#Partition Assistant

[songs345]

10 Best Songs of Arijit Singh

[shabbirpc2]

AOMEI Partition Assistant Crack is one of the most reliable & user-friendly disk partition management tool. It's an amazing utility that is helpful for

[eclipsaria]

Took You Long Enough

Summary // In which a workaholic CEO finds his calm in the form of his respected senior’s daughter.

Pairing:

CEO! Seungcheol x reader

Warnings:

Fluff, slow-burn, romance, engaged, age gap(10 years), mentioned of kids, married, food, cologne and watch brand names, sugar daddy! Seungcheol if you squint, lmk if i miss out any

Side characters:

SVT members

W/C:

12 671

Rating: [ 13+ SFW ]

Note:

@nerdycheol , you are the one that suggested the watch brand and Hermés cologne brand🤣 and you as a cheol's wife, i take anything you said🫡

Song:

Main Masterlist

Seventeen Masterlist

Taglist

Âme Sœur Masterlist

The office buzzed to life every morning by 8:00 a.m. A polished world of swift elevator dings, the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, and the faint scent of espresso lingering near the breakroom. Floors were lined with pristine glass partitions, and employees moved with a subtle urgency, well aware of the silent clock that ticked behind every deadline.

On the top floor, behind a sleek black door embossed with silver letters, was the corner office of Choi Seungcheol, the man who built the company from the ground up. He wasn’t just the CEO, he was the presence. Charismatic, sharp, and composed, Seungcheol was known for walking into a room and changing its air pressure with just a glance. Rumor had it that he could read a financial report faster than most people could skim a menu, and no one ever left a meeting with him without either a promotion, a plan, or a panic attack.

But beneath his tailored suits and impenetrable gaze was a man with a past no one dared to ask about, and a reputation he carried like armor.

Today, as sunlight spilled through the towering windows of his office, Seungcheol stood facing the city skyline, coffee in hand, unaware that the day ahead would shift everything he thought he had under control.

At just 30 years old, Choi Seungcheol had already climbed the summit most people only dreamed of. It was hard to believe he started as a low-level assistant at the age of 20. No connections, no shortcuts, just a relentless work ethic and a vision that burned behind his sharp eyes. He wasn’t born into wealth, nor did he inherit the company. Every step upward was carved with grit and sleepless nights.

Now serving his second year as CEO, there wasn’t a single person in the company who questioned his leadership. Titles didn't need to be old to command respect, not when every project under his lead launched with flawless execution, crushing expectations and setting new industry standards. His name echoed in boardrooms across the city as a young prodigy, the kind of leader who didn't just manage—but rewrote—the playbook.

What made him even more admired, or perhaps feared, was how calm he remained in the face of chaos. Seungcheol didn’t just make decisions; he made the right ones and fast. He listened more than he spoke, observed more than he intervened, and when he did speak, the room listened.

He turned back from the window now, placing his coffee on the desk as his assistant knocked twice on the door.

“Come in,” he said coolly, buttoning his suit jacket.

In a world where soulmates were real, love was less of a question and more of a certainty. The rule was simple. When you meet your soulmate, just one look into their eyes, and you’ll hear wedding bells. Not a metaphor—actual bells. Ringing in your ears like a celebration only you two could hear. After that, everything seemed to fall into place, like the universe giving you a neatly wrapped ending: soulmates meet, fall in love, and live happily ever after.

Well… everyone except Choi Seungcheol.

His friends, his closest circle, were either happily married, halfway through wedding plans, or sending him pictures of their toddlers with captions like “Uncle Cheol, when’s your turn?” The world was moving fast, and for someone like him, who always caught up quickly, this was the one race he couldn’t outrun.

He wasn’t single because he hated love. He just didn’t want to gamble with emotions. Exes and soulmates don’t mix well. What if he fell in love with someone who wasn’t the one? What if he broke someone’s heart only to meet his true soulmate later, and it all came crumbling down? So he stayed away from flings, from love, from anything that could mess with the balance of his life.

Still, it didn’t stop the slow crawl of anxiety. He wasn’t worried about getting married late, he was worried about his parents.

At 27, his mother had set him up on a blind date with someone’s daughter, he showed up out of respect, but came home early with a headache.

At 28, his father mailed out carefully written profiles of Seungcheol to other families with daughters, practically advertising him like some limited-edition luxury product.

By 29, they dropped all pretense and started pushing for an arranged marriage. “Just meet her, see if your eyes ring,” they said. He didn’t.

Now at 30, Seungcheol didn’t know what plan his parents were cooking up, but whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

But what could he do? Nothing. And so, as always, he chose the routine that never disappointed him: Wake up. Go to the office. Handle meetings. Review reports. Sign approvals. Go home. Sleep.

It was safe. Predictable and efficient.

It was just another day at work. The usual hum of morning emails and the faint buzz of distant phones filled the air, when Seungcheol’s secretary knocked once before entering, arms full with neatly stacked document files.

She placed them on his desk without a word at first, as he flipped through the last few pages of a report. But then, came a rare request.

“Mr. Shin from Jeonghwa Group has extended an invitation. It’s a masquerade party,” she said, tone light but respectful. “Held by his wife. They’re hoping for your attendance.”

The name made Seungcheol look up, pausing mid-page. “…Mr. Shin?”

She nodded. “Yes. He personally requested your presence.”

Choi Seungcheol blinked once, then leaned back in his chair. Mr. Shin wasn’t just anyone, he was a veteran in the business world, one of the few people Seungcheol looked up to when he first entered the corporate jungle at twenty. Sharp, poised, but known for his warm charisma, Mr. Shin had once told Seungcheol over lunch: “Success is important, but relationships will carry you further than numbers ever will.”

Unfortunately, Seungcheol never quite grasped the latter.

He was never a party type. In his mind, parties disrupted efficiency. Hours wasted in polite conversation, standing under chandeliers, sipping drinks he didn’t care for. He didn’t hate people, he just… preferred structure.

But this invitation wasn’t something he could brush off. Not when it came from Mr. Shin. Refusing could send the wrong message, and disappointing both Mr. Shin and his wife was out of the question.

A soft sigh escaped his lips.

“…Tell them I’ll attend,” he said finally, a faint crease forming between his brows. “Clear the schedule for that night. If there are any clashes, push them back. And set a time for shopping. Something formal. Masked.”

“Understood,” his secretary replied with a slight smile, already tapping notes into her tablet as she turned to leave.

The door clicked shut behind her, and then silence returned. Seungcheol sat there for a moment longer, staring blankly at the papers in front of him before removing his glasses and slowly pinching the bridge of his nose. A heavy sigh followed.

“A masquerade party, huh…” he muttered.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The night of the masquerade arrived with a velvet sky draped in soft stars, the city skyline glowing beneath it like scattered jewels. Seungcheol’s black car pulled up to the venue. An opulent estate on the outskirts of the city owned by the Shin family, known for hosting only the most exclusive circles.

From the very first step inside, the masquerade felt like stepping into another world.

The entrance hall was grand. High arched ceilings adorned with delicate gold filigree, with glittering chandeliers casting warm light across the polished marble floors. Elegant floral arrangements stood tall in glass vases, the soft scent of fresh orchids and lilies lingering in the air. Staff in crisp uniforms glided past with trays of champagne and wine, offering delicate glasses that sparkled like the guests themselves.

And the guests. Each one hidden behind ornate masks, dressed in tailored suits and flowing gowns, laughter muffled by polite conversation and the occasional clink of crystal. The entire ballroom shimmered with motion and elegance, the air alive with quiet prestige.

At the far end of the room, an orchestra played a soft, haunting melody. A waltz that wound through the evening like silk. Violins harmonized with cellos as couples swayed gently across the dance floor, their silhouettes graceful under golden lights. The music didn’t demand attention; it wove through the space, letting elegance speak for itself.

Seungcheol stood at the entrance for a moment longer, absorbing the scene. Dressed in a deep charcoal tuxedo, his mask was sleek, made of brushed silver, perfectly fitted and simple. Just like him.

He adjusted the cuffs of his suit with quiet precision and took a slow breath.

Seungcheol moved through the grand hall with quiet grace, the soft shuffle of his polished shoes drowned by the music and conversation. His eyes scanned the crowd until he spotted a familiar figure near the center of the ballroom. Mr. Shin, dressed in a regal navy suit, silver embroidery trimming the collar of his jacket. Standing beside him, equally elegant, was Mrs. Shin, her mask adorned with pearls that shimmered with every turn of her head.

With his posture poised and his mask adjusted, Seungcheol approached them and gave a respectful bow.

“Mr. Shin, Mrs. Shin,” he greeted formally, voice steady. “Thank you for the kind invitation.”

Mr. Shin turned, a pleased smile stretching under his mask. “Seungcheol! I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t show. I’m glad you came.”

Mrs. Shin offered a soft nod, “You look dashing tonight, dear. As always.”

“I wouldn’t miss this, not when it comes from the both of you,” he said with a light smile, still formal in tone. “The venue is breathtaking.”

They shared a few pleasantries, light jokes exchanged beneath crystal chandeliers. Seungcheol tried his best to blend into the moment, smiling at the passing comments, laughing politely, sipping wine when handed a glass, but the stiffness in his shoulders never quite faded.

And then, as expected, his conversation naturally veered back to what he knew best.

“Actually, just before coming here, we finalized the restructuring proposal for the third branch’s distribution-”

He stopped himself, but the Shin couple only smiled knowingly.

Mrs. Shin tilted her head with a gentle chuckle, “Oh, darling. You can talk about work all you like if it helps you feel at home. No masks are needed for that.”

Her words, though playful, pierced the tension in him like a warm knife through ice. Seungcheol let out a soft exhale, barely realizing he had been holding his breath.

And so, he spoke. About the company. About numbers. About staff growth. About challenges and solutions.

And strangely enough, the conversation didn’t feel out of place. Mr. Shin offered insights, Mrs. Shin listened intently, nodding with that gentle, matronly glow she always carried. The air grew lighter around them, the laughter more genuine, the pressure in Seungcheol’s chest slowly easing.

Then, Mr. Shin placed a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder with a proud smile.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he said. “My daughter just returned home after her studies abroad. I think the two of you will get along.”

Seungcheol turned just in time to see her approach.

You wore a pale lavender gown, subtle and elegant, flowing like morning mist. Your mask was delicate, silver trimmed with lace, soft feathers curling at the edges. You moved with the grace of someone raised in soft-spoken confidence, eyes quietly scanning the room until they landed on him.

The moment your eyes met, everything fell silent, except for the sound of wedding bells. Clear and unmistakable. Ringing only in your ears, like the universe had struck a chord, and fate had written the first line of a new story.

Both stood still for a moment too long, unsure whether to speak or breathe. And in the corner of his eye, Seungcheol saw Mrs. Shin’s knowing smile.

The bells still echoed faintly in Seungcheol’s ears, even as the rest of the ballroom returned to its natural soundscape. Soft music, low chatter, the clinking of glasses.

But for Seungcheol, the world had slowed.

His soulmate. He had finally found you. He should have felt relief, even joy. This was the moment most people spent their lives yearning for. The ache he had carried silently for years, the lingering worry behind every family dinner and silent commute, had finally found an answer.

But fate, it seemed, wasn’t going to make it easy.

You are twenty. Young, bright-eyed, and still new to the world. Ten years younger. And worse, you are Mr. Shin’s daughter, the Mr. Shin he had admired for over a decade, the very man who shaped the path Seungcheol now walked. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel allowed.

This couldn’t be happening… could it?

Just as he was grounding himself, still locking eyes with the girl whose existence had just turned his world upside down, Mr. Shin’s voice cut in again, calm and casual.

He reached out, gently patting his daughter’s head as he looked at you with a father’s pride.

“I’ve been preparing for retirement,” he said, almost wistfully, “but before I can step back, I need to make sure she’s ready for what comes next.”

Seungcheol turned to him slowly, blinking.

“I need someone to teach her how to face the working world. Someone sharp, experienced… someone I trust more than anyone else in this industry.”

He turned fully to Seungcheol now, smile warm, eyes firm.

“So before I retire, Seungcheol… can I pass her to you? For mentorship, or practical training. Nothing prepares someone better than real experience.”

The room suddenly felt too warm.

Seungcheol’s grip on his champagne glass tightened slightly, his composed expression slipping just barely for a breath of a second.

Not only had he just discovered his soulmate, he was also being asked on the same night to personally guide you into the working world, into the very fire he had spent ten years learning to survive.

And you would be close every day. His soulmate. His senior’s daughter. His future trainee. His knees almost gave out, but he smiled faintly and nodded, because what else could he do?

“…Of course, sir,” he said, voice steady despite the quiet chaos behind it. “I’d be honored.”

But in his mind, there was only one thought: this is going to be a problem.

As if sensing the moment had grown too full, Mr. and Mrs. Shin politely excused themselves to greet other guests, leaving Seungcheol standing face-to-face with the person who had just unknowingly disrupted the stability he had clung to for years, you.

He watched you for a second longer, trying to find the right words, or any words at all.

You looked up at him too, unsure yet calm. Composed, despite the thunderous sound that only the two of you had heard. And then, gently, your voice slipped out from behind your mask.

“So… I guess we heard it too,” you said quietly, referring to the wedding bells.

Seungcheol let out a short breath, a dry chuckle escaping him. “Yeah. We did.”

A pause hung between you. Heavy, but not uncomfortable, more like the silence that comes when something profound has settled in the space.

“I’m Choi Seungcheol,” he said, dipping his head politely. “But I assume you already knew that.”

You gave a polite little curtsy, unable to suppress a small smile. “And I’m Shin Y/N.” You tilted your head a bit. That earned a faint, genuine smile from him.

The orchestra shifted to a softer tune, one that made the chandeliers shimmer with each drawn note. Around you, the world moved on—guests swayed on the dance floor, laughter floated in waves—but between you and Seungcheol, the air remained still. Electric.

“I didn’t expect this,” he admitted. “Tonight, or… you.”

You let out a small laugh. “You mean you didn’t expect your soulmate to be twenty years old?”

His eyes widened a little, surprised by your boldness, before he shook his head slowly with the ghost of amusement on his face. “Was I that obvious?”

“Just a little,” you teased. “But it’s alright. I didn’t expect my soulmate to be someone my parents literally worship either. So I think we’re even.”

He looked at you, really looked, and saw more than just his senior’s daughter. He saw someone with her own mind, her own spark. Not just someone being pushed into his world, but someone who could make space in it.

“If this gets overwhelming,” he said suddenly, voice a little softer, a little more real, “just say so. I won’t rush into anything. I know this is… a lot.”

You raised a brow, your gaze gentle. “Why do you sound like you’re the one overwhelmed?”

He paused, as if your words peeled away a layer of him.

“…Because I’ve spent years building a life I could control,” he said quietly.

You smiled behind your mask. “Then maybe I’m here to teach you how to let go. Just a little.”

That caught him off guard. A breath of silence passed… and then, he laughed, low and genuine, maybe for the first time all week.

“…I think you might be,” he murmured. And just like that, under the soft music, crystal chandeliers, and masks that hid just enough but revealed just as much. The world had quietly started to change for Choi Seungcheol.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The next day arrived with polished shoes, pressed suits, and a strangely quickened heartbeat that Seungcheol couldn’t quite explain, not until his office door was knocked on, sharp and polite.

His secretary peeked in with a gentle smile, then stepped aside. “Young Miss Shin has arrived, sir.” And then you stepped in behind her.

For a moment, just a moment, Choi Seungcheol forgot how to breathe.

At the masquerade, your mask had hidden part of your face, letting only your voice and eyes do the talking. But now, standing there in the light of his office, dressed professionally yet effortlessly graceful, you looked nothing short of a princess sent straight from a fairytale.

Your features were delicate, your posture refined, and your smile-

God, that smile.

You bowed deeply, a full 90-degree gesture of respect. “It’s an honor to work under you, Mr. Choi.”

That broke something in him, just for a second. He almost gulped, throat tightening as he tried to suppress the warmth crawling up his neck. His jaw clenched lightly, keeping his face composed as always, but his eyes… his eyes betrayed him for a heartbeat too long.

His soulmate was bowing to him like a subordinate, like he wasn’t losing his grip on the damn air in the room.

“Thank you,” he managed, his voice still firm but quieter than usual. “You may begin today.”

He cleared his throat and quickly looked away, standing up and adjusting his cufflinks just to buy time. “You may return to your tasks,” he told his secretary, who gave a small nod and closed the door behind her.

Now, it was just the two of you.

The air shifted again. Quiet, but not cold, just full.

You stepped forward softly, hands tucked behind your back, walking with a quiet elegance that echoed across the floor of his office. You stopped just short of his desk, leaned forward a little, and smiled.

“I wish for a happy time working with you, Mr. Choi.”

His heart skipped a full beat. He blinked once, then twice. He internally cursed himself for how fast his chest reacted, how your presence so effortlessly chipped away at the steel mask he had worn for years.

“…Don’t get too comfortable,” he muttered under his breath, turning slightly away as he pretended to check something on his desk.

He picked up a pen, but forgot what document it was for. Clearing his throat again, he motioned for you to sit on the chair in front of his desk.

“Take out a pen and a notebook,” he said briskly, avoiding your eyes. “If you want to be the next CEO of your father’s company, you’ll need to start by remembering a few things.”

Still smiling, you sat down and pulled out your notebook obediently.

“Rule number one,” he continued, finally looking at you again, but carefully now, like one wrong glance would unravel him. “No one cares about your title. Earn their respect with competence, not your last name.”

You nodded, scribbling it down.

“Rule two,” he said, watching the way your hair fell slightly as you wrote. “Always know more than you speak. And listen more than you think.”

You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze and softly replied, “That sounds exactly like you, Mr. Choi.”

His pen almost slipped from his hand. He coughed once more, this time trying to suppress the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Rule three,” he said sharply, eyes back on your notebook. “Stop charming your mentor. It’s distracting.”

You giggled, quiet, warm, and knowing.

He didn’t say it out loud, but deep down, he already knew that this was going to be a long, dangerous, beautiful mentorship.

The first few hours of your mentorship under Choi Seungcheol moved swiftly, on the surface.

He kept his instructions sharp, his tone professional, walking you through key departments, introducing the core team, and pointing out what made his company function like a well-oiled machine. To any outsider, it looked like another day of excellence from the CEO.

But the staff, sharp-eyed and always quietly observant, noticed something was off. It wasn’t something loud. There were no smiles stretched too far, no extravagant gestures. It was the way he stood a little too close.

The way his voice dropped just slightly whenever he spoke to you. The way he’d glance at you longer than he intended when you weren’t looking. And above all, the strange, rare gentleness in his expression when he watched you scribble notes or tilt your head in concentration.

To them, he was different today.

Seungcheol didn’t think so. He was just… doing his job. Guiding you, as Mr. Shin had asked, offering knowledge and sharing insight. So why did standing next to you feel like the only part of his day that wasn’t suffocating?

Every time your shoulder brushed his as you walked beside him, his chest felt lighter, like the years of pressure he’d buried beneath routine and deadlines were slowly peeling away.

He blamed it on the soulmate bond. That had to be it.

Still, it didn’t explain how you made silence feel so comforting. Even when neither of you were talking, your presence carried a calm aura—quiet but grounding.

And for someone like Seungcheol, a man who lived and breathed pressure, your calm was unfamiliar… and unsettling.

Not in a bad way, but in a foreign, “how-do-I-function-while-feeling-peace” kind of way.

He was in the middle of explaining their operations team structure when he noticed you looking up at him with that same unwavering gaze. Focused, soft, and admiring, as if he wasn’t just your mentor, but someone you deeply trusted already.

That was when he blanked out. He literally forgot the point he was going to make.

“-and that department handles… uh…” His brows furrowed, staring at the floor plan pinned on the wall like it had betrayed him. “The, um…”

You tilted your head. “The logistics team?”

He cleared his throat, nodding once. “Right. Logistics.”

His voice returned to its usual pace, but internally, panic echoed like an alarm.

Thankfully, a familiar knock on the glass broke the moment. His secretary peeked in again.

“Sir, your meeting is in fifteen minutes.”

A lifeline.

He straightened quickly. “Right. Thank you.”

He turned to you, voice brisk but not cold. “I’ll need to prepare. My secretary will guide you around the rest of the office.”

You nodded politely. “Of course, Mr. Choi.”

And just like that, he walked away, maybe a little too quickly, and stepped into his office, letting the door close behind him.

Only when the lock clicked into place did he exhale. Running a hand through his hair, he leaned against his desk for a second, glaring at nothing in particular before muttering under his breath: “…Wake up, Choi Seungcheol.”

He scowled at his own reflection in the black monitor, then sat down and opened the meeting files, anything to distract himself from the echo of your smile in his mind.

The meeting room was sleek and quiet, filled with department heads and key project managers all seated in neat rows around the long conference table. On the wall, the quarterly projections were being presented by one of the finance leads: charts, graphs, bullet points ticking forward one by one.

From the outside, Choi Seungcheol looked the same as always. Sharp suit, steady gaze, and the calm posture as he sat at the head of the table.

But his fingers betrayed him.

They tapped quietly against the table’s surface, then began twirling his pen between them. An unconscious habit. Over and over, the silver pen spun in rhythm, not once slipping, not once faltering. Precision, yes, but not focus.

His eyes stayed forward, directed at the slides, but his mind wasn’t in the room.

It was still in the hallway. Back where you walked beside him, soft footsteps echoing alongside his. It was stuck on the memory of the way you tilted your head, smiling gently. The way your voice sounded when you said, “I wish for a happy time working with you, Mr. Choi.”

His heartbeat picked up again.

He subtly loosened the top button of his collar with one hand, hoping no one noticed. A deep breath filled his lungs, but did nothing to cool the sudden warmth behind his ears.

Get a grip, Seungcheol.

One of the department leads directed a question toward him. He caught it, answered professionally and concisely. The pause before he spoke was half a second too long, but not enough to cause alarm.

His pen spun again, even faster now, almost mechanical.

Why was this happening?

He had handled crises, led multi-million-dollar negotiations, turned failing branches into flagship models. He had faced rooms full of foreign investors and government officials. But now, here he was, fidgeting with a pen like some college intern, thinking about a girl with calm eyes and a presence that made his carefully structured world feel… quiet.

Not empty, just quiet. And Seungcheol didn’t know if that was comforting—or terrifying.

Someone called out his name again, snapping him out of his trance.

“Yes?” he responded, blinking back into the present.

All eyes turned to him, waiting. He cleared his throat and nodded slowly. “I agree with the previous point. Let’s move forward with scenario B, but add a contingency plan for client-side delays. I’ll review the proposed schedule by Friday.”

Everyone nodded. The meeting continued.

But even as the presentation resumed, Seungcheol’s hand never stopped spinning the pen. And under the table, where no one could see, his leg bounced just slightly.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling, just barely.

The meeting ended without incident, at least from an outside perspective. Everyone filed out of the room with their notes and laptops, chatting quietly, discussing next steps. Seungcheol stayed seated for a few seconds longer than usual, pretending to review the printed schedule, though his eyes barely read the lines.

When he finally stood, he adjusted his jacket, gave his usual nod to his assistant, and made his way back to his office.

The walk down the hallway was normal. The familiar click of his shoes on polished floors. A few passing greetings from staff. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until he opened his office door. And you were there, seated on the leather guest chair in front of his desk, legs crossed, notebook in hand. You looked up immediately as the door opened, offering him that same disarming smile, the one that had singlehandedly ruined his focus for the past two hours.

“Oh,” you said softly, “welcome back, Mr. Choi.”

His steps faltered, but only for a second. He walked inside with his usual calm, closing the door behind him. “Did my secretary bring you back here?”

“She did,” you replied, standing up as a gesture of respect. “I didn’t want to wander around too long without you.”

His jaw tightened ever so slightly at that sentence.

Without me, huh?

He made his way around the desk, taking his seat while pretending not to notice the way your presence shifted the air in the room. He placed his notes down, but didn’t look at them.

You stood there quietly, notebook still in hand, waiting—always respectful, always composed. He hated how much he liked that.

“Did you find the rest of the office tour informative?” he asked, finally meeting your gaze.

You nodded, stepping forward again, calm and graceful. “Yes. Everyone was kind. But…”

You paused for a beat, then gave a teasing tilt of your head. “It’s a little boring without you.”

His pen rolled slightly across the desk from how fast his fingers froze.

You quickly added, “I meant that you explain things better. That’s all.”

“…Right,” he replied, clearing his throat, gaze darting briefly to the side before grounding himself again. “Let’s resume where we left off then. Sit down.”

You obeyed, smiling faintly as you opened your notebook again. Seungcheol forced himself to focus—not on you, not on your expression, not on the soft perfume that somehow lingered between the pages of your notes—but on his words. Yet, as he began speaking again about corporate hierarchy and strategic positioning, his voice betrayed him. It was softer now, gentler.

He wasn’t sure when that started happening. He only knew it never sounded like that before you arrived.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The sun dipped lower behind the skyline, casting a golden hue across the city buildings outside his office window. The office had begun to empty, lights switching off one by one as employees finished their tasks and bid each other goodnight.

Seungcheol was still at his desk, organizing a few final documents, when your voice cut through the stillness.

“Mr. Choi?” you asked, standing by the doorway, bag slung over your shoulder. “I think my driver forgot to come. I’ve been trying to call, but… nothing.”

He looked up immediately, brows tugging together. “Didn’t your father assign someone?”

You shook your head, looking only slightly bothered. “Both of my parents are working late today. The housekeeper said she can’t leave either. I can wait, it’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

Seungcheol stared at you for a moment longer before instinct kicked in. He grabbed his phone and stood up, dialing Mr. Shin with practiced fingers.

The call connected quickly. “Mr. Shin,” Seungcheol said with crisp professionalism. “This is Seungcheol. I wanted to ask if I should assign one of my drivers to send Y/N-”

“Why do you fetch my daughter back home?” Mr. Shin’s voice cut in, amused. “You know where my house is, and I’m sure my daughter trusts you.”

Seungcheol’s brain momentarily stalled.

“I- uh…” His voice cracked before he caught himself. “Yes, sir. Of course. If that’s what you prefer.”

