#time line is planned out hmu if you want it
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𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 | park seonghwa x fem!reader x choi san
part one of gangster!mafia!series "𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞-𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞"
“Brother, can’t you see I’m doing this for you? Enjoy yourself.”
𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : Picking your own poison, if poison was given to you in form of bankrolls by venomous men with high demands.
In which Park Seonghwa had a plan and Choi San has ideas.
“Sounds like you’re enjoying her more than anything."
𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : noir, smut, angst | korean mafia/geondal!au | ceo/jaebeol!au
𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 18.2k
𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : entitled rich people, workplace harassment, alcoholism, softdom ceo!seonghwa (headman park), half-drunk satoori-using dom mafiaboss!san (mr. choi), both are called by their names at some point, sub-leaning bratty switch servant!femreader, use of (pet-)names (missy, baby, princess), groping, thigh-riding, light choking, light hair-pulling, non-penetrative sex, voyeur!seonghwa, sex in the elevator, counts as mirror sex right, biting kink, manhandling!san, edging, breeding, cum-eating (m), cunnilingus; reader hates the rich except for when they are sexy, implied but not severe age gap, writer does not have daddy kink but mafiaboss!san does, gunshots and death, use of korean proverbs
𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : this with the next part will be the origin story for reader, specifically the series synopsis’ first half :) originally, this has been a request, so please read this, if you desire to have a bit more insight to what the series actually is + translations of certain terms (mostly character dynamics) in this chapter !!
tl;dr: since it's all based around korean mafia/gangster/etc, there will be korean culture scattered between the lines. it is all translated, hopefully in an understandable way!!! (please hmu if there are difficulties) i let out honorifics/romanisation, except for "chaebol" since it's an actual word :) that being said, reader's ethnicity is not specified and won't be relevant to the series in any way !!
smut comes after the second border, and uh,,, i had to shorten that shit (pls dont ask me where) but uh. you’re getting 8k words of smut so buckle up LMAO !!! i hope you enjoy as much as i did writing it !!! thank you for likes, reblogs and feedback xoxo (also this is NOT beta-read so pls dont hesitate to tell me about... like.... errors, tags and shit)
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It's getting repetitive. They are drinking their ninth bottle of expensive whiskey, smoking their third or fourth disgustingly pricey cigar— what the fuck, is this seriously what the upper men of your nation are doing at some stupid chairman’s dinner party?
“Missy!”
“Me, sir?”
No wonder the economy's fucking shit.
“Yeah, you, missy, give that gent over there one of our divine Denmarks!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give him a kiss too, while you’re at it! What do you think? He’s still got it, no?”
Said ‘gent’, some old, scummy clown— winks at you, his gray eyelashes fluttering towards your direction.
“Yes, sir."
God, how bad you wish you had snuck your phone in to take a picture of these red, drunken, senseless faces, but you're a dutiful servant, abiding by the rules at all times, however difficult it may be. You’re holding in your puke professionally, not even doing something as to grit your teeth, just softly letting your jaw play along to your friendly smile.
“Does your willy even still work that way, old friend?", a cranky, yet humorous voice pitches in.
Agreeing to your supervisor’s offer to earn “big money” may have been a bad idea, but a good choice. Jongho said he’d seen you at your work, took special note of you— even though you weren’t sure where exactly he had observed you, since it’s only been a month of actually working as a servant in the lower tiers of the building— and wanted to give you a chance to swim with the big sharks. “I think you’re best suited for the job,” is what he said to make you giggle and think about your initial rejection of his proposition, “you have a talent for serving.”
Something you didn’t know you had, something you didn’t know someone would see in you ever in your life, “talent.” Sure, maybe you let yourself be persuaded a bit too fast, but it felt very touching that somebody saw you and saw potential, for whatever occasion it may be for. You don’t necessarily want to screw the rules of the hierarchical pyramid or what it was that kept you from being in the proximity of the chairman, but you really need the extra cash right now.
"What does a girl from the mountains look for in being a servant in the city?", had been the question you were asked by Lady Kim who gave you the leftovers of her restaurant at the end of the day, when you had just started with the training– poor, barely standing on your own feet.
You remember how you explained to her that the buddhist monks who raised and send you here surrounded themselves with wells to remind everyone that water always returned, and you assumed it would work the same with wealth. You also remember how hard she tried to stay kind to you, showing you her sincerest sympathy by telling you that "the chaebol are no joke!" (at least not a joke, an innocent girl like you could laugh about, she later explained) and giving you an extra portion of her home-made dumplings to suit you up.
Her sharp, yet compassionate voice rings in your ears, as you reapply your red lipstick on the way to your target guest. Oh, Lady Kim, what a graceful woman– she put her all into her work for her restaurant to succeed, but had always made a place to share what she had for those who needed it. Such a lovable woman, she must have been well-liked by all around her.
You get it now, the way you had been so naive back then. Floating on the philosophical happy-go-lucky psyche of the city’s promise of prosperity, trying to live the Korean dream strangely enough as someone who was so sarcastically out of touch with it. If you had been in her position, you wouldn’t have been able to be as nice, no, would have warned yourself with a finger pointed upwards as if you were teaching a little kid about strangers, or how your monks said, ‘tigers in the woods’.
“After that cigar, his dick will turn to dust!”
Maybe things would have looked different, if you hadn’t taken that fund from the school’s superintendent, who slid you that card on your table with a smirk on his face. Oh dear, do you remember how excited you had been? You ran through the streets in your worn-out shoes with that plastic sheet in your hand, on your way to tell that the money on it was such a ridiculously high number that you could split— but Lady Kim had got to know it first, the ridiculousness of the rich, with the demolition of her restaurant-building.
“He’s got no cum in his nutsacks ‘no more anyway!”
No warning, no compensation, just everything crushed to pieces to make place for the big corporations; the fancy neon-signs she'd invested in, the ambition of her enthusiastic dreams, your only source of tender charity, shattered to a wreck. You have never seen her since, and can only laugh about how the fancy food of the chaebol—and you definitely know who they are now, those tasteless men gawking at you in the moment—doesn’t even look half as good as her low-cost black bean noodles you could more than afford now.
The present day-you is less dreamy, but just as lost, forced to work off a debt you hadn’t been informed about when you lived off the favorable “fund”-money. No, Lady Kim, this is all a joke, you would tell her today. A really fucking bad one.
So, making room for another ha-ha in your life, you pulled your eyes up innocently, returning Jongho’s specious smiles. “Is it illegal to collect pocket-money from the rich?” It’s not like you had any doubts at that point, but 'they'll buy you out of prison if you’re good enough' was all you needed anyway to put your uniform on tightly at home.
"Can't even shoot his cum in missy to save his blood!"
Your more experienced co-workers are watching you work with a condescending frown, feeling both jealous you're getting all the men's attention, but also maliciously delighted you're being challenged as the new-coming servant who's obviously of erotic interest to these richlings. They want you to get a "taste of life" for you may be the most goody-goody fawning bitch they have ever seen; just a young birdbrain who has nothing to bring to the table except her body. Young thing won’t hold up, doesn't know who she's working with— though they are quite right about that part, you must admit, you frankly didn’t look up whose money you’re taking right now— she doesn’t know who the fuck she is.
"What? Did his son leave the company, too?"
It’s flattering to know that the other pretty servants look at you and only see some candy-coated muppet, but fairly, your ever-frozen smile on your face doesn’t give them much to work with. You’re simply an annoyance to their routine, and if you could, you would like to comfort them by saying none of the money you’re getting will stay in your hands– they’d be so happy to hear that you’re really worth nothing– but you must stay focused.
“Idiot, he’s only got a daughter!”
So yes, that being said, you’re glad nobody ever asks you about you. Everyone just assumes, judges from what they see, and if what they see is an opportunistic bimbo-girl chasing money, then so be it, right?
"You know, the one he married off to the governor?”
Right. Because you too have not a single second to think nor talk about your past. The present is scarce and the future is fragile, you know it the best. And you owe it to your old men to make the best out of their efforts, don't you? The air in this room may not be the one you inhaled in the mountains, but you still have to use it, breathe, be alive, despite how moldy and spoiled it simmers in your throat.
"Real mad! Anything to avoid that fee, huh, missy? Got no semen and no glory! You really want to give him that cigar?”
So, that taste of life? Fucking bitter, just like how that name 'missy' seeps and sweats on your tongue. You can’t loathe your co-workers for this reason, they're basically in the same wooden, shaky boat as you, but these asswipes here are floating on a fucking yacht. Of course they don't follow some type of code of human decency for you, they don't give two shits about the lowlifes, the poor. They watch them like a spectacle, and because they don't regard you as a human-being but rather a toy, they play with you on strings that are, on the other hand, binding together a big, fat bankroll.
Ka-Ching.
Eyes on the price, Y/N, eyes on the price. You may not own a lot, that's been more than established, but if there is something you have, it's dutifulness, commitment, and proficiency. It will remain difficult to keep inner peace and honor with a job of which "duty" it is to be a deferential, subservient doll, but at least you're alive and well, soon to leave this floor with more money to your name that these fuckers don't know anyway, right? Never let that smile drop, smart girl. You have a talent, just like your supervisor said. Just keep on serving.
“No children-makin' is better for the cheatin'— ha!”, the barren, that fruitless man who’s been made fun of whoops in to stand up for himself, and awaits his tobacco that's being driven to him by your cart.
You open up the wooden chest in which the cheroots, so unnecessarily gold-plated, sit and ridicule you with their rare existence. There are just thousands of dollars sitting in your hand right now, and as you fetch the thick roll with wary fingers, you think, fucking hell, this could feed so many people, and they're just smoking it away like it's nothing, assholes.
The other servants frown at you spitefully during the time you bow down. You're sensually placing the brown cylindrical object into his mouth, a match lighting held to his face to light it up. In addition to the experience, you hold one long stare with his washy eyes, because you assume it will ignite him.
And, oh, how excited he gets.
"Thank you, sir," you chuckle and flutter with your eyelashes, pursing up your lips like you’re an innocent little girl getting a piece of candy behind her parents’ back.
“Just mad! Missy's young enough to be your grandchild, fella!”
You’re aware of exactly what your dear co-workers are thinking, but being ordered to light their cigs and then ogled at is not "baby-treatment” or whatever they’re muttering under their breath, it's your subtle strategy to have that bankroll be slid between your thighs.
"Hey now, I still can get it on! Don't you think so too, missy?"
Dumb Y/N, only has money on her mind. Allows herself to be called "missy", like a dumb fucking slut.
Hm, kind of has a ring to it, don't you think?
"Yes, sir."
Let them all think you're a dummy. Let them believe, believe each other's words in whatever they fucking want. You're almost too certain it's the secret reason Jongho offered you a place here anyway; "suited for the job", because he deems you dense enough to not understand any of the nonsense these twelve men are babbling, "big money", because he knows you will do anything for it.
You’ll still take the talent, but if he really thinks the rest, then oh, sucks to be him.
Yes, you haven’t looked up the names of who the men here are for the same reasons they're not using yours, but the second you’re out of this whiny, weak testosterone-drowned room, you're going to write the most thorough blackmail, because you can not listen to their cheating, money-laundering, corrupted bullshit anymore. Getting involved with the handshakers is the last thing you should do if you want to live a silent, carefree life, and you know this too well, but they're not going to believe it was you anyway. They wouldn’t dream of their missy to do such a competent, smart thing. You even know what you're going to write under the letter so they have something to think about in their cells: 'birds listen to the words of day, mice to the words at night'— walls have ears, too.
Ah, the soft, sometimes very cryptic voice of your favorite old monk. Always there to teach you new things, remind you of how to live your life cheerfully. You still believe he would have rather kept you in the mountains and not drop you on a wild voyage into the unknown urban life, but your old man had his reincarnation coming. You should visit his grave again, it's been a while, hasn't it? Wouldn't he be so proud to see you? To see how much his little Y/N has grown and learnt, using his proverbs to restore justice? Well, for what you still can collect of your late mentor, he would probably make big eyes and use his whole body to keep your monetary gift away from him. "Teacher," you would ask, "don't you at least want to save?", and his answer would remain the same;
"Peace comes free."
You feel warm at the distant memory of the bald-headed man warming himself in his orange gown, teaching you about love, harmony and kindness, but that sweet veil of untainted innocence has long dropped from your eyes.
In front of you, you see tycoons continuing having a blast being their shitty selves, and as golden teeth blend your sight, they are entertaining each other by staring at your legs that are covered by your sheer black stockings, whispering their insight of how you'd look like under it, but the mini-skirt only leaves so much for imagination.
"Sweet missy!"
How could you not want to spit into their face? They have bought the war. They have bought the chaos. And why? Just because they can. It doesn't cost you anything to restore some peace, maybe that’s the thing your old man got right.
"Yes, sir?”
“Do you have any Cubans left, sweet missy?”
“A Cuban, coming right up, sir.”
“Hopefully someone’s gonna come after the party tonight!”
Are you humiliated? As someone who lived among the wisest, clearest heads, and was considered just as smart by them to be wished a ‘more fortunate life’ — No.
You couldn’t care less about their perversions. Especially now, when they seemingly don’t care enough to know your name you've introduced yourself with. You are here for one reason, and it's not to prove your worth to the world, it's to secure your place in it, get that parasitic debt off your shoulders.
And if anything, as long you are staying truthful to yourself, there’s nothing that could take away your spirit. That’s what you want to believe, at least. When you’re out of debt and continue with this job, you could spend every day downtown like the other servants, but for you, it's all going to the savings for the family you're going to feed with not one worry in life on the clear land in the mountains, not under a sky that's polluted by light even when the sun has set.
The clock has announced night long time ago. Outside the windows, there shines and roams a loud, restless city under a starless, foggy black blanket, inhabited by people like you who live day by day to make their living, like small flies forgathered in a hive of exhausting labor, buzzing their life away.
It’s what you think every time you peek down the glass room: Seoul has never looked so small. Across and around the ever-flowing Han-River, the metropole is the home of millions who are looking up with their heads far back their necks to the point right here, where you stand, at the center or peak of all the wealth gathered together, inside the highest building standing tall amidst of the tumult, on the 114th floor, towering over the world in a luxurious dining room decorated by exotic animals, marbled statues and most importantly the filthy glimmer of something they call ‘class’.
“Missy,” the chairman calls out for you, raising his hand, right after he’s made another infidelity joke and showed his luxurious wedding ring to the audience.
“Yes, sir?”, you call out, wearing your pristine servant-smile with your hands folded nicely in front of your stomach, voice not tainted by your disgust as to even one note, despite the other servants looking at you with hateful expressions. They wish you the worst; the worst treatment, the worst performance, anything to get you out of this place.
Maybe they're driven by the same instincts and avarice that makes you hate the rich, with them just thinking you're taking away their money, but it's free territory here with these predators; you just make for great prey.
It’s a challenge to all of the people involved and the contestants can only win. Will it be another pick-up line? You're going to pick on that with ease. Another joke about your age? That one is never going to get old. There, bring it on, you think, and feel proud of your confident spirit, ready to run with whatever they throw and stash it into your wallet.
“You see those youngsters back there? Get 'em some more ice."
“Yes, sir.”
“Chaps don't know how to drink the good stuff yet, what a waste! Next time, buy 'em the cheap soju from the mart! The ones for 5,000 Won, missy, you know those?”
“Yes, sir.” Your whole face flashes a smile, bowing to accept the task of refilling some ice, dragging your cart across the room, as male laughter rings in your ears. It's as if they don't realize they also drink cheap liquor, but you suppose that's forgettable when they are flushing the fanciest of meats down with it.
"Be careful, missy!"
Are you being too mild by saying you want to ram the green glass-bottles into their heads?
"They bite!”
Maybe choke them with their own money bills?
Yes, “Yes, sir.”
It's a fun exercise to fantasize about how to hurt them, so you thought you would be busy enough to ignore the chairman's warning, but as you are on your long way to the end of the even longer glass table to push your cart towards the men he is referring to, there's a growing feeling inside your guts that oh, the chairman may be ...
Huh, right for the first time. The quizzical lump expands warmly as much as it is cold, with goosebumps running down your spine, your hands feeling hotter than ever over the metal cart. Your whole body is trying to signal you that something is off on the other side of the table, but you don’t know whether to ignore it or run.
The annoying, empty-minded, impertinent elders, who have been belly-laughing at the chairman's joke a second ago stop with their chatting and only exhale huffs, and prolong them nervously, that’s off. The servants gulping, loosening their crossed arms– that’s off, too.
“So, uhh… Where was the, uh– food from?”
“Oh, lad, good topic, yes– the delicious food…”
It seems that everyone in the room is trying to fill in the silence with the fakest of laughter, so the chairman can move on from the topic, but you're well over your way there, uninformed to what you're going to be hit with once you halt.
Tycoons like them usually don't need back-checking. You know how to deal with ill-willed imbeciles that only use their estate as a weapon. Their bodies and brains have passed prime an eternity ago. Left behind are only their numbed minds that seek shelter in lust, ecstasy and aphrodisia because nothing else excites them anymore. They’re what you probably would have been if you hadn’t spent your teens brewing tea and listening to the leaves rustle, not experiencing all euphoria and more at a too early age– they’re washed out, just swimming in money they haven't worked a day for, are lazy, weary sloths.
However, opposed to the cloudiness in their class that's only getting more foggier through the many years of monopoly, these two men that are waiting in front of you, and you understand why your lungs are pinging now, they are potent.
Money is power, but twist it around and there is them, with that; a certain force that the rich ooze out by just acting and looking a certain way, and oh, Y/N, how they are, how they are looking at you right now, best believe you have to hold onto your strength like it's a small purse.
'Youngsters', he said— 'they bite', he said.
They have been rarely reacting to the chairman’s words, notwithstanding being the ones to be the most respectful in this meeting for their young age, just looking at each other with unamused eyes. Even the director who is older than the chairman lets out his best holler every time, but these two have not laughed once at his jokes, not the slightest chuckle has left their mouths to flatter or satisfy the chairman.
Interesting.
Both black-haired, the one you get to first has his mane gelled back, a cigarette hanging out his scarred mouth, as you approach his seat with your cart walking carefully practiced steps. His white shirt is opened up to where chains, most importantly a silver cross, hang from his collarbones to his chest that’s covered with scars and scratches you can’t quite identify how they got there. This man looks gigantic, muscular, dangerous. Shoulders terrifyingly broad popping out his black vest, he sits on his seat with widened legs, thighs flattened in his also black pants, fastened by a leather belt, and with his white sleeves pulled back to his elbows, his slightly tanned forearms only appear more huge after the rather average-looking wristwatch catches your eye, just when you stop with your cart in front of him.
“That old geezer just can’t keep his mouth shut, can he?”, he chuckles, the Gyeongsang-provincial dialect rolling so naturally off his tongue. Everyone else in the room has been faking their speech to cosplay a charm they didn’t possess, but even the slight lisp and lull from the drunkenness are not hiding how deeply masculine and sincere this man’s voice sounds. It’s a mixture of the sarcasm you've gotten used to by now, but also a brashness that the older men lack, and you’re a bit embarrassed to say it’s working you up a bit. "Empty carts rattle loudest, I say."
A wintry breeze goes through your breast and you feel your eyebrows flinch. You haven't heard that grandmotherly expression in so long, that it does feel somehow refreshing to reconcile with it, but maybe the whisk you sense shouldn’t feel as comforting given the way the man is looking up to you brazenly with a bit of atrocity in his appearance. He is far away from the serene sketch you drew to save the vision as you left the village, he is what you felt when you took your first train, asphyxiated by the big masses of people who you would never see again— an unhomely, yet intimate feeling of... adventure.
He glances through you smoking his cigarette with no hands attached, and it moves at the corner of his lip as he talks. Wait, cigarette? Missy, did you forget to bring him a cigar?
"Let's see when he runs out of words."
“It’s alright, sir,” you answer, suppressing a slight chuckle because yes, you too have been wishing the chairman would finally shut the fuck up, but haven't expected anyone to say it out loud that boldly. You watch the male in front of you take out the slim roll from his mouth with his thick fingers that are covered with silver rings that all look different and not matching each other, blowing out the smoke whilst maintaining eye contact with you. “If you require, I can bring you a cigar, sir," you say, but he waves his hand to brush off your offer.
“Ah, they give me bad breath.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please," the man progresses instantaneously, scratching over the vertical scar at his lip-corner with his thumb, his ciggy continues to burn, "Do be so kind and give brother his ice," then smiles, "he needs to preserve his cold head.”
“You are one to talk about keeping mouths shut,” the ‘brother’ answers, voice velvety and adequate despite dissing the man that’s sunken unmannerly into his seat, while he, on the other hand, is sitting up straight, his black suit buttoned up, tie set cleanly under his ironed pearl-white collars, elegantly decorated by a golden pin. A Greek "π" is chiseled into it, and you recognize it so well for you’ve seen it written all over the tall buildings you drove by on your way here. His hair is combed evenly to the sides and the more you look at him, he’s just— wow, flawless, prestigious, expensive. Everything about him is crystal clear; his rich voice, his unblemished skin, his eyes, oh god, you just noticed those eyes, how does such a shameful man have such pure eyes?
Orbs— and they're not innocent as much as you can't say they're not guilty— are looking at you with a defiance that is suffocating, as if you ought to do everything perfectly, not miss a single twitch of his eyebrows to understand whether he's enjoying or disapproving of the situation.
Well, is he enjoying you or disapproving of the way you're listening to his partner's order to refill his ice?
Huh. No fucking idea. He probably doesn't, but you must do it still— must still serve.
It feels irrationally sheep-headed, but hey, being a sheep is your job, is it not? Being in this herd is keeping you alive, and even in this situation, where you are following the orders of the blackest of sheep, no, wolves that can't be covered by any fluffy wool— you must mow your best.
"Ohh, brother, it's been a while since I heard you talk! Feels lonely droppin' all the good sayings by myself."
You’re serving Choi San and CEO of PARA-conglomerate, headman Park Seonghwa.
Sat right across the chairman, the percentage this couple holds of his company-share is more than most of the attending seniors combined, which makes them stand at the top of the guest-list. You couldn’t have missed their names, even if you’ve made the attempt to, and the other information you’re getting is just your co-workers whispering hurried words to each other, and it seems to you that you may be more in need of them than ever.
You already eavesdropped on them a little, and to be honest, you didn’t need any real confirmation that everyone in this room was unlawful and corrupt, but it is good to know you really don’t have to feel guilty stashing those bankrolls into your purse.
The man that is licking the tail of his scar at his lip, rolling his neck, clicking with his mouth and tapping his fingers onto the table, he is rumored to be the boss of the Choi-Clan, the infamous ‘Mad Dog of Namhae’, whose face had been unknown. The chairman has made a drunken joke about allegedly trying to sell him off to the government— “everybody act like you don’t know, okay?”— and nobody had taken him seriously, but once the supposed mafiaboss had entered the room, an hour later than everyone else, and sat down comfortably like nothing was strange about his heavy breath and slightly purple knuckles, nobody dared to say something else.
If you’d heard beforehand that you would be meeting a CEO and a mafiaboss today, you don’t know if you would have acted any differently. Thinking, here comes the chairman, his jesters, the mafia-guy, the chaebol; ah, all the motherfuckers aligned, let’s get to work, shall we?
But this does challenge you a bit, indeed. If they just weren’t so young and intimidatingly good-looking, fuck, you could have treated them in the same cookie-cutter way you’d been at perfectly.
Maybe a bit of change-up won’t hurt, you were starting to get a bit too irritated anyway.
"Control yourself."
“You wanna see him dead too, brother,” the smoking male sneers— you’ll call him ‘Mr. Choi’ for now— pointing at his companion to accuse him of being a yawner, his cigarette stuck between his fingers.
Headman Park smirks with a short twitch of his lips that makes you think you just imagined it, but none of his extremities has moved since you came here: Every single action he takes seems so... calculated, thought through, measured, planned out. He is the only one to have brought a briefcase to the dinner, and looks a little bit out of place with his sober expressions which seem to you as if he was observing the whole room in its possible entirety, not leaving out a corner in his sight uncovered.
"Want," he parrots, face dropped to a neutral visage, highlighting the only word that seems to be bothering the CEO regarding his vis-à-vis' statement, eyes darting down to Mr. Choi having his fingertips pointed towards him.
"Don't you become pushy with the words now, brother," the mafiaboss teases him, and tugs his sleeves up to his elbows again, eyeing you up and down while you're passing him with your cart. You discern his interest in the pockets of your skirt, or what is there underneath, instantly, but before you can think that the man may be just the same as the others, he cracks his knuckles. “Old geezer might die on his own at this point, look at how he's smoking his raisin-lungs away."
"Poetic."
So much for hearing government and company secrets, here are these two joking about the chairman’s death. You need the chairman a little bit longer if you want to earn money, but the idea of him dying soon isn’t too bothersome.
"You gotta get used to my Korean way of speaking, brother! Then we can communicate correctly!”
