs and took your cock in one hand to press it against her lips as she peppered it with kisses; after spreading them all over your shaft, she moved on to licking your tip in slow swirls, until finally she took you into her warm mouth.

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You gifted Sana with your first moan of the night. She sucked on your tip gently for the first few seconds, still using her tongue to lick around it. Then her eyes met yours as she slowly lowered her lips halfway down your cock, one hand at your base and the other kneading your balls.

Her head movements were gentle and calculated, soon accompanied by a small series of moans that Sana let out every few seconds that made your shaft vibrate. You looked straight into her eyes, amazed at how they could change so drastically from one moment to the next: first they looked like two cute bubbles, but now they seemed to be able to see through your soul.

She gave you a few more sucks and pulled you out of her mouth, her hand moving up and down your cock.

"You want me to take my clothes off huh?" she asked, caressing your thigh with her other hand. "You've wanted to since you saw me out there."

"Y-yeah..."

"Then you're going to help me with it."

Sana let go of your cock and stood up so she had her back to you. She had taken off her lace dress in a flash, and when she was left in her shorts and top, she leaned on your thighs and sat fully on top of your cock. The song changed to Sock It 2 Me by Missy Elliott and she started moving her hips to the beat, then looked over her shoulder at you.

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"Come on pretty boy, undress me," she said, looking at you with those stupidly sexy eyes.

You brought your hands to her waist and let her dance against your cock for a few seconds, but soon you lost patience and pulled down the zipper on the side of her shorts, which you then grabbed the hem to pull down and slowly reveal her ass cheeks. Sana lifted her hips for a moment, and finally you were able to slide her shorts down her legs. Her panties were also semi-transparent black lace, and made her ass look like a real treat. Next was her top, easier to remove than the bottoms. Underneath she was wearing absolutely nothing, but you couldn't see anything until she stood up and turned to kneel between your legs again. They were a pair of tits that were close to perfection: pretty, round and the size of an apple.

Sana took your cock and brought it back to her mouth, sucked it up and down a few times and pulled it out to jerk you off, her eyes on yours.

"Well?" She smiled, her hand moving in a steady rhythm over your throbbing cock. “Am I just like you pictured me naked in your head?”

“Even fucking better,” you gasped, still unable to stop staring at her tits.

She noticed your gaze and reached up to rub your cock against her tits, consequently smearing them with saliva.

“You like them?” Sana giggled.

“They’re so fucking pretty…” you leaned forward to cup and squeeze one of her breasts in your hand. “I want them in my mouth.”

“And I still want your cock in my mouth,” she rubbed your tip against her nipple. “Now what do we do?”

“After I taste your tits you can ride me however you want,” you moved your hand up to her neck and then up to her chin to slide a thumb into her mouth. She sucked on it, “Is that okay with you, darling?”

“Mmmmm,” she sucked on your finger for a few seconds until she pulled it out, “We have a deal, gorgeous.”

Sana stood up to straddle your lap, her crotch pressed against your cock. You straightened your back, and now with that pair of gorgeous breasts in front of your face, you brought your hands to her ass and plunged your mouth into one of them. She let out a cute moan and gently held onto your head, rocking her hips back and forth against your cock with her fingers tangled in your hair.

You spent the next long seconds sucking on her tits and groping her ass. Your hands moved from her ass cheeks to her legs, and back up to rub her lower back. All the while, you licked and kissed her nipples, using your free hand to massage the free breast that you didn’t have in your mouth at the moment. They were a delicious, fluffy pair of tits, and if Momo didn't exist, they would definitely be the best tits you'd ever suck on in your life.

"S-stop it..." Sana moaned against your cheek. "I want that cock inside me..."

"Then put those panties aside and ride me, you little slut," you said against one of her tits.

Sana wasted no time in lifting her hips and bringing one of her hands to her crotch. You felt her pull the panties to the side, your cock now rubbing against her wet folds. She then used her other hand to grab your shaft and straighten it out to align it with her pussy. When she lowered her hips...

"Alright, stop," Mina chimed in, standing up.

Damn woman.

"Ughhh! This has to be a joke!" you groaned, bringing your hands to your face. You had completely forgotten that neither you nor Sana were in charge of what was going on.

"Boss!" Sana shrieked, forced to release your cock. "Don't be so fucking cruel!"

Mina crossed her arms as she stood in front of you.

"I said I'd decide when you were going to stop," she said. "You should have remembered that. Now stand up, girl, we've got work to do."

Sana frowned and turned to look at her. Momo seemed to know what she was talking about, judging by her smile.

"Work to do?" Sana asked.

"Remember what I said about a great little show?" Momo said, and stood up as well. "I think it's time, sweetheart."

"But I wanted to get fucked!" Sana protested. "Couldn't you have picked a better time?"

"You'll get what you want, darling," Mina said. "But on our terms."

Sana climbed off your lap and adjusted her panties, then stood up to face Mina. The bolts between foreheads again.

"Boss, with all due respect, I didn't come in here because you asked me to," Sana said. "I just wanted to do it because I want to have fun. So, if you want me to do this on your terms, you'll have to grant me one wish."

You never thought you'd hear someone speak that way to Mina or Momo, so you immediately feared for Sana. But to your surprise, neither of them took it the wrong way. Mina just smiled and looked her straight in the eyes, steely.

"And what wish could that be, chibi kōrogi-chan?"

"Like I said, I came here to have fun," Sana replied, holding her gaze. "And what better fun than two cocks instead of one? That makes it up to me for taking one of them away the first time."

Both you and Mina were about to protest, but Momo held up her hand.

"We can fulfill that wish," she said. "But again, you're on our terms."

She looked at you and Mina.

"What rules do you want to set for our guest? Not for you, for the other idiot we're bringing."

"He won't be able to touch me. Or look at me," Mina replied, visibly angry. "And I'm being too damn generous because I'm in a good mood today, Hirai."

"Blindfolded eyes and hands tied behind his back, got it," Momo then looked at you. "Anything to add?"

You didn't want to share any of the three of them with some unknown bastard. But seeing as you would keep 90% of your privileges and there was no other option, you decided to give in.

"Condom always. Even for blowjobs."

Mina nodded in satisfaction, her rigid face now a little calmer.

Sana laughed in disbelief.

"You don't happen to want to cut off his balls too?" she asked. "He won't even be able to watch the show."

"You want him to fuck, not watch the show," Mina said. "Why do you care?"

"I don't care," Sana rebutted. "I'd be disgusted if an ordinary Japanese guy touched me."

Momo clapped her hands together in applause, just like a few minutes ago.

"Then there's nothing more to discuss!" she said. "You two go get ready. I'll send for the lucky bastard."

"And what about me?" you asked. "I just wait here with a hard-on with nothing else to do?"

"Hai!" Momo said with a smirk, then walked over to her desk.

"You'll have music, at least," Mina said, stepping out of the couch space to walk to the side of the office with Sana holding her hand. "Any requests?"

"How long will it take?"

"About fifteen minutes if we're being optimistic."

"Aight, give me Supersonic by Oasis, Jigsaw Falling Into Place by Radiohead and..." you thought for a moment. "I don't fucking know, Cemetry Gates by the Smiths. Yeah, that'll do."

"Fine. As long as you don't get drunk in the meantime."

Mina blew you a kiss, and turned with Sana to go through the door to the left of Momo's desk.

Momo, who you heard on the phone just a few seconds ago, came back to you.

"Takashi will bring the poor bastard over any minute," she said. "Don't worry, neither he nor Takashi will see your dick. One is blindfolded and the other has no interest."

Supersonic started playing at that moment. Mina had to have played it from inside.

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"And what do I have to do?"

"Get him to undress and put the handcuffs on him that are in the second drawer of my desk," she pointed at it. "Don't ask why I have them."

"I'm not gonna touch that dude."

"You don't have to touch him, you just need to tell him two things: Fuku wo nuide," she held up a finger. "That means undress. And damatte," she held up the other finger. "Which basically means shut up. Can you pronounce them correctly?"

"I've watched enough anime, yeah."

"Alright, see you in a bit!"

She walked over to you, gave you a peck on the cheek and walked with quick steps to the door Mina and Sana were behind.

So you were left alone, listening to one of the best songs ever written, naked and with your arms crossed. There was no sign of Takashi or the other man until the second song you had requested was halfway through, when they both came storming in. Out of instinct you covered your crotch with a nearby pillow, but it was unnecessary, Takashi was facing the opposite direction and the man he was holding by the forearm was blindfolded.

You sighed and stood up.

"Thank you, Mr. Takashi," you said, walking towards them. "I'll take it from here."

Takashi let go of the man and stood with his back to you.

"Tell Miss Hirai that I'll leave what she ordered me to do on her doorstep," he said. "And that I'm expecting my raise tomorrow."

"Uh... okay."

With nothing else to do, Takashi walked out the door and closed it. That left you alone with the man. He wasn't taller than you; he was a bit shorter, but slightly stockier and older. The way he swayed was indicative of his disorientation.

"Hey, you, do you understand English?"

"U-uh... little bit," he made the same damn gesture with his fingers as Moka.

"Fucking wonderful," you said under your breath. "Walk forward mate."

He complied, taking fearful steps forward. You had to move out of his way as you watched.

"Keep going... keep going."

The man was approaching the couch area, but he was going to crash into the coffee table.

"Stop stop!" you took strides towards him and kept your hands near his back in case he actually fell. "Take two steps to the left and then forward again."

Luckily for you, the man understood your commands and managed to successfully reach the couch. Now it was time to show off your Japanese skills.

"Aight..." you took a deep breath. "What was it like? Ah yeah, uh... Fuku wo nuide."

"Eh? Nani? Nan no tame ni?" the man looked around.

"Don't make it harder, pal," you said with a sigh. "Just o-be-y."

With that said, you went and sat on the couch, facing forward, arms crossed. Cemetry Gates had already started. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that the man was already undressing. You avoided looking at him for now.

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"What's your name, mate?" you asked, your gaze wandering between different decorations.

"R-Rizuri," the man replied, taking off his shoes and pants.

You stood up and walked over to Momo's desk.

"Alright, Rizuri," you said as you went through the second drawer, which had mostly papers, a stapler, and several pens. You found the handcuffs at the bottom; they looked perfect and of good quality, with well-polished stainless steel. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't protest."

Looking up, you saw that Rizuri had already sat down without you asking him to. What a fucking problem.

"Oh no no, stand up," you grabbed the handcuffs, closed the drawer, and walked back to him. He didn't understand you at first. "Stand-up!"

"U-uh hai!" he nodded, and then stood up.

As much as you hated to do it, you had to touch him. You grabbed his hands and put them behind his back, but he immediately freaked out and hesitated.

"Eh! Nani shiten no?!" He tried to break free from your grip, but you quickly locked the cuffs and threw the key onto the coffee table.

“Damatte!” you bellowed, and grabbed his arm tightly. “No one will hurt you, you bloody idiot. Consider yourself lucky instead.”

The song had ended a few seconds ago, and now the office was enveloped in silence. The only thing you could hear was the distant rumble of the club music on the other side of the walls.

However, the silence was suddenly interrupted when a song you hadn’t asked for, but that you knew marked the start of the show, began to play. Immediately, the ceiling lights went out, only to turn back on following the rhythm of the song that you soon recognized as Ariana Grande’s Bloodline. The pink, purple, and light blue hues alternated in dim flashes.

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“Oh boy, now the fun begins,” you smiled, and pulled Rizuri back to sit on the couch. You did the same, considerably away from him.

Not even ten seconds into the song had passed when Mina appeared from your left. You were near that end of the couch, so she put her hand on your shoulder and gently slid it as she modeled the music to her position.

Your jaw nearly dropped to the floor at the sight of her dressed like that, yet another reminder of why you were so crazy about that woman. The most striking thing was her black top, adorned with shimmering purple straps, held up by three thin straps that revealed her completely bare back. She also wore high heeled boots that reached halfway up her thighs, and black denim shorts.

She stared at you, as she performed the first steps of the choreography she had prepared for that song. Each move was designed to highlight two things primarily: her back and her ass, so they were mostly sequences where she turned her back to you and looked at you over her shoulder, a half smile on her face as she watched your cock awaken again thanks to her hip movements and her hypnotizing twerk.

When the song ended, things didn't end there; another one played immediately. Lights On by Normani, slower and with the vibes that the situation demanded the most. Mina's face changed completely; just a moment ago you noticed her spicy, playful. Now it was the opposite: her face exuded pure lust, and the desire for you to put your hands on her as soon as you had the chance.

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She finally approached you when the beat of the song broke, with slow steps and her hands on her back. You didn't really know why she had them there until she stopped between your legs and her top fell to the floor. And after a year and three months, that pair of small, pretty tits were at your mercy.

You reached out to put your hand on her abdomen, but Mina grabbed your wrist to stop you. She then turned around and moved her ass slowly from side to side, lowering herself until she could lean on your knees and then coming back up with a sensual movement that made her ass pass inches from your face. You noticed how she put her hands on her shorts, which without turning around, and without stopping her subtle movement of her hips, she slowly pulled down her legs with her body bent forward. Now that delicious ass, round and perfect, was also uncovered in front of you, adorned by a cute light blue thong.

As if she were reading your mind, she went straight down to sit on top of your already hard cock, which was crushed between her two buttocks in such a sublime way that it made you moan. You noticed a small, hard bulge between her buttocks, but before you could ask, Mina had pulled back, wrapped an arm around your neck, and started grinding her ass to the beat of the music against your shaft.

She brought her face close to your ear. Her hot breath sent shivers down your spine. You brought your hands to her waist, then slowly moved up to her tits to rub her nipples with your fingers. Mina let out a small moan, and bit your earlobe.

"Yeah baby... touch me," she panted against your ear, now moving her ass in slow circles, kneading your cock between her buttocks. "Feel your girl... show how much you missed doing that."

Turning your face to look at her, you were met with her lips, which merged with yours in a heated kiss filled with moans from both sides. Your hands kneaded her tits for a second, then moved back down her belly to reach her thighs, which you caressed up and down to her knees and back up. Your right hand went to her pussy to rub it over the soft fabric, and your left arm wrapped around the front of her abdomen to press her against you.

Mina, not happy with feeling your fingers only over a piece of fabric, lifted her hips and desperately pulled her panties off. Perhaps she breaked the dynamic a bit, but you were grateful for it, as now you could not only feel her buttocks, but also a bit of her wet pussy every time she moved her hips in the right way.

This, on the other hand, also made you confirm your initial suspicions. The hard bulge you felt a second ago turned out to be nothing but a butt plug, you could feel the cold metal every few seconds. But you didn't say anything for now, focused on rubbing between Mina's soft wet folds, her little bush rubbing against your palm.

The moment was too fucking hot for you, and you were about to lift her hips and take your cock inside her until the song finally stopped. As a result, she stopped moving as well. She broke the kiss, and looked into your eyes between heavy panting breaths. Just then another song started playing, Womanizer by Britney Spears. You knew exactly who was next.

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"The show isn't over, baby," she murmured against your lips. "You enjoy it and leave the rest to me."

"Oi! Nani ga okiterun da?! Nande ore wo koko ni tsurete kita n da?!" Rizuri shrieked to your right. You had forgotten about the poor bastard's presence.

"Damare!" Mina shrieked back, not too pleased with his presence. "Koko ni irareru dake demo kansha shiro. Mou sugu omae no nozomi ga kanau!"

You didn't know what the hell she had said to him, but judging by his silence, you assumed it was something convincing enough to keep his mouth shut.

But soon you didn't have to pay attention to him anymore. Sana appeared from the right, with quick steps that matched the rhythm of the song. It looked like something similar to the first part of Mina's performance: a sexy and playful choreography to highlight her beauty and features. But she didn't just highlight that, but also her magnificent dancing skills, which were downright impressive.

Of course she also had you salivating in a matter of seconds. Just like Mina, Sana had made a complete outfit change: she now sported an olive green outfit that consisted of a semi-transparent long-sleeved top, and a short, tight skirt low enough at the waist to show off that delicious belly. On the other hand, she was wearing high boots in a lighter shade of green, which highlighted her beautiful legs.

Mina had gotten off you to sit at your left, her body pressed against your side and a thigh above yours, and while Sana left you stunned with those sequences full of sharp, fast and sexy movements, she spit on her hand and brought it straight to your cock to rub it slowly up and down. She also buried her face in your neck to fill it with kisses and subtle licks.

You moaned and put your arms on the low back of the couch, forcing yourself to focus your gaze on Sana, who was also staring at you while doing a sequence on the floor in which you could see under her skirt. She wasn't wearing anything underneath, so you had a quick glimpse of her pussy until she stood up again.

After a few seconds Sana pulled an astonishing movement out of her sleeve and took off one of the two tops she was wearing, the semi-transparent one, leaving her only in the tight one she was wearing underneath. When the song ended you thought she would go into the next part like that, but she then also took off that top, now being naked from the waist up.

In sequence came the next song: Let Me Love You, another Ariana Grande song. Sana followed Mina's trend and transformed into another whole person, but in her the change was more noticeable, especially in her gaze, now predatory and thirsty. Kinda scary if you had to be honest.

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She walked slowly towards you, while Mina continued to move her hand steadily along your cock and rubbed your thighs together. When Sana was between your legs, the first thing she did was bring her fingers to your lips to rub them, the other hand on one of her breasts and her hips moving to the slow beat of the music. She put two of those fingers inside your mouth, and you gladly sucked them, reaching out one hand to place it on her waist. You put the other around Mina's body, to squeeze one of her buttocks and caress her waist.

Within seconds, Sana pulled her fingers out of your mouth and let you grope her tits with your hand as she grabbed the hem of her miniskirt and pulled it up very slowly. When you were about to see her pussy, she turned around, and finished pulling up her miniskirt with her back arched and her ass pushed towards you, so that you could see that magnificent piece of meat just inches away.

It didn't surprise you that she was also wearing a butt plug, a shiny purple one.

Opportunely, Mina moved her hand a little faster on your cock, now littering the side of your face with kisses. You reached between her buttocks with your hand and rubbed her pussy, your fingers now soaked by her wet folds. She moaned in your ear, and in one subtle movement she settled herself down with her legs spread out on the couch and the side of her upper body on top of your thigh. This way she could grab your cock, spit on it, and take it straight to her mouth.

You moaned as you felt Mina's warm mouth halfway down your shaft, and Sana turned over her shoulder to watch the scene with a lewd little smirk. She brought her hands to her own buttocks to squeeze them, urging you to grab them yourself. You didn't hesitate to do so, and then she took a couple of steps back, her ass now so close to your face that all you had to do was...

Sana buried your face in her ass, right between her buttocks. She had stolen your idea.

The anal plug blocked your access to her butt hole, but you didn't care; it wasn't your main objective. You squeezed both of her buttocks and separated them, to go down to her pussy and give her a long lick from bottom to top. Sana moaned, and remembering that she was supposed to be dancing, she ground her ass against your face, both hands gripping your head.

Mina on the other hand was in a completely different focus. She pumped her head up and down, slurping on your cock in a slow, sensual blowjob that had you moaning against Sana's pussy. You kept moving your fingers between her folds, but since you wanted to reward her for such a delicious head, you brought those two fingers inside her pussy, making her moan around your shaft.

The song ended without you realizing it, and Sana was forced to move her ass away from your face. When you looked up at her she had already turned around, to grab your face with both hands and crash her lips against yours. You kissed during those seconds of silence, with nothing but Mina's moans around your cock as you fingered her.

"You eat pussy so fucking well, you know that?" Sana murmured against your lips, biting the bottom one. “I see why Mina-sama fell in love with you.”

The lights went out for a second, and came back on a moment later as another song started. Call Out My Name by The Weeknd. It was the boss lady’s turn to take the stage.

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Sana started to shower the right side of your face with kisses and sat down next to you, quickly taking off her boots, not an easy task given the amount of laces they had. But she was skilled at the task, and as soon as she could, she kicked off the boots and adopted the same position as Mina to grab that side of your cock, showering kisses on every area Mina didn't cover with her mouth.

Momo made her appearance a few seconds later, on the right side of the room. She looked stupidly hot in the outfit she was wearing, which consisted only of a short, strapless red dress and a pair of long red lace gloves. She walked straight to the pole in front of you, and as she watched Sana and Mina suck your cock, she let out a little smile and began her act.

The first few seconds of the performance were on the floor, using the pole for every move. She was still as magnificent at it as you remembered, and even better. You didn't doubt that she had been practicing non-stop all this time, because the damn woman seemed to be one with that thing.

She stared into your eyes every moment, and you forced yourself to hold her gaze amidst the moans that Sana and Mina, who turned out to be a great duo, drew from you. Now it was Sana who had you inside her mouth, also with slow and sensual pumps, while Mina salivated on your balls and kissed your lower abdomen.

Sana seemed to be the only one who remembered Rizuri's existence; the poor man remained completely still and confused, not knowing what to do or say. Luckily for him, Sana's feet were quite close. She only had to spread her legs a little, to be able to reach Rizuri's cock and caress it with the sole of her foot. Rizuri was slightly startled, but calmed down and sighed as soon as Sana's feet began to do their work.

A little over halfway through the song, Momo stopped to step aside and put her hands behind her back. The cute red dress fell to the floor a second later. What was underneath—or rather, what wasn't—made you question all the sexy things you'd ever seen in your life. Her pair of melons were free, round and perfect. But underneath she was wearing a piece of red crotchless lingerie, which perfectly showed off her little bush.

Momo then resumed the show, but this time she finally got on the pole to begin her routine.

Getting to see her pole dance naked was something that only existed within your deepest fantasies, and boy was it exactly how you expected it to be. That pair of wonderful tits bouncing, hanging and squeezing against the pole felt like a hypnosis method that your mind was unable to resist. If that wasn't enough, the lingerie piece showed way too much from behind, so her round, toned ass was also exposed and free for your delight.

Sana and Mina each now took a side of your shaft to lick and suck, until they moved up and their tongues met at your tip. You pumped your fingers faster in and out of Mina's pussy, and with your other hand you soon reached Sana's as well to finger it. Mina let out a louder moan and took your cock down her throat, holding it there for a few seconds and pulling it out for Sana to continue sucking.

Rizuri's moans had joined yours. Sana had made him hard in a matter of seconds. Now her feet were moving up and down his cock, at the steadiest pace she could between her moans and her pumps.

The song ended, but no other followed. The office fell into partial silence, accompanied by the sounds of sucking, fingers going in and out of wet flesh, and moans. Momo got off the pole in one deft move, and you noticed in her eyes that she had enough of the show.

She walked with quick steps towards you and dropped to her knees on the floor between your legs. You held each other's gaze, as she brought her lace-covered hands to your knees to caress them up and down, passing over your thighs as well. Her eyes then dropped to your cock, which Mina and Sana were still having a juicy feast on.

"Enjoying yourself so far, darling?" she asked, and brought a hand to your balls to fondle them gently. You were unable to formulate a response. "I know you are... but now you must feed us."

Momo removed her hand from your balls and leaned forward, planting her tongue on the back of your cock and teaming up with Sana and Mina to slowly drive you down into complete madness. You couldn't do anything but close your eyes and let your head fall back, moving both of your wrists as fast as you could to get more and more moans out of Sana and Mina.

Mina exploded into moans and spasms a few seconds later, pushing her ass against your fingers, which left Momo and Sana with a clear path to have your cock for themselves. It was Momo who was quick-witted and took you inside her mouth, and unlike the other two, she was like a hungry monster and gave you a sloppy, messy blowjob for the entire time she had you.

Sana fell victim to your fingering not long after. Her orgasm, however, was more frenzied than Mina's, since she had been teased for a while longer and must have felt close to exploding for an hour. The only one affected by this was Rizuri. She couldn't concentrate on continuing to move her feet, so for a few long seconds he was left without receiving any kind of pleasure.

When Sana's orgasm had passed, the three of them were back on your cock. A hand—you didn't know whose it was—wrapped around you and moved quickly up and down, while the three tongues and pairs of lips swirled and kissed near your tip. Another hand also went to your balls to keep them tight.

Opening your eyes and looking down you found that the hand stroking you was Momo's, and the hand on your balls was Mina's. If you hadn't been looking at anything you might have lasted a few seconds longer, but the lewd image, coupled with the hot naked bodies of the three on stage, made you explode immediately.

You let out a loud moan as you felt your thick streams of cum shoot up and then spill out the sides of your cock. Momo, Sana, and Mina made sure to catch and swallow every drop possible from their respective sides, but several of those drops had splashed onto their faces, so all three had either smeared cheeks or noses.

When the cum stopped pouring out of your cock, the three of them finally separated so you could see their faces. Momo had a couple of drops running down her forehead; Sana had one from her upper lip, and Mina had one from her cheek. The three of them looked at each other, and in a stupidly hot act they began cleaning each other up, using only their tongues to do so.

Mina and Sana finally sat up. Sana hugged your side and planted a kiss on your neck.

"Your cock is fucking delicious... fuck," she gasped. "And on top of that your cum is thick and hot... don't you want to plant a load like that inside me?"

"I'm sorry to say you'll have to wait, darling," Mina said from your left. "If I don't get him first I'll kill you both."

"But I'm sure he'll want a little break, won't he?" Momo asked with a smirk. "He came too fucking much, and he's been staring at my tits this whole time."

"Because I need them in my mouth as soon as possible," you replied between gasps. "Come fucking here."

"Fuck yeah daddy," she said, and stood up to straddle you, her thighs pressed tightly on either side of your hips.

Now with Momo's tits in front of your face it was your turn to feast. You wrapped one arm around her waist, pressed her against you and took one of those juicy melons into your mouth, followed by a satisfied moan. Momo wrapped both hands around your head and let out a moan as well, but soon sought out Mina's lips, who had knelt up to grope her all over.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed that Sana had gone to Rizuri. She was murmuring things to him in Japanese, one hand moving slowly up and down his cock. But it seemed the man wasn't in his strongest mental state, because judging by the way he squirmed, you deduced that he had cum way too early.

"Oh my god!" you heard her complain, annoyed. "He didn't even last a minute! Tsugi wa motto nagaku motasero yo, baka!"

You clearly didn't understand, but she didn't sound happy, so it was most likely a threat.

"H-Hai! Hai!" Rizuri replied, embarrassed. "Gomen, mou shinai!"

"You fucking better!" Sana turned to you. "Momo-sama! Where are the condoms?"

Momo didn't know. You were forced to pull her nipple out of your mouth to answer her.

"Takashi left them outside the door, go see," you replied, and continued to eat and massage Momo's perfect tits.

Mina's job had been to grope Momo's ass and rub her pussy, while their lips danced in a fiery, sloppy kiss. But after a minute she used her right hand to grab your cock and stroke it, with the other behind Momo, teasing with a finger inside her pussy.

Your cock came back to life within seconds inside her hand, and then you pulled away from Momo's tits to look at Mina.

"Ready to ride daddy's cock again, my love?" you asked, and leaned in to kiss her.

"Mmm yeah," she moaned against your lips, and pulled back to look at Momo. "Get out of the way right now, woman."

“Let’s go to the floor,” Momo panted, and gestured to the mat that covered the entire space. “I remind you that we no longer have the couch to ourselves.”

To your right Sana had already returned with Rizuri. She was lying on the couch, her feet close to you, giving the man a blowjob while lazily fingering her pussy. On the table was an open box of condoms; one was missing. The torn envelope was on the floor, and you quickly deduced that Rizuri was wearing it. Good.

You pushed Momo off you and stood up. The coffee table took up more space than you would have liked, so you took a moment to move it to the corner of the mat. There was now a large free space that you didn’t hesitate to lay down on, the soft velvet serving as a perfect bedspread.