“You’ll be fine,” Mr. Shin said cheerfully, “Good luck,” and then promptly hung up.

The silence in his office was sudden, sharp. Seungcheol lowered his phone slowly, blinking at it like it had betrayed him.

And then, your voice.

“So?” you asked, leaning slightly into the doorway now, your tone light, your smile just a touch too innocent to be unintentional. “What did he say?”

Seungcheol sighed, head tilting back briefly toward the ceiling. A soft groan escaped him, one of defeat rather than irritation. He looked at you, one brow slightly raised.

“Grab your things,” he muttered, already reaching for his coat. “Let’s go. I’ll drive you home.”

You let out a delighted hum, following close behind as he flicked off the lights and walked toward the elevator.

Inside, the air was calm and comfortable, yet Seungcheol’s heart thudded just a little faster. Not because of the weight of responsibility, but because you were beside him again, walking into the kind of silence that didn’t feel awkward.

This day was spiraling far faster than he’d planned… and he hadn’t even started the car yet.

The car ride started in silence.

You sat beside him in the passenger seat, hands resting neatly on your lap, your bag tucked by your feet. Seungcheol, behind the wheel, exhaled slowly as he adjusted the rearview mirror, not because it needed adjusting, but because he needed something to do other than look at you.

He wasn’t used to this.

His soulmate, sitting this close, beside him, inside his car. A space that had always been quiet, strictly for thinking or decompressing. Now? It felt like you were too close, and your presence was too warm. His hands tightened around the steering wheel, and then your voice came. Soft, teasing, and sweet.

“You don’t talk much when you’re driving, huh?”

His knuckles went white on the wheel. “I’m focused.”

You chuckled. “Focused on not crashing? Or focused on ignoring me?”

His jaw clenched.

God, your voice.

Light and lilting, floating straight into his ears, sitting there like it belonged. It curled around him slowly, teasing the edges of his control. He prayed to every higher being in the sky that the red light wouldn’t last long, or else he’d melt into the driver’s seat. And then you had to go and say it.

“By the way… I know I didn’t ask earlier, but is it okay that I sit here? In the front?”

He nearly choked on air. What was he supposed to say to that? No, please sit at the back so I don’t lose my mind?

“It’s fine,” he muttered under his breath, eyes locked firmly on the road ahead. “You’re my passenger. Of course you sit there.”

But you weren’t just his passenger, you were his soulmate, and you were looking at him like you could see every thought written on his skin.

He was barely holding it together. His grip on the steering wheel never eased. His heart was pounding in a very unsafe rhythm, and he had no idea what expression you were wearing because he didn’t dare glance your way.

Not until you touched him.

It was gentle, a brush of your fingers over his knuckles, maybe meant to comfort him. But the warmth that surged through his entire arm?

The way your touch somehow seeped into his skin and calmed every frantic part of him?

Too much, his heart skipped a beat, and that was when he almost crashed.

“-Shit,” he hissed as the car veered just slightly toward another lane. Someone honked loudly. Seungcheol reacted fast, jerking the steering wheel just enough to swerve back, crossing briefly into an open lane before easing to the side of the road.

He came to a slow, shaky stop. Only then did he realize, he’d been holding his breath. The exhale that left him was heavy, his hands still frozen on the steering wheel. His eyes wide, jaw clenched, adrenaline coursing through him, and beside him, you were giggling. Not just giggling, you were laughing.

He turned his head slowly, lifting one eyebrow in disbelief.

Your laughter only got louder, trying, but failing, to look apologetic as your shoulders shook.

“Y-You almost-” you hiccuped in the middle of your laugh, “-crashed because I touched your hand? Really?”

He should have been mad, or embarrassed. But instead… he found himself smiling, leaning back against his seat as the tension slowly bled out of him.

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered, half amused, half exasperated. “Too dangerous.”

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye, still breathless. “Sorry! I really didn’t think it’d throw you off that much.”

He clicked his tongue, finally letting out a small laugh of his own. “Don’t touch me when I’m driving, or I might not just almost crash next time.”

You placed a hand over your chest, playfully solemn. “Got it. Hands off the CEO while he’s behind the wheel.”

With a final, lingering look, and a sigh that carried a secret smile, he started the engine again. This time, the drive was calmer, still quiet. But the silence now? Laced with warmth.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The next day, Choi Seungcheol arrived at the office ten minutes earlier than usual. Hair styled neatly, tie perfectly knotted, suit crisp. A plan already mapped in his head.

Today, he told himself, he would not lose focus, he would be composed and professional. Distant, even.

He was a CEO, not some college boy crushing on his lab partner.

And then you walked in. Calm as ever, radiating soft energy like it was stitched into your aura. You greeted everyone with a polite bow, a warm smile that reached your eyes, and when your gaze met his across the hallway, you smiled wider.

He blinked once.

Not today, he reminded himself, adjusting the cuffs of his blazer. Stay sharp, Choi Seungcheol.

You followed behind him into his office, as per usual. You placed your notebook on the desk neatly, your voice as honeyed as it was yesterday. “Good morning, Mr. Choi.”

His heartbeat betrayed him again, but he forced a nod.

“Morning. Let’s begin the schedule,” he said, already opening his laptop to avoid your eyes.

But you weren’t done. You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing with playful curiosity. “You slept well after your near-death experience yesterday?”

He stiffened.

You were teasing him, again.

His jaw clenched, and he sighed through his nose. “It wasn’t near-death.”

“It was slightly near,” you said with a soft giggle. “You looked like you were about to write your will in that parking lane.”

He closed his laptop slowly, eyes finally meeting yours. “Are you done?”

You grinned. “Maybe.”

He clicked his pen once, and twice. Trying to stay unbothered and ignore the way your laughter from the day before still echoed in his ears like a favorite song.

“Right,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “Let’s move on to today’s shadowing.”

But you weren’t going to let him off that easily. You had plans. You stayed close, just close enough to keep him aware of your presence, but never inappropriate. You asked thoughtful questions, tilted your head as you listened, eyes always fixed on him with that same soft admiration.

Your voice? Still sweet.

Your tone? Still respectful, but never flat.

He was drowning quietly. And the worst part? He knew you were doing it on purpose.

He tried keeping distance. Told you to observe from the corner during a department discussion. You obeyed, then proceeded to thank him afterward, calling his approach “insightful and clean-cut.”

He told you to grab coffee for a break, hoping you’d step away. You returned ten minutes later with a second cup for him. His favorite, somehow.

He froze when you handed it to him. “How did you know this is what I drink?”

You tilted your head again, the faintest smile playing on your lips. “You mentioned it once. Thought I’d remember.”

He had no words, just sipped silently, while the heat of the coffee failed to cover the warmth spreading in his chest.

By lunch, he was cornered—emotionally, mentally, completely. And then came the final blow.

You peeked into his office again after a quick team session, hands behind your back like a child with a secret. “I finished organizing the files from the budget review. Do you want me to bring them now, Mr. Choi?”

He nodded. “Yes, that’ll do.”

You stepped inside, but instead of placing the files on his desk, you walked closer, slower, and set them gently right beside him, leaning just a bit forward. Then, you whispered, voice like silk, “You're doing great, you know.”

He turned his head so fast it startled even himself.

You stepped back immediately, that same sweet expression never leaving your face. “Just thought someone should tell you.”

He stared at you, absolutely blindsided.

You smiled again. “I’ll get back to my desk now.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, like you hadn’t just sent his heart sprinting through his ribcage.

He leaned back in his chair slowly, dragging a hand over his face, muttering under his breath: “…I’m doomed.”

Per Mr. Shin’s earlier request, Seungcheol knew that as part of your mentorship, you needed to start observing internal meetings, especially the ones that mattered. And this one, definitely mattered.

The conference room was filled with tension the moment it began. You sat beside Seungcheol, with his secretary just one seat away. The opposing company’s team stood at the other end of the long, glass table—well-dressed, well-prepared, and, unfortunately, woefully out of touch.

At first, the presentation was tolerable. Numbers were clean, projections stable, but as soon as they reached the slide titled Strategic Timeline for Implementation, everything changed.

Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed.

The speaker on the opposing side continued confidently, explaining outdated timelines and collaborations with partners Seungcheol had long since flagged as liabilities.

He raised a hand, slowly, but firmly.

“Hold it,” he said.

The speaker paused. Seungcheol gestured toward the screen. “This segment. You need to revise this strategy. We’ve already seen instability in those markets. Collaborating there puts the project at risk.”

The man across the table gave a tight smile. “We understand your concern, Mr. Choi, but altering the current timeline may damage our relationship with the local representatives. A shift might send the wrong message.”

Seungcheol’s expression hardened.

“I said it needs to change.”

The tension escalated. His voice was still level, but underneath it was a warning. You could feel the air grow heavier around the table. The other attendees exchanged subtle glances. His secretary lowered her gaze.

You sat there, watching him. His knuckles were turning white, hand clenched against the table. His shoulders stiff, jaw set, clearly holding back the frustration simmering inside.

Should you do something? You hesitated. You’d never seen him this serious before. This cold. It was a side of him you hadn’t met: CEO Choi in full form. Intimidating, sharp, commanding.

But something in you… moved.

Even if he’s your boss. Even if you’re scared. You didn’t want him to be swallowed by the storm he was holding back.

So, gently—barely noticeable to anyone else—you reached out beneath the table, and touched his knuckles.

The tension left his hand almost instantly. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look at you, but he felt it, and it grounded him.

His eyes flicked back to the presenter. His shoulders lowered slightly. And then—calm, steady, dangerous—he spoke again.

“I said the cons of not changing. If you can’t change,” he began, voice slow and clear, “I can already see your company failing, and dragging mine down with it.”

The room froze.

“So I suggest you change it,” he continued, folding his hands neatly in front of him, “or I’ll stop collaborating with you altogether.”

He leaned forward just slightly, voice dropping a notch.

“It’s not a question. It’s a statement.”

Dead silence followed.

The opposing speaker faltered, swallowed hard, and eventually nodded. “Understood… We’ll revise it.”

Seungcheol nodded once, satisfied. “Good.”

The rest of the meeting passed with no further resistance. Everyone suddenly became a lot more agreeable. When it ended, people stood slowly, gathering their notes and trying to pretend they hadn’t just witnessed the CEO version of a guillotine.

You, meanwhile, were still seated, glancing at him quietly.

As soon as the door shut behind the last guest, Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath. Not loud, but deep. Then he finally looked at you. Not cold, not intimidating, just… aware.

“Thanks,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

You blinked. “For what?”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just offered a small, dry smile. “For keeping me from flipping the table.”

You giggled softly. “Glad I could stop a potential lawsuit.”

He laughed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re sneaky, you know that?”

You tilted your head. “Me? I just touched your hand.”

“Exactly,” he murmured, eyeing you. “That’s the problem.”

The heavy oak doors to the meeting room closed with a muted click, sealing away the tension that had filled the space just moments ago. The silence that followed was a welcome relief, wrapping around the room like a comforting blanket.

Seungcheol remained seated at the head of the table, shoulders finally relaxed, jaw no longer set, but he didn’t move, not yet.

He glanced toward you, and then his gaze dropped to your hands.

They were resting gently in your lap, fingers slightly curled, relaxed. The same hands that had grounded him just minutes earlier with nothing more than a simple touch.

His eyes lingered there longer than he should have and you noticed.

A soft giggle slipped past your lips, making his eyes flicker up to your face in mild panic, but you weren’t teasing. Your smile was warm, as if you already understood what he was thinking without needing him to say it aloud.

You shift your seat closer to his, and without asking, without hesitation, you reached out and gently cupped his hands, both of them.

Your palms were warm. Your grip wasn’t delicate, it was steady and secure, like you weren’t just touching him, you were anchoring him.

He stiffened at first, not used to being handled like that. But when he looked up and met your eyes, something cracked inside him. Something quiet.

You smiled at him again, sweet and sure, and then said with the calmest voice he’d ever heard: “Hold onto mine if you want. I’m always here beside you.”

The words weren’t loud, they weren’t dramatic, but God, did they hit hard. His breath caught somewhere in his throat, his fingers, usually firm and commanding, hesitated, and then slowly, tentatively, curled around yours.

The pressure in his chest eased, the sharp edge of his thoughts dulled, and in its place was only your warmth, quietly settling in his bloodstream, pushing out the last remnants of the anger and disappointment that had clouded him just minutes ago.

It felt dangerous and addictive, but more than anything, it felt right.

He said nothing, still lost in your gaze.

And you? You didn’t ask for anything in return, you simply stood there, smiling as if you had all the time in the world to wait for him to breathe again.

And finally, he did.

“…You’re trouble,” he whispered, lips barely moving.

You laughed, soft and silvery. “You’ve said that before.”

He shook his head slightly. “I meant it even more now.”

But he didn’t let go, not yet.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The day had finally drawn to a close. The last of the lights at the office flickered off, and staff began to disappear one by one. Choi Seungcheol stepped out of the elevator, jacket draped over his arm, briefcase in hand, ready to head home.

That was until his secretary caught him in the lobby.

“Mr. Choi,” she said with a small nod toward you, waiting quietly near the front entrance. “Ms. Y/N doesn’t have a ride.”

He blinked once.

Again?

His eyes drifted toward you. You were scrolling on your phone, humming lightly under your breath, completely unbothered. Just like yesterday.

Suspicious.

You looked up at him at just the right moment, smiling, and all his suspicion melted into a sigh.

“...She’s doing this on purpose,” he mumbled to himself, but louder than he meant to. Still, he nodded toward the car. “Let’s go.”

You fell into step beside him, cheerful and bright even in the evening glow. Once inside the car, you didn’t even hesitate, you walked straight to the passenger seat and slid in smoothly, as if it were your assigned spot.

Seungcheol sat in the driver’s seat, started the engine, and began to drive.

Silence filled the space again, peaceful, but electric in its own way.

He kept his eyes forward, focused, or trying to be. Then your voice—soft, laced with mischief—cut into the quiet.

“Do you want to get late supper?”

The car didn’t swerve this time, but Seungcheol’s grip on the wheel definitely stiffened. He glanced at you briefly.

Late supper? That was not in the schedule.

His routine was sacred. Home, shower, towel-dry hair for two minutes exactly, collapse onto bed, wake up, work, and repeat.

He did not do it spontaneously yet here you were, blinking at him innocently.

At the next red light, he turned his head fully to look at you.

“Late supper?” he repeated, like the phrase was foreign.

You nodded. “I know there are some places still open for people like me.”

People like you? What did that mean? Were you just… casual about life like that? Wandering the streets at midnight, hunting for warm broth and rice with no plan whatsoever?

That was chaos, and dangerous… but oddly tempting. And while his mind absolutely panicked over the idea of shifting his routine by even an inch, his heart was already halfway to the restaurant.

He stared at you. You stared back, innocently and unassuming, completely unaware of the inner breakdown he was having. Or… maybe fully aware.

He sighed heavily, eyes closing for a second. “Key in the address.”

You beamed, tapping in the location into his GPS. He drove through the green light with a defeated grunt. He glanced sideways, catching the teasing glint in your eyes. and for once in his life, he didn’t hate the idea of change.

The city lights shimmered against the night sky, and neon signs flickered above street corners, glowing softly like stars fallen to the ground. The GPS guided Seungcheol through a few narrow turns before slowing to a stop beside a quiet cluster of food stalls tucked between two buildings.

The air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, fried batter, and warm soup broth.

It wasn’t flashy or pristine, it wasn’t anything remotely close to what CEO Choi Seungcheol was used to.

And yet… he was here.

You stepped out of the car with a bright grin, your shoes softly clicking on the pavement. You turned back to face him as he closed the car door slowly, taking in the unfamiliar scene like a foreign landscape.

“First time?” you asked, eyes twinkling under the streetlight.

“…Yeah,” he admitted, adjusting his sleeves. “Very first.”

You giggled, hugging your arms to yourself. “Same. But I wanted to explore, and I figured... food like this probably tastes better when you’re not worried about etiquette.”

He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “That’s what everyone says before they get food poisoning.”

You shot him a mock glare. “You’re such a corporate man.”

“And you’re reckless,” he muttered, but followed you anyway.

You led him to one of the stalls with a steaming pot of tteokbokki, skewers glistening beside it. The ahjumma running the stall gave you a kind smile and gestured for you to sit.

The two of you took seats on worn plastic stools under a flickering lightbulb, the table in front of you scratched with time, marked with memories. And somehow, to Seungcheol, it felt weirdly peaceful.

You handed him a pair of chopsticks and smiled. “Let’s try not to act like we just left a board meeting.”

Seungcheol stared down at the food. No plated silverware, no polished wine glasses, just bubbling spicy sauce and steam against the cool air.

It was chaotic and… warm.

He picked up a piece of rice cake, blew on it once, then tasted it. His eyebrows rose.

“...That’s not bad.”

You laughed. “Not bad? That’s it? That’s your review?”

He nodded, eyes focused on the next bite. “Spicy. A little sweet. Soft texture. Good balance.”

“God,” you groaned, “you’re reviewing it like a Michelin judge.”

“You invited a CEO. What did you expect?”

You laughed again, and the sound danced through the night air, making his chest feel far lighter than it had all day.

As you both ate, conversation flowed more freely. You talked about small things: food preferences, random bucket list items, silly high school moments. Seungcheol found himself leaning forward more, laughing softly, even forgetting to check the time.

He didn’t even realize how relaxed he looked. Tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, chopsticks clumsily trying to balance a fish cake skewer.

At one point, you handed him a tissue as he dabbed the edge of his mouth, cheeks slightly red from the heat of the spice.

“Next time,” you said between bites, “we should try grilled skewers by the river. I heard they open till 3AM.”

He stared at you.

Next time?

A part of him panicked again, knowing this was starting to become a habit. But the other part? The one quietly folding inside his chest, heartbeat slow and warm? That part didn’t mind at all.

After the last bite was eaten and the food stall cleared, you both stood up from your stools, stomachs full and spirits even fuller. You reached into your bag for your wallet, already fishing out a few bills to pay, but before you could even lift your hand to the stall owner, Seungcheol moved faster. With practiced ease, he gently pushed your hand aside—not harshly, but firm enough to make you blink in surprise—and handed over the exact cash to the ahjumma behind the stall.

He didn’t even look at you as he accepted the change with a polite nod.

You, on the other hand, were left blinking in quiet disbelief.

No words were exchanged in that moment.

The two of you returned to the car under the soft night sky, sliding into your seats once again. The car’s interior greeted you with its usual scent, clean leather and something that faintly smelled like cedarwood and coffee. As the engine rumbled to life, you turned your head toward him, curious.

“How did you have cash money in you?”

He glanced sideways, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the air conditioning. His lips curled into a lazy smile.

“I’m not always a card guy, okay?”

You let out a playful scoff. “Right. A card and cash money guy who doesn’t know how to relax.”

That made him laugh this time, a sound that was deep and rich and a little too attractive for your heart to handle. But it didn’t stop there.

He turned to say something else, only to realize you hadn’t buckled in yet. His eyes lowered to the strap by your side, then back at you.

“Seatbelt,” he muttered softly, but instead of waiting for you to fix it, he leaned in.

You froze.

The air felt thinner suddenly.

Seungcheol reached across you, one arm brushing past your shoulder, fingers catching the seatbelt smoothly as he clicked it into place. His scent surrounded you, something expensive and warm. He didn’t notice how close he was. He didn’t see the way your breath hitched, or how your lashes fluttered like they were trying to compose themselves.

To him, it was just another responsible act.

To you? It was too close. Too sudden and overwhelming.

He leaned back into his seat like nothing happened, shot you a relaxed smile as his hand returned to the wheel.

“Ready to head back?” he asked, as if your heart wasn’t thundering like a drum in your ears.

You stared at him for a moment longer, lips parting, unsure if you should thank him or scream internally. But eventually, you just gave a small nod, tucking your hands on your lap.

“Yeah…” you said quietly. “Ready.”

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The morning sun seeped gently through the sheer curtains of Seungcheol’s penthouse, casting warm light across his pristine walk-in closet. Rows of crisp shirts, tailored blazers, perfectly ironed trousers, and a curated collection of designer watches lined the walls like an exhibition.

He stood in front of the full-length mirror, a clean white shirt buttoned to the collar, his charcoal grey blazer slung loosely over one arm. His hair was still slightly damp, falling in soft waves over his forehead.

And yet, he frowned.

Something was… off.

His hands moved on their own, slipping off the blazer and replacing it with a navy one. He buttoned the cuffs, stared into the mirror and tilted his head.

No, too stiff.

He tried again. Swapped the navy for a muted sand-colored jacket, loosened the collar slightly, and he looked at himself.

Too soft.

A sigh escaped his lips. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair.

There was no event today, no company gala, no board of directors flying in from overseas. It was just a regular day at work. But then again… you would be there.

That alone was enough to make his entire closet suddenly feel insufficient.

He wasn’t even sure when it started, this strange habit of wanting to look just a little better each morning, starting from today. All he knew was that your eyes, so bright and attentive, always lingered a little longer than necessary. And the way you smiled at him, as if he was someone worth admiring…

He wanted to live up to that look.

He tried on three different watches before settling on a Piaget brand Polo Date watch. Switched out his usual thin-framed glasses for a bolder pair. Dabbed on a Creed brand cologne. Then he stood back, observing himself fully.

Blazer sharp, tie slightly loosened, hair perfectly imperfect, and a hint of confidence in his smirk, just enough to keep him grounded. Still, he chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

“Choi Seungcheol...”

But he didn’t change.

With one last glance in the mirror and a small breath to steady the fluttering inside his chest, he grabbed his keys and headed out.

The automatic doors of the building slid open with a soft whoosh, letting in a gentle gust of morning air. Seungcheol stepped into the familiar lobby, polished floors reflecting the low sunlight spilling through the glass walls. The day had just begun. Staff were slowly trickling in, exchanging greetings and organizing the day’s start.

And then he saw you, standing near the entrance, chatting lightly with the front desk assistant, smiling just enough to make time slow down.

You looked simple—fresh-faced, your hair styled neatly, blouse tucked into a modest skirt—but to Seungcheol, you were breathtaking.

Maybe it was the light hitting you just right, or the soft sound of your laugh, or maybe, it was just you being you. Whatever it was, he was gone the moment your eyes lifted to meet his.

You turned fully toward him, a little surprise in your gaze, followed quickly by something warmer, something curious as your eyes slowly drifted from his face to… his clothes.

You blinked once, and then twice before your lips curled up knowingly.

“Oh?” you said with an arch of your brow, arms crossing lightly over your chest. “New look today, Mr. Choi?”

He tried to act unaffected, adjusting the strap of his watch as if it wasn’t planned, as if he hadn’t spent twenty minutes debating between jackets this morning.

“I just picked whatever was clean,” he said flatly.

You giggled softly, stepping closer, eyes never leaving his figure.

“Well, whatever was clean looks really, really good today.”

He froze, not obviously, but just enough for his breath to catch for half a second.

You looked back up at his face, tilting your head, clearly amused at how his ears turned ever so slightly pink.

“Are you blushing?”

“I’m not,” he deadpanned.

“You are.”

“Y/N,” he warned lightly, though the corners of his lips gave away the smile threatening to break free.

You stepped beside him, walking toward the elevator as he followed. “You know,” you said, glancing at him sideways, “if dressing up makes you this charming in the morning, I might start asking you to do it more often.”

He scoffed gently, pressing the elevator button. “Don’t get used to it.”

“But you did it for me, didn’t you?” you teased, voice low and sweet.

The elevator dinged, and he walked in without responding. You followed closely behind, the space inside suddenly smaller than you remembered. He stood beside you, hands in his pockets, looking straight ahead. You looked up at him with a soft smile. You already knew the answer. And when he caught your reflection in the elevator door, still staring at him with that quiet affection, you saw it: that small smile, breaking through.

The morning had passed quietly. Well, as quiet as it could be when your mentor happened to be the CEO and also your soulmate.

You sat at your desk just outside Seungcheol’s office, sorting through case studies he had handed you earlier. You were almost done highlighting key points when your phone buzzed softly beside your notebook.

It was a message from your mother.

《Mom: Your father and I were wondering if Seungcheol is free for lunch today. Just something casual. We’d love to see the two of you together. I made a reservation already, just in case.》

Your eyes widened slightly at the abruptness. You sighed softly. Of course your mom didn’t wait for confirmation before booking a spot. After re-reading it twice, you got up from your desk, lightly knocking on Seungcheol’s office door before pushing it open.

He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his blazer draped over his chair, sleeves rolled up as he reviewed a report. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of your knock.

“Yes?”

You stepped in, holding up your phone. “My parents messaged. They want to have lunch with you today. Apparently they already made a reservation.”

He turned fully to face you, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Today?”

You nodded, showing him the text.

He didn’t react much on the surface, but you could tell he wasn’t the type who took surprises well. Still, his expression remained composed, only betraying a flicker of hesitation before he walked back to his desk and pressed a button on his intercom.

“Cancel the team check-in for 1PM. And block a lunch schedule under the Shin family.”

“Understood,” his secretary replied promptly.

He turned to you, expression unreadable but his tone even.

“I assume they picked a restaurant already?”

You nodded. “They did. I’ll send you the location.”

He gave a slow blink, then looked down at the stack of work on his desk, clearly adjusting his internal clock again.

You smiled faintly. “You don’t have to look so serious. It’s not a shareholders meeting.”

He gave a short sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve met your parents, right? Do they seem like the type to keep things ‘casual’?”

You laughed. “Touché.”

He watched you quietly for a moment, eyes softening. “Are you nervous?”

You paused. “…Maybe a little.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re… you,” you said honestly. “And I know how much they respect you, likewise to you.”

He held your gaze a beat longer, before his lips curved, just slightly. “You make it sound like I’m meeting them for the first time.” then he cleared his throat and reached for his watch.

“I’ll pick you up from your desk at twelve-thirty.”

You nodded, turning to leave, but not before tossing him a cheeky smile over your shoulder.

“You better dress handsomely again, Mr. Choi.”

