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d3add0vedonoteat · 8 months

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Chicken Soup for Carmy

⚠️ Content Warning ⚠️ harsh language, sexism and violence in one scene (not from Carmy). Hurt/comfort, fluff.

A/N: I’m literally feral for this man. I’m sick atm and I started thinking about taking care of Carmy while I was making chicken soup. Bonus combo with Carmy protecting you from an asshole customer. Not proofread bc my brain is rotting. Plz be nice this is my first time posting a fic 🥺

It was cold. You braced yourself against the harsh Chicago wind as you made your way briskly down the street. After a late night phone call from your brother sent you into a spiral, you couldn’t sleep. You’d been tossing and turning all night until finally, at 4am, you flung off the covers and got dressed. It wasn’t a surprise that you’d come here. This place consumed all your mind and your heart since you started working here a few months ago. You used your key to unlock the door in the alley, sighing with relief as the warmth of The Beef welcomed you inside. It was quiet, the lights were down, it was peaceful. You slipped off your sneakers trading in your kitchen clogs and tucked your things safely away in your locker. You tied your handkerchief on your head as you moved. It was so comforting, the routine of The Beef’s prep work. You felt so at home, moving from the prep area to the walk in, diligently beginning the tasks that didn’t need to be started for a few more hours. He would understand. You thought to yourself as you began to prepare fresh stock for the day. He was a man after your own heart, your boss, Carmen Berzatto.

Avoidant, chaotically emotional, one wrong thing away from a complete meltdown, that you both disguised as workaholic tendencies. As you finely chopped onions, your mind quieted. Everything was shut out except for the task at hand. Your brother’s angry voice on the phone accusing you: “you never come home! You don’t even care about us! You can’t take come take care of your own mother?!” was drowned out by the rhythmic pound of your knife on the cutting board. You were in the zone.

Until a voice startled you out of your bubble. “Chef?” You jolted, looking up at the man before you. Carmy’s hair was messier than usual, the bags under his eyes were deeper and more purple. His lips were parted with each soft breath he took. He gave you a quizzical look. “What are you doing here?”

“I uh-” your mouth felt dry and you tripped over your words, as usual when he set those intense blue eyes on you. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Carmy nodded, not pushing you any further. All he said before moving toward the office was a simple: “Heard, Chef.”

You watched him go, noticing the slump of his shoulders and the labor of his normally spry step. There was no mistaking it, Carmen was sick. You stared at the office door for a long moment before you made up your mind.

You set a heavy bottomed pot on the stove with some olive oil. Your hands moved with well practiced efficiency as you chopped garlic and onions, celery and carrots. The garlic and onions went in first. Then the celery. A sprig of thyme and a dash of white wine. While that simmered you quickly seared some chicken breast and chopped it into perfectly bite sized pieces. All into the pot with chicken stock and water, tightly covered to develop the flavors. Next came the pasta. You cracked eggs into the well of flour, mixing and kneading until it became a smooth golden dough. You carefully, tenderly rolled the dough and cut it into thick, short noodles. A bath in hot water to cook, then they too joined the pot. In no time at all, you were ladling a generous portion into a bowl. You set a toasted piece of chibatta on the side, grabbed a spoon, and took a deep breath in an attempt to settle your nerves. Softly, you knocked on the office door.

“Yeah?” His voice responded.

“Chef?” You entered, nervous. Words failing you as they so often did in his presence, you set the bowl before him. Carmy’s eyes widened. The aroma made his mouth water. He looked to you, gaze softening. “You made me chicken soup?”

Your cheeks grew warm. “Y-yeah, I mean chicken soup always makes me feel better when I’m sick.”

Carmy couldn’t believe you. You noticed? He smiled at you. You were so beautiful. You were always so confident and sure on the line, delegating with efficiency, respect, and authority. He had hired you the second you stepped into The Beef. Your resume was impressive but there was something in the way you carried yourself that truly earned the golden reputation you had in the culinary industry. But you were different with him, in the occasional moments like this where it was just you and him. Shy, almost bashful, gentle, and soft. He loved it. He wanted more of it. He lifted the spoon, bringing a bite to his lips.

“Gotta get a little of everything.” You muttered, eagerly awaiting his response.

Carmy shot you a sideways smile. It was good. No, it was better than good. The warm broth slid down his throat and each bite exploded with a depth of flavor he couldn’t believe. It was pure comfort. It reminded him of being a little kid staying home sick from school. Curled up on the couch while Jerry Springer played, eating crackers and ginger ale until his mom would bring a bowl of chicken noodle soup. But this soup, your soup, was more than that. People always talk about cooking with love but he swore he could taste it. Each ingredient had been so carefully handled. Perfectly chopped vegetables, moist and flavorful chicken. The warm feeling in his chest grew as he inspected the bowl.

“Did uh, did you make this pasta fresh?” He asked, eyeing you.

“Yeah, it’s better that way.” You blushed.

“Thank you, chef.” He said. “It’s really, really good.” Carmy looked down, suddenly feeling heavy. The fear of closeness set into him and all he could think about was how he’d fuck this up. “You-you didn’t have to make this for me.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” You insisted. “It was no big deal.” You began to leave, giving him one last truthful smile. “I like taking care of you.”

“I like taking care of you.” Your words rattled through Carmy’s mind all day. Throughout all of lunch, prep, and dinner he couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d said. The soup you had made was the first thing he’d eaten in too long. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked for him and you’d just done it because you noticed he wasn’t feeling well. No motive, no games, just tender love and concern.

Love.

Carmy shook his head to try and shake the thought from his mind. No, no, no there was no way you actually cared about him. Not like that. You were just being nice.

That’s just who you are; nice. You were always so kind. The way you’d help Marcus workshop pastries, the way you’d make Tina laugh and listen to her talk about whatever trouble Louis had gotten in, how you’d encourage Sydney and remind her that she can do this. Even the way you’d throw snark right back at Richie or how’d you’d always set aside a portion of Family for Fak and Sugar, even Pete. You were always thinking of others. Carmy wasn’t special.

Yeah. Not special.

Carmy insisted the thought as he scrubbed the grill. Not special. Not special. Not special.

“Carmy?” There you were. You were always there. You had a thick denim jacket on, bag on your shoulder, knit beanie pulled down over your hair. Your brow furrowed at the sight of him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Carmy shook his head. “I’m fine… you uh- you heading out?”

You shrugged, hoisting your bag a little higher on your shoulder and eyeing him skeptically. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah, in a bit.”

You chuckled, more exasperated than humorous. “No.”

“What?” Carmy asked, confused.

“No, you’re leaving too.” You insisted. You were feeling bold. Months of long looks and his hand on your lower back every time he passed you had culminated tonight.

You had taken over the front for Richie while he ducked out to take a call from his daughter. You’d insisted. It was slammed for dinner but everything was going fairly smooth until an irate customer approached you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He’d asked, slamming his plate onto the counter.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean are you retarded or something?” He continued. You were stunned into silence. You had never had anyone speak to you like that. “How hard is it to make a fucking sandwich? I know your tits are bigger than your brain but Jesus fucking Christ it’s not hard!”

“I-I…” you were shaking. “I’m sorry that you’re not satisfied, sir. If you like, we can-”

“Not satisfied?!” He screamed. “How can I be satisfied with this piece of shit!”

He hurled the sandwich at you. It hit you in the chest, toppings and sauce splattering everywhere. Before you even knew what was happening, a blur of messy curls shot past you. Carmy launched over the counter, tackling the man. His fist collided with the man’s face over and over while Richie and Fak rushed after him. There was a cacophony of yells as Richie pulled Carmy back. “Get your girl!” Richie yelled. “Cousin! Go get your girl!”

Fak and Richie dragged the man out and threw him into the street. Carmy’s hands grasped your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” He wiped the sauce splatters from your brow. “Look at me.”

Carmy burned with anger as he watched you shake. Your white shirt and blue apron were covered in the sandwich. He imagined what you would do for him if he was in your position. How you’d care for him, how you’d tend to him… so he tried to do what you would. Gently he guided you to your feet and wrapped his arm around your waist. He practically carried you to his office where he sat you on the couch and quickly went to grab a clean shirt from his own locker. You were in the same place he left you when he returned. Carmy knelt before you, taking your face in his hands once more.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Tears welled in your eyes and you collapsed into his arms. He smoothed his hand over you back, repeating “it’s okay” over and over again. He felt like he was on fire. The feeling of you clinging to him, nuzzling your face into his neck, the smell of you, how you fit in his arms… it was too much. He wanted to run away and never speak to you again. He wanted to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of his life. He wanted to scream. He wanted to feel your lips against his. He wanted to find the piece of shit that yelled at you and rip him to pieces. He wanted your chicken soup every time he was sick.

All those feelings were closing in on Carmy once again as he stared at you across the kitchen. You still had his t shirt on. You were looking at him expectantly.

“Sorry, uh… what did you say?” Carmy’s voice was softer than he expected.

“I said I’ll walk home with you.”

“Oh, no that’s okay. Ive got to-“

“Carmy,” you stepped closer. Your voice was firm but so tender. “You need to get some rest. Come on, I won’t take no for an answer.”

He couldn’t help but smile back at you. “Alright…” he conceded.

The two of you braced yourselves against the cold and hurried down the sidewalk side by side. You argued about who would walk who home. Carmy insisted on walking you to your apartment but you protested on the grounds that he’d just go back to the restaurant once he dropped you off.

“Fine,” you gave in. “But you have to call me when you get to your place so I know you made it home!”

Carmy looked at the ground, smiling. The warmth in his chest from your soup was steadily turning into a molten pool of lava.

“Heard.” He grinned. You wanted to know he’d made it home. You wanted to make sure he rested. I like taking care of you.

“Well, I’m just up here.” Your voice stopped his thoughts from spiraling before it could even start. Carmy’s brow furrowed. “What?” You asked, puzzled by his sudden change in demeanor.

“You live over there?”

“Yeah? Like a block down?”

There was a beat of silence before Carmy let out a breathy laugh. “I live right there.” He pointed to the building on the other side of the street.

“No shit!” You laughed in earnest. Your hand came to rest on his arm. “Guess I’m gonna be walking you home more often.”

Carmy’s entire body was on fire. He could imagine the tingle of your soft hand on his skin through all the layers of clothing. He wanted to hold you close again like in his office, but this time you wouldn’t be crying. A deep pit opened in his stomach. How long before he made you cry? How long before he fucked it all up? Until you hated him and quit the restaurant and everything fell apart because he-

“Hey,” your voice. Always your voice that brought him back. When he looked over at you it was like everything but your face faded into a blurry background. You were all Carmy could see. “Do you want to come to mine? I haven’t eaten and I KNOW you haven’t either.”

Carmy’s heart fluttered. “O-okay.” He started, his confidence rising when he noticed your hand was still in his arm. “Only if you let me cook you something.”

“Ooh,” you smiled. “I’d never turn that down!”

Carmy chuckled, feeling lighter for the first time in years as he walked so close beside you that your shoulders brushed. “It won’t be as good as your chicken soup.”

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmy x you #carmy x fem!reader #hurt/comfort #sickfic #carmen berzatto fluff

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fishsinsareacknowledged · 28 days

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Simon Ghost Riley who keeps you close whenever you're in a room. Also lots of acts of service.

Reading a book? He's there pulling, almost clawing you onto his lap. Tucking your head under his chin so he can read it with you. If not, at least you're pressed up against his chest, comfy with the little nest of his thighs caging you in with his hands.

Cooking? Expect this man to help chop everything up. He's tasked with murder of course he knows how to handle a knife lovie. Onions? Fuck no. You're on your own. Sorry love.

Exercising? If you think he's going to let any other gym goer help you whether man or woman you're dead wrong. He's always there to spot you, pushing you to do just one more so you're extra tired once you get home.

What for you may ask?

Massaging. Callused hands mixed with scented oils that are made just to relax you. Don't even think about anything except for him, he can tell. Just lay still and let him dig into your tense nerves, what's that love? It hurts, good. Its working. There we go, not so sore anymore are you?

He's showering with you too after a long day. Confidently walking into your small shower to barge in the already far too small bathroom. Stealing most of your water as you bat at him to get out. Yeah no, he's helping you wash your hair too now. Doesn't matter if the water runs cold and you have to get out.

He's following you, even drying you up. Don't you think he deserves a treat? At least a pet?

Simon Ghost Riley who at the end of the day is glad to have spent it with you. Wandering around each other instead of alienating his lover away from him. Simon who cuddles you in bed for fear that you may escape if he doesn't have his hands on you at every second. Trying to ease his own fears whenever he's nearby you, just pulling you closer to his chest so you have no way to escape but back to him.

—

Masterlist

#cod #call of duty #hcs #ghost simon riley #simon ghost #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #call of duty ghost #ghost cod #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader

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thewritingrowlet · 11 days

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The Twins and Their Queens pt. 1, ft. NMIXX Jiwoo

tags: blowjob, creampie

length: 11k+

author's note: this marks the start of another (mini) series, where we follow the lives of Shane and Shaun, Harvey's little twin brothers. For now, I think the series will have 3-4 parts just like The Outing Trip, but time will tell.

Jiwoo wakes up feeling excited today, and she has a very good reason for it: she has secretly made a promise to cook for you to celebrate the 2nd anniversary early, and today, precisely 7 days before the actual anniversary, is the day to do so.

She contains her excitement as she slowly and carefully gets off the bed. To be sure that you won’t wake up and spoil the surprise, she puts a spell on you—she even wiggles her index finger around like a wand for good measure. “Stay asleep, Shane—stay freaking asleep. You’re very tired after working all day yesterday, and you want to sleep until the day changes again.” She hears a hum escape through the small gap of your lips, which makes her confident that the spell is working. “Good boy,” she pats you through the air.

She tippy-toes her way out of the bedroom and gently closes the door behind her; she’s doing everything she can to make as little noise as possible. She looks towards the TV to find the small clock sitting on the shelf: 5:04 a.m. “Should be plenty of time,” she says to herself.

Jiwoo ties her hair in a bun as she prepares to start cooking. She grabs some items from the fridge and sets them on the counter next to her phone. “Right, so,” she opens her memo app and looks at the ingredients list, “noodles, boneless chicken thighs, potato, and onion—that should be everything.”

She drizzles a bit of cooking oil into a non-stick pan that she has prepared and— “oh, wait, the chicken.” She was supposed to cut the chicken into cubes first, so she turns off the burner and places the chicken on a cutting board. Jiwoo skillfully cuts the chicken and then turns her attention back to the pan. “Now we can really start,” she says.

Jiwoo throws in the small pieces of chicken into the hot pan and stirs it around, making sure that it’s cooked through. After that, she tosses in the potato and onion (that she has chopped into cubes secretly yesterday before you got home) and stirs again for a few minutes. Once the potato becomes a bit translucent, she drizzles some more oil and adds black bean paste into the mix. “2 cups of water, okay.” Jiwoo grabs a measuring cup from the cupboard and fills it with water, repeating it again after that to meet the needed measurements. “Hey, Nudle, start a 10-minute timer for me,” she says to her phone, and it responds to her in its catchy voice.

She decides that she’ll use the time to wash the dirty knife and cutting board and wipe the dining table clean. After that’s done, she lies on the sofa to catch her breath. “I hope he doesn’t wake up now,” she thinks to herself while eyeing the bedroom door. For some odd reason, suspense enters Jiwoo’s mind; it’s as if she was watching a horror movie. “Oh, God, please don’t wake up. Han Jaehyun, please don’t wake up—not when I’m this close.” The ring from her phone steals her attention, and she immediately turns it off, concerned that maybe you’ll hear it and wake up. “Okay, okay,” she takes a few deep breaths to calm down, “everything is fine—everything is just fine.”