Mina climbed off the couch and immediately went to straddle your abdomen. She leaned forward and cupped your face in her hands to kiss you. You wrapped your arms around her slim body, then brought your hands up to her ass to squeeze it hard. Her pussy was rubbing against your shaft, and you couldn't take another minute without being in there, so you grabbed your cock, rubbed it between her folds, and pressed it against her entrance to get her hips to lower.

"Mmmgh!" she moaned against your lips; she bit the bottom one a little harder than you expected. "Fuck yeah..."

Your cock pushed through her folds easily, due to how wet she already was and how slippery your cock was. You hadn't noticed it until now, but not being able to be inside her for all that time had given you severe withdrawal symptoms that were relieved when you were buried all the way in.

Mina began to move her hips up and down, slow and nice, her hands resting on your chest. Your cock slid smoothly, all the way in and out with each movement.

“God… I missed you so much, baby,” she moaned against your lips, and grabbed your face again to pepper it with kisses. “You’re as fucking big as I remember.”

“And you as tight, honey,” you panted, your hands on her waist.

She let out a moan against your cheek and moved down to your chin to bite it. Her hip movements became faster and more uncontrolled, until she simply planted her feet on the floor and began bouncing up and down on your cock.

“Hey, you two will have time to get intimate later,” you heard Momo say behind your head. “I want my piece of the pie too.”

Mina looked up at Momo and didn't protest, she just straightened her back and rested her hands on your lower abdomen to continue bouncing on your cock. But then your vision was obstructed by a beautiful wet pussy just inches above your face, which then lowered until it was pressed against your mouth. Momo had squatted down, her hands resting on your chest and her ass—which also had an anal plug embedded in it—choking you.

Now you didn't know where to put your hands, so you opted to leave one attached to Momo's thigh and the other on Mina's waist. You ate that piece of tender meat as if your life depended on it—and maybe it did, because that massive ass didn't allow you to breathe properly—with fast and hungry licks that had Momo's nails digging into your chest and trembling between moans.

Mina, on the other hand, was jumping so fast that you feared she might break her own tailbone from all the aggressive slamming against your pelvis. She also had her nails digging into your lower abdomen, but she was careful compared to Momo, whose nails you thought were going to pierce your fucking heart.

The first to cum after a little over a minute and a half was Mina, with a high-pitched scream and a downward thrust that made you moan against Momo's pussy. Mina lowered her knees and pressed her thighs on either side of your hips, slowly fucking herself against your cock through her orgasm.

Momo followed a few seconds later, and like Mina, she lowered her knees to sit completely on your face the moment her body exploded. Now you weren't breathing at all. You brought your hands to Momo's buttocks and squeezed them together before giving one a hard spank. She just ground herself against your face between moans, caring little if you were breathing or not.

A couple seconds later she finally got off your face, her orgasm having passed. You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling violently. You were sure your face must be red.

“God, I’m sorry baby!” Momo gasped, and leaned over to give you pecks on the cheeks. “I couldn’t control myself.”

“I noticed,” you replied, regulating your breathing. “I’m not done with you two yet. Get on top of each other.”

Mina immediately got off your cock and laid down on her back beside you, legs spread wide. Momo climbed on top of her, thighs on either side of her waist and her melons pressed against Mina's small tits. You stood up to position yourself behind her, to delight in the hot sight of both of their pussies stacked on top of each other.

Momo looked over her shoulder at you with a mischievous little smile, subtly shaking your ass, and that alone was enough to make your choice clear. You put your hand on one of her buttocks, and with the other you took your cock and brought it to her pussy, to push your hips forward and slowly penetrate her.

"Oh fuck!" Momo squealed, and pursed her lips. "Slow, slow! I haven't had anything that big since the last time you were here, mmmgh."

“That flatters me, Hirai,” you smiled, and let out a groan as your cock was halfway inside. “This backshot is still immaculate, I must say.”

You dropped both hands on her waist and gave one last push to get the last few inches of your shaft in. Momo let out a moan and clung to Mina’s shoulders, who placed pecks on the side of her face.

“I’ve been working out,” she moaned, and bit her bottom lip as you began to slowly pump your hips. “Thanks for noticing, sweetheart.”

Momo then gave in to the pleasure and turned her head to meet Mina’s lips. Your slow pumps continued for the next few seconds, as you wanted to admire how your cock disappeared and reappeared from between that pair of pretty ass cheeks. But when your body demanded more you pursed your lips and dropped another hard spank on Momo’s ass. She squealed in the middle of the kiss with Mina, and you grabbed onto her ass to fuck her hard now.

After almost a minute Momo broke away from the kiss with Mina and buried her face in her neck, showering it with kisses and bites, a way to muffle her own moans. Mina's eyes then met yours. Her gaze was pleading, full of wanting you to fuck her that hard too, and you didn't want to make her wait too long, so you let Momo's ass jiggle for a little while until you pulled out of her pussy and moved on to Mina's.

Momo didn't complain. Instead, she cooperated with you and lowered her body a little to suck on Mina's tits, while you pumped rapidly in and out of her tight pussy. Mina became a quivering mess of moans and hugged Momo's head, urging her to continue kissing her tits. You, for your part, were holding onto Mina's thighs; you had them pressed back, so that they were almost intertwined with Momo's.

You fucked Mina for almost the same amount of time as Momo—maybe a little longer—and by the time you switched pussies again you were already completely feral; Momo was the only possible victim of this, as as soon as you were fucking her, you grabbed her hair in a fistful and pulled it back hard, giving her another spank with your free hand. The arch of Momo's back let her tits bounce constantly, and Mina, not wasting any opportunity, took them into her mouth and hugged Momo around the waist.

Half a minute later you returned to Mina's pussy, and fucked it with exactly the same fury and effort. This brought her to a sudden orgasm under Momo's body, who held her by the neck while kissing her. You waited for her orgasm to pass, not slowing down, before you returned inside Momo.

The spanking and hair pulling continued, as did the ass jiggles you constantly caused with your frantic pumping. She soon came too, in a violent whirlwind of spasms and screams through which you fucked her mercilessly.

Soon you felt yourself very close to your peak. You brought your hands to her waist, your fingers clenched there tightly. Momo remained still and relaxed-muscled, making herself look like a piece of meat made only for fucking. You groaned and gritted your teeth, when you then felt the tickle.

You quickly pulled out of Momo's pussy and masturbated as hard and fast as you could, until you exploded in thick jets of cum. The first few drops went down Momo's back, while the vast majority went between her buttocks, spilling between them to go around the butt plug, through her slit, and into Mina's pussy.

Behind you, you heard another loud squeal of pleasure. When you looked over your shoulder, you found that Sana had been watching you all this time with Rizuri's cock in her mouth, and had made herself cum with her own fingers. Her eyes were on you, and just like Mina's had been a moment ago, they were begging you to fuck her.

"Come clean up your bosses, cutie," you ordered between gasps.

Sana obeyed without a word. She pulled Rizuri's cock out of her mouth and climbed down from the couch to join you. She first knelt down beside Momo to lick your cum off her back, and then gently pushed you away to lick the rest of it, from Momo's buttocks to Mina's pussy, leaving every little corner completely clean.

Sana then hugged your arm and pressed her tits against it. She gave you a couple of kisses on the neck.

"It's my turn with you now, sweetheart," Sana murmured. "And don't you even dare refuse."

"I wasn't going to," you replied, and turned your head to kiss her. "But since I need a break, I'm going to eat that pretty pussy of yours first."

You grabbed Sana by the arm and pushed her. She fell onto her back, and you quickly laid face down with your face in front of her pussy. You grabbed her thighs and roughly pressed them back, then planted your mouth there to devour her. Sana squealed and brought a hand to your hair to tangle her fingers in it, arching her back.

“Aw, our poor guest looks helpless,” you heard Momo say. “He deserves some consideration.”

You didn’t see what happened next since you had your eyes closed, focused on devouring and tasting every inch of wet flesh and making those thighs tremble, but the next thing you heard was a moan from Rizuri followed by one from Momo.

When you considered your break over, you pulled away from Sana’s pussy and got on top of her to kiss her. She immediately brought a hand between your bodies and reached for your cock, which she brought back to life with gentle strokes and caresses of your balls. Her legs wrapped around your torso, and then she guided your cock inside herself.

"Mmmgh, fucking finally!" she sensually moaned against your lips, and arched her back as your cock was engulfed between her folds. "It feels so big... and so fucking thick, fuck... fuck!"

Sana's pussy was a fucking wonder; it was warm, almost as tight as Mina's and wet like no other. Your cock soon reached the bottom, and in between kisses and bites to her chin, you began to move your hips in a steady rhythm.

She held you close and dug her nails into your back, hers now straight so that you could kiss her and she could muffle moan after moan against your lips. Her legs clung tighter around your body as well, prompting you to grab her thighs and pump as fast as that position would let you now.

In that little flurry of moans and sweat you remembered Mina. You pulled away from Sana's lips and looked to your left. Mina was watching you two, propped up on one elbow and rubbing her pussy, her brow furrowed in pleasure and her lips parted.

"Go to the couch, sweetheart," you said between gasps. "We'll put Sana's pretty little mouth to work on that pussy of yours."

Mina nodded and stood up on shaky legs, walking over to the couch. You then turned your gaze to Sana and pecked her lips.

"Come on cutie," you forced her to let go of your torso and pulled out of her. "Let's go with Mina-chan; I think she wants some attention too."

You stood up and helped Sana onto all fours. Mina was already sitting on the couch, her legs spread wide near the edge; you positioned Sana with her face between them. Sana then spread her knees, lifted her ass and arched her back for you, before planting her mouth on Mina's pussy to eat it out.

Now you could finally see what was going on between Momo and Rizuri. She was on top of him, her back to him, her feet planted on the sides of his thighs as she rapidly rose and fell on his cock. She must have been in a very good mood, because a year ago you would have laughed your head off at the thought of her letting another man fuck her.

However your focus right now wasn't on that, but on Sana's pretty ass presented to you, her pussy ready for you to destroy.

You grabbed your cock and with one hand on Sana's lower back you went back inside her. She moaned against Mina's pussy, who had her hand on Sana's head, her fingers caressing and tangling in her brown strands. Sana held onto Mina's thighs, her moans increasing in volume as you moved on to hammering her pussy as hard as you could.

"That's it darling..." Mina moaned, watching Sana eat her pussy. The hold she had on her hair looked tight and painful. "Be a good girl and make your boss cum!"

Sana could only nod between uncontrolled moans, being roughly shaken by your frantic pumping in and out of her pussy. You couldn't pull her hair because that would interrupt Mina's pleasure, so you opted to simply squeeze her ass cheeks hard and treat her like a living fleshlight.

She came a few moments later, and with the vibrations of her moans Mina came as well. Both of them exploded into violent contractions, Mina with her thighs now around Sana's head, and Sana holding onto those thighs as the only possible point of grip as you fucked her through her orgasm.

To your left you heard Rizuri moan louder than usual. You turned to find Momo now riding him from the front, her arms around his head. Momo seemed glad that he had come, but she didn't look satisfied at all. You could tell she needed a lot more than that.

You pulled out of Sana's pussy a few seconds later, her thighs still shaking. Mina released her head from between her thighs, her breathing ragged as she looked at you and then at her.

"You sure know how to use that pretty little mouth huh?" Mina asked, brushing Sana's hair out of her face before caressing her cheek with her thumb.

"I like being a good girl and always doing my best," Sana replied, moving on to give Mina pecks on her thighs.

You sat back on your heels and rested your hands on your thighs. Shortly after, you saw Momo get up from the couch out of the corner of your eye. She stood behind you and grabbed your chin to tilt your head back and make you look up at her.

"Hey, pretty boy," she smiled, and caressed your cheek with her thumb. "You wanna fuck my ass? You must miss it."

"For sure I fucking do," you replied, and pointed at Rizuri with your finger. "You gonna put him to work?"

Momo looked at him, and when she looked back at you, she shrugged.

"I've always wanted to know what it feels like to have two cocks fucking me in two different holes, so why not?"

"Where do you keep the lube?"

"Not me; Mina," she looked at the desk. "Search in the top drawer."

You turned to look at Mina. Sana had climbed onto the couch with her, both of them resting snuggled up against each other. Who knew that up until an hour ago you thought they'd end up hating each other.

"Can I?" you asked.

"Why are you asking if you'll do it anyway?" she replied.

You shrugged and stood up.

"I feel like if I didn't you'd yell at me."

"I would never yell at you!" she yelled at you, as you walked to her desk. You couldn't help but laugh.

When you got to the desk you opened the drawer and the first thing you saw was the little black bottle, it wasn't completely full, and you smiled at the thought of Mina having her little moments of fun when she was alone in the office.

You grabbed the bottle, closed the drawer and went back to the center of the office. Momo was already lying on her side on the mat, Rizuri next to her with a new condom already on. He was on his knees, apparently ready for whatever was coming. The only missing piece was you.

You laid down next to Momo, who had her back to you. You stayed propped up on one elbow, and brought your hand between her buttocks to grab the anal plug.

"Ready?" you asked, and gave her a little kiss on the shoulder.

She turned her head to look at you.

"To take a big cock in my ass? Always."

You smiled and proceeded to pull the anal plug out carefully. Momo moaned, one hand on her own thigh. With the path now clear you grabbed the lube, opened it and poured it onto your two fingers and brought them straight inside her butthole, stretching it as much as possible. Within seconds you pulled them out.

“And now?” she asked, already panting.

“You ride me,” you replied, lying on your back as you poured lube now onto your cock. “In reverse so our little friend can get his share of the action.”

Momo complied and mounted you facing Rizuri, both feet planted on the sides of your hips and her hands on your thighs. Your cock was already lubed and ready, so you just grabbed it, rubbed it between her ass cheeks and lined it up with her butthole so she only had to lower her hips and slowly impale herself.

“Oh my fucking god…” she muttered, as your cock was engulfed inch by inch by her ass; when it was halfway in, it only took one smooth movement to get it all the way in. “Fuck!!”

With your cock already buried inside her, Momo dropped down to rest half her back on your chest and spread her legs, placing them behind yours. She gave a quick instruction to Rizuri in Japanese, and he moved over to position himself between your legs and hers. All Momo had to do was grab Rizuri’s cock and take it inside her pussy.

“Mmmgh fuck!” Momo squealed, supporting herself with her hands on the floor. “Fucking use me!”

You and Rizuri began pumping in and out. You weren't exactly being coordinated; Rizuri was going fast from the start, focused on his own pleasure. But you made sure Momo felt every single upward thrust with every fiber of her body. This ultimately resulted in her going crazy with pleasure in no time.

"Girls, come over here and serve the boss," you said to Sana and Mina, who you didn't have in your line of vision but you knew were waiting expectantly. "Do whatever you want with her."

You placed your hands on Momo's waist and slowly matched Rizuri's pace, hard thrusts making your pelvis bump against her big ass. Sana and Mina came within seconds, one on your left and one on your right, respectively. Mina immediately kissed Momo and groped one of her breasts, while Sana brought the other to her mouth, one hand caressing the inside of her thigh.

"Slap her tits," you panted to the girls. "I'm sure that'll drive her crazy."

"Oh yeah?" Sana asked, her tone seductive, then squeezed one of Momo's breasts and gave it a sharp slap. Momo squealed. "Does the boss like that?"

"Of course she does," Mina replied, and slapped the other breast harder. "The boss is a little slut who loves having her tits played with."

Mina and Sana each sank down on the side of Momo's neck to shower it with less than gentle kisses and bites. The slaps on her tits continued, getting more frequent and harder. Momo just squealed with each one, almost screaming.

"See?" Mina said against Momo's cheek. "I bet she loves that... doesn't she?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah!!" Momo nodded between moans. Sana rewarded her with two quick, hard slaps to her breast. "I love how you fucking play with my big tits, keep going! Fuck!"

Mina smiled and took Momo's nipple between her index finger and thumb to pinch and flick it. She then gave her another slap, the hardest one yet, which made Momo scream. You and Rizuri were still focused on your task, you hammering her ass and him her pussy. Between all these pleasure inputs Momo was quick to explode.

"Mmmgh yeahhh!!" Momo dropped back against your chest, and you reached around her torso to slowly fuck her through her orgasm. "So good, fuck!!"

Mina and Sana apparently hadn't had enough fun, because while Momo was still writhing in pleasure on top of you, they kept pinching her nipples and giving her tits painful slaps. Rizuri had been considerate enough to slow down as well, until Momo's orgasm finally passed.

Momo put a hand on Rizuri's abdomen and pushed him out of her. She then raised her hips so you pulled out of her and dropped to your side. When you turned to look at her, you found that her tits looked like two tomatoes.

God damn, Sana and Mina had been hard.

"Stay exactly where you are," Sana said, adopting the same position as Momo on top of you. You noticed that she had already removed the anal plug. "Because now it's my turn."

Neither of you objected. You repeated the same process as with Momo, and when Sana's ass was nice and lubed up and ready, you had her fully impale herself on your cock.

"Mmmgh fuck, that thing feels even better inside my ass," she moaned, fully lying on your chest and holding onto your head. "Momo-sama, would you put our guest's cock inside me?"

Momo was more dead than alive, but she somehow managed to gather the strength to sit up and take Rizuri's cock and guide it into Sana's pussy. By this point you weren't much more energized than Momo, but Sana's ass felt too fucking tight to come down on.

You and Rizuri began pumping fast and hard from the start, and Sana's squeals blossomed one after another. She turned her head to find your lips and kiss them, one hand tangled in your hair and the other on the floor. You gave her body a quick run with your hands until you found her legs, which you grabbed behind the knees to press them towards you.

This time you didn't have to give the order for Mina to get into action. She and Momo knew exactly what to do from the start. Mina leaned down to kiss her abdomen, one hand circling Sana's clit. Momo, meanwhile, returned the favor to Sana and began to suck on her tits.

But then you heard a slap; something dry hitting wet flesh, followed by a squeal that made Sana pull away from your lips.

"Mmm, what do we have here," you heard Momo say with a giggle. "The little whore likes her pussy slapped."

"I-I didn't..." another slap to her pussy, quick and dry, another squeal. "Mmmmgh!!"

You smiled at the discovery made by Momo, and pressed Sana's thighs hard against her own torso, now fucking her ass as fast and hard as you could. Rizuri matched your pace, quite impressive considering his hands were tied behind his back and his eyes were blindfolded; his pelvis was slamming into Sana's crotch as hard as yours was slamming into her ass.

Just like the slaps to Momo's tits, the slaps to Sana's pussy fell one after another like a meteor shower; each one made Sana shudder and squeal, and soon the moans turned into whimpers accompanied by tears of pleasure.

"Look at the little fucking slut..." Mina said, and let out an evil giggle. "So fucking slutty. You like that, whore?" she gave her a hard slap and then frantically rubbed her clit. "Huh?"

"Yes, Mina-sama!!" Sana squealed, her fingers clenching in your hair. "I fucking love it!"

"Who's our little whore? Huh?" Momo asked. "Who's our little sex doll?"

"Me! Me! I fucking am, me!!" she whimpered in response. "Ahhhh!!!"

Sana suddenly exploded, and the orgasm came with a little surprise, as while she writhed in pleasure like a cute rag doll, intense jets of squirt came out of her pussy, staining Rizuri's entire torso.

You heard Momo gasp in surprise.

"She even knows how to squirt!" she said. "You're quite the fucking treasure huh?"

Mina didn't say anything, she simply leaned down to put her face in front of Sana's pussy and lick it, collecting as many squirt jets as she could. Sana continued to writhe on top of you; her thighs trembled beneath your fingers.

“Kuso… hontōni sugoi,” Sana moaned under her breath, weak-eyed and sweat-stained. She turned kissed you again. “You’re fucking wonderful, honey.”

“Just like you…” you panted against her lips. “I truly am a very lucky bastard.”

“Don’t even mention it,” she smirked, and like Momo, made you both get out of her so she could climb down and lay down on your side. She looked at Mina. “Boss, there’s only you left.”

“Don’t even think about it,” she refused immediately. “My pussy is reserved solely and exclusively for him.”

“But not your ass huh?” Momo chimed in with a giggle. “Come on, Mina-chan, just this once.”

Mina frowned and glared at her.

"Hirai Momo, you owe me big time after all this," she threatened, with a finger in the air. "And it won't happen again!"

"Yeah yeah, whatever you say, love," Momo nodded disinterestedly. "Now ride him and finish them off."

Mina huffed in annoyance and pulled out the light blue anal plug herself, then straddled you. In comparison to Momo and Sana, she was facing you, her back to Rizuri. Her thighs adjusted to your hips, and she placed her hands on your chest. Sana meanwhile was lubing up Rizuri's cock, then did the same to Mina's ass.

"You're gonna put that hot fucking load all the way inside my pussy, you understand me?" she asked you, giving you affectionate pecks on the lips. She then turned to look at Rizuri with a frown. "Eh! Omae mo ki wo tsukero, samonaito korosu zo!"

Another threat, surely. How fucking scary. If you were Rizuri you would be shitting yourself alive if Mina had spoken to you in that tone and in her language.

You grabbed your cock and took it straight into her pussy, Mina moaned and lowered her hips, impaling herself as deep as possible. Momo then helped Rizuri, taking his cock and guiding it into Mina's ass. It was a bit of a difficult process, as Mina kept insulting him in Japanese for not doing the job the way she wanted, but eventually both cocks were buried deep in both holes, and soon they were going in and out.

Even though Mina's pride weighed more than two cargo ships together, she was quick to let go and show that she was enjoying it as much as Momo or Sana. You wrapped your arms around her body, one arm around her lower waist and the other around her back. You held her tight against you, and she kissed you, as you pumped faster and faster.

Momo and Sana didn't have much to do; just one thing. A few seconds of moaning sounds and flesh crashing against flesh passed, until you heard flesh being spanked. Mina squealed and turned to see the two of them on their knees on either side of her ass, both peppering each butt cheek with kisses.

"What? Are you going to say you don't like that, boss?" Sana asked with a giggle, and gave her another spank that made her squirm.

"She's so haughty that she'll never admit that she loves it, but I can tell you she does," Momo replied, as you watched her bite one of her butt cheeks and then spank it.

Momo was right: Mina was enjoying every single second of it, you could see it in her eyes and the tone of her cheeks, and the way her nails dug into your chest as she moaned louder and louder. Her neck was accessible to you, and you didn't hesitate to kiss it while caressing her back and waist.

"Harder, fuck!!" Mina shrieked. "Don't be weak bitches and spank that ass properly!!"

Momo and Sana took it as a challenge, because the spanks started to fall one after another, each one harder and more violent than the last. The interval between spanks became shorter, until they sounded like a small round of applause. Mina couldn't find anything to hold on to to scream, so she opted for the easy way of cupping your face and kissing you to muffle the shrieks against your lips.

"That hard is fine, you arrogant fucking whore?" you heard Momo say.

"Yeah, just like that, you stupid fucking bitch!!" Mina yelled, clinging to your neck. "And you better not stop unless you want a punch in your stupid face!"

Again, fucking scary.

It wasn't surprising to you that Rizuri was the first to cum. The man gave his last few thrusts until with a loud moan he pushed in as he drained himself. After a few seconds he just pulled out of Mina and let himself fall back, the condom on his cock filled with cum.

That left you alone. But not entirely, because Sana made up for the lack of Rizuri's cock with her own fingers. You weren't sure you saw right, but you swore you saw her use three fingers. This brought Mina quickly to her orgasm, which came in a tidal wave of spasms and screams into the air.

Mina's pussy clenched hard around your cock, and you were close too, so you kept fucking her through her orgasm without slowing down. It wasn't long until you joined her and exploded with an upward thrust, unloading all your seed inside her warm pussy.

"Oh yes baby yes!!" Mina moaned sensually, and she went on to do the work, moving her hips up and down as you shot spurt after spurt inside her walls. "Fill me up, fuck... Fucking missed this feeling."

Your lips met again, this time in a kiss filled with passion and adorable little moans from her. Mina caressed your hair and cheeks, and you just held her between your arms.

"Fuck, they're being cheesy again," you heard Momo say.

"Do they like each other or...?" Sana said.

"Shut up both of you!" Mina snapped, then pointed at Rizuri, who was lying on his side on the floor. "Now get him out of here!"

While Sana and Momo were busy getting Rizuri to stand up and get dressed, you and Mina continued kissing until your cock came out of her pussy, so all your cum could come out. Neither Sana nor Momo bothered to clean it up since they were doing a harder job, so you two had to find a towel to clean up yourselves.

When you finished, Mina intertwined her hand with yours and led you to the couch. She made you lie down, so she could lie between you and the backrest, her body pressed against your side. You put your left arm around her, the other hand on your chest. You both watched as Momo and Sana took Rizuri out of the office with his hands now free.

"And there goes the poor bastard," Momo said with a smile, walking over to you. She sat down at your feet.

"He's not poor at all," Sana said, sitting on Momo's lap with complete confidence. Momo put her arms around her and looked at her with shining eyes. How curious. "He got to fuck the three hottest Japanese girls in the entire country."

"Yeah, but he didn't know," Mina laughed. "He only knows that he fucked three Japanese women; he doesn't know what kind."

"I don't think he cares either," you laughed as well. "He came out of here pretty drained."

"Hey, get some rest and get dressed," Momo said. "We're going to the apartment," she then looked at Sana, caressing her lower back. "Do you have something to do, sweetheart?"

"Not really, why?" she asked, and cocked her head. "Are you inviting me to spend the night with you, Momo-sama?"

Momo shrugged.

"If you want, of course."

"Of course I do," she smiled.

Sana then grabbed Momo by the chin and leaned over to give her a small kiss. She then stood up with a smirk and started to get her clothes. Momo stared at her, and you and Mina looked at each other with a frown. Suspicious to say the least.

After Sana, Momo was the next to stand up to go get her clothes and get dressed. Mina and you were in no hurry; you were exhausted, and she was more of the same. You spent at least another five minutes just lying there cuddled up against each other, feeling nothing but each other's breathing.

"Cuties, sorry to break the mood but it's getting late and I want to take a shower," Momo said, already dressed in her previous outfit, the one from before the show.

"I have to go get my stuff from the hotel and cancel the nights I already had paid for," you said, and after giving Mina a peck on the forehead, you stood up with a sigh.

"Do you want me to pay for the taxi?" Momo asked.

Sana appeared as well, dressed in part of her performance outfit and Mina's coat over her to cover herself.

"I'll do it," Mina said, also standing up. "I'll go with him and we'll meet you at the apartment."

"Honey, there's no need..." you tried to protest, but she raised a finger at you.

"I didn't ask you, it's mandatory."

You shrugged and gave in. You searched for your clothes, which were scattered around the carpet, and as you got dressed you made sure you had all your things in order. Mina had gone into the room to get dressed; she came out a few minutes later, wearing the outfit she was wearing when you met up earlier.

"Ready then?" Momo asked, fixing her hair.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," Mina nodded. "I'll tell Takashi-kun to close the club and send the girls home safely."

Mina got on the phone for a minute, and then she motioned for you to leave. You followed Momo and Sana, but waited for her under the door frame until she caught up to you and linked her arm with yours.

As you walked out of the club Momo walked hand in hand with Sana to a sedan parked on the side of the road. A black chrome Mazda 3. She unlocked the doors with the remote and opened the passenger door for Sana to get in.

"Come on, get in," Momo nodded at you. "I'll take you to the hotel and then I'll head to the apartment."

"Sounds good," you nodded, and went to open the back door for Mina to get in. You followed her.

