#i am in no way a fashion person but for the love of GOD

[kamaluhkhan]

you are so gorgeous (it makes me so mad)

pairing: young!coryo snow x fem!reader

summary: clemensia dovecote has a theory that you and snow are destined for an enemies to lovers arc. you're sure it's completely, absolutely not true...right?

warnings: 18 + smut; biting + mention of blood ; both reader and snow are not the best ppl and have some very classist/elitist opinions

a/n: finally!! i wrote one of the ideas that has been haunting me ever since i've been back in my hunger games obsession + watched tbosbas...needless to say this will likely be a series inspired by taylor swift's reputation album. also i am so sorry this is unedited bc ofc it's 3am when i had the motivation to write this but i hope y'all enjoy ♡

i've had enemies so intense it felt like love, so mutual it felt romantic (chelsea hodson)

"what in the name of all the gods is he doing here?"

you're practically seething when coriolanus snow walks into your foyer. he's wearing an ensemble made with crisp white silk and intricately embroidered with gold thread - elegant, eventhough its silhouette would have been fashionable last year. a single white rose sits in the pocket of his jacket. he surveys the crowd, like he's calculating who's most worthy of his attention, platnium blond hair perfectly curled and practically glowing under the light of the chandelier. he looks beautiful, almost angelic.

you absolutely hate it.

"oh, i invited him," clemensia dovecote informs non-chalantly.

coriolanus makes eye contact with you from across the room, and you turn your head sharply to your best friend.

"why would you think it was okay to invite him?"

clemensia smiles mischeviously, grabbing two champagne flutes from a passing silver tray. she hands one to you.

"i know the two of you have your petty squabbles — "

"they are not petty, nor are they squabbles," you grumble, taking a sip of your drink.

your contempt towards coriolanus was perfectly reasonable and absolutely mutual. he had some ridiculous notion that snow had to land on top, that it was his right to be there instead of yours. your relationship, if you could call it that, was limited to nothing more than snide remarks, sarcastic comments, and scornful stares. you both hyperaware of the importance of keeping up appearances, but the older you got - the closer to life outside of the academy and the higher the stakes - the more any sense of civility between you two faded. just earlier this week, you'd gotten into such a heated debate about the best way to increase viewership for the upcoming 10th annual hunger games, that your professor excused you both from the class early due to the disruption. it seemed that no one knew how to make you burn with anger quite like coriolanus snow.

clemensia rolls her eyes. "whatever you want to call it, i actually think the two of you would get along if you really tried."

one of the things you admired - and, frankly, loathed - about clemensia was her determination to always prove herself right. she had this theory - one you would call ludicrous - that the tension between you and coriolanus had nothing to do with academics or status and everything to do with wanting to rip each other's clothes off.

your eyes catch coriolanus' icy blue ones again and you down the rest of your drink. obviously, clemensia was wrong about this. so, very wrong.

"well," you huff, setting your empty glass down on another silver tray that passes by. you brush invisible dust off your dress - a deep red lace, short and form fitting with exaggerated long sleeves - and add: "you'll be lucky if i invite you to my next party."

clemensia might have had the sense to apologize then, but you walked away before she had a chance.

you allow yourself to weave through the crowd, greeting every guest with an equal facade of enthusiasm and grace. you smile as brightly at one person as you do the next, showing off your newly bleached teeth and making sure that everyone feels special. silver trays of food and drinks appear and reappear throughout the crowd, being carried by nameless waiters. there's a table overflowing with gifts concealed by crisply folded wrapping paper - you expect at least half of them will be worthless.

you put up a good front, but soon enough your lipstick needs reapplying and your hair readjusting, so you briefly excuse yourself lest anyone notice a crack in your perfectly constructed image. the door to your room is slightly ajar, and you open it to reveal none other than the person you'd deliberately, but not so successfully, tried to ignore all night, his white silk shirt stained a dark crimson that happened to match your dress.

coriolanus was furious when he found out you'd invited the entire graduating class, except him, to your birthday party. you'd even invited sejanus. it wasn't that he particularly wanted to celebrate you, of all people. you were the most brilliant, biting, enfuriating person he knew, but to be excluded in such a way was insulting. when clemensia extended him the invite, he jumped at the chance to prove to everyone, to you, that he belonged here. tigris curated his outfit, and it would have been perfect had arachne crane, vapid creature she was and ever the lightweight, spilled an entire glass of red wine on him. he hurried away before anyone could see him in such a humiliating state. coriolanus is in the middle of calculating his options when you walk into what he now realizes is your bedroom.

you don't say a word at first. you haven't said one to him all night. instead, you close the door behind you and your eyes graze his figure.