Jiwoo makes her way to the kitchen again to cook the noodles, which is the second last step to this sneaky adventure. She brings a pot full of water to a boil and throws in the noodles. They’re not dried noodles, so cooking them will only take around a minute, maybe a minute and a half. After that’s done, she turns off the burner and— “FUCK!” She accidentally touches the edge of the hot pot when reaching for the strainer, thus forcing her to let out a scream of profanity because of the combination of shock and pain.

“Are you okay, babe?” Your sudden presence shocks Jiwoo to the core; she didn’t expect you to sneakily come out of the bedroom like this, hence the little jump. That said, she currently has a bigger problem on her hands—literally. “O-oppa,” she says weakly, in pain from the burn, “h-help me, please.” Jiwoo briefly explains that her fingers are burning, so you drag her over to the sink and run some water on her hands. “What were you up to, baby?” You ask in a gentle voice as quiet sobs escape your girlfriend’s lips. “I-I was making some jjajangmyeon for you, oppa.”

You don’t know what to feel right now: you’re touched that she’s making a surprise for you, but at the same time, you hate seeing her get hurt like this, even if it was an accident. “Oh my God, baby,” you feel like your heart is being wrung, “are you feeling better, though? Is this working?” She nods and pulls her hands away from the sink, not forgetting to thank you for the help. You quickly glance at her face and see that there are tears on her plump cheeks. You turn her face towards you and gently wipe her tears with your thumbs, putting on a kind smile in the process.

“You can continue, babe; I’ll watch.” You place a hand on the small of her back and keep an eye on her as she strains the noodles and divides them into the two bowls. Jiwoo then pours a nice amount of the black sauce mix into the bowl. “Let’s eat, oppa,” she says. You stop her from grabbing her bowl and instead pull her into a lifted hug.

“Thank you for all of this, baby; I appreciate everything, seriously,” you say right into her ear. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” she replies in a sad tone, “fuck, you’re so fucking stupid, Kim Jiwoo.” “Oh, c’mon, don’t say such thing,” you deny her attempt at self-deprecation, “you just had a little accident, babe—it doesn’t take anything away from your efforts, trust me.” Jiwoo lets out a hum, and you take it as a sign that she accepts your consolidation. “Now let’s eat, baby. This looks so damn good, and I can’t wait to shove it into my mouth,” you say, hyping her up.

You lower her gently onto one of the two chairs at the table and spray kisses all over her head. “Oppa, please, the food will get cold,” she tries to make you stop. You do stop, but before you grab the bowls from the counter, you turn her head towards you and come in for a kiss. It feels like she’s not too interested in kissing, but when you try to pull away, Jiwoo chases you. “Thank you, oppa,” she says after breaking the little tangle. “The pleasure is mine, baby.”

You take the two bowls from the counter and place them on the table. “Thank you for the meal, baby,” you say. Hearing you thank her again makes Jiwoo feel better about all of this, and it looks like she’s not too upset about “failing” the surprise. “I swapped out the pork belly for chicken, oppa,” she informs you as her chopsticks dance in her bowl, mixing the sauce mix with the noodles.

“Oh!” The first mouthful takes your soul high to the sky, making your body sink limply into the chair. “Oh, my—oh my God, Jiwoo-yah,” your eyelids shut tight as you savor the taste, “this is incredible—the chicken is soooo juicy, too.” Unfortunately, you can only chew for so long before you must swallow. Fortunately, you still have plenty of this heavenly food in your bowl. “Thank you for the meal, baby,” you repeat, “thank you so, so, so, so much.” Your sweetness makes Jiwoo feel better once again, and her lips, without her realizing, are forming a wide smile. “Th-thank you, oppa,” she fans her red cheeks to cope with the heat.

You keep your attention on your bowl, shoving more and more food into your mouth at an uncontrollable pace. “Howy shid,” you swallow the food in your mouth before continuing, “I don’t have the adjectives, but I know my brothers would fight to have a bite.” Jiwoo can’t take it anymore. She rushes to you and squeezes your cheek in playful aggression. “Youuuuuu,” she kneads your face like they were bread dough, “you are sooooo—arghhhhh.” You let out unintelligible sounds as your face contorts from her touch. “B-babe, stop,” you hold her wrists to halt her, “you haven’t even taken a bite, have you?”

With a sigh, she returns to her seat and puts some noodles in her mouth. She starts chewing in silence while her eyes roam around. “Hmm,” she rubs her chin as she thinks about the taste, “could use a bit more salt, but yeah, this is pretty good.” “Pretty good? What do you mean pretty good? This is very good,” you argue. Your girlfriend lets out a long sigh in defeat. “Fine,” she says, “thank you for the kind words, oppa—I love you.”

You leave your seat and pull her onto her feet. “You know what I want, don’t you?” You expect her to come in for a hug, but no, she’s getting down on her knees. “Wait, wait, not that one,” you pull her onto her feet again, “I meant this.” You wrap your arms around her and make sure your hands meet perfectly on the small of her back. You whisper all the praises you can come up with, and most importantly: “I love you, precious. I love you so, so much and thank you for cooking for us this morning.” Jiwoo responds by giving you a peck, letting you know that the praises are well received.

“Come on, oppa, let’s shower,” she pulls away from the embrace, “I’ll take care of this, so you can go first.” You thank her one more time—you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve thanked her so far—and make your way towards the bathroom while Jiwoo stays behind to wash the dishes.

In the silence, Jiwoo finds herself grinning widely. “That was a success in my book,” she giggles, “one point for Kim Jiwoo—whooo, let’s go!”

“Oppa, do you think I can work at Harvey-oppa’s company? Will he take me in?”

“First of all, why do you want to work for him? Is there something wrong with your current job?”

“Nothing is wrong, but I feel like working for him would make me feel more motivated—y’know, he’s family and all that.”

Your heart flutters a little when you hear Jiwoo refer to your brother as family; she understands the importance of family and sees your brothers as her own, and you’d like to think that this is a good sign for the relationship going forward.

You clear your throat to focus back on her. “Okay, so do you want me to talk to him? We can call him now,” you offer her some help. Jiwoo says that she’ll try updating her CV and send an application first, and if that doesn’t work, then she’ll consider resorting to nepotism—not the prettiest or classiest approach to say the least, but it does have a high chance of success. “Okay, you do that,” you say, “maybe I’ll join you one day.”

“Why aren’t you working for Harvey-oppa? Is that not what mama and papa want for you and Shaun-oppa?”

“Yes, but Yunho-hyung is paying me very handsomely, and I don’t feel like leaving his company at the moment.”

“Ckckckckck,” Jiwoo shakes her head, “imagine not working for your brother because someone else pays you more—couldn’t be me.”

“I need the money to buy a ring and a house for you, baby,” you say in your head while putting on a smile as a front. “Well, it’s time to go to work—let’s get changed, babe.” You and Jiwoo exchange pecks for good luck and walk towards the bedroom together to get changed.

Jiwoo boots up her laptop as soon as she arrives at her cubicle. “CV, CV—where is my CV,” she browses through a bunch of work-related folders to find it, and she finds this file named “CV KIM JIWOO” that was last modified around a year ago. Before she opens this file, she looks around to make sure no one is watching—it’d be awkward if someone found out Jiwoo is trying to leave this company for another.

Jiwoo scrolls up and down through her CV, trying to figure out which part is out-of-date, and she finds that only the experience and skills need to be updated. She adds one more bullet point to the list of experience and explains briefly the things she’s accomplished in her current company, such as projects she’s taken a part of and awards she’s received. Just those two things alone take up over half a page since Jiwoo is very good at her stuff and well-liked by her co-workers, which means that she’s very often included on projects—it also means that she makes a lot in bonuses since each project usually comes with one. Jiwoo’s cursor hovers over a particular project that she’s very proud of, considering its complexity and how well she did her part. “If this doesn’t land me a job at Harvey-oppa’s company, then HR is cooked in the head and he needs to find replacements,” she says to herself.

Moving on, she adds some new information to the skills section of her CV. She recently got 855 on a TOEIC test and is very proud about it, so she replaces her old score of 820 with the new one. “I’m sure someone of foreign descent like him will appreciate good English proficiency,” she thinks to herself. One thing to note, however, is that her application will first arrive in the hands of HR and not one of the big bosses like Han Harvey, and she hopes that everything written on her CV is enough to impress the lower-level managers—if she can help it, she wants to get the job legitimately, not through nepotism.

Before she wraps this up and starts working, she reads her CV one more time from the top. “Name is correct, date of birth is also correct, address is—hmm, should I use Shane-oppa’s address?”

While Jiwoo thinks about it, someone taps her shoulder from behind. “What the—oh my God, unnie!” Jiwoo just got caught off-guard and red-handed by her co-worker, Soodam, who must’ve snuck up behind her when she was deep in her thoughts. “Hey there,” Soodam greets Jiwoo with a smile, “looking to jump ship, cookie?” Jiwoo minimizes the window on her laptop and turns to Soodam with red cheeks. “P-please don’t tell anyone about this, unnie; I-I just want to explore my opportunities,” she says. “Do you think I can go with you, Jiwoo-yah?” Soodam’s question startles Jiwoo. “Y-you want to leave too, unnie?”

Soodam explains that she thinks she’s not getting paid enough for the amount of work that she does and would like to “explore her opportunities,” just like Jiwoo. “I’ll talk to my boy—” Jiwoo covers her mouth to stop herself, but Soodam catches the slip. “Boyfriend, huh? What can your boyfriend do for us?” Before the conversation goes even further, Jiwoo pulls Soodam closer towards her. “My boyfriend is the brother of this other company’s boss,” she whispers to her, “I told him I’d try doing things legitimately first before… y’know.” “I’m with you,” Soodam says, “good to know that you have insider ties, though.”

After parting ways with Soodam, Jiwoo pulls out her phone to text you. “Oppa, who do I send my CV to?” She sees that you’re not online currently, so she locks her phone and gets ready to start working for possibly her last day at this company.

You see Jiwoo’s text on your notification bar, but you don’t want to answer right away; you first need a second opinion on this matter, and there’s no one more qualified for that other than your dear sister-in-law. “Noona, I need you; please pick up,” you say while waiting for her to pick up the call.

“Hello, this is Kim Yooyeon.”

“Oh, yes,” you sigh in relief, “noona, this is Shane.”

“Yes, I know,” you hear a chuckle from her over the phone, “can I help you? Are you looking for your brother?”

“No, no, I’m not looking for him—I’m looking for you,” you say, “can we talk? Do you have time?”

“Yeah, sure—what do you need?”

“This morning Jiwoo asked me if she could work for Hyunjin-hyung because she said it’d make her feel more motivated because he’s family, and now I’m wondering if I should tell him about Jiwoo’s intentions.”

Your noona stays silent for a moment, trying to come up with a solution.

“Jiwoo said she wanted to do it legitimately, but I want to help her—you know, with insider ties” you pile on.

“Well, in that case,” she says, “I’d say just let her do it her way first, and if that doesn’t work, then we’ll consider other methods.”

“Do you know when Hyunjin-hyung is coming home, by the way?”

“No, I don’t,” she lets out a deep sigh, “I miss him more than anyone, I can assure you that.”

“Noona,” you get ready to move on to the next subject, “I want to get married.”

“Huh? What?” The suddenness most likely surprises Yooyeon. “Wait, what? Why so sudden? Have you even talked to Jiwoo about this?”

“No, I haven’t—I just envy the way the both of you are so in love with each other,” you say, “do you think I have a chance at marriage, noona?”

“What the h—well, yes, I do; I think you’re a nice guy and Jiwoo is a nice girl,” she says, “you know, you’re being such a terrible little brother right now—how can you ask a woman whose husband hasn’t been home for a week about marriage?”

You’re not sure where she’s going with this. “Sorry, what?”

”Ugh, forget it,” she says, and based on her tone, you can picture her rolling her eyes, “anyway, like I said, let Jiwoo do it her way and then we’ll see what things look like.”

You thank her for the help, and after exchanging goodbyes, you hang up the call, and now that you have an answer to this equation, you turn your attention to Jiwoo. Via text, you send Han Group’s HR’s email address to her. You end the text with, “You said you wanted to do this legitimately, so I wish you good luck, baby.” “Thank you, daddy,” she replies, “I’ll send it right now—I love you!” Your eyes blink rapidly in a combination of disbelief and startlement; she just called you daddy as if you were in the bedroom. “Time and place, Jiwoo-yah—my God.” “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that.” You reply to her and delete her text just to be safe.

You always pick up Jiwoo at her office after work, and today is no different. You stop on the side of the road right in front of the glass front doors of her building and wait for her to come out. After a few minutes, you see her walking out with another woman. “Wait, that’s—”

You jump out of the car (after looking at the side mirror first) and meet the two women. “Oppa, this is my co-worker, Soodam-unnie. Unnie, this is my boyfriend,” Jiwoo introduces the two of you. Soodam’s eyes widen in shock, “wait, are you—” “No, I’m Shane—you’re thinking about my twin brother,” you cut her off, and you swear that you can see her sighing in relief.

For context, Shaun, who is always into older women, tried courting this Soodam lady a few years ago, only to find out that she was engaged to another man. That was almost disastrous, by the way; your older brother even had to intervene.

Jiwoo looks at the two of you in confusion but quickly moves on to another subject. “Soodam-unnie also sent an application to Harvey-oppa’s company,” Jiwoo briefly gives some context. “Yeah, that’s fine.” Inside, however, you wonder if it is indeed so, because Shaun works at Han Group, and considering that he is in a relationship with someone else, this could be problematic. “This is not your problem, Shane,” you think to yourself.

You shake hands with Soodam with a smile on your face—a smile that’s hiding awkwardness behind it. “Nice to meet you, miss,” you say, and she says the same to you. You shoot a quick look at Jiwoo, who immediately catches the signal, and the two of you get ready to part ways with Soodam. Jiwoo hugs Soodam and then walks with you to the car, leaving Soodam alone on the side of the road.

In the private space of your car, Jiwoo airs her confusion. “Do you know her, oppa? Why did you mention your twin?” You shortly explain to her the history of Shaun and Soodam and why Soodam was visibly startled to see you. “So Soodam-unnie reacted like that because she must’ve mistaken you for Shaun-oppa—did I get that right?” “You did, baby,” you say, “and now I’m concerned that they’ll see each other again if she moves to Han Group.” “My God.” Jiwoo leans back in her seat as she tries to process this shocking reveal. “Don’t tell Seeun-noona about any of this, babe; we don’t want to get Shaun in trouble,” you say to her.

After catching up with your family’s little history, Jiwoo mentions that she wants to eat out for dinner. You ask if she has preferences, and she says that she wants to get tteokbokki. “You and your tteokbokki, babe—you’d think you would’ve got sick of it by now,” you comment, earning a giggle and a playful slap from her.

After a short drive, you find yourself stopping in front of an alley where Jiwoo’s favorite tteokbokki restaurant is located. You get out of the car with her and make your way towards the restaurant. She’s been to this place a lot; the middle-aged lady at the cashier (who you assume is the owner) instantly recognizes her and guesses that she wants the usual.