With your ears sharpened, but your face presenting unconcerned, you devote yourself to headman Park to refill his bucket, ice cubes jangling down the iron jar, whilst Mr. Choi stretches his arms behind his head, raising an eyebrow towards his elder who isn't hearing him out.
“Thank you,” headman Park says, very briefly and precisely. The tong you put in the bucket for him to use almost tips, and you don’t know whether he does it on purpose for he’s been frozen still all during the dinner, but with his reflexes, he prevents it from falling before you can, but if that wasn't surprising enough, he grazes your skin while returning.
Soft, uncalloused; not a single ounce of labor roughed up these hands, it seems. They tickled you featherly, and right now, you are looking for some type of confirmation in those black spheres of his to know that you're allowed to exhale and react to his touch, because you gasped slightly and have held your breath ever since.
Nothing. You are the first one to look— no, shy away from his stare, getting your hands in front of your abdomen again, your fingers searching for each other, fiddling around by themselves without your knowledge.
Mr. Choi lets his wrist-watched hand fall between his lap, neck tilted slightly to the back, licking over his canine tooth with a grin, and it appears to you that he's either noticed his associate's small gesture or how headman Park is still staring at you. “You wanna do something, don’t you, brother?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
Mr. Choi shakes his head to irritate headman Park and make him explain himself.
“This is not business.”
Headman Park glances down his whiskey, droplets of water have formed around the brim of the cold glass. It is untouched.
"I see you aren’t enjoying the whiskey, would you like something else to drink, sir?", you ask, trying to finish your job and get away from here before you get ideas that don’t include money between your thighs.
"The Fillico, please," the male answers, not having glanced away from your eyes once to inspect your cart, where the black, long bottle, donning a crown and wings adorned with Swarovski-crystals, awaits you to be grabbed.
"A glass of cold Fillico Black King!", you exclaim, your surprise of the particularity that anyone would drink water at the chairman's dinner can’t be hidden, and then hum, "Coming right up, sir."
“You’re really something, brother,” Mr. Choi wheezes, taking the last pull of his cigarette, watching you fill up a new glass for his unrelated brother with the finest mineral that can be bought to-date, pricing around 6 Billion Won, or 4500 US Dollars per bottle. “Wouldn’t you say it’s difficult to not be smokin’ or drinkin’ in this business, Y/N?”
Sure, whatever ‘business’ a man like him is talking about. “Yes, sir." Wait, hold on, did Mr. Choi just say your name?
“You don’t look too impressed,” the male grins, seeing how you’ve narrowed your eyes in confusion.
"Pardon me, I was just– how do you know my name, sir?”
Mr. Choi shrugs as if to say ‘I dunno’ and presses his cigarette out on the table. It sizzles out, like your head is also slowly deteriorating. He throws the bud into the CEO's ice-bucket— headman Park is not even minorly irritated by it— and then, with his ringed fingers, goes through his hair, setting it loose behind his head. He’s picking on you, and you surely feel picked out, that's all you can think. It's so unusual to be hearing your name, not because it hasn't been said during the dinner, but because—
"Y/N Y/L/N, a pretty name for a pretty servant like you, huh?"
Your heart somehow flutters. A stalwart man like him taking your name into his mouth is nothing you hear on the daily. Deep, manly. It's not flattering, no, it sounds wrong, feels so dangerous for a guy like him to be taking something so personal and turning it into his possession, like you're slowly going to lose yourself in the words he speaks in a lax manner. Your name is precious to you, and it just drops off his tongue like it's candy. Where on earth does a man like him get your full name from?
"Sir," you insist, dipping your fingertip under your fingernail, fidgeting.
“Oh, don’t tell me ya prefer that stupid name ‘missy’,” Mr. Choi chuckles and fetches headman Park’s full glass of whiskey, his dialect draping out his mouth.
“Or do you secretly enjoy it," he grins, and with his eyebrows raised, Mr. Choi drinks up his acquaintance's booze in one big gulp, letting the glass fall down on the table with a thump, breathing out, "missy?”
People drink whiskey neatly, you know that. The guests have been doing it all evening, but that's for two ounces. Headman Park had a glass full of the oak-colored sherry liquid with an uncommonly high alcohol percentage placed in front of him. A taunt from the chairman maybe, to subtly scorn them about their apparent boyhoodish inexperience, but Mr. Choi makes it look so adept: The strong alcohol flows down his throat smooth and speedy, even though he did misplace the rim by an inch.
There's whiskey dripping down his chin as he glances over to his side, smirking at his neighbor who's blinking frozen, as well as the other guests, who are seemingly just as irritated that the mafiaboss got you as flustered as you look like.
You’re left with your mouth slightly open, shotting down a glass of whiskey shouldn't have looked as barbarous as Mr. Choi made it appear. Like a striking attack, baring his claws, he growls out the herby aftertaste. "'Scuse me, 'got really thirsty there."
The mafiaboss goes over his lips with his tongue, watching your hand play with the seam of your skirt, where he knows a handkerchief is buried in your pocket.
“Aw, shit, I got wet,” he wails over-dramatically, looking down on himself and then again locking his eyes into yours.
“Wanna clean me up, baby?”
“Pardon?”
Much to your continued bafflement, Mr. Choi smiles, and as he sees you taking a second to confirm what he said, he continues talking to you like you’re a hooker.
“Don't like that one, Y/N?” Again, with the name! Where does he get the name?!
“Sir, how—“
“You have introduced yourself to us,” headman Park finally reveals in the high Seoul tongue, perchance by pity, and you inhale, a bit embarrassed that you didn’t come to think of it earlier. What is happening to you? Is it because you’re finally away from those sleazes, that you’re being so light-headed? Lack of training? Sexual attraction? God, that’s a rookie’s mistake, Y/N, think about them as targets, not objectives. The objective is to not end up in a bed with them, remember? That’s like, rule number one. Even though nobody told you about the Mafia while you were at training, that’s a valid argument.
Don't let your guard down, you’re in a room with the men of men, no maybe the men. The most influential men you could be meeting in Seoul right now, aside from how little is known about them.
Whether he's a real chaebol or not, PARA-CEO Park Seonghwa is definitely the nephew of good ol’ chairman over there, just leeching off his money even if today is the first time the man is visiting his distant uncle who is definitely a bit sour about the fact he took so long to connect with him. Money has its sources and sometimes, most of the time, it’s nepotism. There you go, the explanation of his wealth and why the male is so well-mannered sitting on his seat. He’s woven into the conglomerate-family, been made CEO to keep him that way and all in all, you could care less about him, if he just wasn’t the only person that was kind of nice to you. Just thinking about his eyes makes you a bit dizzy, but you can get that fixed by turning your eyes to the mafiaboss.
Mafia and chaebol don't usually associate, for reasons that are rather obvious. Mafia’s rule the underworld with the overworld’s laws, and the chaebol rule over what laws the overworld decides on, digging their hands into the government like it’s soot, planting and pulling crops wherever they can profit from it. Money.
It’s sickening every time you think about it. How many people in this room could pay for your whole life? No, how many can’t pay for your whole life and beyond? You can count them with one hand and they’re all wearing the same clothes as you.
Money knows where it belongs; that’s a phrase you made up the day you were told about the crippling debt by the letter and the bank declining your card. It sounds similar to your monks' sayings of water's ever-flowing life, but if water returns, money drifts. It wanders across the citizens, but follows a direction it's always bound to end up. Just like today, with you getting bankrolls to graze the inner space of your legs, only to know it’s going to end up in the same fingers that gave it to you.
So, where do headman Park and Mr. Choi get a say in this? Do they get a say in this?
“I did introduce myself, how could I forget? I’m sorry, sir,” you admit and let out a laugh that is half intended to sound as nervous as it did, and half regrettably filled with authentic uneasiness.
Old chairman, what does he know? Have those teeth really ever sunk into flesh? You can’t play with your fate here, but by hook or crook they intrigue you so much. You haven’t expected guests that aren't ass-kissers of the chairman, and apparently your talent only goes so far. You have no idea what to do with them to satisfy them except letting out your real thoughts and you can’t do that, definitely not in front of the man.
But you feel so connected to them. The caution everyone has, it confuses you just as much you're amazed by it, and you want that, you want that kind of safety. Every guest here has money, but not every guest has their authority.
“It’s alright, everybody makes mistakes, baby,” Mr. Choi smirks and musters you again, rubbing the liquid away from the corner of his lip with his thumb and kissing the remaining alcohol away, savoring every droplet of whiskey, but also savoring you by keeping his thumb leaned into his opened mouth, eyes looking sultrily at you, you might as well just—
“Mistakes, San. Beware of them,” headman Park falls in and his companion finally sways his eyes away from you, hand backing down. “Talkative drunkard.“
“Brother,” Mr. Choi sighs and grabs the glass from his neighbor that's filled with ice cubes to murmur, “I’m not that drunk," swinging it around with concise flicks of his wrist to enunciate his words.
With the couple bantering, you think you can calm down. Maybe you were overreacting. Bootlicking some birdbrains is a way easier life than to follow these two.
"Hey, baby?”, but there's another call of the bird of prey.
“Yes, sir?”, you answer, fingers letting go of your skirt that has thrashed your skin by how you abused it. You don’t even know when you started to react to the name 'baby', but truth be told it’s better than ‘missy’ by miles. Being over here is better than being over there by miles, that is unchangeable.
“Could you get me clean? This is kinda sticky."
With two fingers, he grabs the collar of his shirt and flails it softly, ice clinking in his glass, as he shows you his indeed quite syrupy breast.
"Yes, sir."
You nod towards the crevice that is the space where his muscles meet, and before your eyes can get lost in the plump thews, you collect yourself so you can do what you were asked for; getting your hands on his body.
“Please.”
“Ahh, I liked you more when you were quiet, brother! I don’t wanna call you a party-pooper, but c'mon! It’s your plan, and I’m just— doin’ my part.”
Mr. Choi twists his upper body a bit so he’s still able to hold the empty glass behind your back, though it feels more caging in than it should, when you lean forwards to softly tap his skin with your handkerchief. His arm hovers next to your hip and his upper body is extended wide around you.
“What do you say, baby?”, the male asks, and you harrumph to take your mind elsewhere from how rock-hard the mafiaboss feels under your hand, how his cologne smells so rich and inviting, and how— “Wanna be bitten?”
“Pardon?”, you ask, not understanding the context of Mr. Choi’s question, but without fail grasping the intentions of it.
The male grins, and you’re unsure as to how he got his hand on the bottle of whiskey from your tray as quickly as he did, but it’s there, in the hand that’s across your hip, and from then on, everything you do seems risky. His bicep is curled around your thigh so he can fill himself another glass, and if you take a step back, your ass will be pushed against his arm, but if you step forward, you’ll land on top of him; a straining dilemma that only inflames your guts the more you think about it.
“San,” headman Park grumbles quietly, seeing you struggle to stand on your feet.
“Agh, come on, brother, 's all going well! Live a little for me, will ya? Watch me and follow,” Mr. Choi nags with a juvenile pout and takes a disgruntled sip from his drink, making your imaginations reality by pushing you with his forearm with no forewarning. You trip closer to him and his arms raise, as you have to find safety on his shoulders to not fall into his crotch.
“Oops, ‘scuse me, baby,” he grins, feline eyes glancing up to you, your bust in his view. The other men are grumbling, fussy, yammering— if they knew, they would have done that with you a long time ago!— and in your head, you don't know whether you should be doing this at the chairman's dinner and not somewhere in a stripclub or just, god, anywhere else.
“It’s okay, sir,” is what you answer, and the short silence would be the perfect opportunity to scuffle back to your original stance, but you saw his ever-growing, throbbing bulge in his black suit-pants and it is staring you down.
Everything about him is so big…
“Really, baby?”, Mr. Choi asks, eyebrows pushed together, lips formed into a pout, feigning an expression of worry.
“Yes, sir,” you say, the big question of 'what is the goal here?' unnerving you, but with the quick, harsh movement of his leg against the back of your knee, you're—
“Sir!”
Sat on his thigh, your butt is bouncing on the hard flesh, fingers dug into his shoulders deeper due to the shock, ribcage moving up and down as you’re breathing fast and anxiously. At this point, you’ve gathered the attention of many who are seemingly more excited about the situation than you are, silencing all around, while the chairman continues to crack drunk jokes on the other side.
Mr. Choi chuckles at your nervousness and puts his glass down. “Aww, look at you, baby,” he coos, his rough, calloused fingers trailing between the inner space of your thighs that’s pushed into his leg. “Need a little break?”
As you sit there— securing yourself on the table, feeling his hand sit between your legs, you become lighter with each passing second, tingles being sent down your abdomen. Could Mr. Choi please stop smirking like that? It’s going to make you lose your mind, lose every thought of what you were trying to achieve at this table tonight.
“The chairman doesn’t allow breaks, sir,” you murmur, trying to cling onto the last sense of service you have, “I have to stay here.”
Your voice is barely above a whisper for the CEO in front of you to become curious, but loud enough for the mafiaboss to scoff and massage his hand deeper into your flesh.
“Sir, I really—“, you try to protest, but Mr. Choi uses his other finger to signal you to come closer to his face. You do as you’re told, his warm breath hitting your ear after you lean backwards.
“Baby,” he cackles, and his lips touch your earlobe, the smell of the smoke fading out his mouth.
“I practically own that wimp,” and Mr. Choi lets out a chuckle before his voice lowers an octave, “Let me own you, too.”
His tongue grazes over your sensitive skin as if he was a snake trying to convince you of eating the strange fruit, and you shudder forwards in surprise, his growl still vibrating in your ears.
You should get yourself together— yeah, that sounds like a good idea, if it just wasn't for the fact that this is exactly how you've been presenting yourself the whole evening. You're cornered, and not only by him, but your actions and it's, oh, old man, it's something. It's something that broadens the playground that was set out in front of you, something that gives you more to play, no, more to be played with.
The other guests are gawking already, forgetting about their prejudices when it comes to the 'youngsters', just happy to be seeing their missy in action.
The mafiaboss sighs, breaking his whispering and speaking louder than before. “But if you cherish so much about that old geezer, he’ll be taken care of, no? Maybe even better than before, or am I wrong here, brother?”
He clicks with his mouth— is it a habit?— and looks at headman Park, who rolls his eyes, as if they’re sharing some secret you’re not a part of. But before you can fall into further confusion, your legs tighten around Mr. Choi’s wristwatch, as his thumb strokes the surface under your skirt one time, right across your cunt which has been heating up since the first time you saw the reflection of yourself in his silver cross. A pant leaves your mouth and you have to grind your ass over so you can somehow clench your legs together.
“You like that?”, Mr. Choi sneers, chuckling into your ear, as he continues to move his thick finger against your clit. "Of course you do. Let me hear more of those cute sounds, baby.”
You grab his bicep, heat crawling up your abdomen against his forearm, your crotch feeling more and more buzzed as the male works his fingertip into you. Nobody says anything, just murmuring insignificant sentences to keep up the chatty mood.
Headman Park in the meanwhile, crosses his arms, catching the attention of the mafiaboss.
“Brother, can’t you see I’m doing this for you? Enjoy yourself.”
Mr. Choi flashes an eye-smile and keeps groping your cunt, you melting more and more into his lap and under the heated gazes of the crowd. Your servant-colleagues don’t know what to do, or no, maybe they knew exactly that this would happen and think you deserve all of this shame, just in general not helping you escape the touch of the mafiaboss.
“Sounds like you’re enjoying her more than anything,” headman Park says, looking indifferent, but his words don’t cross out the possibility that inside his pants, his cock isn’t growing too, how his arms are crossed, clenched around each other.
“Come on, baby,” Mr. Choi growls into your ear, “give that fucking bore a show, won’t you?”
You’re split open. He’s strong, oh gosh, so strong, taking not more than one push to grab you by your thigh and spread your legs, make you slip on his crotch, as he closes his knees together to support you from down under.
“San,” headman Park warns, but his mouth stays slightly open, tongue pressed against the surface of his upper teeth, suppressing a grin.
You flatten your back against Mr. Choi’s torso as an attempt to hide your face behind his neck, and breathe heavily against his freckled skin, the cold exterior of his pearly accessory grazes your chin.
“What?”, the male asks, taking his glass, his arm slithering under your armpit and his chin resting on your shoulder as he sips from it, not to forget the hand that is still pushed into the now moist fabric between your legs, moving in circular motion.
Headman Park doesn’t answer and folds his hands together, placing his elbows on the table, fingers touching his lower lip.
“Geez, brother, you should feel this cunt right now,” the mafiaboss wheezes, almost hiccuping from his excitement, “so fucking hot, you won’t believe.”
“Make her louder.”
Even Mr. Choi was surprised to hear that come out of the reserved CEO's mouth, and as he chuckles and takes the last sip from his whiskey, he puts down his glass once in for all to accept headman Park’s order.
With a slight lean forward, his free hand wraps around your neck and you gasp for air. Mr. Choi’s legs are spread so when you have to tuck in your pelvis, you can feel his bulge under your cunt. At this point, you don’t care for the piercing gazes anymore, and the chairman might as well give you a nice tip for the sight of you grinding your wet pussy into his biggest investor’s clothed cock. You’re such a master profiteer, Y/N, Jongho was right.
“Fuck, missy,” Mr. Choi grunts and he’s so frustrated he can’t take off more of your clothes, but it doesn’t prevent him from following the order when headman Park mutters, “grab her breasts.”
It is one shameless show.
You becoming needy and whiny on Choi San’s lap, the mafiaboss grinning, as CEO Park Seonghwa’s eyes are unmoving from your sullen, aroused expressions— it has persuaded the audience to want their own slice of fun, but even with hands wrapped around their no-use cocks, everybody in the room has their eyes sealed on the young servant whose only job was to refill some ice.
Mr. Choi can feel it; what a slut you are on top of him, how eagerly you’re grinding your cunt over his bulge, and how jealous the others are watching— and this includes all the blokes that are watching with cigars in their mouths, but also the servants that would have gladly taken your seat and not rub their hands over old, moist, wrinkly skin.
“Sir,” you whimper, as Mr. Choi knobs your breasts, his tough hands cupping each tit, just like headman Park commanded him.
Fuck, how he wishes to be able to see your face as well as well as headman Park does, but the sobby whines might as well do.
“So noisy on my cock,” Mr. Choi snarls, “you’re practically begging for attention, missy.”
“Don’t fucking call me that,” you hiss and the mafiaboss inhales sharply, gasping, his cock jumping, very turned on by your sudden spunky tone. Bingo.
“Did you hear that, brother?”, he whales, tempting the headman to interact with him more as the main viewer of his performance, but the man to his friend is only raising an eyebrow. “Baby's got some zest in her. You like that, don’t you?”
Mr. Choi continues to coo headman Park into defeat, “You like ‘em feisty, brother. I know you, chief execution officer, sir. You wanna ram your cock into this little missy's pretty mouth, just admit it.”
Little missy's pretty mouth. "Say that again, shitbag," you hiss, but Mr. Choi grins and pries into your bust, working folds into your freshly-ironed shirt. "Listen, brother," he breathes, "It gets your cock fucking going, doesn't it?"
The mafiaboss chuckles and adds, so only you can hear it, "Definitely gets my cock going, baby."
Headman Park scans the room, and you can see how he shakes his head, and looks at Mr. Choi with a slight distaste. “You may leave soon.”
“Really?”, Mr. Choi grins, beaming, grabbing your hips forcefully in the joy of it, and while the CEO’s words leave you misled, you sigh into the pressure of being pressed down deep into his muscled thigh, your cunt pulsating through his flesh.
“Change of plans.”
“Alright," he murmurs, just as offended as you are by his lack of reactions, but quickly catching up on his lust to hear, see, feel you more. "But not before I make this baby come."
“Punster,” headman Park jeers and it does occur to you that you’re hearing more of his soft voice than before, but when he looks at his wristwatch, you suppose you’re not doing well enough for him. Look at me, you rich-ass prude, you think and whine, being moved across Mr. Choi’s thigh by his own hands. Your clit feels hot, like it is seriously going to burn and fall off, but you, fuck, feel so good; the sounds just keep leaving your mouth, your high approaching very soon.
“How long were you thinking, brother?”, Mr. Choi asks and is nibbling at your neck, as he rams you over his thigh, fighting with the pace you're breathing wispy and digging your nails more and more into the glass-table until your fingertips turn white.
"Five.”
“Five? Make it ten.”
“You only last ten?”
“You can be such a bully, brother,” Mr. Choi fleers, and you have no fucking idea what they’re talking about, since you are feeling your orgasm coming in less than a minute, stars appearing in front of your eyes. “Make it ten.”
The male takes note of how you're bucking in your pelvis and uses his canine teeth to make your neck flame on, his hand placed roughly around your throat, as you become more sensitive to every move. "Sir," you whisper, a knot forming in your stomach.
Your clit is begging you for mercy at this point, demanding you to get the clothes off your legs so your slick has some way to escape, but you're drenching Mr. Choi's suit-pants in your wetness with stuttered heaving, ready to moan loudly in any second now if you could just find that one fucking spot—
"Are you gonna cum, baby? Right in front of everyone?", he murmurs against your neck and you nod repeatedly, raving your clothed clit on his thick, pillowy muscle, desperately chasing your high. "Come on," he snickers, "Show them what kind of slut missy is, huh? Such a good fucking slut for us, aren't you?"
"Yesyesyes," you whine, not caring for anything than your release, and Mr. Choi is being so kind as to continue breathing heavily into your ear to make you melt into bliss, but nothing gets you on more than the gentle smile that headman Park is sending your way, head slightly tilted to the back— is he nodding? Is he finally approving? Oh, fuck, you think, and you're doing the best job darting your hips non-stop to continue feeling your cunt be stroked by Mr. Choi's flesh, pursuing the CEO's praising acknowledgment. "Good fucking slut on my lap," the mafiaboss cackles, "come for daddy."
"You fucking weirdo," you falter, not wanting to call him "I'm never gonna call you—
Mmmuh!" Mr. Choi grabs you by your hair and tugs it harshly, making your back arch and your head rotate to his side. In the open mouth, his tongue plunges into your throat, the taste of woody herbs and bitter alcohol are flooding your tastebuds. Smearing all of your lipstick, his mouth is pressed against yours like he's sealing yours shut. You convulse your lower body in surprise of the sudden act and holy shit, get that one spot over your clit that's also stroking your gaping entrance, your body releasing all of its heat into one blaring, roaring zap, with your eyes rolling back your head, your stirred voice screaming, "FUCK!"
There is a gasp heard through the dining hall and you're not sure whether it was the chairman, a servant, or headman Park in front of you, but as you are spasming on Mr. Choi's thigh and your back arches to his chest, you feel like the world is expanding on you, peeping, intrusive onlookers cramming out their money to thank you for the show they got, white trickling through the linen of their underwear.
Coming down from your high, weakened and all the while more aroused by the mafiaboss whispering the words "good girl" into your ear, you try to open your eyelids to catch headman Park putting on some black leather-gloves he got from his briefcase, muttering something under his breath to the mafiaboss.
“Go."
What the fuck?
Mr. Choi hooks his arm under your legs while he re-applies his lips to yours, and lifts you up like the pretty princess you are to most of the gawkers that don't stop watching, when he stands up.
Everybody has their eyes on the kiss the mafiaboss and servant missy are sharing, but headman Park doesn’t even look at you, when his partner starts carrying you to the elevator that's waiting for you at the wall about in the middle of the dining table, and just retrieves his open briefcase from the floor. Has he had enough of you already?
“Where are we—“, you breathe, but Mr. Choi kisses you silent, tongue forcing its entry, preventing you from figuring out what's happening, after the mafiaboss puts you down in front of the door and pushes you against the frame roughly. Cheering and hooting encourages him to continue rubbing his thumb over your skin as the other ringed fingers are holding your thigh, and you're pressed against his leg, virtually fenced in by Mr. Choi while he pushes the button for the lift to come.
His eyes are squinting to the side while he works his lips against you, in a way confirming that all of the guests (except the CEO) are begrudgingly anticipating the next actions of the mafiaboss, not caring how the headman is slowly pushing his seat away from the table to get more leg-space, which you seem to be the only person noticing it.
The golden door opens with a bell dinging the elevator’s arrival, and Mr. Choi grabs you by your ass, leading the way inside it. You can't see it correctly with your eyes closed, can only feel his big arms push into your frame, but he even makes for a show-like exit, burlesquely saluting the audience with two fingers, clicking with his mouth. It must really be a habit, you think, and giggle into the kiss.
The men attempt to throw bankrolls into your space and some succeed, some don't, but while you're glad your plan worked out, you aren't too sure what you've just done with, or for the mafiaboss.
Your heated kiss continues and because you want to feel him, you unbutton his shirt that doesn’t need that much working, three buttons being pushed open by your jellylike hands. Before you can unclothe him though, Mr. Choi pushes his arm against the mirror next to your head, stopping you to take a look at his wristwatch. He strokes his hair to the back with the other hand, revealing some of his meaty abs, and once he’s reached the backside of his head, he slides his fingers down his neck and around his Adam's apple to scratch it, announcing, “Ten minutes on the clock. Shit, brother's dick must be fucking exploding in his pants right now."