The only reply you got was the sound of a pen clicking behind you, and a quiet, amused exhale.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The restaurant was elegantly quiet, the kind of place where even the clink of silverware was softened by velvet-covered walls and subtle classical music. The hostess led you and Seungcheol to a private room, where your parents were already seated. Your mother in her pearls, your father sharp in a navy suit, as dignified as ever.

“Seungcheol,” your father greeted first, standing to shake his hand. Seungcheol gave a slight bow, professional but respectful.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr Shin.”

“Likewise. Please, sit.”

You quietly slipped into the seat beside Seungcheol, across from your parents, your hands folded politely on your lap.

The first few minutes were expected. Business as usual. Your father inquired about company expansion, potential collaborations, the trajectory of your training under Seungcheol’s wing. You listened attentively, occasionally stealing glances at your mentor, who answered every question with calm poise and clean, articulate responses.

It was going perfectly. Then the food arrived, and with it, your mother’s sudden ambush.

“So,” she said lightly, reaching for her soup spoon. “How is my daughter in your company?”

Seungcheol dabbed his lips with a napkin before answering.

“She’s attentive. Observant. Quick to adapt. Not many would have the initiative she’s shown in just a few days.”

You blinked, warmth blooming in your chest. The compliment made you sit just a little straighter. But your mother wasn't finished.

“And how is she…” she said, stirring her soup slowly, “…as your soulmate?”

The spoon Seungcheol had just brought to his mouth halted halfway. Then-

Choke.

Not a polite cough or a dignified clear of the throat, no. A full-on choke. You nearly dropped your own spoon as you rushed to grab his glass of water and held it out to him with both hands. He took it immediately, eyes watering as he tried to recover, sipping fast, gulping once, then twice.

“M-Mom!” you cried, cheeks flushing. “Seriously?!”

Across the table, your mother wore the most innocent smile imaginable. “What? I’m just curious.”

Your father turned to her slowly, eyebrows raised. “Soulmates?”

Your mother nodded, sipping calmly from her tea. “I noticed at the masquerade party. They were staring at each other for far too long. I had a feeling something happened. So I made a few… connections.”

You and Seungcheol froze.

Her eyes flicked between the two of you. Him still trying to swallow down the last of his panic, and you patting his back while staring wide-eyed at her like she’d just exposed your deepest secret.

Then she tilted her head. “Am I wrong?”

Silence.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You were too stunned to deny it. Beside you, Seungcheol finally lowered the glass, setting it down slowly on the table.

But he didn’t look up. Not at your mother, and especially not at your father.

His fingers curled slightly in his lap.

You could see the gears in his head… what would they think? A man ten years their daughter, their trusted work partner… now tied to her by something unbreakable, fated.

He was terrified of your father’s judgment, terrified of how this would change everything.

You saw it all in the way his shoulders tensed, and how his eyes remained fixed on the tablecloth. For a moment, the air was still. Then your father set down his spoon with a soft clink and leaned back in his seat.

“…Choi Seungcheol,” he said.

Seungcheol immediately straightened in his chair, gaze still lowered. “Yes, sir.”

Your father’s voice was unreadable. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Seungcheol hesitated. “…Because I didn’t want to risk complicating anything. With your daughter… or with you.”

Your mother looked between the two men, eyes narrowing slightly. You bit your bottom lip, and your father was quiet again. Then, after a moment that stretched painfully long, he spoke.

“…You’re an honorable man, Seungcheol.” Both you and Seungcheol blinked. Your father continued. “I’ve known that since the first time you sat across from me in a boardroom. That hasn’t changed. But now…” He looked directly at Seungcheol. “That honor means something more. It means you’ll protect her.”

Seungcheol finally looked up, stunned.

Your father gave a small nod. “You didn’t choose this, neither did she. But if fate tied you together, then all I ask is that you treat her well, not as your intern, not as your subordinate, but as your equal.”

You stared at your father, lips parted in surprise. And beside you, you heard the breath Seungcheol finally let out. Quiet, shaky, and filled with quiet relief.

“…I will,” he said, voice low but clear. “I promise you. I’ll protect her, sir.”

Your father nodded again, then returned to his soup like he hadn’t just shaken the tension off the entire table. Your mother, watching everything with that quiet knowing glint in her eyes, simply smirked behind her teacup.

“Well,” she said, “now that that’s out of the way, let’s enjoy lunch properly.”

The quiet click of the car doors closing echoed softly in the air, muffled only by the cocoon of silence surrounding the two of you. The engine remained untouched. Seungcheol sat in the driver’s seat, his hands resting lightly on the wheel, gaze fixed on the windshield.

But he wasn’t seeing the road.

He was reliving the moment, the conversation over lunch, the weight of your father’s words, the softness in your mother’s knowing smile. He had braced himself for resistance, for disapproval, for that slight pause before your father might say “But she’s still too young.” Instead, what he got… was a blessing. Permission to be selfish with his heart, to love you out loud.

He swallowed hard, feeling the words echo in his chest like they had carved out space just for you. You didn’t choose this, but if fate tied you together... treat her as your equal.

And god, he would.

He would treat you like a queen. He’d spoil you relentlessly, shamelessly. He’d plan every date to perfection. He’d get you that charm bracelet you’d once said you liked, and for every monsary you celebrated together, he’d add a charm. One for each memory.

The pressure of restraint melted off his shoulders like winter snow beneath the sun. And in its place, something even warmer bloomed: freedom. Freedom to love you.

And so, without starting the car, without breaking the moment, he turned his head, and saw you already watching him.

Lovingly. Softly.

As if your gaze could read the chaos of emotions unraveling in his chest.

You smiled, a small, sweet curl of your lips. “Hi,” you whispered.

That single word, just one syllable, was enough to make his head spin.

He laughed. A real one. Not the tight-lipped CEO chuckle he gave in meetings, no. This one was open, light, carefree. His teeth showed, his eyes crinkled, and you, caught in his joy, joined him with a soft chuckle of your own.

Then the laughter faded into something quieter, heavier, something that made the air between you two spark.

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“Mind if I do something,” he said slowly, voice low and a little breathless, “that’s normal for a thirty-year-old me... but might be embarrassing for you?”

You blinked once, head tilted like a curious kitten, but you nodded, without hesitation. And with that, he leaned in.

One hand lifted, fingers brushing past your hair to cradle the back of your head gently. His touch was steady and certain, like he had waited long enough.

And then, he kissed you soft and warm, eyes closed. No rush, no pressure, just him letting everything he had been holding in for days spill into that single, quiet kiss.

You melted against him almost instinctively, lips moving in sync with his—tender, slow, meaningful.

And in that kiss, Seungcheol thought: so this is what peace tastes like, this is what fate feels like.

When he finally pulled back, your foreheads brushed, breaths mixing in the small space between. You opened your eyes slowly, cheeks flushed, lips parted. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it trembled with something sincere.

“I’ve been waiting to do that since the masquerade.”

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The hum of conversation filled the large, sunlit private room in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. Laughter echoed off the walls, glasses clinked, and the smell of food already filled the air, even though not everyone had arrived yet.

The door creaked open, and in walked Seungcheol, dressed in a sleek black shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to show his watch and veins. Beside him, you entered quietly, but not subtly, your fingers gently laced with his.

Heads turned, every conversation stopped. Then-

“Woooooahhhh- what do we have here?!”

“Wait, is that her?!”

“Cheol brought someone?! Willingly?!”

A wave of chaotic excitement crashed over the room as all of Seungcheol’s friends—his closest circle, the ones he called his brothers—immediately swarmed you with bright eyes and louder voices. Mingyu clapped Seungcheol on the back so hard he nearly stumbled. Soonyoung practically bounced on his heels. Seokmin gave you the biggest, warmest grin.

They were chaos, but they were warm.

You didn’t even have time to respond before Jeonghan looped an arm around your shoulders like you were already part of the family.

“So you’re the one who melted our stone-faced CEO, huh?” he teased, eyes glinting. “God, we’ve been hearing about you without even hearing your name. It’s an honor.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes but let out a small, amused chuckle as everyone finally settled into their seats.

The chaos didn’t stop there, though. Once the appetizers were cleared and laughter quieted to occasional giggles between sips of wine, Jeonghan leaned forward with a grin that screamed mischief.

“You know what’s crazy?” he said, pointing a lazy finger at Seungcheol. “This guy’s been dating her for two years and still didn’t bag her. Me? I dated my soulmate for three months. Three. Months. I couldn't bear waiting. A father now, remember those past times?” He flashed his ring proudly.

The others chuckled, some shaking their heads, others rolling their eyes at Jeonghan’s dramatics, even Seungcheol cracked a wide grin. But he didn’t say anything, not yet, because the best part hadn’t come.

After the main course, when desserts were being served and the wine glasses were half-full, Seungcheol stood up slowly, lifting his glass.

“I have two pieces of news,” he said, his voice calm but his smile soft.

Everyone quieted, eyes turned.

He looked at you briefly, then back at the group. “First- Y/N will be officially stepping in as CEO of her father’s company starting this year.”

A round of cheers, whistles, and applause erupted from the table.

“Yah! That’s huge!”

“A power couple, oh my god.”

“Don’t forget us little people when you both own half the country!”

You bashfully lowered your gaze, cheeks warm, mouthing a soft thank you as Seungcheol gently placed a hand on your back.

“And the second piece of news…” he continued, pausing for dramatic effect, “-is that she said yes.”

Silence with confused blinks, then-

“Wait- wait- WAIT- WHAT?!”

“SAID YES TO WHAT?!”

“Oh my GOD!”

“You’re LYING!”

The table exploded.

Mingyu stood up so fast he nearly knocked over his chair. Soonyoung dropped his fork. Jeonghan’s jaw dropped open like something out of a drama. Seungcheol just smirked, then gently reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He didn’t even need to open it. The moment the box was visible, the screaming got worse.

You held up your hand, heart racing, showing the sparkling ring on your finger with a small smile.

“I’m his fiancée,” you said, voice shy but filled with certainty.

“No. Freaking. Way.”

“Since WHEN?!”

“DID YOU DO IT AT WORK?! Was it a boardroom proposal?! TELL ME EVERYTHING!”

The group erupted again, voices overlapping, hands reaching for the ring, while Seungcheol calmly sat down next to you, sipping his drink like he hadn’t just broken the minds of every single person at the table. And in the midst of all the shouting and disbelief, he leaned in close to whisper just for you to hear: “You're mine now. Officially.”

Your heart fluttered. And in the chaos of friends and laughter, you never felt more sure. Of him. Of you. Of forever.

Tagging: @stvrrylove @sol3chu @firstclassjaylee @ateez-atiny380 @reiofsuns2001 @thetjtales @metaphorandmoonlight

[strawberrymochin]

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠!

𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢 𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐨 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫!𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | ch 1 | ch 2 |

synopsis- Yoichi nagumo has always regarded the decision of sakamoto retiring from being an assassin— very blithe, he considered it was very indiscreet of him to leave all of a sudden for someone he claims he loved. After rion akao’s death and sakamoto’s retirement it was only him left in the JAA. Love? it’s humorous how he'd never understand sakamoto…..or this feeling of care and vulnerability. That's what he thought, until he met you.

series warnings- MDNI, extremely FLUFFY, nagumo gets HEADS over HEELS for reader, NAGUMO is so down in LOVE (wanna cry), baker!reader, ANGSTYYY, comfort, omg sakamoto and shin enjoy teasing nagumo, heisuke as our wingman, explicit SMUT, sloppy kisses, counter sex, unprotected p in v sex, nagumo's DICE, fingering, cunnilingus, wreaking orgasms, semi public(kinda), nagumo CRIES overwhelmed, reader ISN'T AWARE of nagumo’s profession, lots of lies, mentions of assassination exhibition arc, blood, nagumo is ready to tear the world apart for you, order members, omg so much more…. HAPPY ENDING.

w.c- ch 1- 2.7k | ch 2- ytc

trisha's mail- i am insufferable for characters who wear a baby face and kill mercilessly, thus I had to present my new man, my yoichi a fic, since tumblr doesn't has many, am I the only one who's hooked into sakadays?

🍡Ch 1🍡

Yoichi nagumo stood infront of the sakamoto stores, his back heavy with the compact case of his red tainted weapons. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his brown overcoat, surprisingly warm in contrast to his cold hands he scrubbed clean, washing away the splattered blood from his previous assassination.

His face held a smile. A smile so neat and so polite that it could only be defined as a boastful grin of a liar.

Shall he disguise himself? Maybe play a prank or two…he will be seeing one of his friends started out with, after so long— taro sakamoto.

Nagumo darted his eyes, taking full account of the store, which was small and surprisingly neat. It was a two storeyed building, nagumo criticized the open signboard hung in front of the glass entrance. He, then, scanned inside of the store, smile widening a bit when he found no human presence lingering around. How about he disguises as sakamoto himself, plus it'd be fun to see how his old friend reacts after his retirement.

Entering the store, disguised as sakamoto, he went behind the counter and took a seat he supposed sakamoto might take. Spread out on the counter was newspaper folded messily, a cranky cash register, and some small spreads of candy, snacks and other daily convenience necessities. He picked up on the newspaper pretending to read it as he picked up on the dull sound of approaching footsteps.

A guy with blonde hair, middle partition and some shaggy clothes entered, with a green apron and his name batch pinned over it. Shin was printed on it.

Nagumo noticed. ‘Shin asakura’ and he recognised. The esper guy Sakamoto worked with after leaving the order. He had also heard that Shin had too left being an assassin and joined being an assistant in this store. He searched for a red haired chinese girl, who is also said to have started here a few days ago.

Nagumo waited patiently, subsiding his giggles inside he darted his eyes again on the door seeing a girl enter lazily. Ahh lu shaotang— the other assistant, whose main job is to make pork buns.

He sat quietly pretending to read the newspaper.

It wasn't long until both of them started arguing, making Nagumo's dopamine rush through his veins. With a bang on the counter table, shin whined “sakamoto san, we have to fire this girl!” pointing an accusatory finger on his back over the girl with pink jacket, who didn't cared even a bit.

Nagumo contemplated a little what shall he say? Maybe behave a little out of it, it'd be fun to see both of their stupefied reactions.

“Now, now shin!” He said, “We don't say mean things like that here.” taking both of them by surprise, who aren't able to comprehend how come their boss all of a sudden became so chatty, and started questioning his sudden behaviour.

Its fun, nagumo thought. Why not enjoy it with more spice. “How rude.” He replied to their thread of questions. “I will kill you.”

And this was enough to gawk both of the assistants, enough to let their jaw wide open touching the floor, but before nagumo to have anymore of fun the door opened again and his friend entered, unphased by seeing his doppelganger infront of him.

Nagumo knew sakamoto realised it was him, but I'd be more fun to attack with a knife to shake up both of the assistants even more. But most of all he wanted to see, if sakamoto’s senses dulled over the span of 5 years.

Instantly he pulled out a knife and stuck it in the newspaper sakamoto picked up, which was disregarded by him a few minutes ago. Tearing the newspaper from the middle he saw sakamoto dodge the attack, before getting hold of a cutter, threatening his neck.

He was no less of a deal too, in a blink his gun stayed plastered to sakamoto's head, before sakamoto pulls back the cutter and draws the blade back in. “Long time no see, nagumo.” His glasses gleamed, as his face fat made his voice sound a little thicker than nagumo had heard years ago.

“I see you can still move, Sakamoto!” He said chirpy, before dismissing the disguise, shocking shin and lu. And it wasn't long for them to throw hands at him. Nagumo was right, sakamoto's senses haven't dulled but it has rusted a bit. He wondered how fast he would have thrown his body to the ground, back slammed on the floor and instead of a paper cutter, sakamoto's hand would have adorned his signature gun he never swapped out after graduating from JCC, if he had not retired already.

Who knew the legendary Hitman would chicken out of the game one day in the name of…..love?

And get this bulky. For once nagumo thought to slap his huge round belly to see if the fat ripples through.

After another thread of lies, he was bound on a chair by sakamoto's two assistants, it's not like he can't break apart the rope but he just didn't. “there’s a bounty on sakamoto's head. The reward is one billion yen.”

He explained, as his assistants refused to believe him, but their doubts were soon dispelled as soon as they took down the pizza assassin.

Nagumo only wanted to inform his friend about the bounty on his head. That's why he visited. Or that's what he was trying to tell himself. He didn't quite understand why he visited after so many years….after rion akao died, it was both of them. Nagumo thought since sakamoto is still there it'd be okay. But it wasn't long until he retired saying he fell in love. Sakamoto quitted the order, and eventually wiped his hands of assassination. Without even saying a goodbye. He married and had a child. And nagumo was left all alone. Though he never stopped smiling.

And after 5 years when he learned about the bounty on his friend’s head, he couldn't help but feel a bit odd. What an odd world of liars he lives in?

Akao said she would graduate with both of them. Yet, she didn't.

Sakamoto said he would be there till the end, yet he didn't.

“Why did both of you left me alone?” He wanted an answer, but he never asked. Knowing one isn't alive to answer and the other would just dismiss his question.

He disposed the body of the pizza assassin near the garbage disposal area. He smiled another gleeful smile, before taking out his fist from his coat pockets and rolled the small white dice on the road.

The dive stopped rolling. One dot. Nagumo chuckled. “I wouldn't consider it unlucky…” he said, before dismantling his compact of weapons as a curved blade of an arms length slipped right through his fingers, which ended up landing into the pizza assassin’s fourth and fifth rib.

A shriek of unpleasant screaming rose through the air, and intensified even more as nagumo twisted the blade with his index and thumb. Filthy red splattered over his silhouette, as if the strokes of a frizzy brush from someone who attempted to paint the crimson flowers of death. How sad he will have to pay for his laundry again.

After changing his clothes, which he always keeps a set of two at hand, he set out his foot towards home. He'd a call from the JAA headquarters, Tokyo to attend the next day. Ofcourse he wouldn't want to get any less of sleep.

He knew sakamoto won't kill anyone, and even though he wouldn't show it on his face, the reason sakamoto stopped killing cringes him. If anything love only brings in vulnerability, and loss of power.

And if anything he'd learned all these years being in assassination field, he knew that power is easy to gain than to hold on. He'd seen his friends gaining the very top before falling down from the peak. Except for sakamoto who chose to step down.

Nagumo’s smile lines faded a bit, expression grave, will he too oneday lose all of it? Nothing is certain in life, it flows and changes its direction like a river, ticks away with time and evolves into new colours with each season. However, ever since he joined the order his season of life has always been the same: the fall.

All the dried crinkly leaves fell off years ago, yet no tree has ever sprouted a lively green. The winter keeps snowing, covering the mud with its dusty white, but the spring never comes.

Nagumo kept walking without noticing where his feets were leading him, his head faced down and hands in his coat, eyes simply gazed over the red old tiles, the footpath, and the small black lines dividing each section. At moments of his trance, he felt someone bumping into him.

He would have normally walked away, without bothering to peer at the person, but for some reason he felt a tug on his right sleeve. The person was refusing to let go. A muscle ticked in his arm, ready on first instinct to throw a punch over the face, “excuse me?”

A girl's voice?

Nagumo's body soothed as he turned to take proper account of you. Your one hand was clasping over his coat’s fabric, whereas the other was fumbling the inside of her tote bag.

You take out a hello kitty bandaid and shove it towards him. Confused, Nagumo tilts his head, face has regained its merry rictus.

“Yes?”

“Your hand is bleeding…”

Nagumo's eyes widen a bit as he speculates his hand and then looks at the bright red stain on his coat. Another laundry. He looked at the cut between his fingers, which must have sliced through when he was pulling out the blades. “Is it?” He faked his astonishment.

“That seems to be deep…you should disinfect it right away. How did you get hurt?” You bat your innocent eyes at him, before taking a look at the compact case hanging on his back with the help of a strap looped over his body. Nagumo felt his mouth dry. Well umm how does he even phrase it properly…

“A technician? You carry tools in that?” Nagumo stared at you blankly, as his brain stopped processing his thoughts, “yes” a lie slipped off pretty easily from his mouth. It's easy and convenient to lie.

You bring Nagumo's hand gently, while applying the bandaid, looped perfectly over his cuts, when he doesn't make the move to accept the help. “You should take care of yourself.” You say frowning your brows a bit at him.

“Yeah I will. Thanks.”

You smile at him before turning and taking your leave. Whereas nagumo stayed glued to the spot, watching you disappear among crowds. He peered down his hand, the hello kitty doodles stared back at him. What just happened?

Ever since that incident nagumo has lost half a quarter of his sleep, astir for no reason. Could it be the pressure of the work and the mysterious massacre caused by slur— or could it be him drifting into a relentless void staring at the hello kitty band aid given by you which he, for some ridiculous reason, framed it.

Or it could be for the number of times he visited the same alley hoping to catch sight of your fuzzy white scarf and maybe a hello kitty bandaid to offer…

Why was he even doing that?

Has he gone crazy?

Well, probably he has.

Whatever he was, Nagumo had less time to criticize himself for his sleep schedule or find the reason of trigger to his insomnia. He was on a mission to execute— find the B-grade assassin, who is suspected to have hands knotted with slur— Edo Nakamura.

And surprisingly enough his last sightings were spotted in the same alley nagumo was granted to lay his eyes on your soft frame.

After collecting several pieces of information about Edo’s past from the mission handler, nagumo noted 3 facts about him.

Edo had a history with an illegal orphanage which was later burned down for certain unknown reasons.

His speciality was poisons. He was among the very few male students from the poison department of jcc. After graduation he joined the Tokyo quarters before vanishing into thin air right when the massacre started.

And lastly, he was said to have a sister.

And that specific sister runs her own bakery, which is also somewhere situated amidst the nooks and hooks of this alley.

Edo is suspected of treachery and might have caused the opening to the breaking of the Tokyo headquarters. And from what the papers suggests, it took less than a millisecond for nagumo to come to the conclusion that Edo might have visited his sister before his traces faded.

And that sister might lead to the advantage of revealing the pathway to slur’s so-called puppet ‘Edo’.

‘Little a lot’— was the name of the bakery….and it wasn't a hassle when just a few turns led to the vibrant blue of old summer sky drew him in.

Nagumo thought to himself, what'd this serene peace of blue would look like if he rather tainted it with splatters of chaotic blood.

What if the slow tendrils of this freshly baked bread had a hint of metallic, iron like pungency? His lips creaked as corners turn upwards in a gleaming smile. Shall he force edo’s sister to lure him in here and satisfy the itch of his palm?

‘Clang-dong'

A step echoed as he entered the bakery. It was quiet inside and the owner wasn't seen to be near.

Nagumo swallowed his chuckle. It'd be so fun to break this silent melody with wretched screams. Shall he hide? Oh it'd be very fine to kill them both wouldn't it? the brother and the sister, both? After all, they might feel lonely if one crossed the line of death but the other didn't. Wouldn't they?

‘Clang-dong’

“Oh, a customer! I'm sorry I wasn't around, what would you need si— hey aren't you the guy from the other day?”

“...huh?”

“Is your wound healed now?... don't you remember me? I'm the one who offered you a bandaid that day when—”

Nagumo interrupts, “are you the owner of this bakery?”

“Um yeah?...” You tilt your head in confusion at the black haired guy you met a few days ago. “Do you need something from here?”

“Uh…yeah anything baked you feel’d be the best.” Nagumo answers after a while. What was it supposed to mean? You were Edo’s…sister? The broad plan of executing double murders was long forgotten from his mind, replaced by a dull throb in his chest and ragged breaths.

You nodded your head slipping behind the counter and packing some of the freshly baked blueberry muffins from the oven into the takeout box. Your delicate fingers brushed back your strands of hair, before drawing out a paper bag to proceed with his order.

“That'd be 3,500 yen. I…uh.. packed you blueberry muffins.” You stated, a bit nervously as the huge man kept staring at you with blank eyes.

“...yeah. thanks.” Nagumo handed down the cash to the coin tray on the counter with one hand while the other took his unplanned pakage after shoving his wallet back to his pocket.

Your fingers brushed with his ever so slightly and the dull throb on his chest intensified. He felt delirious, dizzy and unorganised. What was wrong, wasn't he supposed to stop with his bullshit and rather execute his mission?

He didn't stop walking until he was out of the bakery. Or till the some sort of intensified throb on his chest calmed. Only then did he walk back in.

He'd straight go to work. Get the details about edo and—

“You forgot something, Sir?”

Silence.

“Uh…your name?” what the heck? Wasn't he about to ask about edo?

“Y/n. And yours?” You said, shades of faint red painting your cheeks. Your name was so beautiful, he thought.

“yoichi. Nagumo yoichi.”

Back on his way home, he repeated your name several times in several different tones and felt an unusual rush of fervor delight rushing through his veins, similar yet even more intense than when he kills on his missions.

Mission?

Wait? He didn't inquire anything about edo!!!

“What the heck is wrong with me?”

🍡If you want to be tagged, comment!

[soobsim]

please please please sub ceo soobin with praise kink who's all powerful and cold in front of his employees and clients but no one knows that he's a slave for your praise like he would get so worked up whenever you praise him

(y'all really riding that ceo soobin trope and i'm so here for it lol)

mr. good boy c.sb

[DISCLAIMER: nsfw – minors dni, sub!soobin x fem!reader, boss x assistant, dry humping in a car, praise kink, alot of praising, soobin just wants you to call him a good boy, no proofread]

m.list

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

soobin had just turned down a huge deal, because the client wouldn't co-operate and wanted things to work on their own terms. as if, soobin wasn't basically saving their business from going bankrupt.

he did not stand there and bend to their whims, he never did. this was choi soobin—the ceo of choi corp, who did things his own way, and no one dared to object it. so, ofcourse he didn't stand for it.

soobin stood up and buttoned his tux, "i knew it was no use to entertain a company that was already falling apart." his voice chilling enough for the entire room to go silent.

he strode out of the room, shoulders squared, suit sharp as ever, not a strand of hair out of place despite the storm he’d just weathered behind those polished conference room doors.

as his assistant, you joined him for these meetings, handling all the documents and studying him when you weren't necessarily involved. so, you followed behind him wordlessly, watching how everyone moved out his way as his shoes clicked against the floor.

his office car—sleek, black, and silent—pulled up just as he reached the curb. the driver stepped out only to open the door to the back seat, for you both to get in.

the divider was already up as soobin slid into the back without a word. you followed, the door clicking shut behind you both like punctuation.

once it was just the two of you in the back seat partition of his car, hidden from the eyes that are always on him, he tugged at his cufflinks first—too roughly, the soft metallic clink sharper than it needed to be. then his tie, yanked loose with a single, frustrated pull.

you watched quietly, noting the way his fingers trembled slightly at the knuckles, how his breath came just a fraction quicker now that the performance was over. he was pissed. stressed, even.

it was clear in his voice when he spoke, "tell me i did the right thing, y/n."

your eyes stayed on him, not faltering even once. you knew that he'd ask for your approval. "you already know you did." you said simply, reaching a hand out to brush the short hair on the nape of his neck.

soobin shivered ever so subtly, leaning into your touch like it was second nature to him. he turned his face to look at you better, his eyes so soft, no one would believe you if you told them about this side of soobin.