Momo got you to the hotel in a matter of about ten minutes, and even though you tried to tell her that you didn't think it would take long and that she could wait for you, she ignored you and just drove off with Sana to the apartment. You and Mina agreed that those two were really into each other.

Mina walked you to your room and helped you gather your things to put in your suitcase, then went to the lobby to cancel the nights you had booked. For some reason the hotel didn't do refunds, and Mina nearly jumped over the counter to beat the hell out of the receptionist. But you just put your arm around her waist and pulled her out of the lobby amid Japanese insults.

Outside, Mina took charge of ordering the taxi, which arrived in less than five minutes ready to take you to your destination. After about ten minutes you finally arrived at the street of the building, near the parliament and also the Danube river, which was only a couple of blocks away.

It was a beautiful street, full of small shops and tall, thin trees, with small, sparse leaves that allowed you to see the windows and balconies. The buildings, all at least five stories high and built of light stone, stood imposing and elegant, with classic ornamental facades in the purest European style.

Mina led you inside one of them, which was exclusively residential. You climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, and walked through a wide hallway until you reached the last door. She first opened the outer gate, then the varnished wooden door that led you inside.

"Welcome to my new home, darling," Mina said behind you as she closed the door.

This apartment was a clear example of all the hard work the girls had put in over the past year or so. It was simply gorgeous, modern and cozy, very much the style of the two of them. The aesthetic was minimalist, yet sophisticated and elegant, with a shiny marble floor and white walls, which were complemented by the warm brown tones of the furniture.

You passed through the doorway on the left of the small lobby you were in, which led you to the wide open hallway with the dining table on the left wall; it was made of a shiny, polished wood, which reflected the dim light from the hanging lamps. Just to the right was the kitchen, perfectly integrated into the space thanks to the shiny wood finish of the cabinets, the long black countertop and the built-in appliances.

But after taking a few more steps you were in the main attraction of the apartment. The living room featured brown leather furniture: a large sofa at the back and two individual armchairs, arranged on a fluffy light gray rug. The ceiling was double-height, with a recessed lighting rectangle built in, and the large window at the back, covered by white curtains, completed a more than perfect, comfortable space.

"Honey, this is gorgeous," you said, hands clasped behind your back, admiring the abstract paintings on the walls. Then you turned to look at her. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and looking at you with a smirk. "I'm proud of you, really."

Mina smiled from ear to ear and walked over to you to wrap her arms around your neck. She pecked you on the lips and looked into your eyes. You put your hands on her waist.

"Thanks, baby," she said in a cute tone of voice. "It was fucking hard to haggle with the owner, but it was worth it."

You laughed and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

"I never thought you'd end up being Jordan Belfort."

She laughed, and you were dazzled by that beautiful gummy smile.

"But I don't launder money," she pointed out. "Huge difference."

Your reply was cut off by the sound of a door opening behind you. You turned to see Sana and Mina exiting what you could see was a bedroom. The comfortable outfits they got on consisted of shorts and a loose hoodie. That led you to deduce that they had already showered. Together, apparently.

“You two sure took a while, didn’t you?” Momo asked with a goofy little grin that she shared with Sana. Those two were up to something until you two arrived, you were sure.

“I got into a little argument with a damn bitch, but it’s okay,” Mina let go of you and walked over to them. “Can I use the bathroom? I could use a shower too.”

“Yeah, go,” Momo stepped away from the door to let Mina through. She then looked at you. "You can use the bathroom in my room if you want, sweetie.”

"And that's...?"

"Over there," she pointed down the hallway behind you. "The door at the very back."

"Got it," you nodded. "I assume this is Mina's room, then?"

"Aha."

"Perfect, I'll leave my suitcase here."

She rolled her eyes as you picked up your suitcase and walked past her into the room.

"Don't you dare deny that you're crazy about that woman, my god."

You left your suitcase inside the room and from inside you took out the clothes you would wear after your shower, listening to the sound of water falling behind the door to your left.

With your things in hand you walked out of the room to find Sana on top of Momo on the wide leather couch. They didn't mind your presence, so you simply ignored them and went where Momo had indicated.

You walked down the hall and into Momo's room, then into her bathroom. The shower you took was a bit intensive as you were exhausted and sticky, and you also needed to relax your muscles with some cold water. When you finished you felt like you were made of clouds, a completely new man.

You walked back into the living room, drying the inside of your ears with the towel, dressed but barefoot. Mina had already come out of the shower, she was sitting on the couch with Sana and Momo, who had moved to the far end so they could be comfortable.

You went to sit next to Mina, who clung to you with her arms and legs like a koala. Her pajamas were some small shorts and a loose black t-shirt. You snuggled her against you.

"What a day, huh?" you asked. "Bloody hell. I feel like an elephant ran over me."

"Tell me about it," Momo replied, now she was the one snuggled up against Sana's chest and arms. "Doing all the paperwork for this place was an ordeal."

"On top of that, the stinky man kept pestering us with cheap compliments and pathetic laughs," Mina added in a dismissive tone, as if she was disgusted by talking about him.

Sana suddenly yawned hilariously loudly. Momo raised her head to look at her with an amused smile.

"Sleepy, sweetie?" she asked.

Sana could only nod. Her face was that of a person who just wanted to hibernate like a marmot, her eyes weak and half-closed.

"Let's go to sleep then," Momo pulled away from her and nodded towards the hallway.

Sana nodded again and stood up, and as she walked towards the hallway she gave the two of you a lazy wave goodbye, too tired to speak.

You and Mina then stared at Momo. She looked back at you, and seeing your judging eyes made her smile fade.

"What?"

"You like her?" Mina asked.

The question immediately made Momo nervous. She let out an awkward giggle.

"Sana? Nah. I'm just being nice."

"I don't know about you, but I don't just cuddle up in the arms of a person I'm just being nice to," Mina attacked again.

"Alright, this conversation is over," she stood up. "Goodnight, darlings."

You shared a smile with Mina, and waited for her to leave before continuing to talk.

"She likes her, right?" you asked.

"Yeah, it's been going on for months, it's just that today they had the chance to be together. And it seems that they have a thing for each other."

"They look cute together, you have to admit," you said, shrugging.

"Yeah, but I've told Momo many times not to get her hopes up too high."

"Why?"

"Because boss-employee relationships don't usually work out all that well most of the time," she then yawned as well. "But anyway, it's between the two of them."

"Time for cuddles in bed and sleep?"

"Fuck, yes please," she sighed.

You stood up and offered Mina your hand. She took it, and together you walked into her room. She was quick to turn on the air conditioning, while you got into bed and under the blanket, then joined you. You immediately pulled her into your arms, and she hugged your chest.

All the accumulated tiredness knocked you out in a matter of minutes.

The next morning felt like a lucid dream. You didn't know what had woken you up first, the rays of sunlight filtering through the white curtains or the pots clanking together and the sound of the sink opening and closing outside.

But none of that was relevant when you woke up with that angel by your side.

Mina was a gift from the gods, you confirmed it when you saw her face illuminated from the side by the morning light. She was an unmatched beauty, worthy of a princess from a fairy tale. Even her voice sounded like that (even when she was angry).

You couldn't find a better way to wake her than with kisses all over her face, as subtle and affectionate as you could. They worked a few seconds later, when she stirred and snuggled up against your chest. Mina then opened one eye, looked at you, and closed it again.

"Nice way to wake me up..." she murmured. "But I don't see why you should stop giving me kisses."

You smiled and gave her more and more kisses, several of them on the lips, until she finally opened both eyes and cupped your face in her hands to kiss you. After a few seconds you pulled away from her lips and pulled her up to your side, wrapping your arms around her.

"I could see that pretty face of yours every day when I wake up and never get tired of it, you know?" you gave her a peck on the nose.

"Oh yeah?" she caressed your cheek with her thumb, looking into your eyes from very close. "That could be arranged."

"Ask me. I know you want to."

She hesitated for a moment, and nibbled on her lower lip nervously.

"Honey, stay, please..." she cupped your face in her gentle hands. "Stay here with me and let's be happy. I..." she looked down. "God, it's been a year and three months where I couldn't get you out of my head, and I can't go through that again."

You thought for a moment about your answer, licking your lips before doing so.

"Honey... you know it's not easy," you said.

"I know it's not easy, fuck," she looked you in the eyes. "But you have us here. We have contacts; we can help you! Hell, you can even bring your parents if you want, I don't care."

"Baby, I need you to relax," you said, noticing that she was getting a little tense for no reason. "My parents aren't a problem."

"But..."

"I do want to stay," you interrupted her, and that lit up her face like a beacon. "But it will take about a month to get all the paperwork done, and in the meantime you two have to help me with the residency and work permit. With the whole UK leaving the European Union thing, things got a bit screwed up."

Mina's only response was to let out an excited squeal and kiss you, kicking your feet so excitedly that they made the bed shake. You laughed and kissed back.

"Are you serious?" she asked. "Aren't you messing with me?"

"I'm serious. But you two have to put in a lot of effort too."

"No problem with that," she waved her hand. "We can employ you as a secretary first and move from there."

"Well, going from accounting director to secretary isn't something I was planning on but I'm in."

Mina's face changed. She frowned.

"Wait a minute, are you an accountant?"

"Uh... yes?"

"You'll be our accountant!" she announced, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "Holy crap... thank goodness."

"Wait, you didn't have an accountant?"

"No! Can you believe that? Momo and I are barely keeping track!"

"How the hell haven't you been fined? Or worse, how have you not gone bankrupt?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know, we make a lot of fucking money and we're not stupid either."

"Fuck..." you sighed. "Fine, I'll be your accountant. Have you thought about expanding the business?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, make a more general bar, maybe, and less hidden," you said. "You're wasting Moka's talents on a bunch of stinky Japanese men."

"I mean... you're right. But right now we have to get back on our feet financially after buying the apartment."

"I can check your account book today, so you'll know where you stand exactly. Do you have an Excel file?"

"Yeah but..." she scratched her temple. "It's a bit messy."

"I'll fix it, no problem."

"God, thanks sweetie..." she sighed, and put her cheek against your chest. "Wait a minute..."

She lifted her head and stared at you with half-lidded eyes.

"What?"

"Why don't I have your fucking phone number?"

You were absolute idiots. The two of you. Momo included. The most basic thing had slipped your mind a year and three fucking months ago.

"I..." you thought about it for a second, your gaze lost somewhere on the curtains. In the end you shrugged and shook your head.

"Fucking hell..." she snorted. "I forgot that this isn't the fucking 1960s. Let's go get breakfast before I start banging my head against the wall."

"Yeah, same."

You and Mina got out of bed feeling like a couple of retards. Neither of you brought it up again, you'd do it with Momo in a moment to see how stupid her face would be too.

Going outside and into the kitchen confirmed what you already suspected: Sana and Momo were already preparing something. One was at the counter whisking some eggs and the other near the sink, chopping vegetables.

Sana was the first to notice your presence.

"Ohayou!" she said with a smile, looking at you for a moment before looking back at the eggs she was whisking. "Did you sleep well?"

Momo turned around for a second and smiled too.

"Of course they slept well, look at those cute little faces in love."

Mina walked into the kitchen and walked over to the fridge. You stood leaning against the wall behind Sana.

“What are you two cooking?” she asked.

“Tamagoyaki and tsukemono,” Momo replied.

“Waa!” Mina grinned, pulling out a bottle of cold water from the fridge. “Oishii!”

Mina walked over to you, drank from the bottle, and offered it to you.

“What’s that supposed to be?” you asked, taking the bottle of water and then opening it and taking a long drink.

“Omelet and pickled vegetables,” Sana replied. “Nothing fancy, but it’s delicious.”

“Oh, by the way,” Momo set her knife aside and turned around to face you. “I have some errands to run, so I’ll be gone for the better part of the afternoon.”

“I have to get going, too,” Sana said, pouring the eggs into the pan. "I have a condo meeting and my landlord is coming to see the apartment."

"But you have the night off, right?" Momo asked.

"Uh..." Sana looked at her and tilted her head. "I have to go to the club, right?"

"Wrong. You're going out with us."

"You made plans without telling us?" Mina asked from beside you.

"I made them because I know you wouldn't say no," Momo turned around again to continue chopping vegetables. "We're going to a sauna. A nice, private one."

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to say no to that."

"You see? I always have everything under control. Now go set the table, please. This will be ready soon."

You and Mina got to work, and the table was ready in no time. Breakfast was ready just a couple of minutes later; Momo and Sana took care of serving it to everyone, accompanied by a delicious glass of soy milk. Everything was delicious: the omelet was kind of sweet and fluffy, and the vegetables tasted fresh.

After finishing breakfast, Sana and Momo got up from the table ready to go change and go out to do their errands. You and Mina stayed chatting at the table, while she showed you some files she had on her phone about the club's accounting. You couldn't do much with it, but it served to give you a first idea.

It was only when the girls left that you were free to discuss the matter more calmly. She took out her laptop, and accessed her Drive file to get all the files from there. You were fully expecting what you found in them: lack of control over income and expenses, lack of clear categorization, and problems with cash flow. It was a problem, but everything was perfectly reversible; it would take a few months to be solved.

With that matter sorted out for now, you and Mina were free to spend the afternoon spending quality time together.

Your favorite moment was the conversation you had while putting together a 500-piece puzzle, because the chemistry flowed like a calm river, and you couldn't have been more relieved. You both delved into each other's lives, slowly opening the doors to a growing mutual trust. This was easy, as Mina was open to answering every question without reservation, and you didn't hesitate to do the same. All of this led to a point where you felt that your relationship would only get stronger, on a horizon that looked fulfilling for both of you.

You even took a short nap on the couch, interrupted by the arrival of Momo, who gently shook you awake. You opened your eyes to find her standing beside you, handbag still in her hand.

The sun had dipped considerably, and the room was now morose. It had to be close to 6 already. You and Mina had fallen asleep at 4.

"Wakey wakey," she told you. Mina woke up seconds later, rubbing her eyes. "Go get ready. We have to go."

"Already?" Mina asked in a small voice, followed by a yawn. She sat up.

"Our appointment is at 7, and it's going to be almost 6. So yeah, get moving."

Momo left you and walked down the hall, checking her phone. You and Mina hurried to stand up and go get dressed. It wasn't a formal occasion, and you weren't going to a crowded place either, so you didn't put too much effort into your outfit. Mina was kind of different, she always tried to look her best, no matter where she went, so you had to wait a couple more minutes for her.

By 6:30 the three of you were ready to go to the car. As you walked down the stairs Momo told you that you would pick up Sana at her apartment, and that's what you did. In no time you were all heading to the establishment where Momo had rented the sauna, which you arrived at just in time.

It was a place somewhat far from the city center, picturesque looking and full of beautiful cabins connected to small sheds on the side. Shortly after, you learned that those cabins were also part of the establishment, and that one of those sheds—specifically one of the furthest ones, almost touching the forest on top of a small hill—, was the space assigned to you.

Momo stayed talking to the receptionist while you admired the green landscape, and after a few small adjustments and details to clarify, you were assigned a worker who would accompany you to the cabin to explain how the sauna worked and what you would have to do if you wanted to adjust certain aspects such as the temperature, the lights or the music. It was a brief instruction, but effective enough to make everything easy for you.

Then the worker left, and left you alone in the cabin, which consisted of only one floor and an attic. The guy emphasized that you take a shower first to prepare your bodies for the heat. After doing so, you came out with the towels already rolled around your bodies to get into the cabin.

It was a relatively small space, perfect for four people to fit comfortably without being too crowded. Light wood walls surrounded everything, with a single decorative panel of textured concrete lit from behind. The ceiling was adorned with discs of cut wooden logs, giving the place a rustic feel. Soft, warm light emerged from hidden strips beneath the seats, arranged in three different tiered levels. In front of them, a circular stove loaded with rocks waited and was already lit. The heat immediately hit you.

“Fuck, how hot is it in here?” Sana asked, going to sit on the second level, where there was a bowl of water. The worker had explained that if you wanted to add a little steam you would just have to pour some on the rocks.

You reached for the touch panel in the booth to corroborate that information and adjust the lights in the process.

“70 degrees,” you read, dimming the lights a little and putting on a lo-fi playlist perfect for relaxing. "But with you three in that tiny towel, about 80."

The three of them laughed as they settled in. Momo sat on the top level, and Mina sat next to Sana, leaving a space between them that you sat in, hands braced at your sides. The dry heat took its toll quickly, and the four of you were practically covered in sweat within five minutes.

"So? What are your plans, sweetie?" Momo asked from behind you. She had her legs crossed just behind your head. "When are you leaving?"

You turned your head to look up at her. You'd be a liar if you didn't admit that you first saw that pair of toned legs and her cleavage on the towel before you saw her eyes.

"Day after tomorrow, 8 fucking morning," you replied.

"We can go out to lunch tomorrow then," she suggested. "And then go partying. I know a couple of good places."

"Yeah, that sounds cool. The nightlife is hella fun here."

"Hey, and you're not planning on staying?" Sana asked from beside you.

"Well, actually..." you gave a quick glance to Mina, who had a small smirk on her face. "I'll probably end up moving here. Sooner rather than later."

"Wait what?!" Momo squealed behind you, leaning forward to look at you, holding onto your shoulders. Her mouth was agape.

"I mean, you won't see me for a few months, but you'll be helping me with all the necessary paperwork," you replied with a smile, looking up at her. "Mina will fill you in on the details."

You and Mina spent the next few minutes explaining to Momo everything that needed to be done. You inevitably came up with the subject of the club's accounting, a topic she stared into space throughout your explanation of the things that were wrong and needed to be corrected.

"Damn, that's what I get for being stingy," she muttered, dismayed, but then her face changed to a smile. "But oh my god, I can't believe you're actually going to move here!"

She hugged your head from behind, you smiled and took her forearms. Sana seemed happy about it too.

"It's advantageous for everyone," she said. "Now Mina-sama won't have a sour face everywhere."

"I don't wear a sour face everywhere, you fucking-" Mina tried to go past you to pinch Sana's thigh, but you stopped her and pulled her back as Sana giggled.

A couple of minutes passed when Mina stood up and poured a little water on the stones, so that the steam emerged and covered the cabin. It was light, nothing too overwhelming. Your body certainly appreciated it.

"Fuck, it's already getting too hot," Sana said with a sigh, and then she unrolled her towel, which fell behind her and revealed her sexy, naked, sweaty body.

It was a move you were more than expecting, so it didn't surprise you. You did try to look at her as little as possible, though, so you wouldn't get an instant boner. It wasn't like they would care, but you thought that maybe it would just be an intimate moment without any lewdness involved.

How naive of you. Of course there was going to be lewdness involved; you were in a fucking sauna with three women you'd already fucked previously.

"Ah! Sana-chan's right," Momo said from behind you, and you didn't need to turn around and look at her to know she'd taken off her towel as well.

"I'm not that hot," Mina said from your left. "But it would be rude of me to still be covered up with you two naked."

Mina then took off her towel as well. You couldn't help but stare at her, and damn, her pale, shiny, sexy body looked like a fucking snack. Turning your head you were met with another stupidly hot piece of meat, but what stood out the most about Momo were those perfect pair of tits covered in sweat.

"What?" she asked, her gaze somewhere other than your eyes. "Aren't you going to take it off too? I think that thing wants to breathe."

You followed her gaze, to find that you were already harder than the wooden discs on the ceiling. Your cock was sticking out of the towel with slight throbbing, and screaming for release. It was clear that you two had already gotten into the little game, so you weren't going to bother playing dumb.

"Oh right, my bad," you nodded, and unrolled your towel to take it off, thereby freeing your cock.

All three pairs of eyes went straight to it. Sana giggled, and sat as close to you as possible, thigh to thigh. Mina imitated her.

"It hasn't even been a minute since the three of us got naked..." Sana said to your right, close to your ear, her finger scribbling on your shoulder. "That horny we make you, daddy?"

"How crazy you are about us, daddy?" Mina asked to your left, one hand caressing your thigh, quite close to your cock. "I hope not too much... that boner looks painfully hard."

Momo climbed down from the seats behind you and made a spot right behind your back. She knelt up and hugged you at pec level, her slick tits pressing against your back.

"I think he wants us to take care of it," she said in your ear, caressing your nipples and pecs. "Right daddy?"

"Oh I sure do," you replied with a gasp, and turned around to find Sana's face and parted lips inches away. Kissing her made everything go downhill.

The first thing Sana did was bring her hand to your cock, her fingers gripping tightly before slowly moving her wrist up and down, in the middle of a kiss that got heated from the start. Mina kissed your neck, her hand going from your abdomen to your balls. Momo, for her part, kissed your neck and shoulder blades, her hands still making circles on your pecs.

A couple of seconds later you moved on to kiss Mina. She added her hand to Sana's on your cock, and now you had both of them moving slowly up and down. Momo took care of your balls, extending an arm under yours to reach them and knead them carefully, purposely moving her tits up and down your back.

Sana was the first to give in to her desires and she settled back on the seat to take your cock straight into her mouth, with light suctions on the first few inches. Mina got into a similar position, to reach the side of your shaft and lick it in every way possible. Momo then came out from behind you and went to kneel between your legs to start sucking on your balls.

It was an act exactly like the one at the club last night, but this time you wanted to take a different tack.

"On your knees, all three of you," you ordered between gasps, hands on Sana and Mina's heads as they sucked your cock. "I'm gonna fuck your mouths."

"Mmm, yes daddy," Sana replied as she pulled you out of her mouth.

The three of them went to kneel on the floor, somewhat close to the stove with the stones. Mina on the left, Momo in the middle, and Sana on the right. You stood in front of Momo, who stuck her tongue out as soon as you grabbed her head to smack your cock against it several times, only to then take it inside her mouth.

You knew what they were capable of, so you weren't planning on being gentle. You shoved your cock into Momo's throat on the first thrust, and she took it like a champ, just gagging a few times before you started pumping in and out. Slow at first, fast and steady within a few seconds, not letting up until she started spilling her own saliva.

Next up was Mina, seeing as she was the one begging for it. You weren't gentle with her either, and you were fast from the start, one hand on the back of her neck and the other on her jaw. She was just as good as Momo, but every thrust you made into her throat made her gag and scrunch up her face.

With your cock now soaked to the base with a thick layer of Momo and Mina's combined saliva, you moved on to Sana. If with the previous two you had dispensed with any kind of gentleness, with Sana you went straight to being a fucking animal. She luckily took it all like an expert, with no signs of gagging even though you were destroying her mouth and making her salivate on your cock.

"Momo, make me fuck those tits, will you?" you asked, taking your cock out of Sana's mouth. "Let's take advantage of the natural lubrication."

"Mmm. of course," she nodded with a little smile. "Have a seat daddy."

You went to sit on the second step, and she went straight between your legs. Mina went to sit right behind you, wrapping her legs around your torso and pressing her slit against your lower back. Sana stayed on the floor, only to get on all fours so she could get level with Momo's ass to kiss and grope it.

Momo bit her lower lip and let out a small moan as she felt Sana's tongue between her buttocks, but she focused on what you had asked her for in the first place. She grabbed your cock, lifted her torso and placed it between her tits and then squeezed it between them.

She began to move up and down slowly, looking into your eyes between small moans that Sana elicited from her. Mina meanwhile kissed your back and neck, her hands roaming all over your sweaty body and her hips moving against your lower back so that you could feel how wet she was.

You brought your hand to Momo's chin and made her suck your thumb. She increased the speed, between louder moans since Sana was now on her knees, fingering her from behind, kissing and groping her buttocks.

Moans also escaped from you. Momo's tits had never felt this good, lubricated by a combination of saliva and sweat that in addition to their natural sponginess made your cock feel like it was inside two clouds.

"Do you want my feet or my thighs, daddy?" Mina asked in your ear with a small moan. "I'm completely yours to choose..."

"Give me your feet, baby," you replied between labored breaths. Momo was moving at her fastest pace yet. "Sana will give me her thighs and finish me off."

"Does that mean I have to stop daddy? Mmmgh," Momo moaned, her brow furrowed and her bottom lip bitten.

"For now," you added, and then she stopped to go and engage in a heated kiss with Sana, who continued to finger her as hard as her wrist would go.

Mina's feet instantly caught your cock. They moved up and down slowly at first, her toes caressing your balls and tip in circles as they went up.

"You chose my feet because you know they're magical, don't you daddy?" Mina asked in your ear, her arms wrapped around your torso, as she gave you a toe curling footjob.

"Of course I did sweetie," you managed to reply, your hips squirming slightly.

"And you like my nails?" she bit your neck and peppered it with kisses. "I got a pedicure a few days ago, so they're perfect for you."

"I can fucking feel it baby, oh my god," you moaned. Her feet were now moving rapidly up and down.

You let Mina continue to jerk you off with her feet for a few long seconds that felt like aligning all your fucking chakras. But you knew your body and you felt close, so it was time to take Sana's turn.

She and Momo were on the floor. Momo was lying down with her legs spread wide, while Sana was on the side, three fingers pumping in and out of her with one of her tits in her mouth.

"Sana, come here right now," you ordered as Mina slowed down the footjob. "Momo, baby, I'll fuck you first to make up for the interruption."

Sana gave Momo a sexy kiss and caressed her bottom lip with her thumb before standing up and going with you. Mina moved out from behind you, and knelt to your right. Momo, still agitated and visibly very horny, knelt on the opposite side. Sana meanwhile sat on her back on top of your cock, and you made her lift her hips to put your shaft between her slender, soft thighs.

"Come on baby, do the work and finish me off," you ordered, hands on her waist with kisses on her back.

"Yes daddy," she moaned, moving slowly up and down and then picking up the pace. "Is that good?" she asked between labored breaths. "You love that, daddy?"

You didn't love it, you were so fascinated that you couldn't do anything else but leave your mouth slightly ajar and lift your face to the ceiling with your eyes closed. Your fingers gripped her waist firmly, and then you moved your hands up to squeeze her tits as your cock went in and out of those perfect, slippery thighs.

As if that wasn't enough, Momo and Mina had gotten on their hands and knees, their faces just inches away from the action. They then stuck their tongues out and lingered above Sana's thighs, so that every time she went down and your tip was exposed, they would lick it.

That took you to another level of pleasure, and on top of that, Sana's ass bouncing against your pelvis felt amazing too. You couldn't help but explode a few seconds later.

"Mmmgh fuck, fuck!!" you groaned, feeling your cum jets being shot out one after another.

"Mmm yes! That's it daddy..." Sana moaned, twisting her body a little to wrap an arm around your head and kiss you. "You like how my pretty thighs drain you?"

You didn't manage to formulate a response, instead you wrapped your arms around Sana and pressed your forehead against her back between uncontrollable gasps. You could feel Mina and Momo's tongues already working, swirling around your tip and down your shaft.

When you opened your eyes and looked over Sana's shoulder you saw the mess you had made. Not only were her thighs covered in cum, but Mina and Momo's faces as well, who didn't bother to clean up until they made sure you had seen them.

Momo then grabbed Mina's face and used her tongue to clean it all over. Mina then returned the favor, but you didn't notice that either of them had swallowed what she collected. You got your answer when they knelt up, Momo grabbed Sana's chin and made her open her mouth and stick her tongue out. They both then opened their mouths and let all the cum that had accumulated inside them fall into Sana's mouth.

"Oh god..." you gasped, admiring the lewd scene up close.

Sana took every drop and swallowed it like a good girl, then scooped up what was left on her thighs with her fingers and shoved them into Mina and Momo's mouths.

"Play with each other, go on," you ordered. "I need a little break."

They happily obeyed. Sana climbed off your lap and picked up the other two to guide them to the floor. There they shared a three-way kiss, and the three pairs of hands roamed over each other's bodies. Sana touched Momo's pussy, who touched Mina's, who in turn touched Sana's.