“Sir?”, you ask, overwhelmed by the words that are not making sense in your head, but also distracted by his hand that’s around your tie.
“Given he really could've finished in five but,” he yanks you towards his face. “I wanted to have you a bit more for myself, missy.”
He smiles, very arrogantly like the patronizing fuck he is, like he knows how strong he is, what a dominating aura he possesses, but at this point, in between the mirrors and on this black, marbled floor, you are not at the chairman’s dinner anymore, aren’t a servant anymore– you aren’t bound to any authority, are you?
“If you fucking call me ‘missy’ again, I’ll bite your fucking dick off.”
Except for the moment that you’re talking to him, a mafiaboss, whose breast is marked by— and you can see it very clearly now for it fits perfectly into yours— hands that have shared the same, if not a similar experience with you.
“How’d you know I was into biting, baby?”
And holy fuck, his back looks even crazier.
“God, sir,” you breathe out in awe and a little bit of fear. You can count the lines of red scratches on his back and as you finally let his shirt fall from his shoulders, the reflection of his muscles, how they relax under your touch. You become starstruck. Everything about him is so scarring, but fuck, how it attracts you, the wildness, the savagery— there’s something so free about him.
"What, baby? You like what you're seeing? How naughty..."
Ten minutes aren’t a lot, but Mr. Choi makes his best attempt to hurry over the trivial parts of fucking you. He steps closer, your ass hitting the handrail, legs crossing together, and your buttons pop in one rip, as his two hands rupture your blouse open. He lets his shirt drop to the floor, all the while his lips clash against the nook of your neck, making you sigh under the luminous lights of the elevator and grab his neck. You’re getting hazy, horny; damn, it’s been so long you’ve had a good fuck. Satisfactory sex is another luxury you were postponing for later.
With his lips sewn on your shoulder, kissing and forcing his tongue against a spot he deems especially tasty, the half-naked male unzips your skirt to finally reveal the black pantyhose that looks soaked in your slick. After he chuckles at the sight of it, Mr. Choi licks over his lips and cups your jaw with his hand, drawing a trail of insatiable kisses across your skin.
“Still wanna bite my dick off?”, he asks with a sly smirk, breathy, having caught your aroused look locked on his silver chains, his jacked upper body inviting you to get your mouth in there until it’s molded around your teeth.
“Come on, baby,” the male provokes you, “You think I’m gonna fuck you just like this? Think I’m gonna ram myself inside your cute fucking cunt ‘cause I’m such a big scary fucking man?”
You inhale sharply. “N- no, I…”, you breathe out, letting your tongue run over your teeth.
“Aw, baby, am I making you shy?”, Mr. Choi hoots, “I didn’t think you were a shy one. You were pretty noisy on my thigh for your cunt, weren’t you? Getting all the sounds out for brother to hear them… You really served a show there, baby.”
Your mouth only lets out stammered gibberish– you have never learnt how to talk dirty, but Mr. Choi uses your opened lips to ram his tongue into it again anyway, and you're almost proud to say you've gotten used to it.
He breathes rashly through his nose, and he tastes less of bourbon but more of dulcet desire, mixed in with the red of your lipstick sitting on his lip. Your knee strokes his erection while he gets his hands behind your back to get your bra off, lips clashing and raving against each other. “Letting your body talk for you?”, Mr. Choi husks, panting at having his overstrained cock touched. He relieves you from the pressure around the bust and continues to ramble. "I knew I could have a lot of fun with you the second I laid my eyes on you.” You pant and reunite your lips with his. "Little missy, such a whore for the rich."
He’s overconfident he’s seeing right through you, it infuriates you. Mr. Choi massages his hands into your breasts, the cold rings grazing sharply into your warm flesh, and as your knee is still between his crotch, you huff. You can be a whore for the rich when you’re earning money, but right now, you’re doing things for your own pleasure.
“Are you going to have a lot of fun with me?”, you sing-song in a high-pitched female voice to the mafiaboss that’s immediately taken aback, and you know the word 'missy' is on top of his tongue again, when you interrupt him with a quick jab of your knee into his groin. "Shit-eating fat-cat."
Mr. Choi grunts, head tilting down. His feline eyes meet your foxy ones, and while you weren't preparing for a staredown, the mafiaboss smirks and bites his lip.
He has a lot to say, you can see it. There’s something glimmering under the lust-drunken layer behind his eyes, and it’s deep, goes deeper, but for some reason, the mafiaboss, who just so despicably couldn’t hold his mouth, doesn’t let out the words that’s crossing his mind.
“Sir–”
Wrong deduction.
Mr. Choi scowls in laughter, and you guess he meant to joke with you, but he means to play with you much more, when he, once again, lifts you up, by your waist this time, and balances you on the handrail.
Resting his forearm on your thighs to stabilize you, Mr. Choi digs in his pocket to fetch his cigarette box, looking at himself through the mirror and shaking some strands out of his face. "Shit-eating fat-cat," he repeats with a lisp, pulling out one of the slim rolls with the corner of his mouth, and he continues to chuckle, as he glances at you through his eyelashes, "you should've said that to the old geezer when you had the chance to, baby."
"The chairman?"
No answer. Mr. Choi lights his cigarette with a zippo, and keeps it lit in his mouth, as he, with no forewarning, tears open your pantyhose from your crotch with both of his hands, spreading your legs wide. You have to get your hands around his head to be able to keep yourself on the handrail.
“Why do you look so scared? Think I’m gonna fuck you?”, he lisps. “I’m just taking a good look, baby. What a pretty cunt you got there, baby.”
You gulp. Mr. Choi slides his index finger across your heated folds through the fabric and your cunt clenches together, wanting to be filled up. “Sir,” you sigh, and the mafiaboss pulls in smoke from his cig, raising an eyebrow.
“What, baby? ‘You need something?”, he asks, “You’re not a fucking servant anymore, or do you need to be ordered around, missy?”
You try to look angry, but Mr. Choi only pouts and presses his finger through your panties, soaking them in your slick that’s gathered at your entrance. “Desperate to please the money-man? So wet for him…”
“Fuck you,” you mewl, but Mr. Choi knows what he’s doing when he thumbs your clit and exhales smoke into your face, hiding his face for a short second which gives you confidence. “I need you… to fuck me.”
“What did you say, baby? I couldn’t hear.”
“Please, sir, just… fuck me, please…”
“Louder.”
“God! Just fuck me! Didn’t you say we have ten minutes? Make them fucking count!”
“There we go, baby. My slutty little missy. Oh, baby, you’re growing on me, brother’s gonna hate that.”
You huff and Mr. Choi slides your panties off your legs, taking a short glimpse at his wristwatch. “Damn, ten’s really a short time.”
How many minutes have passed? Ten already? You know you said it, but you mentioned it only because it made sense, if you’re honest, you have no clue what the time is worth for. Aren't these the men who have time for gold?
The biting smell of tobacco enters your nose, making you cough out loud. Is smoking even allowed in the elevator? Wait, wait, wait, no, maybe you should worry about other things, for example what you're going to do when those ten minutes are over, when all of this is over. They clearly have some type of plan and thing they are carrying out right now, but you don’t know how much you’re invited in there.
Mr. Choi finishes his quick break, inhaling one last puff and keeping his cig between his lips again, and his hands unbuckle his belt in silence, while you contemplate.
Clanking, ruttling, and steps begin to thump behind the door— have any of you two even pressed a button? The mafiaboss looks concentrated, fixed on your cunt, taking out his throbbing, panging cock out his underwear, stroking it a few times to god, fuck, finally get to touch it after having been dry-humped hot.
Squelching, huffing, and voices echo through the floor— is that the chairman you hear? You can only yelp, when Mr. Choi drags off your panties and slathering his thick fingers across your folds in one, then penetrating with another forceful movement.
"Fuck!", you hiss out, grabbing the handrail next to your hips, trying to balance yourself on it still. The mafiaboss snickers into your ear, and tours through your cunt, all the while it appears that all hell is breaking loose outside.
BANG!
"Sir, what—!"
"Shhh, baby," Mr. Choi hushes you, and takes out his cig with the fingers that are now glistening with your wetness, placing it on top of his lips vertically to the scar that is accompanying his smug smirk.
BANG!
"You got nothin' to worry 'bout, baby," he lulls, "we're just eatin' the pheasant and the egg here," and exhales smoke into your face out his mouth-hole, which distracts you from the third, fourth—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Another proverb, pheasant and the egg— 'two birds with one stone'. Mr. Choi unfolds his hand as if he was counting the minutes, or the shots— wait, yes, shots! Fuck, those are gun-shots, right? You've never heard something so loud ever in your life, where does someone get guns from in South Korea? What even would they need guns for? Why would they use them? What the fuck is happening outside?!
"Oh, fuck!", you moan out, before fear and realization can crawl up your scalp and take away your lusting for the male, Mr. Choi has jerked his hip up, his cock gliding into you smoothly as if your cunt was made for him, the length and girth perfectly curling inside. Your back arches, at least as far as you can arch it, and he grins bemusedly at your jolted reaction.
BANG!
With every blast that follows, Mr. Choi is thrusting into you, first slowly, but then adding more speed and vigor as he goes, or as the blasting goes, making you shakily watch yourself be wrecked by the broad man through the reflection on the other side, your legs dangling with his rough movement.
You don't know how he's fucking you through your tightness, because with each ducking of his hips it feels like your inner walls are expanding more and ungodly more, as if he was piercing you in half.
Small puffs of smoke leave Mr. Choi's mouth each time he pants out raspy "oh baby"s and loud claps of him slapping your ass overtone the screaming, scrambling noises outside, as you two work your lower bodies against and into each other, growing more passionate, throbbing feverishly.
"Fuck, baby," Mr. Choi hisses, cigarette tilting in his mouth, as his face frowns together. "So fucking good for daddy, aren't you? So fucking tight and wet, such a good fucking girl—"
The screams outside are dying down, but the mafiaboss and you are getting louder, breathier, lustier; with your head falling backwards, hitting the mirror, the twisting feeling of fear and the ecstasy to be bouncing on Mr. Choi's big cock mix up like one hellish drink, boiling and churning inside of you.
Smashing both his hands on each of you ass-cheeks to dig his fingers into them and get more stability to ram into you so fast, and oh boy, it's so fucking fast, you're going to spiral— Mr. Choi sputters, "Are you gonna come? Are you going to come for daddy, baby? Greedy baby gonna take daddy's huge fucking load?"
The male is unraveling, his once low, stable voice turning into a whiny, hoarse, cracked mess just like you, practically urging, begging you to finally take the name ‘daddy’ into your mouth.
"Come on baby, say it for me, huh? Feels good to be my slut?", he disentangles, "Be a good slut for daddy, baby."
"I'm not gonna call you— that, fuckhead!", you moan, though your insides are curdling together to finally be released, the knot tightening with each drop of sweat that is forming on your boiling face.
"Really? Think you can afford to misbehave, baby?", Mr. Choi snickers and spits his cig on the floor, your ass being handled at an insane speed, his cock slipping in and out of you with rough ease. He takes it upon himself to dig his teeth into the nook of your neck, biting you heftily, your pulse knocking against your throat, as you feel his cock run in and out of your cunt. Your head goes light and dazed, but before you can gasp out your high from being fucked, bitten, sent to bliss, the male sinks you deep into his cock fully, it does not give you the last thrust you would need to—
"Fuckfuckfuck, I'm gonna cum," you whimper, needing to tremble, but unable to move because his hands are restricting you from any movement, and you continue to bring out a string of weak "pleasepleaseplease" that bounces back from the mafiaboss, who is raising an eyebrow, waiting for the magic word to be spoken out of your wet lips. Tears have formed at the corner of your eye and he thumbs it away, grinning coyly.
"Fuck you, I'mnotgonna fucking, ugh—!", you sob, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"
"Aww, you wanna hate daddy so bad, don’t you?”
“Fuuuck you!” Whines leave your mouth, wanting to cum, wanting to move, wanting for Mr. Choi to continue fucking into you and not wipe away your tears.
“Just say you love me, baby,” he heaves and returns his hand to your hip.
Thrusting into you once with a clap against your groin, to make your cunt clench around him, and then twice with the last blood-curdling BANG! from outside, his cock is deep inside you. He feels you tighten, pulsate, craving to be released, but Mr. Choi will not move again to your liking until you finally let go of yourself, which riles you up with no hope.
"F— Fuuuck, okay!", you scream out, annoyed, angry, wanting to fucking cum; "Daddy!", you sob and Mr. Choi smirks, instantly getting to work to toast the adieu of your pride. Thumb on your clit, he circles around your sensitive bud to double the tension you feel through all of your body, while you gutter, "fuck me, daddy, please, make me cum, please, daddy, please—"
He laughs, no, howls— elated, animated, drunk, and then, with his strong, buff fucking arms, pounds you into his cock like a punching bag, your ass hitting his pelvis so many times until you have to use his gelled hair as a last resort to hold yourself up and not push yourself from the handrail with your head against the mirror, but he holds you, holds you steadily in his grip.
"Good god, good fucking missy, such a good fucking slut for me, cum all over my cock– all over my fucking cock, baby," Mr. Choi grunts, and the string that was keeping you balanced snaps, your orgasm hitting you like that makes your insides tighten around the mafiaboss and his throbbing girth, your whole body being flushed by an overwhelming wave of pleasure which you drink up whole. His cockhead rubs against your sweetspot, you riding out the high while seeing nothing but bliss.
"Holy fuck," you breathe, and your fingers grip into the thick skin of his back, and with Mr. Choi's hips not stopping to hit your pelvis, there are additional, injuring, deep red marks on there with every thrust. You’re scratching him like a beast wanting to tear up its prey, but the beast is fucking into you like there’s no tomorrow. His cock does not stop grazing against your deepest spot, tears rolling down your heated cheek, and your mouth is unable to get out the words you want it to when you get the feeling that he's going to cum soon.
"O- out," you warn him, but the mafiaboss makes a disappointed face, “I– I really can’t afford a child, p-please pull out–!”
He draws his eyebrows in, scoffs and looks you deep in the eyes, his muscular body tucked in, murmuring, rambling out his whiskey-painted throat, “Is that really your only problem, baby? That you don’t have enough money?” His forehead leans against yours and your eyelids flutter open– you are being a mitt around his dick– and he pouts in pity, his iron cross hanging from his chest, as he talks to you.
Mr. Choi gets his hand flat on your lower belly and presses down on it, feeling himself bulge inside you. He moves his hips slowly, his cockhead dragging across your sweetspot, while he gutters, “you’d look so sexy as a mother, don’t you think, baby? With the tummy and all.”
“S- sir, please I–”
"Come on, do you think I don’t have enough money to pay for a fucking kid? God, how fucking annoying– I’m not that kind of man, baby,” Mr Choi growls, his voice vibrating against your cheek, as he charges his forehead deeper against yours, “I still got some honor.”
You shake your head, unsure whether there are pills for after in the pharmacies, or whether the mafiaboss will really be there to be with you as he promises, but Mr. Choi continues to beg in his low breathy, guttery voice. “Baby,” he rumbles, pressing even harder on your abdomen, your ass being pushed into the handrail that you’re sure it’s going to leave one red straight mark, and his cock is almost exploding from the edge, “Let me, no, let daddy cum into your tight cunt, baby, please.”
God, he wants you. He wants you so bad, doesn’t he?
"Y- you should see yourself," you chuckle, stroking over Mr. Choi's gelled hair, and his head tilts up a little bit as your fingers get tangled in his black locks, the white of his eyes making him look like a wild dog waiting for its treat. "F-fucking do it, you fucking slut."
"Fuck, baby," he laughs, out of breath, "You’re really a price."
Mr. Choi hammers his hips into you, until the stars in front of you all look like wishes falling from the sky. Both of you feel it, how his cock just feels so right, fits in like your cunt is a fucking glove which is full and getting even fuller.
"God, fuck," Mr. Choi grunts from the bottom of his throat, his hot cum lading into you, and it's like your lower body is melting with it, becoming heavier with every drop he's unloading inside.
"Take all of my fucking cum," he husks and your faces clash together for one finishing wild kiss. Mr. Choi sucks on your lower lip, as he fucks his ejaculation deeper and deeper into your hole with slow thrusts, until he bucks up his pelvis the last time and moans out a raspy, “perfect fucking missy with a perfect fucking cunt..."
Ding!
For a man that uses his mouth so sparingly, his tongue surely works wonders.
"Sir, are you—"
Headman Park has entered the elevator without a word, pulling off his leather gloves, and with Mr. Choi stepping away, he has all the place he requires to get on his knees and throw your leg over his shoulder, his wet and warm muscle delving into your throbbing cunt. You've been bereaved of the time to inspect what was behind or around him when the door closed, but maybe that's irrelevant anyways. What is relevant, is how impatient, but also how careful the CEO remains, and how he still tries his best to slowly sift his tongue into your folds, feeling every inch of your wetness. He’s been dying to do this.
"Fuck, sir!"
"Please," the CEO chuckles, hastily pulling the black leathery from his hands to put it back in his briefcase that he's been carrying, but he doesn't miss your cunt once, purling over your clit and glancing at you. "Call me Seonghwa, princess."
You could cum right here and there, just at the sight of this pretty man looking up to you, who has laid out his first name and put it into yours, scream it out loud until everyone hears what a princess you've been made of.
Princess. You knew his eyes were different, but you didn’t know they saw the world differently too. Oh, how you wish you could see more of his world.
"Aww, what? That's why you're still a foreigner in our country, brother! 'Can't be dropping our titles," Mr. Choi huffs and lights himself a second cigarette, filling the elevator with smoke and tobacco. How his breath really doesn't smell is questionable to you.
Just like you, the CEO, or how you're allowed to call him now— Seonghwa, ignores his partner's words, laps over your clit with his tongue, gently easing into your cunt with his clean fingers, and your soft sighs are like a reward for him, for whatever he's done outside.
"Respect, brother, 's all about respect..."
You tighten your thighs around Seonghwa's neck. The charcoal-haired has closed his eyes, sighing into the taste of you, and you are flawlessly overlooking the loud mafiaboss, just completely concentrating on the commitment the CEO is eating you out with. His head fits magically between your legs, he works his fingers so flawlessly into you, this must be fate— and if it's not, you're going to make it your future in any which way possible. You're falling. No, flying; never coming down.
"Seonghwa," you whine, and your hand glides over the hooked male's forehead, his hair feeling smooth under your touch as he presses his tongue slowly— in circular motion— against your clit to keep you on the high, but not in a way that would make you trip over.
"Mmf," the mafiaboss in front of you huffs, clearly attracted, enticed by the way you've exhaled the other male’s first name, scratching his temple with the fingers that are holding his cigarette.
"Whether you wanna call me San or 'daddy', baby," the scarred male, no, San, the fucker grins, "I'm gonna be hearing both either way."
"Fuck—", you moan out, having to take a breath because of how Seonghwa has curled his fingers into you with his tongue ready to shovel anything into his mouth that comes out, "you, fuckhead!"
The CEO is giggling a bit, finding your tone very amusing— and he tries to tell you this by looking up and slanting his eyes a friendly way, no, a way that you've never even conjured up the fantasy to perceive him, the cold-faced Park Seonghwa who hasn't drunk a drop of alcohol tonight. What pureness in a man...
"I liked 'fat-cat' better,” San snickers and goes through his hair that definitely needs combing, turning around and looking at himself through the mirror, though his eyes squint towards Seonghwa's reflection on the other side, now again lost in your cunt, taking off his jacket and folding it in half behind his back.
"Brother, you're eating my cum, by the way," the mafiaboss jabs, puffing out smoke while he's decidedly getting hard again in his trousers. San really can't hide his emotions on his face, can he? His lips are pursed, eyebrows slightly pulled in— how obvious. The man is jealous and doesn't want to admit it, you're sure of it.
"Shut up," you hiss, having become a bit comfortable with teasing the frustrated, outwitted mafiaboss. Ten minutes were definitely too little for him, but you've already rid his thigh, let him cum inside, and Seonghwa is simply too good with his tongue right now.
"Fuuuck," you whisper, and feel every drowsy twirl of his finger inside you, but it's slow, so slow, Seonghwa is swerving around every sponginess inside you, savoring the contraction of your inner space, and how your muscles tighten, when he licks over your clit, he enjoys this; enjoys you.
And so it continues, Park Seonghwa exploring every detail of your cunt as if he's a sommelier tasting the rarest of fluids, appreciating every drop that lands on his tongue, his fingers making sure that they don't go to waste.
"Shit," San comments, "I should've eaten her out, too."
The CEO is not cocky about it, about the way you are grabbing into his hair and squirming, how he has to slightly lift you up so you don't fall from your position. And then, when Seonghwa thinks your taste has perfectly coated his palate, speeds up.
"Fuck, sir," and the title slips out of you, like a habit you can't change for good when you feel so small. The CEO between your legs doesn't mind it though, at least doesn't say anything on it and just lets his fingers hit your sweet spot until there is a distinctive "Seonghwa" leaving sighed out your lips.
"I'm going to—", you announce, but the male has been long aware of it, preparing himself more access by bending his upper body to angle himself across your cunt, giving his partner a better view on how you glisten in arousal.
San in front of you is standing frozen, with his cigarette slowly burning out in his mouth, and you recompense the lack of his cock in your cunt by moaning louder, so your voice can vibrate around his erection. He grins and gets a tongue to his canine tooth, naked upper body still glowing in sweat, muscles shining, cock twitching every time he hears you breathe, and breathe more intensely, "make me cum, Seonghwa, please!"
"I knew you would taste delicious," Seonghwa murmurs, silently, rather for himself, and this must be how he sounds when he's drunk, because he is so high on your taste, "but this is ambrosial, princess."
You curl up your pelvis, and Seonghwa holds you by your hips, as his tongue picks up in speed, drawing out every word he hasn't spoken tonight on your labia, stamping them into your clit, all the while his fingers row in more and every last drop.
"C- coming~", you purr, and your eyes close down, your hands deep in Seonghwa's scalp, exhaling the weight of your worries, that flushes down into the man who seems to have none in his life, and he breathes into your hot cunt through his nose, not letting go of it until he's made sure that your hips tremble around his head. "P- please, f- fuck, fuck, feels so good—"
Pumping the remaining come into you, Seonghwa licks up your cunt and kisses your clit until you go completely flaccid, your arms giving in, but Seonghwa catches you by your hand, kissing your thigh with his swollen pink lips.
With your body relaxed, your ass feels a bite sore, having been prodded into the iron rail for so long. You grab into Seonghwa's hand and try to push yourself up, but ultimately fail at getting yourself into a more comfortable position.
"San, hold her."
"Huh?", he asks, "'Need something more snuggly, baby? Or what did you call her again, brother?"
"Princess," the CEO answers immediately and you have to suppress a girly giggle, as Seonghwa turns his head around, lips still pressed against your thigh. He presumably sends San an admonitory look to hurry up, and gets up from his knees.
The mafiaboss shrugs, not offended by being ordered around. He puts out the cigarette against the mirror and cracks his neck by rolling his head around, his thick neck dousing into your sight as he does so. He's so intimidating, you think, but he's on his way to coast those monster-arms behind your back, hands down to each of your hamstrings to, "up you go," pick you up like real royalty. The giggle escapes your mouth but you don't feel the slightest embarrassed nor do you have a reason to be. You are sunken deep into San’s cushiony arms— his muscles make for a great seat, and hovering, air hitting your hot cunt, as your legs spread for the CEO in front of you when you fall into the elbows. You yelp, but the giggles just keep coming, making San in the mirror in front of you wink at you, cackling, "you like that, princess?"
Seonghwa smiles, satisfied by your enjoyment of this position and approaches you once more. "I have yet to kiss you, Y/N," he says with his sweet voice, and his gentle hands find your chin and waist, your eyes blossoming open for him to stare into.
Even San shuts up now, and you suppose he is too taking part in the beauty that is the embrace of you and Seonghwa; two sets of lips, crazing each other, meeting for one flowery affair, breathing out small vapors of life. You can taste yourself, which means that Seonghwa is fully consumed by your aroma.
God, you think again, your cunt tingling at how Seonghwa tugs at his tie, pulling it side to side as he kisses you— the golden 'π'-pin clanks shrill to the floor— everything about Seonghwa is so...
Clean?
You are inhaling the mellow smell of his satiny skin, and the CEO unbuttons his shirt with proficient, skilfull flicks of his fingers. He is so handsome, handsomely pretty, and even when it’s drenched in your fluids, his skin shines on its own, like Seonghwa has a light shining within. Once you can see his bare chest and get lost on the smooth surface, your eyes dive down, admiring his slim, yet very muscular physique.
Seonghwa gets his tie and drags off his shirt by tugging at one sleeve with his hand, the white fabric revealing the rest of body with one clean pull that matches one of the curtains.
"W-", and you have to jump back with your head to get the full spectacle that's presented in front of you, exhaling in awe— "Wow.."