"i want to hear you say it." he mumbled, his deep voice so much more tender when it was directed towards you. "you know i need to hear you say it." he exhaled as his hands balled into loose fists.

your lips tugged up into a small smile at the pleading tone of his voice. "i know." you assured him, your fingers still rubbing the spot behind his ear as you shifted closer to him. you stared at him for another passing second before you spoke, "you did the right thing, soobin. you always do." you smiled.

soobin caved in so fast, turning his face so that he could feel your palm on his cheek. "always?" he almost purred as he looked at you expectantly.

"always." you repeated, slower this time—so the words can really seep into his mind and make him flush. your fingers traced his jaw before you leaned and pressed your lips against it. "you did so well in there. you were smart enough not to compromise your standards." your words pricked onto his skin and he was already craving more.

soobin closed his eyes and his breathe hitched as your tongue darted out to lick his jawline, cheeks tinged pink, lips parting like he was going to say something—but just sighed instead.

his pants grew tighter when he felt your weight leave the seat beside him and hover over his lap instead, his hands blindly finding your waist as you straddled his thighs.

"you handled it so calmly," you went on, watching him tilt his head back against the seat, as if to give you more access to his neck. "so sharp, and composed." you mumbled and slid your hands up to rest on either side of his neck.

a quiet, almost pitiful sound slipped from his throat—half sigh, half whimper. soobin's hand tightened instinctively, gripping at the fabric of your shirt like he needed something to hold onto.

your lips followed the line of his adam's apple, sucking onto it lazily. "but now," you murmured and shifted closer, "you don’t have to be that person. not with me."

soobin's lashes fluttered, his chest rising and falling with barely-contained tension. “say more,” he whispered, so quietly it might’ve been a breath. “please.”

your smile widened against his neck as your thumbs stroked the skin behind his ears, his weak spot. “you’re so good for me, soobin. always trying so hard. doing everything right. my good boy.”

soobin crumbled at that, letting a breathy moan escape his lips and his head to fall back onto the head-rest. his fingers dug into your waist, throat bobbing like he couldn’t take the weight of your words. the flush on his neck spread slowly, deliciously, his hips shifting up to rub his bulge against the curve of your ass.

you didn't miss that, neither did you stop him. you liked how he couldn't contain himself when you praised him. you liked watching him melt and need you.

“you like hearing that, don’t you?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer. your thumb stroked the edge of his lower lip, pulling away and watching how he, again, shivered under your touch.

soobin nodded slowly and opened his eyes, pupils wide and glassy. “i do,” he whispered, voice almost fragile. “i need it.” he added and bucked his hips up against your pencil mini-skirt.

“please,” he pleaded again. “don’t stop.”

you tipped your head to the side, fingers now sliding gently through the hair at the back of his neck. “don’t stop what?” you asked, voice low, lilting. teasing, just a little.

soobin swallowed hard, “you know what, y/n. just… keep talking. keep telling me I did well. that i’m a good boy.” he urged you to move your hips, so he could have a little more friction.

“i’m starting to think you like hearing it a little too much.” you chuckled, brushing his hair back from his forehead as your other hand settled lightly over his chest, feeling the rapid thump beneath. you complied and shifted your hips in sync with his, “all that power… reduced to a mess just because someone told you did well.”

he whined, actually whined, the sound muffled as he buried his face in your shoulder. “only when you say it,” he confessed, voice muffled. his lips brushed your collarbone again, and when he spoke, it was barely more than a breath. “only you.”

your gaze softened instantly, curling your arm around his back to pull him closer and pressing a soft kiss on his upper cheek. “you were amazing today, soobin. you stayed in control, didn’t let them rattle you, and you walked away with your pride intact. like you always have.”

soobin's cock twitched in his pants, his hands on your waist trembling slightly, like he could soak the words into his skin if he just held you hard enough.

it was obvious that your words pushed him over the edge, with the way he moaned and arched his back, just a litle.

he lifted his head and looked at you through lidded eyes, his lips parted and his breathe heavy.

“thank you, y/n…” soobin murmured.

you smiled, holding him there as he tried to catch his breathe. "anything for my good boy."

___

(i feel like this is all over the place. anwww, i'm thinking of making a permanent taglist for everytime i post a work...would any of you be insterested in being a part of it?)

[justblades]

⋆｡˚ ♰・priest! sunday x afab! reader

┈─ ・(ex)plicit, mdni. contains 2.2 spoilers, blasphemous themes, impregnation, clit stimulation, oral sex, controlling sunday, not proofread.

Even a mere mortal can sense the regret lingering in the atmosphere of the vicinity, a small space dedicated for confessions and atonement of sins committed by those who believe in the Harmony. Numerous pews stand in rows before a single one, each being occupied by two people at best, to which you draw closer to the confession box— one more person to go and it is time to purify your tainted soul.

It was just muffled murmurs of two people from the latter reverberating inside the hall's six walls, along with the sound of the ceiling fans whirring. Your mind starts to drift onto something else: although you have no idea what others hold with regards to their sins, you still could not help but think that yours is shameful.

You can see the person beside you exit the birch box with teary eyes and stuffed nose as she holds a handkerchief to her face. "Next please." a resolute voice echoes, signalling for you to step forward into the confessional. With a wobbly stature, you stand up and tread forward, proceeding to close the oak door behind you.

The golden lights from the hall seep through the confession booth's partition, gleaming upon your stature - creating a silhouette as to where only the advocate from the other side can peer through the woodworks. You attempt to clear your voice before speaking, a dry throat halting the words you intend to verbalize within.

"I humbly ask for your blessings and the forgiveness of Xipe . . ." You mutter as your eyes dart to nothing that catches your interest except for the parquetry etched on the wooden floorboards. Your head held down low, staring at its intricate designing.

"Please feel free to proceed. I have sought their presence within us." The priest answers. "I have committed a grave sin of succumbing to passing emotions. Primarily, I struggled with regulating the purity of one's mind and it was late that I realized I indulged in an extreme activity to quench the thirst for sexual pleasure." 

A reassuring hum resounds. "As a devout follower of the Harmony, I believe my actions do not align with the path I stride. Therefore, I ask for forgiveness and assistance on how I will repent for the sins I have committed." After forming the confession where in sentences you never thought have ever been uttered, it feels as though a heavy weight was lifted off your chest and the shackles on your feet disintegrated.

Glancing at the frosted, colored glass window in front of you, you noticed how the warm yellow lights in the background flicker repetitively in an instant, as well as the birch surroundings creaking. "By committing a grave sin, you've engaged in an activity with a partner you are not married with." The priest reiterates as if the faulty lights are a common occurrence.

You hum in response. "And by committing an even graver sin, you took part in an activity with an objective aside from procreation. Please correct me if I'm wrong."

"Yes, esteemed advocate. Everything you said was indeed correct." Your heart starts racing, "Do you promise yourself you'll turn your back on this lascivious history to start anew?" He queries.

"Yes, Mister Sunday."

"Even if you were to encounter challenges to test your faith for the Harmony?"

Hesitation ruptures through your composure. Your resolution suddenly cracks, as if it was merely a façade with a longing for forgiveness to move on.

"Be honest." Like the advocate could read your mind as of the moment, you believe in the capabilities of Harmony, so there was no use in feigning cleanliness when you know it in yourself, you still struggle. "I wish to seek assistance from those with wisdom."

You receive another firm hum in response, "Very well. Please see me in the reconciliation room a short time after." Your mind spirals into confusion and bewilderment, the emotions painting your features like you were an open book to the audience.

Trekking off the confessional booth, you did not dare to spare a glance back at the priest and only made your way to the distinct, separate room - the reconciliation. It was small, enclosed, and only an oak table, two pairs of engraved chairs, a single ligneous partition and a kneeler reside within the space. Your vision anchors to the sculpted wooden cross sign hung on the beige walls, illuminated by a faint golden lamp on the table.

Patiently awaiting the presence of the priest, you stood still with a heavy heart, seeming like the relief you felt previously was only a glimpse of what you could've been if you didn't commit such grave sin. If only.

The door swings open, followed by the entrance of the figure you were anticipating. Faded sky blue hues of hair tumble upon the male's shoulders, along with the golden earrings he was donning. Feathered ears diluting into white ripple from his footsteps, and his distinct, golden halo stays afloat behind his head.

Being vis-à-vis with the highly esteemed figure of the Penacony like this tugs your heartstrings in unease. It felt bizarre, as you could recall from others' experiences that when you encounter priests or advocates of the Harmony, your heart rests. As for Sunday, it was the polar opposite. Chills run kilometers up and down your spine, your throat starts to become dry.

You trail your vision downwards, setting your sight upon his graceful features. His eyes were a radiant yellow tinged with an ocean blue, framed by his particularly long lower lashes. He purses his lips tightly, curving upwards, flashing a small smile. "Please take a seat." He motions for the chair in front of your figures, your eyes noticing the cross cut out gloves he's wearing.

Sitting down with guard held up high, Sunday follows suit as he opens the drawer from the oak table, retrieving something of a color white and frilly in texture, as you make of what you could from your peripheral vision. "This will certainly be of help to put your faith to test. If you would kindly turn around."

Your hands rest on your lap and as you hear the last phrase that came out of his mouth, you subconsciously gripped a handful of the fabric you're wearing in alertness. Not until your vision was impaired as Sunday blindfolds you with the latter material, it was soft and delicate to the touch - you could not see anything but faint shadows against the lighting. Everything was ivory white in stark contrast, and you could barely peer through the lace folds to see the priest.

"I will now be tuning your mind with the Harmony to which you will face repercussions if statements untrue to yourself are said." He pauses. Unsure where this will lead to, you had no choice but to nod in continuation. "Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore them to shed their light."

What used to be a blurry white in your vision now fringes into colored edges, the prominent colors being purple, white, red, orange, and yellow.

"This will serve as a gentle reminder that I am assisting you to a path where grave sins  are not succumbed to, and only ▅▅▅ exists alongside philosophy to instill moral duties to a functioning member of a society."

His words cut through the thick atmosphere, thawing the glacial tension growing with each passing second.

He lowers his stature to face you, gloved fingers trailing from the hem of the laced blindfold down to your cheeks, cupping your face lightly with a careful grip. "Does this send a shiver down to your spine?" Sunday inquires and you shake your head in disagreement. It seems like he has a whole plan on how this will play out, and you were merely a pawn in his chessboard to see what you would react under these circumstances he will put you in.

The touch ghosts a caress on your lower parts, specifically, the frame of your chest. His thumb twirls on the middle part with an unraveled goal of making your buds perk up underneath the confinements of your clothing - making you grit your teeth as a poor attempt to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

A question arises amidst the confusing situation, a question that will surely be received in a poor taste as it will question his authority and legitimacy. You wanted to ask, is this really necessary?

However, the aura he exudes now was far different from what he displays when he's in front of the audience of the masses. He seems more strict now, judging from the tone lacing his voice from his query earlier. "Does this feel good?" He proceeds to unbutton your top, letting the fabric come undone and fall down to your lap. A singular  gloved hand of his snakes its way to your back, and with a single fidget, your bra was unclasped.

The priest takes his precious time in all these. He carefully observes the clothing that you wear, as he had come to adore the fact that you were wearing pearly white brassiere, one that was similar to the blindfold's texture and design, it was frilly in the edges and soft to the touch.

A light chuckle slips out, "Well? What's your answer?" Desire and temptation brews within your stomach, even spiking higher as he caresses your mounds with both of his hands. His touches feel light and blissful at the same time, like your body was basking in the warmth and enjoyment the priest had to offer. You struggle to keep your body still, knees trembling even though you were only sitting.

"N-No, Mr. Sunday."

A sharp throbbing ache courses through your head, granting him a wince of both surprise and pain. "It appears that you haven't put your mind and whole heart to this yet." He says as he walks away from your stature, leaving you dumbfounded. As silence encompasses the vicinity, you hear the male seat himself on the chair across from you. "Come to me." He simply orders.

"Just take steps forward and trust me."

With blind faith, you solemnly obey - approaching his figure with an extremely bleary vision. As your feet meet with an obstacle, seemingly the chair's legs, you stop in your tracks. "Now straddle my lap." Following suit, you feel a bulging sensation under your remaining clothing. Your breath becomes even more jagged than before, especially now that your clothed folds come in contact with his throbbing dick. It was clear cut enough that it was his erection continuously growing.

A brief moment passes and Sunday continues to envelop your hard buds within his lips, teeth grinding on your nipples in an attempt to inflict pain and pleasure all at the same time. "M— Mr. Sunday . . !" You yelp but he does not halt. He proceeds to twirl his warm, slick tongue all over your glazed areolas, your boob dancing in rhythm with his mouth in somewhat harmonic tunes played by your stifled mewls.

His other free hand pulls you tighter to his chest as he adjusts his position, bucking his hips upwards to create some sort of friction. The tip of his covered cock brushes against your already wet slit, granting him another lewd sound - this time, a soft moan. "I— I— I can't—" your hands clutch on the man's broad shoulders, feeling his long, muted blue and white locks tangle along your fingers. "You can. Yes you can. Only a little bit more you would be rewarded by proving your loyalty to the ▅▅▅."

Your sense of hearing downgrades as your mind drifts into pure bliss, lower limbs becoming numb as more pleasure courses through your veins. As if it's still not enough, Sunday simply lowers your remaining clothes to your feet, revealing your folds sopping wet with arousal already.

With haste and care in Sunday's every movement, he lays your back on the table in between the chairs, forcibly revealing everything down there to him — for him to revel in. The gelid wind traces shivers upon your sweat dewed skin, especially your folds now glimmering with muddy white liquids.

He raises your legs and stands up, resting your lower limbs upon his shoulders. The position is embarrassing enough as it is, but having the priest tower over you is another experience that feels even more intense than what unfolded previously. Not to mention that the throbbing pang in your head brought by your dishonesty upon the Harmony worsens minute by minute.

The male buries his face in your inner thighs first, flicking his tongue over your soft skin while his eyes are darted on your face, in high alert to which action of his you will react the most to. "Need I remind you to be honest this time around? Or is the headache that you're feeling not sufficient for you to stay true to your words?" He asks with a demanding tone, the margins of his lips drawing closer and closer to your slit.

"I have learned my lesson, Mr. Sunda—"

Gloved fingers begin to stimulate your clit, moving in motions you cannot fathom with your current state - your lower body jerking up in response to the stimulation. A sly smile creeps up on Sunday's face, his navy blue pupils fixating on each of your actions and expressions.

All you could think of was the fact that he didn't even let you finish, he went straight to pleasure you more, the sensation becoming more overwhelming as he starts to glide the tip of his tongue on your folds. "Do you feel good?" Although his voice was muffled from the proximity from his face and your pussy, you could comprehend and immediately answer, "Yes! I-I feel good . . !"

You rack your head back once Sunday buries his face further into your inner thighs, wallowing himself in your slit as he sucked on your sweet spot, sticking his tongue into your velvet walls while still toying with your clitoris. You bite back your moans, you cannot afford to lose the remaining dignity you had in you left - if there was any.

"Don't do that."

His voice sounds stern as ever, you were left with no choice yet again but to let mewls and moans come undone at this point in time. You were noisy, along with the sucking sounds accompanied by your hums of pleasure, continually bouncing off of the reconciliation room's four walls. "Very good. As for the last part, you must continue to be truthful, to stand by the ▅▅▅, and to ▅▅▅ to what I ought to be ▅▅▅ for you. Do you understand?"

Much to your relief, your vision was once again back to normal as he unties the lacey blindfold on your eyes. This time, you could see Sunday's disheveled hair, as well as the golden earrings dangling at every movement he makes. He swiftly unzips his slacks, therefore revealing his cock he had been concealing for so long before. It stands in its full glory, hues of purple and indigo veins threatening to pop - it was evident he's at his limit.

"Use your mouth. Make me feel good." He commands and peers at you with a somber expression. You muster enough strength on your body to stand up and kneel in front of him, positioning your head in a perfect angle to receive him. Slowly parting your lips open, he shoves his dick inside you, granting you a hoarse moan of satisfaction slipping past his lips.

You bob your head up and down and as if it felt natural to wrap your digits around the remaining length of his cock, you pump him in accordance to your pace, taking him inside with no hesitation, with only one goal in mind: to make him feel good. You could feel the crown of his dick kiss your throat every time you go deeper, making your eyes water as you try to keep yourself from gagging for the priest's satisfaction.

"That's enough, stand up." Your momentum was cut off as he hooks his arms on yours, making you stand from your previously kneeling position. It seems he has indulged enough in your submission and now it is time for him to try something new, something far more amusing in his perspective.

With both of your statures still standing up, he flips you around, making your back face him. He can examine every nook and cranny of your body in this way, and with a hum of approval, he bends you over slightly, wrapping his arms around your waist and reach for your tits. Your breath deepens, more beads of sweat proceed to trickle down your naked body. "M-Mr. Sunday, are we really going to do it?" you ask as he wraps his hand around himself, brushing his tip on your entrance.

He stops in his movements. "Do you have a problem with that?" A domineering tone laces that sole sentence, one that a person cannot delve deeper furthermore.

With one more stroke, he finally pushes himself inside your velvet walls, molding themselves around the shape of Sunday's dick - wallowing in the pleasure and warmth he emanates inside you. "So . . . warm . . ." He whispers, his breath ghosting a caress on the shell of your ear.

Sunday builds up his pace from a painfully slow one to picking it up, thrusting into you with additional force, pistoning your pussy as he's balls deep. Sounds of skin slapping add onto the lewd tune you two have been playing for the past hour, a whole sixty minutes of pleasure pooling your stomach and arousals seeping out of your holes.

Your legs start to quiver once more, exhaustion gnawing at your bones. But amidst this, Sunday kept you still with his force, hitting your sweet spots with the tip of his cock. If you could beg for mercy as of the moment, you certainly would take the chance. But to who, exactly? To whoever aeon is witnessing this lascivious act unfold in front of them, committed in such a religious place?

Or perhaps to Sunday, who you've knelt to before, received him inside your body in more ways than one. Perhaps. Perhaps it is he who shall show you mercy in the heat of the moment.

"M-Mr. Sunday, please forgive me!"

Interest sparks inside his mind, revelling in the way of being viewed as someone highly, someone sought out, someone in a legitimate authority. "You shall be forgiven." He states as he bites down on the blade of your shoulder, teeth leaving a bite mark and an aching sensation alongside it. You could do nothing but wince in pain, but waves of pleasure start to crush upon your conscious self.

Surely this is too much pleasure to handle for someone asking for forgiveness as they committed a grave sin for partaking in debauchery . . . but to be done this way by a priest is a little too exhilarating.

He picks up the pace, earning himself more moans of pleasure escape your lips, "I'll ▅▅▅ ▅▅▅ inside you." Sunday says as a fair warning, but a sentence you could only form at the present time was a lighthearted "Do as you please, Mr. Sunday."

With one single thrust, strings of satisfaction sprawl inside your womb. It feels warm yet again, but now, comforting in stark contrast to the nervousness welling up in your heart earlier.

"Well done. As you've shown resolution that you're on a path to atone for the sins you've committed in the past, you shall be forgiven."

[ladykailitha]

Heartbreak in Overdrive Part 1

Yeah, I know this is supposed to be Spellbound, but like this has five chapters in backlog, and it really needs to be let out before it breaks containment.

The title comes I'll Wait by Van Halen, as I wanted something to do with fashion and @bookworm0690 really came in clutch with these lyrics.

Summary: Eddie is a top model know for his temper tantrums. Steve is war photographer coming out of a traumatic experience by doing fashion photography. When hotheaded Eddie runs up against Steve's cool under pressure attitude, sparks fly.

Also I tend to make up fictional brands so I don't have to keep running for google every time I need a brand name for something.

~

Eddie Munson fought hard to be where he was. He had climbed up from the literal fucking gutter to being a top model. Fuck that bitch for ruining that title in the minds of the masses, making it meaningless, but he earned it.

He had full creative control over every little aspect of his shoots and everyone knew it. They knew what they were getting when they hired him. Every part of him was what they fucking paid for. His whole glam metal look was a package deal. His long hair, his tattoos, his style. That’s what they got when they hired him.

His current gig was St. John Whiskey, they were trying to appeal to the younger party crowd with their new canned cocktails. Eddie had tried them and they weren’t half bad. If someone served them at rave he went to, he would happy down several of the damn things. But he wouldn’t ask for them. Like ever.

Eddie briefly wondered who was going to shoot the ad, because they hadn’t told him before he signed on the dotted line. Not that it mattered, whoever they got would try to fob it off to someone else. That little detail made the little demon in Eddie curl up and purr. That companies would trip over themselves to get Eddie to model for them, while the actual photographers were fighting over who had to photograph him.

He arrived on set which was made up to look like a club, there were about a dozen extras all tarted up in club gear. To the right was his hair and makeup artist, Vickie Cameron, to his left was his manager next to a row of clothes that Eddie would choose from for the shoot.

Tucked behind a little partition were three photographers; Jonathan Byers, Argyle Ramirez, and Tommy Hagan. They were all playing roshambo. They were playing several games before Tommy groaned.

“Fuck!” he cursed and then walked over to get his kit. His assistant Carol immediately started setting up the lights and shit from his stuff while Argyle and Jonathan celebrated their win.

“Hello, boys,” Eddie said sweetly, causing everyone nearby to jump in the air.

Jonathan had the decency to look embarrassed, Argyle just grinned at him. Tommy on the other hand, his expression soured.

“Munson,” he said tersely. “Keep the tantrums to a minimum and maybe both of us will fucking survive this day.”

Eddie’s face transformed into a feral grin. “Do you job properly and there won’t be a tantrum to be had. Be the hack you usually are and I make no promises.”

Tommy surged forward, likely to start swinging, but Jonathan held him back. Eddie batted his eyelashes at him innocently, then he turned on his heel and made straight to Chrissy and wardrobe. Hopefully they had something good in there he could wear.

Eddie walked over to Chrissy as she was separating some shirts for him.

“They want a dance club vibe,” she said as she handed him four shirts, two jackets, and three pairs of pants. “Everything here has your style but with that club flare they’re looking for.”

He smirked. “Someone, somewhere is learning.”

She swatted at his ass. “Go get dressed, dick. Then hurry back so we can get your accessories picked out so we can get Vickie started on your hair and makeup.”

Eddie nodded and took his prizes to the dressing room. The first jacket was a blueish-black racer jacket and the other was a suit jacket with black sequins embroidered in a brocade pattern. The shirts were all button ups. Of the two black options, one was a soft cotton and the other was satin. The white shirt was of the same material of the first black shirt and the remaining shirt was a silky grey. The pants ranged from tight leather to ripped denim with a tuxedo pant thrown in for funsies.

He tried on several combinations before he settled on the leather jacket, the silver shirt, and tight leather pants. He padded back out to Chrissy who had an array of watches, necklaces, bracelets, chains, and shoes.

He immediately pulled out the shiny combat boots and started layering the jewelry just the way he liked it. Once he was satisfied, he sat down at Vickie’s chair and flipped his hair. “Miss DeMille, I’m ready for my close up!”

Vickie laughed. “Let’s get this pretty face even prettier for the camera.” She got to work on his hair first, washing and conditioning it to take the hair products it would take to tame Eddie’s famous curls.

By the time he was finally ready, so was Tommy and Carol.

She eyed him and then nodded approvingly. He matched the vibe they were going for, but stood out in a fashionable way.

“Ready when you are, princess,” Tommy sneered, pulling out a camera from one of his bags.

Eddie grinned at him and then got into position. Tommy called out poses and shots while Carol managed the lenses, cameras and filters. Things were going well until they weren’t.

“Can someone please tell me why this asshole extra keeps standing in my fucking light?!” he growled.

Tommy stood up from where he had been crouched on the floor. “There is no one in your light, I’m literally taking the pictures and there is not single shade over you.”

“Not that light, dumbass,” Eddie snarled, “the light from the disco ball. It’s supposed to be glittering on my face to bring in the club vibe but some asshole is literal blocking it.”

Tommy went through the memory card and went back as far twenty frames. “Shit, he’s right.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m right, so are you going to get this asshole to stop mugging the shots or am I going to have to lock myself in my dressing room until you do?”

“I don’t even know who it is,” Tommy snapped back. “How am I supposed to find a needle in a fucking haystack?”

Eddie threw his arms in the air. “The disco ball is there!” He pointed behind where he was sitting at a table and to the left. “So it’s obviously NOT the people to my right or in the foreground! Use your fucking head!”

He stood up and stalked toward dressing room, leaving a path of destruction in his wake of knocked over chairs and people glaring at him as he pushed by them.

It took Tommy and Carol about an hour to find out who had been blocking the disco ball’s light and coach Eddie out his dressing room.

All the news articles blew up that Eddie Munson threw a fit on the set of his most recent photo shoot again. Talking about what a diva he was and how unhinged he was.

Chrissy sat him down to talk about the articles. “You probably shouldn’t have thrown the chairs, let’s be fair. But all the pictures that were taken after you came back were the best shots Tommy took.”

Eddie sneered. “They were in the way and I didn’t throw them, I tried pushing them out the way and they got tangled up and they fell. I just needed to be somewhere else in that moment or more than just chairs would have been flying.”