There aren’t that many empty seats at the moment; it seems like a lot of people have the same idea and want to have tteokbokki after work. You scan around the interior and find a table in the far corner of the restaurant, whose occupants are about to leave. They seem to have left the table clean, and you fast-walk towards it to claim it before anyone else—you’re the designated seat finder in this relationship, so leaving Jiwoo behind to sit first is A-okay.

Jiwoo joins you shortly after and sits across from you. Usually, she’d rather sit next to you, but the space doesn’t really allow that; to your left is the wall and to your near right is another table. She rests her head on the table, looking very exhausted after working today. “Tired, baby?” You pet her head gently, running your hands through her hair the way she likes it. “Mm-hmm,” she mumbles, “I had a lot of work today.” You praise her for working so hard all the time, and even though you can’t see it, she’s probably grinning in pride right now.

You tap Jiwoo’s arm to get her to straighten her posture as a server is on his way to you with your orders. He places a large bowl of tteokbokki and another large bowl of popcorn chicken somewhat crassly—he also has a sour face. “Yeah,” Jiwoo says, “he isn’t known for being the nicest guy around.” You’re starting to feel disgruntled; if you were alone, you wouldn’t be so mad to see poor service, but considering that you’re with a loved one, you feel angrier—no one gets to be rude and ruin the vibes when you’re with those you love. “I don’t mean to be arrogant, but we can easily buy out this place and replace that guy,” you snark. “That is arrogant, oppa,” Jiwoo rubs the back of your hand gently to calm you down. “Please, it’s okay—he’s probably just tired, oppa, like we are.” You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and apologize for your attitude.

Your girlfriend picks up a piece of tteokbokki and immediately chases it with a large piece of chicken. As you watch her eat, you can feel the heat in your heart gradually dissipate, and a smile is forming on your face. She picks up a piece of tteokbokki and immediately chases it with a large piece of chicken. You decide to put down your chopsticks and enjoy the sight of your girlfriend eating in front of you, not caring if she finishes the whole meal by herself.

It seems like she’s very hungry too; it took her until halfway through the meal to realize that you haven’t eaten at all. “Oh my God, oppa,” she exclaims, “why aren’t you eating?” “Ah,” you’re snapped out of your trance, “I was too busy watching you eat, baby.” You’re torn between two options, though: do you want to get some food into your belly after working all day, or do you want to keep watching your girlfriend eat oh-so-cutely?

“Say aaah.” Jiwoo decides for you by guiding a piece of chicken towards your mouth, leaving you with no choice but to open your mouth. There’s a grin on your face as you chew, and you can see her grinning too; you realize that only Jiwoo deserves your attention right now—it doesn’t matter if anyone else tries to ruin the mood; she’ll easily draw a smile on your face. “Thank you, baby,” you say to her, “I love you so much.” “I love you too,” she replies, “now eat, please.”

You get back to your car with Jiwoo after finishing the meal. “Would you like to get anything else before we go home, baby?” “No, let’s just go home, please.” Based on her tone, you can tell that she only has little energy left in her tank. “Home it is.” You turn the steering wheel to the left and place a foot on the accelerate pedal to join the moving lane.

The traffic isn’t too bad; it’s just that this specific traffic light is infamous for its long queues during rush hour. In the corner of your eyes, you see that your girlfriend is sleeping in her seat with her mouth slightly open. Unfortunately, it seems like her current position isn’t too comfortable, but there’s nothing you can do at the moment. “We’ll sleep properly at home, alright, babe?”

After getting through the traffic light, you pick up the speed, aiming to get home as soon as possible so that Jiwoo can rest properly. You take advantage of slower drivers and change lanes whenever possible, earning some honks from other drivers occasionally. “Screw you—pay attention to the road next time,” you comment.

You go through the last turn before you reach your apartment building and quickly go up to your designated parking spot. Once your car is neatly parked, you turn off your car and turn your attention to your girlfriend, who is still asleep. You then rush to your unit with Jiwoo’s limp body in your arms.

“We’re here, baby.” You lower her gently onto the bed, and she’s still asleep. You prepare a T-shirt and shorts for her to change into for later. “I’ll shower first, babe.” As you’re leaving, however, you hear a grunt of disapproval from your girlfriend. “Oppa,” she calls to you with raspy voice, “don’t leave me.” You join her in bed and pull her into a cuddle. “Wait, don’t you want to change first, babe? I prepared some clothes for you.” You can tell that she doesn’t want to move too much but her work clothes are anything but comfortable. “Help me change, oppa,” she says.

“May I?” You ask for consent, which Jiwoo gives in the form of a nod. You start unbuttoning her shirt from the top. With Jiwoo’s cooperation, you free her arms from the restraining sleeves of her shirt, and if it weren’t for her bra, she’d be entirely topless right now. You move to take off her trousers, but first: “may I, baby?” Jiwoo nods to your question, expressing her consent one more time, so with that, you unzip her trousers and pull them down her legs until they’re properly off.

Jiwoo lifts her butt off the bed when you try putting on a pair of shorts for her. “Last one, baby.” You put on a T-shirt for her, and she cooperates once again by putting her arms through the sleeves herself. “Good girl,” you peck her on the forehead, “my turn now.”

You change into a T-shirt and shorts before joining your girlfriend in bed. “Hngh,” Jiwoo grunts again while reaching her arms out, asking to be held. “Of course, baby; I won’t forget about you.” You pull her into your embrace and close your eyes, savoring the lingering scent of her perfume from this morning. “Let’s rest a bit, okay? We can worry about other stuff later,” you say.

Something is telling you to open your eyes, so you do—what time is it, even? In your half-asleep state, you look around the dark bedroom with your half-open eyes. You can see and feel that Jiwoo is still in your arms, which is a good start. You gently run your hand on her back, just the way she likes it.

If there’s anything that could be considered “wrong” with you, it’s your inability to keep your hands off your girlfriend, but at least she’s okay with it most of the time; physical contact is one of Jiwoo’s favorite things in the world.

“Oppa,” she calls to you suddenly, “I want to be with you forever.” You really want to say that you’re working on it, but you don’t want to spoil your plans, so for now, you give her a basic answer: “I want to be with you forever as well, baby; there’s nothing more that I want for us than that.”

“Do you think we have Harvey-oppa’s approval?” Ah, she’s concerned about your older brother, the honorary head of the Han family. “You do,” you assure her, “he and Yooyeon-noona know what kind of person we are. Not only that, but they also know that we’re in love with each other.” Jiwoo lets out a hum, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

“Their anniversary is around the corner, right?” Jiwoo moves on to the next subject. “Huh, you’re right,” you just realized now. “We should call them, oppa; you know, say congratulations and all that,” she suggests. “We’ll call them this morning before leaving for work, okay? Let’s try going to sleep again for now.” You peck her head a few times and close your eyes again.

The morning rolls around, and you wake up after what felt like a few minutes of sleep (it was probably a few hours in actuality). “Baby, sweetie, cookie—let’s wake up, hey?” You poke Jiwoo a few times to wake her up, and she slowly opens her eyes. “I’m tired, oppa,” she says. You look at your phone to see if she has time for extra rest. “You have 30 minutes, baby—I’ll take a shower first while you sleep, okay?”

While standing under running water, you remember Jiwoo telling you that your brother’s anniversary is coming soon. “I should call them after this,” you think. You quickly finish showering and check up on your girlfriend again.

“Baby, I’m sorry but your time is up.” You hate breaking it to her, but you have no other choice. With a groan, Jiwoo gets off the bed and wraps her arms around your body. “Take care of me, oppa.” You’re not sure what kind of taking care of she needs, but you think that it’s probably best to have her shower first. You lift her by her thighs and carry her towards the bathroom.

She lightly bites you in the neck when she notices that you’re taking her to the bathroom. “Oh my God, I hate you sometimes—why are you doing this to me, oppa?” “Sorry, baby, but this is necessary.” You gently lower her onto her feet and make to leave the bathroom area. “Wait!” Jiwoo halts your steps by hugging you from behind. “Please—please don’t leave me.”

You’re not sure why she’s behaving like this. “Baby, are you okay? You don’t act like this usually.” “I-I don’t know,” she says, “I just don’t want to be left alone.” “Okay, so do you want to shower with me, or do you want me to wait here?” Jiwoo takes a sniff and lets out a grunt after. “You already showered, so I’ll just shower alone—wait here, please.”

Jiwoo lets go of the hug and walk backwards to the bathroom, keeping her eyes on you the whole time. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.” You sit on the floor in front of the bathroom and simply wait for her to shower. “What’s going on with Jiwoo, man?” You ask yourself, wondering why she’s acting like this out of nowhere.

You feel someone poking you on the knee. “Oppa, what are you doing?” You open your eyes and see Jiwoo, fresh out of the shower with wet hair, kneeling in front of you. “Did you fall asleep, oppa?” “I must’ve,” you rub your eyes to get yourself together, “you’re done showering, baby?” Jiwoo holds your hands and tugs, signaling to you to stand up, so you do just that. She then comes in for a hug, placing her head on your chest. “I’m sorry for being difficult, oppa.” You assure her that she has nothing to be sorry for. “You’re always so kind, oppa—thank you,” she says.

You lie down on the sofa while Jiwoo dries her hair, and you’re reminded again that your brother and his wife, Yooyeon, are celebrating their anniversary today. You come up with a congratulatory message and send it to Yooyeon. “I think I’m looking to propose by the end of the month, noona,” you add.

The app says that she’s typing, and the timing couldn’t be any more perfect: Jiwoo is asking if you can video call your sister-in-law. “Sure, let’s do it,” you say. Once she’s ready, you start the call.

“Hey, guys,” your brother greets you from the other side of the screen, “good morning!”

You take the speaking baton first. “Good morning, hyung and noona—congratulations on the 6th anniversary, guys!”

Harvey thanks you for the congratulations, and in return, he asks how you and Jiwoo are doing. “We’ve been very good, oppa,” Jiwoo takes the baton from you, “I know we’re not married yet, but our 2nd anniversary is around the corner.”

Truthfully, you forgot that it is indeed around the corner; you shoot a glance at the sleeping TV, which screen saver says the date and time, and see that your anniversary is 6 days away.

“Ask Shane to take you on a dinner, Jiwoo-yah; I’m sure he has the money for it,” your brother says, snapping you out of your little trance, and the gears in your head start turning, trying to quickly come up with a plan to celebrate your anniversary.

Through the video call, you see that your sister-in-law is aiming her camera at the food on their table. “Ahhhh, unnieeee!” Jiwoo slaps your thighs repeatedly, reacting hysterically to the Morningside logo on the bowl shown on the screen. She promptly turns her attention to you and whispers something right in your ear. “Oppa, can we go to Morningside this weekend?” You respond to her suggestion with a nod. “We’ll join you next time, unnie—we have other things to do today,” Jiwoo says.

You take turns with your girlfriend to start conversations with your brother and his wife, and after a few minutes, you notice that she’s almost ready to end the call. “Harvey-oppa, Yooyeon-unnie,” Jiwoo says, her tone sweet and sincere, “congratulations on the anniversary, seriously. I hope me and oppa get to live happily together like the two of you.” “Thank you for the kind words, cookie,” Harvey says, “we’re rooting for the both of you—see you soon!”

You exchange goodbye waves with the people on the other side of the screen then end the call right after. “Visit us this Saturday for Jack-in-the-box,” says a text message from Yooyeon, making your heart rate climb. “What does that mean, oppa?” Jiwoo points at your screen, right where the floating notification is. “I-I don’t know,” you answer nervously.

You’re nervous because truthfully, you know what it means: you, Shaun, and Harvey came up with that term to secretly refer to “getting a ring and proposing” when Harvey was courting Yooyeon a few years ago. So the fact that he’s said it now after all this time must mean that he’s in full support of your relationship and encourages you to commit further, which is both exciting and nerve-wracking.

“You believe in us, don’t you, hyung?” You say in your head while trying to maintain a straight face. “You’re acting weird,” Jiwoo comments with a chuckle, “first it was me, and now it’s you—what’s wrong with us today, oppa?” You let out an awkward chuckle, still trying your best to not show your nervousness. “Well, I guess we’ll find out,” you deflect, “c’mon, let’s go to work.”

Before you know it, it’s now Saturday. Your brother invited you to his house a few days ago for Jack-in-the-box, a secret term that hasn’t been mentioned in years—one problem, though: how do you go to his house alone, because Jiwoo most likely would want to tag along if she’s free.

You sit on the sofa, rubbing your chin to come up with something to dissuade your girlfriend from coming along, and that’s when she walks out of the bedroom with a question. “Oppa, Soodam-unnie asked me to hang out at a café with her—can I go?” “Of course, baby,” you put on a smile for her, “do you want me to take you there?” She takes you up on your offer and gets back into the bedroom to change, and you let out a deep sigh of relief; you don’t need to fool her into not tagging along because she already has something else to do.

After dropping off Jiwoo at the café, you start driving towards your brother’s house, which is quite close from where you are. There’s little-to-no traffic today, since it’s the weekend and still early—it’s barely 10 a.m.

You pull into his driveway next to his car and get off yours. “Hi,” your brother greets you from the front door, “come in, we need to talk first.” You follow him inside but see no sign of his wife. “Where’s noona?” He says that she just got out of the bathroom and will join you soon.

Your brother takes a seat on the sofa while you take the cushion chair to his left. “Oh, you’re here,” Yooyeon greets you, “this must be for the Jack-in-the-box thing.” She takes the empty spot next to her husband. “Can one of you explain what that means?” Harvey explains briefly what it means: “we’re also going to help him buy a ring,” he adds.

“Do you think you’re ready for this?” Your brother’s question makes you nervous. “I do,” you answer, “I, erm, I think we’re in love, a-and, you know—” The way you’re stuttering makes them laugh. “Well, I hope that you’ll be less nervous as the day goes.” Harvey stands up from his seat, and when the (honorary) head of the family stands up, you follow. “Let’s go get breakfast first and then we’ll visit the jewelers, hm?”

You depart in your brother’s car to ensure maximum secrecy—Jiwoo wouldn’t recognize this car if you happen to pass in front of the café she’s at. You take a seat in the middle row behind your brother because obviously the front passenger seat isn’t vacant. “We haven’t done this in so long, haven’t we, hyung?” Your question makes Harvey smile. “We haven’t, true—we’ll do this again with everyone once Shaun and Seeun return from New York.”

You’re promptly reminded of your meeting with Soodam. “Hyung, I met Soodam-noona a few days ago.” His unique, sharp eyes look at you through the rear-view mirror of the car. “Yeah? What did she say?” “She thought I was Shaun,” you answer. You hear a deep sigh coming from him. “That’s fine, I guess—it could’ve been worse.” Yooyeon is curious: she doesn’t know who Soodam is, and in turn, doesn’t know what Shaun has to do with her. When she asks, Harvey explains in longer form their history, and at the end, you see her placing a palm on her face.

You, Harvey, and Yooyeon sit together at a 4-person table at Morningside, which happens to be somewhat empty currently. Here are the things you and your company ordered: two Singaporean-style toasts, two congee with char siu beef, and three hot lychee tea.

“Shane,” Harvey whispers to you while looking over your shoulders. “Jiwoo is here.” You turn around in shock, and would you look at that: she is indeed here—Soodam is also here. “Oh, shit, the surprise is spoiled,” you think, and you feel like you understand how Jiwoo felt when her surprise was spoiled a short while ago. “She doesn’t see us, though,” you comment.