"you show up to my party, late no less, and now you're parading around in what looks like a bloodstained shirt that is far too outmoded to be appropriate attire for this occasion," you remark, displaying that signature fierceness. "are you trying to ruin my birthday, snow?"

"don't blame me," coriolanus scoffs. his shoulders tense and he makes a point to stand up a bit straighter. "blame arachne for not being able to hold her alcohol while she's complaining about the food."

"oh?" you raise an eyebrow. "what did she say?"

"something about people in the districts having better options."

"vapid bitch," you mutter under your breath. you walk over to your closet, disappearing for a few seconds before bringing out a fresh shirt. you extend it to him, but he doesn't take it.

"i can't very well have a good time when one of my guests looks like he just got killed in the hunger games," you huff. "so either you put this on or your leave my party. now."

coriolanus holds your gaze, his jaw clenched, before giving in and taking the shirt from you. he goes to undo the buttons of his shirt, but stops when he notices that your eyes never leave him.

"some privacy would be nice," he says sharply.

you roll your eyes, muttering something about it being your house and your room, before sitting across the room at your vanity. as he undresses and throws his soiled shirt on the floor, coriolanus watches you closely. you meticulously apply lipstick, the shade of red almost as dark as your black nails.

you were attractive, there was no denying that, but ultimately dangerous. because you weren't carelessly cruel like arachne, nor did you wear your heart on your sleeve like sejanus. you didn't use your family's status as an excuse to avoid hard work like felix, nor were you a spineless know-it-all like clemensia. no, you were different from the rest. you had a fiery ambition and a sharp tongue, a wicked streak with just enough charisma to lure people in. sometimes when he thinks of you, coriolanus recalls stories his grandma'am once told him and tigress, about sea monsters who would tempt sailors with their bewitching voices and enchanting beauty, enticing them to risk everything - to jump into the ocean and never be relevant as anything more than a midnight snack. you were a constant, suffocating reminder of how quickly he could lose everything if he lost control, if he gave in.

coriolanus watches you set down the tube of lipstick before picking up a compact. you lightly brush the shimmery powder inside over your face to accentuate some of your gorgeous features.

the desire that burns throughout his body now has to be a side effect of the few glasses of liquor he managed to drink, allowing himself the appearance of having a good time alongside everyone else without losing control.

your eyes leave your reflection momentarily, and you finally catch coriolanus staring at you. you wink at him from across the room just as he's finished with the last button. the way you look at him makes the collar of his shirt feel tighter.

he can not give in....but what's the harm in admitting, just for one night, that he would let you drown him? devour him? beg on his knees to give you pleasure, and then thank you after the fact?

coriolanus clears his throat. "this feels wrong. i should be the one gifting you with a new shirt. it's your birthday, after all."

you let out a breathy laugh, setting down your makeup. you walk over to him, until there are only a few inches between you despite the vastness of your bedroom.

even you had to concede that coriolanus snow had such a gorgeous face for such a vicious person. you're infuriated by how elegant he looks now, in your shirt. your hands busy themselves in smoothing down his already perfect collar and you take note of the intensity of his heartbeat. you notice the way his jaw remains clenched, his posture stiff, his skin flushed. you realize that he must be trying so hard right now to retain his composure around you and you feel something that can only be described as triumph.

you smile at him, sickly sweet, and remove your hands from his body. "the best birthday present i could get is winning the plinth prize over you, snow. we both know you're not good enough, let alone better than me."

he hesitates slightly before responding.