Chrissy sighed. She knew. She knew better than anyone how much space Eddie needed when he got into his head.

“Well,” she said, “we’ll ride it out like we always do. If Tom Cruise can come out of coach jumping with a career intact, you will come of this one just fine, too.”

Eddie threw his head head back and buried his hands into his hair. He counted backward from twenty until he got his thoughts under control.

“I wish Carol was the photographer,” he said mournfully. “She actually seems to understand the artistry behind taking the perfect shot.”

“And we both know she’s never going to a chance,” Chrissy said ruefully, rolling her eyes. “Because she’s a woman. But it wasn’t her who found the extra who was getting in the way of the shots.”

That made Eddie sit up. “Yeah, then who did?”

Chrissy shrugged. “Some friend of Tommy’s who was visiting. He’s some hot shot war photographer that Tommy met in art school and was in town for a couple of days for some award show.”

“Maybe hire him next time,” Eddie said with a snort.

~

When Eddie heard that it was going to be Argyle Ramirez doing the shoot for the Eva Laurent cologne that he was mildly annoyed. He wasn’t the incompetent asshole that Tommy was, but he was far too laid back for his tastes.

Eddie got to the set which was in Argyle’s studio. Everything was white and would be lighted to the appropriate colors. In the middle was a single black leather chair; one of those overstuffed kind.

There were about a half dozen people milling around and that brought him up short.

“Um...” he said glancing over at Chrissy briefly. “I thought it was going to be a closed set?”

Argyle looked up at him with that hazy, dopey smile of his. “The man of the hour has arrived. Awesome!” He looked around at the other people in the room. “Don’t worry my man, once you’re ready to drop robe, most of these people will have cleared out.”

“Most?” Eddie asked, trying not squirm.

“Sure,” Argyle said, blinking at him in confusion. “I’ve got to have my assistants to move things around and shit. But everyone else will have cleared out.”

Eddie bit on his lip. He couldn’t argue with that. Though he had tried. Several times before. Whenever he pushed back on being naked in front of strangers he was told that he was baring his ass to the world, what was a few extra people on the day of the shoot.

He went to go get his hair and makeup done, with Vickie trying to ease her nerves but talking about her long distance girlfriend who also did hair, but always needed help with her smokey eye makeup.

Eddie let her chatter wash over him and he relaxed, getting out of his head and into his body. His body was his job, his sanctuary, and his weapon all rolled into one. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, releasing the last bit of tension in his shoulders.

When he came out of hair and makeup he was pleased to find there were only two other people there besides Argyle. One knelt by a bag, while the other stood by the lights.

That was more than he would have liked, but he had to let it slide. He knew that there were some photographers who had full on teams and all they did was take the pictures. But Eddie had it in his rider that if they wanted him to model for them they couldn’t use those photographers.

He was about down to his underwear when Argyle came bursting into the room. He shrieked and pulled his pants over his crotch.

“Don’t you knock?!” Eddie roared in outrage, clutching his pants close to his body as a shield.

Argyle held his hands up and backed out. “Sorry, dude, I thought hadn’t gotten undressed yet.” He closed the door.

Eddie could tell the man was waiting awkwardly outside so he hurried to get undressed and throw on the black satin robe he was given. He tied the sash tightly around his waist and slid the slippers on his feet. He slowly opened the door and peeked out to make sure it was just Argyle waiting for him.

He stepped out into the hallway and Argyle looked up from his phone.

“You ready now?” he asked.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but if you had been like a minute later or two minutes sooner, I wouldn’t have been in the middle of getting undressed.”

“I’m going to be seeing you naked in five minutes anyway,” Argyle groused. “I really don’t see what the problem is.”

Eddie bit his tongue. He wanted to say the difference was consent, but it seemed like nothing would penetrate the thick fog of weed smoke around the photographer’s head. He just strolled past, his head held high.

Once he had warmed up enough he dropped the robe and the assistant in charge of the lenses rushed forward to grab it.

He sprawled on the leather chair, the material sticking to his ass.

After a few minutes of struggling to get comfortable he finally snapped.

“Is there anyway we can put something down on the chair so my skin isn’t being peeled off with every move I make?”

One of the assistants, Eddie couldn’t be assed to care which one, rushed forward with a long golden drape and laid it over the leather chair. Then when Eddie sat back on it she draped it over his body artistically, making the shot more provocative and less in your face nudity.

“Good thinking, Karla,” Argyle huffed as he knelt to take the next shot. “Pull his hair out a little bit so that it lays flat over the drape.”

Karla hurried to do as she was told. The shoot went more smoothly after that, but he could tell Argyle was annoyed for not having thought of the drape first.

Eddie didn’t spend the whole shoot covered by the drape, but it added something special to the ad that the Eva Laurent people loved.

But Argyle told everyone that Eddie had been reluctant to disrobe in front of people and that’s why the drape was added.

It pissed Eddie off, but with people wanting to believe the worst of him, trying to refute it was like pissing in the wind.

But he made sure to tell the Eva Laurent people that it was Karla’s idea for the drape on his way out, just to fuck with him back.

~

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Tag List: NINE SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chaotic-waffle

[satoruhour]

a/n: boss moved a few days ago and i got so much inspiration just from one of the movers calling her 美女 WOW !

warnings: perv!geto, mover!geto, reader has a deadbeat husband boooo, gojo listens in i guess? sex in a TRUCK, cheating, clit stimulation, oral / cunnilingus, fingering, p -> v penetration, unprotected sex, doggy, chokehold, creampie / breeding kink, panty stealing, n*sfw under the cut

thinking about…

mover!geto who gets notified on a job to some suburban neighbourhood to assist in a move, known for his fast team of workers and efficient way of packing. he’s surprised when he’s connected to a woman’s voice, greeting him cheerfully before setting up a meeting.

mover!geto who finds his eyes flicking down to get a look at your tits when he reaches your place, accentuated by the low cleavage of the sundress you’re donning in this heat. you’re also sneaking glances at the other, eyes travelling over his inked arms and tied hair but geto doesn’t notice because your voice is even more hypnotic in person, bringing him into the house to show the various furniture that’s about to be packed up. by now he already would’ve mapped out the best way to transport everything out, but the way your hips sway and your ass looks makes him giddy.

mover!geto who lies and says he needs a few more visits to your house to finalise everything, noting down how your husband treats you like crap, bosses you around and does nothing but laze around all day. and so he slips in little hints, your husband should get into guiness from how much he sits in front of the tv, and initiates small brushes of his fingers on yours, a hand on your back as he passes.

mover!geto who calls you with a pretty girl! when he needs to know which furniture to bring and which to dispose of, making your heart skip a beat — because how else would you react when there’s an attractive man in a bun with arms decorated with tattoos calls you? all the while his jumps from how quickly you answer, scampering over to him to nod with your bright eyes and big smile, no matter how shitty your husband was being. you truly didn’t know what you did to him, mind wandering to wanting to see your breasts bounce in his face while he flipped up your dress to fuck you.

mover!geto who orders another truck to be brought to your old home, getting confused looks from his workers when everything could already fit except for a few small things and he doesn’t tell them it’s already on the way with his best friend in the front seat. and of course your husband is ready to make his way to the new home immediately to continue doing nothing, leaving the both of you.

“you got everything?” geto asks, prompting you to look around at the barren house, a place once filled with love which turned sour and stagnant, but now is no place for those memories, nodding with a soft smile towards geto who only guides you out the front door.

“yep, think so. thanks again, geto-san!” the move only shoots you a small grin, and asks you to call him suguru instead, helping you to carry the smaller chairs and items for the last truck, noticeably smaller than the others. he stretches out a hand for you to ride at the back of the truck, almost collapsing from how soft your hands felt. if only he could feel them around his cock. his best friend, gojo, who’s also from the moving company shoots a salute in greeting, predicting what’s coming with a knowing look in his eyes as he slides the partition close.

mover!geto who has you on your back a few minutes after the truck takes off for the new house, you clutching onto the cling wrap for some stability while the long-haired mover laps at your clit, large, rough hands spreading your legs further and further while your moans echo throughout the large truck. you’re getting wet so easily as your body shakes from the sensitivity, feeling the other grin between your legs.

“feeling good, pretty girl?” you manage a whimper, knuckles turning white from how tightly you were balling your fists and he simply grabs them, keeping his eyes on you as he places them on his hair, already all unkempt.

“use me, baby,” geto groans lowly when you pull just slightly to see his face better, barely seeing the glint in his eyes and the shine of your arousal on his face in the dark truck, “use me like you fuckin’ mean it.”

all suguru can do is groan out when you push him down onto your pussy, continuing his abuse on your puffy clit while you grind your hips into his face, clearly unsatisfied with your husband. your mover’s tongue just feels so damn good on your neglected core that you can’t care about consequences right at this moment, gasping in surprise at the finger that draws circles around your hole. 

“cleaned it earlier, don’t worry that pretty lil head of yours, okay?” geto reassures as you nod, obsessed with the way your cunt sucks his thick finger in so easily. it pulses around its tip, feeling your thigh shake beneath his hand while it’s pushed right to its hilt. you’ve never reached this deep with your own, body already craving more when it moves against him. 

“oh, needy baby. bet your husband doesn’t do shit, hm?” you pout and shake your head, hand closing around his wrist to get him to move and he chuckles, barely warning you before he inserts a second finger slowly. the stretch feels so good and you whine with a tug to his hair that’s already falling apart, breathless moans leaving your mouth.

“he’s shit,” you have to calm yourself before you mumble, a hand goes through his hair, eyes fluttering close when geto starts to move his fingers, “shit at everything.” geto coos at that, head dripping back down and the combination of his tongue and his fingers make your eyes roll back, lips finally muttering out a suguru and geto moans into your perfect little pussy, loving the way you tense and clench around him.

mover!geto who gets a knock on the partition, fifteen minutes, gojo says and geto has you on your hands and knees quicker than you can blink, easing into your warm, dripping pussy with his hard cock. he sighs in relief when he’s finally in you, willing himself not to cum like a virgin just from being in your cunt.

“s— suguru… s’big…” you moan out, head hanging low as you feel the pain morph into pleasure and you’re moving your hips back onto his. geto still has to catch his breath for a minute, but the way you turn behind to look at him with teary eyes and downturned eyebrows and with a desperate plea, “show me how much you’ve been wanting me, suguru,” geto snaps his hips into yours, a loud groan leaving his lips at how wet your cunt is, essence dripping right from your core onto the truck.

“i’ll show you, pretty baby,” he starts a pace, waist bruised from how tight he holds them while he fucks into you. you’re just as tight and warm as he imagined, and pliant, too, cock twitching in you when he sees how obediently you take it. “show you how fucking much i’ve been meaning to bury my cock in you.”

“c’mon, spread your cheeks for me, mama,” geto whispers, a whimper leaving him when you do just that and he has a front row seat to your wet cunt sucking him in so well while he slams into you like an animal, not caring at the way your face brushes up against the harsh bottom of the truck, mouth going limp with multiple mewls filling the space.

“oh— fuck yes!! right there, right t—there suguruuu…” a hand goes to rub at your clit and the sensation sends you reeling, along with the musky smell of sex in the air and the pap! pap! pap! of geto’s hips against yours. you can hear just how wet you are from the way geto rams into you, pre-cum and your juices mixing and squelching each time his length disappears into you. he yanks you up, looping an arm around your neck and another ’round your waist, the arch of your back allowing the other to go deeper.

“cumming, s’guru, i’m gonna cum—” everything is hazy and blurred from how good geto sinks into you paired with the irregular bumps of the truck on the road, lightheaded already from the chokehold he has you in. the truck goes over a bump suddenly and the thick cock inside you hits a spot that has your eyes reaching the skies, a loud, choked moan leaving your lips before it gets swallowed up by geto’s, his hand turning your head to meet his.

“good fuckin’ girl,” geto says breathlessly into your mouth, “give me all your cum, darlin’.”  

your whole body is on fire, breaking off the kiss momentarily to whine out profanities until geto’s asking, delirious, “where do you want me to cum, baby?”

and your primal need to be bred takes over, crying out now with tears lining your face as your body still jerks from the mindblowing orgasm. “inside suguru— i-inside, please—!”

suguru just grunts out at your plea, body also reaching his limit before he stills and he reaches his high, shivering behind you as he spurts hot cum deep into your cunt, spilling and overloading until your pussy’s full of his seed. he feels fulfilled, hissing when your hole clenches around him one last time, removing his cock from you slowly.

“keep it in ya, yeah?” geto grins just as the truck begins to slow down and you’re scrambling to appear decent while there’s the hot flow of your mover’s cum dripping out of your pussy, stifling a smile when you see your undies tucked at the back at his pocket and an instruction that if you want it back, you’re gonna have to find me in the toilet and let me fuck you full of my cum again.

mover!geto who finally gets you wrapped around his finger just like he’ll get you wrapped around his cock many, many more times after this.

[sugardollcurse]

Could you do a john x reader where the readers the bands assistant and at first he cant stand the reader but slowly falls for them?<3

𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛 | john lennon x reader

𐙚 summary ; john thinks you’re uptight, nosy, and irritatingly good at your job. you think he’s an arrogant, lazy sod with a nicotine addiction. somehow, falling in love happens anyway.

𐙚 note ; i love this dynamic. john being emotionally incompetent!!?? yeah i’m gonna eat it up xoxo

“Tell ‘em to piss off, would you?”

You weren’t even fully in the doorway before John had flung that at you, voice echoing over the piano keys like he was hoping it’d bruise on impact. You blinked, unfazed, balancing the clipboard against your chest like a shield.

“They’re your interviewers, not mine.”

He slumped deeper on the bench. “Don’t care. They’re wankers.”

Paul looked up from the mixing console, brows lifted, waiting. You didn’t flinch. The stack of studio notes in your arms didn’t either. George was half-asleep on the floor, eyes shut and legs crossed, clearly trying to pretend none of this was happening. Ringo was eating crisps behind a partition. John hadn’t even acknowledged you yesterday. Today, he was yelling before you opened your mouth.

“Lovely seeing you too, Lennon,” you said flatly, brushing past him to drop the notes on the table. “I’ve got the revised track timings, the itinerary for tomorrow, and a list of people you’re allegedly supposed to be nice to this week.”

“You’re one of them?”

“Not a chance.”

Ringo snorted. Paul grinned.

John looked up slowly. He had the cigarette still dangling from his mouth, barely lit, and his eyes were bloodshot behind those stupid yellow glasses he wore indoors. You didn’t know if he was drunk or just pretending to be, but either way, his glare slid down you like he was trying to x-ray you for weaknesses.

“You’re that new one,” he said, like it was an accusation. “The one with the attitude.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who called me a parasite on day one.”

“I said the lot of you were parasites. Don’t get big-headed.”

“Thanks for the clarification.”

He sneered. You smiled. There was no real heat behind it, just the static of two sharp things scraping too close together. You turned on your heel and walked out before he could say something clever.

The door clicked shut behind you. He exhaled smoke through his nose and muttered, “Who hired that one?”

“You did,” Paul said, laughing. “Well. You insisted you wanted someone who wasn’t a ‘yes man.’”

“Well, fuck me, I got one.”

You started seeing more of John after that, unfortunately.

He was always the last one out of the studio and the first one to pick a fight. When things went wrong, he found you. When things went right, he found someone else. But you started noticing patterns in his tantrums. He only really snapped when he hadn’t written anything good in a while. When he walked in silent and stiff-shouldered, he’d pick a fight within the hour. When he was buzzing, humming with ideas, he barely noticed you were there.

Sometimes he’d mutter lyrics to himself. You started jotting them down without being asked.

“You writin’ down my thoughts now?” he barked one afternoon, catching you scribbling something about “a fish and a god and a yellow sky.”

“No,” you said, “just your ramblings. Figured I could blackmail you someday.”

He stared at you, lips parted around his smoke. Then, to your surprise, he grinned.

“…you’re mental.”

You shrugged. “So are you.”

That grin stuck with you longer than it should’ve.

You caught him watching you a few days later. Middle of the afternoon, everybody out for lunch except the two of you. You were going over press releases on the floor, cross-legged, red pen tucked behind your ear. You felt his gaze before you saw it.

“You gonna keep staring or help me highlight?”

He didn’t blink. Just sat there with a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray, arms crossed, and said, “You talk to me different than the others.”

You looked up. “Yeah?”

“You don’t give a toss.”

“About what?”

“Me.”

You stared at him for a beat. Then went back to your notes.

“I give enough of a toss to keep your schedule from collapsing. Anything beyond that’s a risk to my mental health.”

He laughed, soft and throaty. “See, that’s what I mean.”

“You want me to care?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just...” He squinted at you. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

“I’m scared of things, sure,” you muttered, underlining a sentence. “Just not irritable Liverpudlians.”

“You should be! I bite.”

“You sulk.”

His mouth twitched. You didn’t look at him again, but you felt the tension shift. He didn’t leave the room. Didn’t snap. Just sat there, quiet. Thinking.

He started asking where you were.

He never did it directly, John Lennon wasn’t sentimental, obviously! But when you were late to the studio one morning, he cornered Ringo.

“That assistant of ours, yours, where’d they go?”

“Dentist,” Ringo said through a mouthful of toast. “Why?”

“Just noticed it was quieter.”

“You miss ‘em?”

“Miss the arguments,” John muttered. “S’good for the blood.”

When you came back, he didn’t say anything, but the whole day passed without a single insult.

You almost missed them.

It was late when it really shifted.

A Friday. Rain slicked the windows, and the others had left hours ago. You were still fiddling with the week’s expenses when you noticed him, curled on the couch with his guitar across his lap, staring at the ceiling.

“You’re not playing anything,” you said, not looking up.

He didn’t answer right away, just kept flicking the strings with a pick he wasn’t really using. Lazy. Aimless. His foot tapped, heel against the couch cushion, and you were about to repeat yourself when he muttered, “Yeah, well, maybe I’m just sittin’ with it.”

“With what?”

He glanced over, hair falling in his eyes. “The fact that we’ve written the same fuckin’ song four times this week.”

You laughed under your breath. “You’ve said that every week.”

“Yeah, and it’s true every time.”

You stood, stretching your arms over your head. “Want a drink?”

“No.” He shifted, leaned back against the couch, fingers now just resting on the strings. “Don’t want much of anything, really. Not when I’ve got three producers tellin’ me which note’s best and a tape operator breathin’ down my neck.”

“Sounds like hell.”

“It is hell,” he muttered. “But it’s also... I dunno. Not like I’d be anywhere else.”

You crossed the room and sat near the end of the couch, not quite close enough to touch. “You like pretending you hate it.”

“I do hate it.”

“You love it.”

He narrowed his eyes, flicked his gaze at you. “You don’t know shit.”

“Mmhm.”

He sighed, dramatically. “Can’t even sulk in peace around you, can I?”

“Nope.”

“Fucking menace.”

You smiled at the floor. Then, quieter, “You want to talk about it?”

He arched a brow. “Talk about what?”

“Whatever’s chewing on you.”

He sniffed, scratched his temple. “It’s called a band.”

“You’re the one who insisted on staying this late.”

“And you’re the one still here, clipboard-for-brains.”

You flicked a crumpled receipt at his knee. He swatted it away.

“Listen,” he said after a moment, voice slower, less sharp, “not every night has to end in an epiphany, y’know. Sometimes a bloke just wants to sit and be miserable in peace.”

“You’re doing a fantastic job at that.”

He glanced at you sidelong, and for a flicker, just a second, you thought you saw something like relief pass over his face. Like your refusal to pry too deep was the nicest thing anyone had done all day.

He shifted again, looser now, guitar across his lap like a blanket instead of a shield.

“You’re not bad, y’know,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “What?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

You sat back, eyes squinting like you were analyzing a riddle. “You mean that as a person or as an assistant?”

John lit another cigarette. “Either.”

“Wow,” you said, mock-dramatic. “Praise from Caesar.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

━━

You started noticing when he didn’t fight. That was the real tell. The days when John just sat at the piano and let his fingers drift across the keys, absentminded and raw, were worse than when he exploded. The quiet was heavier. Less self-important.

One evening, you came in early. Thought you’d beat the morning circus. Instead, somehow, you found 'Mr. Lazy Always Getting Everybody Late TO EVERYTHING' already there, coat still on, hunched over a notepad like it had done something to offend him. He didn’t hear you at first.

“I thought geniuses slept in,” you said, setting your bag down.

He looked up, startled. “Thought assistants knocked.”

“I did.”

“Not loud enough.”

You shrugged, crossed the room to refill the empty kettle. “You ever try just writing something bad to clear the pipes?”

“I don’t do bad.”

“You do nothing, though.”

He glared. “Helpful.”

“You’re welcome.”

A pause. Then: “You always this bloody cheeky, or just when I’m creatively constipated?”

“Must be something in the air.”

He huffed, but didn’t argue. When you handed him a cup of tea, he took it without comment, and for a few breaths, you both stared at the same spot on the carpet, neither talking.

It started happening more often, these accidental mornings, these in-between moments. You’d linger after hours finishing paperwork, and he’d drift to the couch and play the same three chords over and over, cigarette burning down in the ashtray. Sometimes you’d catch him tapping lyrics into the notepad with the end of a pen like he was interrogating the paper itself.

Once, he asked you, “What rhymes with ‘anhedonia’?”

You blinked. “Is that even a word?”

“Apparently.” He groaned and dropped the pen. “I’m a fraud.”

“You’re a rich fraud.”

“That doesn’t help.”

You chuckled. “Try ‘California.’”

He snorted. “Too obvious.”

“You asked.”

Later, you caught him using it. Not the rhyme, but the word. In a line buried two stanzas deep in a demo you weren’t supposed to hear. He hadn’t told anyone he was recording again.

“Thought you were dried up,” you said when you passed the booth the next day.

“Must’ve found a better muse,” he replied, eyes fixed on the console.

You froze for half a second. He didn’t look at you.

After that, the air changed.

You never talked about it. But something unspooled between you, less tension, more elasticity. He got less cruel when he was angry. You got less guarded when you were tired. You shared biscuits, half-hearted complaints, knowing glances when the press came sniffing around. Once, he asked you to help him smuggle a reel of rejected mixes out of the building because he didn’t want “the bloody suits” to have final say.

“Is this legal?” you asked, holding the bag like it might explode.

“No, but it’s funny.”

“You’re going to get us fired.”

“You’d land on your feet.”

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Some nights, you stayed too long and forgot why. He never told you to leave. Once, you fell asleep on the studio couch with a file folder on your stomach. You woke up to find a blanket over your legs and a fresh cup of tea on the floor beside you, still warm.

Another time, you had a headache and couldn’t shake it, couldn’t focus, couldn’t listen to one more half-formed chorus. John took one look at you, cursed under his breath, and tossed you a packet of paracetamol from his bag like it wasn’t weird he’d thought to keep some.

“You’re just trying to keep me working,” you muttered.

He leaned on the wall beside you, arms crossed. “Can’t keep up without your clipboard, can I?”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll think you miss me when I’m gone.”

He didn’t respond.

━━

The next day, you were balancing a stack of mail and two chipped mugs of tea, trying not to trip over a stray cable someone had left running across the hallway, when the door creaked open behind you.

John slipped in like he'd forgotten how to use hinges, quiet but not subtle, wearing the same rumpled button-down from yesterday, collar askew, one sleeve halfway rolled, as if he'd started getting dressed this morning and lost the thread halfway through.

You didn’t even turn.

“You’re late, again” you said through clenched teeth, edging toward the table where you could offload your cargo. “I was five seconds from drinking your tea out of spite.”

“Oi,” he said. That voice of his, thick from sleep or smoke or both, caught the back of your neck like a hook. “You got a minute?”

You raised an eyebrow as you finally set everything down, the mugs clinking onto the desk, the mail sliding half-off the edge. “What, did I schedule you too tightly again? Paul complained about-”

“Come with me to dinner.”

You froze halfway through straightening the mail. Looked up. “What?”

“Dinner,” he repeated, scratching the back of his neck like he wanted to claw something out from under his skin. “Out. With me. Food.”

Your head tilted. Your lips didn’t move yet. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You stared, one hand still on the tea, the other on a stray letter addressed in unreadable handwriting. “You're asking me out?”

He looked like he wanted to choke on his own tongue. “M’not askin’ for your fuckin’ hand in marriage, am I? Just-Christ, yes, alright. Asking.”

He said it like it physically hurt. Like the sentence was too intimate to wear in daylight.

You swallowed a laugh that was mostly disbelief. “I thought you hated eating in public.”

“I do,” he said. “Figured we could both suffer.”

For a second, you just stared.

There was something wrong about how still he was. No quips. No fake bravado. Just the jaw tight, his fingers twitching like they hadn’t decided yet whether to brace for mockery or a punch. He wasn’t doing the Lennon thing, wasn’t posing, or smirking, or sneering. He was just...waiting.

And it hit you then, how rare that was.

You glanced down at your clipboard, just for the sake of something to look at that wasn’t him. Then you plucked the pen from behind your ear, flicked it open, and started scribbling.

He blinked. “What’re you-”

“Adding it to the schedule.”

His mouth twitched, curved, slow and crooked like it couldn’t help itself, even if the rest of him was still holding its breath. “Suppose that means yes.”

“Don’t be late.”

He turned to leave, half a smile still on his face.

And just before the door swung shut, you called after him, “Wear a clean shirt this time, yeah?”

He shrugged you off without looking back.

You grinned to yourself and sipped your tea.

God help you.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee, @alanangels, @wisepainterprince, @emz2092

[thanksbutno98]

You Found Me

John Price x fem!reader OC

Summary: John Price finds himself losing control while his wife who is an archeologist is away on a dig.

Warning: Violence, angst, blood, physical violence, swearing, guns, not edited

Part 2

——————

Dust, sweltering heat, dry cracked skin, bitterly cold nights. From having the sun beat you down to frigid air so cold your teeth chattered.

It always surprised you how cold the desert became at night and how hot it was during the day. The early mornings seemed to be the only time you felt comfortable. It took time for you to adjust back into being on a dig sight after so long. Life had consisted of being the new curator at a museum, an active mother, caring daughter, and loving wife. It was strange to step out of those rolls and back into being a hands on archeologist and back on a dig sight thousands of miles away from your family.