After a few seconds they broke the kiss so that Sana and Mina focused on Momo's tits. Each took a breast into their mouths, sucking and licking. Mina brought a hand to Momo's clit, and together with Sana they began to touch her until she melted between moans. Momo didn't keep her hands still, she had both pairs of fingers now inside Sana and Mina's pussies, pumping them as fast as her own shaky, uncoordinated body would let her.

The lewd scene had you hard and ready to go within minutes. You felt bad for interrupting Momo again, but it would be worth it for her.

"Alright, come ride me, Hirai," you said, one hand on your slick cock, moving it up and down.

"Oh fuck!" she moaned, opening her eyes to look at your hard cock. "I'll gladly go, daddy."

She separated from the two of them and went with you. You made her climb with you to the last step, which was the highest and the one that had the most difference from the middle one. Momo turned her back to you and got between your legs, her ass hovering above your cock, which you took straight and rubbed between her buttocks until you found her pussy. She only had to lower her ass, and in a matter of seconds she was impaled on your shaft.

Momo moaned and clung to your knees, her wonderful round ass resting against your pelvis. Mina and Sana climbed up to the second step, where your feet were, just to continue pleasuring each other. Mina put Sana against the step and made her rest her head on it, then she climbed up to the step where you were sitting and sat on top of her face so Sana could eat her pussy.

You would have loved to see what was happening to your right, but Hirai Momo was bouncing like crazy on your cock, and you had a beautiful, privileged view of her ass bouncing and jiggling against your pelvis. Your hands went to her waist and held on there as hard as you could, but then you moved them around the front of her body and brought them to her heavy tits to squeeze them as they bounced.

After about a minute you decided to take control, given in to your carnal impulses. You stood up with Momo still impaled on your cock, and you made her climb onto the step with you to get her on all fours. She moaned and immediately arched her back, one hand resting on the floor and the other on the wall at the side of the cabin. Now you were the one moving your hips, fast and hard, filling the cabin with sounds of flesh slapping together.

"Mmmgh fuck yeah!" Momo squealed, looking over her shoulder at you, making her gleaming muscled back look even sexier. “Fuck me like that daddy! Fuck fuck fuck don’t stop!!”

You reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it back hard, your other hand locked on her waist. Your violent thrusts had her moaning louder than either of you had yet, and drove her crazy with pleasure until she finally exploded.

“Oh fucking hell!” she growled, and you let go of her hair so she fell with her hands flat on the wood beneath her, her ass still perfectly raised as you slowly fucked her through her orgasm, which had her writhing.

Behind you, you heard Mina squeal as well. Looking over your shoulder, you found her grinding her hips against Sana’s face in the midst of an orgasm, her hands braced against the wall while Sana held her ass tightly. You then had decided who would get the next turn.

You pulled out of Momo's pussy and went to the bottom step to sit with your back against the one behind you. You wrapped an arm around Sana's waist and made her pressed against you, consequently leaving Mina's pussy. She looked at you somewhat disoriented, her chin and lips soaked with Mina's fluids.

"You still want to ride me, cutie?" you asked, licking from her chin up to taste Mina's fluids as well.

"You could ask me that any time of the day and I would run like crazy to do it, daddy," she replied, then climbed on top of you to grab your cock and take it inside her stiflingly tight pussy. "Mmmgh, and now your cute little girlfriend can't stop me, hehe."

Sana wrapped her arms around your neck and adjusted her thighs on either side of your hips before starting to move up and down. She let her head fall back, brow furrowed and mouth parted as moans began to flow out of her. You left your hands on her waist and then lowered them to her thighs, just admiring how absurdly sexy she was riding a cock.

It didn't take long for her to pick up speed and become a complete demon. Sana was an excellent dancer, you might even say prodigious, so you fully expected all that hip technique to be directly reflected in that moment. She certainly didn't disappoint, moving her hips so well and so fast that it left you paralyzed for a few seconds.

"Fuck... you really wanted to ride daddy's cock huh?" you teased, both hands on her ass as it moved on your cock. You gave her a small spank.

"I wanted it, I needed it!" she replied between moans, and lowered her head to kiss you.

With your lips dancing with each other and your tongues swirling you stopped her and stood up with her tightly wrapped around your waist with her legs. Then you walked down the couple of steps with her carried and leaned her legs wide open against the door of the cabin, now fucking her at full speed.

Sana squealed into the kiss and bit your bottom lip a little too hard, her arms now under yours and her hands on your back, nails scratching you mercilessly.

“Yes daddy yes! Fuck!!” she squealed. “Fuck my tight little pussy like the fucking little whore I am, mmmgh!!”

You moaned and buried your face in her neck to bite it, your hands gripping her thighs to both hold her against the wall and keep her legs spread wide. The constant hammering of her pussy took its toll a few short seconds later as Sana arched her back and dug her nails into your back as she came.

“Yes!! Oh god!!” she growled, hands now on your head to tangle her fingers in your hair. “Daddy makes my slutty pussy feel so good, fuck!”

You gave Sana the last few thrusts before pulling out of her and kissing her again, as you led her to one of the steps to rest. There you found Mina on top of Momo, in a sexy 69 where both of them were eating each other's pussy. Mina's ass was facing you, and you certainly weren't going to waste that opportunity.

Without warning her and without her noticing that you had gotten behind her, you knelt down and grabbed your cock to press it directly against her butthole. Mina startled and looked over her shoulder at you, and bit her lip when she noticed what you were doing.

"It's about time you came to fuck my cute ass, daddy," she said shaking it from side to side. "Come on, hard and deep, don't think about it."

You obeyed her command and slowly took your cock, still soaked in Sana's creamy fluids, into Mina's tight butthole. Momo was right below, so she caught one of your balls in her mouth as you sank deep into Mina's ass. When your cock had disappeared between that pair of bubble butt cheeks, you grabbed onto her waist and began pumping in and out.

As the seconds passed, you went straight to pumping with the sole intention of destroying her ass. That, along with Momo's mouth also on her pussy, brought her to a quick orgasm that wasn't a sign for you to stop. On the contrary, you went harder, between spankings and hair pulling that had her screaming.

But even though you loved fucking Mina from behind, you loved even more looking her straight in the eyes while you did it. So you grabbed her waist with both hands and made her get up from Momo's body to take her to the last step, where there was more room to maneuver. Up there you put her face up and with her legs wide open, to kneel in front of her and penetrate her ass again.

"You can't go five minutes without looking me in the eyes, right honey?" she asked in the middle of a moan while you fucked her hard and fast again. "Is that because you're obsessed with me?"

You put your hands on her fleshy thighs and pushed them back, pressing them against her body, to rest your hands on the wood on either side of her and lean forward.

"Obsessed is an understatement for what I am, Myoui Mina," you managed to answer between moans, your drops of sweat falling on her. "You have me fucking in love."

"Really?" Mina held eye contact with you, between squeals and labored breathing.

"I would never lie to you about that sweetie, you drive me fucking insane and I want you only" you replied, and then she closed her eyes, arched her back, and came again with screams of pleasure.

"Mmm fucking god!!" she growled. "I would scream for you to put a baby in me if only I wasn't on fucking birth control, ugh!!"

You didn't know if that was a bullet dodged or a real pity for you. Honestly, you didn't even know how to take it, so you just changed the subject.

"How about the three of you give me your pretty faces to paint?" you asked, loud enough for Momo and Sana to hear as well.

"Yeah, do that before I rip out my uterus and hand it to you on a silver platter," Mina said beneath you. If that was the start of a time where she was obsessively in love with you, you were completely down for it, tho.

You pulled out of Mina and helped her to the floor with Sana and Momo, who were already on their knees waiting for you. Mina knelt to the far right, and the three of them put their faces together under your cock with their tongues out. You just had to jerk yourself off as fast as you could, since you were also close, until you exploded in a maelstrom of moans and grunts.

The jets of thick cum shot out with force to fall directly on the sweaty faces of the three of them. You made sure to leave each face painted equally, from chin, to tongue and even forehead. Satisfactorily for you, your orgasm passed when those three beautiful faces resembled a messy canvas covered in white paint.

"God, how could you not want to stay here in Budapest..." Momo asked, still finding her breath. "Aren't we perfect, daddy?"

"You fucking are... fuck," you gasped.

"And just wait until we teach Moka-chan English," Sana said with a giggle.

You just narrowed your eyes and stared at her.

"Huh?"

You were downright drained and exhausted, so you just went to the bottom step and sat there to rest. The girls joined you shortly after Momo had turned off the heater, also exhausted. It took about ten minutes until the heat had decreased considerably and all the steam had disappeared.

You then made sure to leave everything in there clean, and with nothing else to do, you walked out with your towels on as if nothing had happened and went into the cabin to take cold showers and get dressed again. Within a half hour you were on your way home again.

That night was the quietest night for the four of you. Sana had stayed with you, and this time you made popcorn and ordered food to watch a movie. However, you went to bed early, since you all felt like your bones were aching.

The next day was the most normal of all: you had a delicious, cute and fun breakfast, played a couple of board games and then went out to lunch at a beautiful establishment that Momo took you to. Later in the evening you went to a nightclub, and you came back home with a fun drunkenness that mainly affected Sana, who had a bit too much to drink and was acting more goofy than usual.

The next morning it was time for you to leave for the United Kingdom. But it wasn't as sad as the last time, both Mina and you knew perfectly well that you didn't have to be; you would be together again, very soon.

This time there would be no more goodbyes, no more long waits to hold each other in each other's arms.

And who knows, maybe you would even get married to give birth to a mini you or a mini her.

Only time was going to tell.

————————————-

Spren Notes: Hehe. As always. Thanks for reading! MASTERLIST HERE!

#twice smut #sana smut #momo smut #mina smut #kpop smut #smut fanfic #x male reader smut #male reader smut #fanfic smut #Youtube

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coinbasetradingguide · 8 days

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husbandhoshi · 1 year

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title: eat. play. love.

pairing: seungcheol x f!reader

wc: 19.4k

summary: being one of new york's top food critics comes with a lot of perks: free dinners, nice awards, and a linkedin profile your parents could be proud of. that doesn't stop you from wanting a lofty promotion to editor, and the only person standing in your way is choi seungcheol. just one problem: his romance column has half of new york under his grimy little thumb. that, and you hate him.

in which your love language is food. seungcheol doesn't have one.

notes: romcom with mild angst, coworkers!au, slow burn enemies to lovers, playboy!cheol, suggestive (one moment in particular) + mentions of sex (otherwise sfw), swearing, lots of alcohol, also you will probably get hungry reading this. extra special thanks a million times over to my fav person @wuahae for bearing with me through literally all 20k words of this. i love you:')

It's underneath a layer of paper-thin egg yolk pasta where you think you see god.

Spoon meets whipped ricotta, white truffle, sage oil. A sip of 1979 cabernet, punishing and oaky. Rinse and repeat.

None of these words are in the Bible, yet you are having nothing short of a religious experience.

"Well, this seems like good news for the place," Jeonghan says. "Wine's tasty. Three stars?"

At this point, you're fairly sure Jeonghan has tuned the explanation of your elaborate rating process out (he's there for the wine, anyway), so instead you top him up and help yourself to a generous portion of his pappardelle.

"Four, then?" He leans forward on his elbows. "Or critic's choice?"

Candied lemon, pecorino, garlic. Derivative, but it's a good bite.

"You're distracting me." You point your fork at him. "You're like 80% alcohol, anyway. Bad opinions."

"Sue me," he laughs. "I would take a client here, is all I'm saying."

You pass on the opportunity to bring up that Jeonghan once brought a client to a Bubba Gump because he was craving coconut shrimp. But Jeonghan isn't a food critic—he's a business analyst and your best friend from college, back when all you cared about was Friday's house party and writing pizza joint reviews for the university paper.

It's a good arrangement. You appreciate his company, and he's never one to turn down a free meal. The both of you keep a small circle—such is the price of discernment.

There aren't many things that can come between you and a delicious meal. But, you have notifications turned on for just three things (all work-related) and you both watch the linen tablecloth light up under your face-down phone in true horror-movie fashion.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Popular on a Saturday night," he jokes. "Copy on your ass again?"

"Nothing's in production," you reply, letting the evil claws of your terrible work-life balance encircle you once again as you open your email.

URGENT: LIFESTYLE EDITOR TRANSITIONAL PLANS, it reads. It's from Wonwoo, your editor in chief, who has sent it with priority, as if the caps lock wasn't scary enough.

"So Joshua decided to quit. Just like you said," Jeonghan says, but it's like he's speaking to you through a wet paper bag because it takes every working brain cell of yours to read the email.

As you may know, Joshua has decided to step down from his position as our current Lifestyle editor.

Not a surprise, given his wife is having a kid. You had called it six months ago over the paper's Christmas dinner at Eleven Madison Park, when Joshua spent half of it outside on a phone call and the other half browsing the Baby Gap website.

I have decided to hire internally to fill his position. I and upper management believe you would be a good fit for the position. Please plan for a meeting 9 AM Monday to discuss transitional plans.

It's that part that you have to read over three times. And then you read it over a fourth, just for good measure.

"You're starting to scare me." Jeonghan puts down his glass, which is something akin to a baby separating from their bottle.

Sometimes you need a dictionary to understand Wonwoo, but the email seems clear as day to you. Good fit. Transitional plans. Suddenly you wish Jeonghan hadn't had so much of the wine because you're in desperate need of a drink.

"I-I think…I think I'm getting promoted."

How funny to think your lifelong dream would be realized over a 40 dollar plate of pasta. You want to cry and hug the maître d' and eat the entire complimentary bread basket.

"It's about time." The glass finds his relieved hand again. "You breathe journalism. I'm afraid one day you'll text me in AP style."

You read over all of it again, trying to memorialize the words that undoubtedly will launch your wonderful and long career in the upper echelons of media.

Looking forward to talking with the two of you.

Wait—two?

Then the proverbial cherry on top, the laughably convenient other thing your eyes had glazed over before.

CC: Choi Seungcheol.

"Choi Seungcheol?!"

Nothing is ever that easy and it then dawns on you that this is a competition type thing because never in the history of the printing press has there been two editors for a section.

Jeonghan stares at you blankly. It would be funny if you didn't feel like you were being double deep-fried like terrible fair food, all the thrill and elation of the moment boiled down to lead in your chest.

"I—he," you stammer.

Jeonghan mouths check to the poor waiter assigned to watch your table. God bless him.

"Words," he tells you. "You went to journalism school."

You take a syrupy breath that sits in your lungs unhappily. Your food is cold. This is a disaster.

"Well, actually, I'm not getting promoted."

Jeonghan's eyes soften, just enough without making you pity yourself more.

"There's this guy," you start. "He's the love and relationships columnist, the one I complain about all the time." Jeonghan makes a small ahh sound, your predicament finally dawning on him. "I guess we're both under consideration for the position. I didn't-I didn't even think of him. I—"

You slump into your seat, the arancini your only solace despite your complaint that the breading was too salty earlier.

"So? I bet you're a way better fit than him. It'll be a shoe-in. Easy decision."

Jeonghan's confidence in you makes you want to cry.

The problem is that Seungcheol is the human equivalent of Cosmopolitan Magazine. You can't recall the last time he walked into the office with a fully buttoned up shirt. You also can't recall the last time one of his advice columns wasn't in the end of quarter recap for popularity.

It's not in you to explain this debacle to Jeonghan. This whole situation is so cosmically awful that all you can do is ask for dessert in a takeout box and watch Jeonghan calculate tip without a calculator because that's all you learn in business school.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jeonghan asks when you're both in the Uber.

"Yeah." You have a headache. You also can't decide whether or not to give the restaurant three or four stars, and you always know by the time you're out the door. "It's fine."

The tiramisu is cold in your lap. Jeonghan squeezes your shoulder. You refresh your email.

Choi Seungcheol's name stares back at you.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The meeting goes exactly how you would expect.

Wonwoo, in his lanky taupe sweater vest, says that Joshua is leaving and you and Seungcheol are standing toe-to-toe in the space left behind.

"I'm sure you two are well-acquainted," he begins.

You stifle a laugh, but Seungcheol's cat-like grimace says more than enough. Neither of you have the heart to tell Wonwoo that your very first impression of Seungcheol was that he tried to hit on you at the new recruit party, or that Joshua probably deserves reparations for how often he mediated fights between the two of you during weekly meetings. (Maybe not reparations, but at least an Edible Arrangements.)

For better or for worse, Wonwoo's genius does not extend to social cues, and he follows with a blithe, "Therefore, I hope you two will treat this as a friendly competition between equals."

You almost laugh again, but this time it's because you need the promotion more than you need air, and you cannot allow some Buzzfeed reject with the face of a model take that from you. And you don't doubt Seungcheol wants it as bad as you do, considering how often you've seen him try to schmooze his way up the ranks.

He may have become a columnist by rubbing elbows with the right people, but you'll never forget the late nights you spent sifting through hours of interview transcripts, on the grueling climb up the totem pole to earn your position.

"We'll evaluate an article of your own submission at the end of the month before we decide. Best of luck."

At least Wonwoo knows to quit while he's ahead—he closes the meeting with a succinct nod before returning to his seemingly infinite unread emails.

"Exciting," Seungcheol says. He claps his hands together, Rolex gaudy under the office lights, and sends a nauseating smile your way. "May the best writer win."

He offers you a handshake. You think he has real life cooties, so instead you close your planner and shoot him a very pointed look.

"There's only one writer here. Thrilled to read your next thinkpiece on how men should spend more time on Tinder and not therapy."

That earns you a chuckle from Wonwoo, but Seungcheol is not easily fazed.

Instead he rushes to hold the door open for you on your way out, likely his favorite piece of advice to give his poor, indolent readers.

"I'll book a table for us at Avra next month," Seungcheol gloats. "Consider it a gift from your future boss."

"They don't have a kids menu, you know."

"No problem. I'll have my darling food critic order for me." He places a wicked hand over his polyester covered heart. "Ending misogyny in one fell swoop, huh?"

You wait for the door to Wonwoo's office to close before looking at him right in his wet, cow eyes with the most malice you can possibly muster. You feel it collect in your bones, enough to feel like you can physically hack it up and hurl it at him.

"You have no clue what you're talking about, huh? Do you actually attract women with that attitude? Or are you just a really good liar?"

You are so close to him, you could kiss him if you wanted—luckily for the both of you, you would rather die a thousand fiery, terrible deaths, and then die all over again. Instead, you watch his pout unravel into a grin from hell, and he leans in closer, the scent of Old Spice and break room coffee heavy on him. This morning's matcha latte churns in your stomach, and you wonder if you should have gotten oatmilk instead of dairy.

Up close, he's worse. His hair reminds you of the sad, tired swoop of the washed-up lead of a daytime soap opera. And he has no pores, which is deeply upsetting because he looks like the type to wash his face with Palmolive and a prayer.

"You know what?"

His breath hits your lips and your skin prickles like you have an allergy.

"What?"

"You just gave me the winning idea for my next column." No way, you think. Mind games. Classy. "See you at dinner, sweetheart. Looking forward to it."

The pet name makes you seethe. There are a million things you want to say, all colorful and none workplace appropriate.

"I'd rather starve."

"Better not let Wonwoo hear you with that bad attitude. I'm sure management loves a team player." His cheshire grin somehow gets bigger, all white teeth and pink lip. "Try to smile a little, huh? Have fun writing about snails and black garlic and cwa-ssants, or whatever it is that you do."

you watch all the laminated syllables of croissant go through his paper shredder smile and you think you black out.

He spins on his heel triumphantly, almost bowling over Minghao from Arts & Entertainment, who is undoubtedly wondering if you did, in fact, kiss.

Seungcheol laughs as he walks away, linebacker shoulders rippling under his one size too small shirt.

The metal-red knot of anger swells in your gut as you watch his perfect silhouette and his tiny little waist disappear into the staff room. Then you realize what you've been looking at and let yourself get mad all over again.

He does have a nice ass, though. You'll give him that.

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"You'll never guess what I have."

"Is it better than this lox bagel?" You answer, mouth unattractively full.

Seungkwan's answer is the sound of a straw hitting the bottom of an empty cup and the grating jostle of ice. Phone calls with him are like ASMR because he's always doing a million things at once, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Infinitely," he finally says, after procuring the last milliliter of what's likely his second coffee of the day. "Besides, we all know pesto is way better."

"Wrong, but okay," you reply. "What is it?"

"You're not gonna thank me for being the best friend in the world? Me, an editor, keeping nepotism alive for you? A mere columnist?"

"Senior columnist," you laugh between bites. "You need me. Who else would you text during content meetings?"

"Whatever." His eye roll is audible. "I guess I won't tell you."

He shakes his cup again, all ice and no patience.

"Fine! I owe you. My career and my life."

"And a seat at Momofuku."

"And that."

You take another greedy bite, letting the everything on an everything bagel get all over your chin. You love dressing up and going to restaurants that cost more than both of your kidneys, but there's something sacred about eating a $10 bagel behind the shield of your computer screen at a cafe where no one knows you.

There's someone laughing really loudly somewhere, and if you weren't otherwise preoccupied, you would look for the offender and give them a hard glare. You don't know what could possibly be that funny at 9 AM, but, then again, you never were a morning person.

"So, I have intel. About Seungcheol." You can picture the glint in Seungkwan's eyes, glittery and caramel. Unfortunately, the news that it's related to your worst enemy makes you sit up a little straighter. "At today's content meeting, Joshua said that he's working on some kind of challenge to go on as many dates as possible. He might make it a series."

"How tacky," you say, but the information clanks around in your brain like shoes in a washing machine. The indulgent, clickbaity headline just falls together perfectly—I Went On 50 First Dates So You Don't Have To. Exactly the kind of article your mom sees on Facebook and sends to you.

"You have to admit it's a decent idea. Not as good as yours, but it'll get engagement," is Seungkwan's reply, but you can barely hear it over the swell of another sitcom-esque laugh, this time, from a woman. "The other editors are very invested in this whole thing, by the way. Of course, I'm betting on you."

You're about to very openly stress about people gambling on your success when your eyes wander to the backside of the Sports Illustrated model getting napkins at the counter. Not bad at all, you think. It may be too early for the comedy club, but appreciating the male figure has no schedule.

And then he turns around, and you're able to see past the curly hair, muscle tee, beauty pageant smile—it's none other than Choi Seungcheol, fully outfitted with the audacity to trespass on your bagel place. You have never been more disgusted by your heterosexuality.

You hide behind your computer screen.

"Helloooo?" comes Seungkwan on the line. "Are you making out with your breakfast or something?"

"Seungkwan, I gotta go," you hiss. Your eyes follow Seungcheol as he makes his way back to his table. "There's a…situation."

You watch him sit across from a beautiful girl in a sundress and Prada sunglasses, and her lips tumble into a brilliant red smile.

It would be really fucking funny if he was on a date, you think, but then you see him make the kind of eyes you last saw in the deepest, stickiest recesses of a frat house on thirsty Thursday. Then you realize he is on a date, that he's been on a date, and it's his laugh that is equally annoying as it is loud.

Seungkwan works hard, but the devil always works harder.

"Ok, talk to you later. Bye!" You can hear the beginning of one of Seungkwan's protests, but you hang up before he's able to properly complain. Maybe you'll have to do a little better than Momofuku—that's a problem for later.

Over the rim of your laptop, you catch glimpses of their conversation. You notice Seungcheol talks a lot with his hands, and you wonder if that's another one of his tips or if that's just him. Him and those big clown hands, illustrating a story that you're unfortunately too far away to hear.

But you can hear her laugh again, and you try to guess what he's talking about. His childhood dog. The insurmountable burden of being prom king and captain of the football team. This little not-competition and this little not-rivalry between the two of you. How the PB&J bagel is the best thing on the menu (it's not, but you see the berry compote all over his fingers and you know that's the hill he's dying on).

No matter how you spin it, it's a hard pill to swallow. Choi Seungcheol is good at what he does, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

You hear the careening lilt of what seems to be Seungcheol whining, and there's a brief flash of something like endearment in your stomach before the repulsion sets in.

Nothing you can do to stop him, huh?

The question, sinister and burning, writhes in your brain as you chew on the ice from your coffee and stare at a blank Word document, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.

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Beware the wrath of a woman scorned.

It's number 3 on Seungcheol's article titled Revenge and Other Stories. Unsurprisingly, he must not practice what he preaches, because you currently have all nine circles of Dante's Inferno inside you right now.

Play nice, Jeonghan had told you. Looks better to upper management.

And you did, until one of your photo requests mysteriously got deleted. Then Joshua told you to cut 500 words from this week's column because Seungcheol's just "happened" to be a little longer this time.

The knockout punch was yesterday when Seungcheol told you he was using your January critic's choice pick to take Wonwoo out for a friendly dinner, his treat. If you had known, you would've called ahead and told them to poison the hamachi. (No matter. Any foodie worth their salt knows Thursday is the worst day for sushi).

Now you sit on the C train, dressed to the nines, because you have a date with destiny at Nai. Sometimes destiny is a big pan of paella for one, but this time, it's Seungcheol and his next victim on date night.

Getting him there was so easy, it was almost criminal. An obnoxiously loud elevator phone call in which you name dropped the executive chef, a friend of yours, at least four times. Seungkwan very strategically asking you if a press pass can bypass reservations for a booked-out restaurant. Gossip in the break room with the intentional use of "intimate," "sangria drunk," and "affordable."

Affordable was a lie, but you're learning quickly that a hungry fish will take any bait. And seeing Seungcheol's face is never a joy, but you're not opposed to watching him open the menu for the first time.

"I have a killer Spanish accent," Seungcheol told you on the way out today.

Hook, line, and sinker.

The subway car rumbles under you. You're almost in East Village. You don't normally spend your Friday nights crashing dates—you actually don't really spend them outside your apartment at all, but Seungcheol is the exception to the rule and you're making a lot of them for him. A small price to pay for the glory of dethroning Casanova.

The plan is to "accidentally" run into Seungcheol and his Friday night exploit, and then to casually, non-bitterly mention a, that she is about to become a statistic, b, that his idea of chivalry was birthed in the basement of the Alpha Omega house, and c, that you're surprised he's still single because you always happen to catch him on dates. Something like that.

This is admittedly the best you could come up with. Like you said, you don't really crash dates. You don't really sabotage people either, but Seungcheol declared war the minute his Folgers breath hit your face outside Wonwoo's office.

Then you think of all the ways things can absolutely backfire. Seungcheol's warm, carefree whirl of laughter when he explains you're office rivals, or worse, lies and says you're nothing but a jilted, jealous ex. Or this whole thing could simply be immortalized in his winning article as a jaunty sentence about making the most out of a bad situation, yada yada yada.

You picture watching another girl, spellbound, as you dig into your table-for-one paella.

In your mind's eye, she laughs, floaty like his date at the bagel place, and for a moment you understand what it might feel like to want Choi Seungcheol.

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Friday night at Nai is red and glittering and heady with saffron.

You remember when you first ate here, two weekends after the soft open, early in your career at the paper. After a three hour conversation over wine and octopus with the owner, you wrote the restaurant a glowing review that, to your surprise, helped land it several ritzy awards. Now the dining room is never empty, but they always find space for you.

That was the first time you learned that all of this work meant something. Yeah, you loved an excuse to stuff your face and get paid for it, but what was even better was the chance to tell the stories of a working father's hand-pulled noodles, the drunk, midnight origins of a tasting menu, the caramel-greedy fingers of a well-loved childhood.

This is the long way of explaining how you bypass the two hour standby wait time, and how you walk in on a first name basis with the manager.