"Not so blank, our brother, is he?", San chuckles from behind of you and lowers his head to press his chin against your temple, surveying the same sight.
Two colossal, monstrous dragons, red and black, are colliding, looped, entangled all around Seonghwa's right arm, fighting for dominance on his skin. The raven hydra has its jaw wide open where Seonghwa looks to his shoulder with a rather shy smile once he sees your reaction, baring its teeth towards his heart, while the crimson dragon ends at the CEO's wrist, sitting on top of his pulse.
"Would you believe me it was brother's idea, baby?"
"As if," Seonghwa murmurs, folding his shirt into a square.
San chuckles again, re-shuffling himself and pressing your back close to his stomach, granting the back of your head to rest at his collarbone. "I asked her if she would believe, brother."
You watch the delicate lines, the elegant strokes of tint meeting on his skin, but while your first impression made you believe they carried a certain viciousness with their svelte bodies, the second sight presents you a different image of two forces maneuvering into each other as a reminder that they both co-exist as supreme. It's not one another they're reviling against, it's the bearer of the both who is threatened by their fangs. Their existence is a warning reminder, but also a sign of pride.
"I believe it's... beautiful."
“Aw, you’re so sweet, baby.”
You haven't seen many tattoos in your life, none in the mountains, and even in the city the only observable tattoos were those of the sleazy guys in alleys that wait when you're done with your job to gape at your uniform. They got tigers and other animals roaring on their bodies to hide the fact they don't have the fighting skills to keep up, but for Seonghwa, a CEO, to have this amount of ink under his skin is a commitment and to imagine he’s hiding that under his ironed shirt and black jacket, no, that you are seeing it right now, it’s… You’re overwrought, steamed up, aflame.
"Wanna touch it, baby?", San asks, and you nod eagerly. Seonghwa chuckles, “Go for it.”
You let your fingertip ghost over the dragons' scales, tailing their curvature. Goosebumps form on Seonghwa's arm and his hand finds its way to your head, stroking your cheek, as you meet the red beast's eyes.
The mafiaboss whispers, almost sentimentally, "No blood or tears."
Another expression, which proves to you that the tattoo was undoubtedly his idea, but you see it, the romance that is spoken from the male's skin, regardless of the little insight you have on both of them. Loyalty, reverence, creed, a belief and a duty, and before you know it, you want Seonghwa to enwrap you with his arms and never let you go, which he does.
His slender hand cloaks the left side of your head, and he pulls himself into a kiss, while he unbuckles his belt with his other hand.
You don't know how much you understand of this situation, no, you don't know how much you want to understand of this situation.
You've been on your own. That's all you ever had after you left home: Your body and soul, the windstorms of the mountains pushing you from the back to keep going, and you've lived your best life living for yourself that way, in bliss, in ignorance— in peace, but what is peace in a place where you can't move by yourself? In a world that’s maimed by the rich, and sure, it may be that you’ve chosen your path, but you were never walking a road that was yours, always trailing behind something.
Nameless, that’s what you thought you would need to be.
Your monks wanted to be called their title like everyone else, it would have been disrespectful to ask Lady Kim for hers which you now regret, and not even as a secret did your old man tell you his name, but you— you, Y/N, you have a name and you want to scream it, live it as loud as you can, hear it echo back with a volume that feels stronger when it rings back.
You could have settled on being acknowledged by your supervisor to earn some good money, but this is what you’re here for, aren’t you? Why you trusted your gut to stick to the scary men? Why you walked to them with confident steps, even when a nervous knot was forming together inside you? Did you go as what, an act of defiance? One of independence? To prove yourself that you were still standing on your own feet?
"Speaking of, brother..."
Yes, with no shame.
"You really enjoyed yourself back there, didn’t you?”, San asks. “Didn’t expect that from you.”
Seonghwa is kissing you down your breast, observing closely how you breathlessly react to his tongue twirling around your nipple.
"You left me no other chance," the older male hums, coating your circular buds with his saliva, bringing out your heavenly sighs every chance he gets, stroking himself to the sounds of your pleasure.
"Well, I would have made sure you still fucked her, brother."
“Sure,” Seonghwa lisps and positions his cockhead at your entrance.
You try to grab San's shoulder behind you, as the male pushes himself inside, and your torso rotates to the side with your eyebrows pulling together, your cunt being spread apart. “F-fuck,” you exhale, and Seonghwa kisses the corner of your lip to soothe you. Your cunt squelches around his cock and your hips roll by themselves, wanting to take more of his length.
"Shit, look at her go," the mafiaboss woos, "Fuck yourself out, brother."
"Think you’ll miss this?", Seonghwa snickers and it must be the first question he has asked today. “Y- yeah, you will!”, you snap, feeling eager to be acknowledged for how good your cunt wraps around his throbbing heat.
“Oh, princess,” the CEO laughs, and your stomach drops because of how pretty his laughter sounds, and he caresses your cheek, only making your confusion and desire to finally uncover what the two men have obviously been keeping from you grow bigger. You don’t want to say it abruptly, but you three are naked, in a confined space, skins pressed against each other, so you believe you’re worth some type of explanation– or are you not?
“C- can you tell me what’s going to happen?”, you whine, and Seonghwa moves his hips, grabbing you by your waist to get his whole length. “Are you, fuck, going to leave me?”
“I dunno, brother, you call it,” San mutters. “It was your plan.”
“D- don’t!”
“It’s barely my plan anymore,” Seonghwa breathes, bucking his pelvis in, his cockhead being sucked in by your sensitive cunt.
“Don’t leave me!”
“You needed a distraction, brother, I got you one.”
“No,” Seonghwa chuckles, but in his heat, he kisses you and glances up at San while his tongue brushes against your lip. “But I’ll admit she saved us some jail-time, San.”
They continue talking over your pleas, and though you would have loved to ask a second time how the night was going to end, your brain has started to give into the pleasure once San folds your legs together, holding you by your hamstrings, giving Seonghwa an easier angle to fuck you senseless.
“F- fu-huuck,” you breathe out, and your eyes are disappearing behind your molten, droopy eyelids, with Seonghwa cumming for the second time on your abdomen and cleaning it up with his handkerchief, and you don’t even know when it was, that San crammed out his cock again, but you can definitely feel the difference of his girth, when he re-enters your used cunt, your legs shakily landing on the floor. They feel wobbly, your thighs having gone loose, and the mafiaboss has to hold you by your arms behind your back to support you.
“Can’t take it anymore, baby?”, San whispers into your ear, and his voice is low, very low, you don’t know how much time has passed since you could make out any of his words, but it feels like you’re back here, in the elevator, and Seonghwa is putting on his belt again.
“I c- can!”, you manage to whine out, not wanting the night to end, not wanting to return to your small apartment, not wanting these two to be gone from your life. “I can!”, you repeat yourself, when San lets out a mockful cackle. “You’re not going to fucking leave me here, San!”
“Who said anything about leaving you here, baby?”, he asks you, and he does mean his confusion, but the sarcastic undertone makes you desperate grow desperate. San frowns. “What did I tell you, baby?”
“You aren’t telling me shit, San!”, you sob, and his cock running through you prevents you from finding a braver voice, his two hands find your wrists to bind them together in his grip. “Aren’t you such a smartie,” he growls into your ear, hot air hitting your dissolving ear.
“Brother,” San calls out, and the addressed man is busy opening up his briefcase, getting on his knee. “I’m still waiting on you, y’know.”
“If you had stuck to the plan, th–” Seonghwa murmurs, but the mafiaboss falls into his word. “Then we would have fuckin’ send the bitch to prison and someone else would have him killed him, but there! You know I didn’t come with the fucking patience for that, brother! Geezer was getting on my fucking nerves.”
Killed?
“And don’t you talk back now,” San warns, “It was you who killed all of ‘em, so you figure out how you’re going to carry that one out.”
Killed?
“You already know how I’m going to carry this out.” Seonghwa smirks. “But you’re stopping me, San.”
“Augh, brother, you’re too sober for your own sake!” San’s cock is too deep in your cunt and your body is too much in his control for you to stop moaning like a bitch, but in your head, you’re puzzling together tonight’s happenings.
Expensive whiskey. Ice cubes. Ten minutes, gunshots, black leather gloves– “killed.”
Oh, Y/N.
“What did you do with the chairman, Seonghwa?”, you moan out, feeling how the mafiaboss is ramming himself into you at a sloppy, greedy pace, prolonging how much he can be inside you before he comes again, and you don’t know whether his heavy breathing can cover up the silence that it takes for the CEO to react to your question.
Seonghwa is still kneeled on the floor, when he rotates his head, smiling, his eyebrows pushed up. “What do you think I did?” His second question of the day.
“I- I,” you stutter, but San shakes his head, and interrupts you with his voice still loose from the alcohol, “you really don’t know how to keep up a good mood, brother!”, grabbing you by your chin and yanking your head up. “Lemme make my baby cum first!”
You can’t see Seonghwa anymore. You can barely see anything anymore, you’re counting your fifth or sixth orgasm of the night, cunt growing hotter with each time San thrusts into it, and with your breath being cut off, you slowly feel your arms lose their responsibility, tingling up from where your wrists are crossed behind your back. His cockhead is flaying against your g-spot and your thighs tremble at how used you’re being, eyes falling in, throat feeling tied up.
“S- San,” you manage to cough out, back arching for your final cry of pleasure, and San grins, letting go of your wrists, which makes you immediately fall to the front, finding safety against the mirror with both of your hands. He smacks his hands against your ass and lunges into you until your whole breast is pushed against the cold wall.
“Come on, baby, come for me,” San roars, and you wail, tired, exhausted, feeling the orgasm drown you like another wave in the ocean of bliss you’ve been swimming in, whining out, “coming, coming for you, San!”
The mafiaboss presses himself against your back, his silver cross being imprinted into your neck, as he unloads himself, his last drops of hot cum overflowing out of you. “Fucking slut… So fucking good…”
He kisses your jaw repeatedly and looks at how tiredly closed your eyes are in the mirror, cooing “aww, baby.” San strokes away a strand of hair and gets himself off your body, pulling out. “You look like you need some sleep, baby.”
You are trying to catch your breath, grabbing the handrail to hold yourself up, as it sounds like San is putting on his shirt again. They’re gonna fucking leave you here, aren’t they? Leave you here in the elevator with the– with the fucking bankrolls on the floor of the fucking men you fucking– Oh god… Keep breathing, Y/N. Keep on breathing.
“I mean all I’m saying… you know… lobsters and crabs are friends, pal.”
What the fuck is he on again…
“You’re making this hard on yourself.”
“I’m not doing anything, just sayin’ that she just grew on me, that’s all.”
Your legs tremble, as you try straightening them to stand up and see what the two are scheming again, but as you turn your body around, ass against the handrail again, you hear a very unfamiliar clicking in front of your forehead area which is not coming out of San’s mouth.
“You’ve grown soft. That’s what you did.”
“Ahhh, fuck you, brother.”
“Pathetic.”
You see a hole, and it also doesn’t take you long to see Seonghwa ready to pull the trigger, the mafiaboss leaning into the corner of the elevator, arms crossed, looking at you with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, pressing the button that leads to the lobby.
The night is over.
“A- are you going to– oh my g-god, are you going to kill me…?”
“Yes, princess.”
Your heart is going to burst, you could puke out so many words right now, but you don’t know what to do. You don’t want to die, not when you felt so fucking alive– you– fuck, you should feel sorry that your coworkers that they didn’t deserve to go the same way as the asswipes did, because you’ve long realised that the bangs were their skulls being crushed by the bullets, but at the same time you couldn’t care any fucking less about them right now. You just have to survive, that was the only thing that mattered since the very beginning. This is about your life. Your precious fucking life.
“Ah…”
Your body is too weak to hyperventilate, but your brain is working overtime. Do you run? Attack them? No…
Seonghwa hasn’t moved an inch away from your face, and you take it upon yourself to raise your hand and slowly push the cold, black gun to the side, so you can look him in his eyes, but he forces it back there.
“Please don’t kill me… I can do so much for you! I– I,” you stutter, trying to gather all the knowledge your monks have taught you. “I– I’ll do anything! You– you saw me, didn’t you? I have– I’ve been told I have a talent for serving! I– I can do anything, please, I beg you, just…”
You fall to your knees, and they burn on the glassy floor, your hands folded in front of your abdomen.
“Just please, let me live…”
You’re not greedy. You’ve only taken what you were given, and tonight, you’ve been given so much. Too much? No, it couldn’t be…
“Brother.”
There are tears flowing down your eyes, and you feel so sorry for yourself. You miss your old monk, and hope that you may be reincarnated to a butterfly that he can admire, just so that he can look at you with his adoring eyes again. So someone can want the best for you once in your life–
“Brother?”
So anyone can finally love you for once in your life.
next part coming soon...
series masterlist | main masterlist
#cromernet#choi san x reader#choi san smut#choi san scenarios#choi san x you#choi san x y/n#park seonghwa x y/n#park seonghwa scenarios#park seonghwa x reader#park seonghwa smut#ateez scenario#ateez smut#ateez x reader#chokkiwa#chokko#drivebyme
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Seventeen recs
<<original book
most of the mentioned works is 18+ NSFW, MINORS DNI
pls don´t hesitate to hmu, if any of mentioned links doesn´t work or you have suggestions for more fics... thank you so much for all the love and comments
one shots
Law and order by @bambikisss
Mingyu x fem!reader (wc - 6.8k)
coworkers to lovers, CEO!Mingyu, lawyer!reader
- fluff, smut
With Mingyu being named the new CEO of the top company, his father hires you to be his lawyer to keep him in line and out of trouble.
heir by @smileysuh
Mingyu x fem!reader (wc - 3.4k)
royal AU, established relationship
- fluff, smut
As a princess, you’d grown up knowing you’d marry a prince and help him sire a number of adorable little royals. Truth be told, one of the things that had drawn you to Mingyu had been the way he’d interacted with his young cousins, children that would run up to him- and despite his princely stature, Mingyu always had time to entertain them, with a glint of adoration in his eye that had convinced you he was the one to marry- moreso than any of his older brothers.
Puppy Code by @beefboyandbabygirl
Mingyu x fem!reader (wc - 5.7k)
university AU (GIRL CODE universe)
- fluff, smut, crack
mingyu doesn't have crushes. he likes avril lavigne and sometimes he fucks pretty girls. but you seem to stir something in him that no one else can. without the trusty girl code, mingyu makes his own code to help you fall in love with him.
birthday love by @sluttyminghao
Mingyu x fem!reader (wc - 2.3k)
established relationship
- fluff, smut
the only thing mingyu wanted from you for his birthday was to make love. and that was something you could certainly do.
Secrets kept from roommates by @cheolism
Mingyu x fem!reader (wc - 6.5k)
roommates AU, mutual pining
- smut
The Way of The House Husband by @wonustars
Mingyu x fem!reader (wc - 19k)
fake marriage AU, mafia AU
- fluff, angst, smut
you and mingyu (a former mafia member and also your ex-fiancè's former best friend) are forced into witness protection. All you’ve been told is that you’re meant to act like a happily married couple. Pushed into a cookie cutter house, and a suburban neighbourhood far from the city, where people bring you baked goods on your first day and partake in small talk, it’s all foreign and new. There’s so many things you don’t know about him, but for a man who’s only known violence and all things illegal, he’s somehow the perfect house husband.
Cross My Heart by @minisugakoobies
Mingyu x fem!reader (wc - 5.2k)
friends to lovers
- smut
Your crush Mingyu wants (to eat) you.
Let our lips lock, baby by @whipped-for-kpop-fics
Mingyu x fem!reader (wc - 9.8k)
friends to lovers
- fluff, smut
The intention is to sneak into Mingyu's apartment (get let in by Wonwoo) and set up banners and balloons ready for when he wakes. And then you'll cook him a meal like he's been asking for and give him his birthday gift. You don't really have a plan for what happens after that, you assume you'll just hang out, you really don't expect a confession and to wind up in his bed.
series
hurts so good, down bad by @btsvt-bar
Mingyu x fem!reader (wc - 3.9k + 3.6k)
arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, CEO AU
- angst, smut, fluff
#seventeen#seventeen x reader#seventeen smut#seventeen recs#mingyu#svt mingyu#kim mingyu#mingyu x reader#mingyu smut
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hi new tennis fan here, do you mind explaining the 2011 fedal fallout? I tried looking around but couldn't find much. Thanks in advance!
Oh ho ho mutual, thanks for the question altho I fear this might get too complicated too political too quickly hahaha I'll try to keep my answer neutral. Tennis politics is an underworld of nasty nasty business and as much as it is fascinating, it is unfortunately very different from the clean, elegant, prestigious look the sport is presented as at front, as is expected when big prize money is on the line. This is going to be quite long, as usual, so be prepared hahaha
There's a good NYT article about this whole Nadal-Federer-Djokovic council debacle which I highly reccommend (around their 2019 return to the council), but let me provide a bit of a back story to that as well.
Now this all started back in the early 2010s, Federer and Nadal were still world number 1 and 2 (oh the good old days), and they were also the leaders at the players' council (Nadal was Federer's VP). So the gist of it by end of 2011, there was a bit of a dispute, esentially about prize money, but quickly turned into a bit of everything.
Basically, after the ATP finals of that year, there was talk of changing ATP into a 2 year ranking system. This is a bit unconventional but it's actually related to how points are accumulated throughout the whole tour and the accessibility of the sports to newcomers.
Everyone kinda knows that tennis is one of the most difficult sports to break into, not only because tournament seedings are based on rankings (unlike in football for instance where it's random), meaning top players will always have preference to go all the way to the final, but also because prize money has also been reported as highly unequal. Players at the top level like Serena, Federer, Sharapova, Nadal etc earned a gazillion times more than even the top 20 players, this is because of sponsorship, but also because of the gap in prize money. More reports have been coming out on this recently, where the top 5 players in India and other countries can't even sustain themselves with prize money alone and has to take up side jobs.
The idea is that with a 2 year ranking, points will be distributed more evenly, rankings will be much more accessible and players in the top 50 will have access to better prize money. It's a bit complicated to explain technically but that's the gist of it as far as I understand.
Now the problem starts when in November that year, the players meeting saw all players (including Nadal) except Federer, the president, support the 2 year system. They were also planning to boycott the Australian Open, that they deemed were far too unfair in terms of prize money distribution as all other Grand Slams.
The dispute between the two of them also has another layer into it however. Unsurprisignly, the ranking debate is related to discussions about scheduling, in which Nadal has been strongly advocating for change since the beginning of his career.
I managed to dig up some quotes on this, it's pretty nasty (hmu if you want sources):
“"For him, it's good to say nothing, (His attitude is) "Everything is positive. It's all well and good for me, I look like a gentleman,' and the rest can burn themselves. He likes the circuit. I like the circuit. It's better than many other sports, but that doesn't mean that it couldn't be better.”
Rafa and some other players are protesting about the number of mandatory events a pro player is required to compete in during the year, arguing this is not actually sustainable for an athlete's physical condition which he himself has felt the brunt too many times.
"I love the game and there are a lot of things I'm grateful for,” Nadal said. “The game has allowed me to lead a fantastic lifestyle. But to finish your career with pain all over your body, is that a positive? No. Maybe (Federer) has got a super body and he'll finish his career like a rose. Neither myself, nor (Andy) Murray, nor (Novak) Djokovic are going to finish our careers like a rose. Tennis is an important part of my life, but it's a tough sport. We're not like him, where it's effortless to play. For all of us, it's a battle."
I believe this is the period Federer was referring to when he said "He used to follow me around with everything but then he grew to be his own person," etc.
Federer and Nadal before this period were strangely civil towards each other, even after those French Open and Wimbledon finals back to back - but this seemed to be the beginning of their souring relations. Federer handled it very discretely and only said he had “no hard feelings” toward Nadal for the comments, and Nadal also later admitted that his comments “must stay in the locker room.”
I'm not saying one player is right and the other is wrong, there is always 2 sides of the coin. A 2 year ranking system will mess a lot of things up in terms of the sport's competitiveness and spectatorship, but there is also a real pay gap problem in tennis, especially in Grand Slams, it's a very top heavy sport. It's very evident that Nadal and Federer's frustrations with each other relate a lot to their different career trajectories and playing style. Nadal said many times from the beginning that his style of play is too physicaly disruptive and I remember him saying he'd be very surprised if he's still playing in his 30s and it's obvious that Federer's injury-free career bothered him a bit, while Federer, I think is always the perfect middle-man between the players and the tournament organisers (he has very good relationship with all of them), and he understood nuances of the sports' politics and that it's never that simple to change everything, something a lot of young players don't really get I think (Nadal is a bit more politically diplomatic nowadays).
The story of the 2019 council dispute is a bit more complicated, and it actually shows how much they've built bridges over their differences as this time it was more the case of Novak vs the two of them, quite literally haha. Nadal and Federer were no longer part of the council then. I think it started with the firing of the ATP chief executive, Chris Kermode (Djokovic was the president at that time I think). Nadal and Federer were very unhappy about this and that they weren't consulted on the decision.
Federer said: “I tried to meet Novak on the deadline; unfortunately, he had no time, That’s hard to understand for me.” Nadal, who met with Federer at that tournament to discuss tour business, also echoed his displeasure.
Very spicy, huh? This actually ended up bringing both Nadal and Federer back together into the council. Federer agreed to rejoin, and he talked about it with Nadal: "I would only do it if you were going too. And he said: I also only participate if you are there too."
See his cute full interview here:
The sweetest cherry on top is actually Andy Murray, bless his little heart (he is unsurprisingly quite uninvolved with the drama hahaha). He also left the council recently and actually was really happy Federer and Nadal the duo managed to get back together into the fray. “Despite the sport’s current success we live in chaotic times,” Murray wrote on Twitter. “My biggest achievement on the council may well prove to be being part of the group of resignations that presented the opportunity for this to happen. Good luck!!!”
Anyhow, there you go, a few thousand? words on tennis politics that you clearly did not ask for but hey! nothing better to start saturday morning than some spicy drama between the world's top athletes, eh?
#was actually fun to look back and dig into the history books a bit#ooh this period was soo nasty#federer#nadal#fedal#tennis#novak djojovic#andy murray#politics#atp tour#australian open
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"Wishing it Wasn't" by kazoosandfannypacks
Chapter 9/18: Reflections
Pairing: CaptainSwan
Rating: General
Word Count: (1.1K/19.5K)
Summary: Season 2 Canon Divergence: When Neal tells Emma he has a fiancée, she claims to have a new boyfriend of her own, and blurts out the first fairytale name she can think of: Captain Hook. Killian agrees to this ruse, but when feelings grow between the two, will the con be more than they can handle?
Chapter Summary: Emma and Killian separately reflect on their evening together.
Tags: season 2, canon divergence, gun violence in later chapters, angst with a happy ending, fake dating, mild character death, mildly anti neal
Author's notes: >:}
Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @pirateprincessofpizza @pawshapedheart [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]
Also on Ao3!
"Thanks for everything." Emma said, parking the car by the docks.
"My pleasure." He hadn't looked at her since she kissed him, and he wasn't breaking that streak now.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for his door, but she hit the auto door lock before he could, trying to smooth things out before he left.
"Hook," She said softly, placing her hand on his arm, "I shouldn't have done that, should I have?"
"What?" He asked.
"I shouldn't've kissed you." Emma said. "I crossed a line. I'm sorry."
"We did what we set out to do, Swan." He said, and he slightly twisted his arm out of her grip. "You've sufficiently proven to Neal that he made the wrong choice."
"Right." Emma said. She unlocked his car door. "Want me to walk you back to your ship?"
"I think I can manage."
"Oh, your jacket." Emma said, almost forgetting she was wearing it for how natural it felt to be wearing it.
"Keep it 'til tomorrow." He said. "Give it back to me when they're around."
It seemed like a good plan, but he said it so deadpan, monotone, almost upset- not nearly the same man he'd been twenty minutes ago.
"Alright." Emma said. "Goodnight, Killian."
"Goodnight." He said, almost coldly, not even bracketing it with a "Swan," or a "love," or even an "Emma."
Without another word, he left the car, left Emma sitting there, alone with her thoughts. They'd done what they wanted to do- they'd made Neal jealous, they'd kept up the ruse, they'd proven she's just as well off without him.
But the problem was she'd had fun doing it. She actually had a great time that night, once or twice even forgetting that their date was just fake. But then at the end, should she really have kissed him, just to make Neal jealous? Even if that didn't cross the line, kissing him again after she knew they were gone? That definitely did.
But Emma had to remind herself this is Captain Hook. His reputation preceded him- rumors floating around said he knew the names of the bar wenches in every port in the realm, that he'd never met a girl who didn't succumb to his charm, that he went through women faster than he did bottles of rum- and she knew how quickly he burned through bottles of rum.
She watched in her rearview mirror as he walked back down the docks, onto his invisible ship, and disappeared from view.
Had David been right? Had she neglected to be careful with Killian's emotions? He seemed like he was really enjoying himself with her- until she kissed him, that was.