Having a slow start like you were this morning was beautiful. Most mornings you were woken up by the sounds of your colleagues chatter since the thin tarp of your tent didn’t give much sound proofing. But today you had naturally woken up before everyone else, made yourself a cup of coffee, and were now sitting and eating breakfast at the small table in your tent as you went over papers.

Your tent was bigger than your colleagues because you were technically the one heading the dig at the moment. The beige burlap tent was rectangular with taller ceilings so most could stand upright without their heads touching the ceiling. You had an ornate red rug rolled out to make it a little more cozy. Your cot was in the back right corner with your old faded trunk at the foot of it. On the inside lid of the trunk were numerous pictures from past digs you had taped there for sentimental purpose.

There was one picture in particular you loved the most. It was of you and John Price back when he was a Luitenant and you an up and coming archeologist. You two weren’t standing anywhere near each other but you asked to get a picture with all the military that were there to show off to your friends after. Little did you know it would be the first picture you would take with your future husband.

There was a dark brown circular table to the left of the tents opening. It had four old wooden chairs around it. There were a smattering of papers, pencils, maps, sketches, and an old lantern on the table. A few feet away was a wooden partition to give you some privacy while you changed in case someone came in.

You had been away for almost a full two weeks. You were coming to assist on this dig because Dr. Michales would not be able to get there in time due to family constraints. It was only intended for you to be here for the first two weeks of the four month dig so you happily obliged. It was a nice change of pace from your job and you were happy that in only a few more days you’d be on your way home. These finds would be an amazing addition to the museum you had been pouring yourself into. It would feel validating to have your name added to these fascinating finds in a museum you were in charge of.

But as enthralled as you were by your studies, your mind continued to drift to your family back home in the UK. John was home with your three children and you couldn’t help but wonder what they were all up to at the moment. You glanced up to see the small wooden picture frame you had lovingly placed on the table, it was a gift from your son.

It was a goofy picture of the five of you that always left you with a smile. John was standing tall with Evelyn tucked under one arm and Jj in the other. Both their feet were off the ground as John carried them like duffle bags out the backdoor of your home, the laughter evident on their faces. You were standing a few feet away with Lily in your arms the five of you all dressed in football gear to go practice in the yard for the afternoon. The picture was taken by your brother in law who had stopped by to drop off some hand me down clothes.

The photo left a bitter sweet taste in your mouth that you tried to attribute to the shitty coffee. You wished you could peer into your home and know what your family were up to. If you could, you’d see John had built a blanket fort in the living room that they were all cuddled under and eating icecream from the tub; something they knew you’d never allow.

With a deep sigh you went back to sipping on your morning coffee in your tent and going over some documents. It was tedious but you were taking the time to make sure everything you were doing was meticulously documented so when Dr. Michales took over there was little confusion. In the still of the morning you brought your chipped coffee cup to your chapped lips and sighed in pleasure at the silence.

Thats when the sound of repetitive gunshots rang out. Time slowed as every hair on your body stood on end. It was the most startling sound and your soul had practically left your body. You jumped so violently you whacked your knee on the underside of the table and then dropped your coffee onto the ruby red carpet, half of the burning liquid spilling down your left arm.

Instantly you knew it was an assault rifle from how quickly each round fired off and you instinctively dropped to your knees and got under the table. The squish of the soaked rug and smell of burnt coffee seared itself into you memory never allowing you to to forget this moment as long as you smelt burnt coffee. With hands tightly clasped over your ears you felt cold all of a sudden as if an Arctic breeze blew through the sweltering desert.

Before a fully formed thought had even been processed through your head you were up and running toward the corner of your tent taking a cloth and wrapping it around the burn on your arm. Throwing a blanket over your cot to cover the space beneath it, you shoved yourself under it. Fumbling around you squeezed into the small space, laced your fingers behind your head and pressed your forehead into the rug. It burned against your skin as you broke out into a cold sweat. Heavy panicked breathing took over and your hands began to shake violently. Fat tears dropped from your eyes and your nose was running like you had just gotten in from shoveling snow.

The sounds of blood curdling screams and more gunfire rang out and all you could think about was never seeing your family again. The memory of them all giving you hugs and well wishes as they saw you off at the airport flashing in your mind. The way Evelyn demanded to be the last one you hugged and how Jj handed you that picture frame sitting on the table a few feet away. You had promised John you’d be safe and sealed it with a kiss goodbye as Lily giggled at your PDA.

Would that be the last memory they had of you? Was Lily old enough that she would remember you? Jj would never recover and Evelyn would be devastated. Your children’s faces flashed in your mind but John’s booming voice was loud in your head. You let out a shaky breath that had drops of spittle splattering against the carpet.

In these moments it felt like John was right there with you telling you exactly what to do.

Steady, calm your breathing.

Darling, if they take you don’t fight back. Please don’t fight back.

You’ll be okay. Stay smart, stay quiet, and whatever you do, don’t panic.

Safety was your only concern as you hid under the cot in your tent. You imagined John was on his way with an army behind him as a way to trick yourself into staying calm. He’d be here to save you, you told yourself. Your mind was racing and about to derail as you screamed and begged in the safety of your mind.

John. John. John.

help

The air had stilled and faint cries of familiar voices echoed as your friends begged for mercy. You could hear Carol screaming that they had killed someone while Tanner was yelling for them to stay away from whoever he was trying to protect. It made you sick to know the horrors of what was happening on the other side of your tent and that you were next. You tried to listen as you heard orders in a language you couldn’t understand. You recognized it as Arabic but couldn’t make out a single word; wishing John was here because he knew a little of the language. The way the words were barked had you trembling. You may not understand the language but deep down you knew that people were about to start searching tents. The sight was about to be raided and in that moment you knew it was only a matter of time until you were found.

The concept of time had vanished as your heart beat echoed in your ears. You had no idea how long you had been hiding it could have been five minute or hours, your mind was playing tricks on you. Your body was soaked in sweat and you felt like you may just die right on the spot as your tent flap was loudly ripped open.

Closing your eyes tight you heard as whoever was in here began to toss the place upside down. You began to chant your children’s name in your mind as a way to distract yourself.

Jonathan, Evelyn, Lily. Jonathan, Evelyn, Lily. Jonathan, Evelyn, Lily.

They consumed your mind. Each one of their pretty smiles and sparkling blue eyes flashing in your minds eye. You swore you could hear them laughing off in the distance. Squeals of laughter and shouts for you to come play.

Finally your cot was tossed, revealing you underneath. Head bowed to the floor, lying flat on your stomach with your fingers laced behind your head. You stayed still hoping, praying, begging god to make you invisible in that moment.

The blood curdling scream you let out was involuntary as this man, whose face was completely covered grabbed you by your hair. The painful tug was barely noticeable as you thrashed and kicked for dear life. You could barely focus on your surroundings as you were dragged toward the tents opening by your hair. The thought of what John would tell you to do to stay safe flying out the window as instinct kicked in. Through the struggle you could hear glass shattering the scent of your vanilla perfume taking over the small space.

As you thrashed you felt your boots connect with your trunk, air, then the man’s leg and you kicked again with all your strength. He let out what you assumed to be a cruse word and then seconds later his open hand collided with your face. He had slapped you with so much force it snapped your head back and your skin burned, you could feel the welt forming instantly but you still tried to fight him off. All you could see was a flurry of your familiar tent as the hand in your hair tightened and you flailed around like a fish out of water.

Then he struck you again and again until your knees buckled and you stopped fighting back. He continued to strike even after the fight left you then one last time for good measure until becoming limp was your bodies only choice. Panting and spitting out a warm liquid that tasted of iron you stopped kicking and strained for breath. Your face, chest and back felt like they were on fire from the blows sustained. You glanced down to look at your white t-shirt, seeing specks and splotches of red littering the cotton.

The large hand that had you by the roots of your hair pulled you down against the ground as you tried to brace yourself from colliding with the floor. The pain at your scalp was white hot as you felt your body collide with the trunk that sat by the end of your cot and then into the table. He was tossing you into the furniture to further the damage he was inflicting on you. The adrenaline was pumping so violently in your veins you couldn’t realize just how hurt you were.

You couldn’t even hear yourself chocking on blood and spit as you plead for him to let you go, that you had children. The air in your lungs burned and your senses were dulled from the beating you had just sustained. You were dragged out of your tent and tossed into the dirt. The coarse sand stuck to your sweat soaked skin as pebbles pressed into the skin of your palms as you braced yourself. Scrambling away on your hands and knees you turned to face your attacker slipping off the heels of your boots and falling on to your ass.

This was the first good look you were getting of this behemoth of a man as he towered over you. He had his face covered only his hazel eyes visible. There was an assault rifle slung around his monstrous frame and what you expected to see was your life flash before your eyes as he reached for it. For some unknown reason you whispered to the man.

“Ghost?”

It had to be delirium or the blows to the head and face making you think this man was Simon Riley; or the fact he was of the same physique and stature. But you were thankful of that because for a brief moment you felt relief. Relief that someone would save you as you watched the assault rifle come up and be pointed in your face. You closed your eyes tight and cried out for John although he was thousands of miles away.

“JOHN!” His name tore from your throat. Your vocal cords straining to a point you felt like you might pop a blood vessel.

The butt of the assault rifle smacked you hard in the face. An obscene crack echoing in the dry air before you could even register you were struck instead of shot. The impact made the world go black for a moment the only thing snapping you back into consciousness was the back of your head hitting the dirt. Your hand weakly reached to your left eyebrow and temple where you’d been struck as the world spun around you. Trying to focus your eyes as dirty brown boots approached you.

You were dazed and dizzy from the blow and you could barely register what had just happened. Through the double vision you pulled your hand away from your temple and saw blood coating your finger tips. The smell of burnt coffee hanging in the air and the heaviness of your eyes winning as you passed out.

——————

“When’s mummy going to video call?” Evelyn was tugging on John’s belt loop as he stood in the kitchen trying to figure out dinner.

Lily, newly three was fast asleep in his arms having been struggling with a nasty cold. The three year old was struggling not having you at home especially while she was sick. John had also been struggling to get her to sleep through the night and it resulted in Lily sleeping with him the past two nights. She would cry into your pillow and cling to an old dirty sweatshirt of yours she refused to let John wash.

You and John had a scheduled video call a day ago but he hadn’t heard a word from you. It was concerning to say the least and John was becoming more concerned as each hour ticked by. He told himself he wouldn’t freak out and you were just busy but there was this clawing feeling in the back of his mind; something didn’t feel right.

John kept telling himself he couldn’t call someone in he still hadn’t lived down the last time this happened and he sent Soap and Ghost out there to check on you. You called him laughing hysterically that he needed to tone down the protectiveness and that you simply forgot to call. Simon also brought it up from time to time saying he would do the same in John’s position but Soap liked to make snarky comments about the Captain being uptight.

“She’ll call soon, love.” John said confidently not wanting Evelyn to worry. With a kiss to her forehead she smiled sweetly and retreated into the living room.

John couldn’t handle the uncertainty anymore. Pulling out his phone he dialed the first person he knew would pull a few strings for him, no questions asked. The line rang four times before the familiar voice sounded on the other end.

“John, surprised to hear from you.”

“Kate, I need a favor.” John spoke quietly. Peaking his head out of the kitchen he checked that both Evelyn and Jj were out of ear shot before he continued.

“Sounds urgent.” The smile in Kate’s voice vanished.

“Y/N is in Urzikstan on a dig. Haven’t heard from her in a couple days. Think you could ask Farah to have a few of her men check things out. Make sure she’s safe.” John meant to ask but it came out as more of a statement. He could hear Kate’s fingers dart across her keyboard as she typed loudly.

“Yeah, going to need a few more details.”

“Of course.”

——————

“I want the last egg roll!” Jj hissed.

Jj and Evelyn had been at each other’s throats all day and it was driving John up a wall. It was hard for him to handle his children when he had you and your safety on his mind. He kept checking his phone to see if Kate had reached out to no avail.

The past two hours had felt like torture and John had been virtually silent. Although his children didn’t seem to notice, too busy arguing with each other about anything and everything. You would think they’d pick up on how John wasn’t diffusing the arguments or scolding them for fighting.

“Too bad I want it!” Evelyn hollered back at her brother. Taking the white crinkly bag with the egg roll in it only for Jj so snatch it back.

John was looking between his son and daughter and sighing heavily. He took the bag from his son silently and placed it on his empty plate. He was about to cut the egg roll in half when the argument took a turn. Lily was quietly eating her fried rice and glancing back and forth between her siblings deeply enthralled by their display.

���Brats don’t deserve eggs rolls!” Jj spat the insult in his sisters face.

“Neither do cry baby, no good at maths, nose picker, butt sniffer, idiots!” Evelyn shot right back pulling out every insult she could think of.

“I’m not a nose picker or a butt sniffer!” Jj screeched, hands smacking against the table.

“Still makes you a cry baby idiot who sucks at maths.” Evelyn spat back now kneeling on her chair. They looked ridiculous arguing in matching orange t-shirts from last summer fair. John could practically see the lightening bolts shooting across the table as they violently stared at one another.

John snapped, not able to handle his children being this nasty to each other over an egg roll of all things. With a mean look John snatched the egg roll from the white paper bag it sat in and shoved the entire thing in his mouth. It was an enormous amount of food but he chewed aggressively and relished in the greasy goodness. John felt somewhat vindicated to take the last egg roll for himself. He didn’t yell at his children and found a way of solving the issue since there was no egg roll to argue over now.

“AHHH YOU ATE IT!” Evelyn shrieked, hands shooting up to her cheeks as she stared at her round cheeked father, his mutton chops only making his cheeks look puffier. John stared forward eyes locked on the pantry doors with a blank expression and continued to chew as he felt his children’s anger now pointed at him.

“Dad!” Jj hollered his face fixed in shock and anger just like his sister. Jj’s nose flared and eyebrows knit together trying his best to hold back his sass.

“You’re being a piggy!” Evelyn sneered, blue eyes narrowed.

“Don’t call me a pig.” John snapped back and covered his mouth as he scolded Evelyn. The spark of fury igniting in his icy eyes causing the young girl to plop back in her seat, cross her arms over her chest and grunt angrily.

“Fine, how about a thief.” Jj said under his breath. Taking his fork and scooting a piece of broccoli around his plate. John swallowed thickly at his son’s words his blood pressure spiking.

“Thief? I bought the bloody food. And you want to call me a thief!?” John’s voice was thick from the greasy food and beginning to raise. His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of his phones generic ringtone.

Evelyn and Jj were stunned as he got up from his chair so quickly it almost fell backwards. They saw the anger vanish from their father’s face and be replaced with an emotionless expression.

“Behave.” John warned as he abruptly got up from the dinner table and quickly made his way out the back door onto the patio. He could see all three of his children now peering out the window to get a better look at him.

“Kate, hear anything?” John skipped all the pleasentries and got straight to the point.

“The sight was ransacked. The people left claimed five individuals had been taken by a group of men with face coverings. One of them was identified as your wife.” The matter of fact tone Kate used was in hopes John wouldn’t go off the deep end at the news.

“Get Farah on this immediately tell her it’s a favor for me. I’ll owe her my life. But keep it under wraps this is my wife, don’t need word spreading and anyone getting ideas. I’ll be packed and on base to assist within the hour.” John barked down the line as if it was appropriate to give Kate orders.

“Farah is already working on tracking them down. Said you’d probably want to see the dig sight and talk to some of the witnesses yourself.” Kate and Farah had a much more in depth conversation on possibility of hostage survival but Kate felt that would be better for John to hear in person.

“She knows me well. I’ll be there soon.” John’s thumb and forefinger were pinching the bridge of his nose as he desperately tried to keep a hold of himself.

“We’ll get her back, John.” The certainty in Kate’s voice was only to comfort John and he knew that. There was no certainty and no one knew that better than them.

“We will.” John said simply before hanging up, feeling as if he were lying to himself.

There was a calm that washed over John. An eerie almost manic clarity came over him, a feeling that John knew all too well. It was what made him good at his job. What made taking peoples lives and living on with the weight of it manageable. He’d felt this many times but never with you, never like this. This was a feeling he had in war zones, shoot outs, the most gut wrenching and gruesome situations.

But tonight as he stood on the patio of your family home, all he knew was that he was on his way to Urzikstan with hell hot on his heels. The muscles in his face began to twitch and he chuckled out a dry laugh that most would describe as demented or deranged. John felt his sanity slipping as if he were about to go on a murderous rampage if he didn’t keep himself in check; and he just might. The thought of you scared, alone, and in danger had his skin tingling. If a single hair was out of place John wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself, he’d truly become a monster he’d promised himself he’d never be. But could you blame him? Would anyone blame him?

John was calling the next person before he had even fleshed out a game plan. All the pieces were falling together in his mind and he saw every move he needed to make with clarity. The five rings of the phone was enough time for John to map out which route would be the quickest to base and how exactly he would get someone to fly him out there with little pushback. He’d need to pull every string and bully his way into getting what he wanted. He would be there in the quickest amount of time possible.

At any cost.

“Billy, Y/N in trouble on her dig and I need to get out there. Can y-“

“I’m putting on my shoes now. I’ll be there in a flash. Stay on the line.” Billy, your father, didn’t need another word. Much like John this was instinctual on how to react when the question of your safety was raised.

John could hear him rushing around and faintly overheard Billy’s girlfriend asking where he was going and if everything was okay. Then her screaming, asking why he was leaving and he ‘couldn’t keep doing this to her.’ Billy answered by slamming the door and effectively ending that relationship as he sprinted down the stairs for his car. If only John could tell you about this he knew you’d snort out a laugh and have some smart ass comment about your father’s horrible communication skills. But that wasn’t the case and John’s stomach twisted and rage spiked his veins at the thought he might never be able to tell you.

John stayed on the line only for the reason of making sure Billy was okay because that’s what you would want him to do. John knew you would demand that he looks out for your father in any and all circumstances. Even when you weren’t here to tell him yourself John was staying true to everything you would want and he’d continue to do that until the day he died.

“I’m on my way. Be there in twenty.” Billy huffed out of breath.

“See you soon.” Before John could hang up he heard the deadly serious words of your father as his car door slammed.

“You better bring her home in one piece. I mean it John, or I’ll have your fuckin’ head.” Billy yelled the words down the line and John could picture how angry he looked and how his finger was pointed to emphasize his point.

“I will.” John knew Billy was the only other person on this earth that would walk through the fires of hell for you. There was a mutual respect that both John and Billy would lay their lives down for you and kill for you. That’s why Billy trusted John to be your protecter all those years ago.

By the time Billy arrived he could feel the tension in the air. He tried to walk through the front door calmly but half burst through the door. It only took a few steps into the house to have full view of the living room which was where his grandchildren were.

Jj was sitting on the couch with Lily in his lap and reading her a book. Evelyn was sprawled out on the floor, red in the face, having just finished crying. It broke Billy’s heart watching his oldest grandson console Evelyn from his spot on the couch. Jj was truly John’s son trying to hold everything together no matter how unequipped he was.

“Evie, dad’s gonna be back with mum so fast it’ll make our heads spin. Isn’t it kinda cool he gets to go pick her up all the way in another country?” Jj was clearly trying to hide his own panic. His voice deepening like his fathers would when times were serious.

“Grandpa, dad says mummy’s fine but I don’t believe him.” Evelyn burst into tears again at the sight of Billy. Jj looked up to him like a deer in headlight his bottom lip wobbling as he saw the angry look on his grandpas face. Lily turned in Jj’s arms and hugged him around the neck.

“No crying Jj.” Lily whispered lovingly and nudged the book at him. Her curls tickling her brother’s skin and helping distract him from the tightness in his chest.

Jj willed himself to be strong for his sisters because for the first time in his life John had earnestly asked him to take care of them; and that’s what scared the young boy. There was a rule set by you and his father that Jj was not to take on adult responsibilities or roles under any circumstance. The fact his father asked this of him meant something was very, very wrong. And Jj was ready to do whatever it took to take care of his sisters.

Evelyn was moving pathetically so she was now kneeling on the carpet and starting to breather heavily, clearly panicking. Her small hand came up and clutched her orange t-shirt in the middle of her chest as if she were struggling to breathe. Evelyn was old enough at this point to understand something was horribly wrong but she couldn’t express why. The fact was, she felt deep down in her bones something bad was happening and unlike her brother she couldn’t hold herself together.

“Hey, she’s okay, just got caught up in some red tape at work. Your dad’s gonna bring her home safe and sound.” Billy didn’t bother taking off his shoes as he scooped the eight year old up in his arms. Evelyn wrapped herself around him and cried into his shoulder. Billy nodded to Jj as a way to silently comfort him but he could see how rattled the young boy was. With a deep sigh and quickly wiping away the stray tears, Jj went back to reading the book to Lily who was half asleep.

“Red tape!? That’s the worst kind.” The young girl hiccuped out sobs as Billy swayed with her and rubbed her back like he did when she was Lily’s age.

“Mummy’s my favorite person, she needs to come home. right. now.” Evelyn was sobbing harder and harder as Billy tried his best to console her.

It reminded him of when you were a little girl and cried for hours that you wanted your mother to come home. Only for you, your mother had passed and there was no chance of her ever walking through that door again. And Billy prayed that his granddaughter wouldn’t have to face the same suffering you did as a girl.

John was jogging down the stairs in his military fatigues with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. His mind was racing but you’d never be able to tell from the emotionless look on his face, the paternal side of himself going dark at the sight of Billy. Knowing your children were now in good hands John was in a mindset that lived outside this home for good reason. His children had never seen this side of him. The cold, calculated, and self assured Captain he was renowned for being.

With sharp eyes John saw Billy had two different shoes on, he missed a belt loop, and had buttoned up his shirt wrong making one end lopsided. Billy was completely disheveled and it was obvious to John in that moment that no time was to be waisted, Billy needed his little girl home now.

“You three be good to your grandpa.” John’s words were more of an order as he went around and placed a kiss to each one of his children’s heads; his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder.

Billy and John shared a knowing nod and John left your father with a few parting words.

“You’ll see her soon. And thank you.” The deepness in John’s voice was a testament to his seriousness.

Billy couldn’t speak on the subject it would make the reality too real and he knew he’d lose himself completely if he lost you. So he nodded sharply and turned away from John, not allowing any emotion to take over although fear had its clutches on his heart.

——————

“Hello, Captain. Long way from home.” Farah’s voice sounded as she approached Captain Price as he stepped out of the truck he rode in. It was a shit show to get here but John managed to do it in record time. Pulling no punches and going as far as threatening those who wouldn’t give him his way.

“You locate the hostages?” Price’s voice had deepened like it usually did when deployed or on missions. A quick handshake was exchanged as a greeting, then Farah waved for Price to follow as she showed him around the campsite. John nervously fixed his hat on his head, blood pulsing painfully though his veins seeing the destruction of a once well manicured campsite. From the photos you sent him it was picture perfect and a textbook outline of a campsite. One central hub, area for showering, the group of tents closely huddled together; all adjacent to the dig sight.

“I have some of my men checking out possible locations but not much has turned up. There was one seriously wounded man but he’s stable now. No casualties. The people left behind said they headed west with five hostages.” With an out stretched gloved hand Farah pointed west to emphasize her point then signaled to the tire marks left behind.

“These treads are wide, wider than normal. Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re armored. What do you say?” Glancing over Farah intently inspected Price’s face trying to determine why this group of individuals called for him pulling out every favor he had. Why did some archeologists he had no business knowing call for him to be out here so quickly.

“You seen treads like these before? They look military.” With a nod John tilted his head down staring at Farah through his eyebrows, his hands coming up and gripping his tactical vest.

“A military convoy was high jacked last week. Think these might be the same people. Tire marks lead west like they said.” Farah confirmed the two of them continuing on, checking out the ransacked campsite.

“Then we’ll go west.” John said simply as he took in his surroundings. The two walked on stopping at the dig sight to see the carved out areas of ancient ruins. It looked to be the start of a decently sized complex covered in a layer of sand and dust. To the left was artifact that had been discovered and were being catalogued. None of it was disturbed only the campsite was torn apart.

“It’s a shame. If only they could keep themselves from digging in dirt that’s not their own. Don’t think this would have happened if it were our people here making this discovery.” Farah stated matter of factly. John hated that he agreed with the sentiment. Hell, he had said something similar to you when you first met and that’s why military presence was important on dig sights.

It was strange seeing something horrible that John had seen before but equating it to you. It was a feeling he hoped he’d never have but here he was. Examining tents that had been cut open, overturned vehicles, burned food supplies and water basins turned over and emptied. The small campsite was completely gone through and all forms of life preserves destroyed. The dig sight somehow remained untouched to John’s surprise but then again it seemed this was more of a job to stop those who don’t belong from taking things that aren’t theirs.

Continuing on John’s sharp eyes looked for any trace of you. That’s when he saw the tent that was bigger than the others, meaning it was the lead archeologists. Your tent. Silently John made his way over eyes carefully scanning the area around it. There were droplets of blood splattered a few yards from the tents entrance that lead to a larger blood stain. Squatting down John gave it a close look and determined it wasn’t nearly enough blood to be fatal and he wasn’t about to assume it was yours. There were clear drag marks leading off to where Farah had said convoy trucks were parked.

Farah silently followed, watching closely how Price’s face barely changed. Dipping into what he assumed to be your tent John was met with glass crunching under his boots and the sight of all furniture flipped over and your belongings rifled through.

The first thing John noticed was the smell of your vanilla perfume. Then he saw your old trunk kicked over with your belongings spilling out. There was that navy sweater you liked to wear on cold nights torn and lying on the red rug along with books and toiletries. Taking another step in John picked up on the smell of the hazelnut coffee you liked and he couldn’t help how that smell reminded him of home and you curled up in the early morning with coffee and a book. Then his boots crunched against something that snapped under his weight. Looking down and seeing what he’d stepped on finally had reality taking hold and a painful throb shooting through his head. This was your tent. His wife’s tent. And the blood splattered across the table and chairs was yours.