You're fully prepared to see Seungcheol mid-churro, perhaps four pick-up lines deep and wondering if he still has a condom in his wallet.

That's why you almost miss him on your way to your table. His is empty, other than a lonely, watered down martini on the rocks and two menus.

"Seungcheol?"

He looks up at you, and something like genuine surprise melts into relief, then intrigue.

"Look at who crawled out of her dungeon," he chuckles. "You clean up good."

Whatever pity you may have felt for him vaporizes instantly. Although, when he beckons for you to sit in the empty seat across from him, you do take the bait—you're not about to pass up a good opportunity to humble your least formidable foe.

"Refreshing to see that our love guru isn't above dining solo," you reply. "I have to admit, your acting is impressive. What an elaborate ruse to get another poor, single diner to pity you enough to sit with you."

"It worked, didn't it?" He takes a sip of his cocktail, which is almost a brand new drink because it's 90% water, 10% martini by now.

"I'm no expert, but pretending to get stood up is not a tip I would give the general public."

"Who said I was pretending?"

No fucking way. Your jaw drops. It's too unreal to believe. Even if the slutty cut of Seungcheol's shirt wasn't persuasive enough, surely the prospect of enjoying a free Michelin star dinner would warrant an appearance, even for you. Breaking News: New York's Hottest Bachelor Ghosted at Top Restaurant. If only that were as wonderful to the average reader as it is to you.

Because waiters are trained to enter conversations at the best possible time, you're forced to pause and order a wine for the table and some tapas. (No paella for one? Seungcheol asks, and you try to reconcile your annoyance with the fact that one, he's read your review of this place, and two, that he looks mildly turned on that you can pronounce all the menu items. You tell the waiter to add a paella.)

"You got stood up?" You cross your arms over your chest. "You may think I'm dumb, but I'm not that dumb."

"You have no idea how flattering your reaction is." He laughs, and the air shifts around him, drawing you further into his eyes, inky under the lowlight. "I understand you think I'm irresistible, but, alas, not everyone shares your opinion."

"I never said that."

You hate how easy it is for him to push your buttons. You hate how in control he is, and you hate how he's looking at you like you're on the menu.

The waiter returns with the wine, and you decide you're feeling equally as terrible.

"Truly, you can't be that irresistible. After all this time writing about relationships, you would think you'd actually be in one."

Touché, you think. Normally, it would be too low a blow, even for you, except that his column-related debauchery is one of the four thrilling conversation topics he subjects you to at the office. And who are you to bury the lede?

"Coaches don't play," Seungcheol says, leaning back and popping the martini olive in his mouth offensively, as if he's not at a restaurant that takes months to get a good table at.

"Bullshit." You lean forward and chase his gaze. He doesn't shy away; rather, he meets you with an appraising raise of an eyebrow. "Coaches should at least know how to throw the ball."

"What do you think we're doing right now?"

"Oh, please." Your wrist twitches as you fight the urge to down your entire glass of merlot in a single gulp. You picture the title of his next article: Top 10 Ways To Get A Woman Drunk. And then the oh so charming punchline: 1. Be so insufferable she cannot last a conversation without her real life partner, wine.

"See? I've already got you laughing." He notices the generous sip missing from your glass and tops you up.

"No, you do not get to make this about me."

Somehow, you are laughing, but you chalk it up to the spiteful little man in your brain writing headlines for Seungcheol's column.

How To Antagonize Your Date In 5 Easy Steps.

"Need I remind you I'm only here because your actual date stood you up? Too soon?"

"I prefer you anyway," he answers, his expression half-challenge, half-something else that you don't really want to think about.

"Crazy, because I'd rather be literally anywhere else."

Signs You Are In A Hostage Situation, Not A Date.

"You should stick to food. You're a bad liar." He cocks his head to the empty table next to him. "It's still open if you want it."

"I'm no quitter."

Maybe The Male Gaze Isn't So Bad: A Thinkpiece.

Definitely not that one.

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"So, before I try anything," Seungcheol says, leaning across the table. "Teach me how to be a food critic."

"Why, so you can steal my job?"

"You can keep it," he laughs. "I'm gonna be your boss, not your replacement."

You notice he'll linger on the tail end of his sentences, betting on the response you haven't even come up with yet. He's picking apart the furrow of your brow, the marrow of your brain. It's like one drawn out interview, but you suppose that's all dating really is. Maybe your journalism degree wasn't a waste of money after all.

You won't give him the satisfaction of a fight (plus, you don't want the food to get cold), so you change the subject.

"Well, I take pictures first," you say, waving away his overeager fork.

"Genius. They really scammed you out of your Pulitzer, huh?"

You ignore him in lieu of repositioning the chorizo. Unfortunately, Seungcheol is unrelenting. You hear the snap of his phone camera, clearly taking a photo of you and not the meal—clever, but you won't bite.

"Wanna be in my story? I can tag you."

In your periphery hovers his wry, wanting smile.

"Sure. So the world can know I'm a charity worker too."

He whistles, clutching his heart. If he weren't so annoying, you would find him a little cute. Just a little. You blame the kitchen for whatever aphrodisiac is in the food today.

"Live update: date with food critic going about as well as an episode of Hell's Kitchen."

He says this leaning forward, elbows on the table, so close to you that your knees might touch. You tense at the thought.

"Any date of mine would be on better behavior."

"So you're admitting this is a date?"

"This," you wave your hand over the table. "This is not a date. This is me regretting ever pitying you."

"Well, pity looks good on you."

And there it is again, that accursed, perfect smile. This time, it works, and you fight the losing battle of the wine flush undoubtedly all over your face. It bothers you that there's a little part of you that enjoys this, but that's a confession you plan on taking to the grave.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, because you're not getting any again."

"Fine. I'm still waiting for your grand secret," he says, now biting the tines of his fork like an untrained dog. No rest for the weary, you suppose. "Food is food. Prove me wrong."

Despite the betrayal of your basal human instincts, you're determined to make this a bad encounter. Maybe you hadn't anticipated the full force of Seungcheol's overgrown fratboy persona, but you came here for a reason and you do plan to see it through.

"There is no secret." You split apart an empanada, the guts steaming and fragrant. "You eat."

"Like this?" He crams an entire piece in his mouth, and you watch him recoil and huff the heat out. "Mmm, 's pretty good, though."

Your eyes almost roll back far enough to see the wrinkles of your brain. Of course he wouldn't get it, but you don't know what you were expecting from a guy who thinks Hot Pockets are fine dining.

You put on your most pretentious food critic face. "Eating is about respect. Storytelling. He's retelling the first time someone made him this dish. The ingredients—they're words on a page. An autobiography." Your hand finds your chest and you sigh, a final touch to your Oscar winning melodrama that would certainly annoy anyone with even half a brain.

"Huh. Poetic," he says. He's still fanning his (very full) mouth, but he chews a little more slowly. "I'm respecting. I'm taking it in."

You don't know if he's actually doing any of that, but, when he takes his next bite he asks about what's in it (tomato, raisin, egg) and if someone really made the chef an empanada when he was younger (yes, on the flour-printed counter, every Sunday morning).

You press on. It shouldn't take much to bore him, but with every question, food-related factoid, and snide comment you have, he matches you with genuine curiosity. Either he's an excellent actor or he's secretly culinary school-bound, because you can't actually imagine anyone putting up with any of that, nonetheless I like dick jokes and football Choi Seungcheol.

You spend the rest of the evening like this, spoon to heart to cherry mouth. The wine is abundant, and Seungcheol spends more time listening than talking, which he admits is a first for him.

"You really know a lot about food," he says, likely fighting the urge to use his finger to get the last of the chocolate sauce off the churro plate. "I like that."

It's a cheap compliment in a game of low blows, but it sits warm and content in your chest. You have to force yourself back to the night you met him, when he was all cognac and one-liners and he gave you his spare hotel room key. A good reminder of his true nature, you think, despite the fact that he just listened to you talk about all the different grains of rice, ad nauseum.

"It's my job," is your reply, adequately distant for your liking.

"Fair. You gonna ask me about mine?"

"What more is there to know?" You hold up the check. "You're paying, right? Chivalry and all that?"

You're waiting for him to mention the company card, the only one allocated to your section that Seungcheol couldn't possibly have because it's sitting snug in your purse. The one you'll say you conveniently forgot so you get to see a grown man squirm at paying the bill.

"Already did. Gave the host my card when I got here. You're holding the customer copy." His chuckle disappears under the lip of his wine glass. "Bet you were excited to use the company card, huh?"

If shame were a physical object, you feel like your own personal Atlas. Your only option is to stare at the wasteland of empty plates before you and wonder how deep Seungcheol's pockets really are.

"Hardly. More excited that I burned a hole in your wallet." You click your tongue, out of options on how to ruin Seungcheol's night. You would spill wine on him but there's none left. "Anyway, I'm heading out."

"Running away?"

"Bored," you lie.

He calls you a taxi, and you walk out together, night heavy with the rhinestone glare of Friday night traffic.

"I actually had a nice time tonight," Seungcheol says, emphasis on the actually.

"Unfortunate."

"How do you think I feel?"

The taxi pulls to the curb, and he sighs, weighty with exaggerated relief. You can't even take it seriously because he's looking right at you and badly failing to push down the smile at the corners of his mouth.

It's only now that you notice his eyes are really brown, like he's from a cartoon or something. Worse, you'd daresay they're nice, less menacing, when they're tempered by a good meal and semi-public humiliation.

"Text me when you get back to your villain lair."

"If I were a real villain, you would have a lot more to worry about."

Seungcheol opens the cab door for you, and you catch a whiff of the cologne he undoubtedly smeared on in the toothpaste-streaked mirror of his five by five studio bathroom. Pine, leather, and citrus, which is the most pedestrian combination of smells to exist and yet you doubt it hasn't done him any favors.

"I'm terrified. Shaking." You clamber into the backseat, and he smiles at you again, as if you've forgotten what all his other ones looked like. "By the way—"

You have half a mind to shut the door in his face, but you can't find it within you—maybe it's the wine, or perhaps pure defeat. Probably the former.

"This job. It's—" He clicks his tongue and looks at the tops of his leather shoes. He's actually thinking, and you don't like it. "Never mind. See you Monday."

And then the words are gone. He shuts the cab door, and they're left in a plume of exhaust and Seungcheol's tiny waving figure in the rearview mirror.

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"So you're telling me you went on a date with your worst enemy."

It's 8 AM, and Jeonghan isn't pulling punches. Even through the phone, you can see his lazy grin, the pen he's flipping in his hand, the green ribbon of the Dow Jones on his desktop.

The newsroom is refreshingly near empty, except for Joshua, who hovers around the water cooler like a fly on the wall, if flies wore Armani ties and cigarette jeans.

"It wasn't a date, and I wanted to ruin it so he would have nothing to write about."

"No one goes on a date to ruin it. You could have just left."

"Clearly you haven't seen How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days."

"Are you serious." Jeonghan laughs, crackly and bright. "Care to tell me how that movie ends?"

"Except he isn't Matthew Mcconaughey. He says spaghetti like pah-scetti and doesn't use Oxford commas."

Mid-laugh, you endure another beat of extended eye contact with your editor until he beckons you over. He'd likely been waiting for the perfect time to interrupt the conversation he was so subtly eavesdropping on—oh, how you love a newsroom with an "open floor plan" to "facilitate communication." Sometimes you think the reason Joshua's stuck around this long is because reporters can't stay away from drama, especially if they're not the ones reporting it.

"I gotta go," you tell Jeonghan, whose version of a goodbye is a triumphant cackle.

You find Joshua putzing around, plastic water cup incriminatingly full.

"I take it you had an enjoyable weekend?" he asks, eyes sequined with all the secrets they hold.

"Yup. Just working on that Dining Through The Years article." Not entirely a lie—you are hedging your bets on this story, one where you revisit the restaurants you wrote about when you first got your start at the paper (Nai included, although admittedly yesterday's food was the least of your concerns). "You needed me?"

"Glad to see New York's finest chefs are well-versed in Kate Hudson's filmography," he says, grinning something beastly. If he weren't your boss, you'd knock that little water cup clean out of his hand. "Anyway, if your interview is over, I need you to go on a field trip."

"Field trip?"

Surely you're better than a task for the interns. You wonder if they're off fighting their own demons, seeing as you missed the circus in the elevator this morning, the usual juggle of hazelnut lattes and lemon poppyseed muffins for the higher-ups.

"Wonwoo needs you to help pick out catering for the corporate event later next week." Joshua tips his head back at Wonwoo's glass-plated office, where you see him redoing his tie in the reflection of his computer monitor. "My guess is that Yerim is going to be there, and he wants to make a good impression. Like an 'I consulted a food expert' impression."

Classic gossip queen Hong Joshua, always with the unnecessary but incredibly cogent commentary on office politics. You think you're actually going to miss the bastard.

"Flattered," you remark dryly. "Catering from where?"

"That's the thing. It's from this Thai place like two hours out from the city."

Two hours: code for an all day endeavor. He wasn't kidding when he said field trip.

You graciously resist the urge to groan out loud. No one told you taking the high road is one big slog through the mud, but here you are. You tell yourself this will help your campaign to be editor—the stinky, dirt-smeared silver lining.

"Before you ask—yes, I know you cannot take the subway there." You blink at him, wondering why this all feels like the set-up to a terrible joke. "Luckily, as you probably know, Seungcheol drives here every day and has offered to help."

Ah. There it is. You look for the blinking applause sign hanging above your head and the chorus of riotous Seungcheols making up your own personal laugh track.

"Only back to the office, though—" Joshua adds, as if that provides you any solace. "There's a one-way bus going up there at noon."

"N-not both ways?" you croak.

"Something about funds," he replies, shrugging. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"You're not the one I'm thinking of shooting."

"Who knows? Maybe he is Matthew McConaughey." And when your glare turns sharp as the edge of a santoku knife, he holds his hands up like he's getting arrested. "I'm just saying. As your friend, not your editor."

Whatever.

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You have to admit, Wonwoo does have impeccable taste in Thai food.

Three noodle dishes, two curries, and the best mango sticky rice you've ever had: that's what it took for you to finally say "not all men." Certainly not Wonwoo, who's in deep enough to send his goons cross-state for a girl he's tried to woo for almost a whole year now.

A tamarind sunset blankets the countryside in milk and honey. You're sitting on a bench, ridiculously full with leftovers to spare, waiting for your chauffeur from hell.

Two years and you still don't know what car Seungcheol drives. Your last memory of it is it being flashy, impractical, and loud, much like him.

You know this, and yet you are still surprised when a gnat of a BMW rips into the curb in front of you. The passenger window crawls down, and Seungcheol has the gall to whistle at you.

For someone so predictable, he sure does manage to find new ways to piss you off. Unfortunately, on brand— according to him, Consistency Is Key (number 2 on Keeping the Spark Alive, August 2022 issue). You've done your reading.

"You're welcome," is the first thing Seungcheol says to you after cranking down the volume of the radio and watching you fumble with the seatbelt.

"You really didn't have to." You look at the array of gas station snacks bubbling out of the cupholders—Sour Patch Kids, a Big Gulp, and Flamin’ Hot Fritos. You didn't even know they sold Sour Patch Kids to full grown adults.

Still, you do feel a little bad. You can count on one hand the amount of people you would do this for and still have one or two cheese-dusted fingers left.

"But, thank you."

"Joshua made me," he says, and what happened this morning starts to make a lot more sense. "Plus, I was a little jealous. I would kill for a day frolicking in the sun, eating delicious food, far, far away from the big city. Not trapped like me in the newsroom, exhausted, toiling away on my magnum opus."

The sigh that crawls from his chapped lips practically shakes the car.

"I'm retracting my thank you."

"I'm devastated. Really."

You choose to watch the strip of shitty New York highway unravel through the greasy passenger window. No point in picking a fight when you're in a leather quilted jail cell for the foreseeable future.

It's at the thirty minute mark where Seungcheol casts the first stone of terrible, stilted small talk.

"Why'd you get sent all the way out here anyway?"

The red taillight flush of rush hour floods the car, an unpleasant reminder of the real sunset left far behind you.

"Thought you knew it was Wonwoo."

"Yeah, but why?"

Why does it matter? Is your first thought, but you realize he's attempting to actually have a genuine conversation with you, which you suppose is better than him flinging around another rude remark. Either that, or he's falling asleep, and you'd rather not have the last moments of your life be in Seungcheol's chick magnet car.

"Joshua thinks it's because he wants to impress Yerim at the corporate meeting this week. I guess she likes Thai."

Traffic is slow enough for him to turn to look at you, really look at you.

"Come on, he can't like her that much."

"Yes, he can." you try to read his expression, neon-glossy. "This isn't even that much effort."

"Nah," he shrugs. "There's gotta be some kind of ulterior motive. Maybe he wants to move into corporate."

"Hot take for a romantic." You frown. "Not everything people do is a career move, you know."

You omit the unlike you that sits heavy in the back of your throat, although, his cavalier approach to relationships is starting to make a little more sense. You wonder if this whole thing—the dates, the watch, the Invisalign smiles—is just a long, drawn-out joke to him.

"Seems like a lot of effort to go through for an office crush." His gaze drifts back to the road. "The extravagant birthday present. Always having her favorite flowers in the office. That one cringe voicemail we all heard him re-record ten times. No one likes anyone that much. Come on. Her dad is the CEO of the company."

Suddenly his winning smile doesn't seem so triumphant. It almost feels like a betrayal, but you don't know why.

"Maybe he just likes her," you reply. "I dunno. I choose to believe that. I think it's sweet."

"Maybe you're the romantic." The words come out like an accusation; Seungcheol laughs, but all the joy's been sucked out of it.

"Who hurt you?"

"No one did. I'm just being honest."

You would laugh at the irony if it didn't feel like there was a vine wrapped round your throat. Life is funny, but never so funny as to curse New York's favorite romance writer with cynicism and a lying streak.

"Controversial, but I actually want to do nice things for the person I like."

"And when was the last time that happened?" He's deflecting, which is predictably on brand for him. His grin, now playful, is propped up by a pair of frustratingly well-formed dimples.

You can't even find it within you to protest because he's right—you haven't dated in a long time. Joshua stopped asking if you were bringing a plus one to office parties ages ago.

But it's not that you can't—in fact, the last time you did, you think it broke you a little inside. It's certainly not a story Seungcheol's privy to, though. You already feel strange, cut-open, trying to convince him that people are capable of meaningful relationships.

Childishly, there's also a part of you chasing the truth about him because it takes him further and further away from you. So you do what you do best and deflect again. Two can play at that game.

"Not taking criticism from a guy who's dated half of the city and has nothing to show for it."

"I wouldn't say nothing."

He opens his mouth then closes it again, as if he's revising the words on his tongue. Journalist behavior, which you didn't even know he could still exhibit.

Now you're really thinking. Who hurt him, and how? The development that Seungcheol is more than the playboy slime haunting page 3 intrigues you more than you'd care to admit.

Before you can pry, Seungcheol's stomach growls, almost offensively loud.

"Sorry," he says. "Who would've thunk that corn chips aren't a balanced meal?"

You stare at the takeout boxes snug in your lap. There is a cosmic message being sent right now.

Seungcheol's sad, Frito-filled belly. Fresh noodle that won't keep well in the fridge. Tax and tip for a four hour car ride back to the city. Expanding your repertoire of blackmail so that you can claim your rightful helm at the paper.

These are all the reasons you give yourself for what you ask next.

"You in a rush?"

"How could I be—do you see the blinding speed we're driving at?" He laughs at his own incredibly unfunny attempt at a joke. "No, I'm not."

"I may or may not have an actual balanced meal for you."

That’s how you end up in the parking lot of a random 7/11 off the freeway. In any other circumstances, it would be a cruel and unusual punishment, but you've already been whittled down enough to actually care about Seungcheol, even if just a little.

That's what you tell yourself, anyway, as you watch him finish the last of the takeout.

"So I'm bad at food, and you're bad at love. Why the fuck did Wonwoo even think of promoting either of us?" Seungcheol kicks his shoes off and props his feet up on the dashboard. You notice his socks have dogs on them, little linty brown ones, and you feel a little worse about openly bullying him about his fashion taste in front of the entirety of copy staff.

"I may be bad at love, but you're worse. Especially for someone who does it for a living," you retort. "Don't think I forgot our earlier conversation."

You try to read the tiny text on a receipt he's got stashed in the center console, among his graveyard of snack wrappers. (2) CHEESY GORDITA CRUNCH…8.78. (1) M MT DEW BAJA BLAST…1.00.

Definitely bad at food, you muse to yourself.

"You think I'm not kicking myself right now? That I have a beautiful girl in my car right now, and all we do is argue?"

Now that—nothing could have prepared you for that.

It gets awfully quiet. The noise of the freeway seems to screech to a fever pitch, all horns and the thrum of the asphalt. You wish anything but John Mayer was playing on the radio.

You will the headlines man in your head to make you laugh. Instead, your brain presses the word beautiful into your neurons and you feel all the heat in your body float to your face, traitorously, dizzyingly. John Mayer croons, your body is a wonderland and your stomach knots into itself over and over again.

"Stop that."

"What?" Seungcheol's head lolls to his shoulder so he can look at you from the corner of his eye. " 's not a big deal. Never been called beautiful?"

A grin plays on his lips, expression dancing on something grim, like he's spoken his final words.

"I'm serious! Stop trying to get me to like you." You huff and cross your arms over your chest, like it'll somehow make you feel more normal. "I'm not some experiment for your column."

"Is it working?"

You don't answer. How can you? There's a yes resting on the roof of your mouth, surely the product of the handful of real, actual moments you've now had with him—far too many for your liking. This whole charade has been a balancing act on the razor edge between rivals and something else, and now you're feeling the sting.

"For the record, I have been called beautiful before."

"And for the record, you're not an experiment for my column. You never were."

There's a relief that pulses through your chest, a breathless, wonderful kind of dizziness. You grab hold of it as soon as it's reared its ugly head. You're flying way too close to the sun, chasing cheap validation from the same guy who ate your lunch out of the fridge last week.

He's no better—he looks like the vulnerability cracked him open a little, and you're the one holding the hammer. It makes for a grubby, unflattering portrait of two emotionally inept people trying to play feelings.

However, much like all other things Seungcheol, any glimpse of something real is gone before you know it. He takes a loud, noisy pull of Diet Coke, and the spell is broken.

"Want any?" And when you shake your head, grateful to swallow the words pressed to your tongue, he says, "Should we wait out traffic here?"

This is an easier yes. You tell yourself you're getting sick of brake lights and reading the license plates on the back of other people's cars. Certainly that makes Seungcheol's gaze, lingering and moonlight-warmed, a little more tolerable.

For once, you don't talk about Wonwoo or your job. You don't talk about love, either.

Maybe this is the reason the next few hours slip through your fingers. Three folded takeout pagodas and a secret—somehow this is all it takes for you to hate Seungcheol just a little less.

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Usually, a good eggs benedict can solve the majority of your problems. Today seems to be the exception. The hollandaise is broken, Jeonghan is already laughing at you, and nothing will ever erase the fact that Seungcheol drove you home last night and now he knows where you live. If you wake up one morning and see a sniper laser pointed at your forehead, you have no one to blame but yourself.

"You look exhausted." An eighth of a buckwheat pancake disappears into Jeonghan's mouth. "You literally eat for a living. There is no reason for them to keep you late."

Jeonghan has a funny way of caring about you, but he's right. You did get home at 2 AM yesterday, but that was on you, not Wonwoo.

"I'm not going to let a corporate slug tell me what is and isn't a real job," you sigh, taking a swig of your half-flat mimosa and reminding yourself to figure out which staff writer gave this place 4 stars in last week's paper.

"Says the girl who needs the company card to afford bottomless brunch," Jeonghan replies.

"At least I'm not a slave to my career."

"What do you call this whole thing with your coworker then, huh? It's all you text me about." The smirk on Jeonghan's face is miserably, tragically righteous, and you can't even be mad about it.

"Seungcheol is my enemy, remember?"

"You sent me a five minute voice memo the other day ranting about how he went on a date with another girl." And just like the little shit he is, he even pulls up your mile-long text history, just to rub it in your face a little harder.

"Am I not allowed to wish for his demise? Since when were you the mature one?"

"I wouldn't call keeping track of his whereabouts wishing for his demise." Jeonghan takes a well-timed bite of your hashbrowns. "Something tells me you're wishing for something a little different."

You almost choke on a blueberry.

"Absolutely not."

You watch Jeonghan power down another mimosa, half-fascinated, half-appalled he would even dream of suggesting something so vile.

The memory of Seungcheol, leant back in the driver’s seat, lowering greasy spools of rice noodles into his mouth, crosses your mind. He had laughed until he cried when he asked you if a pineapple had really fried this rice. That was the kind of man you were dealing with. You can't believe you laughed with him.

"I think it'll be good for you to get back into dating again. Mingyu was, what, three years ago?"

And that's the chocolate chip studded, syrup-covered nail in your coffin. Of course all roads had to lead back to you and your relationship trauma Jeonghan considered unresolved.

You had dated Mingyu when you were younger, softer. It was a love of firsts, of sun-washed mornings and farmer's market Sundays, of raw, black currant midnights and whatever long-winded conversation you had spent all day on.

Mingyu was a chef. His hands, his lips, his eyes—that's how you fell in love with food. Strawberry kisses into fresh pasta into the first time someone had ever cooked for you. What a wonderful, terrible thing to see all your history on a plate, the I could never eat peas, the once I ate mangos till I was sick, the guilty spoon in the vanilla ice cream after a bad day and the dark chocolate you keep in your purse. He remembered that you like your noodles just a little bit overcooked, and you don't even think you told him that.

Food, like some shitty piece of home decor would say in that swirling, curly font, really is some window to the soul. It didn't fully hit you until, one day, you were at the grocery store alone, and somehow you knew exactly what brand of everything Mingyu liked.

You opened a restaurant together after you graduated from college. Then it closed, and you lost Mingyu to Naples or New Orleans or Seoul—somewhere, anywhere to escape the corner of 5th and 40th, the December-pleated memory of his hands in yours and a promise you could never keep.

You're sure you're over it by now, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't look for him in a bowl of his favorite ramyun, the one you could never replicate even though he insisted he just added hot water (Food tastes best when it's a gift, he'd say. You never understood until now.).

Jeonghan doesn't believe you because every time you try explaining this to him, you end up sounding like the most chronically lonely person on planet Earth.

"That is the wrong guy to suggest then," you instead reply, feeling all the food dry up in your mouth.

"I'm running out of options."

"Don't you have a hot coworker or something?"

You shut your eyes, pushing Mingyu back to recall literally any face from one of the many swanky corporate parties Jeonghan bullied you into attending. The only person coming to mind is Lee Chan, and even more than his face, you remember the fat platinum band around his ring finger (Better luck next time, Jeonghan had said, mid-cheese cube).

Worse, amidst all the fuzz, a grainy recollection of Seungcheol's wet cow eyes washes up against your eyelids, and it's not going away this time.

"I thought we were all corporate slugs," Jeonghan replies, enjoying the way you glower at him over your fork. "I was kidding, anyway. Relax."

Your entire body heaves with the sigh that escapes you.

You thank god that Jeonghan is never serious, because otherwise you'd have to consider the fact that he really thought you should date Seungcheol. Jeonghan, who knows the pizza column you, the Mingyu you, and now the you that works late because there's nothing else left to do, really might have thought you should date grifter by day, con artist by night Seungcheol.

The fluorescent glaze of the gas station lights. Seungcheol's hand on the gear stick. His voice, warm and gauzy. It's like there's a flash drive of last night plugged into your head, and you can't take it out.