She pulled his jacket just a bit tighter around her shoulders.
"That kiss was awful for him." She thought, her mind racing but the town standing still. "Why shouldn't it be? He's a pirate. He doesn't care about me. He doesn't like me. Because if he did, why would he get so upset when I kissed him?"
The only reason she saw that he had to be so upset by her kiss was if he didn't feel the same way about her. He'd flirted with her because he flirts with everyone, he'd pretend courted her tonight so she didn't throw him in jail, and, much like many men she'd met, he would only follow his interests in her to the brink of commitment- anything more than that would be too much for him- and Emma had started to cross that line.
She sighed as she eventually started the car.
"David was right." Emma thought. "I played with fire and I got burned."
She tried to shift her focus to other things- Cora and Regina being in town, the stranger who'd come in just before she left, trying to keep the secrets of the town from him, and from Tamara.
But still, that little voice in the back of her head was antagonizing, berating her, bogging her down with insecurities, reminding herself of her place, her place as the only woman in all the realms who could scare off the notorious Captain Hook.
---
"Does she know she's the only thing on my mind right now?" The notorious Captain Hook thought as he watched her drive away from his vantage point on The Jolly Roger. He was thankful she couldn't see him, that she hadn't been able to see how he'd turned back to watch her as soon as he was cloaked, how he stayed there until she'd disappeared too.
He looked up at the sky as he walked the gangplank, hoping to take familiar comfort in the constellations he often used to navigate- then remembered he was in a land with entirely different stars.
Everything in this land felt different, in an almost intimidating way. Hard roads designed to be used by vehicles that move so fast they can break a rib. Deep fried seafood. Food that comes in pre packaged boxes. Short jackets, short skirts- not that they were a bad thing, of course, just not quite what he was used to.
And yet, whenever he was with Swan, he couldn't help but feel like he was used to her. There was something about her that felt so safe to him, like a harbor, like The Jolly Roger, like….
He put his head in his hands as he sat on the steps to the forecastle deck.
There was something about Emma Swan that felt like a home.
He sighed as he pulled out his flask, knowing that no matter how he saw her, it couldn't change how she saw him.
"I'm just a pirate in her eyes." Killian thought. "I'm just a means to an end. She's just using me to get to Neal."
Killian had a hard time reconciling in his mind that the man he'd sat across from in the restaurant was the same kid who'd once stood on the deck of his ship, threatening Killian's life when he thought he was the one who'd killed Milah.
"What's become of you, Baelfire?" Killian whispered. "Where's that kid who just wanted to be a hero?
All that Baelfire ever wanted was a family- and as much as Killian tried to deny it, he really was the one who tore apart Bae's first family. He felt like he owed it to that boy he once knew to not wreck his chances this time, that if an opportunity came up for Emma and Henry to be Neal's family again, that he owed that much to him, just a fighting chance, without a devilishly handsome pirate standing in the way.
"It's better that way." Killian thought. "Swan deserves better than me."
And he looked up at the unfamiliar stars, he found himself silently hoping that Neal could be that man for her.
#once upon a time fanficton#cs fanfic#captain swan#killian jones#emma swan#once upon a time#ouat#season 2#canon divergence#kazzy writes
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open to: m/f/anyone
plot: based on #6 - A Tale as Old as Time. hmu if you'd like to plot more!
connection: Muse B, the vampire.
Richard was never one to deny his feelings, least of all to himself but for a while there he had found himself doing just that. Denying how he felt, how much he truly cared and even loved the other, he had pushed it down not for fear of his own life but for theirs. The love they shared was a forbidden one, shamed and dangerous. Even despite that their meetings had become more frequent, letters and notes burned after being received.
If Richard's uncle, the alpha of his pack, found out that his only nephew and heir was fraternizing with a vampire, Richard was sure they'd both be set to death. His uncle was a very strict man and even stricter alpha, although he loved his two nieces and his nephew, the children left to him by a late sister, Kyland did not know how to show mercy. For many centuries he had held the title of alpha and many did not wish to see that change, even if Richard was in line for the position. There were just as many pack members that did not want Richard to take over as there were those that did want him to.
So what did his uncle, the alpha, do to remedy the worries his pack had about the heir to his throne? He set Richard up for marriage, like any powerful leader would to ensure his nephew faced as little opposition when he took the title of alpha over but Richard did not want any of it. The title, the marriage, the power. All he wanted was them. All he could ever think about was being with them and the next time he could feel them close to his warm body. They were intoxicating, tempting, and he just couldn't give them up. Even if that was what he came there to do.
Richard knew he had to tell them about his betrothal even if he had zero plans of following through with it, that didn't matter. Their presence touched his senses and his thoughtful, distant blue eyes turned to the shadows where he knew they would come from, hearing and scenting them just outside of where he waited. A hole in the wall in the middle of nowhere, no one would suspect them, no one knew them. "There you are, I was starting to get worried," he half teased, a sort of exhaustion touching his gaze as they finally came into view, his lips curled into a fond and soft smile.
#indie rp#indie supernatural rp#indie vampire rp#indie werewolf rp#indie witch rp#indie spn rp#indie dark rp#indie oc rp#indie para rp#indie bi rp#indie smut rp#indie open starter#indie marvel rp#indie roleplay#open starter#| int. Richard |
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20 Questions Game
i was delighted to be tagged in this game by @lovesastateofmind1 who is one of my most favoritest supercorp writers
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
6
2. What’s your total AO3 words count?
104,568
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Supercorp
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
How to Find Your Way to the Center of a Spider’s Web
Advanced Chemistry (A secret santa exchange I did)
The Agreement (Unfinished oops)
The Book of the Witch (My currently ongoing fic. I am currently working on the next chapter for this I promise.)
Field Notes
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
I try to! But sometimes I get around to it too late.
6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
How to Find Your Way to the Center of a Spider’s Web. No one in the pairing dies (though a lot of people do die), but the ending isn't happy. It was my first fic and I was really going through it at the time, so I'm not sure I'd write something so hopeless now.
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
Advanced Chemistry. They end up happily together and Kara doesn't fail her chemistry class. An optimal outcome indeed.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
I wouldn't say hate. I had some readers who were frustrated that my longfic ended sadly, and criticized the ending. I see where they're coming from. I'd thought I'd tagged appropriately etc, but I was still learning tagging etiquette on Ao3 so I may just not have signaled directly enough that it would not be a happy ending.
9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?
Not until very recently, but I'm practicing it as a skill and plan to include an NSFW scene in The Book of the Witch (so expect a rating bump up there.) It's hard for me as an ace person who hasn't dated much, so getting the emotions right is a bit of a challenge.
10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?
No, unless you count the Spongebob Squarepants x The L Word crossover I wrote in a discord server to bother my friends and procrastinate on homework.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Nope
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Nope
13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?
No but I would love to cowrite a supercorp fic please anyone who is reading hmu that would be such an honor and a delight.
14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?
Haha
SUPERCORP
i am a total dweeb for supercorp
i just think they're neat
15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?
The Agreement. I think I need to take it down and back to the drawing board -- plan it out a little bit better before giving it the light of day. I wrote myself into a little bit of a trap with it, and it's been languishing for a few years, even though I love it very much.
16. What are your writing strengths?
Saying a lot with a little.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Relatedly to the strengths, sometimes saying too little -- things can feel a little stilted or impersonal, especially during moments of emotional climax.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?
Only if I was very comfortable in the language, and the dialogue was very brief. I think I'd tend toward writing short lines that can be intuited out with context clues, or easily translated for the readers.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Overwatch.
20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?
I go back and forward on this. I think The Agreement is the best written, but I feel anxiety about it because I just can't seem to keep it going. Once I finish The Book of the Witch I may rate it among my favorite fics I've written, but it needs to be finished first! Right now it's just in a gloomy, icy limbo.
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Started With a Kiss Chapter 2: Best Laid Plans go up in flames
Summary: Donnie and April go to California! Time to set up a trap for H0AX but wait, they're not the only ones looking for her!
AO3
We're getting in on some action XD I honestly need to work on that... No Beta Reader! HMU if you wanna help. Hope y'all enjoy!
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The white, sterile lab brought calm to Kara’s mind. The lines after lines of formulas made sense, they spoke the truth and only truth. If she was wrong it would all be shown there.
Cheryl, dressed in lab clothes, popped her head into the room. She noticed her friend by the clear glass board and skipped to stand behind it, disrupting Kara’s stream of thoughts.
<How’s it going?> She greeted her friend.
Karaa sighed and then capped her marker. That probably would be all the work she’d be allowed to do now. Not that she minded. She rolled her arms and stretched before replying. <I finished writing down all the instructions for the team. They should manage for the little bit we’ll be at VidCon.>
<You sure you want to do this? This will be like your first, real, public appearance.> Cheryl frowned. She knew her friend was an extremely private person, despite… well, everything. This was kind of stepping out of her comfort zone.
<I’ll be fine,> Kara waved her hand and shrugged off her coat. <I have my costume. That would not be going off for the con in public. I don’t really care about mingling with other creators.> They headed to the exit of the building.
Well, if she put it that way… <So, no time for dating?> Cheryl inquired.
<Why are you so obsessed with finding me a partner?> Kara frowned. <You keep bringing it up recently every chance you get.>
<It’s just- I’m worried about you after… you know. You always were guarded, even as a kid…> Cheryl explained, sheepish. <So if you find someone, even if they end up being a 7-foot-tall turtle man, I’ll be happy.> She looked up and winked.
Kara shook her head. <Keep talking more like that and I will start thinking you’re the one who wants a turtle boyfriend.>
Cheryl grinned. <Well, your sketches weren’t half bad and I did say if they have a sister~> She giggled.
Kara chuckled a little and shook her head. She was so done with her friend. She pushed past her at the door outside, leaving her behind.
Cheryl raced after her. <What’s your theory on what they are? Like, aliens? A long-lost evolutionary branch? Mutants?> She inquired after catching up.
<Could be, I haven’t really thought about it.?> Kara tried to shrug it off.
<Liar.>
<Okay, fine I did think about it,> she gave in. <My bet was either aliens or super soldiers created by Sacks that broke free to enact revenge.>
Cheryl nodded solemnly. <So we live in like a Marvel universe?>
Kara snorted. <Possibly. But unless I run into them again, which I would rather avoid, all things considered, we’ll never know for sure.>
<Pity.> Cheryl sighed, faking disappointment. Kara shoved her again and the two laughed, switching the topic to a more academic area.
--------------------
“I found something,” Donnie was updating his brothers and April. “It’s just a trace but hopefully it will give us something.”
“So, what is it?” Raph asked, impatient to jump into action. This whole hacker thing wasn’t exactly his forte. This was tech stuff, ergo Donnie’s field.
“Let me explain. Imagine, for a second, you’re a brilliant hacker, with tech so unique no one can replicate it. Or is it?” Donnie was setting the stage. “One of the reasons no bootleg versions of it are out is because the chip is self-destructive! It’s brilliant, really,” he was getting a bit animated. “That’s why the girl didn’t even try to get it back from us! But! She missed one detail!” He jumped to reveal the schematics of it on his blackboard. Of course, this told little to his brothers but he wasn’t done yet.
April smiled watching him setting up the presentation and exchanging amused looks with Leo.
“When the chip self-destructs it sends out a signal to the computer of the owner!” Donnie announced triumphantly. He pointed to a tiny dot on his drawing. “It’s only a split second but I managed to trace it! I also got the IP address. That’s the good news.”
“So, who is she?” Leo asked.
“That’s… the so-so news.” Donnie lost a bit of his confidence. “The signal got me to a computer under the identity of a VStreamer but no home address. It makes sense - she’d have the skills and, I assume, the resources to pull all of this off. She’s got overconfident and that was the mistake.” He wasn’t completely lying, he told himself. It wasn’t like either of them had enough knowledge on this stuff to call him out on it. April maybe but, one look in her direction told him she wasn’t going to sell him out.
“Of course,” Raph grunted.
Donnie soldiered on. “I dug a bit more and I found that she will be attending VidCon this year. Unsurprisingly, only her handle is on the registration. That’s why I asked April,” he gestured to her, “if maybe she could take me there.” He finished his speech and looked at Leo and April, expecting their opinion.
“What?!” Raph snapped.
Leo looked again at April and then at his brother. “You can’t be serious Donnie.”
“I know, I know,” Donnie waved his hand. “It’s risky but I wouldn’t be going anywhere inside the building. April, that part would be on you,” he approached their human friend. “Hear me out. It’ll be easier for me to go alone with you than all four, well, five of us.” He tried to sway them to his point of view. “Like, Mikey wouldn’t be able to sit in one place, you know that. We’d have to tie him up or he’d try to join the crowd.” He gestured to their youngest brother who was in the process of stuffing his face with hotdogs.
“Hey,” Mikey protested.
"He has a point," April said, earring a hurt gasp from Mikey.
Leo paced the floor for a moment, trying to make up his mind. “You say we can’t do this here?”
Donnie shook his head. “Her IP address keeps bouncing me off around the world. She must have programmed a rather powerful VPN to throw me off her track. This might be the only chance we’ll get.” This was it. If Leo buys this…
The eldest turtle sighed. Silently he kept glancing between his brother and April. Finally, he made his decision. "You stay out of sight, you understand." It sat ill with him but he trusted his younger brother.
Donnie nodded vigorously.
"I'll keep my eye on him," April promised, bumping her elbow over Leo’s arms.
Leo didn’t look too convinced. “I know. But be careful,” he pointed at Donnie’s face. There was an unspoken ‘or else I’ll kick your ass’ in that statement. He was very worried for his brother. Donnie’s head was so much in his tech… what if someone takes advantage of that? Yes, they were technically adults now but... It didn’t mean Leo stopped worrying.
“Don’t worry. I will,” Donnie tried to reassure him.
Still, this was a resounding success. He better start packing.
----------------------------
About three days later he was in California.
“Ok, so the plan is easy, just go meet and greet, take some photos with her and make sure to leave this neat little bug somewhere on her so we can track her.” Donnie handed April a tiny silver disk, no bigger than her fingernail.
They were in a van April rented out for the trip, parked in the garage attached to the convention center getting ready to start the mission.
“What if she takes off her costume?” April asked cautiously.
“Oh, that wouldn’t be a problem,” Donnie grinned smugly. With just a few swipes over his holoscreen the bug activated, tiny legs popped up and tiny wings buzzed.
“Clever as always,” she praised him and he bowed his head in appreciation.
With the bug back in standby mode April made her way out of the parking lot and into the convention center.
It was crowded, with fans of various Youtube celebrities walking around, taking photos, and discussing the panels they just went to or were about to go to. And in this sea of people, she had to find one specific person. She checked her map and took a deep breath in. It was go time.
Her trek through the center took longer than she’d have liked, as people recognized her from TV, so she also got pulled into some photos and asked for autographs. It was nice and reminded her that aside from helping New York’s greatest vigilantes she also got some fame of her own. She kind of wished she had the brothers to use as turtle shields to push through this crowd though.
Finally, she made it. And it seemed just in time for the panel to start. She touched her earpiece.
“I’m here,” she said.
“ Oh great, I’m watching from the van,” he sounded so excited. “ I heard she’s gonna do an opening presentation from her introductory animation!” He was geeking out.
April smiled. She just hoped he remembered what they were there for.
The room suddenly was filled with mist and the giant screen displayed glitchy-looking text of “stand by” in bright red as the music started. The text slowly faded away into an animated room full of electronics, hanging wires, and loudspeakers.
“.... So give me mine. So full-bodied and looking like a treat. For me.” The music continued and April snorted. Gosh, of course, Donnie was into this.
The animation was certainly well-made, futuristic, and dynamic. Suddenly a silk rope dropped from the ceiling over the stage and Glitch herself appeared slowly sliding down, performing an impressive aerial feat. In a full costume of a robot. Her face was behind a helmet reminding April somewhat of Daft Punk. Still hiding the identity of their target even now.
“That’s her?” April asked Donnie. It took him a second to reply. No doubt, he was enthralled by the into.
“ Yeah.” She heard him swallow a bit. Probably nerves.
Never meet your idols, April thought to herself and relaxed to listen to the panel. There were a lot of discussions and questions about the rig builds, some on her experience as a Vstreamer with a speech and hearing disability, and her future plans. Glitch was answering it all using ASL and next to her was a young, white woman with dark hair who was interpreting the replies.
Donnie quickly ran a background on her. Cheryl Evans, an undergraduate of Astrophysics. Honors student. She was born hard of hearing into a fully hearing-family. That was promising, but she was too tall and of the wrong ethnicity. Something happened in her teen years after which she lived with a friend. Nothing on the friend…or where they lived. Social media - plenty of friends but none matching the description. That gave Donnie some hope they were on the right track. H0AX wouldn’t let herself be exposed like that. But it didn't mean he couldn't dig further. Quickly he found where she lived as a child and info on the neighbors. Briefly, he wondered if H0AX would have tempered with data…
"Of course, she would," he muttered to himself.
And she must have. If she ever lived with Cheryl in the same area nothing was on her….
He was about to give up when his facial recognition program spat out the results and a single photo appeared.
He leaned closer to the screen and adjusted his glasses. It was a group photo of some friends taking a selfie in a park. What got his attention though was in the background. Cheryl was sitting at picking table signing with a rather tiny, black girl, who was sitting on top of the table. Between them was a third person, their back to the camera. Donnie bit his lips. Was this a picture of H0AX? Did he get it? He recalled his first encounter with the adult woman, disregarded the red hair, and tried to picture her as this little girl with her hair gathered into a bubble ponytail. His eyes wandered back to the other screen where the panel was still ongoing. The robotic Glitch confidently was leaning back in her chair, the display replacing her face had a beating heart emoji on it. The crowd was so enamored with her. So many aspects to one person.
Maybe…
He referred all his findings to April.
"You think they stayed in touch for so long?" She asked.
"I can bet on it.”
Donnie had learned something during his vigilante years - public appearances rarely meant anything in private. Even though he was also a bit guilty of this parasocial relationship and he had evidence of her guilt…He still admired her for her skills. She put so much effort to hide herself for some reason. Not just the H0AX stuff. Her past was buried so deep. He wanted to know more. Get all the answers to why.
Finally, after an hour the panel ended, with the fans being informed of a meet and greet in another room.
April followed. The queue was so long, Donnie was lucky she liked him.
“Hi,” she said as she finally managed to get to the table.
“Hey there,” Cheryl responded, while Glitch was reaching for a photo to sign. The screen replacing her face had a hand wave emoticon. Clever.
“I’m April, but the autograph would be for my younger brother,” she said. “His name is Donnie.” She watched if there was any way to tell the reaction of the target.
“Aww, that’s so sweet. How old is he?” The interpreter asked.
��22 but he’s stuck at uni,” April lied easily.
Glitched looked up and tilted her head. Suddenly the screen displayed an exclamation mark.
<Are you April O’Neal?> She signed her question and Cheryl translated.
“Yeah!” April smiled brightly. “Are you watching Channel 6?”
<Yes, I love your segments!> Glitch’s screen displayed a TV and clapping hands.
“Thank you,” April replied politely.
<Can I ask for an autograph?> Glitch pulled out a notebook and opened it.
April saw she had quite a few signatures already. “Sure!” She didn’t expect this from, apparently a famous streamer. And their target.
The screen displayed a beating heart and the interpreter handed April a pen, assuming the reporter didn’t have one if she came there as a fan.
<Hope to see you on one of my streams!> Glitch invited her after she handed in the autograph for Donnie.
“I’ll check it out!” She offered a hand for a shake and the VStreamer accepted it. April left the table hiding the photo in her bag. She touched her earpiece.
“Mission complete,” she told him, proud of herself. “Heading back now.”
“ Awesome, got the signal, let’s see how this goes,” Donnie replied happily. The sound of crunching came through the earpiece.
“There better be some chips left for me when I get back there!” She told him.
“ Uuuh… sure !”
April snorted. The chances for there being snacks for her were low.
--------------------------
Before they left for California April managed to snag an Airbnb house with a garage. It was easier to hide Donnie there than in a hotel room and gave both of them more space and freedom.
She parked her car inside and opened the side door to let Donnie out.
"Thanks," he said as he stretched out. It wasn't ideal but he would live.
"Any news on our friend?" April shut the car's back.
They went to the door leading from the garage to the house but it quickly became obvious that Donnie had to maneuver a little and take off his tech pack to squeeze in.
"Still hanging out at the center but the signal is strong," he said, ducking under the doorway.
The house was a simple bungalow, and the living room was shared with a kitchen. Donnie put down his pack next to the sofa and flopped down, fidgeting with his tablet.
"You okay?" April asked him as she opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of OJ.
"Hmm?" He looked up, startled. "Oh, I'm good, why?"
"Well, this girl not only tricked you guys, you kind of liked her as that internet celebrity. I figured it must sting a little." She poured herself a glass and offered the bottle to him but he shook his head.
"It does,” he admitted and sighed. “I- I am a little disappointed.” His hands kept swiping over the tablet screen. “After Dr. Stockman, I keep low expectations of anyone, though. Like - we helped police bust human traffickers who turned out to be celebrities. Fame doesn’t stop you from being an asshole,” he explained and rubbed his forehead with his thumb. “Plus unlike Stockman, she's not working with Shredder or the Foot," he paused. "Or at least I hope not…"
"And you won't feel bad for giving her to the police?" April asked, raising an eyebrow. Her investigative reporter muscle kicked in. She knew Donnie didn’t tell them everything. She knew the brothers too well by now. If her instinct was right, Donnie didn’t plan on turning H0AX to the police at all.
She leaned over the counter watching him.
And he hesitated with his answer, confirming her assumptions. He still didn’t think it was right for them to do so. Despite their technological brilliance, the damage caused by H0AX and her microchips wasn’t disastrous. Large-scale money theft, breaking into government databases, blueprints leaks, exposing corruption. It was all kind of gray area. He guessed there would be some shit he doesn’t know about, but also part of him didn’t want to know.
“A little…” He didn’t look up from his screens.
April shook her head. “Donnie, I will not tell you what to do but I think Leo will need a pretty good explanation.”
“I’m aware.”
“And the police will need something solid after the evidence dissolved,” she pointed out.
He groaned. Chief Vincent wasn’t happy about that one. “I just… want to know who she is, her motivation, that’s also important, right?”
“It is,” she agreed. “Just- don’t get attached. Your family doesn’t want you to get burned.” Hopefully, he will have his answers before they get back to New York and it will blow over. "So now we wait?"
"Yes,” he cleared his throat, straightening up, glad for the topic change. “There's a party for the creators after the convention, we can intercept her around that time." He swiped around the screen.
That was that. They had time to kill now. April had some work to do for the news station so she got on her laptop to do that. Donnie at some point got a bit fidgety and started exercising. Even a computer whizz he and his brother moved a lot around the day and there weren't many occasions to do it during their 2 days trip to California.
For dinner, they ordered pizza and Donnie was so happy to have a whole thing to himself. Usually, his brothers, mostly Mikey, and sometimes Raph, would try to steal slices here and there. It was the first time in forever that he didn't have to rush his meal to avoid it being snatched.
After the meal, the tablet notified him that H0AX was on the move. Or at least the person they thought that H0AX was.
"We might have a problem," Donnie said as they loaded up back into the car.
"What is it?"
"She's not going to the party. The tracker says she left the building in the opposite direction."
He and April exchanged looks. They have researched the locations for the convention very carefully. California wasn't New York, there weren't exactly many good hiding spots for a giant turtle in this area. Buildings were lower, and more spaced out. The sun was setting but even then…
"We'll figure it out," she assured him.
“I sure hope so.”
-------------------------
Cheryl finished touching up her lipstick in the mirror of their hotel room. Her eyes were on her friend's reflection. Kara was for now busy trying to zip up her own dress. It was a black, sleeveless piece with a v-neck and a flared skirt reaching her mid-thigh. Her yellow-green make-up matched her hair - now put into thick locs - and made her eyes pop.
Cheryl shook her head and went to help with the zipper. <You sure you don't want to go to the creators' party?> She asked once Kara turned to her.
<Pretty sure.> Kara confirmed it again. <This crowd makes my skin crawl a little.> She shuddered. <I need to get away from this for a bit.> She crouched down and finished fastening her heels. Then she twirled checking out the spin and smiled satisfied with her overall look.
<Fine, whatever makes you happy.> Cheryl chuckled and the two hugged briefly. <Ready?>
Kara bounced a little, grabbed her bag, and took Cheryl's arm. They were wasting the night on pointless talking!
The club she wanted to go to wasn't that far from the convention center. There was already a crowd in front of it, a crowd that didn't know who she was. Perfect anonymity. The bouncer looked them both over and let them in. It was busy, dark and smoky. The heavy beat of the music inside pulsed through her bones and compelled her to move with the pools of people already dancing. Kara made her way to the bar for a drink to get her going.
She got at least three songs in and a guy or two trying to dance with her which was a good start for the night. Unfortunately, good things don't last too long.