While it is true that Jiwoo doesn’t see you, Soodam does and tells Jiwoo about your presence. She jogs towards your table and gives you a peck on the lips. “Oh my God, what a crowd—hello, my name is Kim Jiwoo. Pleased to meet you,” she says, earning a collective laughter from your group. “Crazy coincidence, isn’t it, baby?” “It is—we could’ve gone together, oppa.” Jiwoo then asks again if she can hang out with Soodam, and obviously, you let her go. You’re not holding her back from hanging out with her friends (aside from her male co-workers who have tried shooting their shots but that’s a story for another time).

“God,” you let out a sigh of relief, “I thought it was blown.” Your brother lets out a laugh, fully understanding of your feelings. “Keeping a secret from your beloved lady is never easy—ask me how I know” he adds, and Yooyeon joins him in laughing.

The smell of butter steals your attention, and when you turn your head around, you see a server walking towards your table. “That must be your toasts, noona,” you say, and indeed, it is her toasts. You help the server distribute food to your brother and his wife. “The tea will be out after this—please kindly wait,” the server says, already way kinder than that guy working at the tteokbokki restaurant. “Sure, no problem—thank you,” you reply with a smile.

Yooyeon is the first to both take a bite and react to her food, letting out satisfied hums while chewing her first mouthful. “I really can’t have enough of this,” she comments. Harvey reacts to that by giving her a peck on the cheek—a cute sight, really; you love seeing your brother interacting with his wife and how in love they are with each other.

After a short ride, the three of you arrive at this seemingly none-of-the-ordinary jewelers.

You ask Harvey if he’s been here before. “Hm? Oh, yeah,” he says, “I bought a necklace for Yooyeon-ie from this place a few months ago.” “You did, hon?” Yooyeon scratches her head as she tries to remember. In playful aggresiveness, your brother pinches his wife cheeks for failing to remember. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She exclaims frantically, and your brother stops right away. “Come on, let’s find something for our cookie,” he says, leading you and Yooyeon inside.

“Ah, welcome, Mr. Han,” a staff member in a neat three-piece suit greets your brother. He then takes turns to shake your and Yooyeon’s hands. “My little brother here is looking for a ring,” Harvey says. “Do you know the measurements, sir?” The staff turns his attention to you. Your eyes land on your sister-in-law as you think about Jiwoo’s finger size. “Should be similar to my noona here,” you say. Yooyeon takes off her ring and passes it to the staff who then takes a measurement.

“Size 6, hey?” He shuffles some shelves around and place one that’s packed with brilliant rings on the top. “Here are the options we have currently, sir—we can also make a custom ring but that will take longer and cost more,” he says. Harvey can tell that you’re nervous about the price, so he whispers in your ear that he’ll take care of it. “Your job today, Shane, is to choose one that you really like,” he says. “Thank you for this, seriously,” you whisper back to him, getting a soft pat on the back from him.

You first point out to the staff member that you’d rather choose from this abundance of choices than wait for a custom-made ring. “Can I look at that one, please? Row 3 column G,” you say. You flip it around in your hand, inspecting small diamond main piece. “Jiwoo doesn’t like flashy stuff, so I think this is definitely one of the choices for now,” you comment. You place the ring on the glass counter and start looking for other options. “Row 5 column C, please,” you say. Upon closer inspection, however, it doesn’t look as good as the first one.

Initially, you thought that you should find 3 rings to choose from, but aside from the first ring your eyes landed on, nothing else catches your fancy. “Guys, what do you think?” You turn to Harvey and Yooyeon for opinions. Yooyeon defers; she thinks that you should choose what you like. Her husband, on the other hand, thinks that your choice is a good one. “I would buy that if I were proposing—I’m not, just so we’re clear,” he adds, laughing at the end. “I’ll take this, please.” You hand the ring back to the guy, earning a praise for your “good eye” from him.

Today is the day of your 2nd anniversary with Jiwoo. Not only that, today is also the day she’s doing an interview for the job at Han Group she has applied for.

Jiwoo says that she has permission from her manager to take today off so that she can go to the in-person interview. She also asks you to drop her off at the Han Group building on your way to work. “Sure, baby—let’s leave after this, okay?”

For the interview, Jiwoo opts for a white shirt and a black skirt—a very typical interview attire worn by fresh graduates looking for a job. She walks into the building and sees a reception desk that has someone attending it. “Excuse me, miss,” she says quietly, “my name is Kim Jiwoo. I’m here for an interview.” After looking at the screen in front of her, the staff tells Jiwoo to go up to the 4th floor, where an interviewer will join her soon.

Jiwoo sees an open room with a big conference table on the 4th floor. “This is it, probably,” she thinks. It is when she’s right at the door that she sees the short list of today’s interviewees: Kim Jiwoo and Lee Soodam. She also sees that each person will be given around an hour for the interview.

“Hello. You must be Kim Jiwoo.” A female around her age enters the room, making Jiwoo jump a little thanks to the shock. Her eyes widen when she sees the person behind this lady. “Hi, cookie. How are you today?” Harvey’s sudden presence stuns Jiwoo: no one mentioned that he’d be in the room where it happens—what if she lets him down? What if he thinks that Jiwoo isn’t needed at Han Group?

“Mi-mister Han,” she stutters, “p-pleasure to meet you, s-sir.” Harvey laughs. “You thought I wouldn’t know, Miss Kim? I have eyes and ears everywhere, you know,” he says. Jiwoo remains quiet as Harvey moves to take a seat at the other end of the table. “Please, there’s nothing to be nervous about. We’ve known each other for a while now, haven’t we?” “Y-yes, sir,” she replies nervously. Harvey shows her a kind smile. “Well, let’s start now, Miss Jo,” he says to the interviewer.

Miss Jo, paying little attention to personal details, throws some work-related questions at Jiwoo, and she answers each one as best she can, glancing occasionally at Harvey. “Wow, their smiles are very similar,” she thinks. Miss Jo then turns to him, passing the speaking baton over. “So, Miss Kim,” he starts, “can you tell me what you’re looking for at this company?” Jiwoo’s heart races as she tries to come up with an answer. “With respect, sir, I think working at Han Group w-would make me be more motivated,” she says the first answer that comes to mind. “Really? How so?” In her head, she wonders if she should say the same thing she did to you: because Harvey is family. “Ah, whatever—here goes nothing.” She takes a deep breath and answers: “b-because I’d be working for fa-f-family, s-sir.” Her stutter was worse than earlier, making her want to slap herself for it.

Harvey grins. “Family, Miss Kim?” He asks, and she’s starting to regret saying such answer. He takes a deep breath before speaking again. “First, I like that you refer to me as family—I’m sure your significant other would be delighted to hear it if he was here. Second, I think that someone can only be really motivated about work if they enjoy and find satisfaction in it. Sure, working for family sounds like a good time, but at the same time, there’s the burden of relationship in that; there’s a chance that you’ll find it difficult to make objective decisions or critics because, well, they’re family.”

Jiwoo can’t help but stay silent during Harvey’s speech, feeling the pressure of the big boss’ commanding presence. “Any opinions on that, Miss Kim?” “N-none, sir. I understand what you said, and I think it made sense,” Jiwoo replies. Harvey whispers something to Miss Jo, and after a short back-and-forth, she leaves her seat and walks out of the room.

Harvey summons Jiwoo to sit next to him, and she complies immediately. “Jiwoo-yah,” he says, his tone softer than earlier, “why are you here, seriously? Answer honestly, please." She wipes the stray tear her glassy eyes released. “I-I meant it, oppa; I want to work for you because you are family,” she emphasizes. He puts his hand on Jiwoo’s, rubbing the back of it gently, the exact same way you usually do. “If you’re so sure, then I’m not stopping you—welcome to Han Group, Jiwoo-yah.” Jiwoo, without asking for permission first, jumps to hug Harvey. “Thank you so much, oppa. I won’t let you down, I swear,” she says tearily. “I know, cookie,” he replies, “go home for now, your work here can start some time else.”

As soon as you enter your apartment, a fragrant smell enters your nostrils. “Jiwoo-yah, where are you, baby?” You hear her reply from the kitchen area, so you drop everything at the door and make your way towards her.

“Welcome home!” Jiwoo hugs you warmly as a welcome. “Thank you, baby—what is this smell, by the way?” Over her head, you see that there’s a pot sitting on one of the burners. In it, there’s rice cake swimming in a bubbling red sauce—oh, there’s popcorn chicken on the counter, too. “You hated the service at that tteokbokki place, so I made it for you,” she says. You barrage her head with kisses, showing your appreciation for her efforts. “You always spoil me with your cooking, baby,” you say at the end.

Your girlfriend asks you to sit at the table while she gives final touches to her cooking. She then proceeds to put some in two bowls and places them on the table. “Thank you for the meal, baby!” You grab the chopsticks she has provided and immediately put a piece of rice cake in your mouth. “Oh, that’s so good.” You then chase it with a piece of chicken. “Wow, that’s also really good.” Your eyes land on Jiwoo, and you see that she has her happy face on; her plump cheeks are squished by the wide grin on her face.

“There’s no way it’s that good,” she thinks you’re exaggerating. “Why are you putting yourself down? Just take a bite and see for yourself, why don’t you,” you say, and based on your tone alone, Jiwoo can tell that you’re starting to get annoyed by her attitude. “It’s not that, oppa; it’s just that when you cook, your food doesn’t taste as good as when you buy it,” she reasons, her soft tone different to yours.

She takes a mouthful of food and thinks about the taste as she chews. “It is good,” she shyly admits, “I see why you like it so much.” “See? Don’t put yourself down so much next time, okay, baby?” Jiwoo nods and promises that she’ll keep it in mind and never do it again.

“Oppa,” she moves on to another subject, “I got the job at Han Group.” “Yeah? How did the interview go?” Jiwoo first mentions that Harvey was present during the interview and how surprising it was for her to see him. “I had a feeling that you wouldn’t have gotten away with being sneaky,” you say, adding a chuckle at the end. “You didn’t say anything to him, though, right?” No, you didn’t say anything to anyone about Jiwoo’s sneaky job search—it’s just that your brother does have eyes and ears everywhere.

After dinner, you find yourself chilling on the sofa with Jiwoo. She’s resting her head on your thighs while her hands are busy with her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. You, on the other hand, can’t be bothered with it; you have a bigger thing to think about: how do you propose to Jiwoo? “Should I take her to the park? Do I just do it here?” Your brain gets busy trying to figure it out. “Fuck, man, what do I do?”

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down, and apparently, it’s loud enough to reach Jiwoo’s ears. “Are you okay, oppa? Do you need anything?” Nervousness is peaking in your head right now and you’re starting to sweat. “Can we talk, baby, please?” Your girlfriend lifts her head off your lap and looks at you nervously. “What do you want to talk about, oppa? Am I in trouble?” You close your eyes and take another deep breath. “First, I’d like to apologize for being so boring like this, but I’m just stumped and don’t know what to do,” you begin, making Jiwoo both nervous and confused.

You get off the sofa and get down on one knee. “Miss Kim Jiwoo,” you fish the small velvet box out of your back pocket, “will you marry me?” She stays silent. Her palm is covering her mouth. Her eyes are as wide as they can be. This isn’t quite the reaction you were hoping for, and as you wonder if you’ve made a bad move, your eyes wander off towards her knees.

“Yes, I will,” is her answer. When your eyes meet with her again, you see that tears are coming out of her eyes in abundance. “I will, oppa—I will marry you,” she repeats. Seeing her cry makes you emotional, and without command, your eyes start releasing tears. “I’m sorry, I should’ve come up with something grander for my proposal,” you say, feeling regretful. She joins you on the floor and hugs you tightly. She assures you that it’s okay and you have nothing to worry about. “It doesn’t take away from your efforts, oppa,” she uses your words against you. Deep inside, however, you promise that you’ll propose again with a grander prelude—Harvey proposed to Yooyeon at The Sapphire, maybe you can replicate that.

Jiwoo lets go of the hug and looks at the ring that’s still sitting in its tiny pedestal in the box. “I-I think you’re supposed to put it on my finger, oppa.” You chuckle. “Sorry, baby. I’m new to all of this,” you crack a little joke, earning a giggle from your girlfriend. You pull the ring out of the box and slide it onto her ring finger on her right hand. “I’m yours forever now, oppa,” she says while turning her hand around to inspect the ring. “This is a beautiful ring, too.” You place your forehead on hers, still unable to calm yourself down and stop the tears. “I love you, Jiwoo-yah. I love you with every cell in my body.” Jiwoo says she loves you more, referring to you as her fiancé.

“Oh, speaking of fiancé,” she says, pulling away from your embrace, “now that we’re really official, I want to go to university again, oppa—you know, get my master’s degree and all that.” You wipe your tears off your face and gather yourself. “O-okay, go—hah—go on.” “Can you, erm, can you pay for that, please?” Obviously, you’re not stopping your fiancé from getting higher education, so without thinking twice, you say yes. “I’m sure it’ll be beneficial for all of us, baby, so go ahead. Let me worry about the tuition,” you add.

In joy, Jiwoo jumps to hug you, and only now are you remembering an important fact. “Happy anniversary, baby.” Your fiancé lets out a chuckle. “I thought you forgot about it, oppa.” “I’m sorry, baby. I’m a freaking mess today,” you say. “Let me help fix that mess.” Jiwoo plants her lips on yours while her hands are fixed on your shoulders, and at this point, you swear that every mess in your heart and mind has been washed away. “Thank you, baby. I needed that so bad,” you thank her for the help. “Can we go to the bedroom, oppa?” “We sure can, baby.” You carry her in your arms and walk towards the bedroom.

“We’re here, baby,” you say as you climb onto the bed, “so, how do you want to cuddle?” Your fiancé frees herself from your arms, shaking her head as she does. “If we’re getting really married, oppa, you need to get better at catching signals,” she says. You look at her wordlessly while she takes her T-shirt off and throws it over her head. “Oh, she wanted to have sex—was I supposed to know that?”

Your attention is shifted towards her when you feel her fingers on the first button of your shirt, stripping you out of your work clothes. “You just proposed to me and agreed to pay for my master’s, and you thought I wanted to just cuddle? Ckckckck, you’re terrible at this,” Jiwoo expresses her disappointment. You want to defend yourself, but you can’t seem to find the words. “Sorry,” is all you can come up with. “No need, it’s not too late to make it right.”

Jiwoo plants her lips on yours again with different intentions this time. “Take me,” she whispers to you, “take me just like you usually do.” “How bad do you want it?” You’ve now gotten yourself together and are in the correct head space for this. She starts humping your thigh, letting you know how wet she is down there. “C-can’t you tell, oppa?” “I think I can,” you giggle, “let’s start, shall we?”

Yes, we shall. You roll until your fiancé is lying on her back, and her beauty instantly catches your attention. “My God, you’re so beautiful, love. Who am I to be so lucky to be with you?” Your words satisfy her, as shown by her precious smile on her face and her soft hands on yours. “Who am I to be so lucky to be engaged to you, oppa?” You ask if you can show her how much you love her. “Show me, oppa, and I’ll do the same,” she says.

You put your lips on her neck, nibbling and sucking until it’s marked with your love. “Oh, yes, please keep going,” Jiwoo eggs you on. “You’re mine, baby, and I’m yours—forever,” you whisper to her, giving her goosebumps. “I’m yours, oppa, and you’re mine,” she replies. “Please take me already—I can’t wait any longer.” You chuckle. “One second, baby; let me finish marking you first.”