The stem of the champagne glass finds your hand, and you down the whole thing.

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Monday is uneventful. So is Tuesday, and you wonder what good deed you'd done to deserve such a blessing.

Wednesday, you realize you're just three interviews away from what could possibly be the best article of your life. Unfortunately, two of those won't pick up the phone and the third keeps rescheduling on you.

That's fine—Rome wasn't built in a day, and the same hopefully applies to your future noodle empire.

You're using your lunch break to write an email to number two when you notice Seungcheol hovering around your desk, a plastic straw in his mouth and evil in his eyes.

He's taken to publicly annoying you at work more than usual—Progress, Joshua had told you in the elevator this morning. Towards what? you had asked. He shrugged, letting his crafty, knowing look do all the talking.

"Me, you, and date number two?" is today's opening line. Before you can peel yourself away from your computer and give him a good lashing for whatever the fuck he just said to you, he continues with, "How's that for a follow-up text to my speakeasy date?"

"Lame," you reply, hackles still raised but now re-reading your email for typos.

"Wrong. You were supposed to say incredibly romantic, extremely witty, and unfairly charming." He perches his baseball player ass on the corner of your desk, waiting to be humbled. This is the usual order of things, which has shockingly become more of a familiarity than anything else.

"Do you even have a romantic bone in your body?"

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Just one, but it's the only one that matters."

"Ew. Gross." You wrinkle your nose and attempt to soothe your temper with a sip of the terrible protein shake you got for lunch. "No wonder your column sucks."

"If mine sucks, I'd hate to see what people are saying about yours." And when your reply is a tired, hungry swig of your sad drink, he says, "No lunch today? Even I had something better."

"Lucky you."

The bigger truth is that that the deadline for your article, looming before you, is getting to you more than you'd care to admit. Seungcheol isn't helping, not with his bottomless magic hat of date stories that seems to only grow deeper by the day. Now you're forgetting to pack a lunch, and the highlight of your day has been reduced to punching numbers into a vending machine.

Things are bad, but you'll never say that aloud, especially not to the guy who'll spend the next five years dunking on you if you keep this up.

You stare down the lip of your bottle at the faux-chocolate dregs streaking the bottom.

The month before Mingyu opened his restaurant, you were so preoccupied with making sure everything was just right that you also forgot to eat. One day, leftovers from his work started magically appearing in your fridge. Chow fun (miss you!), salt and pepper shrimp (don't forget to drink water!), a gargantuan vat of hot and sour soup (love you most!).

It was a perfect coincidence until you realized there was no way Chinese takeout was coming out of a very French restaurant, and it was then you learned that love is never really a coincidence.

Now you have no coincidences, mapo tofu, or romance. Just muscle milk and a front row view of the struggling inseam of a man who must shrink his pants in the dryer.

He's peeling a tangerine. Your worst confession to date is that it's easy on the eyes. For once, his hands, always made busy with some scheme, now still over the rind, steady, practiced. Plus, it looks like a marble in his huge hands, which is unfortunately both funny and a little hot.

"Stare any longer, and I'm gonna forget how to peel this."

"Don’t flatter yourself. Just hungry," you half-lie.

Hungry, Stressed, And Delusional—The New Holy Trinity.

It's a catchy headline, but not a great look for you. Never in your life did you think you'd be ogling a man peeling an orange. He even takes all the pith off, and you don't have the heart to tell him that's where all the nutrients are.

"Exactly," he replies. Then he plops the naked, shiny fruit right on your bare desk. "Here. Eat."

You’re so taken aback, all you can do is stare. First at the orange, then at Seungcheol, who suddenly cannot make eye contact with you. Instead, he stacks the peel in his hands, dimpled piece over piece.

"Payback for the, uh, Thai," he says, and although you wouldn't equate a tangerine to James Beard awarded pad kee mao, all you can think of is an lime green sticky note in your fridge and a smile.

A gift. A pithless, wrinkly one.

The idea that Seungcheol was capable of being genuinely nice to anyone, nonetheless, you—probably the most undeserving person of it in the world—makes you feel something close to guilt.

You push through the feeling, instead taking the fruit in your hand and splitting it between your thumbs. The flesh caves so easily, and it's then you remember that food, unlike people, doesn't have to be complicated.

You can feel a better person somewhere inside you, someone easier to care for and with less of a bad attitude. You're not there yet, but there's a dark, satisfying comfort in not being good enough for the indulgence of that kind of intimacy. An arm's length was never too far away for you, except now there's someone sitting on your desk and they gave you lunch. Worst of all, you don't think you mind.

You hold out the half—sticky, guilty fingers and all.

Seungcheol wordlessly accepts it. There's no surprise or confusion—he smiles, you say cheers, and you both take a bite.

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On weekends, the Korean place down the street from your college apartment sold corn dogs until 3 AM. That was when words came easy and love came easier.

It was with sugar all over your nose, eyes pressed to the once forgiving half-moon, where you told Mingyu you would become a writer.

The thing about youth is that it can float anything, no matter how holey, desperate it was. So you sailed through college, that gasping hope wound tight in your fist. Then you started freelancing, just in time for Mingyu’s soft open. You wanted to write, but more importantly, you wanted some way, any way to be useful to the person who had given you so much.

In retrospect, there was no way your crude attempts at actual journalism could ever generate real publicity for him. Not in the heart of New York, where a new restaurant opened every two days and someone wanted to get published every three.

So you eventually sank, and so did Mingyu, leaving you with all this creased, no good love in your chest to shrivel up with nowhere to go.

All of that landed you here. A degree, a dream job, and a laundry list of accolades, but the fruit of that love still hangs heavy and joy-rot on the vine, as you wait for it to be good enough for the taking.

Ironically, it reminded you of cooking. No one ever teaches you when to stop, and now every other joint has dry-aged steak and some version of a three-day demi glacé. But at least demi glacé tastes good—you don't even know what the fuck you're doing some days, and the feeling's never been worse than now, waiting on a call you were supposed to get two days ago.

The phone rings, just in time to distract you from the top button of Seungcheol's fitted shirt, which looks like it's holding on for dear life. He's currently deep in conversation with Mina from design, but every so often, he'll glance your way to see if you're just free enough to be bothered.

The unspoken perils of working late—less people around to pester on Wonwoo's dime.

Mina stuffs her laptop in her bag and checks her watch. Strike three for Seungcheol.

Working Hard Or Hardly Working: A Guide To Office Romances. You're surprised he hasn't written that one yet. Maybe Joshua shot it down.

"Hello?" The dial tone breaks into the warm, risen-bread voice of the woman you know to be the owner of one of your favorite hole-in-the-wall noodle spots. The Friday night after your review was published, there was a line out the door. It honestly felt like a no-brainer to you, and you had no hesitation telling the owner that you were sure her place would become a local mainstay. You watched her crow-footed eyes go moony and you couldn't help but picture the day your yellowed newspaper would be posted up on the wall, framed and prophetic.

You're ready to profusely apologize for not stopping by—truthfully, no bone broth has come close to hers. Instead, she apologizes to you, which you aren't sure is flattering or a sign something terrible has happened.

You hope it's the former, but you should have known that hoping has never been enough.

She tells you that she closed the doors to her restaurant yesterday. It all comes spilling out, one gut punch after the other, the bills and the empty tables and how things just weren't the same the year after your review was published. She thanks you for your time, your writing, and your belief, and then she hangs up.

Not a thing in your body feels capable of moving. All the phone static passes right through you until the week's canned up dread balls up in your throat and some darker-than-black feeling swallows you whole.

The fluorescent ceiling lights sear into you. You think you're going to cry, and that's the last thing you want.

To anyone else, it wouldn't be that serious. Restaurants close all the time, and you know an entry in your silly little column is a far cry from a Hail Mary. But all you can think of is Mingyu’s neon sign on 5th and 40th and the two pairs of hands that had to take it down. You think your fingerprints are still on it, right over the blue shock of the I and the N.

One more dream taking on water, and once again, you're at the sad, cruel center of it.

You try to imagine the gumpaste walls, bumpy and water-stained. Maybe a pale square where your review used to hang.

No, you're definitely going to cry.

Fuck this, fuck work, fuck the article. And fuck Seungcheol, who's packing up his annoying, jingly messenger bag and is the only thing standing between you and an empty office to lose your shit in.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember if you're wearing waterproof mascara today. Unfortunately, the cowbell of Seungcheol's bag sounds like it's catching up to you, and, like it or not, you are two shaky breaths away from breaking down in front of the last person in the world you want to see.

"Final touches on another titillating piece about pineapple on pizza?"

You have no stomach for yelling at him. You can't even look at him. Instead, you bury your head in your hands and tell him to never use the word titillating again.

"A little too soon to play editor, in my humble opinion."

You don't reply. You're trying to scare him off without really scaring him off because god knows you've done that with enough people. Either way, he's calling you a crazy bitch at the next holiday party. You can just hear it.

But you should've known Seungcheol, of all people, doesn't flinch at a little silence. You still feel him hovering behind you, probably wondering if it's the half-full vanilla protein shake on your desk that's turned you sour. Or if you'll really make good on your threat to shank him with the plastic knife you keep in your top drawer.

Just walk away, you think. Go the fuck home.

Seungcheol, who gets paid to play cupid like it's fantasy football, would never understand that bite of the dial tone. Not like that. Half an orange is a hell of a toll to pay for your unfortunate work-related trauma.

You count the seconds till he walks away.

One. Two. Three.

Four is cut short because instead of doing what he should have done and left, he places a hesitant hand at the base of your neck, between your shoulder blades.

"Hey, you ok?"

Easy, noncommittal words, but something in you cracks. You don't know what it is—maybe it's because it's late and you're running on nothing, maybe it's because you can't remember the last time a hand was so warm.

And so, against your better judgment, you lift your streaky, raccoon-eyed face (definitely didn't use waterproof today) from your hands to look at the same eyes you looked at not more than a month ago and swore at.

You're glad you have no idea what you look like, because it's bad enough that all the corners of Seungcheol's face fall.

"Whoa," he breathes.

Now he'll know when to leave me alone, you think, but then that hand slides to your shoulder and his expression becomes impossibly soft and what you thought was confusion, pity even, dips into affection, stinging and raw.

"Listen, I—," he clears his throat nervously. Perhaps he's running through his repertoire of Wikihow phrases to say to a sad person, but you, inexplicably, don't believe that. "I don't know what's going on, but if you, you know, ever needed to talk…" Then he points to himself because that's probably the longest he's gone without attempting to tell a joke.

You're two and a half shaky breaths into this conversation, and the likelihood you will start crying has not changed. If anything, the odds have gotten much worse because the stubbornness of Seungcheol's expression is fooling you into thinking he actually cares. The illusion is comforting—after all the fighting and sabotage and inconveniences, he's still made space for you. That, or he's keeping his enemies close.

Then his thumb rubs over the plane of your collarbone, and all the little walls and hurdles and dams and shields in you drop.

Close friends, closer enemies, and the infinitesimal space between you and Seungcheol.

You'll blame your sorry state of mind for what you're about to do because you can't really cope with any other explanation. That's a tomorrow problem.

Today, you trust Seungcheol. Today, you tell him not everything, but enough.

"Forgive yourself," he says. And before you protest and tell him, through the waves of tears and snot and lightheadedness, that your heart has yet to catch up to the rest of you, he interrupts you before you even start. "I get it. Just try."

You’re all too familiar with his sugar-floss, candy-coated platitudes that make everything seem so simple, but he looks you in the eye, or somewhere even deeper than that, with so much belief, it's contagious.

The words are ripped out from under you. All you can do is what you wanted to do in the first place. So you cry, and when Seungcheol takes you into his arms, at first tentatively and then all at once, you cry even harder.

"Is this ok?" he asks, so quietly, you almost don't hear him.

"Yeah, I-I think so."

You let him hold you, and all the noise and the heat and the static fades into a hum. His chin finds the top of your head and you let him do that too.

Neither of you say anything more. You don't need to.

All that matters is the welcome sound of someone else's heartbeat, a kind hand in your hair, and Seungcheol, with none of the charms and boasts and failed, half-baked insults he hides behind.

Just him, and you decide you like this version best.

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The emotional hangover you wake up with rivals that of every vodka-flavored morning you had when you were in college, plus another two shots.

There is nothing worse than the aftermath of a particularly bad episode of oversharing. There's a reason you don't talk about your personal life at all, but something about Seungcheol makes every single thing claw its way back up your throat.

A need to prove yourself. A tiny, whispering hope that if you give a little, you'll get a little in return. Or your pride, the familiar knife you keep wedged into your side. A million excuses rattle around in your head, but nothing will ever take away the fact that it felt good.

Shields down, heart bleeding—never did you think that's how you would find yourself in a state where you actually liked Seungcheol. It felt good to be taken seriously, to say that all the talk about foie gras and peppercorns and microgreens was just tableside service for a great love and an even greater apology. And you'd like to think somewhere between the tears and the linen of his shirt, you were finally understood.

Just try. The words, sun-warmed stones, float in the hollow of your chest. It felt a little more possible, coming out of Seungcheol's mouth, with that dumb, resolute expression of his.

You don't even know if you would do the same for him. If he came to you, rosy-eyed and breakdown-adjacent, would you drop everything and listen to him? Clearly his problems ran deeper than a pretty girl not calling him back, but you had never really cared to listen.

And that's something you'll give Seungcheol credit for—he puts up with you, with everything, really, albeit with clumsy hands and the mask of reluctance.

You roll onto your side to reach for your phone. There's a text from Jeonghan asking if you're still up for grabbing drinks this evening. (Always). You have your final interview at 2. (Thank god).

And no text from Seungcheol. (Damn.)

Somehow this is disappointing, which makes your day that much worse. Maybe the runny mascara wasn't as flattering as you thought.

8 Totally Normal Texts To Send When You're Overthinking.

Not a good headline for a worse situation. Honestly, you shouldn't care, but now you're here, staring at your phone and undecided on if you even want Monday to come or not.

You'll order one (or three) margaritas tonight. You'll ask Jeonghan about his upcoming trip to Seoul. You'll make your favorite overnight oats and you'll go to sleep and Sunday will pass just the same.

You won't think about Seungcheol's arms around you or his head on top of yours or the way he insisted he would drive you to the subway so you didn't have to walk. You almost brushed against his hand on the gear stick and the nearness made you want to throw up.

But you're not thinking about it. You can't. Not without falling in love just a little.

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"Here. Drink."

You set two cups on the table before sitting face-to-face with Seungcheol, who decided to roll up to a coffee date in a somehow flattering polo and slacks.

But it's not a date—you're just talking. It's a meet-up. Not a hangout, which sounds too familiar, and definitely not a date.

Yesterday did not go as planned. Margarita-buzzed and under Jeonghan's terrible influence, you texted Seungcheol. Just to clear up some stuff, you told yourself. Friday night's like a scab, and you just can't help coming back to it.

"So, you're a coffee connoisseur too, huh?" Seungcheol says, tipping his head to the side.

"Not nearly," you reply. "Just wanted to pay for something for once. I'm pretty sure I owe you at least fifty of these."

"I'll hold you to it." He's doing that thing where it's like he stares past you. It's the most impressive eye contact on the planet, and it's making you nervous.

Then the silence, once welcome, becomes awkward—the air turns stiff, clinging to all the things you haven't said yet.

You play chicken with the idea of being an emotionally intelligent person and just talking about what most certainly is on everyone's mind right now. The cup between your hands is burning your palms. Seungcheol smiles.

"I'm—" The exact moment you start, the words crinkle up on your tongue and all the walls come back up again. It's a terrible, inevitable instinct. "I'm sorry. For Friday."

"For…what?" Seungcheol pauses mid-sip to say this. "Also, this coffee is really good."

Arabica, orange, and honey, you want to say. But you can't deflect this time. Somehow Seungcheol has cornered you into this tiny cafe chair with that disarming grin and an overabundance of patience.

"Everything, I guess. You were just trying to leave."

"No, I wasn't." And he laughs, which makes your stomach fold over trying to figure out what there possibly is to laugh at. "I actually liked getting to know you. You…care a lot. And I didn't expect that."

Seungcheol's sincerity staggers you. You could ask what the hell he just meant by all of that, but you decide to take him for his word. You think you've experienced the most honesty from him in the past three days than you have in the entire span of time you've known him, and it almost feels like a privilege.

"Thanks…?"

"Don’t let it go to your head, though," he adds, as if to erase what he just said. "Can't have you walking around the office with a bigger stick in your ass."

"Poetic." You sigh. Once again, the illusion is shattered. You wonder if his kindness has a time limit. "How's your article coming along?"

"Nice try," he replies. "I'm not that easy."

"You're literally the definition of easy."

"Is that a compliment?" There's that challenge in his eyes again, that same look that he gave you outside Wonwoo's office. "You did ask me out on a date, despite saying that you'd rather eat glass. So I guess either there's a half-eaten plate in your trash or you've finally come to your senses."

"This is not a date. Dream on."

"You're right. This isn't a date." He leans forward on his elbows. "Just like our dinner date wasn't a date."

"It wasn't."

"Of course. If it was, I'd be asking stuff like…Where you're from. But I already know—h, e, double hockey—"

"Chicago."

"Same difference."

Your conversation continues as such.

Not a date, but where'd you go to college? Not a date, but do you have a pet? Not a date, but can I walk you home?

You realize your talk in his car two weeks ago involved everything but your pasts, but you suppose neither of you are the type to unwrap old wounds. Sometimes the bandaid is better on, but, in your case, there's really nothing left to tell.

You divulge that you went to Northwestern for journalism. You have a family tabby, and no, you wouldn't mind being walked home.

You also realize before today, you knew less about Seungcheol than you thought, but there's some give to his secrecy. He went to USC because his parents wanted him to. Played football for half of it until he tore his ACL and got adopted by the sports section of the school paper. He even captained the advice column for three semesters—something he wants to return to, but you're happy to tell him you wouldn't trust his advice as far as you could throw him. (What was your alias? Samuel. Sounds kinda like Seungcheol, huh? You say no. He laughs.)

After circling the same park three times, you reach the doorstep of your apartment building. You cycle through some one-liners to end on a high note, but none of them seem quite right.

It's not a date, but you've noticed Seungcheol keeps glancing at your lips, and it almost seems like one.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol asks some stupid question about if coffee could be considered tea, which you start to answer before you are rudely interrupted.

First, the bump of his nose against yours, then his lips, slow, insistent, dizzying. Your heart jumps all the way to your throat and you think there's so much heat in your cheeks that he can feel it.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol just kissed you and you liked it.

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The next time you see Seungcheol is in the elevator to the newsroom on Monday.

He sticks his dumb, big arm out of the cabin to hold the door open for you, and his smile bruises your overripe heart.

"Hi," he says, sneaking a glance like a guilty child.

"Hi."

The floor indicators flicker like fireflies, one by one. He sidesteps toward you so that your shoulders touch. You watch the 4 crawl to 5. The air in the cabin is sticky, electric.

And as if taking a great big dive, you kiss him, a fleeting, tender thing that you rolled around in your head for a good thirty minutes earlier this morning—and you never thought the fruit of overthinking could be so sweet.

The elevator dings.

Before the doors open to your floor, Seungcheol slams the close button, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you again.

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You have three reasons to get drunk.

1. It's Friday.

2. You finished your article.

3. You and Seungcheol are no longer mortal enemies, but now you don't know what you are.

(The other day, you both worked late, and he ordered takeout to the office. You sat crosslegged on his desk as he tried to explain what a touchdown was and why he was obsessed with the Steelers. Normally a two hour long conversation about football would be a punishable offense, but that night he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt the next day.)

After Wonwoo's dinner with corporate, he went to the market across the street and picked up a few handles of soju and the fattest bottle of cheap vodka you've ever seen.

You're all getting a raise—you guess the Thai must have worked out well, although Wonwoo must have struck out with Yerim since he's spending his Friday night drinking with you guys instead.

So you get drunk.

Drunk enough to tune out of Jihyo from Sports giving Wonwoo dating advice—riveting, if not for your near double vision—and follow Seungcheol to the staff bathroom.

"Anyone—," you manage. His lips are hot on your neck, and every dizzy neuron in your body seems to be reaching, grasping for him. "Anyone ever tell you that your forearms look really good when you roll up your sleeves?"

"All the time," he replies, and he swallows the laugh right off of your tongue.

"You are so annoying." Your palm finds his heartbeat, and you revel in how it leaps towards your skin every hurried beat. You don't want to think about how many girls came before you, leant back against the bathroom counter just like this, but having a body against yours never felt so good. You guess that's what a three year hiatus will do to you. "Bet you hear that one a lot too, huh?"

"You got that right."

Another kiss, just a nudge of his nose and you're leaning up to him; your lips feel swollen and warm and somehow they still crave the feeling.

"How is it that we still bump noses," you ask, half words, half air. Seungcheol's hands, skin-greedy, skim over the back of your thighs like they're water and find the swell of your ass.

"You make me impatient." Cheshire grin across heart lips and you're toast. "Anyone tell you that you have a great ass?"

"All the time," you squeak out. It's a lie and a half but who cares. His fingers drag under the seam of your underwear and you've never been so thankful you forgot to wear shorts under your dress.

"Need you," he says, lips flush to the skin behind your ear, and your lower half would give out if you weren't propped against the sink.

The idea of Seungcheol on his knees, your thigh hiked over his shoulder, crosses your mind. He'd probably be really good at head, and that makes you dizzier than any ungodly combination of alcohol would. Or would he press you against the mirror, want your skirt pushed to your waist so he could fuck you from behind?

Anticipation tumbles into anxiety into some primordial, horrible shyness because you haven't had sex in years. You feel hot and damp and sweaty and you can't remember if you shaved or not. Plus, you're already seizing in his arms and he hasn't even touched you for real yet.

"H-home," you breathe. "Let's go home."

"Hm?" His hand slows in the dip between your thighs. "You wanna stop? We can stop."

"No, I just…I just thought it would be better if we went home. To…you know."

"Yours or mine?"

"Mine’s closer," you answer after a considerable amount of mental gymnastics trying to figure out if you're both drunk enough to not mind the mess.

You know your apartment and you know your bed and you know where the bathroom is in case you have to pee. There's a box of condoms under the sink. You have an extra toothbrush for him. Less variables to worry about because nothing else has really gone to plan. You watch Seungcheol misbutton the top two buttons on his shirt and all the fondness in your heart feels like a welcome stranger in your body.

How To Ruin The Moment In One Easy Step!

You feel incredibly horny and guilty all at once, but Seungcheol kisses your cheek on the way out and it's like you're able to breathe again.

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It seems that the car ride to your place sucks all the sobriety back into the both of you.

You're lying stomach-down on your bed, Seungcheol against the headboard with his shirt undone. You're in your bra and your still sticky underwear, and somehow, despite being ready to break your three-year spell, you like this much better.

"Imagine if someone needed to piss," Seungcheol groans. "I think we would have gotten fired. Lifestyle would have no editor."

"I honestly think that's why Seungkwan was standing outside for so long."

Upon hearing this, Seungcheol's eyes shoot open. If your phone wasn't charging, you would take a picture. He fell asleep on your shoulder in the car, and now, even with all the affection you can muster, you can only describe his hair as broom-adjacent. Einstein-core. How far you've fallen from grace.

"Don't worry, he won't say anything." And as you watch the color return to his face, you add, "Also, it's not that I didn't want to have sex, I just…" you trail off, hoping he'll get it even though you're making no sense.

"No, it was the right call. I wanna do it when we're both sober."

It smooths your frayed-out nerves knowing that none of this was a performance or a test, just two shy, touch-starved people stumbling in the dark.

"Lemme guess—this is just a typical Friday night for you."

"Flattering but no," Seungcheol replies, grinning something stupid. "Do you always spend this much time wondering what I'm doing?"

"No!" His hands, once busy with scrunching up the fabric of your bedsheets, now find yours, and he runs a careful thumb over your knuckles. You notice he has the care-worn hands of a line chef, or maybe even a baker, which is funny because you don't even think the man knows how to turn on an oven. "I dunno. You just seem so experienced. What about all of those other girls?"

He flips your hand over, tracing the creases of your palm.

"Just dates. Nothing serious."

You want to ask—What about us? Are we serious? But you swallow it all down. You watch Seungcheol's eyes, midnight-weary, fall back upon you, and it feels like he's trusted you with something important.

"Don’t get it twisted, though," he adds, before yawning big and wide without covering his mouth. "I'm a loser, not a virgin. Definitely not."

You bite back a laugh. Killer journalist bio, but that's something to pitch next content meeting.

"Definitely a loser. I think you make me a loser by association."

"Good. So we're both losers. I like that." He smiles at you with so much warmth, it makes your heart physically hurt. Then he clamps down another yawn. "God, I'm exhausted. I think if we fucked in the bathroom, I'd have passed out. Or pulled my back."

"Then sleep," you chide, shucking a pillow at him. "Also take your shirt off. I don't like outside clothes on the bed."

"Say less," Seungcheol says. "I’ll blow your back out another day. Save the date." Between your almost audible gulp and his unfortunately attractive physique, you almost forget the place you're in-between.

Did everyone fit into his arms? Did he lift a hand for just anyone? Two silhouettes in the lamplight—was that how every day with him ended? Or just you, the only other person competing with him for his dream job? The convenient reality scares you.

The thought never seems to cross Seungcheol's mind. His head hits the pillow, and he's out like a light. But not without a not-so-subtle scoot to your side of the bed, near enough that the heat of his skin plays off yours.

You lean into it, liking how your skin buzzes with the closeness.

You're lulled by the sway of Seungcheol's breathing behind you—probably the most quiet he'll ever be. The moonlight oozes into the room; sleep comes over you like water, a slow, gentle wash.

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You can't remember the last time you cooked for two.

You open your fridge, and the hollow insides stare back at you. Rows of condiments and two water bottles. You have finally reached K-drama CEO status.

"Is this the part where I get kicked out?" Seungcheol says, shrugging his shirt back on as he walks out of the bedroom.

"This is the part where I cook breakfast for you."

"Really? You don't have to." He sounds genuinely surprised, which tips your heart a little off-axis.

"I want to," you reply, double checking the fridge as if opening it a second time would repopulate it. "That's what people do when they care about each other."

"Or if they're trying to poison you."

"Will you just let me do something nice for you?" You yank your head out to glare at him, and he looks stung.

"Thanks." He says it after so much pause that you wonder if this is the first time someone has done this for him. You wish you had a better offering, but surely the man with the worst palate in the world could spare his judgment for one meal. "No really, 'cause I am starving."

You let him bask in the rare glory of the unobstructed refrigerator light while you rummage through the pantry for a plan B.

"Holy shit. You live like this?"

"Not always. It's been…a week." All you have is the ramyun Mingyu likes, which feels like a weird, culinary betrayal. But you're hungry, and Seungcheol is eyeing a strange bag in the freezer that you don't even remember putting there. "You good with ramyun?"

"Honestly, I'll eat anything," he whines, gnawing on the ice straight from the freezer drawer.

At least he's self-aware. But he makes all the spaces Mingyu left behind seem a little less empty, and you can't find it in you to be mad at that.

You wait for the water to boil and Seungcheol finds a seat at your tiny dinner table, a misaligned, wobbly product of Mingyu’s inability to read an Ikea manual.

"I'm hoping your week got better?" Seungcheol asks, referring to your capital W week.

You tentatively nod before dropping the noodles in.

"Of course it did—you woke up to me in your bed. Can't get better than that."

"Actually, it's because I finished my article yesterday."