Suddenly, a group of men stormed inside. One of them aimed a gun up and fired warning shots. Everyone screamed and Kara cursed, recognizing the man at the entrance. Weasel. What the fuck was he doing there all the way from New York?
Her instinct screamed at her and she wasn't going to wait to find out. She grabbed Cheryl's hand and the two started running.
--------------------------
April and Donnie tracked H0AX down to a club that must have been very popular and had no alleyways next to it. There were bars and clubs and people everywhere.
"I could get inside, try to flush her out?" April suggested. It would most likely take hours to just wait for their target to leave the place on her own.
"Yeah, that could work." Donnie peeked through the window at the people. He wasn't like Mikey or Raph, but even he sometimes… it would just be nice.
"Alright, I'll be right-" April paused. "Something's going on."
There was a group of men pushing their way through the queue, quite forcibly. Then gunshots were fired. People ran away from the streets hiding.
April looked at Donnie. "I'll call the police, you can't go out there alone," she warned him as she dived for her phone.
Unfortunately, Donnie didn't wait. She turned around and saw him get to the alleyway and climb the building.
He was heading to the skylight. He wasn't a strategist like Leo or a brawler like Raph but he had a few tricks up his sleeves. First, he cut the power to the building. Then through the window, he dropped a smoke bomb. Putting on his goggles and activating thermovision he slipped inside.
He kept to the ceiling. There were a lot of metal pipes on it. He moved quickly. The people below were crouching and whimpering as the men with guns stood over them. They were shouting trying to see through the smoke.
“Nobody fucking moves!”
“Where is she?!”
“Pete’s down by the back door!”
“Fuck!”
He feared that the ‘she’ might be the same someone he was after. He checked the tracker. Yup. H0AX was on the move... He didn’t know if he was more relieved or annoyed, but right now he had to be the hero.
He dropped to the floor. Show time.
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Tagging (lemme know if anyone wants to be added to the list!):
@madammuffins @followmetoyourdoom
#tmnt#tmnt 2014#tmnt 2016#bayverse donnie#bayverse turtles#april o'neil#donatello x oc#donnie x oc#eve scribbles#tmnt fanfiction#long post#swak
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🔥 + ST
I love that you still sent this to the Taylor blog lmao but HERE WE GO
(Also a lot of these will be hot takes within the Byler community but may be agreed among other fans idk I’m just in this corner of the fandom 90% of the time)
Steve actually IS that good a character? Like I understand it can be annoying when he clogs up every tag and ship but there’s a reason he’s that popular. He was basically DESIGNED to be the fandom’s favourite and it worked, I don’t think anything’s wrong with that. I adore this funky bi himbo and his kids and lesbian bestie and loser bf. And I *will* continue to project parental issues on him based on like 4 lines of dialogue bc frankly in this fandom that’s so far from the biggest leap we’ve made it’s not even funny. He’s my second favourite character and if he dies I will be genuinely inconsolable.
The only Byler proof I need is the s3 finale moving scenes. Finn’s acting choices in the El vs Will scenes, the parallels to the quarry scene, the shot of him looking back at the house? That’s all it took to solidify it for me. And the master doc is fun but I do think a solid 70% of the stuff on there is a huge stretch and is honestly harming more than helping our case lmao. If I want to convince people I just use that one scene and it works 90% of the time.
If you ship H*rringrove I think you’re genuinely a bad person. He’s a racist abuser and I’m glad he’s dead <3
STEDDIE IS SO CUTE MY FAV STEVE SHIP EASILY? It’s such a fun dynamic to work with, Eddie is CLEARLY queer coded much more than certain other characters we will get to, and the tropes that emerged in the fics post s4 were super fun and also SO interesting. Genuinely some Steddie fics I’ve read are just some of the best fics I’ve read period. (If anyone wants recs ESPECIALLY if you love a time loop fic hmu).
I wouldn’t hate them bringing back Eddie if they could pull it off in a way that made it seem genuinely planned and not just fan service. His death actually did piss me off (not just bc I was sobbing lmao) bc it seemed so rushed, and only getting to see Dustin’s reaction just felt like either terrible writing or a very purposeful lose thread. Also I’m still thinking about the profile picture colours bc I feel like we moved on WAY too fast.
Stonathan is fine. Good even but I just don’t see the appeal the way the rest of y’all do. Same with Ronance, I just genuinely prefer their dynamic as friends. I do love Stoncy in theory but post s3 I just don’t see it really working anymore, early Stoncy fics still hit though.
Lumax>Elumax>>>Elmax. The girls are adorable together ofc but I think Lumax is easily the best written relationship in the show rn and completely ditching it just seems odd to me? Obviously ship whatever you want I just can’t imagine not liking them together? I’m not blanket stating it’s for racist reasons but we all know Lucas is treated like dirt by the fandom in a way none of the other kids are
Dustin is my least favourite of the kids. I still love him, I just find him by far the least interesting. I obviously adore him and Steve but I feel like separating him from the party really has put him at a disadvantage these last few seasons. I’m really hoping the loss of Eddie will take him in an interesting direction though.
I will be genuinely upset if Jancy aren’t endgame but also I’m equally worried their issues won’t get addressed next season, idk they were my fav couple in s1/2 so I just hold them very close to my heart.
Flickergate is the superior Bylergate, especially if I had to pick one to actually happen in the show, it’s so romantic it makes me want to pass out.
I definitely have more but this is already way too long and I have 1989TV Clownery to get to so take this mess I guess
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Mooky, I saw your tags on the exercise post; do you have any tips for starting out weightlifting? Including tips for getting over nerves about going to one's college's gym?
YES VERY MUCH I DO
(I'm not sure what level of beginner you are so if any of this advice is too basic or you are left with questions just hmu I'm always down to help! Lifting has really helped my confidence a lot and has been like a miracle for my adhd/mental health/chronic pain so I'm super happy to share!)
Going to the gym at first can be TERRIFYING but I promise that once you get used to it, you'll find it really isn't so bad
When you're in that initial phase, my #1 recommendation is to have a plan of action prepared for your first visit. That way you don't feel flustered when you get there and ruin the workout experience for yourself. Deciding before you go what you want to do, (what muscles you wanna work out, if you wanna do free weights or machines, if you're planning to do cardio (running) there, etc) can help lessen anxiety. It's also good to have a bag that is your designated "gym bag" where you can have everything you could possibly need during workout ready at a moment's notice (Like a backup hairtie, waterbottle, spare headphones, deodorant, etc)
Naomi King is a youtuber who helped me a lot when I first started out! She has several videos where she explains how to use specific machines step by step, including all of the details that regular gym goers might not realize aren't intuitive (like how to adjust machines for super short ppl ;_;) If you don't know what kind of exercises target which muscles, she (and other youtubers) have plenty of videos that could help!
You can certainly do a fullbody routine if you'd like, but I find personally that it's a difficult workout to maintain. If you are limited to going once a week then it makes more sense, but otherwise it can take a good hour or more, to do a full body workout. I personally really enjoy being able to pop in and out of the gym in 20min every other day and feel the "gym high" gradually throughout the week
Personally, my gym workout routine looks like this:
Day 1: Biceps, (muscle on top of your upper arm, used when lifting a weight up), and back muscles.
Day 2: Triceps (muscles on the bottom of your upper arm, used when pulling a weight down), and chest muscles.
Day 3: My favorite! Legs and shoulders.
Between each day is a day of rest where your muscles can recover.
Each day should also include some sort of core workout. Core workouts can include crunches, planks, sit-ups, and ab machines.
My cardio schedule is honestly just. Whatever days line up with my hair washing schedule. (I refuse to run and then show up to work sweaty LOL). Bikes and treadmills are my favorite, but you should also try stairs and rowing if those are available!
Besides just having a plan, here are a few other tips that could help!
Have a buddy. If you have a friend that is non-judgmental and safe, I highly recommend going together. It helps to keep your focus off everyone else and also keeps you accountable for showing up!
Have a treat waiting for you. I REALLY love Gatorade, and even though its not really a necessity for hydration, I keep a stock of them that I'm not allowed to drink unless i'm working out, so now my brain associates yummy drink with exercise! When I'm with friends, I like to go out for bagels or smoothies afterwards. On weekends when I have more time, I'll make my favorite coffee protein shake as a treat :D
If you're working out alone MUSIC MUSIC MUSIC MUSIC. Have a playlist made ahead of time or else you'll spend forever picking songs between machines. It helps keep you motivated and focused on yourself. For longer cardio workouts, I like to have a podcast ready
Perspective is an important part of going to a gym. PLEASE know that nobody there is judging you or thinking about how you look/are performing. From my experience, they're too busy absorbed in their own thoughts to care about you. Seriously.
This sounds stupid but If you have glasses? Take them off. I sometimes don't wear glasses or contacts in the gym even though I have pretty bad eyesight because that way I can't see other people. Out of sight out of mind I guess?
Some other tips include:
Be careful what your reasoning is for going to the gym. Are you going for health? Confidence? A hobby? Exercise is an excellent way for me to improve my chronic pain and mental health, but if you're going just to change your body you're probably gonna hate it and spend the whole time hyper focused on how your body looks. Learn to pride yourself in your improvement and your commitment to caring for yourself.
DON'T PUSH YOURSELF TOO HARD PLEASE I hate those internet memes that are like "If you don't feel pain the next day you weren't working out hard enough!" ACTUALLY NO THAT MINDSET CREATES INJURIES WE DON'T WANT THAT
I know this sounds dumb but like. What you do outside the gym matters JUST as much if not more than what you're doing in the gym. When you're lifting, your tearing apart your muscle fibers, and if you aren't providing your body with the proper hydration, protein, and sleep it won't be able to repair those muscle fibers with newer and stronger ones, and you will be left instead with several days of muscle soreness and no progress to show for it.
Hopefully this helps!!
#also I'm gonna be honest with you#I go off campus for my gym ;_;#I find that I run into less ppl I know that way#If that is an option for you#Also I used to work out in my dorm on days I couldn't make the gym happen!#five and below was a life saver#they have up to ten pound weights for super cheap#mooky talks#long post
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ATEEZ recs
<<original book
most of the mentioned works is 18+ NSFW, MINORS DNI
pls don´t hesitate to hmu, if any of mentioned links doesn´t work or you have suggestions for more fics... thank you so much for all the love and comments
one shots
drowning by @essenteez
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 2.7k)
established relationship
- angst, smut, hurt/comfort
Losing his best friends, the accident that ruined his basketball career, made Jongho feel like he has lost everything. Thinking he is nothing but a burden to you he tries to force you to leave him.
Only Us by @imaginidol
Jongho x reader (wc - 1k)
coworkers, idol Jongho
- fluff, mutual pining?
touch by @minranghae
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 4.2k)
CEO!Jongho, established relationship
- hurt/comfort, smut, fluff
Million Words by @justwritedreams
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 3.8k)
friends to lovers, idol!Jongho
- angst, fluff
There are millions of words that you and Jongho haven't said to each other yet. Until now.
Good Girl by @ateezscupid
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 0.3k)
established relationship?
- smut
In Your Arms by @anyamaris
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 1.4k)
established relationship
- smut
After going out with friends, you and your boyfriend share a romantic encounter.
I Want My Kisses Please by @cas-skz
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 0.9k)
established relationship
- smut
Flowers In The Attic by @whatsk-poppinhomies
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establlished relationship, idol!Jongho, insecurity
- angst, fluff
zemblanity by @in-san-ity
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 23.5k)
mafia AU
- angst, smut, fluff
Jongho could be compared to a black cat with the amount of bad luck he brings to your life. Ironic that he becomes your guard dog.
Goodnight, angel by @atiny-moon
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 3.7k)
established relationship?
- smut
it´s a sign! by @locallixie
Jongho x gn!reader (wc - 3.6k)
friends to lovers, deaf!reader, high school AU
- fluff
an unexpected romance was still able to blossom despite the silence between you and him.
still do by @skazoo
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 3.7k)
exes to lovers,
- fluff, angst, crack
he couldn't stop loving you, even if he tried. and he did try for some time. it just didn't work.
22.13 by @songmingisthighs
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 2.8k)
outlaw!Jongho, detective!reader
- angst, suggestive
the slippery son of a bitch has been making a fool of you and your work. you were going to stop him even if it's the last thing you do because no one can make you look foolish. especially not him.
3k Followers prompt event fic by @ja3hwa
Jongho x fem!reader (wc . 5.9k)
criminal?!Jongho, runaway!reader, dystopian AU
- fluff, fake angst, smut
Running for most of the night, you seek a safe haven from a sweet stranger. The only thing is, he wasn't such a stranger by the end of the night.
Position of power by @a-soft-hornytiny
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 3.1k)
friends to lovers, CEO!Jongho
- smut
You find out that your childhood friend is now a CEO and demand an explanation.
12:31 am by @minghaoslatina
Jongho x gn!reader (wc - 0.5k)
friends to lovers - not quite there yet
- fluff
falling and sleeping by @seonghwaddict
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 1.5k)
friends to lovers
- crack, fluff
falling in love with you felt like falling asleep; natural and unnoticed.
Heaven´s Haven by @songmingisthighs
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 3.6k)
established relationship, idol!Jongho
- fluff, smut
You´re My Everything by @vampzity
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 2.7k)
established relationship, idol!Jongho
- fluff
It’s a romantic Valentine’s Day to spend with your beloved boyfriend, Jongho. He had the entire night planned for you. A nice candlelit dinner at an exclusive club. Little did you know what was in store for you on this fine night.
Almost Natural by @k-hotchoisan
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 3.3k)
best friends to lovers, mutual pining
- angst(ish), fluff, smut
You didn’t know when or how it even started, but you knew how it ended—in the best way possible.
series
blurred lines and lies by @yuyusuyu
Jongho x fem!reader, Yeosang x fem!reader
love triangle, best friends > strangers > lovers
- angst, mature (not smut), slice of life, romance
you were always with yeosang, hips stuck together and hands glued to each other. he was all you knew and you were all he knew too for a while, but then you both grew up, one moving at a faster pace than the other. yeosang left you behind to awkwardly navigate the rest of an adventure—high school—without him while he embarked on a new one—college—by himself. the line of being best friends blurred somewhere along the way, and you find yourself crying on the night he promises to be someone else's because you love him. you've always loved kang yeosang ever since the days where he was trying to figure out who he was (an awkward and painful era for any teenager in middle school), loved him ever since his voice began cracking as it's tone deepened, loved him ever since he took you to that stupid and overpriced school dance in middle school despite not liking being in a huge crowd, you loved him ever since he began to become a quiet and reserved man. you hoped to be on the other side of things for once, on the other side of the line of being just best friends with kang yeosang; you realize now that it was stupid of you to ever have that sort of hope. and while you began to calm down, you wonder about what it's like being on the other side of a friendship. you don't know, but you hope to find out as you embark an adventure without him. but you didn't realize what it would it do to you and yeosang, and what it would do to you and choi jongho, your other best friend.
Love or Hate, Sweet or Spicy, Sweet / Spicy by @ihavethedreamies
Jongho x fem!reader (wc - 3.2k + 1.1k + 2.5k/3.3k)
friends to lovers, mutual pining
- angst, fluff, smut
You have developed a strong crush on your best friend over the two years you have known him. One day, all your emotions just boil over.
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hello hello all! i’ll be playing heejin and possibly another muse in the near future if all things go to plan! underneath the cut you’ll find info on heejin - for a closer look into her, here’s her profile and her bio is linked here! if you’re interested in plotting, feel free to slide into my DMs or drop a like on this post and i’ll shoot you a message. i’m also available through discord if you prefer that line of contact!
she/her pronouns
heejin has two siblings, a brother and a sister. both are involved in the music industry. (if any of you are thinking about bringing in a new muse and want a sibling connection hmu~~)
her mother is a vocal trainer for singers and her father is a music producer for a record label.
her parents weren’t the best or most loving parents towards her and her siblings. they were extremely harsh on them and wanted to make sure that they were always the best of the best. if they brought home anything less than an ‘A’, they were punished by them.
her whole family’s good looking, so it wasn’t surprised when she was scouted out for her visuals when she was thirteen years old. the man offered her the opportunity to audition with apollo records, which was a pretty big deal. her parents were a little hesitant at first, but when they heard who the company was, they immediately changed their tune.
her time as a trainee was spent mostly focusing on building up her other skills while honing her natural talent of singing. she had virtually no dance experience, which meant that she had to build up her dancing technique from the ground up.
somewhere along the line, heejin fell in love with music. even though the trainee lifestyle was difficult, music had become her refuge. it was during her years as a trainee that she started dabbling in songwriting, filling up her notebooks with random lyrics and melodies until she was finally able to properly write and structure songs.
with the debut of adorée, heejin found herself having to adhere to the stereotypical behavior of the maknae, something that she absolutely despised. she’d always been a rather independent and mature person, even from a young age, and having to pretend to be more naive and innocent than she actually was caused a lot of turmoil for her.
she found herself falling back during variety shows for the most part during group schedules, kind of fading into the background unless she was forced to the forefront. it’s one of the main reasons why she tends not to appear on variety shows without the rest of her members to this day - she doesn’t want to pretend to be something that she’s not.
that’s something she wants to work on changing though. she wants to start being more present on variety shows and start showing more of who she is, because she knows that in the long run, it’ll give her career longevity.
with adorée’s success and popularity within the k-pop realm, heejin has found herself content with her career so far. she’s proud of the accomplishments that adorée has achieved, as well as her own personal accomplishments as a soloist.
when given the greenlight in 2019 to go ahead with solo music promotions of her own, heejin didn’t hesitate to jump at the opportunity, developing her own name and brand outside of adorée. while her loyalties lie with her group first and foremost, heejin is also very invested in her solo music career outside of her group, wanting to make sure she doesn’t leave her fans and the public waiting too long in between releases.
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A Good Servant
Part 1 of ?
Summary: You would do anything to keep her happy: be it keeping her pet healthy, running her house or making her wine. Everything but for what you both want.
Some content warnings for this part: there's heavily referenced sex/sexual activity, pet play (not with the reader, this is an angsty prologue fic), brief mention of adultery, casual contemplation of murder, brief mention of whipping and a joke made about catholics. If I missed anything that you think should be tagged, dm me and I'll add it.
--
You start down the hallway before you can stop to think, holding the tray aloft in one hand. It's very easy to hear the strangled sounds of Lady Dimitrescu's most recent pet, some twenty something woman from the village, which only makes your job that much harder.
As you had been here for quite some time, you knew one of the most taboo acts was to interrupt her during 'training'. As you got closer you could hear her voice clear as day, offering soothing encouragements before the snap of a crop reached your ears.
You stop just before the door, wondering briefly if she'd use it on you for interrupting. But you couldn't send the heads of the other families away, so you steal yourself, rebalanced the tray and knock thrice.
There's a shuffle and her pet screams louder than before, followed by a half slurred string of begging and moans.
You purse your lips. You knock again, thrice, harder this time. You finally hear the Lady curse, some Romanian word you can't quite grasp yet, followed by quick shushing of her pet. You hold the tray carefully and take a precautionary step back.
She slams the door open and you catch a fleeting look at her black silk underwear before you shift your gaze into the room. Her pet, whose name you don't know and dotn care to learn, sits uncomfortably on the floor beside her masters bed.
"What is it?" Lady Dimitrescu snarls down at you, and you look up at the filigree decorating the wall beside her head.
"The Heisenbergs and Moreau are here to see you, Madame. They bear a seal from Mother Miranda." You handover the letter one of them gave you and fill her glass while she reads it.
You drop a bit of her special wine into it and hand it over. She eyes you carefully, taking a lemon slice. "Help me dress." She says and walks back into her room.
The hallway beckons but you follow her in anyway. She won't kill you, not while Mother Miranda has need of you, but you know she forgets how fragile people are sometimes. Her pet is a keen example; she clearly hasn't slept much due to her servicing, she's bruised all over and the way her lips wobble stirs some momentary pity in you.
Unfortunately for her, any stronger feelings have long since been cut away and seeing her in such a state only brings up questions of how you can improve. Still, you try to put on some faux sympathy for her.
You fill the smaller glass and hand it to her pet with a small platter of apple slices. When you look over to Lady Dimitrescu her brows are raised.
"She hasn't eaten for two days, Madame." You say instead of explaining. It had been one of the cooks ideas, someone that knew her.
Clearly, Lady Dimitrescu didn't realise that, "Of course," she replies crisply, her tone too sharp, "You may eat, pet."
Without waiting, you walk over to her closet to pick a dress. They are the same style and differ in their colour scheme; three are the same shade of light cream, twelve are pure white and three more are tinged grey. You pick out a light cream one with matching undergarments when she calls you over.
You've been working for her a long time, excess of seven years, so you know how she prefers to be dressed after stringent activity. You slip her bra on and her underwear. Slowly, you put her stockings on, as to not rip the expensive fabric, and clip them to her garter belt.
Lady Dimitrescu choses which garter she wears each day rather than have you or her personal amod do so, today it is the one that tangles easily. Its notorious among the staff for how difficult it is to put on. You know your way around it, though, fastening it quickly about her hips and thighs. "Have you put any thought into what I asked earlier, Madame?"
Lady Dimitrescu scoffs, sipping her water, "I have a personal maid." She jerks her chin to her pet, who has been munching as quietly as possible on the apple slices.
"Yes," you say lightly, helping her step through into her dress, "I merely doubt she will have time to deal with any duties other than those of a pet."
She eyes you dangerously and sets her cup down. You ignore the passive aggressive ploy to retrieve the step ladder in the closet. You flick it open and climb it as you pull her dress up, admiring the muscles of her back when she flexes subtly, then guide her arms into the sleeves.
"Who do you recommend, my gracious head of staff?" She croons when you work your way up the buttons of her dress.
You overexargerate your sigh at her playful tone. You catch her smile in the mirror and go back to buttoning. It is much harder to accept some days that this cannot last forever.
"Jessica is a cheery and dedicated worker with a strong back for lashings should she ever disappoint," her pet looks at you with mild horror that you file away and you try to strain your voice a little more towards reluctance, "Mihaela may suit your temper better, she has a quiet nature, has little care for material things and does her best to avoid punishment." That and her aggressive asides about the Lady would stop if she wanted to live.
Lady Dimitrescu moves over to her vanity, and you follow, grabbing the scissors attached to your chatelain and three roses from the vase on her desk. "Who else?" She asks, flicking the cap off her lipstick.
"Louise may suit as well," You say as you clip the stalks, "but Miss Daniela has taken a fancy to her. It would not be the wisest choice. There is also Rachel but she is pregnant with the gardeners child."
"Leave it to humans to rut like base animals on my property," she taps her lips thoughtfully, "Wasn't Rachel married?"
"She is, Madame."
"Do you remember to whom?"
You pause in your arranging of the flowers on her breast and she catches your eye with a smile that burns you, "It was to the southern most butcher. One of the Bradleys, I believe."
She clicks her tongue, breaking eye contact, and you move to brush her silky hair out before she repins it. "Tell Heisenbergs retainer to have her husband brought here. It may be time to cull that wretched family," she paused, sipping again at her water, "Also, Mihaela will do, inform her after the meeting."
"Of course, Madame." You set the brush down, and grab her powder, dusting it onto her cheeks as she fixes the curls back into her hair. She is most beautiful like this, when her face turns delicately pensive and she stills almost completely. You almost wonder what it would be like, with her, and have to take an extra second to cool your heating face.
When she turns to you, with that deliberate, unabashed affection stealing the faux indifference from her face, it makes your heart quake in a way you haven't felt before. You have to look away before you both do something stupid. Deliberately, you plant your hand on her shoulder to keep her at a distance and stare intently at her ear as you put her earrings on.
Her pet has come to sit at your feet, Lady Dimitrescu running her fingers through her hair and you vaguely wonder what it would be like. What if you were there instead and what if this and that and everything else you could want but can't have. Neither of you will cross Mother Miranda.
Her pet gives you the dishes, the glass and plate empty. You move away from them, so that you're not tempting anything again and refill the glass.
"Shall I also have inquiries made about a new gardener, madame?" You ask as you hand the glass back, then move to gather together a suitable outfit for her pet.
The softness is gone from her face and you tell yourself you're glad of it. "Yes, someone more appropriate."
"Not a Catholic then?" You ask innocently. She chuckles warmly and you go about dressing her pet with a little smile. "And would you prefer the current one be brought to your daughters or sent straight to the cellar?"
She regards you seriously in the mirror, and you stare back into her golden eyes before returning to fixing the bow on the back of her pets dress, "Bring him to me when I'm next available."
You usher her pet back to her seat, putting the cups back on the tray, "That would be after dinner for today, or at three tomorrow evening."
"After dinner will be fine." She replies, eating the rest of her lemon. She hands you the skin, her fingers brushing yours deliberately, and you take longer than needed to deposit it on the plate.
"The families are gathered in the dining hall, Madame. I had the kitchen staff prepare a light brunch."
"Tell them I'll be there momentarily."