You’ve sucked and nibbled for a few more minutes now, and when you pull away to inspect your work, you see a decently sized dark circle on the side of her neck. “Now everyone knows you’re mine.” You straighten your back, and that’s when Jiwoo asks you to “put it in.” Obviously, you know what it means, but it doesn’t hurt to tease her just a tad more. “Put what in, baby?” Your fiancé takes a deep breath, annoyed and impatient. “Your junior,” she says, “put it in me.”

You move towards her legs that are still covered by her mini shorts. When you grab the waistband, Jiwoo places her hands over yours. “Yes, baby?” You ask in case she wants to change her mind.

“Let’s make some promises before we start, oppa.”

“Sure, baby. What is it?”

“Promise me that you’ll pay for my tuition.”

“We’ve talked about it before, but yes, I promise.”

“Promise me that you’ll love me forever and never leave me for anyone else.”

“I promise.”

“Lastly, promise me that you’ll call me love—you know, since we’re getting married.”

“I promise, love.”

“Great,” she smiles, “now we can start.”

With her consent, you pull down her shorts down her legs and past her ankles. Oh, look at that: there’s a big wet spot on her panties—how cute. You free yourself of your work clothes, and while you do that, Jiwoo frees her tits from its constraints. “Respectfully, you look very, very hot, love,” you say, drooling as you do. “And all of me is yours, oppa,” she replies, “my lips, my breasts, my vagina—everything.” “That’s certainly one way to put it,” you think to yourself.

You hold your cock in one hand, and without struggling too much, you ease your way into her warm and wet core. “T-took you long enough,” Jiwoo quips, “oh, yes, that’s good, oppa.” You wrap your arms around her body, and in response, she wraps her limbs around yours, locking you in place to make sure she has maximum physical contact. She proceeds to let out moans right into your ear, showing you how much she’s enjoying this. “I love you, baby—fuck, I love you so much,” you whisper. “W-wrong pet name,” she still has the head space to say such thing.

“I’m about to burst, oppa,” she says, “please—oh, God—please, oppa.” You notice that her embrace is getting loose, so you take advantage of it and straighten your posture, thus allowing you to deliver better thrusts. “Go on, baby,” you urge her, “burst for your fiancé.” Obviously, words aren’t enough; you need to keep up the tempo to be able to send her flying across the finish line.

Jiwoo’s moans become louder as she inches closer towards orgasm—she’s also squirming around. You grit your teeth when you feel her insides squeezing your shaft. “Come on, love; cum for me.” You turn up the pace to the highest you can possibly do while making sure you’re hitting her deepest points. You pull out just in time as she screams from the top of her lungs, her thighs trembling from the hard-hitting orgasm.

Amidst her moans and pants, Jiwoo manages to ask you to hold her, so you do just that, enveloping her with your arms. “That’s good, love,” you praise her, “you’re so good at this.” “Th-thank you,” she replies with heavy breaths. You pamper her with endless sweet words while waiting for her to calm down; among them is, “I love you and will spend the rest of my life with you.” She can’t string together a proper reply just yet, but that’s fine; you’re certain that the message is well received.

Her pants have died down after a few minutes, and when you check on her, you see that she’s fallen asleep. “How cute,” you pinch her cheek lightly, “well, good night, love.” Without letting go, you roll over so that she’s lying square on your body and close your eyes.

During your sleep, you’re shown a dream. One where Jiwoo is on her knees while moving her mouth up and down along your length. You put a hand on the back of her head, assisting her in making sure that her hair doesn’t get in the way. “That’s good, love—that’s very good,” a praise freely escapes your lips, just like usual. Your praise excites Jiwoo, making her bob her head faster. Unfortunately for you, you’re starting to lose your grip on the scene, seeing it slowly fade away to be replaced with a different one.

At least that’s what it seemed like was about to happen. Instead, your brain wakes you up. “Wait, I know this feeling,” you say in your head. Your eyes roam downwards as you try to get a grip on the situation around you. “Love? What are you doing?” “What do you mean what am I doing? What does it look like, oppa?” Well, it looks like she’s stroking your cock, kissing your tip occasionally. “I thought you wouldn’t wake up,” she says.

You tell her that you saw her sucking you off in your dream. “I mean, I was sucking you off in your sleep,” she reveals. “So that was a mix of dream and reality, wasn’t it, love?” Jiwoo laughs. “Even in your dream, you can tell that I’m touching you.”

Jiwoo asks you to sit, so you sit and lean against the headrest. She then crawls between your spread legs and takes you deep in her mouth. Just like you did in your dream, you place a hand on the back of her head, petting her gently as you do. “That’s so damn good, love,” a praise freely escapes your lips, just like usual, and as per usual, it excites Jiwoo. You can feel her moving along your shaft faster, pushing through the gag reflex. “Fuck, you’re going to make me bust,” you say the first thing that comes to mind.

You’re ready to send your load straight into her stomach; your cock is throbbing and cum is pooling on your tip, and—ah, fuck, she removes you from her mouth. “No, no, no,” she wiggles her finger in front of you, “you don’t get to cum in my mouth anymore; I’m your fiancé, not your girlfriend.” Your racing heart doesn’t allow you to come up with a reply, but that’s okay with Jiwoo.

She turns her back against you and move backwards until her entrance is hovering right over your tip. “From this point onwards, you can only cum in my pussy—is that understood, my dear fiancé?” “Yes, love, I understand.” Happy with your answer, she lowers herself until you’re fully inside her. “Oh, fuck,” she lets out a gasp, “fuck, fuck, fuck!” She starts fucking herself on your cock, her hands and knees serving as stabilizers. You lean back and admire the way her hourglass figure looks from behind.

“I-I thought you—oh my God—I thought you were close, oppa?” “I am,” you admit, “I’m about to bust any second now.” Hearing such an answer invigorates Jiwoo, giving her the push she needs to keep going until you cum.

With a profanity, you send your load deep inside her, and Jiwoo plants her butt on your crotch so that nothing leaks out. The warmth of your ejaculation makes her let out a very long moan. “Do you want to be a dad?” “No, love, not yet,” you reply between your heavy pants. “Then you’ll need to buy me some pills—we’ve run out of them.” “We’ll get some later before we leave for work, love.”

That’s one question answered, and it’s time to address the other one: how can you prevent her from making a mess on the bed? “Just carry me reversed like this to the bathroom and pull out there,” she suggests. You gather the strength in your legs and stand up. “Hehehe,” you let out a suspicious laugh, “come to think of it, we’ve never had sex while standing up.” “Let’s not—oh, fuck—let’s not get ideas now, oppa; I don’t have the energy for more.”

You arrive at the bedroom with no accident, which means you can now “safely” pull out of her hot core. “Fuck, that’s a lot,” you comment. “That’s just how much you love me,” she giggles, “so what do we do now?” You don’t know what time it is (because there’s no clock in the bathroom, obviously), but you guess that it’s probably best to quickly clean up and go back to sleep soon.

You’re back in bed with your fiancé after quickly cleaning up. Jiwoo puts her right hand in the air and inspects the ring (despite the darkness of the room). “When did you buy this, oppa?” You reveal to her that Harvey bought it for you when you went out with him and Yooyeon. Jiwoo bursts out laughing. “I bet you were sweating bullets when you saw me walking in with Soodam-unnie—you thought the surprise was ruined.” “You have no idea, love,” you chuckle, “well, at least it all worked out in the end.”

“I love you, oppa,” she says, seemingly out of nowhere. “I will be the best person I can be for you—for us.”

“Certainly, love. I will be the best person I can be for you as well, because you deserve the best of me.”

“Sounds like we have a good future,” she says, “well, let’s go back to sleep now—good night. I love you.”

“I love you more—way more than simple words can express.”

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut #nmixx smut

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thefangirlfever · 11 months

Text

A new beginning (a Miguel O'hara NSFW story)

Summary: Miguel and you are married for more than a year and life has been kinda hectic with all your work. One day he comes home and after seeing Peter B. Parker with Mayday all day, Miguel has only one thing in his mind… Getting you pregnant.

Reader is not a spider-woman for once.

Content warning: smut (18+, MDNI), poor Spanish

Tags: smut, F/M, piv penetration, breast play, mention of pregnancy, married couple, oral sex (m. receiving), that sweet domestic life, breeding kink, reader doesn’t shave (it’s not a kink, we need to normalize body hair on women), angst (if you squint really hard. It’s mostly self-indulgent smut)

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The drizzling sound of oil in a pan filled the kitchen as you started cutting green onions and peppers. You were roaming the kitchen with no care in the world, finally letting all the tension you had accumulated this week leave your shoulders. You’ve had accumulated more shifts than it was necessary at the hospital you were working for, you still had to settle a few things about the new apartment and of course, there was the usual worry about Miguel going on missions as Spider-man and risking his life. Even if you had accepted his role as a super-hero years ago, you still had trouble not worrying when he was home late or when he would come back, covered in bruises and cuts, arguing that “It was just a routine mission.”

You checked the clock on the kitchen’s wall as a reflex. 9 pm. You couldn’t hold a sigh. After all you were no one to blame him for coming home late; you had your fair share of shifts that could last 24 hours, even a whole week-end sometimes. The only thing helping you come through this moment, except the fact that you could see people leaving the dispensary free of their worries, was knowing that Miguel was waiting for you at home. After these shifts, it was almost impossible for both of you to not cling into one another. You would spend the next day, cuddling in your bed, on the couch, letting him massaging you, cooking for the both of you… and when you were extra lucky, you were doing more than just cuddling. You would let Miguel dumb fuck you until you almost forgot your name and start seeing stars.

Just when you were lost in these thoughts, you heard the front door opening and soon Miguel was standing in the frame of the kitchen door. No cut, no wound, no bruise. Today was a good day and you smiled at him, but his gaze told you something was off. Your smile slowly faded away as you asked him about his day:

“Did something happen, Miguel?”

He tried to brush it off as he approached you, hugging you from behind. His chin was resting on top of your head. He smelled the scent of vegetables frying in the pan, clearly trying to find the words that wouldn’t worry you.

“No, the usual. We just had a meeting that lasted a little longer than what we anticipated. That’s all. How was your day?”

You were not fully satisfied with his answer. You knew him. It was clear something was bugging him off. You still decided to wait a little before asking more questions to not rush him. You still had the whole evening after all. You told him about your day and now, the two of you were cooking in silence. It wasn’t usually an awkward silence when you ended up in the kitchen, but tonight something was creeping under the surface. His watch beeped, breaking the silence of the kitchen. You looked over the pot you were stirring and saw that he had received a message from Peter. Miguel opened the notification, thinking it was an important work-related message, but it was just a picture of Peter and Mayday, trying to shoot webs. Under the picture, Peter had written “New recruit incoming!” You couldn’t hold a laugh; Peter was such a girl’s dad. It was pretty cute to see, even if you knew that his lack of professionalism was getting on Miguel’s nerves. Your husband turned off the watch, grunting, and even took it off, putting it on the table before getting back to seasoning the dish.

Something was definitely off.

“Is everything alright, Miguel?”

“Why wouldn’t it be alright?” His voice sounded off. It was your time hugging him from behind, which was not easy regarding your size difference but you still managed to hold him. Your head was resting between his shoulder blades as you stayed like this for a few seconds before finally saying something:

“Listen, I know Peter is sometimes...a little too much and that he gets on your nerves. I also know that things are not always easy at your job and that you are under a lot of pressure…”

You let your hands roam his back and knead his tense shoulders.

“Maybe we can fix that…”

Miguel quickly understood where you were going with this impromptu proposition and alluring tone. He let out an other disgruntled sound as you were bothering him when he needed to focus, but you knew he was smiling, his smile oozing through his voice even if you couldn’t see it.

“You know we don’t have to do it tonight if you’re tired…”

***

You pushed Miguel on your bed, straddling him, your arms around his shoulders as you kissed him. Miguel’s fingers slipped under your shirt, slowly lifting it up. You kept kissing for a good minute, feeling each other as if it had been months since you didn’t see each other. When you broke the kiss, his hair was disheveled and his lips had taken a soft pinkish undertone. You already knew by heart the shape of his body but you never get tired of it, always discovering new things about him. Your right hand was stroking his cheek while your left one glided down his shirt, playing with its buttons. You could see his skin poke through the opening between each button. You both exchanged one knowing look. This would usually turn only one way. Your hands reached his belt and you could feel the fabric of his pants getting stretched by his growing erection. The pad of your thumb brushed over his hard-on as you said with a smile you were now unable to hide any longer:

“Seems like someone is already eager for more.”

Miguel held a sheepish smile as he bit his lower lip. He has to know the effect he had on your after all this time, or else he wouldn’t act this way. One of his hands held himself on the bed while his free hand grabbed your butt, gently squeezing it. You shuddered at the sensation, still managing to keep your fingers on his erection.

“It’s not fair that you’re the only one allowed to touch.”, he said with a cheeky smile. Your fingers unbuckled his belt and he helped you taking off your shirt. You both had been past the first steps of any relationship when you both needed to always present yourself under your best light. You didn’t care anymore about your body hair, your stretch marks or even your saggy breasts. You knew you didn’t have to care anymore about that, that he would accept you the way you are and love you, just like you loved all his “imperfections” that made him who he was. It could be his scars, his fangs or his talons… You had accepted every features of him, you even grew into them.

Miguel took a good look at you before gyrating his lips, slowly lifting them up so you could take off his pants.

“¿Cómo te vuelves aún más bonita cada vez que te veo?” (How do you even get prettier every time I see you?)

Miguel speaking in Spanish was always a good sign in these moments. You were used to his usual sweet names he would give you, but you still had some trouble understanding what he was saying sometimes. Nonetheless you always knew deep down that these were the type of words that would make you go crazy. His little satisfied smile would let you know how much he enjoyed seeing you trying to guess what he just told you.

“I guess you’re not going to tell me what you just said.” You were on your knees, facing him, your hands tugging at the waistband of his underwear, teasing him. He smiled at you, tucking of strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I just said you were getting even prettier every time I see you.”

“I’m going to treat you so right tonight…”, you answered with a grin as you lowered his briefs.

With one gentle pat on your head, he let you know he was ready for you to make your words into action. You gave his cock one long lick from the base to the tip, before teasing the said tip with your lips. Miguel let out a low moan, coming straight out of the depth of his throat. Your tongue swirled around his erect member and you couldn’t hold a moan yourself when you started swallowing him. His hands held the side of your face, your lose hair trapped around his finger. You looked up at his face, watching his every reaction, how his lips slightly parted as he started panting, how a single curl of his hair seemed lost on his forehead…

“No pares, querida. Sé que puedes hacerlo.” (Don’t stop, darling. I know you can do it.)

You started bobbing your head with the help of Miguel. You’re going to need him somewhere else soon. The more you felt him going deeper, the wetter you were getting. You didn’t try to control your moans or the lewd noises your mouth would make, knowing how much he liked it when your were vocal. Your hands started caressing his inner thighs and the closer you were getting to its base, the more Miguel’s hands were gripping your head tighter.

“Please...baby…” His pleading voice was like music to your ears and you could feel how much he wanted for you to take him fully, which was usually not that easy given his girth...but worth it, every time you saw his reaction. You gave him one nod and he pulled you closer, moving his hips, rutting against you, the tip of his cock close to your uvula.

Miguel came quickly after that in a symphony of low groans and helpless whimpers. He let himself fall on the bed, shaking the mattress while doing so. His cock was still hard and the red tip was coated with your saliva. Even when lying down the bed he kept his legs spread. You watched him closely, observing how he would slowly catch his breath.