Seungcheol pauses before laughing to himself. "Congrats," he replies, now wiggling the table on its bad leg. "Can't say the same for myself."

you watch the starch-foam wash over the mouth of the pot, precariously close to the edge. You overfilled it, which mildly surprises you until you consider that you're cooking double the food.

There's a stretchy, anxious tumble in your stomach. It's not like you were expecting him to cheer or anything, but it just reminds you that you are, still in fact, competitors. When all of this is said and done, one of you is losing, and from every angle, it seems like quite the death knell for whatever you've got going on now.

It's a pity because you actually kind of like this arrangement. If Seungcheol was in your banged-up flea market chair next Saturday morning, you wouldn't be mad. Maybe you would even make him waffles. From scratch, even.

"What, too many dates to cover?"

He laughs again, somehow to no one in particular. "Something like that."

Past the bruising swell of his smile is the much sharper, more unforgiving edge of an unspoken hurt that you're neither trusted with nor owed, and yet you refuse to drop it. What about me? It feels like you're almost there, wrapped around something bigger, a scoop you can't pull your stubborn teeth out of.

"Is there a reason none of those were serious? Come on."

"What's so wrong with that?" And when you don't say anything, he says, "Trust me, it is never that serious."

His voice ticks up at the end like a teenager trying to play cool and the noodle water boils up around your chopsticks as you try to get your portion cooked through.

You won't—can't—turn to face him. You committed to the line, and now you must see it through, no matter how bad an idea it may be.

"That's not true," you finally squeeze out, finding the right footing for your voice. "It was serious for me. I'm sorry it wasn’t for you."

The table stops rocking.

"I'm glad. Really." He claps his hands together like a cruel punctuation mark, and it's then you remember that the only person as ill-tempered as you happens to be sitting two feet away.

Like an injured animal, your heart wants to cower back into your chest. You knew this was a mistake—this being everything—but an open wound can't help but bleed and your pride can't do without seeing the knife.

"Look, I don't know what your problem is." The pot hisses, astringent and pleading, beneath your fist. "I don't know what happened with your love life, but don't take it out on me."

"You asked."

"Yeah? Well, what is this?" You turn to face him, feeling the air between you tense, pulled like a rubber band. "You can't sit in my kitchen and tell me you don't care about whatever this is."

After all of the terse meetings, elevator spats, and foul-mouthed encounters in the parking lot, you can now recognize the fresh twist of Seungcheol's mouth and the livewire of a temper you've become so familiar with.

"Who said I didn't care? I'm just tired of you trying to lecture me about my life. I—"

"I'm not lecturing you, I just know you can't really believe what you're saying." Every word stumbles out, trembling and doe-legged, barely audible over his attempts to interrupt you. "There's nothing wrong with admitting you were in love with someone. And if you can't, I just feel really fucking sorry for you."

There’s an incredulous look in Seungcheol's eyes. But it's the worse part of you, ruthless and hungry for acceptance, that makes you say, "Maybe the fact that nothing lasts is your fault."

"Oh, really?" Seungcheol's voice, half-laugh with none of the warmth, rips through you. "You're really gonna act like you're better than me? As if you don't write in your pretentious little column every week, just waiting for your ex to read it and decide he wants you back again?"

There’s a red hot flash behind your eyes and everything inside you feels like it breaks at once.

"You know, at least I had someone who cared about me. Can't say the same about your miserable, sorry ass. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."

"Wh—"

he stands up, table croaking underneath his fists, and you realize you've crossed a bridge that can never be uncrossed.

"Get. Out."

It feels like a stitch in you has come undone. The water has long boiled over the pot and there's no joy to be found in watching Seungcheol stumble over his pant legs on the way to the door.

"I didn't want Mingyu. I wanted you."

it's not an apology, nor is it an indictment. You don't know why you say it, and you guess Seungcheol doesn't either. The door slams behind him, and all you're left with is a bloated pot of ramyun you never really wanted anyway.

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Celery. Red wine. Short rib.

If you had one day left on earth, you think you would go grocery shopping. It was like a prayer to you—you could close your eyes and know exactly what aisle had the beef broth, or feel the stone weight of a can of San Marzano tomato paste.

That's one thing you can thank Mingyu for—it's true that you don't love him like you used to, but you refuse to believe that any love worth having is also worth leaving behind.

Fingerling potatoes, the red ones. A Vidalia onion.

You recite your shopping list, slowly, quietly, a rosary.

Baguette is the next item, with a question mark next to it because sometimes your local bakery sells out after 3.

You pass by, expecting to see the shop window cleared out. Instead you see a familiar crown of cowlicked black hair and a horribly well-worn grin that only looks good because it's on Choi Seungcheol's face.

He's paying for a pretty girl's sourdough, and thyme, rosemary gets washed out by a dizzying riptide of heartache.

It was never personal, you tell yourself. Just another date. That's the angle.

You think it hurts a little less, knowing that it all was a business transaction. A long interview.

The thyme is next to the dill. The rosemary is next to the chives, at the end of the shelf.

You watch Seungcheol lean over the tiny cafe table to take a sip of his date's Americano. Did he always laugh like that? Were you really any different?

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Monday feels tilted.

There's the usual gust of cinnamon sugar and cold brew—today's offering from the interns, who have begun to master the art of pressing the elevator buttons with full hands. Wonwoo is wearing his Monday outfit, a wrinkled cream button up under a navy blue sweater vest. Your cubicle is empty, just the way you like it, save for the ass-shaped spot cleared off on the desk edge.

You like days like this, except today you don't and you know exactly why.

"Today's the day," Joshua says, nose buried in a bakery-style muffin, the top pillowing out of the wrapper.

He stares over your shoulder at your article, locked and loaded for submission to copy.

You are not exaggerating when you say you would die for these four thousand words. You ate and cried and argued for them in what you can only describe as the worst literary coliseum of your life, and now their (and your) fate rests in Joshua’s massive Mickey Mouse hands and Wonwoo's bespectacled whimsy.

"Well, don't let me stop you." He laughs and then totters away, sucking a crumb off a finger. Just another Monday.

Your cursor hovers over the SUBMIT button. You've always been a little scared of it—unsurprising, since you're also the type to triple read an email before sending it—but there's a new kind of fear boxed in those little pixels.

Last night, you emptied out your freezer. Stuck on the back wall was a neon green sticky note, behind all the bags. See you when you get home, it said. You laughed and then you cried and then you ripped it up because that's probably what Seungcheol was looking at the morning you chewed him out.

All of that heartache must have been good for something. To say you wasted it on a no-love situationship wouldn't do any of it justice, not when all that's left is most definitely a crude shoutout on Seungcheol's next listicle. If you weren't already getting one earlier, you sure are now.

You wonder what you'll be:

10 Signs She Is Clinically Insane.

It's Not You, It's Them!

Help! My Friend With Benefits Isn't A Friend Or A Benefit!

At least that one is funny, although if it's the winning line, you don't think you can ever show your face in the office again.

The beginning and the end and the muddy in-between. Entrenched in all of it was this article and this job, and you'll be damned if you let your misplaced faith get co-opted by a sweaty-palmed Casanova.

(8:19 AM; the smell of summer and dried-down cologne. A hand on your ribcage, just beneath your heart. Good morning, Seungcheol says, as if emerging from a long, wonderful dream.)

You picture the byline with editor tacked next to your name. To run your finger over the ink spackled serif of a paper hot off the press, as if somehow it would radiate the misery you had to endure.

(11:41 PM; jajangmyeon and a pack of rice crackers. Seungcheol had given you his chopsticks because you dropped yours. The hum of the broken light outside Wonwoo's office sings in the silence of an empty newsroom. Your eyes meet, and you don't look away.)

There's a sinking feeling in your chest. You close your eyes and hit submit.

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Ask Samuel!

It's 6 PM on a Thursday and if you weren't already on your last thread, you are now. The angry red of the Daily Trojan website glares back at you from your phone as you step into the elevator with none other than your editor-in-chief.

You've resorted to reading Seungcheol's old advice columns. Not because you miss him, but because you want to know if he was ever a competent writer capable of talking about something other than how to score on a second date.

That's the only way he's beating you.

(There's also no way you miss him. The thought would make you laugh out loud if you weren't standing next to your boss).

One column became four became ten. After thirteen you concluded Seungcheol must have sustained a head injury some time before starting his job here—you can find no other explanation for how someone so generous and intuitive could've gotten lost in the chaff of articles with more pictures than words.

"Congrats," Wonwoo says, seemingly speaking into the void.

"Pardon?" You close out a particularly riveting query about estranged childhood friends to look up at him.

"Congrats."

"F-for what?" You get that head rush again, the same one you got a month ago at the Italian restaurant with Jeonghan.

"The job. You got the position." Wonwoo clears his throat calmly, as if he's not delivering the most important news of your life. "I wanted to let you know in person before we sent out Monday’s email."

For once, you have no words. In a wonderful instant, they are all zapped out of your brain. You feel hot and clammy and anxious all at once and you half expect to close your eyes and see either god or the flare of a hospital light, waking you up from an impossible coma.

"Holy shit," the primordial ooze inside you says instead. "T-thank you."

"No need."

"What about Seungcheol? Does he know?"

"I haven't told him yet, but he should be aware." Wonwoo pauses. "He didn't submit anything."

"What?!"

There are only so many surprises your body can handle. You feel like you are being held together by a fast-unraveling string on a poorly made sweater. Your stomach is somewhere in your feet and you don't even know where your heart is. Part of you is waiting for the elevator to stop so the entire office can jump out of the walls and laugh at you.

"I too was surprised," Wonwoo says, now checking his smartwatch for messages. "He must have changed his mind. No matter—I'm confident you will be an excellent fit."

The elevator jerks to a stop at the first floor. You feel boneless, like a can of cranberry sauce.

"Forgive me, I have a dinner appointment." Wonwoo ends the conversation the best way he can—with his trademark parentheses smile and a nod of the head—and leaves you in the elevator cabin alone.

All the times you've dreamed of this moment, you're tear-dizzy, joyous, fumbling with your phone to call your parents.

Instead you stand motionless, waiting, emptied.

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To make croissants, you fold a slab of butter into a square of yeasted dough. You roll it out thin and then fold it into itself before leaving it to rest in the fridge. Then you take it out again, roll it, and fold it. You do this until you've forgotten how many times you folded it and you no longer crave croissants.

When you were five, you pressed your nose to the window of your favorite patisserie and decided this is how your mind works.

You've had ample time now to flatten out Saturday morning, to watch all the little layers of doubt and loathing form, and now you're sick of it. It's not often you're star witness to your own unhappiness, but, as if you were called to the stand, you can easily play back the moment you lit the match and then watched everything explode.

You're not sure what either of you were expecting. A playboy and you, who loves so insistently, almost as if out of spite—there is truly no reality in which it makes sense. The fact that you fought over a literal pot of ramyun only proves this.

And now he's saddled you with the final blow. The position of your dreams with none of the glory because he gave up.

He gave up.

None of this should matter to you.

You're standing outside the office, waiting for your ride to your celebratory dinner (this time, on Jeonghan). The little headline man in your brain is silent for once. Instead, you try to enjoy the breeze, honeyed with late June, and not dwell on the horrible twist in your stomach every time you think about your new position. It's been 24 hours since you found out but it is no less raw.

It's then that you catch Seungcheol, creeping out the double doors of the office like some sort of criminal. You're not sure if it's the plod of his Sasquatch feet or that bag you hate so dearly, but you could recognize that walk from anywhere.

His pace quickens when you turn to face him—he's running away. You won't grant him the satisfaction. Not when he's fucked up what little you had left, and then some.

"You're an idiot, Seungcheol."

That does the trick.

"Funny way of saying hi," he responds, bracing himself on the sidewalk as if you're about to hit him.

"Why didn't you submit anything? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"What does it matter to you? You got the position."

"Look, I—" You shut your eyes, feeling the frenetic ice-cream churn of your brain try to put together a million broken up words. "I'm sorry for Saturday. But I never wanted to scare you off from the job. You deserve it as much as I do, and, as much as I hate to say it, I care about you too fucking much to watch you throw away your shot."

Saying the words is like cutting something loose from your chest, a million strings coming undone.

Seungcheol takes a deep, unsteady breath. You watch the crest and fall of his shoulders and the inescapable tar pits he calls eyes get big and shiny.

"No, I—" He pulls himself from your gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have never said that to you. And I should have never treated you like that."

The silence between you ripples, as if after a long rain.

"I was scared. A long time ago, I threw myself into a relationship. I thought we had something really, really good, and then I found out she was also seeing someone else."

Being right never felt so bad. It's even worse that something you would look forward to—the I told you so, the jokes really write themselves—no longer holds any satisfaction, only a sense of loss and a terrible urge to make it right again.

"And it's not right, but I decided that it was a mistake to take chances like that again. And it was fine, fun even, going on all of these casual dates and getting paid for it. Then you just had to mess it up."

"H-how?"

"You were so dead-set on convincing me otherwise. You wouldn't let it go, not with your weird sayings and the way you talked about your ex and when you told me you were making me breakfast. I started believing you, and it really fucking scared me."

There's a sharp pain in your head. It feels like, at once, you were skinned like a fruit. Like the interlude between dream and waking, all the sheets of sleep yanked from your person.

"What…what about the article?" you ask, scrambling. You don't really want to contend with what he just told you. You don't think you can.

"You deserved it more. And you really love what you do. I used to think it was all bullshit, but I was wrong."

You take a hard swallow. The image of Seungcheol, head bowed, a nervous hand on the back of his neck, swims in front of your eyes.

"Whatever. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore," he laughs, mirthless.

"No, wait," you say. "I-I also…never took you seriously, not even when I should've. You know, I read your advice columns. Crazy, I know."

"I do have to say that is one of your more insane claims."

"No, I thought, they were actually, you know…really good." You watch him blink, mouth already twisting up as he fights a smile. "What I'm trying to say is that I think we messed up. In a lot of ways. But I want to be friends again. Or at least not enemies."

Seungcheol takes a long pause before he sticks his hand out.

"Choi Seungcheol. Writer. It's nice to meet you."

Some force, as if you had always been connected, pulls your skin to his. You shake his hand for the very first time, and starting over never felt so good.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

"You're booking Eleven Madison for the office dinner again, right?"

Wonwoo pops his head into your office, his Monday uniform now festive with a holiday tie. Today, it's snowmen with glasses.

"Naturally," you reply. "Unless you have plans on that Friday."

You're referring to last week, when Wonwoo took a call in the middle of a staff meeting and revealed that yes, he would most definitely be available for drinks with Yerim that evening. He ended the meeting thirty short seconds later, and you think you saw him skip to the elevator.

He laughs, deep and caramel. "Not this time. Also—don't forget to review those job applications. Sent them to your email."

Before you can tease him again, he leaves, and you are forced to look at your teeming inbox, the only unfortunate side effect of your new position. But you've never been happier, and a hundred new unread emails never seemed so wonderful. The first time Jeonghan saw you in your new office, you were so giddy he thought you were coming down with something.

You take a hefty sip of today's coffee (ginger, molasses, cinnamon). On the side of the cup, the one you keep facing away from the door, reads SEUNGCHEOL and OAT, in loopy marker letters.

After you shook hands in the parking lot, you agreed to take it slow. You thought bringing everything to a simmer would cure you of your affection, but it wasn't even a month before Seungcheol was back in that same seat in your kitchen, eating the blueberry waffles you promised him.

But if slow meant long phone calls and the nervous twine of your hands after an ice cream date, then you think you like slow. You could do slow for a while.

He's taken to bringing you coffee in the morning. He claims it's your editorial right, but you think he just likes having an excuse to barge into your office. (And close the door behind him. And kiss you. But that's aside the point.)

Plus, Seungcheol's had plenty of legitimate reasons to be in your office. The newest one is the launch of Ask Sunny! , which you think is the best idea he's had since deciding to get you coffee every day. He spent the last few days campaigning to reuse his old alias, but you're pretty sure he was just looking for reasons to argue with you.

"Afternoon, boss."

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You always seem to learn the hard way with Seungcheol.

He swaggers in, ear-to-ear smile on his face, before taking a seat at the designated corner of your table.

"I think I like this desk better," he says, folding at the waist so he can lean close to you. Instead of reminding him it's the same desk, you just choose to make space for him, you let him press his nose to yours.

"Friendly reminder we're at work."

"Everyone's at lunch, genius."

He interrupts you with just a touch of his lips, which should be considered no less than a war crime by now.

"You are the worst."

"Not what you said last night. Not even close." He places another wet kiss on your nose before sliding off the table edge to his feet. There's a horrible warmth in his eyes as he watches you very clearly remember what exactly he's referring to. (A wandering hand. A cherry. Dark hair, wound through your fingers). "Anyway, I've got serious problems to solve. Or should I say Sunny? I still think we should have gone with Samuel."

"Executive decision," you tease. "Now if you don't need anything, scram. Out of my office."

"Just wanted to remind you I made reservations for us at Avra today," Seungcheol says, lingering in the doorframe with the shit-eating grin he tends to sport nowadays. "I'll even let you order."

There's no fighting the familiar bloom of laughter in your chest. It boils up, sparkling and citrusy, as you roll your eyes and watch Seungcheol return to his desk no less starry-eyed than how he walked in.

If cooking is a language, then love is the words, and you finally think you're learning to speak them.

You open the email at the top of your inbox: Seungcheol's last draft of the article he never published. You urged him to let you consider it for the next issue, and he finally caved (although you're learning that he really doesn't take much convincing when it comes to you).

Eat, Play, Love: A Guide.

Maybe you'd put it through. Maybe.

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#mine #seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #scoups x reader #scoups fluff #scoups x you #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #scoups imagines

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themeraldee · 1 month

Text

The Lucky Winner

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 8.5k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Pre-season 1. Voice kink. Oral sex. Unprotected sex.

Summary: You're a huge fan of Homelander but you always feel too awkward to ever meet your hero at a meet & greet or similar events. Your friends enter you into a Vought competition, where you've got a chance to win a phone call from Homelander himself.

Author’s Note: My first Homelander fic! Also, this is the first time I’m publishing my work. Obligatory English isn’t my first language so apologies if there are any strange turns of phrase but I happily take on criticism so feel free to correct me. I want to get better! I’m also not very good with sticking to the right tense. This is very self-indulgent so read with caution.

You can’t decide whether to hug or strangle your friends. They’re trying to be nice, you get that. But this goes against everything you’d ever do! Lovely as they are, they’ve entered you into a competition to meet your hero. To meet Homelander. The thought alone makes your head spin, your heart pound and stomach twist on itself.

‘It was just 20 bucks, what’s the worst that can happen? You win?’ Reads your friend’s message. You roll your eyes, hearing the teasing tone in your head. They know about your not-so-hidden obsession and at the end of the day they just wanted to brighten their friends day.

And sure, you are a fan. Okay, fine. You’re a big fan. Obsessed even. Every-wall-of-your-bedroom adorned-with-posters-and-promotional-materials obsessed. But you don’t want to appear like that. Last thing you’d want to come across as to your idol, you hero, is an annoying screeching fan begging for his attention.

You don’t want to be part of the crowds pawing at him, inching as close as they can just to graze his uniform with their fingertips. You don’t want to look like a feral fan. You have manners. You don’t want to be just another face, just another adoring fan begging for him to look your way. It’s hard to admit to yourself that you’ll never be more than a fan. So you don’t go to meet & greets. You don’t go to premieres. You don’t pay exorbitant fees just to meet your hero.

You’re a romantic at heart. You always imagine the first meeting to be one for the books. Maybe he saves you from a burning building flying you down, his stars and stripes billowing in the wind as he looks at you with concern etched into his handsome face, his piercing blue eyes scanning you for injuries as he talks to you with a soothing rumbling tone that sends shivers down your spine. You can clearly imagine him going, Are you okay miss?, as he descends to the ground. Or you just happen to bump into each other but he catches you with his strong arms and fast reflexes and just like that it’s love at first sight. Scenarios after scenarios. All varieties of ‘meet-cute’s play in your head on a daily basis. You spend your time getting lost in your head, dreaming of the day when it will be your turn to be the protagonist of the story. When will you be the damsel in distress? But you sigh and move on with life, because this isn’t a romance novel.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself (and others) when people ask you why you haven't tried to meet your hero.

Oh I just don’t want to be a weird obsessive fan. Plus it’s expensive!

Meeting heroes is technically easy. Vought gives people many opportunities to see their heroes for a pretty penny. They parade their heroes around like exotic animals in a zoo on a daily basis.

For you the reality is that you simply can’t handle seeing your hero up close and personal, let alone talk to him. How are you not meant to get flustered in front of what you considered to be perfection? How are you meant to find your words or even come up with words worthy of being uttered in his presence? You’re meant to look into his eyes, tell him how much of a fan you are and not fluster and burst into tears from the anxiety coiling in your gut as you wait your turn?

You don’t want that. You don’t want to be just another babbling fan. You want to stand out. You want him to remember you. You want him to think about you. But you’re also a realist and you know that at most he’ll think you just another annoying fangirl if he even grants you a passing thought. So you spare yourself those hurt feelings and you avoid meet & greets, you avoid all the fan-targeted conventions, events, promotional campaigns or competitions.

Or you always have. Until now it seems. You again scroll up in the group chat where your friends surprised you with an entry to the newest competition Vought advertised. It was presented as a fundraiser. All proceeds are planned to be donated to Samaritan’s Embrace. A simple $20 entry that would grant you a chance to be one of five lucky winners to get a personal phone call from Homelander.

A fat chance of that, you thought when you first saw the competition announced on both Vought’s and Homelander’s twitter accounts. With a competition that invites Homelander's country-wide fanbase, there really is no chance of you winning. You half-comfort yourself with that thought. You don’t know where you’d even start should you win. Part of you thinks that maybe ‘meeting’ him over the phone could be bearable as he wouldn’t be able to witness just how badly you’re holding it together.

But then you think back to all the videos you’ve watched. The reels and the tiktoks you’ve saved. The podcasts and interviews that at this point you play almost religiously. He's perfect in every way but you're particularly fond of his voice just rumbling in your ear when it gets nice and low as he talks in lengths about the upcoming movie or his most recent save. A while back you bought yourself a decent set of noise-cancelling headphones with great audio quality and suddenly it felt like he was right behind you just purring into your ears. Very few interviews record with good enough microphones to capture how mesmerising his voice is but those that do get saved and played on repeat sending shivers down your spine, following you to bed and invading your dreams. So no, maybe a phone call wouldn’t make the experience any easier on your poor heart.

You calm down after the initial panic reaffirming yourself with the reality where there’s no chance that you’ll get picked anyway. You text your friends again, kindly thanking them for thinking of you as you shook your head with an amused smile. That’s that done and forgotten about.

Or so you think. Few weeks down the line the mental discourse has long left your mind. The conversation moves on and your friends don’t mention anything since. That’s why it’s no surprise when you pick up the unknown call after the third ring with ease, casually answering with, “Hello, Y/N speaking.”

Homelander looks through the list of winners Ashley brought to his desk with a scowl on his face. He’s grumpy, having to jump through everyone’s hoops is grating on him, slowly chipping away at his showmanship armour. This is just another nail in the coffin. Now he has to make private phone calls?

He wants to be revered, loved. With people bending over backwards just to get his attention. Sure, that’s right up his alley. Get the crowds to scream his name, be grateful for his divine presence. What he isn’t a fan of is making others think they’re special. He’s the special one. Where does Vought get off thinking that he’s got the time to call and visit his fans one-on-one.

He rolls his eyes looking through the unimpressive line-up that Vought carefully curated. One of each demographic, trying to hit all the targets Vought wants him to improve his numbers with.

Each candidate has a sheet of talking points assigned to them, things to highlight, mention or even promote to each one of the fans. Normally Homelander would throw Vought’s carefully crafted response straight back to their faces but right now he’s not in the slightest interested in being clever or the fans' idea of ‘authentic’ so he’d rather rattle off a few lines from a curated list of party lines. At the end of the day he doesn’t care for this. Talking to five individual fans doesn’t help him in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t happening in public, there’s no one here to witness his generosity. Nobody to witness a god, looking down and gracing his followers with his benevolence.

Vought believes the individual approach will be worth it in the long run. That apparently fans will come running to any future events and competitions seeing as real people they might know have won in the past. All Homelander sees is at most five twitter mentions from a few nobodys.

He’s got about an hour in the calendar to get through all of these. Though he's banking on this taking a lot less time. There are many more important things he could be doing instead.

He flips through the files again, each profile is filled out with a name, number and a photo, deciding on the least painful order. A young boy, an elderly woman, a middle aged comic enthusiast, some punk teenager and you. Homelander looks at your profile with mild interest. You’re the only one who Vought didn’t manage to find a good quality recent photo of. Clearly you don’t do social media. Yet the quality doesn’t take away from the intrigue your profile inspired. You’re easily the most interesting in the list but that’s not that hard to do. Still, Homelander puts yours at the end of the list. Saving the best for last.

“Hellooo and congratulations! This is Homelander and you’re one of the few lucky cookies who get to have a little chit chat with me.” All air gets sucked out of your lungs and the ease with which you picked up the phone is gone. Your eyes widen, breath caught in your throat only coming out in confused little stutters. This isn’t real. It can’t be!

Whether it’s a particularly vivid dream or your world is actually turning upside down you’re glad this happened at home. Your knees buckle, your ass landing straight on your bed, your legs trembling with nervous energy as you sit down.

“W-what?” You manage to blurt out, more breathy than not. Your heart is pounding like never before. You wouldn’t be surprised if he can hear it over the phone, it feels loud to your ears.

“The competition? You entered, right?” His voice. His fucking voice was right in your ear and you felt like melting into a puddle of goo. Anything to spare you the embarrassing words that are surely about to come out of your mouth one way or another.

“Oh… um…” You are blowing it. There’s no other word for it. Totally embarrassing yourself. Not able to say a word, still trying to calm your heart down.

“Are you not a fan? Have I got the wrong number–?”

“N-no no! No…I mean yes. I mean sorry…fuck.” You are totally losing it. The hand holding your phone is shaking with nervous energy.

“Hey hey hey…. Come on now. Take it easy. Now take a deep breath aaand relax.” His voice is rich and sweet like honey, just like you’ve heard on TV but here it feels intimate. Just for you. He’s not talking to anybody else. As he hears your stuttered intake of breath and a mildly calmed exhale he coos again. “That’s it. Breathe with me. Now in.” If only he knew that this is making things so much worse for you. “And out.”

“I’m so sorry. I meant to say, I am a fan but I don’t do this.” Your voice still trembles with each word but you’re a little more composed.

“What? Call people?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, he's clearly pleased with his little joke.

“No.” You can’t help yourself but chuckle, your lips spreading in a wide grin. Your heart is still pounding but it’s more excitement than embarrassment. You’re actually talking to Homelander. And you have already embarrassed yourself beyond belief but he’s still here! He’s still talking to you. He doesn’t even sound upset. “I mean I don’t meet you guys. Heroes. I don’t really know how to do this. I mean I pretty much live on your doorstep and I’ve never met either one of you.” Now that he calmed you down, getting you talking, you can’t stop talking.

“Really? Some fan you are.” Were you of a sound mind you’d hear the joke but now all you could think is that you’ve upset him. And you can’t have him think that. Sure you’ve always wanted to stand out but not in a negative way! You take it to heart and you apologize.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to offend. At all! Really! It’s just, you don’t need another person begging for an autograph that they can brag with to their friends or sell online for a quick buck.”