With a shallow breath and his lip twitching John bent down and picked up the family photo you had taken with you. It had speckles of dark red dried blood that tainted such a pure memory. John adored that day and thought back to it as one of the few perfect days you all spent as a family. Playing football in the back yard then grilling for dinner and eating around a bonfire. The night ended with you in John’s bulky arms and breathing each other in as you showed the deepest form of love to one another.

John felt himself ready to be sick. There was a rage so intense it made his head ache and muscles tense. With gritted teeth he could hear his teeth creaking from the immense pressure. Never in his life had John felt the urge to kill like this. It was no longer for defense or the safety and sanctity of his comrades and country. This felt blood thirsty like nothing could stop him from cutting down anyone who stood in his way on the path to find you. But for you and only you he would keep his composure because if he snapped there was no way anyone would allow for him to continue on this mission. There was a time and place to strike and he’d have them all in their graves by the time it was too late for anyone to stop him.

“Let’s find them.” John dropped the picture frame to the floor, the dark wood clattering against the broken bits of chair and glass.

The loose shards of glass from the frame scattering and adding to the mess that lay inside the tent. He left the picture frame there on the ground unable to bring his family along with him. He left it where he found it and turned away telling himself it would be here waiting for you when he brought you back to collect your things.

Farah was quick to step out of his way as Price marched out of the tent. There was an eir about him almost as if the darkest of pain radiated from his soul and infected the air. It was something Farah had never seen from Price, it almost felt inhuman, like a gruesome scene yet to unfold. Before he left he had one final thing to say.

“Don’t say a word.” It was a threat. Farah could hear it in his voice as if the devil had spoken yet sounded like the man she trusted with her life.

Curiosity got the better of Farah and she took a brief moment to look at the photo and the realization clicked in her head. Seeing Price’s face with a bright smile staring back at her and three children with matching ones was enough for Farah. The Captain had a wife and children. She had no clue. The woman they were searching for had to be the Captains wife and at least now Farah knew what you looked like. So hopefully it’d be easier to find and identify you if you had become a casualty. And she prayed for Price’s sake that wasn’t the case.

Part 2

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[misshoneybee]

— 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 —

Pairing: Staffer!Reader x Congressman!James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes Content Warnings: Workplace romance/sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering Word Count: 3.8k Rating: Explicit A/N: I got some feelings when I heard the bass line to Knee Socks and thought about Congressman James Barnes...so, this little brainchild was born and brought me back from a three-year hiatus from writing fics. 🤪 As always, I do my best to keep my reader as inclusive as possible but please let me know if there’s anything I can do to improve upon it! There’s no use of Y/N or anything else where you need to insert information to read just because that’s my personal preference! Please enjoy and I’d adore any reblogs or feedback, if anyone feels so inclined! Navigation: Masterpost | Divider Credit | AO3 Summary: When you overhear Bucky talking to Mel and think he's suddenly looking for a new assistant, he'll go to any lengths to make sure that you know that you're the only one he needs (or wants.)

You couldn’t stop turning the words over and over in your mind, picturing the softness behind Bucky’s eyes as he’d slipped his business card to Mel. The business card that you’d meticulously designed and sent to print. The one you’d agonized over for hours. You knew they’d be used for networking but you’d never though they’d be used to find a replacement for you.

‘You can choose who you work for.’

He wasn’t wrong, but fuck—those words cut deeper than you thought they could. There was an empty pit in your stomach as the late spring air swept through the city, making it feel cooler than it was as you stood tensely beside the congressman with crossed arms, waiting for the limousine to pull closer to the curb where you were both waiting. You’d loved the dress when you’d chosen it last week—the slinky, sleeveless black silk gown with the high neck and low back—but now you just couldn’t wait to get home and shed the second skin so you could scroll through LinkedIn or some shit.

Or maybe you would take some time and lick your wounds first before exploring your other options; you’d been by Bucky’s side for years. You’d been on his campaign since he’d launched it. It was easy to recall the day that you’d walked into the makeshift office in Brooklyn and offered to canvas for his campaign since you were sick of the congressman who’d represented your district for too many years. Since then, you didn’t think there’d been a day that you hadn’t been in some kind of contact with James Buchanan Barnes. The pair of you had fallen into an easy camaraderie.

As the long car rolled to a stop before you both and he opened the door for you, waving off the valet, you realized that everything he’d been saying for the past several minutes that you’d been waiting had fallen on your deaf ears. Carefully keeping your knees pressed together—even if you weren’t going to be working for Bucky much longer, you still didn’t need any upskirt pictures out in the tabloids—you murmured your thanks and slid into the backseat. The partition between the backseat and the driver was already up; Bucky always insisted on it for privacy. He unbuttoned his coat and ducked in after you were settled, maintaining the middle seat’s distance from you.

It was quite a feat being able to fit three phones into the tiny bag that was your clutch. You handed Bucky’s over to him on autopilot as you grabbed your work phone, leaving your personal one safely tucked away. Opening your email app, you steeled yourself and carefully left the address blank as you quickly typed Letter of Resignation into the subject line. Finally, some of his words finally bled through your endless stream of thoughts.

“Do you know what Gary was talking about?”

Finally, you glanced over at him. You were annoyed but fuck. It’s like you forgot how attractive he was every time you looked away for too long; the tux you’d picked up for him was perfectly tailored, tight on his biceps and across his broad chest. Finally, you met his light blue eyes as he continued, “He mentioned some packets that I should look at.”

The aggravation from his words overrode your momentary attraction and you let out a short exhale of an almost laugh before returning to typing your email as you pointed out, “You mean the packets that I add to your briefing folder every morning that you ignore?” Biting your tongue from including some more choice words, you gave a delicate shrug and finished nonchalantly, fingers still flying over your keyboard, “I think he was talking about those.”

You could feel the light gray-blue eyes boring into your cheek as you kept your attention directed at the little screen in your hands. The need to flinch under his scrutinizing gaze was overpowered by your attitude.

“Is there something wrong?” From the corner of your eye, you saw his brows draw together as he hesitantly tried to piece together what had happened. In all your time of knowing him, you’d always had a quick wit, but your ire had never been directed at him.

Schooling your features, you added sugar to your tone as you finally met his eyes and played dumb, wanting him to draw his own conclusion, “Why would anything be wrong, Congressman Barnes?”

“Oh, so, I’m Congressman Barnes now?”

Although it was dark and the passing headlights and streetlamps only provided flickers of illumination, you could see there was a glint of amusement in his eye, and it lit a fire where the empty pit in your stomach had just been moments before. Was this a fucking joke to him? Taking a slow breath, you corrected, “Fine, James,” before continuing your typing.

“Cut the shit.”

Your fingers faltered on your keyboard as you sat up straighter at the abrupt change to his tone. While he’d never been on your bad side, you’d also never been on his. Bucky had always been exceedingly kind. Even in his silent ways—ordering your favorite dinner when you guys spent too long at the office, holding an umbrella over you as you both canvassed the neighborhood in the rain, riding past his subway stop at the end of the day to get off at yours and make sure you got home safely before backtracking eight blocks to his own apartment when you guys were in the city and not in the capitol.

“Excuse me?”

The muscle twitched in his sculpted jaw before he continued frankly, “Come on. You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for half the night, doll.” You cut your eyes at him as the nickname rolled off his tongue and replayed in your head. Doll. It made your heart beat a little faster, but you attributed it to your annoyance—nothing else.

He huffed a half-laugh of exasperation at your continued silence, running a hand over the short scruff of his beard, “Look, you gonna make me drag it out of you? Or can you just tell me?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you schooled your features into something calm and finally gave him your undivided attention. Letting your eyes rove over his earnest expression, you hesitated. Did he really not fucking know? Or was he just an asshole and didn’t think you’d care? Sitting up a little straighter, your voice was even as you ignored the hurt and cooly acknowledged the elephant in the limousine, “It just would have been nice to know that you were looking for a new assistant. That’s all.”

Even he couldn’t feign the confusion that crossed his face as he pushed back, “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“What do you mean?” Exasperation colored your tone as your eyes carefully searched his. His silent confusion only served to aggravate the tension that wrapped around you, as the words finally spilled out, “I have basically been on your campaign since you announced your bid for congress! I know what you look like when you’re charming people for donations and you don’t think I can’t tell when you’re working someone?”

“It wasn’t—”

“I was five feet away, James!” You cut him off, your knuckles blanching as you gripped your phone tightly. The blinking cursor waited for more of your (admittedly, kind of rude) words of resignation. Feigning thoughtfulness, you carried on as if attempting to job his memory, “What was it you said? Oh! Yeah. You can choose who you work for.”

Shaking your head, both wounded and pissed off, you glanced out the window to see you were still half an hour from the building that housed both of your apartments. This was going to be a fun ride. You’d barely pulled away from the museum’s curb. As you sat back against the leather of the seat, you returned your attention to the email, continued typing with too much force, and attempted to ignore Bucky’s presence. Surely, you’d have to edit out some of the notes of ‘fuck you’ and ‘asshole’ before you sent it Monday morning.

“Can you stop fuckin’ typing?” He grumbled frustratedly. The dark metal and gold of his vibranium hand glinted under the flicker of the streetlight as he easily plucked it from your hands and tried to diffuse the situation. “Baby, listen—”

You reached for your phone as he quickly locked it and gave you a chastising glare as you tried to reason, “Look, I’m just trying to draft my letter of resignation. So, I’d really appreciate that back.”

Holding it out of your reach, he snorted a laugh. His tongue ran over his teeth, and he shook his head, almost as if he was entertained by your reaction, murmuring lowly, “I’m not gonna accept your goddamn resignation.”

A bolt of something shot through your stomach at the almost growl and you felt a shiver roll through your body, goosebumps rising on your bare arms. You shoved that aside and continued to argue, “You don’t have a choice!” Giving up, you crossed your arms and sank back into the seat, “It’s a resignation, not a request. I’m not asking if I can quit, I’m—”

“You’re not doing shit!” His voice was raised and that was the first time you’d ever seen the cords of his patience finally snap and you were momentarily stunned into silence. Taking your hand in his, and taking advantage of your sudden lack of talking, he was almost imploring as he hurriedly explained and held your gaze, “I wasn’t looking for a new assistant; I just needed Mel to know that she could work for someone aside from Valentina so maybe she’d testify at the impeachment. That’s all.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you hesitated as his words finally computed in your brain. Well, fuck.

Maybe you’d jumped the gun because…that made sense. For the past two weeks, you both had been discussing strategies to try and ensure an impeachment for Valentina was within the realm of possibility and Mel’s name may or may not have come up a handful of times. So, maybe—just maybe—you’d gotten ahead of yourself.

You knew it was a toxic trait, but you were already in the thick of this argument and completely relenting wasn’t an option no matter how reasonable he was. So, you rolled your eyes, ignoring the way his thumb brushed over the back of your hand as you looked past him, out the window, and mumbled without any real heat, “Okay. Sure.”

His chin dropped to his chest as he huffed out a short, dry laugh and shook his head, “You think I’d ever want anyone else by my side?” His vibranium fingers laced with yours and the corner of his lips ticked up in a half-smile at your attitude. Your eyes flicked down to your hands as he gave a gentle squeeze, and continued quietly, “Baby, I couldn’t do anything without you. We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you.”

His eyes were soft as you disbelievingly shook your head with a small smile that matched his and looked out your own window, “Shut up…”

“I guess I do a pretty shitty job of letting you know how valuable you are to me.”

Turning your head, your breath caught in your throat as you realized how close he was. The familiar spiced cologne that reminded you of whiskey and citrus clung to his chest; it invaded your senses, and you felt your face go warm. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as a shaky breath threatened to pass from you. The blue of his eyes was just a ring around his pupil, dilated with want; you knew yours had to look the same. The fire in your stomach had dropped lower and you shifted under his wanting gaze.

This had been almost two years in the making and maybe there wasn’t a point in trying to fight it anymore. Your eyes flickered to his lips before returning to his eyes and you whispered shakily, “Bucky, we…”

Like you saying his nickname pulled some trigger, he shook his head with a crooked smile, “Fuck it.”

Bucky’s hand cupped your cheek, and, with a surprising amount of gentleness, he crashed his lips into yours and the pieces fell into place. Every feeling that had been behind some secret dam you didn’t know that you’d built rushed out. Your hand drifted over his chest and around his neck as you pulled him closer and sighed softly against his lips.

“I didn’t know you were so jealous, baby…” He teased, pulling you into his lap and you couldn’t help the way it made you smile into the kiss.

“Not jealous,” You murmured before your teeth grazed over his bottom lip and he groaned, his hand tracing down your spine before landing on your ass and giving a gentle squeeze. Giggling, you continued and pressed your body closer to his, “Just wanted some job security…”

“Trust me, baby. The job is always yours.” His words were muffled as his lips moved down your jaw and against your neck, trailing up and down, never staying in one spot long enough to leave a mark as one of his hands trailed down to the slit in your dress. “Tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

“I am.” He teased and you gave a soft whine, the fingers of one of your hands tangling in his hair as the other tried to urge his hand higher up the soft skin of your thigh. Feigning surprise, his lips finally moved away from your neck as he sat back and grinned wide, “Oh, you want my fingers?” Feeling the way his chest rose and fell while pressed against your own made you shiver as your legs spread slightly.

“Fuck…” He groaned, his thumb grazing the inside of your thigh before it easily zeroed in on your clit that was still hidden behind the silky material of your panties. The muscles in your stomach clenched as he pressed gently against your bundle of nerves.

“Bucky—" His name was a soft whimper as it was pulled from your lips at the pressure you needed more of.

Bucky’s fingers grazed your cheekbone as he traced your face reverently before pressing his thumb to your lips as he murmured lowly, “Get it wet for me, baby.” Your tongue swirled around his digit, sucking as you hollowed out your cheeks and watched his eyes darken. “Fuck…that’s my good girl.”

Slipping his finger from your mouth, he glazed it over your bottom lip, tugging on it gently before shifting to his knees in the spacious floorboard. You whined softly as the dress restricted your thighs from spreading any further. The ripping of fabric pulled a gasp from your lips as he tore the pre-sewn slit in your silky skirt higher.

“I’ll get you a new one.” His wolfish grin stopped you from chastising him as he tugged the gusset of your underwear aside and let out a low groan as the wetness that glistened on your folds. Digging your fingers into the leather of the seat, you shifted shyly under his gaze.

“Bucky…” You begged with a whisper, “I need you. Please.”

With a breath caught in your chest, you watched as he bit his lower lip and traced his thumb up and down your slit before letting out a low growl, “Gotta fucking taste you.”

You couldn’t stop the yelp as he easily grabbed your hips and tugged you further down the seat, slipping your panties off you and shoving them in his back pocket before hooking your legs over his broad shoulders as his big hands held your thighs wide. His thumbs spread your folds apart as his tongue licked a broad, languid strip from your weeping entrance to your swollen clit as a keening moan was pulled from your lips at the pleasure that coursed through your veins.

With a playful click of his tongue, his tone feigned disappointment, “Made such a mess of this sweet little cunt. You sensitive, baby?” He barely brushed a finger down your soaked slit again, and you couldn’t stop the way your hips bucked at the stimulation, a sob pulled from your chest. Clamping a hand over your mouth, you tried to stifle the noises that wanted to spill from you. Nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, you could feel the way he smiled as you shifted restlessly and he cooed teasingly, “Look at this perfect fucking pussy, all spread out for me.”

Without adieu, Bucky returned his lips to your clit, his tongue tracing a circle around the bud before sucking it between his lips. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you felt the way he groaned against your center as you tugged gently. No matter how badly you needed to clench your thighs closed, whether to keep him close or push him away because the pleasure was too much, it wasn’t possible. “So sweet for me, baby…”

The vibration of his words made you whimper as he sucked an erratic pattern that made you writhe on the leather seat as your fingers gripped his hair even tighter; he was ravenous as he licked and sucked and nipped, driving you wild and pushing you closer to the edge. Slipping his middle finger into your tight channel, he pumped it in and out with lewd noises from your wetness. After a moment, he slipped a second one in with the first and crooked them up against the ridged spot that made you see flares of light. You felt your face grow warm at the sound as you begged, “Buck—”

A warmth pooled low in your stomach, and you couldn’t stop the breathy “oh’s” that were pulled from your chest. Squeezing your eyes closed, you rocked your hips up into his mouth as he sucked at your labia and dipped his tongue into your clenching core like a man starved. Just as you were about to fall over the edge, he pulled back with a lecherous grin. A needy whine fell from your lips as you gripped his hair tighter, trying and failing to keep his mouth pressed where you needed him most as he held you firmly by the hips, pressing you into the seat.

“So greedy, baby…” Pressing his lips to your mound, his thumbs brushed over your hips as he asked teasingly, “What? Did you wanna come?”

With a shuddering breath, you dropped your head back against the pillows as your fingers tightened in his hair, pleading, “God—fuck, yes.”

“Where are your manners, baby?” His words were low as a gentle nip to your clit made your back arch off the seat at the surprising cocktail of pleasurable pain. Rubbing over your button with a thumb, soothing the barely-there sting, he cautioned with a teasing smile, “If you come, I’m not letting you stop ‘til you’re begging.”

“Don’t care—please, Bucky.” Shaking your head as you looked down at him worshipping between your thighs, you weren’t even certain that your words were intelligible as you begged and babbled with hooded eyes, “Please, let me come. Please, fuck—”

Without a verbal response, he ducked his head back down and returned to his lingual assault, pulling a loud, ‘Fuck!’ from deep in your chest as you rocked your hips against the two fingers that were thrusting deep inside of you at a punishing pace, working you open. It wasn’t long before your thighs were clenching as he crooked his fingers just right and sent you over the edge.

“That’s it. Fuck…” He hummed against your center.

Your back bowed off the seat as a pleasant warmth spread through your body, radiating out through your fingers and curled toes as his tongue laved over your sensitive skin, graduating from flat broad strokes to little kitten licks that made you twitch with aftershocks of your climax. Trying to close your thighs and shy away from his touch, you whined before he sat up, blushing as you spotted his lips and chin shiny from your wetness. With the back of his hand, he wiped away some of it with a smug wink.

Pressing a hand over your chest, grounding yourself with the feeling of your skin, you tried to catch your breath as a soft laugh huffed past your lips. Sinking back into the warm leather of the seat, you watched as Bucky’s eyes trailed after his hands that worshipfully grazed up your still shaky thighs before trying to fix the skirt of your dress, gently trailing his lips over your skin as he tugged it back down to cover you. However, that did nothing to help the torn fabric that had been ripped too high.

You’d barely remembered he’d ripped the silk it until the cool air from the vent brushed over your thighs chest and you felt your face go warm, suddenly feeling overexposed as you sat up, “Bucky!” Fruitlessly attempting to tuck or adjust the fabric to maintain some kind of modesty, you couldn’t help but whine about his (slightly hot) barbarism, “I just bought this!”

“I told you I’d get you a new one.” He grinned from where he was still on his knees and slid off the black suit jacket, leaving him in his dress shirt and undone bowtie. “Here, baby.”

Sliding back into the seat beside you, he held the jacket for you as you slid your arms into the too-big sleeves, grateful it was long enough to fall to your mid-thighs. Fixing your hair for you so it wasn’t tucked into the collar, he pressed a soft kiss to your neck as the limousine began to slow. You quickly buttoned the coat as he groaned and adjusted himself where his slacks had grown tighter.

Shooting him a coy smile, you questioned innocently, “Problem?” He huffed a laugh with a shake of his head as your grin widened.

He couldn’t stop himself from pulling you back in for another searing kiss, murmuring against your mouth, “You gonna take care of it when we get inside, baby?”

Pulling away with a soft moan, you teased breathlessly, “You mean when you come inside, baby?”

His eyes darkened as you opened the door with a sly smile, stepping on to the bustling sidewalk. Your knees were still weak from the orgasm that had wracked your body, and you were quickly regretting the heels you’d decided to wear earlier. But, in a flash, Bucky was beside you with his hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside as his lips brushed against your ear and made you shiver as he murmured, “Remember when I said I wasn’t gonna stop until you were begging? That’s exactly what I mean, sweetheart.”

[nicromancytarot]

Back at the start of October I became educated on the Palestinian genocide and advocated for those in Palestine on various platforms of mine. I do not feel comfortable with my silence on this account as I have a fair amount of traction here. So here is my 4000 word document on the conflict in Gaza, it has educating history and information, as well as updates.

There is a fair amount of information missed out due to losing my password to the account this was posted on, but I plan on getting back to updating it as soon as possible!

——————————————

FIRSTLY - PLEASE TAKE YOUR TIME TO SHARE OR DONATE TO THESE GOFUNDME’S SO WE CAN GET THESE PEOPLE TO SAFETY AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

Mahmoud and his family

Dana and her family

4 year old Naya and her family

Samah’s family

Hasan and his family

Haneen’s family

Young Omar and his family

Mosab’s treatment

Student Khaled and his family

Ahmed and his family

Bisan and her family

Mariam and her family

Help baby Omar

Dr Saber and his family

Ashraf and his family

Mohammed and Shelly the tortoise

Misk and Ahmed

———————————————

In 1947 the United Nations recommended the partition of Palestine and separation of Jewish and Arab states.

This meant that they would be giving away the Palestinian land and giving part of it to the Jewish (now mainly Israeli)and part to Arab (mainly Palestinian) people.

In 1948, Britain (who were in occupation and control of Palestine) finally gave the land up and departed back to England, leaving the Jews and Arabs to fight out who was going to get the land – this turned into the war that we know to have been the ethnic cleansing of Palestine by the Israeli government.

since that day, Israel (as it came to be) have been taking over more and more land, by doing so, they are killing, capturing and torturing the innocent Palestinian civilians.

This has been going on for 75+ years, and the media refuses to allow us to speak about it.

Hamas is an extremist group fighting for liberation of their land,we have to take note that Hamas wouldn't be doing what they are doing now had the Israeli government not taken over the Palestinian land.

80 years ago Israel did not exist, Palestine was where Israel now stands. Innocent Palestinians have been captured, killed and put into concentration camps which live on the Israeli land. Yet the media never talks about it.

Even if this is a supposed war against Hamas, Hamas does not represent the entirety of Palestine.

With what is happening in Israel right now innocent Palestinians are being murdered once again, yet the media is refusing to talk about it.

The Israeli government have shut off water supply to Gaza (home to 2,000,000 Palestinians, half of those being children) and have started launching white phosphorus, a harmful chemical that can cause burns and even death, due to injury and illness.

recently Israel has mentioned that they are going to bring Gaza to the ground, every building will be nothing but rubble by the end of it.

Israeli government had recently given Palestinians the opportunity to leave to Egypt for a safe passage, letting the citizens know which paths were safe and which were not, the Palestinians loaded themselves onto open trucks, so the planes belonging the the Israeli government could see them and know that they are innocent. Isreal bombed the trucks and the passage. Killing many, including children.

They warned Palestinians in Gaza to head to South Gaza so they could bomb the north, many evacuating to the South. Israel bombed the South, killing even more.

And then continued to bomb ambulances those in need of medical assistance were in.

Israeli propaganda is trying to make us believe that these are mere defence tactics, yet the majority of us can see that this is just another ethnic cleanse in the form of self defence. Israeli government is trying to get rid of everything and everyone from the land, which will no doubt become Israel in the near future if their "defence mechanisms" go to plan.

The media is trying to convince you that Israel is in the right by starting the war and fighting back, since "Hamas started it."

But the 7 decades worth of oppression of Palestine in the hands of the Israeli government says otherwise.

Israel has one of the most progressive militaries in the world (declared in 1967 during the Jerusalem massacre) meanwhile also receiving guns from the US, which are illegal in Gaza.) But Palestinians have nothing, only the rocks and stones from their blown up homes.

It's not a war if it's not a fair fight.

They want you to see Palestine as an enemy that they must eliminate, but once again – this is just Israeli propaganda.

standing with Palestine does not mean you support terrorism, it means you support resistance and liberation. Standing with Israel means that you support the mass-murder, genocide, torture and ethnic cleansing of Palestine and Palestinians.

For every city in Israel is a concentration camp home to thousands of Palestinians.

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Israeli forces have killed 2750 Palestinians in the recent attacks, 1030 of those are assumed to be children.

Israeli forces air-struck a supposed Hamas base inside of Gaza hospital Al-Ahli, 800 Palestinians were killed in the attack.

Israeli human rights activist against antisemitism Hananaya Naftalí was seen posting to twitter reporting on Al-Ahli, in his first post he was seen to say "BREAKING: Israeli Air Force struck at Hamas terrorist base inside hospital in Gaza."

He then deleted that tweet after backlash and reposted a new one saying "The mysterious explosions in Gaza." "Hamas blames Israel for this. I believe it is either a failed rocket that hit the hospital or something that was done on purpose in order to get international support."

check out @/aquilahel on tiktok for the tweets.

For anyone who thinks that this is just a two sided issue, I will tell you why it is not.

6 year old boy Wadea Al-Fayoumi was stabbed and killed by his landlord in Plainfield, Illinois for being Palestinian and Muslim. The 71 year old landlord Joseph Czuba forced his way into the house when Wadea and his mother were home, stabbing the mother once, she managed to hide from him and waited until he left. After he left she came out to find her son stabbed 26 times. Joseph was found sat outside the apartment complex by police.

This is not just an issue for Israel and Palestine, this is affecting Palestinians and Muslims all around the globe.

We have received some good news, the president of Columbia Gustavo Petro has stated he "does not support genocide" and has sent humanitarian aid to Gaza.

We have also been notified that "ground operation" (Israeli forces operation to leave Gaza on the ground) has been posponed due to "weather disturbances", with further investigation we can see that the date it is set to happen on has clear weather and no disturbances, yet we have seen that Columbia's Gustavo Petro announcing he doesn't support genocide and sending help to Gaza has caused Israeli forces to pospone the operation due to the lack of support from a member of the United Nations.

Our voices really do make a difference.

———————————————

Israeli forces have bombed a 2000 year old orthodox church in Gaza where groups of people who had either evacuated or had to leave their homes were seeking refuge. It was reported that 18 Palestinian-Christians were killed, and 18 more injured.