“Thanks mami. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”, you answered, whipping some saliva from your chin.

You planted a kiss on his thighs and moved onto the bed, next to him. Your eyes didn’t leave his body. His chest was heaving under the fabric of the shirt and you couldn’t resist opening it, exposing the absolute perfection of his chest to your greedy eyes. Miguel gave you one amused look.

“Got some ideas?”

“You always give me so many ideas, papi.” Your attempt at teasing him in Spanish made him smile even more. You were clearly not fluent but everything sounded way cuter in your mouth and he never minded you being flirty. His fingers brushed along your hips.

“That’s good to know… I may have a few ideas on what we could do… It’s something that would imply for you to relax and lie down.” He smoothly shifted your place on your bed, making you lie on the sheets and straddling you. His fingers get hooked in the hoops of your pants that he quickly pulled off, leaving you in nothing more than in a pair of low-cut panties. Your hip dips were showing as well as the flesh of your thighs, soft and inviting to the gaze, to the touch. The thin straps of the panties was lost under soft mounds of flesh, pressing against your skin. Miguel hooked his fingers under the straps, slowly pulling it off as your womanhood was now exposed to him. He let out a sigh as he watched your body already sprayed out for him. His fingers kneaded your skin, squeezing gently your skin as he lowered his body on yours. You were face to face, your noses rubbing against one another when you reached for your nightstand and more specifically the drawer in which you knew a box of condoms was always waiting. Miguel caught you moving and he gently grabbed your wrist.

“Actually, I thought we could… try not using them tonight.”

It was so rare to see him losing his words. He was always so sure of himself, even when he happened to be wrong, that you stopped moving. Did you understand what he meant?

“But… I could…” You didn’t finish your sentence, letting the word float in the air between the two of you. Miguel suddenly seemed uneasy as he stammered:

“You know what? Forget about what I said. Let’s just use one and…” This time, you were the one stopping his movement as he tried to reach the drawer.

“Miguel, is it what you had in your mind since you came back home?” You weren’t sure of what you were feeling. You were definitely surprised since you didn’t imagine Miguel wanting this, not with his job, not after his last attempt at parenting. You knew it was a sensitive topic for him and he rarely opened up about it. You just assumed he wasn’t interested in this matter. He lowered his head, looking at your body under him, his cheeks slightly flushed as he admitted in a low voice:

“I’ve been thinking about this since we got married.”

Your hands reached for one another, your fingers intertwining and you both could feel the other’s ring against your skin.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I thought you… that you would never want to start a family, to have children.”

Miguel’s small smile almost made you melt. He gave your forehead a soft peck before answering:

“That’s what I used to think too… but then I met you.”

“Is there an other reason?”

“Well… you know…maybe… seeing Jess and Peter having their own family made me think.” Miguel leaned in and kissed your neck, whispering between each kiss:

“I thought we could try and see how it goes. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about it recently. About our future and some other things. Like, how many children we could have, their names, how they would look… Maybe we would have a house…”

You’ve never thought the picket-fence dream was for you but as Miguel kept describing it, the children running in the garden, waking up on a Sunday morning next to him, the kids barging in the room, hours spend helping them with their homework on the kitchen table before you all make dinner…

“Please, tell me what else you had imagined.” Miguel couldn’t help but smile at your request. The picture of your family was becoming clearer in your mind with every word of his.

“How does that sound, querida?” He was waiting for your answer, feeling more anxious every minute as he had just told you his dearest desire.

“It sounds amazing, Miguel.” His smile could light up the whole room as he pressed his body on yours.

“Do you want this too?”, he asked in a low voice. You could only nod as your hands wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. You then lifted up your lips to meet his and he let out a low groan before kissing you. The kiss you were sharing was becoming more and more heated as the two of you moved your heads, deepening the kiss. Miguel’s tongue entered your mouth and caressed its inside when his hands strongly held your hips. The tip of his cock brushed against your entrance and you moaned against his mouth. He kept teasing you until you were growing more and more frustrated and playfully bit his lower lip. Miguel’s fingers started spreading your wet arousal all over your folds as he began to stretch you, getting you ready for him. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do. The mere idea of cumming inside you was already making his softened member harder than before and he knew he wouldn’t last long.

When he finally inserted his cock between your lips, he let out a low moan, throwing his head backward. You felt your body reacting for you, your walls tightening around him, trapping him until he let go of his release. It took him a few seconds to adjust himself, finding the right angle and the best way for you to accommodate to his size and girth. Just when he began to move slowly, sliding in and out, your hands reached for his butt and you helped him moving, finding the right pace. You would give him a few squeezes from time to time, feeling how it seemed to directly affect him.

Miguel’s eyes were locked on yours as he watched your face distorted with pleasure, your lips slightly parted, your eyes half-closed and at the same time imagining what you would look like pregnant. He could easily picture your soft and round body, all for him to love and worship.

You felt him getting closer to his release each passing second from the look in his eyes, dizzy and far away, and the way his hips were mowing in a soon erratic way. You wrapped your legs around his waist and your hands grabbed his hair, pulling his face closer to yours for an other kiss. You were both lost in the haze of pleasure this whole thing was. Miguel’s legs were shaking when he grabbed one of your breasts and squeezed it. Your moan, the weight and softness of your breasts against his hands… he lost it in this moment. With a low moan, he finally let go, reaching his orgasm and when he did so, his fingers squeezed harder your breast, earning a strangled moan from you as well.

Miguel let his body fall on top of yours, while his cock was still buried inside you. He was filling you in every way possible. Before you could say anything his lips kissed your breasts, first the side then the top and finally his lips circled your nipple, licking, tugging and biting on them. His ministrations were methodical as he knew exactly what strings to pull for you to enjoy yourself. As he did so, your fingers kept playing with his hair, with the soft and plump curves of his bottom… and this time you both came.Miguel let out a tired groan before lying next to you. One of his hands gently squeezed your thigh while you both looked at each other.

“Do you think it will work?”, you asked in a small voice.

Miguel’s body shifted toward you and he held your waist, pressing his forehead against yours. He needed some time to find his words while enjoying the beauty of your body in front of him. Will it work? Probably not the first time, he thought. But he knew it was just a matter of time before the two of you could have your own family., and he was more than willing to try as many times as needed.

“You’re going to be such an amazing mom.”

========

Note: I don't usually like the pregnancy trope and pregnancy is something that I find a little scary. Also this is such a heavy topic, so I hope I gave it justice. I'm not really satisfied with what I wrote but I still wanted to try.

But I also thought this trope could really fit Miguel. I hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading this mess. Here's your cookie🍪

Edit: thanks for the 200 likes

#astv miguel #spiderverse #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #atsv #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara smut

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kissagii · 1 year

Text

isagi x gn!reader, tw: food, cooking

"Yoichi... are you okay? What's wrong?"

Your boyfriend greets you at the door when you arrive home, eyes red and teary but grinning like a fool nonetheless.

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong! Why would anything be wrong?" He follows close behind you as you enter the apartment, hurriedly rambling through sentence after sentence. "Actually, are you okay? You've probably had a long day, do you want to take a nap?"

Though he tries to shoo you towards the bedroom, and you're tempted to play along and nap, you can tell something's up. "Yoichi. What's wrong? You're acting off."

"Nothing's wrong!" He insists, "Why would anything be wrong? Are you sure you're feeling alright? Aren't you tired?"

At this point he's pushing you towards your bedroom, gently nudging you and forcing you to take small steps in that direction.

"Yeah, yeah, alright, I'll take a nap. Just let me pull something out for dinner, 'kay?"

Isagi inhales sharply, "No, no need! Just tell me what you want and I'll get it for you!"

There's most definitely something up.

You ignore his protests (most of which involve pouting and calling your name sadly) and head straight to the kitchen. There you find a half-cooked meal: spices strewn across the counter, a half-cut onion, and oil that smells on the verge of burning.

"Your oil's about to burn, love, I suggest you turn off the stove and finish chopping that onion."

Hurriedly he scrambles through the kitchen, fumbling with the burner and trying to hide the mess from you, "You were not supposed to see all that... but it's too late now, isn't it?"

"Far too late. And now I've got to fix... what even happened to this onion?" You take the knife and survey the mess he made of the vegetable, about half of it chopped into horrifically uneven pieces.

"It hurts my eyes," He pouts, placing his chin on your shoulder. "I was just tryna be a good boyfriend n make you dinner."

You can't help but giggle at his sorry attempt, "Cooking for me would only be a good boyfriend move if you could actually cook, love."

"Do you still love me?" Isagi asks softly, wrapping his arms gently around your waist.

What a stupid question.

You bring your free hand up to ruffle his hair playfully, inky black locks soft under your touch. He hums, nuzzling closer into you.

"You're a loser, Yoichi, but you're my loser."

"Love you too... and I'm not a loser."

one fun fact about me is that i love isagi too much

#imagine ⋆｡°✩#isagi x reader #isagi #isagi yoichi #isagi yoichi x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock #blue lock isagi #bllk isagi #bllk x reader #isagi fluff #isagi x gn reader #isagi x gn!reader #isagi x gender neutral reader #blue lock x gn!reader

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sseniita · 9 months

Text

not in love

cw suggestive (a lil)

Hero’s image was one of glamour and power. Their golden hair shined with glitter, their blue eyes were kind and hypnotising, their body was chiselled to perfection and they wore bright colours with a magnificent cape they swung around excessively. Absolute perfection. At least that’s how it looked from afar.

Very few people saw the bandages, the bags underneath their eyes, the oil sticking to their hair. And even fewer noticed the tiredness in their voice, the slowness they walked with, and the way how whenever they got a chance, they’d close their eyes and breathe. In fact, only Villain ever noticed.

“Rough day?” The familiar sight of Hero walking into their shared apartment with their arm encased in a sling and a new bandage over their bicep was as reassuring as it was concerning. They made it home, will tomorrow be the same?

The hero could only smile as they dropped their duffle bag, hard on the ground. “Ya. A little.” They said trailing their way to the villain on the couch who already had their arm spread out, ready to welcome their little hero. Against Villain’s wishes to steal a half of the jewels in the museum and run away, it was established early into their relationship that Hero won’t stop what they do best. Each day they’ll come home with bruises and scrapes, another day of the city being saved, and in return the Villain would be there, bandages in hand and kettle whistling. It didn’t really seem fair to Hero and the guilt was starting to eat them.

Rather than a loving partner, Hero felt they had made a personal doctor out of the Villain, taking advantage of them. Soon the Villain would have to feel some sort of grudge against the Hero. Right? They were a villain after all.

“You’re doing it again.” The hero was lost in thought in the comfort of their partner’s embrace when they finally snapped out of it.

“Doing what?”

“Overthinking. Gaslighting yourself.” The villain could read people’s minds. Not in an invasive, torturous kind of way but in the way that Hero would smell chopped onions and chicken broth and would know the villain was cooking up love in the kitchen. The villain sensed emotion and discomfort. Manifested in a stiff neck, or difficulty breathing. Hero wondered if maybe they should become a doctor.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I worry about it. A lot.” The hero sighed at the objection. Tired, annoyed and stressed the hero gave in to themselves, finally standing up and taking the villain’s hand, leading them into their bedroom, Villain followed quietly, immediately analyzing the atmosphere.

Hero might have thought it selfish if they didn’t know the villain loved them. They would have thought it manipulative if they knew the villain would oppose. And the villain wouldn't ever oppose- not that it was against his will- but perhaps the feeling of being needed by one of the world’s most powerful beings made Villain feel important. Or at least that’s how it started, some sick power kink. It slowly morphed into something softer, when Hero still smiled in the mornings, and Villain would find comfort in it. Villain should have known they couldn’t keep control of a supernova for long. Love was an explosive thing, but what was left in the aftermath of the cataclysm? Nowadays, more than the loving partner, more than a doctor, Villain would become the medicine.

They both knew this, but by some delusion, they’d continue anyway. The way the Villain’s tongue trailed against Hero’s chest and neck felt the same as their wandering stitches, their hands in all sorts of places felt like the bandages that’d cover them up, and the endless kisses inflicted on the hero were a million little needle pricks full of lidocaine. Before, Villain used to be rougher, more selfish and less lovely- an attempt to block out Hero’s repeating thoughts fearing betrayal, manipulation, and treason. Those weren’t there anymore, Hero was filled with pure bliss and the only one overthinking was the villain.

Making sure to not hurt Hero more than they already hurt, making sure to touch the right places, assuring Hero was getting exactly what they needed. They used Hero’s thoughts as something of a satisfaction scale.

Hero felt guilty, yes. But now, in this ritual, they were selfish and greedy, a desperate attempt to feel numb. Hero never had anything of their own, their uniform was rented and technically belonged to the Hero Association, Their belongings were regularly repossessed after destroying a road or street sign, hell, their very image was copyrighted. But this, the villain- was theirs. The Villain cared to a concerning extent and as much as Hero hated for the Villain to be a shell of what they once were, Hero was addicted, completely and wholeheartedly to their love. So much so, that it was no surprise when the hero found a letter saying nothing but goodbye beside their favourite breakfast the next morning.

#hero x villain #angst #writing #original fiction #criticism welcome #hero and villain #villain x hero #this was supposed to be cute #idk what happened

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wavypotatochips · 2 years

Note

and for the mbappe recognition, can I request kylian's brother ethan feeling upset bc of how media pressures him to be like his older brother but he doesn't want to worry his family so he keeps it a secret, for some reason he feels like he can open up to kylian's gf and she gives him a pep talk saying he's gonna make his own legacy and accidentally kylian overhears it and feels so happy his little brother trusts her and how nice she is to him that he falls in love with her even more. u can give it ur own spin, this is just an idea, thank u in advance 💓

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞 | 𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐛𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Kylian Mbappe x Female Reader

Word Count : 1.5k

𝘈𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦: SLAAAAAY MORE MBAPPE RECOGNITION!!! Of course I don't mind writing about anyone, but more Neymar and Mbappe please c; teehee Thank you so much for requesting!! I Hope you like how I represent your idea ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚!!

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN, currently covered in college work so as of now uploads will mainly be on weekends. Thank you for your patience c’: ♥

Kylian asked you earlier in the day if you would mind picking up his younger brother from futebal practice because he wouldn't be able to, and of course you didn't mind. When it was time to pick him up from futebal practice, you did so and brought him home. Considering how much Ethan loved to stay to himself, you did not give his abnormally quiet conduct much attention, but you could still sense something was off. Ethan is currently in the living room scrolling through his phone as you are currently preparing dinner.

Ethan fiddles with his hair as he lets out another sigh seeing a sports channel talk about his performances and comparing him to his brother once more. Ethan is proud of his brother and will always be his number 1 supporter, but he hates how he always gets compared to Kylian. He especially hates when grown men on the sports channel talk about how he isn't good and he would never be like his brother. He tries his hardest to ignore the harsh criticism, but when you constantly hear about it- it tends to build up until you cannot take it anymore. This has been going on for a while now, and the one time he tried to talk to one of his teammates who he considered a best friend, he told him to just ‘try and brush it off’ as the media will always be negative. Well, he tried to listen to his best friend but as a 16 year old, it's not surprising that it can not simply be ignored when it feels as if the public only likes you because they think they have the potential to see your brother. He felt as if when people look at him, all they think about is Kylian Mbappe, not Ethan Mbappe. He begins to contemplate if he should talk to you or not because he does not want to worry you, but he knew you were someone he could rely on. You and his brother have been dating for 3 years now, and anytime there was a minor convince- you always helped him no matter what. He shuts off his phone, deciding it is best to talk to you and begins to make his way into the kitchen.