He exhales a little breathy laugh that has your whole body flush hot. “Oh, aren’t you adorable.” The panic that was inflating in you like a hot air balloon finally fizzled out. Instead it’s replaced by a throbbing heat in between your legs and you place your free hand over your heart, almost trying to will your body into behaving normally. “You know if you want I can send you some, would be a shame for such a sweet fan to not have anything personalised. I’ll sign it with your name.” He offers, a nice gesture, really, but you are currently having a whole body meltdown to even appreciate it for what it was.

“O-oh,that isn’t—You don’t have to—”

He continues nonetheless.

“Y/N, is it? Beautiful name.” Your name rolls off his tongue perfectly, all soothing and sweet. And there you go, melting into a puddle just for him.

“You don’t have to be nervous. I don’t bite. At least, not over the phone.” You let your hand trail down your body. He’s just talking. He’s just making jokes. He’s just trying to strike up a conversation to make such a freaked out fan of his a little calmer and there you are getting your rocks off on this.

“Sorry. It’s hard not to be. I’ve been a fan of yours for a long while. I didn’t expect I’d ever get to talk to you. It’s kind of you to do things like this for us fans. I’m sure you’re busy. Thank you for taking the time.” You distract yourself from the throbbing that’s just calling for your hand to settle heavily in between your shaking thighs.

“Oh no problem. Wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for all my loyal fans, right?” You should really stop moving your hand down your body. But you can’t help the effect he has on you, you’re not acting normal!

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s the fame that makes you special. It’s you.” You breathe you all dreamy before realising this isn’t just one of your fantasies. No. You really are talking to Homelander. You cough a little, pretending like you had something stuck in your throat.

“It is?”

“I think so. Change into civilian clothing and I’m sure you’ll still be turning heads.” You speak normally now but you bite your lip at the end, your hand now just above your pubic bone.

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this plenty.” Oh, of course you have. Your body is screaming at you to take the plunge, to slip your hand down your panties, and make yourself feel like this is more than just a friendly fan call. But your mind is, correctly, telling you that this is beyond inappropriate.

“Ah no! I just mean that you’re perfect at what you do. There’s nobody like you. Noone could take your spot. So it’s more than just fans.” You’re surprised you’re still carrying on. You feel like your brain is turning into mush with each word he’s saying.

“What can I say? I take my job very seriously.” He goes on to talk about being a leader of the Seven, you guess he’s just trying to fill space seeing as you’re such a blubbering mess. Even with all his efforts at making this normal, your brain turns all the innocent words into the filthiest dirty talk.

“Look, I’d love to talk to you some more but I’m afraid I’ll have to end it there. I’m late for a talk show interview.” You retract your hand as if it got burnt and instead you grab onto the comforter you’re sitting on, stopping yourself from doing anything impulsive.

“O-of course.” Your heart rate is elevated again, something about the thought of him leaving and you never getting the chance to speak to him again makes you want to scream.

“Tell you what, I don’t want to be unfair to you. You hardly got your prize. I’ll call you later. You free in the evening?”

“Y-yes.”

“Perfect.”

Perfect. You’re fucking perfect. Homelander can’t stop the way his lips stretch into a predatory grin. You are exactly what a fan should be like. Swooning over him. Grateful that he’s even bothering to grace you with his presence. You were practically kneeling, bent over before him on the floor, kissing his feet as he gave you a taste of his divine presence. He has half a mind to take care of the uncomfortable hard-on pressing into his rigid suit. He couldn’t help himself when you were being such a sweet little thing. He feels no remorse at having rubbed himself through his suit as you were there on the other side of the phone, undeniably shaking in excitement, all flustered and tense and most certainly aroused. But no, he wants to wait his turn. He needs the real thing. He’s not planning on letting you go that easy.

Originally he was pissed that most of his time on the phone was taken up by the elderly woman who was talking his ear off. Now he’s thinking about sending her a gift basket. He has a real excuse to see you.

When Homelander wants something he’s like a hunter, doing everything he can to lure his prey into his trap. In this case he abuses his powers to get the Crime Analytics team to dig up your address and in the meanwhile he sits through a mind-numbingly boring interview at a low-tier talk show he really shouldn’t need to waste his time on.

The only thing that keeps him going is the thought that you might be watching. You seem like a big fan. You surely wouldn’t dare miss out on his live appearances. The thought alone gives him enough drive to not laser through the talk show host everytime she asks a stupid question and instead he imagines he’s speaking straight to you.

When the show is over he takes off before his team can steer him towards another boring chore. No, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like any good predator he observes. He waits until it’s the right time to strike. That’s why he’s perched at the top of the building that’s opposite yours. He’s got a clear line of sight to your apartment but he’s careful in making sure you can’t see him.

He watches, his grin reappearing every damn time he sees you reach your phone, checking if your ringer is on for the tenth time. You are an easy target, he can swoop in anytime and sweep you off your feet but he wants it to be perfect. With sick fascination he keeps watching you, your behaviours and patterns as you pace around your room trying to preoccupy your mind with mindless thoughts. He knows that nothing you do can now fill the void that he left behind. What else can replace the purr of his voice in your ear, soothing and exciting you at the same time. Nothing. There’s nobody like him. You said it yourself.

An hour of self-indulgent watching later he decides to end your misery. You just look so upset and disappointed and he knows you’ll just melt in his presence. He needs to be close to you. He got a little sprinkle of what you're like over the phone and now he’s got a craving for the real thing. He needs to feel you, smell you, hear your poor heart trying to keep up with the excitement right in his ear.

So with a quick drop he descends.

The day has gone by torturously slow for you. You spend every minute checking your phone in case your ringer randomly fails you and you won’t catch the second call from Homelander. Just thinking that makes your thighs quiver. The thought of having him purr into your ear any longer wets your panties all over again. But over the coming hours your enthusiasm deflates. It’s getting late and your chances of ever getting a call back are low.

You emerge from the bathroom, fresh and clean, in your pyjamas ready to sleep today’s rollercoaster of emotions away. Or you would be if it wasn’t for a knock at your balcony door interrupting your thoughts and making you flinch in surprise. The flash of red and blue still so vibrant and colourful against the midnight sky has your breath catching in your throat. What the fuck?!

You open the balcony door in shock, and if you had the strength to do so you would have ripped it off its hinges with pure eagerness. There he is in all his patriotic glory. Homelander. A wide grin on his face, posture ramrod straight as he clasps his gloved hands behind his back, puffing his chest out.

“H-Homelander?!” Your voice quivers at the proximity, your heart picks up speed again and you feel your entire body flush both in embarrassment and excitement. Your first thought goes to how you currently look rather than questioning his motives or how he even found where you live in the first place.

Trying to regain your composure you shake your head, blinking as if he was just a figment of your imagination. Maybe your devout obsession with him is finally damaging your mental state, making you hallucinate.

“Good evening, Y/N.” God, how does he do that! The way your name slips off his tongue so easily, with such familiarity makes you clench and part your lips with a gasp. Any sort of composure you’ve regained crumbling to dust. Now you are just awkwardly gawking, in awe at the unreal figure in front of you, in the flesh. Homelander doesn’t wait to be invited in, strutting into your modest apartment like it belongs to him, the confident strides of his red boots loud and heavy against the creaky floor of your apartment. He takes up the living space confidently, somehow making you feel like you don't belong in your own space. His presence took priority, anything else secondary—you included.

“How did you—” Your question of how he found where you live doesn’t even get fully asked, let alone answered. He cuts in, not actually caring about your justified worry over having your address handed out willy-nilly.

“Our call was a bit too short to my liking. You don’t mind a little late-night visit, do you?” You feel disarmed. His voice turns gravelly, lowering with each word. His tone teasing as if he was telling you a secret, so unlike his television persona where he’s all American apple pie values and open arms with clear intentions. Here, he grinned widely—all teeth with his sharp canines bared to you like the predator he is. Like you’re his next meal. “Ohohoo, would you look at this. Maybe you are my biggest fan, huh?”

You are distracted by his voice, his presence, just him that you fail to notice his eyes wandering around your apartment. Your face flushes red in embarrassment as you see him assessing your safe space, or what felt like your safe space before this ambush, all with an amused grin on his face.

“These are all limited edition. Must have cost you a small fortune.” Holding a breath you watch him take his gloves off one by one, placing the leather on your table with a soft thwack. It feels forbidden, not meant for your eyes. The public doesn’t get to see Homelander as anything other than perfect. His image manicured, perfected to the tiniest details. Seeing his surprisingly elegant bare hands, this up close feels intimate yet threatening like he’s unsheathed his sword, revealing one of the many hidden weapons he can use against you.

You watch as he brushes his fingers against limited edition action figurines, box sets, posters and trinkets featuring his likeness or the logo emblem Vought associates with him. If it was anyone else you’d tell them to keep their paws away from your most prized possessions but it's Homelander. Who else gets the right to touch special limited edition merchandise of his own likeness?

You watch as he paces the room with an unreadable expression. The embarrassment you feel transforms into an apology, heavy on your tongue as you force your mouth open, letting your shame out into the world. It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed in his presence.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” He turns his head over his shoulder with a curious expression. A swoop of his blonde hair handsomely falling into his face. He puts down one of the figurines he picked up earlier as he scouted the area.

“All this stuff.” You wave your hand around, the grand display of what can only be described as the Church of Homelander, a shrine dedicated to his divine existence. You see how it looks, how it makes you look like a rabid fan. Though you’re anything but. “I know it’s a little strange. I don’t want to make you feel like a museum piece. Or-or-or a circus animal! I just admire you. A lot.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Your breath catches in your throat as he turns around fully, facing you head on, one slow step inching towards you at a time. You gulp, feeling like you’re left in the dark regarding his intentions as you hopelessly struggle to read him. On the opposite spectrum you’re there, an open book, your heart on your sleeve, your every thought written so clearly on your face you may as well give him your diary to flip through. “More than anything.” Breathlessly you add, meeting his eyes as a challenge. You’re devout, as loyal as it gets. You’d do anything for him if he asked.

Homelander rises to your mental challenge with a grin so sharp you feel the metaphorical bite coming before he even opens his mouth as he steps closer. He’s so close now. Any ordinary man could feel the thud of your heartbeat, but to his keen senses it’s a war drum and he’s marching to a battle he’s already won. His bare, elegant hands make their way to your jaw caressing it with a surprising gentleness. You flinch. Even though you watched it happen with wide eyes, you didn’t expect his hands to leave you unmarred. You almost expect your skin to sizzle, unworthy of his divine touch.

Homelander’s grin disappears, his tongue gliding along his teeth as if he’s cleaning them before he devours his next meal. All that leaves you is a little whimper before he pulls you in, his hands thrumming with incomprehensible strength as he kisses you. He kisses the air out of your lungs as if you could survive without it like he can. As if you could meet him in the middle. But dammit you do your best to. He’s a passionate kisser, incapable of sticking to soft kisses. No, he devours. He licks your lips open, his tongue gliding along yours. You brace your hands against his chest, already feeling weak in the knees. The heat of his breath and the wetness of his tongue in your mouth is nothing compared to how hot and wet you feel in your panties.

It doesn’t help that he’s vocal. You kiss him harder anytime he growls or moans into your lips, his voice vibrating against your lips just possessing you more. And soon it turns into a game of who can dish it out harder. Each devoted kiss makes him hum and purr which in turn melts you into a pile of goo, making you kiss him harder. Your lips feel hot, swollen from the ferocious kissing. You’re nearing the limit of what your lungs can manage without resurfacing for air.

Homelander pulls away but he doesn’t give you any time to recover. As if you could. How do you recover from that? Instead he’s adamant about making your heartbeat hit record heights. His hands glide down your body, featherlight touches that make your skin break out into goosebumps as he settles on your hips, trailing the waistband of your pants. His pink wet lips spread into another predatory smile and before you know it he leans closer to your ear, practically purring, “Tell me, if I take these off will I find you wearing Homelander panties too?”

Flustered squeak escapes you as he laughs wholeheartedly at your embarrassment. You know he knows. He’s teasing you for a reason. “They’re comfortable.” You eventually grumble, pouting like a child getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I bet they are.” He sinks down to one knee, his hands taking the waistband of your pants with him as he pulls them down over your thighs, letting the fabric pool by your ankles. He pats your ankle, prompting you to step out of them. You comply, kicking the fabric away earning a little word of praise from him. “Attagirl.” You’re visibly trembling as he kneels in front of you, his eyes locked on the sight of your blue panties with his emblem and name right across the middle in gold, all accentuated by a red trim. It would be far from sexy in any other circumstance but he purrs at the sight. All pleased like the cat that got the cream. “Got my name across your pussy all day long?”

Before you could react like any other person would, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. You yelp, losing your balance trying to grab onto his head or shoulders for support but he puts his arm on your back, sliding it right under your top keeping you straight and secure whether you want it or not. You’re not leaving until he says so. “Might as well fucking taste it seeing as it’s already mine, don’t you think?” He gives you a hungry look licking his lips before hoisting your other leg over his shoulder, standing up with ease. He walks you back against a wall as he eagerly inhales the scent of you, his head perfectly in between your warm thighs.

“Woah!” You stabilise yourself, finally having more surface to lean against. The fabric of your top glides along the surface of the glossy posters he has you pressed against. Making you the centerpiece, surrounding you with his likeness. You finally process what the fuck is happening as you feel his nose pressing into the soaked fabric of your panties. “Homelander! Y-you….ohh…” You whimper, your hands automatically finding comfort and safety in between his golden locks.

“Fuck you smell good.” Homelander growls, his hands now on your ass, holding you in place as he sticks his tongue out, pressing it wetly over your soaked panties. The taste of you already coating all his taste buds.

“O-oh fffuuck. OH god…yes…yes please.” You don’t stop yourself from moaning freely, the time for embarrassment long gone as Homelander lifts one hand from your ass, impatiently pulling the fabric of your Homelander panties to the side, his tongue already slipping in for a taste before his hand even makes it back to squeeze your ass. “Taste just as fucking good.” His voice strained, uttering filth in between your thighs.

His thick tongue pushes through the slit of your weeping pussy, lapping up what you’ve so graciously prepared just for him. And as you watch a mop of blonde hair greedily slurp at your wetness like he’s parched, you think back to the fantasies that drove you to orgasm after orgasm as the imaginary Homelander ate your pussy.

Well, for one the real thing is a lot more enthusiastic than you ever imagined him to be. He is sucking on your clit in rhythm that has you throb harder, making your toes curl. “Ohhh, Homelander!” You reward him with a loud moan of his name, like a prayer on your lips. And you repeat it with each masterful lick around your clit that has you squirming in his hold, legs quivering around his head, fingers tugging at his hair.

The second thing you never considered was how much his powers would come into play. Here he is with a deathly strong iron grip around your ass, easily holding you up on his shoulders against the wall while pushing you as close into his face as he can. The thought of not being able to escape his grip exhilarates you as much as it terrifies you. His lack of need for air makes him a perfect devout lover. Because this is pure devotion except it seems he forgot who was meant to worship who.

You’d be embarrassed by the obscene sounds you two are making if it didn’t feel so good. You moan for him prettily as he licks up all the wetness he’s coaxing out of you. You breath hitches as you feel your orgasm building. He's consistent, giving you just the right pressure. Homelander looks up at you, eyes glassy and blown back with lust before he swiftly repositions you, needing just one arm to make you feel weightless yet secure in his hold as he takes his free hand plunging two fingers into you revelling in the feeling of your cunt clenching around him.

“Oh there there there! Ahhh!” You guide him, his fingers pumping into you and with his tongue still working magic on your clit you whimper out, “oh fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna–.” You fall apart in his arms, cumming on Homelander’s tongue like you’ve imagined many times over. With you thrashing around you rip the poster right behind you unaware of the mess you’re leaving behind. He licks you through the waves crashing through you. He’s smug, you can feel the smirk against your pussy as he gives it one more kiss before easily slipping you off his shoulders, preening with satisfaction. “Mhmm you did so good.” His voice purred and even in your post-orgasm haze you flush with fresh heat at the praise.

He gives you time to compose yourself but you don’t want it. You want him. You need him. Your legs feel like jelly so you immediately sink to your knees, nuzzling your face into his crotch. Too eager to wait. Homelander cooed at your enthusiasm, “Look at that. Didn’t even have to tell you.” He chuckles, voice thick with lust, his lips and chin still glistening from the way he feasted on you.

Wobbly and out of your mind, you reach for his belt, unable to figure out how to unclasp it, your dexterity not quite there either to be able to wiggle the hem of his pants underneath it and pull them down.

You look up at him with the face of a kitten that’s not getting what it wants. Pouting and pleading for help.

“Christ, let me help you with that.” Homelander unclasps his belt, letting it hit the floor with a loud and heavy clang and the thought of it denting the cheap flooring doesn’t even graze your mind. He unzips his pants and the hiss alone makes your mouth water. He pushes his pants a little lower and you stare wide eyed at where his thematically red briefs are tented, his cock throbbing and leaking pre-cum into the thin fabric.

Okay, this you can do. Your hands slide up his thighs, getting a little feel of the bare skin of his thighs. Unmarred, smooth and hot. Your hand briefly squeezes around his cock through his briefs, forcing Homelander to hiss through his teeth. You pull down his briefs, bunching them down with the thick fabric of his suit.

You try not to stare and drool but you’ve imagined his cock in your dreams and fantasies so many times that seeing it in real life just kind of blows your fucking mind. It’s perfect. A bit longer than average but especially nice and thick. You lick your lips in anticipation. His hand rests on the back of your head, giving your hair a tug.

“You gonna keep staring or will you put those pretty lips to work?” His gruff tone tears you from the haze.

You blush, being caught staring. Wanting to please your hero you apologize, “sorry, it’s just so perfect. You’re perfect.” You breathe out in pure adoration.

“Come on then, be a good girl and open up for your hero. I want my cock wet before I slide it into that needy pussy.” He looks down at you with a sharp smile, his other hand rests on your jaw before moving up squeezing the hollow of your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. Not that he has to, you’re more than willing to deliver. You open wider, making his hand withdraw as you take matter into your own hands. Literally. You grip the base of his cock, feeling how hefty and hot it feels. It hits you in that moment that you’re holding Homelander’s cock. Fuck. You’re gonna be dreaming of this moment for years to come.

You look up, giving him one more doe-eyed look before you stick your tongue out easing the swollen red head in between your lips. The salty, musky taste of his pre-cum on your tongue makes you whimper, your eyebrows furrow with concentration as you focus on banking the memory of his taste in your head. Eagerly you get right into it. Down and dirty. You focus on him, coating him with an ungodly amount of saliva until anytime you pop off him you’re followed by strings of it connecting you two. His grunts and heavy breaths just urge you to do better. So you take him deeper, slurping around the saliva you've made for him, bobbing your head up and down.

You nearly lose your rhythm when he lets out such a needy wanton moan, making your pussy throb.

“Thaaat’s it, come on—fuck!—deeper, yeah yeaahh you got it sweetheart. God fuck that’s fucking it.” He’s nearly whimpering, so lost in the sensation. And you're eating it up. Each whimper and word goes straight to your pussy and at this point you wouldn't be surprised if you were making a puddle on the floor.

His hand forces your head down deeper and you gag, choking around him as for a second your nose bumps the neat thatch of hair above his cock. He's not easily dissuaded and he pushes again, a little softer this time. You almost feel the tremble of his hands, he's so close to unravelling. Just for you. The swell of pride pushes you forward and you take him deeper. He takes the chance to push both hands into your hair as he starts fucking your face.

“Take it. Take it.” He grunts, his voice more and more broken with every thrust. You're just about to push his thighs back, attempting to fight against his unyielding force but his hips stutter and he groans, letting out broken moans as he spills on your tongue.

As if on command you swallow and he pulls out, wiping the residual dribbles of cum on your lips. Now that he’s done you realise just how fucking badly your jaw aches. You whimper at the ache of your jaw and the ache between your legs.

You’re still kneeling on the floor, a picture of pure devotion, with your mouth messy and lips swollen. He grumbles at the picture in front of him. He pulls you up by your hair, kissing the taste of himself out of your lips. You can still taste your pussy on his lips and tongue as he shoves it into your mouth. “Bed?” He's somehow more than ready to continue and mentally you add his extraordinary refractory period to the list of his many talents.

You nod a broken, “y-yeah, this way,” the taste of him still heavy on your tongue as you lead him to your bedroom.

He lets out a little chuckle at the state of your bedroom, just as decorated with his brand as was the rest of your apartment. “Fuck me, you really are my biggest fan.”

You’re about to apologize, again, and he can read you like an open book already shushing you. “Shh, don’t say it. C’mere, take this off instead. Want to see you.” He tugs at your top, wanting you to take it off. Like unwrapping a present. You let out a few breathless ‘okay’s and pull the top over your head baring your entire body to him, save for the panties that were still uncomfortably pushed to the side. He clearly wants you to keep them on and you’re not sure whether that’s his narcissism or possessiveness talking. You don’t dare comment on the fact that he’s still fully dressed. You’re not gonna start demanding things from the Homelander now are you?

With a step closer he purrs, pushing you to the bed intensely watching as your tits bounce when your back hits the comforter. He follows as he lays over the top of you but he doesn't look at you. He picks up the grimacing Homelander plushie he sees on your pillow— the one that's predominantly advertised to kids. He holds it up for you to see with a raised eyebrow, the look almost condescending. “What? They make no other official plushies!” You defend yourself.

“Is there anything you don't have?”

You don't know what possessed you to answer, “yeah, you,” but Homelander eats it right up as he grins at you.

“Cheeky slut. Well you're about to. On your side.” He says sliding off you to rest on his side looking you up and down hungrily. You’re clearly surprised at his choice of position and he grumbles with annoyance as you take forever to move the way he wants you to. His impatience gets the best of him and he effortlessly manipulates you to your side, slotting right behind you. Homelander grips your inner thigh lifting your leg a little higher, as he nestles his cock right against your wet cunt.

You sigh with partial relief, feeling him solid against you feels good. Feeling him inside you would feel even better. “Jesus, you're still so fucking wet.”

“It's all your fault.” You whimper trying to wiggle in his unyielding hold. He just tuts at you gripping you tighter, cusping on pain.

He pulls you close, his cock sliding in between your slit, immediately getting the top of his cock wet. His lips trail up your jaw until he reaches your ear. He growls, low and sexy, nipping at the sensitive skin of your ear. Your heart skips a beat, your pussy throbs as the sound of him just ripples through you.

“Maybe it is. You know, I've been thinking. You're such a nervous little thing.” He grinds his hips into you, dragging his cock back and forth, teasing you. His voice got quiet, dropping a register lower. All slow and drawled out he continues rumbling in your ear clearly aware of what it's doing to you. “You were beside yourself when I called you. So there I am thinking nobody gets that nervous, not unless they’re trying to hide how fucking turned on they are.” He keeps fucking talking and talking, making you shiver to the point where you feel goosebumps rise all over you. Your breath ragged, your eyes fluttering shut.

You're starting to understand why he was particular about this position. After all, he could read you like a book from the get go.

“At first I thought it was just me because you're such a big fan.” He coos in a condescending tone. He licks the outer edge of your ear and you shriek, thrashing in his uncompromising hold. “But no no nooo. It's not that. Because everytime I spoke, your heartbeat sped up. You know, I was worried about you there for a minute. Then there was your pussy. You get so wet the air is thick with it. I can't even fucking breathe without tasting your sweet cunt.” You let out a broken sound, close to a sob, you pussy throbbing so hard he must feel it even without being inside you. You didn't even consider that his senses can easily sniff your secret out.

He’s still rubbing his cock in between your folds, sliding the whole length of it up and down. It’s slick and loud and so good and holy shit your clit is burning from the way his head catches on it with every thrust. You're so close and your body is on fire. You so desperately want to cum with something inside you but he’s cruel. He's not gonna give it to you just yet. “And look at that, you're still getting wetter. They do say it's always the unassuming ones.” He chuckles into your ear, low and vibrating against you.

“Is that it? Do you get off to the sound of my voice? Do you watch videos of me, listening to interviews while you finger your little pussy?” He's going harder, the wet sound of your pussy slicking his way in between your slit is deafening, embarrassingly loud. “Tell me.” The little command growls in your ear and you force your lips open.

“Y-yes! Yes….I-I find your voice sexy.” You admit to your little shameful secret. You admit that one of the reasons you never met him was because you didn't want to get sopping wet in a crowd full of screaming fans. “Don't stop, please.” You moan out, quiet and broken, your embarrassment making way to pure pleasure. Now that it's out in the open, what is there to hide?

“Do you even care what I say? Huh? I could be reading out the fucking phone book and your pussy would still get wet. Greedy little thing. What’s it gonna be? You gonna cum to my voice or are you gonna be difficult?” You're burning hot, your body so so tense, the leg he's hitched up a little trembling against his strong grip. His cock is still hitting your clit in the perfect fucking way and you're so so so close.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop! Oh fuck, Homelander—don’t—ahhh!” The dam bursts, a wave of pleasure sweeping over you as you scream. Homelander pulls back and with one deft stroke he slides his cock inside you. He doesn't move. He growls at the feeling of your cunt just pulsing against him. He's so thick inside you, stretching you wide, filling every crevice.

He whimpers and you feel how tense he is holding off the orgasm threatening to burst inside him.

Just as you think this must be the end of it, your mind just a buzzing noise, he pulls out moving back and he pushes you on your back.

You never expected him to be so active in bed but he's already in between your legs, his hands clamping down on the clammy flesh of the back of your thighs and he spreads you open. He's on his knees, his hands slide and curl from the back of your thighs to the top as he pulls you in, slowly sliding his cock into you in one push.

He doesn't wait for anything. He just fucks you. Hard and fast, really getting himself off more than you. Surrounded by posters and merch all carrying his likeness while he plunges into you again and again. Your hair is plastered to your forehead as you watch your hero utterly ruin you. You're sweaty, absolutely spent and tired while he's pushing into you without breaking a sweat.

This round isn't for you yet it's gonna be a memory you'll frequent the most. The look on his face, pure lust and torture as he's fucking you with as much strength as he allows himself.

With how he's got your hips propped up he's managing to hit all your best spots as your overstimulated nerves light up, giving him one last finish, your pussy’s quivers pushing him over the edge as well.

Then there's a little hot spurt of him inside you but you're surprised when he pulls out shooting most of his load with a few strokes of his fist all over your panties and stomach.

“Ahh fuck. Look at that, finally got your first autograph.” He snorts, amused, admiring the sight in front of him. His cum has already soaked into your panties, the ‘Homelander’ text changing into a darker colour as both his cum and your slick from the previous round drench the fabric.

You flush hot red and you shake your head, amused by his antics. “That's disgusting.” But strangely, you're charmed.

“I should take a picture. You look great like this.”

He notes as he slides off your bed pulling his briefs over his finally softening cock, tucking himself back into his suit.

“Stay?” You say softly, offering him the space for his benefit more than yours. Even though you'd like him to stay for a cuddle you know you'll be out of it in a minute.

“Can't do I'm afraid, duty calls.”

You nod, understanding. “Thank you, I really feel like a winner.” You snorted, thinking back to how the day even started.

He looks at you almost fondly, but your orgasm-hazy brain might just not be working anymore.

“Until next time.” He says as a goodbye and you end up tucking yourself into bed. The last thing you hear is the click of his belt he picked up from the living room, the creak of the leather gloves he slides back on and the sonic boom of him flying away.

And you know that when you wake up if it wasn't for your ruined panties, your throbbing cunt or even the ripped poster in the living room you wouldn't believe any of it was real.

You sure hope there will be a next time.

[Part 2]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story)

#ahhhhhh it's done #I'm so pleased with myself for finishing this #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #homelander fanfiction #my writing #the boys fanfiction

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