The united nations had a meeting to discuss the plans for the Israeli attack on Gaza. They were asked whether or not humanitarian aid should be let into Gaza.

IN FAVOUR FOR HUMANITARIAN AID (6)

Brazil, China, Gabon, Mozambique, Russian Federation, United Arab Emirates

AGAINST HUMANITARIAN AID (1)

United States

8 abstentions (refusing to vote), leading to the failure of adopting a solution for humanitarian aid.

The United Nations held another meeting to discuss the possibility of a creasefire on Gaza, the results are as shown.

IN FAVOUR FOR CEASEFIRE (5)

China, Gabon, Mozambique, Russia, United Arab Emirates

AGAINST CEASEFIRE (4)

France, Japan, United Kingdom, United States

ABSTAINED (6)

Albania, Brazil, Ecuador, Ghana, Malta, Switzerland

Currently there are no updates on whether a solution has been put together.

Scottish Priminister Humza Yousaf has called for ceasefire on Gaza, and has said that Scotland is willing to take Gazan refugees.

Multiple countries have given humanitarian aid to Gaza, but it is all in trucks at the border, which is closed. The border between Gaza and Egypt was supposed to be opened by Israeli forces on Monday 16th October,

Saturday 21st October Israeli forces have opened the gate, letting in only 20 trucks, this will not be enough to sustain and aid 2 million people and they know this.

Total statistics from Thursday 19th October:

At least 3,785 Palestinians have been killed and 12,493 wounded in Israeli strikes in Gaza since October 7th.

Jewish-American conservative talk show host Ben Shapiro posted a picture of a "burnt Jewish baby" claiming that it is one from the Hamas-Israel attack. He posted this photo to twitter after receiving backlash from "Jew haters" (as he called them) who did not believe that any babies had been harmed by Hamas. (as there is no real proof of any individual attacks by Hamas.)

The picture has since been proven to be artificially generated.

Shapiro only 19 hours ago took to the internet to tell everyone how "America will avert world war three." Talking on the Palestine-Israel situation. (It's more likely America will cause world war three than avert it, Ben.)

UPDATED DEATH TOLL: 4,385 killed. 1,756 assumed to be children. 967 assumed to be women.

IMPORTANT UPDATE: Israel has sent a warning out to hospital in Gaza Al-Quds, telling the people seeking refuge in there to evacuate so they can blow it up.

They have been bombing around the hospital for the last few days and now plan on taking it down completely.

12,000 people are there right now, it is their only place of shelter and safety, there are medical staff treating patients in need of medical aid, and the doctors refuse to leave.

this is inhumane, they are going to kill 12,000 people and this will not stop until gaza and palestine is wiped out completely.

So many babies and young children are there with their families. If you care about the hypothetical babies in the Hamas-Israel attack, you NEED to care about these.

We should not have to tell you that innocent babies and children are being killed for you to listen and realise that this is terrorism.

Do not listen when they tell you Hamas did it.

United States has donated $100 billion to Israel, backing this current attack and the many more to come.

United Kingdom's priminister Rishi Sunak has stated that the UK "stands with israel" and "are friends with Israel", and that he wants Israel "to win." (We do not stand with Israel, our stupid priminister does.)

There is no winner to a war that has more death than solution.

And there is no war if the other side cannot and does not fight back.

Gazan children are having to write their names on their hands to ensure that they can be identified after death. No child should be having to think or worry about death, let alone go through it.

This is genocide.

This is mass-murder.

This is terrorism.

This is dehumanisation.

This will not stop until Gaza and Palestine as a whole are nothing but Israeli land.

But we will not stay silent about this.

—————————————————

UPDATES: 24th October

23 reported masacres in the last hours of the 16th day of attacks, which caused a current total of 436 deaths, 182 of those were reported to have been children. These people were mainly from the South of Gaza, the place Gazans were told to relocate to by Israeli forces as it would be "safer."

TOTAL NUMBER OF VICTIMS:

5087 killed,

2055 children,

1119 women,

217 elderly,

a total of 15,273 injuries and 1,500 people including 830 kids have been reported missing under the rubble.

Severe burn injuries are being seen across Gaza, some including melting skin which they have never seen before, and in which is being proved hard to treat with the limited resources they have.

12 hospitals and 32 healthcare centres are unavailable due to targeting and lack of fuel.

Hospitals that are available have reached mass capacity and the medical teams are struggling to help those injured due to the lack of recourses and fuel.

130 premature babies lives are at risk, these babies are in incubators which run off of electricity, when Israel shuts this off (which they have been doing a lot recently) these babies will die as they will have no way to breathe and will therefore suffocate, if they can breathe on their own, loss of electrical function will cause the thermal system to fail and therefore the babies will die of hypothermia.

Day 16 was reported to have been the worst bombing Gaza has seen since the beginning (7th of October.)

The night sky was lit up red by Israeli bomb lights. (After having been a complete blackout at night since the 7th.)

This is only the reports for today, this is only going to get worse. As it is going, we unfortunately believe that this "war" will not stop until Gaza and the west bank are erased from the land completely.

Please keep talking about this, make posts, tell friends and family. Be Palestine's voice in a time when they cannot use theirs.

—————————————————

UPDATES: 26th October

Hospitals have made it to their full capacity and are now being reported as reaching their "total collapse" as result of the israeli airstrikes.

People in need of medical aid are being treated with whatever is left, patients are having to be seen to while laying on the ground and having their wounds and injuries seen to while under no anestesia.

Since October 7th: 5,791 people, including 65 medical staff, 2,360 children, 1,292 women and 295 elders have been killed, with 16,297 injuries. This only accounts for the ones that have been found and identified.

It has been said by the ministry spokesman, Ashraf al-Qudra that "children, women and elderly make up around 70% of the victims."

But that does not mean we disregard for the 30% of the Gazan men, and the rest of them that are working hard to find and help people in need, I unfortunately keep seeing men unaccounted for in these attacks due to fear and stereotypes. They deserve our attention too.

16 year old Muslim girl on a train in New York was attacked and discriminated against due to her religious beliefs.

When heading to Union square the girl sat down on the train, a man sitting next to her. The unidentified individual then told her "you're a terrorist, you don't belong here." Before pulling on her hijab.

The man ran away after another passenger intervened and tried to help.

There have been no arrests made at this time.

This is the impact of what is going on around the world. For so incredibly long Muslims and Arabs have had to fight the stereotypes that the Western media has written for them. May I remind you that no one person fits into a group of stereotypical values. No matter what ones religion or culture is, they are an individual with achievements, goals and dreams. Stop trying to generalise a group of people because you don't like what they stand for. It's pathetic.

I ask you to step away from Western media, when you come across it, ask yourself "what do they want me to think and what are they hiding from me?" Make your own judgments by doing your own research, do not follow the rest.

Accounts on various media platforms are being deleted for talking out about what is going on in Palestine and Gaza,

Instagram account "eye.on.palestine", one of the biggest Palestine news update accounts was recently deleted, luckily it is said to be restored soon enough.

But not all pages will have that outcome, they are trying to silence us because we know the truth.

So keep talking.

—————————————————

UPDATES: 27th October

Death toll in gaza reaches 6,747

Biden has stated he has "no notion if palestinians are telling the truth about how many people are killed" genocidal denialism at its best, not only that - he is straight up stating that their lives are much less valuable than anyone else's.

Palestinan officials have sent him a 212 page document on all the names, age, sex and official identification number in response.

281 of them are missing information as they have not identified them yet.

Schools in the West bank have been bombed by Israeli forces, once again - Hamas doesn't exist there, I beg you to tell me the reason to kill and scare innocent people, especially children.

Do not turn your back to the children of Palestine and then complain to me about the hypothetical children killed in Israel by Hamas.

Hamas have released some of their hostages, the hostages that were interviewed have stated that they were treated well and ate the same food as Hamas did, and received medical attention. They were kind to them and caused them no harm. It is reported that the current hostages released (at least a few of them) were given back due to needing medical aid that can only be given to them outside of Gaza.

I would also like to add, for the people who think they are hero's for speaking out about this issue, please shut up. The majority of the time this is white savour complex and I am tired. You are not a hero for doing the one thing you should be doing. Well done for doing it, but it doesn't mean you should be praised.

Also please stay respectful about what you post about Palestine, edits of the war are strange and using the genocide to promote your music is even weirder.

Stay safe out there.

Also for anyone who does not believe that Israel is the problem, I ask you to look into the issues with the West-bank Palestine, and how Israeli forces treat the people who live there even without Hamas (Whom are supposed to be the reason for this "war", right?)

Watch Joe Rogan's podcast interview with journalist Abby Martin, who talks about the month she spent in the West-bank, it's highly educational.

If you are Palestinian or Muslim, please stay safe and take care of yourself.

———————————————

EVERY CEASEFIRE NEGOTIATION SINCE OCTOBER 7TH 2023

October 9th, Hamas offered Israel an unspecified number of women and children to be released from gaza, in exchange of 36 Palestinian prisoners held captive in Israel. Israel denied.

October 16th, Hamas says they'd release all hostages in exchange for 6000 Palestinian captives. Israel denied.

October 17th, Hamas said they'd release all Israeli hostages if Israel stopped bombing gaza. Israel denied.

October 28th, all hostages for all Palestinian captives. Israel denied.

November 17th, all Israeli hostages for a 3 day ceasefire. Israel denied.

January 2nd, Hamas would release 40 hostages in order for Israel's gradual 3 day withdrawal from gaza, on the last day Israel would stop the war and give back all Palestinian captives. Israel denied.

January 22nd, Hamas would be in leadership of gaza, they would release all hostages in exchange for all Palestinian captives and the end of the war. Israel denied.

February 7th, all hostages from both sides and the end to the war. Israel denied.

March 15th, Hamas would release all elderly, children, women and sick captives held in gaza in exchange of 700-1000 Palestinian captives being held in Israel. Israel denied.

May 7th, Hamas offers all female hostages for 50 Palestinian hostages and an 11 day ceasefire before Israel finally dismantles all military structure from gaza and allows gaza to begin reconstruction. Israel denied.

it's never been about the hostages, Israel could've got them out 7 months ago if they really cared about them, they are a tool being weaponised to mask ethnic cleansing.

IMPORTANT MESSAGE REGARDING CELEBRITIES, INFLUENCERS AND EDUCATION

I am so sick of people saying they are not educated enough to speak about this. 7 months. SEVEN FUCKING MONTHS. I cannot be nice about this anymore, I am tired, Palestine is tired, GAZA IS TIRED, we are all so fucking tired of this performative bullshit that everyone is spewing. I am so so sick of hearing that people cannot boycott Starbucks, that Mcdonald's is too good to stop eating, that Disney is important to them. SHUT THE FUCK UP. People are dying, they are being brutally murdered and you are crying about your fucking coffee??? GROW UP!!! This is life, you either grow with it or you don't. No one is asking you to sell your kidney for Palestine, but most of us would do it in a heartbeat.

For the celebrities and influencers, do not complain about not knowing enough when you've had 7 months to learn it, I was reciting "in 1947 the United Nations requested partition and separation of the Jewish and Arab states" in my dreams dude, I literally had a dream last week where someone offered me a Starbucks and I stood up shouting "BOYCOTT". This is what should be happening to everyone, it should be so drilled into your head that you think about it every waking moment. So trying to sit there and complain about your lack of understanding and education is a bunch of bullshit. Why be an influencer if you cannot influence??? 7 months to pick up a book, to listen to Palestinians who explain it to us for free on social media, to watch videos.

I saw a picture of a baby the other day, unlike normal I wasn't prepared for this, it wasn't censored and I had just woke up, it was on my Instagram feed, a young girl, not old enough to walk, I doubt she could even crawl, a small bow in her hair, a onesie, her ears pierced. A baby, someone's child, someone's entire life. half of her face and body was skinned, you could see her organs. While this baby was murdered in cold blood, Israeli's gathered at the Rafah border to celebrate the ground invasion. WHILE THIS CHILD WAS MURDERED.

If you are not angry, why the hell not? Our people are being killed, we may not be Palestinian, but we are all connected by humanity. So where is it when it comes to them? Why kill the people who cannot even fight back????

That land is not yours, it will never be yours. No matter what your bible says, God would never make you exchange a soul for soil.

————————————————

30TH MAY 2024

I struggle to find the right words when I write this, and this is now my third attempt. It is great to see people advocating for Gaza now after having seen the pictures, videos and media coming from Rafah. However I cannot hide my anger when it comes to the way people have done this. Posting an AI image which does not convey the atrocious actions Israel has and still is carrying out on Gaza and Palestine as a whole on your timeline on whatever social media you have, is peak performative activism. It is unfortunate that people have utilised this time now to post something so out of touch while we have actual images from Gaza relaying the terror, we have videos and quotes you can use, why share an AI image when you have gofundme's and families who you can advocate for during this time?

Another thing I would like to mention are the videos now coming out with people chanting for a ceasefire, but saying that it's "never too late". I will not reprimand you for not educating yourself on this situation prior, and I will say now that it is great that you are getting involved and helping out the best you can by spreading the message. However while you do this, please remember that for the last 8 months while evidence from Palestine has been circulating social media, you were turning away and swiping past - and therefore are complicit in genocide. Acknowledge your mistakes and ignorance while educating yourself and others going forward.

The more people involved, the more people we save. But it will not bring back 40,000 people who did not have to be killed.

And do not promote or hype up Piers Morgan, he is one of the main advocators for the genocide on Gaza since the 7th of October and the main reason people in the UK feel so comfortable with their hatred towards Palestinians and Pro-Palestinians. And still now he is on the wrong side of history when saying "Israel has the right to defend itself" - that proves that he knows nothing of the conflict even while he asks for a ceasefire.

————————————————

5th June 2024

I just saw a video of the IDF running over an already dead, or injured man with a bulldozer, they crushed his body. In the video you can see the soliders redirecting the vehicle to ensure the man is fully under. Whether that man was dead or not, will forever fail to take away the just reason of crushing his body under a bulldozer weighing approximately 62 tonnes. He was not a Hamas responder, he was a civilian wearing normal civilian clothing. He was someone’s someone, a crucial part of a family, a connection, and that was all taken away from him. I do not know what will be left of his remains, however I fear for his loved ones and for what parts of him they will find. He will not get a proper burial. His family may not even recognise him if or when they manage to find him. His life was stolen for the sake of land, land that belonged to him.

May his sweet soul rest in peace, and those of justice deal with the hardly-human soliders that killed him.

————————————————

12TH AUGUST 2024

Surviving family members of those killed in Gaza are being given liquidated body parts of unidentified bodies weighing the age of the victim they mention because there are no full bodies found in Al-Tabin SCHOOL where Israel struck yesterday.

“I told them my son Ali is 6, they gave me a plastic bag with 18 kilos of body parts & told me to bury it. I don't know if it's my son or not... We can't find his body anywhere"

- Hassan, a Gazan father sheltering at the

school bombed by Israel.

————————————————

30th September 2024

Documenting a genocide with words is something you’d feel you would never be made to do, not after everything we learnt in school about the atrocious acts of our history, and the silence the west responded to such things with.

But that’s what I wanted to talk about; the world’s silence and complicity, and how it has affected sane minds and reactions even to this day. During world war II, eight groups of our community were targeted wrongfully by the Nazi’s. Those were made up of the Roma’s, Disabled people, Poles and Slavs, communists and socialists, Jehovah’s witnesses, the LGBTQ+ community, afro-Germans, and most of all, the Jews.

We all know about the holocaust, it is one past time that the entire world feels rightfully guilty for, and so they teach us about it over and over again until we understand what happened and how it affected people. However, what we haven’t been taught is that now people are so held back by the guilt that they feel for their people not intervening, that now we are at such a crossroad where people refuse to question Zionism because of it.

You can have a Jewish state without colonialism, you can have a place of sanctuary without stealing from others and murdering them on their land. The west refuse to admit that Zionism is wrong, and that’s why what Israel are doing is barbaric.

Palestine. Lebanon, Yemen.

What is next?

Does it make you such a bad person to question the logic that goes behind using the religion of Judaism to violate laws and hurt those who have only the desire to live? Is it so wrong to say that it is not right for religion to hold such a power over a life, or many? And am I wrong for saying that people are so scared to question Zionism and Israel, because it means to question Judaism?

What logic is there in letting people steal land because a holy book that only exists as an ideology and has no harsh proof, said that they are owed it?

Free Palestine. Free Lebanon. Free Yemen.

My heart goes out to any and all victims, you deserve much better than the world has given you. Ameen.

I ask you to open your eyes to the truth.

Do not be on the wrong side of history.

Palestine needs our voices now more than ever.

Free Palestine until it's backwards 🇵🇸

[thetxtdevil]

Fashion Week

Yeonjun x Reader

summary: Yeonjun goes to Paris, France for Fashion Week to look at the latest hot styles. He's also going to meet up with a super hot model.

content: smut, fashionista idol yeonjun, supermodel fem.reader, paris/fashion week setting, they've hooked up before, strip tease?, blowjob, (fem) masturbation, consumption of cum :P, fingering, condom use finally, doggy style

word count: 1.4k

The sun was bright, shining down the many fashion lovers attending Paris Fashion Week. Yeonjun was known to attend the men's portion of fashion week. He was all for the new trends and beautiful garments that matched his own beauty. Once the shows he was invited to ended he sent his asks for certain styles and quickly heads for another show specifically for women.

Luckily, the french weather had suddenly changed, sun covered by clouds making it more bearable for Yeonjun to run down the cobblestone road to a old lavish building. Walking in the garden that surround the building, the green grass became covered with paparazzi. Yeonjun takes his time to wave and pose before continuing his journey to the show.

He loved all things fashion, the many styles, colors, its a way to express yourself however, in this show he was there for a specific supermodel. Sitting down on a wire framed chair in the front row Yeonjun relaxes under the cool breeze of air conditioning. The many women strut in spring inspired attire passing by as he watches contently. Yeonjun turn his head right when the the star of the show turns the corner.

Yeonjun leans forward elbows on his knees, he was in absolute awe. You, the supermodel he's been waiting for, strutting in confidence. Wearing an intricately made haute couture dress that fit like a glove. Yeonjun watches you closely, looking at you like you’re his next meal. Trying to focus on your walk, you simply glance towards the man keeping a straight face. Walking past him, you move your finger as a wave to the man. Yeonjun sees this little action, smirking and continues to study the dress and the definition of your exposed back.

After the show, Yeonjun makes no time for more paparazzi to take pictures of him. He was determined to make it to the back stage before you leave. A little overwhelmed by the many models changing and trying to leave, a women with a clipboard and headphones walks straight up to him, “Are you Yeonjun?”

“Uhhh yes...”

“Y/n asks for you in her dressing room.”

Yeonjun tilts his head, very pleased to have an escort to your room. The man follows the assistant making his way through the crowd of models. He arrives to a door, separating you from the crowd. Yeonjun slowly twists the doorknob and walks in. A substantial difference between the outside and the room, it was quiet with faint classical music playing in the background, and big widows that arched over head. Greenery framed the glass with a distant view of the Eiffel tower, it was simply romantic.

“I didn’t think I’d see you at the show” you walk into Yeonjun’s view hugging him. Yeonjun takes his chance to feel the expensive fabric along your body. You were currently in a slip dress worn underneath the original runway dress, the man's hands lingered for a while, he missed his little love affair with the model.

Your first big modeling gig was exciting for you and that excitement increased when you met Yeonjun at a after party. Hitting it off, naturally he lead you to his hotel room and since then every time you two were in the same city you guys meet.

You both separate when you walk to the partition, hiding the vanity, taking off your earrings and placing them on the surface. Yeonjun was not too far behind you, knowing you had nothing to hide when changing.

"After this I was thinking we can go out for a walk, get cappuccinos-" you stop mid-sentence when you feel hands unclasping your necklace. A slight shiver runs down your spine feeling his fingers graze your skin. This reaction was not unnoticed by the man. Yeonjun gets closer to your back, lightly tracing your arms, placing the delicate diamond necklace into your open palm. You watch him through your vanity mirror, watching as he presses his lips to your neck but you weren't prepared with how satisfying it would feel. Eyes fluttering shut, you tilt your head to the side letting him lightly kiss more of your exposed skin.

"or we can just stay in this dressing room a little longer." you smile looking at Yeonjun's same reaction reflected on the mirror.

Turing around, you plant your lips against his plush ones. Delicate fingers stroking Yeonjun's black hair. His big hands around your waist, all this felt like heaven.

Making the kiss harsher, you push the man towards the velvet sofa in the middle of the room. Falling into the cushions with him, you start to grind against his hard on. Moans slipping from both ends you break the kiss, lifting yourself off of Yeonjun. Slipping out of your slip dress letting it fall on the ground and then slowly taking off your black sheer panties throwing them at Yeonjun all while seductively staring at him.

Yeonjun catches your flung garment, feeling them to see that they were soaked. He watches you hover over him crawling down hooking your fingers to the band of his pants, unbuttoning, and lowering both the trousers and briefs. You reach your hand down between your legs, gathering your juices to lubricate Yeonjun's stiff cock. The man drools and groans at the sight, laying his head down on the couch. Hissing once he feels your lips wrap around his girth, skillfully bobbing your head up and down. God you were so enchanting, it would be so sad to leave you in agony.

"Touch yourself" Yeonjun commands.

You look up at him through your lashes and a mouth full of dick. Yeonjun nods his head confirming what he said. Continuing your pleasurable sucking with one hand you reach to your dripping pussy gently rubbing circles on your clit. Your eyes roll moaning against Yeonjun's cock sending electric vibrations causing the man to climax. "Fuck, you're good at this." Yeonjun can't help but thrust up into your throat to finally catch to his release. You still moaning, you decided to push the beauty under you over the edge by removing your glistening hand from you to his balls. With a loud "fuck" Yeonjun's cum was running down your throat and you gulping down every last bit.

You lift yourself up kneeling in front of the man catching your breathe. You stare at his sweaty face, smiling to yourself you lean in to kiss him. "Now lets get this designer outfit off you hmm?" Slowly but surely you undress Yeonjun revealing his lovely toned body. Not able to control yourself, you drag your hands on his abs delighted by the soft skin. Yeonjun smirks at your entranced state, "Bend over and let me see your ass, love." You obey his command, you twist on your knees turning away, grabbing a throw pillow to relax your elbows on.

Yeonjun changes positions kneeling in between your legs getting a handful of your plush ass. Tilting his head to the side as he sighs at how ravenous you looked, with one hand he slides his fingers within your slit then into your hole, "damn you're wet." Face already shoved in the pillow your whines were muffled. Yeonjun's free hand scavenges in his abandoned blazer looking for a condom. The plastic materiel gets into his reach, he puts it into his mouth biting it then rips it open. You let out a bratty cry when Yeonjun removes his fingers to apply the condom. "Don't worry, love, you're going to get what you want."

You look over your shoulder with plead in your eyes. Yeonjun lays his torso on your back kissing your shoulder as he rubs his cock among your glistening folds.

"Ready?"

"Yes god jjun just do i-"

You choke on your sentence when Yeonjun slams his dick into you, pushing your body forward into the pillow. Both of you pushed into delirium by the delicious feeling. Jolted moans escape your mouth going with the pace of Yeonjun's thrusts. You look back at him seeing his sinful concentration. "S-so good ah-" you try to praise but the feeling of his tip hitting that sweet spot had your back arching. Flames burning your core at the intense drive, walls begin to clench hard around Yeonjun. He huffs at the tightness, bending down again planting kisses and reaching around your hips to rub your clit.

Screaming and bending your back even more, pleasure was too sweet. "I-im mmm going to c-umm" you slur your words, it was out of your best effort. Yeonjun was close too, working hard through your tight walls he was determined to make you cum the same time as him. A long drawn out moan escapes your pretty pink lips, your high washes over you dripping down your thighs. Yeonjun finally cums gasping for air, pulling out to remove the uncomfortable wrapping.

With the energy you had left, you move to your side leaving room for the man to fit snug beside you. Noses touching, soft kisses, you both giggle at the euphoric moment of having sex in Paris.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

[thedesolatesanctuary]

Daft Punk in #Severance

My hc about Daft Punk as characters in Apple's TV series Severance below. !warning! There may be some mistakes and inaccuracies because it was written using a translator(with AI assistant translator DeepL, text is not made by AI.)

Some whispered rumors within Lumon claim that Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter were once brilliant engineers working for the Severance program. They were tasked with refining the Severance chip, pushing the boundaries of cognitive partitioning. But something went wrong. During an unauthorized experiment with prototype of Severance Chip they got shared mind, a seamless fusion of thought and creativity. Now, they exist in a perpetual limbo—neither Innie nor Outie, but a continuous, unbroken stream of existence. Their helmets serve as neural interfaces, maintaining their balance between worlds. To the outside world, they simply “retired.” Within Lumon, they became guardians of the Pyramid Division, using music therapy to reshape fractured minds. But instead of serving Lumon, they became something more—self-aware entities that chose to hide in plain sight, using their music to influence the minds of others. The Pyramid Sessions were their attempt to undo the damage of Severance, but Lumon twisted their work into another form of control. Sometimes after The Pyramid sessions Mark begins having strange dreams—visions of a world beyond Lumon, a neon-lit realm where sound is law and reality bends with the beat. In these dreams, he sees them not as men, nor as machines, but as something else entirely—cosmic architects, shaping the fabric of existence through rhythm and melody. So who are they really? Daft Punk do not confirm or deny, they do not hurt or heal. They simply watch and observe. Their bond is one of the greatest mysteries within The Pyramid Division. No one at Lumon has ever seen them apart. They move in perfect unison, anticipating each other's actions without words. The employees speculate endlessly about their connection. Some employees whisper that they were once husbands before work at Lumon Industries, others believe they chose to merge their individual identities dissolving into a singular, shared consciousness. They are no longer two people-but one mind in two bodies. How they interact? - They never speak to each other aloud. Yet, they always move in sync, as if communicating telepathically. - When one reaches for a control panel, the other's fingers twitch slightly. - When a session begins, one places a hand on the other's shoulder, a brief, almost imperceptible gesture of reassurance. - In rare moments of stillness, they face each other, heads tilting slightly-an unspoken conversation passing between them.