You were preparing dinner as he was debating what to do. You put on some music and begin to prep your ingredients, carefully chopping and measuring everything. The kitchen smells amazing as you sauté garlic and onions in olive oil, adding in diced tomatoes and a sprinkle of spices.

Next, you start on the main course. You're making grilled chicken marinated in a savory mixture of soy sauce, honey, and ginger. You pat the chicken dry and place it on the grill, watching as it sizzles and cooks to perfection. While the chicken is cooking, you start on the side dish. You're making roasted sweet potatoes with a hint of cinnamon and brown sugar. You slice the sweet potatoes into thin rounds, toss them in a mixture of spices and oil, and place them in the oven to bake.

You can hear Ethan's footsteps when he enters the kitchen, indicating that the music was not played at an excessive volume. "It smells nice," he says as he takes a seat on the bar stool. You smile hearing his compliment, "I'm making chicken and roasted potatoes with asparagus for us! Although your brother is supposed to arrive home later than expected, I don't think we should go hungry until then, am I right?," you chuckle. He scratches the side of his head and nods in agreement before saying, "Hey ummm... Can we talk for a moment, Y/N.... ," he murmurs the final phrase, "There's been something that just has been bothering me."

"Of course," you say, sensing that he wants to open up to you about something personal.

"It's just that...I feel like I'm always being compared to Kylian, you know? Everyone's always asking me if I'm going to be as good as him or just the media constantly nagging my every move. If I mess up just once I just get so much hate, and it's like...I don't know if I can live up to that."

You nod sympathetically. "I can imagine that's a lot of pressure. But you don't have to be Kylian, you know? You can be your own player."

"But that's the thing," Ethan says, looking frustrated. "I want to be my own player, but it feels like everyone's always talking about how I compare to him. Even I do it to myself sometimes."

"Well, you're not alone," you say, trying to reassure him. "Lots of people compare themselves to others, but it's not always a helpful way to think. You're talented in your own right, and you don't have to measure up to anyone else's standards.”

Ethan seems to relax a little, nodding along. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But it's hard not to think about it when it's all people ever talk about."

"I get that," you say as you walk over to grab two plates from the counter. "But you should focus on your own progress and improvement, not what other people think or say. And even though you're young, you have such a huge opportunity to keep on learning and growing as a player. You have so much potential and you're constantly improving."

"But I keep making mistakes," he says with a sigh as he watches you beginning to prep the plates.

"Mistakes are a part of learning.You're going to make mistakes, but that doesn't mean you're not good enough. It means you're growing and learning. You have so much potential, and I believe in you. Just keep practicing, keep pushing yourself, and don't worry about what anyone else thinks or says. You're doing great." You speak while you put food on both plates, along with a fork and a knife, on each plate.

He stays quiet for a moment as he takes in the words that you tell him. A small smile appears on his face, seeming to feel a little better. "Thanks. I guess I just need to work harder."

You take both plates and set them both on the kitchen island, moving one over to Ethan as you explain, "You don't need to work harder, you just need to believe in yourself."

"And if you're really upset about it, you can always talk to Kylian about it," you say as you start chopping the roasted chicken into smaller pieces. " We both know how unfavorable the media can be toward him, and I am not a futebol star like you, so my advice may not be the greatest."

Ethan looks thoughtful. "Yeah, I guess I could talk to him about it. Thanks for listening, though. I feel like I can trust you.” He takes a bite of the asparagus.

"Of course I'm always here if you need to talk! And even though I'm not the best futebol player, if you ever need someone to talk to or to practice with, I'm here for you. I mean who knows, maybe I'll just cross you up." You both laugh, knowing that you could definitely not do that.

When you two were eating the delicious supper you had prepared, neither of you realized that Kylian had arrived home earlier than intended and had heard all you said.

Kylian quietly opens the front door of his house and makes his way to the kitchen. As he approaches, he can hear the sound of your voice, and his younger brother's voice responding. Curiosity piqued, he peeks around the corner and sees you sitting with his brother, giving him some advice and offering some kind words. He doesn't want to interrupt, so he decides to listen in. As he hears you speak, he can't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for you. You have always been a kind and caring person, but to see you taking the time to give his brother such motivational words is truly inspiring. Kylian takes a step back and leans against the wall, listening in to the conversation. He hears you tell his brother that he's capable of anything he sets his mind to, that he has so much potential, and that he doesn't need to compare himself to anyone else. Kylian can see the look of appreciation on his brother's face, and he can feel his own love for you grow even stronger. He thinks about how lucky he is to have you in his life, and how grateful he is for all the times you have encouraged him and supported him. He thinks about how you have always been there for him, through thick and thin, and how you always believed in him even when he didn't believe in himself.

In that moment, Kylian knows that he's found someone truly special, someone who brings out the best in him and in those around her. He knows that he'll always be grateful for your love and support, and he can't wait to see where your journey together will take you two.

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leggerefiore · 10 months

Note

A sweet and slightly silly idea:

The first homemade meal Ingo eats after returning from Hisui has him experiencing a flashback like Ego from ‘Ratatouille’, especially if it’s something that he used to eat a lot or has sentimental value. He gets the thousand-yard stare and goes dead silent before scarfing it down.

cw: short, fluff, post-pla ingo

Ingo's new oddities had been a bit distressing at first, certainly. His inability to recognise the places that should be familiar to him was the most concerning among them, but his many scars and fresh injuries also stirred worries. But, he was alive and mostly well. Memories scrambled yet somehow the same old Ingo. Amnesia could not keep a good train man from yelling out “All aboard,” it seemed.

There were many challenges in helping the poor man readjust to the modern day. His ability to navigate Nimbasa had become poor, but he was quickly relearning everything. There was some inherent distrust towards people, perhaps stirred by the environment that he had been in previously. He even seemed more on edge towards wild pokemon themselves, which made interacting with even passive pokemon, like Lillipup, an experience. Yet, old habits died hard as you saw him speaking softly to a wild Purrloin or seeming to be enchanted by the sight of a Litwick.

Now, all of that was important, but something had crossed your mind when you considered the health of your amnesic lover. He was now strangely muscular… His appetite seemed to have been increased from what it was before his disappearance. You hummed to yourself as it swirled in your mind. Had you made him something since his return? You realised it quickly. No, you had not.

Confirming that he was still at home by peeking into the living room where his old pokemon had surrounded him and demanded his attention, you rushed into the kitchen and checked your supplies. You appeared to have everything you needed. Slowly, you began to shape ground beef and work to make a lovely sauce to pair that Ingo had always seemed to enjoy. The smell in the air was a pleasant shift as sizzling sounds echoed out. Soon, you had a delicious hamburger made and prepared to Ingo's previous enjoyment.

Calling him to the table, you watched as he stared at the sandwich for a moment. The smell of onions wafted about while you hoped that he could still handle some level of spice. He sat still for a moment, clearly uncertain for some reason. You hoped it was not too much for him. It finally hit you that he had likely been on an entirely different diet in Hisui. Shame was just about to creep over your mind when he reached a hand out to grab the dish.

His hands instantly seemed to recall how to hold it as he brought it to his mouth to bite into it. He closed his eyes for a moment as distant memories seemed to just ghost around his mind tauntingly. Voices talking about various things with his job or day. A phantom hug around him with a faint kiss on his cheek. The cold air of the outside changing into something warm with the creaking of a door. Then, a single memory. One where his twin sat with him and you. He seemed younger, lacking their shared facial hair and bagged eyes. Laughter came from Emmet as a Joltik tried to run off with a piece of his bun. He felt a sigh come from him as he began to scold him, but was cut off by his Excadrill grabbing on to his leg and looking up at him with pleading eyes. What a mess, he had thought.

He came back to reality slowly, realising he was chewing his food for too long and finally swallowed it. His eyes drifted to you. You barely seemed that different from his memory. How much time had passed since then? Had Hisui just aged him. Ingo took another bite. You smiled at him sweetly.

“Do you like it, Ingo? I wasn't sure if you could handle the chilli oil you usually liked on it…” You scratched your head nervously. He had not even noticed the heat, honestly.

“I love it, dearest,” the words slipped from his lips with little thought as he gave a smile, “Thank you for making it for me.”

You both felt a little closer after so long apart.

(Then you realised he had not had processed cheese in a while. There was not saving him.)

#pokemon x reader #ingo x reader #pokemon ingo x reader #ingo/reader #pokemon/reader

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oakantony · 5 months

Text

Yes, Chef

A completely uncalled for Hisoillu Chick-Fil-A AU. I honestly have no idea. Maybe I'll put it on AO3 one day idek. (It's in progress. Enjoy the rough draft.)

tws for this part include: neglect, financial abuse, verbal abuse, homophobia, ableism

future tws for this story will eventually include: canon-typical violence, explicit sex, possibly the raunchiest handjob i've ever written in my life

Enjoy!

It didn’t matter how accurately Illumi wrote the quarterly reports, how perfectly he arranged the weekly schedules, or how precisely he ordered supplies--his father would always fuck it up and leave Illumi there, alone, to clean up the mess.

In this case, literally.

His 15-year-old brother, Killua--middle child of the family and now shortest-lasting employee of their fast-food empire--had completely trashed the kitchen before giving his father, and Illumi, the middle-finger. “I quit,” he said as he stormed away. “Don’t expect to see me at home, either. I’m quitting this bullshit family, too.”

For some reason, Illumi believed him this time. Maybe it was the enormous backpack he carried with all his essentials--packed like he truly meant to move away. Maybe it was the new friend he’d found last month, whom he claimed had a bed big enough for the two of them to share. Maybe it was because Illumi, deep down, understood the sentiment.

Hm, no. Not that last part. Never that last part.

Illumi was loyal to his family until the end. How else was he meant to live? The vast fortune belonging to the Zoldyck family awaited him--so long as he continued to manage the business.

“He’ll come around,” said Silva in a gravelly, too-certain tone. He adjusted his suit jacket, looking perfect and statuesque despite everything. “He’s just in those hellish teen years.” He placed an enormous hand upon Illumi’s shoulder as a farewell and started to walk away, his long white hair swaying in a braid.

“Wait,” said Illumi. He swept a hand over the overturned prep station, the spilled jugs of peanut oil, and the broken dish sprayer dripping water down the side of the stainless steel cabinets. “We open in twenty minutes, do not have our pre-prep, and now we are down a cook.”

Silva raised one silver eyebrow. “I’ve trained all of my children to handle this. So handle it.”

He departed, checking his phone almost idly, utterly unconcerned. The pink sky of dawn winked through the door’s gap briefly before it sealed shut. Click.

Illumi hadn’t worked a fryer in almost six years. He took a deep breath and tied his long, straight, black hair into a high ponytail at the top of his head. He would have to net it before cooking, but this was fine for now. He’d debated cutting it many times previously--

But his father had long hair, and there seemed to be some sort of unwritten pride in maintaining hair like this even in a setting that would make short hair…simpler. And Illumi would do whatever it took to make his father proud.

Perhaps working the kitchen today will feel nostalgic, like back when I was a teen, he thought as he began to clean the kitchen. Quickly, efficiently, and well enough that most wouldn’t even be able to tell it’d been nearly destroyed. His first employee came in whistling, oblivious to the issues.

“Good morning, Canary,” said Illumi.

“Hi, boss,” she replied, bowing her head in greeting. She looked at the mop he held and across the kitchen, which was back to square zero--almost.

“Will you prep?”

“Oh no. Did the evening guys forget?”

“No,” said Illumi. “My little brother was meant to start his first ever shift this morning. Instead, he destroyed the kitchen.”

“Killua?” she asked, head tilted.

“That is correct.”

She hissed through her teeth in sympathy. “Yeah, I’ll get on that. Does that mean we’re down a man?”

“Do not worry. I will work the fryer today so that Amane will help take orders.” His watch trilled in warning. Sixty seconds before the doors open for the morning. He began to list off the things they needed: “Onions, tomatoes--lettuce is already shredded, but we need it pulled out from the walk-in--”

“Yes, yes. I got it, Mr. Zoldyck. You go check the front of house.” She held her hand out to take the mop. “I’ve done pre-prep at least a hundred times. I got the list memorized.”

The tightness Illumi didn’t even realize he had between his ribs began to loosen, allowing him to breathe in deep. Relieved. “Thank you. I appreciate you.” He would have to remember this moment when it came time for promotions next month--Canary was more than deserving of the assistant manager role. By the time he thought to say as much to her, however, a line of SUVs materialized very suddenly around the brown brick building, and several parents were standing at the doors.

Later, he noted to himself. He would tell her later.

He unlocked the door, held it open, and greeted, “Welcome to Chick-Fil-A.”

“Thanks,” said a particularly harried-looking mother as she stepped inside, holding the hand of a toddler covered in what Illumi hoped was dried chocolate.

“My pleasure,” he replied.

“It’s too bad you’re usually stuck at the front with customers, because you’re really good at this, actually,” said Gotoh. “I forget sometimes that you worked in the kitchen for years before taking over as manager.”

The timer chimed, alerting him that the chicken breasts were done cooking. “Father starts all of his children off as fry cooks,” said Illumi, deftly lifting the basket out of the pressure fryer. “This is a much simpler job than balancing books.”

Gotoh chuckled as he placed another tray of battered breasts aside Illumi, ready for the basket and fryer. “And you prefer cooking?”

Illumi watched the cooked chicken tumble into the shiny silver container and pondered the question. “No,” he said. “I prefer strategizing. My ideas are better than my food.”

“We don’t ever really use original ideas,” Gotoh pointed out. They had a set menu of items with some seasonal pulls and, on occasion, test products that came down from corporate. No one manager would have power enough to exact real change.

He knew as much. It didn’t stop him from scribbling restaurant concepts in the office after business closed, considering the popularity of certain items, the cost of ingredients--it was almost like a puzzle, but a creative and original one. “It is just idle thinking. Nothing I would ever do in reality.”

Silva had made that abundantly clear during their last conversation on the topic. Illumi glanced up to the dented stainless cabinet door to the left of Gotoh, fist-shaped. It almost seemed to wink at him in cruel memory. Illumi still needed to get someone to come out to do that repair. City inspectors pointed it out on their last sweep; technically a dent didn’t break any laws, but visible damage in the building did pull their ranking from A+ to simply A.

Illumi changed into a new pair of gloves and began to prepare the next batch of chicken breasts. “After I drop these, will you wait for the timer? I need to check our applications.”

“Of course,” said Gotoh. “You managed to fill in on the fryer and post a job listing already?” He turned to look at the big digital clock over the kitchen door. “It’s not even one PM yet. You’re damn efficient.”

“That is what I am paid to do. Be efficient.” He lowered the basket into the fryer and made quick work of fastening the latch.

Gotoh chuckled. “You know, there’re rumors you and Milluki don’t even get paid for working at your father’s restaurants.”

“That would be ridiculous,” said Illumi. “And illegal.”

“Oh, I know,” said Gotoh. “Your father wouldn’t do something so disrespectful anyway.”

“Indeed.” Illumi got paid biweekly, just like everyone else. His checks were directly deposited into the family’s shared account. While he didn’t have his own card to use, his mother made sure to give him a handful of twenties each week as "spending money." It seemed fair enough; the rest of his income was likely used to pay the family's many bills. The allowance he was given was generous, really, considering he got to stay in his childhood bedroom rent-free. Not that he had much choice. He'd talked briefly about moving out a few years back and his mother burst into tears almost immediately--

He was going to be thirty next year. He would broach the topic then. Probably.