"As you say, my Lady." You curtsy as you leave. You make a note to have Rachel serve dinner and to watch the Lady's pet while she's busy. You may even go so far as to ask the cook to make a broth; this pet seems to make her happy and you are determined that her pet remains able to do so.
It's all you can do, after all.
Hey, little note:
This is a multi chapter fic with a planned unhappy ending because Courtly Love Trope doesn't usually end well. There will also be references to Resident Evil lore from previous games. Do I care if its accurate? No, not at all. Resi purists beware this fic. And thanks for reading!
#lady dimitrescu#alcina dimitrescu#lady dimitrescu x reader#angst#specified age do not touch#my writing#A Good Servant#light angst this part lads#it gets worse#:)#IVE REALLY BEEN CONTEMPLATING WHETHER I SHOULD EVEN POST THIS#but its here now so you all have to suffer for it#time line is planned out hmu if you want it#courtly love strikes again :(
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a golf swing and a trampoline
LN x fem!reader
read part 2: karma rules!
read part 3: you bring blue lights.
(i have no fucking idea where this gif came from, found it deep in the roll. if it’s urs hmu!!)
this is just angst and smut bc i’m depressed and horny. i really have nothing to add. ngl i’m half super proud of this and half meh so yannoooo we move. lemme know what you think, it is essential to my existence. <33 also fyi the max in this is max fewtrell just to clarify lmao
based on little freak by harry styles. lando is a little freak tbh so i think it’s very fitting. gremlin.
in which lando is a little bit too interested in max’s former fling.
warnings: smut, angst, language, alcohol, max being a prick (not his fault, bless him)
8.6k words (wtf how)
guilt was a funny thing. not the laugh out loud kind, but the peculiar, hole in the pit of your stomach, nail biting kind. lando hated biting his nails. he hated biting his nails, almost as much as he hated himself for telling max that he could bring some random girl that lando had never met to the golfing green with them. he hated that you’d arrived, the other half of max’s latest situationship, and made lando stare. he hated that you had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen and he hated that your golf skirt was so short and he hated that max had met you first.
the hatred evolved. he despised that you were funny, that you let max wrap his arms around you and show you how to swing, that you were so captivating, that his mouth was hanging open the entire fucking afternoon because of how disgustingly perfect you were.
lando had been so incredibly grateful when the eighteenth hole appeared in the distance. he’d never been so excited to leave the green before, but on that particular day, he would have been happy to never play golf again. when he’d shut the door to his mclaren and sped out of the car park, he’d let out a sigh of relief so loud that you and max probably could have heard it if you weren’t staring at each other, rather pathetically lando thought. he probably wouldn’t have found is quite as pathetic had he been the one on the other end of your gaze.
when he’d checked his mirrors and saw you staring after him while max gave you the heart eyes, he’d hoped and prayed that you were a gold digger and that you just fancied yourself a rich boyfriend that could take you out in his friends mclaren.
of course, he was wrong.
-
you and max hadn’t lasted long and lando could breath again. he wasn’t going to go after you, he wouldn’t jump in max’s grave like that, no matter how much he might have wanted to. he was mostly relieved because it meant that you’d be out of his life, gone and forgotten, as quickly as you’d raced into it on a golf buggy on a sunny tuesday afternoon. there was no longer anything to worry about, aside from the fact that max was a bit more hung up on you than he usually got with his flings. lando understood it. he was hung up on you and you were never even his.
life went on, somewhat pleasantly, normally, boringly, until max had the fantastic idea that he wanted to be your friend. it was all part of some master plan to win you back, even though lando quite desperately tried to convince him that there were plenty of other women out there that he could go and annoy, urging his bearded friend to go for a scroll on instagram and reconsider. of course max didn’t listen. you were back in no time, suddenly in lando’s eye-line at every single party, bar, restaurant, golf club, until he gave in to his urges and just let himself look at you properly. he realised how shameful he was; he always gave in so quickly, unable to look away. more often than not, you caught him staring and lando wished he could tell in the dim lighting if you actually were blushing or if the lights were playing tricks on him.
he spent more time than he cared to admit wondering how long it would take until you were back with max. it irked him greatly, pushing every single one of his buttons, gnawing away at him. all of his obsessive thinking made him realise that monaco wasn’t just good for private beaches and tax evasion. at least he didn’t have to see you all the time, and the same went for max. he struggled to look his best mate in the eyes these days.
there was a glimmer of hope one evening in london when he’d overheard max drunkenly putting a move on you as you were all leaving a bar, only to be shot down instantly. you stroked his shoulder as you spoke so carefully.
“just think we’re better as friends, max.” that part of your little speech lando very much enjoyed, but he didn’t like the way his stomach twisted when you’d told max that you weren’t looking for anything at the moment. lando was distracted by his other friends, missing your whisper to max that someone else had caught your eye and it wouldn’t be fair to lead him on like that.
max spent the following weeks praying that you’d fall madly in love with him while lando and the rest of the group tried to agree on a holiday destination for the summer break. greece was looking like a solid option, croatia again was an idea, “why don’t we just go and sit on lando’s private beach in monaco ha ha ha” was even briefly on the table. eventually, when max’s broken heart had healed, he threw himself into the middle of the heated holiday debate and soon enough, a villa was booked in santorini. flights were booked, and lando almost spat his water out when he saw your name flash up on max’s booking confirmation.
“why the fuck is she coming?“ he’d spluttered at max, eyes wide as panic arose in his chest.
“because she’s our friend?“ max explained, as if lando was the stupid one.
“how many times has this girl rejected you now?” lando raised an eyebrow, trying to cover up the fact that he was an unstable mix of devastated and excited by your attendance, whilst also trying to subtly remind max that you simply didn’t want him.
“don’t worry, mate. i’ve got a plan.” max grinned and lando grimaced.
lando wished that he had the luxury of having a plan. he was utterly, utterly fucked. two weeks with you in a confined space? not even god could help him now. he’d just have to do his best to stay completely out of your way, and perhaps even max’s. truthfully, it was quite sad to watch his friend strike out over and over again, not as entertaining to witness as it usually was, even if he did want you all to himself.
and so, lando finished up his first half of the season and made his way to greece. he’d managed to ignore you as politely as he could the entire journey there, giving you nothing but a tight smile when you’d arrived at the airport. he was quite proud of himself for not looking over at you the entire flight, despite feeling like a bit of an asshole, but that wasn’t exactly a new feeling. he watched max talk your ear off as you’d walked through the greek airport, watched the way you laughed at all his jokes and spoke so animatedly with him. it made his jaw clench, fingers drumming rapidly against his suitcase handle in annoyance, picturing the likely scene of you and max rekindling your short lived romance under the sunshine. lando tried to drown your excited voice out, instead focusing on the grating sound of the wheels of his suitcase rolling against the tiled floor.
when he’d reached the taxi that had been hired to take your group to the villa that max had booked, he flopped tiredly against the seat, exhaustion from the last few weeks taking over. he was so drained, physically and emotionally, and truthfully, he was happy to be away from all the noise, even if that meant playing a part in max’s coming of age summer chick flick that he was intent on starring in. as lando’s eyes fluttered shut, he felt someone slide into the seat next to his, and he cracked an eye open to see who it was. of course it was you, life could never be too kind, and you gave him a small wave, flashing him a heart stopping grin. he smiled back, rather awkwardly, and tried to relax with you sat mere centimetres away.
his eyes closed again, this time with force. he felt your leg brush against his, ever so subtly, and jolted upright, wriggling around to try and create some space. when he looked back over at you, ever so slightly turning his head so that you wouldn’t notice, he could have sworn there was a hint of a smirk on your face, a minuscule trace that made him want to kiss you. did you know? surely you couldn’t. but what if you did? he’d be in big trouble.
the top half of your face was covered by your dark sunglasses, which meant that he couldn’t see your eyes, a great shame in his opinion. he’d given up trying to pretend that he wasn’t looking at you, head shamelessly turned all the way to his right to watch you look out the window. he felt at peace, a strange sense of calm washing over him as he took you in. you looked so content, head leant against the glass to take in the view that flashed past before your eyes, that it made lando relax once more.
he didn’t remember falling asleep, but it was one of the better naps he’d had in a while.
-
the lack of motion from the car lulled lando out of his slumber. he was awake, aware, but his eyes were still shut, mostly because he didn’t want to face up to what had turned into a rather awkward run of events. he was slumped to the right, head resting in the crook of someone’s neck, a floral scent attacking every single one of his senses. he could feel soft strands of hair tickling his face and the rise and fall of the persons chest. what concerned him the most, however, was the way his hand was positioned, holding on firmly to a thigh, his fingers stroking slowly over the bare skin. lando stopped breathing at the realisation that not only had he fallen asleep on you, his hands had begun to wander of their own accord.
there was absolutely no way of saving himself, not a single way of getting out of this situation unscathed. he was tempted to jump out of the car and run for his life, but that would only get him so far, and he wasn’t really in the mood to cause a scene. slowly, he opened his eyes, sitting up. he heard you giggle, making him freeze, eyes darting up to meet yours. your lips were so close to his, your faces not even inches apart and for a split second, he imagined what life would be like without max. it was evil but he couldn’t help but wonder, not when he could feel your breath fanning his face.
“are you okay, sleeping beauty?” you whispered. he was obsessed with the way your lips moved.
“um, i’m, um, really sorry.” he swallowed hard, moving slowly to try and back away from your overly inviting face. he didn’t get very far, nose brushing yours as he moved, once again stopping him in his tracks.
“don’t be.” you murmured, voice barely audible, but he could feel the vibration of your words. he was far too close. he darted back, pressing his head against the headrest, staring forward. he let out a shaky breath. he heard the door handle click, watching you swing your legs out first and climb out of the taxi.
“want me to leave this open for you, or are you going for a spin with the taxi driver?” you were smirking at him, apparently very much amused by the sight of him. lando knew exactly what he must have looked like, a shaky, undignified heap that couldn’t keep his hands to himself. he scoffed, springing into action, sliding out of the car until his trainer clad feet hit the floor.
suddenly he was standing over you, hot sun beating down on both of you. he reached for the hem of his hoodie, pulling it over his head quickly, his t-shirt coming with it. when his head emerged from the material, t-shirt still bunched up around his abdomen, it was his turn to be amused. there was no denying it, your eyes were fixed on the small patch of tanned skin, his abs tightening as his stomach jumped in adulation. as quickly as you’d looked, you’d averted your eyes, fixing them back on his. you decided to smile, seemingly unfazed despite being caught.
“come on lando, everyone else is already inside. your beauty sleep is really eating into this trip.” you teased.
“i think that’s the second time you’ve called me beautiful today, love.” he didn’t know where he’d found the confidence to reply in such a way, but it was totally worth it when he heard you laugh. love.
“do you like being called beautiful, norris? do we have something to unpack here? is it ego?” you deadpanned, joking back, again totally unfazed. he picked up your bag effortlessly, as well as his own, and the both of you walked towards the white stone villa.
“maybe i like it when you do it.” he hoped that his voice signified that he was joking, and not that he was pathetically infatuated with you.
“i’ll keep that in mind.” you winked. you both laughed, making your way up the marble steps to the front door, which suddenly swung open. max was stood at the threshold, a smile on his face that lando knew to be fake.
“there you both are.” he reached out to lando, who quickly realised that max wanted your bag.
“yeah, sorry. someone was in quite a deep sleep.” either you didn’t know that max’s smile was completely false or you simply didn’t care, continuing to give lando that small, flirty smile that left him with butterflies.
when lando looked back at max, still waiting for your bag with his hand outstretched, eyes flickering between you and lando suspiciously, the butterflies died and turned into knots. the last thing lando needed was for max to find out about his silly little feelings.
lando knew that he should have given your bag over to max. you were his guest, his… well lando didn’t really know what you were. but he knew that the bag was more than a bag. it was a symbol, a piece of you, and when lando stepped around max, taking it with him, he knew that he might have just accidentally declared war. lando walked through the door, and into the hallway, eyeing up the large staircase that led to the bedrooms. he didn’t look back, climbing the extravagant staircase, leaving your bag at the top, a flag on the top of the mountain. but lando had not conquered you. he didn’t want to. conquer seemed like a dirty word where you were concerned. you were not a conquest, you were magnificent, you were sunlight.
he didn’t want to get into some kind of pissing contest with max over you. that was degrading, childish. you were not a prize to be won, nor did he want to win you. he thought about this as he searched for an empty room, replaying the moment he’d woken up over and over and over in his head. the soft rise and fall of your chest, the ends of your hair tickling his nose, the soft skin of your thigh under his firm touch.
the things he wanted to do to you.
it was embarrassing to be so caught up in a single touch, as if he was a teenager again, but you just felt so good in his hands. and then your wit? the rapid way that your mind worked, teasing him, winding him up so skilfully? that delicate point of view of yours that left him dizzy? he couldn’t stop thinking about you.
he sauntered into one of the bedrooms, leaving the door open and slinging his suitcase onto the bed, starting to lazily unpack his stuff. as he was hanging up a shirt, the light pink one that reminded him of a wild night with pierre gasly, he caught sight of a figure in his peripheral vision, leaning against the doorframe. he turned to face you, quirking an eyebrow at the sight of you.
“domestic goddess looks good on you, lando. don’t think i’ve ever seen a guy hang up clothes before, so forgive me for staring.” he was quite honestly obsessed with you and the way your voice sounded when you were blatantly making fun of him. he floundered embarrassingly for a response, not knowing what to say back to match your banter. you beat him to it anyway. “looks like we’re neighbours.” you smiled, taking your weight off of the doorframe, padding down the hallway to the room next door.
“did you know this place has a trampoline?” he heard you exclaim in disbelief and excitement as you were walking down the hall. he did know, and hadn’t really been bothered much by the information, but hearing the simple joy in your voice made him do a one eighty. suddenly, trampolines were the best thing in the world and he laughed quietly to himself, so glad that you couldn’t see the stupid, lovesick smile on his face.
-
a few days has passed, and lando had managed to force himself to relax. of course it was difficult, given that max found a way to put his hands on you when he knew lando was watching. lando wouldn’t play ball, wouldn’t let this become some kind of unspoken contest, because he respected you. not to say that max didn’t, but he was still trying desperately to pursue you, despite not getting anywhere at all. it all seemed to boil over a little bit over dinner one evening.
the air was hot, feeling as if it was getting heavier by the second. lando had a headache, probably made worse by the beer stood on the table next to his plate. he considered going back onto the ginger ale. he’d been quiet all evening, stewing in annoyance as he listening to max go on and on and on about taking you to this little restaurant him and a few of the others had found earlier that day. you’d been at the villa all day, along with lando and the remaining members of the friend group, lounging by the pool. lando had felt proud of himself that he’d decided to stay before you had, and that you hadn’t swayed his decision. he felt a bit less of that pride when he wondered, or, more accurately, prayed, that he’d swayed yours.
all throughout the dinner, max had droned on and on while you sipped your red wine and lando simply couldn’t take it. he wanted to take you to a tiny restaurant, he wanted to show you the sights, he wanted to be sat next to you, not so subtly whispering sweet nothings in your ear. he wanted max to shut the fuck up, or to simply leave. it was awful, but he’d gotten used to being awful. he felt petty and angry and fed up, and that’s why he let his hand slip, the tall beer glass crashing down onto the table, conveniently splashing all over max, covering him.
max shot up out his seat, and lando sat their motionless, slightly shocked with himself. he hoped that no one noticed that it was absolutely on purpose, turning around suddenly to throw a sorry over his shoulder to max, who was making his way inside, an apology that he didn’t at all mean. he’d gotten his wish; max was gone and you were sat on the other side of the empty chair that max had abandoned, staring at lando.
“‘m gonna get something to clear this up.” lando muttered, trudging from the outdoor table towards the glass doors that would take him into the kitchen. as he was picking up the kitchen roll, he heard the door open and close again behind him. he sighed, knowing exactly who it was that had joined him.
“why did you do that?” you asked simply. you didn’t sound amused, or irritated, or anything really. you sounded genuine, as if you really wanted to know the answer.
“do what?” lando decided to play dumb, not feeling like admitting just how pathetic he really was.
“lando, i saw you waste a perfectly good beer. if you didn’t want it, i would have happily drank it.” you made your usual jokes but for once lando didn’t want to hear it.
“he was getting on my nerves.” lando still hadn’t turned around to face you, instead he busied himself, fiddling with the paper towels in his hand.
“why?” one of your hands rose to sit on your hip, almost accusingly.
“i feel like you’re interviewing me.” lando scoffed, trying to make light of the situation.
“well i feel like you should be honest with me.” was your rebuttal.
“i can’t.” his voice was quiet, timid, a little bit stressed.
“why?”
“stop asking me ‘why’.” he was flustered.
“stop avoiding my questions.”
“you know, i see the way you look at me. i think you know the answers to your own questions. so just stop. i can’t say anything else. you know i can’t. so just stop. with the looks and the jokes and the flirting. stop.” he didn’t know what had come over him, and when he heard you let out a shaky breath behind him, he knew that you didn’t either.
“do you really want me to?” your voice was soft, and your words knocked the air out of him.
“i need you to.” he responded desperately.
“that’s not the same thing.” you pressed on.
when he didn’t respond, or move, or breathe, you sighed. you let yourself out of the kitchen and rejoined the rest of the group. lando suddenly felt claustrophobic in the giant kitchen, the kitchen roll feeling too heavy in his hands. he held the weight of his mistake in his hands, of wanting max out of his way and wanting you all to himself. he abandoned the kitchen roll, tossing it back onto the side and made a beeline for his bedroom, completely blanking max who was on his way back outside, adorning a clean, dry shirt.
“mate?” he heard max call out to him, when he was halfway up the stairs.
“not feeling good.” lando mumbled, not even sure that max had heard him, but he knew that his friend must have heard the way his door slammed, hitting the wood of its frame with force.
lando let out a frustrated groan, throwing himself down onto the bed. he laid perfectly still, flat on his back, glaring at the ceiling, as if he was mad at it, rather than himself. he’d made his bed, and he’d have to lay in it, no pun intended as he fisted the material of his bedding, cool against his flushed skin.
what did you want from him? did you really feel anything for him at all? did you really want to keep playing such a dangerous game? max was right there, longing for you openly, but you wanted him instead?
lando wondered what he could have possibly done to be so unlucky. the girl of his dreams, stood right behind him, egging him on to admit his sad little feelings for her, while his friend, her former boyfriend, was upstairs changing a shirt that lando had stained? it was practically laughable, and definitely fucked up.
lando didn’t really know how much time had passed. he heard everyone trail back to their rooms eventually, wondering what time it was for them to all have retired to bed. he felt choked by the still, humid air of the room he’d imprisoned himself in, gasping for breath all of the sudden as he sat upright. he tugged off his shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the floor, a crumpled mess, unlike the ones that hung pristinely in the wardrobe. the lack of material did nothing to help him. he need to move, he needed fresh air, he needed clarity. as quietly as he could, he tiptoed out of his room, trying to make sure that he shut the door behind him carefully. he spared your door a glance, noticing the lack of light spilling underneath it.
once he was downstairs, he was a little bit less careful, no longer so worried about being silent. he let himself out of the back door in the kitchen, glancing at the abandoned dining table on the patio, since cleared up after dinners antics. there wasn’t a trace of the evenings events, aside from someone’s jumper, a half empty ashtray and a can of beer tucked under a chair.
he carried on walking, making his way further down the garden. he stopped briefly next to the pool, the clear water now overcast with shadows from the dark night. there were little pools of light breaking out across the surface, a symptom of the fairy lights that hung over the tall fences, keeping the world out. he thought about you, for a fleeting second, how majestic you’d looked getting out of that very water, droplets skimming your body and falling away to the ground. you’d eyed him, tempting him into the cool water as you’d wrapped yourself in a towel, leaving him sweating on the sun lounger all of the sudden. you were cruel. he hated you. he didn’t.
lando turned away from the swimming pool, casting his gaze further down the garden to the trampoline. it sat surrounded by the grass, built into the layout of the garden. he walked towards it, bare feet hitting the cool blades of grass as he moved. once he reached his destination, he walked onto the centre of it, jumping lightly once or twice before throwing himself down on his back. the springs creaked quietly under his weight, body relaxing. lando stared up at the sky, eyes focusing on the twinkling stars that lit up the dark sky. it was oddly therapeutic.
he must have been out there for a while when he heard footsteps approaching. lando didn’t even look up, didn’t even bother to check and see who would be joining him. he just carried on gazing at the starry sky, picturing your eyes.
“you do know trampolines are for jumping on, right? weren’t exactly built for existential crisis.” your voice broke the delicate silence. he didn’t look over to where you stood, just kept staring at the sky.
“seems to be working fine for me right about now.” lando quipped, not really in the mood for your banter. it ached too much, and after your little discussion, more like interrogation, in the kitchen, lando just didn’t have the energy. you hummed in response, flopping onto your back next to him.
“what’s keeping you awake so late, huh?” you asked quietly.
“you know, stuff.”
“wow. ‘stuff’. are you sure you feel okay revealing so much about yourself to me?” you teased, turning your head so that you were facing him.
“you’re not funny.” he turned to face you, struggling to hide his smile that dared to break through the front he’d tried to hard to put up.
“actually, i’m hilarious.”
“you’re killing me.” he’d meant it as a joke. it wasn’t a joke.
“i’m sorry.” you really were.
“it’s too late for sorry. but i guess i’m sorry too.” lando sounded so deflated. the sad smile on your lips devastated him.
“you don’t need to be, lando.”
“he’s my best friend.” he shared the weight on his shoulders with you, the elephant in the room finally taking centre stage.
“and i made it clear i wasn’t interested in him.” you were so matter of fact, but you both knew that it wasn’t that simple.
“and yet here you are.”
“not for max.” your words hit him straight in the stomach, ricocheting off his heart.
“what?”
“he’s a friend. i care about him. but it’s not like that.”
“was it ever?”
“could have been. but then this other idiot caught my eye and i couldn’t live a lie. me and max are done.” your voice was barely above a whisper but you spoke with so much conviction, he couldn’t do anything but stare at you.
lando didn’t get a chance to reply because you were hauling yourself up until you were back on your feet. you stuck your hand out for lando, and he eyed it, still trying to process what you’d just said.
“c’mon lando. jump with me.” you looked at him expectantly, that signature small smile on your face that he physically couldn’t say no to.
he took your hand, the butterflies in his stomach alive and well, and he stood up. once he was on his feet, facing you, you took his other hand. you bounced lightly a few times, until you were both propelling yourself into the air, trying to jump as high as you could. you were both laughing, breathless, enjoying the rush of air that encapsulated you in this bubble. you both landed back onto the springy sheet, giggling. lando’s arms went around you to steady you, your hands gripping his forearms as you caught your breath. your fingers stroked across his veins and he shivered, snapped back to reality. you were grinning up at him, so fucking beautiful, he thought. your grip on him tightened and he came to his senses.
“we should go back inside.” he whispered. “it’s getting late.”
“was that a line?” you raised an eyebrow, teasing him with another smirk.
“what? no!” he blurted out, blushing slightly as he realised what he’d said. you were laughing at him and he couldn’t stop himself from joining in.
you began walking back through the garden, following the pathway. you made your way to the pool, stopping briefly for a second to watch the lights dance across the water, just as lando had earlier. he stopped alongside you at the waters edge.
“hey, lando?”
“hmm?“
“you’re looking a little bit flushed.” you turned to him slowly, mischievous glint in your eyes as they not do subtly trailed down his bare chest. uh oh. he blinked once, twice, knowing exactly where this was going but his body hadn’t caught up with his brain, something he’d gotten used to in your presence.
he was under the water before he could blink a third time.
lando swam up to the top of the water, breaking through the surface. the first thing he heard was your hysterical laughter, and as soon as he’d wiped the chlorine laced water from his eyes, he could see you, doubled over and shaking. there were little crinkles by your eyes and your smile was so wide that it must of hurt. it went straight to his heart, a gentle pang that reminded him that he was alive. he would have gotten out of the pool and let you push him in as many times as you wanted, as many times as it would satisfy you. he would have done absolutely anything, anything, to have you laughing like that for him. all for him.
“are you happy now?” lando pouted, pushing his matted curls out of his face. you were semi-calm by now, still giggling away.
“very. you look a bit better now.” you replied, a little bit breathless from all of your laughing.
“are you gonna help me get out?” lando asked, plan forming in his head. this would probably be his only opportunity to get you wet, he figured he should probably take it.
“do you really think i’m gonna fall for that?” you asked, as if he was stupid, which he definitely was.
“fall for what? c’mon, i’m cold and it’s all your fault.” he whined playfully, sticking his hand out for you to take. you looked down at him, suspicious, but for whatever reason, you took his hand, leaning your weight backwards, as if to anchor yourself in case he did exactly what he was planning on doing.
“okay, fine. but if you pull me in, i swear to god, i’ll-” you were cut off by your own yelp as you flew threw the air and landed in the cold water. you swam to the surface, just as he had done, hand still holding his tightly. you broke the surface, face inches away from his, a scowl taking over your features. he felt no sympathy, because that glint in your eye, the one that he’d become so accustomed to, was still very much there. you were loving every second of this, almost as much as he was.