He pulled off his gloves and headed towards the manager’s office. “I will be back in twenty.”

“Take your time,” Gotoh called back without turning around.

His feet ached, his stomach growled in hunger, and sweat covered him head to toe, but Illumi nonetheless arrived at the isolated booth at exactly the correct time to interview the only real candidate he’d been able to find for the fry position in the last twelve hours. Already the qualified stranger sat, eating a complimentary order of fries.

Illumi took a minute to catch his breath, appreciating the soft plastic cushion beneath his seat. He actually had yet to sit today. He’d just hauled an enormous bag of trash to the dumpster, alone, and he’d nearly been crushed under the weight of used paper trays and styrofoam cups as exhaustion made his arms twinge and shake. “Hello,” he said, only slightly winded. “I am Illumi Zoldyck. Manager.”

“Hello. Long day, I see,” came the low, teasing voice of--?

Illumi looked down at the paperwork he snagged. Hisoka Morow. “My day has been fine,” he said, nearly believing it. “Busy. But fine.”

“Funny,” said Hisoka. “Mine has been exactly the opposite. Slow, but terrible. I’ve never been so bored in my life. Please hire me, if only to give me something to do.”

Illumi looked up, surprised, and took in Hisoka for the first time.

He was severe-looking, but unusually handsome still, with an angular face, doll-like smooth skin, and vividly pink hair. “We do not employ cooks with unnatural hair colors.” He took his pen, slashed through Hisoka’s name, and began to stand up. “Thank you for coming in.”

“That’s no problem,” Hisoka said, holding out a hand to stop Illumi from departing too quickly. “I read the rules linked in the listing. I wouldn’t’ve come here to waste your time, I assure you. I’m happy to wear a hat.” He shrugged. “I’ll cut it, too, if you insist.”

Illumi narrowed his eyes at Hisoka, giving him another once-over. He was clean-shaven--and clean in general, which counted in his favor. In fact, as Illumi lowered back into his seat, he realized Hisoka smelled very good. Fresh, warm, and a little sweet. It was a subtle scent--he’d not bathed in cologne like some interviewees of the past. “Very well. Your resume says you have extensive experience on the line at Revere.”

“An understatement made purely for legal reasons,” Hisoka said. “I was the sous.”

Illumi slowly lowered his pen to the paper, glaring at Hisoka in complete disbelief.

“It’s true,” said Hisoka. “I’m not allowed to include it in my credentials because of some, hm… issues with the chef there.”

Illumi tilted his head in thought. “Chrollo Lucilfer.”

“Oh, you know him.”

“K City is not that big. I know all the restaurateurs. They are our competitors.”

Hisoka laughed, and loudly.

Illumi bristled and said, “I do not know what is so funny.”

“The idea of corporate--industrial--large scale fast food fried chicken considering itself in competition against one of the most elite Italian fine dining restaurants in the country is--” Hisoka’s smile turned catty. Sharp. “Quite unfair. It has a Michelin Star.”

Illumi was silent, mostly in shock, for a moment. And then he said, coolly, “Our business serves an average of 2,491 customers per day and earns upwards of eight million dollars per year. At this location alone.” Illumi tapped Hisoka’s resume with the end of his pen. “By my estimations, Revere earned a profit of under 1.2 million last year, and is slated for even less by the end of this one, and Lucilfer works in his kitchen every single night, 365 days per year, and has done so for thirty months so far. If you add the other stores in our portfolio, the Zoldyck business nets profit at almost ten million total without my father ever having to step foot inside these four walls. And we’re closed on Sundays.”

Hisoka blinked in a way that made it apparent he was tallying the numbers Illumi just shared. “You’ve done your research.”

Illumi continued, undisturbed, “You are right. It is rather unfair for me to compare Chick-Fil-A to Revere. We are not in competition.”

Hisoka slowly sank in his seat, a smirk growing on his face. He placed his chin into his hand and glanced Illumi up and down, as if reading the blue-striped polo uniform. “Interesting. Tell me--are you forced to wear the khakis, or is that something you’ve opted to do for yourself?”

Illumi stood up and wasn’t interrupted this time. He ripped the resume in two as he backed away from the table, words like ice. “This interview is over. You will not be offered the position. Thank you for your time.”

Hisoka called after him, voice a suggestive purr, “My pleasure, Illumi.”

Illumi stood in the doorway of his room, staring. Numb. The smell of burnt oil, of salt, of car exhaust lingered in his hair, under his nails; permeating him so entirely that he felt inhuman. He was, instead, a piece of sentient furniture from Chick-Fil-A. And he was so tired that he contemplated skipping the shower just to pass out (and clean his sheets the next day).

But there was a problem with that plan. With any plan.

His door was gone.

“You’re going to stand there for how long, exactly?” said Milluki, his younger brother. Second oldest of the kids. Manager of the Byren neighborhood Chick-Fil-A--an under-performing, but still meticulously maintained, store. “You’re gonna have to go talk to them eventually.”

“You say, ‘them.’” Illumi turned to look at Milluki, all too aware that his dark circles and pale-sweaty skin made him look nearly sick. He had been awake for close to twenty two hours and pulled a double shift. “Mother and father both removed the door?”

“Maybe. I heard them talking.” Milluki took a slow sip of the iced tea he’d brought home from the shop. “Said they were mad you didn’t already have a replacement fry cook, or something.” He shrugged. “Really, they’re just mad about Killua, but he’s not here to be mad at.”

Illumi looked at his empty doorway. Half a hinge hung off the corner, bent from when his father must have wrenched the door away earlier. This wasn’t a rare punishment in their household. If a child behaved poorly, they got their door taken away. No privacy, at least until they served time for their crime. “I am to be punished for not posting a listing, finding a replacement, and placing him on the schedule by closing time.”

“Sounds like it,” said Milluki. “You really couldn’t find someone?”

Hisoka’s hot pink hair flashed in his mind, and then his feline smile, and his--wait, what color were his eyes? Illumi couldn’t recall. Eventually, he said, “No.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna have a door until you hire the role. Or until Killua comes back.”

Illumi took a deep, steadying breath, and headed to his parents’ bedroom to listen to their complaints. And while his father berated him, shouting insults about his lack of focus--his patience being mistaken for fear--his affection for his staff being mistaken for condescension--his beautiful appearance being mistaken for vanity--

Illumi stared at his door, propped up on the far wall of his parents’ bedroom. It covered one of their windows, but they had several more in this wing of the fancy “McMansion” they had built after Illumi was born.

“I won’t stand for your distraction,” Silva said with an air of finality. “Today’s failure is about your attraction to men. Isn’t it?”

Illumi blinked wide-eyed at his father. “I am sorry?”

“You’re gay, aren’t you?” his mother asked from the bed where she was tucked beneath the covers. “We’ve been discussing it. You’ve never liked a girl. Not ever. It’s because you’re gay.”

“And now your preferences are getting in the way of your judgment.”

This was so far out of left field that it took Illumi a moment to gather himself enough to say, “I am not gay.”

“Don’t you lie to me.”

“I am not,” he repeated. “I simply have not had time to pursue a relationship.”

His father threw his hands into the air, exasperated. “Oh, so now it’s my fault you’ve never gotten laid. I’m a monster, giving you a good job, at a good establishment, making good food. Yes, I’m a fucking nightmare parent.” He pointed one large, well-manicured finger into Illumi’s face, and hissed, “You have no idea how lucky you are that you were born into this family. That your whole life has been served to you on a silver fucking platter.”

“I know,” Illumi said. “I am very grateful.”

“So don’t bullshit me on your utter lack of a social life.”

Illumi looked over at his mother and saw her flexing her jaw impatiently. Eventually, the connection between today’s failures and his sexual preferences bloomed, fully-formed, in his mind. “Oh. This is because Killua moved in with his best friend.” Pause. “His gay, male best friend.”

“No. This is about you,” Silva said.

“You are wondering about all of your children, now. Whether or not we’re also gay. Did you inquire with Milluki?”

“Milluki has a girlfriend,” his mother said, shrilly. “Online. He’s our only son that we know, for certain, isn’t queer.”

She wasn’t using the word the proper way, Illumi thought. It wasn’t a reclaimed term representing a community of different people. She meant it as an insult. “I do not have time to date,” Illumi repeated. And immediately amended, “I have not made time.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this,” Silva said, stalking closer. “If you ever bring a man anywhere close to this house, you’ll lose more than your door. Do you understand?”

Illumi lowered his head. “Yessir.”

“And hire a fucking fry cook by the end of the week. Don’t make me ask again.”

Inside the kitchen, a timer chimed from above and below. The roar of voices--chatting, taking orders, requesting items--pressed in from all sides. Distantly, two car horns honked.

Illumi pulled the fry basket and dumped the cooked chicken into the container and hissed as a splatter of hot grease grabbed him around the wrist. The handle to the fryer slipped from his fingers and clattered to the brown tiled floor, hand spasming in pain.

Another timer. More voices. Another honk.

“Mr. Zoldyck? Hey--Mr. Zoldyck?” He ignored the burning, pulsing pain and kneeled down to scoop the handle from beneath the cabinet where it’d slid away. “Illumi!”

He stood up, hair falling free of its net, and came face-to-face with Amane. “Yes.”

“We’ve got a complaint. She wants to speak with the manager.”

Illumi looked at the fryer, the alarm continuing to chime. “It will be a minute--”

“She’s throwing quite the fit, sir--”

There was a loud clatter--the sound of a tray hitting the tiled floors in the dining room--and an ear-piercing scream that Illumi knew, as the eldest of five children, belonged to an infant.

Amane reached out to take the fryer basket handle. “I’ll take care of the food. Go ahead.”

Illumi shook his head to clear it--he felt dazed, still. Foggy from a lack of decent sleep. The real issue with not having a door was that his enormous family’s sleep schedules all varied, so he was shocked awake only an hour or two after he finally was able to fall asleep last night.

“Mr. Zoldyck, your hair--” Amane said.

Illumi reached up and found the hair net caught around his left ear. He tugged it free and threw it, and his gloves, in the trash. He strode through the kitchen, to the dining room, and was able to find the offending woman very easily.

“It’s an allergy!” she shrieked. “An allergy! I told you she had an allergy and now my child has puked, and if you fucking retards think I’m cleaning that up, you have another thing coming!”

The infant, Illumi noticed, was wailing alone several feet away. Red-faced and trembling in her little red mary janes. "Mamamama," she sobbed.

Illumi approached the woman with one hand outstretched, directing her away from the cashiers. “I am very, very sorry for your experience.”

The mother's rant stopped as she found herself surrounded by Illumi’s tall, unusual presence. “What?”

Without missing a beat, Illumi also managed to scoop the child up, off the floor, and into his embrace. She was small enough that he could hold her with one arm. Her child’s shrieking stopped--almost immediately. The tension inside the restaurant broke, finally. Several patrons breathed out in relief.

Illumi patted the baby sweetly upon her leg and she stared at him with a wet face, frozen in childlike awe. She sniffed and Illumi produced a napkin--branded, of course, with the iconic chicken silhouette--and wiped her nose with the practiced ease of a five-time big-brother. He said to her mom, “I will comp your meal while you have a seat.” He gestured to the only available booth, walked her there, and handed the child into her arms.

“Well, I’m not cleaning that mess.” The woman stiffly pointed to a watery pile of debris that had already been blocked off by a caution sign.

“We would not expect you to,” Illumi said.

“Oh. Well. Good.”

While the restaurant went back to normal, Illumi felt truly exhausted. “In addition to your refund, you have received a ban. We will take your image from security footage and if you enter this establishment again, you will be escorted out. And if necessary, I will press charges for trespassing.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are not allowed to call my employees fucking retards without consequence.” He looked at her daughter. “Your baby is welcome whenever she would like--as soon as she is old enough to come without you.”

He escorted her to her bright red SUV and when she sarcastically said, “Thanks a lot,” he responded very sincerely in return.

“My pleasure.”

His back twinged in pain as he sat in the manager’s seat in the office--closet, really, with a desk--and scrolled through security footage to find a clear image of the newly banned patron. He found her, easily--and something else he hadn’t been looking for.

A flash of hot pink hair, a fanged grin, and a handshake.

With Gotoh?

Illumi watched as Hisoka walked with Gotoh out the far side door of the restaurant. He took a deep breath, printed off the saved image of the woman, and stormed out to the parking lot where Gotoh parked every day.

He sat in the front seat, sipping a shake, tapping away at his iPhone. He didn’t even notice Illumi until he opened the passenger side door and said, “Why were you meeting with Hisoka Morow during your lunch, Gotoh.”

Gotoh jumped in surprise and relaxed immediately when he realized it was Illumi bursting into his car. He placed the shake into his cup holder and gestured for Illumi to sit. “It was a request from your father. You know him?”

“He was the candidate I interviewed yesterday. And rejected.”

Gotoh’s face turned grave. “I had no idea.”

“And you met with him because my father said to do so.”

“He didn’t say you’d already interviewed him. He just said it was the only qualified candidate our location received and that I should court him--do whatever it took to get him on board--so I did.”

“Do whatever,” Illumi echoed. “And what does this mean.”

“He can keep his pink hair, as long as it’s under a hat, and he’s starting at twenty per hour. He also requested to work your same shifts, which I told him would be no problem, since you’re here every day. He begins tomorrow morning.” Gotoh lifted his phone. “Should I call and fire him?”

Yes, Illumi almost said. He frowned in thought. “You did not find him to be an unattractive candidate?” Gotoh seemed to relax, marginally, and Illumi realized he had been speaking clipped--angrily--before. He had an intensity about himself, he knew. He’d been told many times that his ‘vibes’ were, occasionally, ‘haunting.’ (Amane’s exact words.) Illumi softened a bit as he said, “I am sorry. I thought, briefly, that you were working for the enemy.”

Gotoh gave Illumi a thin-lipped smile. “I’m loyal to the last. If I’d known this was the same guy, I would have pretended to not have seen your father’s text about it.”

“You found Hisoka to be an acceptable candidate?” he leaned forward in the seat. “I found him to be abrasive, hostile, and ignorant about the industry.”

Gotoh clicked his tongue. “My impression is quite different. He seems too qualified, if anything. He’s definitely weird, but that’s why he’s gonna be in the back.”

“He did not like me,” Illumi said. “I do not think he will respect me as manager.”

Gotoh’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Again--my impression is…different.”

“Explain.”

“That was one of his stipulations, I said. He will only work shifts with you.”

“Why?”

“He has aspirations to run a restaurant of his own one day, he said. He wanted to learn from the Zoldycks themselves. I figured you’d enjoy having another employee with bigger aspirations within the company--when you’ll likely graduate to regional manager next month, you’ll need good minds here.” Gotoh rocked his phone back and forth midair. “But we can tell him ‘nevermind'. I’ll call him now.”

“No. It is fine.”

Gotoh hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Well, your shift is over, Lumi. You want me to drive you home?”

Illumi shook his head. “I need the walk.”

Gotoh scoffed. “Do you? You’ve been up since, what, five? It’s nearly three in the afternoon.”

No. He was very tired. Illumi gave Gotoh a small, slightly strained, smile. “Thank you, Gotoh. I will enjoy the walk. See you tomorrow morning.”

“Along with Hisoka,” said Gotoh.

Illumi left the car and ignored the way his back twinged, yet again.

#hisoillu #au fanfiction #my writing

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