“you’ll what?” lando smirked, wondering if the ball was finally in his court.
you didn’t reply, all you did was send a small tidal wave his way, thrashing the hand that wasn’t in his grip until he was hit with a wall of water. it sent his hair back into his eyes, and he was operating blind, using his free hand to try and fight back. you stayed there for a while, giggling as you declared war on one another, sending pool water flying every which way. he never let go of your hand and you never let go of his, neither of you made any attempt to, the both of you moving together through the water.
eventually, lando decided enough was enough. you were winning and he was a sore loser. he tugged on your hand, gliding you towards him, capturing your other hand in his, lacing your fingers. it felt so natural that it scared him, terrified him even. touching you felt like the most normal thing in the world and that was panic inducing. it wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it? he wondered how much more fight he had in him, how much longer he’d be able to resist you, because in that moment, the odds were not looking good. it didn’t matter how often he thought of max, didn’t matter that his best friend was still trying his luck with you, lando was beyond caring. almost.
the both of you floated there, bobbing together in the water. your thumbs stroked the backs of his hands, and you seemed to be getting closer and closer, until the gap was so nonexistent that lando could feel your breath fanning his face.
“can i tell you something?” you whispered.
“please.” he breathed.
“it’s a bit horrible.” your eyebrows furrowed, voice still so quiet that lando wondered if he was imagining all of this.
“i can take it.” that was a lie, he definitely didn’t know if he could take it. god knows what you were going to say.
“wish i’d met you first.” you mumbled, your lips barely centimetres from his.
lando wanted to cry. he probably could have. he stayed there, motionless in the water. your body was practically pressed against his and it would have been so, so incredibly easy to close that minuscule gap and just do what he’d wanted to do since the second he’d met you, but the consequences would have been so ghastly, so dreadful. maybe, you would have been his, but would the possibility of that outweigh the certainty of losing max? his best friend? his closest confidant, one of the very few people in this world that understood him?
lando’s hesitancy to kiss you made you drop one of his hands. he panicked, thinking he’d blown it, but then he felt your hand on his face, caressing the damp skin, and it felt like pure magic. his eyes were shut, shut so tightly that he wondered how long they’d been closed, so lost in the feel of you against him that he’d completely zoned out, lost in his own head. his eyes opened the second he felt your nails raking softly through his hair, making him shiver as you combed the mess of wet curls with your fingers. his eyes had snapped to yours immediately, searching them desperately. he longed to know exactly what was going through your head, because maybe it would help to organise the mess of thoughts in his.
“i get it, y’know. i get why we can’t do this. just wanna look at you for a while.” you murmured, as if it was the most mundane thing in the world and you hadn’t just set his entire body on fire with three sentences.
“you’re so fucking beautiful.” lando gasped, finally remembering that he could speak and that this was his only chance to make sure that you knew. “everything about you. everything.”
you smiled, and as it reached your eyes, he could see that it wasn’t a happy smile. it wasn’t the kind of giddy, happy go lucky smile that you can’t control, because you’re falling in love. it was the kind of smile that you give because you have to. the kind of smile that you give someone when you’re watching them leave, as you’re saying goodbye, one that makes your eyes melt into your cheeks as tears fall and everything gets a little bit hazy. it made lando want to die.
he was still so close, but just too far. too fucking far. that fire that you’d set with your words was burning out quickly and he was suddenly so cold, filled with an ache that he didn’t think could ever possibly go away.
“come on.” he whispered, pulling you towards the steps that led you out of the water, back on to solid ground, where everything would go back to normal and all of this would melt away into nothing again.
you were both dripping wet, clothes soaked through, hair a sopping mess. your hand was still in his, as if you were both refusing to let go, which you were. lando sure as hell wouldn’t be the one to break away first. he needed to savour every second. you both tiptoed solemnly through the dark house, reaching the top of the staircase. the closer you got to your rooms, the louder lando’s thoughts got.
he didn’t want to say goodbye. he didn’t want to let you go and he didn’t want to watch max try and fail over and over. he didn’t want to only tell you once that you were beautiful, he wanted to tell you every day. he didn’t want you to feel guilty, or horrible, he wanted you to feel loved.
lando stopped, halfway down the corridor, tugging on your hand until you turned around, suddenly pulled into his embrace. he searched your eyes for any hesitancy, but your hands were already cupping his face, pulling him down. he met you halfway, kissing you so urgently, finally. your lips moved with his, frantic, his hands everywhere, your hands back in his hair, tugging and desperate. it was messy and perfect and soft and warm and you were moaning as his hands wandered of their own accord, quiet whimpers getting swallowed as your tongue brushed with his.
you both grew needier and needier and lando found himself pressing you into the nearest wall, the plaster panel that separated your bedroom doors. the feel of your hands on him slowed lando right down, bringing him right back into the moment, as they slid out of his wet hair and down his neck. your fingers grazed his collarbone as they moved further down his body, a shiver running down his spine. your hands flattened against the damp skin of his bare chest, feeling the warmth that you’d created, your right hand resting over where his heart was beating uncontrollably.
“lando,” you mumbled against his lips that tried to chase after yours as you pulled back slightly. his eyes fluttered open, meeting your soft ones, seduction swirling in the different hues. “please.”
“what?” he breathed, scared to know what you were asking for. he had a vague idea but he needed to know more, before his mind exploded.
“i know we shouldn’t,” your hands crept back up his chest, sliding over his shoulders and around his neck, tugging on his hair lightly as you spoke. he couldn’t help the dull groan he let out. “and i know it can’t go any further,” lando frowned at your words, agreeing with you, but it stung nonetheless. “but tonight… please.”
your words hung heavy in the air. lando didn’t know what to say to you. you were literally a dream, right before his eyes, but you’d just told him that you wouldn’t be a reoccurring one. he didn’t know how to feel about that. all he knew was that he couldn’t deny you, couldn’t pass up the one chance that you’d both have. one time, and then it was over.
he decided against a verbal response, slotting his lips back against yours, a slow, deep kiss that told you that he was on board. he pulled you away from the wall, walking you backwards down the hallway until you were positioned between him and your bedroom door, his hand leaving your waist to open the door quickly. the door shut behind you both, perhaps a bit too loudly, but it was too late to care. you guided him across the floor, past your now empty suitcase tucked away in the corner, until you were at the foot of your bed.
you turned the pair of you around, pushing lando to sit down on the bed, stepping between his legs. his hands trailed lazily over your waist and down your outer thighs, eyes locked as he stared up at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky. if someone told him that you had, he’d believe them. your fingers gripped at the hem of your shirt, and slowly, you pulled it off, revealing yourself to him. you were left in your bra and a pair of shorts, goosebumps littering your skin, still cold from your wet clothes. he was more than happy to warm you up.
lando pulled you down onto his lap, hands hooking around the backs of your thighs to lower you down on top of him. your knees slotted either side of him, straddling him, an experimental roll of your hips making him suck in a breath. while one of his hands toyed with the band of your shorts, the other snuck up your body, tangling in your hair. he pulled you down, crashing your lips against his.
he could feel himself getting harder and harder as you carried on your movements, grinding against him slowly. you pulled your lips off of his, foreheads pressed together. the hand in your hair dropped down, skimming across your shoulder blade until he reached the clasp of your bra, fiddling with it until he heard a faint snap. the lace slipped down your arms, hanging loosely in the space between you. you caught your bottom lip between your teeth, gasping as the hand on your back trailed over the bare skin, around your side and across your ribcage.
“touch me.” you whispered, something snapping within you both that changed everything, the urgency of the situation completely taking a hold. his lips peppered kisses across your chest, never detaching them as he flipped you over and onto your back. he situated himself between your legs, already spread open for him, and carried on, swirling his tongue across the skin. he caught one of your nipples in his mouth, hips pinning you down when you bucked yours up into his.
lando could feel you warming up, replacing the cold that had caught you outside. he covered your entire body with his, desperately trying to get as close to you, feel as much of you as possible. he could feel one of your hands running down his side, stroking his tanned skin as it travelled closer and closer to the waistband of his shorts. your fingers dipped into the waistband, bypassing his boxers. he froze, vision blurry for a second as he tried to ground himself at the feel of your fingertips dancing across the sensitive skin below his hipbones.
your hand went further, pushing the material covering his lower half out of your way, hand wrapping around his cock. his eyes rolled back and it took everything within him not to collapse on top of you. you gave him a gentle squeeze, moaning quietly at the weight of him in your hand and he almost lost it then and there, slowly losing all of his willpower as your hand began to work up and down his length. he refocused his vision, wild eyes fixating on the way you were watching his face, your own only a few centimetres beneath his. you licked your lips and he groaned, kissing you fiercely.
as soon as you sped up, he knew he had to put an end to your actions, because he was teetering on the edge, dangerously close to an orgasm already. lando was hardly to blame, you looked angelic beneath him, innocent eyes contrasting your devilish grin. heavenly.
lando slapped your hand away, springing into action, aching, quite literally to please you. after all, he only had one chance, and he had to make it count. your head fell back as he kissed down the valley of your breasts, a sigh of contentment leaving your swollen lips as he left open mouthed kisses across your stomach. your shorts were gone in a flash, panties admired briefly before they quickly followed. he was in no mood to tease, this time was too precious, too sacred to waste on games. this was anything but a game. his kisses continued, down your outer thigh and back up again, tongue making an appearance to lick the crease where your thigh met your body.
he paused momentarily, looking up at you from between your legs, admiring a view that he wouldn’t ever see again. you were watching him through lustful eyes; there was something else there, too, but lando didn’t think he had the strength to try and unpack it. it would hurt too much afterwards. his arms wrapped around your legs like vines, holding you in place, keeping you spread for him. you propped yourself up on your elbows, daring him to give you more, watching on in anticipation as he closed the gap. his tongue worked up the seam of your pussy, licking into your wet heat. the moan you’d let out was like music to his ears, the best song he’d ever heard, and he wanted to hear it again and again.
lando sped up, working his tongue faster against your cunt, mouth wrapping around your clit. you collapsed back into the mattress, arms giving out as he dipped his tongue into your entrance. he wouldn’t have ever gotten sick of this, the way you tasted, felt, pulled at his hair.
“yes, please, more.” you gasped out, when you’d felt his fingers trailing up your thigh, closer and closer to where you needed them. he trailed a digit through your messy folds, getting it nice and wet, before he slipped it inside of you, mind blank as he felt how tight you were. he slipped a second finger in, thrusting them slowly, stretching you out. he could feel you clenching, attaching his mouth to your clit once more. he needed to get you there, the animalistic urge to make you cum for him so overwhelming. and when he did, tongue flicking through your folds, fingers buried inside of you, he could have died happy. you were godly, shaking and whining above him, hand threading unapologetically through his hair.
when he’d crawled back up your body, fingers licked clean, you’d pulled him down on top of you instantly, legs wrapping around his waist. you were so warm, finally, pressed against him completely in the most delicious way. it was like finding the last piece of the puzzle and putting it in its place, where it was always supposed to be. your lips were back on his, frantic as you licked into his mouth, definitely tasting yourself on his tongue. your eagerness to be made his for the evening had him twitching for you; it felt good to be so wanted by the one he wanted the most.
when he finally pushed inside of you, everything melted away. it seemed cliché, lando thought, to suddenly be encapsulated in the state in which he found himself, one where time stood still and you were everything, everywhere. he didn’t quite understand it, it had never felt like this before, and as he set his pace, slow, but unrelenting, he started to understand why. he came to the realisation, as you kissed him so sweetly, that there was one person for him. one person that truly made him feel. he wondered if he’d ever be able to feel anything ever again. if he did, it wouldn’t compare to this. every single future interaction for the rest of his life was doomed, everyone would pale in comparison to you.
lando was well and truly ruined.
his hips hit yours, the drag of him in and out of you making you whimper, over and over and over again. it felt unbearably good, the knot in his stomach tightening rapidly. you cried out his name as you let yourself go, covering him and sending him hurtling towards his own orgasm. he tried to take it all in, the sight of you, before he collapsed down on top of you, head resting in the crook of your neck. your legs were tangled with his, your right hand intertwined with his left, resting at the side of your head.
“it should have been me.” lando whispered, and it was earth shattering. the most real thing he’d said to you all evening. the most truthful, heartbreaking, soul-baring thing he’d probably ever said in his life. it should have been him, but it wasn’t, and that’s just the way it was. max found you first, the lucky bastard, and nothing would ever be okay again.
“i know.” was your simple reply.
he fell asleep in your arms, and you fell asleep in his, clinging on tight to a dream that was hurtling to an end.
-
when he’d woken up next to you, he knew he had to leave. lando knew that if you woke up and he saw those pretty, pretty eyes, he would have stayed and the consequences of that were unimaginable. it already hurt enough knowing that this was over before it had even started, the least he could do was save you the trouble of having to watch him leave.
he detangled himself from you, as gently as he could, and watched you get comfortable in your slumber while he got dressed as quickly and as quietly as possible. he brushed some stray hairs away from your peaceful face, a lingering kiss on the temple being the only thing that he could leave behind. he crept out of your room, slowly shutting the door behind him, and turned on his heel to scurry back to his room and pretend that’s where he’d been all night.
he didn’t get very far.
a figure stood at the other end of the hallway, face drenched in disbelief.
lando was frozen in place. he couldn’t speak, not knowing what you were even supposed to say in a situation like this. the blood rushing to his head made it feel like everything was happening in slow motion. he felt hot, sick, stomach twisting as he watched max’s eyebrows furrow, his jaw clench, nostrils flare.
rage, disappointment, a hint of sadness. max was feeling it all and lando watched in horror as the emotions unfolded on his best friends face. it was too early in the morning for there to have been an excuse.
lando had been caught.
the funny thing, not the laugh out loud kind, but the peculiar, hole in the pit of your stomach, nail biting kind, was that max didn’t understand that it was already over, and he was the only reason why.
-
taglist
@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppetangelika @wmaximoffz @starlightoctavia @japanesekel @stardustinggold @vinvantae @chaoticallypan @ashleyo1611 @ggaslyp1 @poofy-baby-unicorns @dr3lover @smiithys @turningxstrange @lees0015 @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @1missglum1 @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @shinydragondelusion @alexk2002 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @f-1-fan @disneydaydreameralways @yeolsbubbles
(as always, taglist is so broken n such a mess lmao. if u wanna be added or removed hmu <33)
#lando norris#lando norris smut#lando norris angst#lando norris fluff#lando norris fic#lando norris x you#lando norris x reader#lando norris oneshot#lando norris imagine#f1 fic#f1 smut#f1 angst#f1 fluff#f1 oneshot#f1 imagine
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Then there was 'You'
Pairing: Henry Cavill × Wife! Reader
Summary: Henry's little encouraging helps you damn well!
Warning: none, fluffy, funny. (Y/s/n = your son's name)
A/n: A friend of mine had this quite good idea, thought of writing it down so shoutout to her <3
"Hello, lovely!" you sat comfortably on the couch, Jimmy greeted you.
"Eh! We haven't seen one other in a very long time" you yelled. Jimmy replied with a nod. "Before we go any farther and discuss your new song, let me just state the obvious! This year, you slayyed it at the VMAs "Jimmy said as the crowd erupted applause.
"Did I?" you chuckled. "You're a queen," someone shouted from the audience, while the others agreed with her. You blew a kiss towards them.
"By the way, great attire," Jimmy said as he showed you a photo of you wearing a saare and holding a microphone.
"Haha, thankx!" you snicker as you glance at your photo. "However, do you want to know something interesting?" you inquire.
"Hmm.." Jimmy responds. "This was not the outfit I had decided to wear." you state.
"What do you mean?" Jimmy chuckles as he tries to figure out what you're trying to say.
"I was meant to attend my cousin's Indian wedding the morning of the VMAs. That's what I wore to the ceremony, and I planned to leave early to meet Henry at the hotel, change, and glam up before heading to the VMAs. However, the wedding was delayed, and as a close cousin, I was unable to go early" Jimmy and the audience were completely engrossed in your story, so you took a big breath and continued "On my way to the motel, I'm having a nervous breakdown. I'm on the phone with my assistant, planning how everything will unfold. As I was performing and presenting at the event, I couldn't be late. My son was in the car with me, and I'm sure he thought I was nuts because of the way I was acting" Everyone laughs at you.
"Haha then?" Jimmy requests that you continue.
"I arrive at the hotel, say my goodbyes to Y/s/n, and dash up to my room. My assistant informs me that I don't have time to change and that we must leave immediately. And I was on the edge of collapsing; I was fine with my saree; it's decent, but I'm worried about how I'll perform in it. I mean, it'll be extremely difficult right. I was thinking that 'I won't perform, I'll ask them about it and everything,' while my husband remained painfully quiet the entire time. Henry doesn't say anything till we get at the destination," you said, pausing to gulp some water as Jimmy snorted.
"So, nervous as hell, it's time for me to take the stage. That's when Henry finally speaks up 'You've looked after a notorious 4-year-old at a wedding by yourself. You can surely perform here if you can do that in a saree.'" You halt once more, as the crowd grins at you.
"I'm thinking, 'Hell yeah, I can do this,' because no one but me knows what I went through during the wedding with Y/s/n. All of a sudden, I have this incredible amount of confidence in myself, and I go out and perform.' you conclude your story. as the audience applauds.
"Wow and that results with you giving us this incredible performance I mean! Shoutout to Henry for telling her that 'There's nothing she couldn't do'" Jimmy laughs hysterically as he quotes a line from your song.
"Damnnn" you exclaim, laughing uncontrollably yourself.
Masterlist
Taglist: @shyconversationalbookworm @justreadingthatsit
Reblogs are appreciated ✌🏻
Hmu if you want to be added to the taglist 🌈
#Spotify#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill one shot#henry cavill#henry cavill smut#henry cavill imagine#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill fluff#henry cavill × y/n#henry cavill × fem!reader#henry cavill × you#henry cavill × reader#henry cavill and you#henry cavill drabble#henry cavill and y/n#wife reader#son#VMA#capital letters#songs#henry cavill rpf#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill x y/n
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Really hope you’re still doing requests as of rn because I somehow forgot how much I love your work! Is it possible for you to write Thomas, Bubba, and Bo getting married to a yiddish S/O? Like where they step on the wine glass and whatnot? That’s a damn fantasy ngl 🤧🖤 If you don’t want to then I totally get it!
OMGSJSKKD THIS — 💕💓😤 guess whos the biggest Jew on tumblr... yes me💘my grandmother was sent Auschwitz-Birkenau and Bergen-Belsen for being Jewish (when she was 4 years old), along with her Jewish mother. She was separated from her Jewish father at a young age because he was deported--It's a WHOLE STORY ngl. So thats my mother's side and then my dad happened to be descended from a line of jewish rabbis from Russia so thats cool. Anyway SORRY that's my heritage rant live laugh love if you're Jewish too, PLEASE hmu so we can be friends 💘(also, SO sorry it took me this long to do your request. i will always get around to requests it just will take a while sometime D: )
Tommy, Bubba, and Bo with a Yiddish!S/O
Thomas Hewitt
Tommy knew from the moment he met you, you were something else. While he fell in love with you for your dazzling smile and ethereal, dreamy eyes, he found out about your heritage some time into your relationship. You added a touch of foreign culture to the table, something that brought newfound joy to the Hewitt family.
The way you brought brought your fabulous culture to the family--two shabbos candles to Friday night dinner, handmade challah bread and hummus, matzo ball soup, or managed to scavenge some herbs every April for a “special dinner” you called it 💕If you have a Jewish/Yiddish mother, she will become best. friends. with Luda. You know how Jewish mothers are. Involved in everything. She meets the family, will probably dislike Hoyt, LOVES Tommy, and then she and Luda are just attached at the hip. They will probably gossip about you and Tommy LOL💘
He loves seeing you excited, it makes him in awe of your culture even more. You got so excited for your wedding because you put together a whole plan for the chuppah and the breaking of the glass to symbolize the destruction of the temple, "MAZEL TOV!" when you guys kiss, signifying your marriage, and so much more! Have fun with the Hava Nagila, and the Hora wedding dances. Tommy is not going to have fun with a bunch of strangers lifting him OR you in a tiny chair. He likes every other piece of the wedding traditions, and enjoys the foods very much though💘
notice: keep in mind Hoyt isn't the most complimentary person when it comes to cultural background. He's probably going to let loose a few racist jokes but since Tommy is so perceptive, he's going to shut Hoyt down before he even finishes his sentence.
Bubba
This boy is a party animal. He has energy for days, and will fit right into the Jewish party culture. He will go on the Hora dance and will never want to come back down, he is having the time of his life up there. While being married to you is exciting enough, being married to you at a Jewish wedding is enough to make him go crazy. He's the life of the party💘
He will probably want to be the one to break the glass, if you want to thats cool too :) He wholeheartedly and wholesomely loves your culture, appreciating it more than any of the other slashers. He just wants to experience every bit. He will prefer your Jewish dishes over his regular family dinners, incorporates your traditions and/or holidays into his life too💘Your culture becomes everyone's culture in the Sawyer house now :D
Your way of life is very refreshing to everyone in the Sawyer house. It's obvious you have a very different way of thinking, and approach to every day situations. The Sawyers find you interesting with your culture, and will curiously ask you questions about certain things. Don't be surprised if they come out a bit wrong, they just don't really know how to frame their words correctly but I believe they mean well since you're family💘
Bo Sinclair
He isn't someone to be totally into cultural practices. It doesn't mean he's not into you of course, quite the opposite actually, he's not that intrigued by culture! Like Tommy, he loves you for your gorgeous smile, flawless body, and that damn heart of yours that just melted his stone one. Bo, the hardest of hearts unhardened, saw you smiling at him for the first time and it was game over. Anyway sorry I'm ranting LOL--💕
He is more than happy to incorporate your culture into the wedding! He's not just going to reject it lol, rejecting your culture and heritage would be rejecting you with it so he would never. He'll smile as you go off about what you want at the wedding, all the special yiddish parts, and when you're done he goes, "well damn." With a grin on his face while he kisses you on the head, messing up your hair💓💓
He won't seem like it, but he is happy to do what you want on your wedding. He'll nod it off at first and be like "yeah of course." And you don't think he's going to really take it to heart. Then it HAPPENS and theres a giant chuppah for you two, he organized the whole party with some help, and then just put all this effort into making it special for you💕💕💕You two have an absolutely wonderful time and wedding
#slashers#slashers x reader#i made a thing#thomas hewitt#thomas hewitt x reader#thomas hewitt imagine#thomas hewitt headcanons#bubba sawyer#bubba sawyer x reader#bubba sawyer headcanon#bubba sawyer imagine#thomas hewitt x jewish!reader#bubba sawyer x jewish!reader#bo sinclair#bo sinclair x reader#bo sinclair headcanons#bo sinclair x jewish!reader#jewish#yiddish#yehudi
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*pulls up a chair and sits down in front of you* please tell me about heroines run the show ive seen you talk about it and i think its connected to chico and honeyworks and i have listened to romeo one too many times so now im interested :3
(wakes up) it is indeed a honeyworks anime!!! slice of life, growing up and idols, a light-hearted fun time
it tells the story of this girl, hiyori, who becomes the manager of these two idols, LIPxLIP, who kinda suck
because even if their public image is that of perfect princes, they actually hate each other and are pretty mean. regular stuff ashfjhjkm
she wants to be a track and field pro, so she moves from a small town to tokyo and in her search of a part time job, comes across this one, where the agency thinks she's the perfect candidate because it turns out, she is also their classmate! sits right in between both of them. so she gets paid for keeping an eye on them in school as well
the anime mostly covers stuff from these two mvs, heroine development plan and heroine tarumono (though with some major changes, the blond guy got retconned because of seiyuu unavailability rip) but i'd recommend not checking them out til later if you want to be surprised by some of the twists ww
other relevant songs to LIPxLIP's story that aren't as directly covered in the anime, in this order, would be romeo, non-fantasy, yume fanfare (lol) and samishigariya. and well a Bunch of others bcs they have a lot of stuff but to keep it short those are the most important ones id say
a bunch of other idols and honeyworks characters make cameo appearances, and honeyworks has an insane seiyuu cast so you WILL recognize a Lot of them. personal favorite is when takuya eguchi's character says the bath dinner or me line ill never be over that. we've even got hikaru midorikawa singing angst songs 👍basically almost every character you see in the series is going to have their own developed story so you can just hmu if you're curious about any of them skfjskfjsm
#honeyworks#personally i have my problems w the anime but thats just me who's thought about these characters too much#also because each different honeyworks media seems to have their own timeline lol#but yeah! it's mostly fun and silly#though really i have to warn you that lxl do get really annoying#the way the anime portrayed some stuff was so Lmao#(not that anything too weird happens the guys r just annoying)#no trigger warnings for this one beyond a (brief) bullying subplot around the second half of ep 9#hworks#mayoiayasep#preguntas
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