"sorry, valerius. that's the one thing i can't give you. is there anything else you'd want from me?" he whispers, words dripping like honey.

"that depends, is there anything you want from me?"

he hums, moving his hand to cup your cheek. he begins to trace your lips with his thumb, ruining the look you had so meticulously crafted.

if only you knew.

"you're the birthday girl, sweetheart," he chides. "i'm supposed to be the one giving the gift. you do know how birthdays work, don't you?"

he's mocking you, you know that. he's trying to make you feel weak and small. you had the power a second ago, his heartbeat in the palm of your hand, and normally you wouldn't stand for him turning the tables. you'd push him away, storm out the door. but right now all you want is to tug on his perfect blond curls, to bite the smirk off his lips. maybe it's the way he's so close and can't seem to take his eyes off your lips or the calculated amount of wine you drank that's made your head a bit foggy, made you put your guard down. made you start to entertain the idea that maybe possibly clemensia's theory had some truth to it.

"why don't you surprise me?" you suggest.

coriolanus surges forward and kisses you with such ferocity, he might as well be a man starving. teeth on teeth on tongue. you instantly tangle your hands into his hair, pull on some curls just to see what he'd do. he retaliates by biting down on your bottom lip, hard enough that you taste the metallic tang of blood mixed with the remnants of honeyed wine on his lips. you whimper and pull away slightly. he holds your face firmly between his two hands, so you cannot go too far.

"sorry." but he smirks, and you know he doesn't really mean it.

eventually, you've both stumbled onto the bed half-naked. coriolanus positions himself above you, effectively caging you in with his arms and legs. you take note of his lean thighs, his bare torso with skin taut around his bones. you're almost taken aback by how frail he looks - like a malnourished teenager from one of the districts. you reach out to trace the outline of his ribs, your nails scraping against his skin, and he shudders. your hand moves lower, teasing the waistband of his underwear. he stops you before it slips underneath the material.

instead, coriolanus begins to indulge in his deepest fantasy. he kisses and sucks and bites down your body, his tongue trailing down your chest, over your breasts and around your nipples, across your stomach. he laps up your soft whines, the curses that tumble from your lips for him to do something more. you sink further into the silk sheets when he arrives between your thighs. you raise your hips, desperate to find any sort of relief, and you feel his nails dig into your hips.

"patience," he teases, his breath fanning over where you needed him most. "so needy." you could practically feel coriolanus roll his eyes.

"i swear to god snow, if you don't do something soon. i-i'll go find someone else to fuck me. felix, or maybe sejanus --"

you yelp when his teeth sink into your inner thigh. he looks up at you, eyes the darkest blue you've ever seen them.

"don't," coriolanus warns, and he gets back to work, lips actually arriving at where you needed them most.

after you've reached your high, he comes back up to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. when he pulls away, you take note of how his lips and nose shine with remnants of you. the way he looks at you while he licks his lips shows you that he wants more. you move your hand down, and you're deeply satisfied when you feel him half hard, already sticky with his release.

"oh." you smirk. "you already finished."

his eyes widen, skin flushing pink. you could feel his heartbeat grow faster above you. you could imagine he was debating the best way to restore his dominance from before. yet, here he was, nothing but a horny teenage boy who came untouched as he was eating out his worst enemy. you find it in you to not call him pathetic, but instead decide, in your post-orgasm haze, you find it endearing.

"i-i didn't mean to, but --"

"i'm just that sexy when i cum," you suggest, running your hands through his curls to calm him down. "how about we try again, pretty boy?"

soon enough, he's sitting up with his back against your headboard and your legs wrapped around his waist, his length fully nestled into your warm cunt. coriolanus' blunt nails graze your hips, moving lower to your ass to guide you with each thrust. you love seeing him underneath you, seeming completely mesmerized by how your breasts bounce up and down in front of him. he leans forward to wrap his lips around your nipple, but you beat him to it. you bend forward and suck bruises onto his skin, everywhere and anywhere: underneath his chin, across his collarbone, where his neck meets his shoulder.

his moans are so loud, and you're sure he's not going to last much longer. you're also worried that some of the other party guests might catch you, so you pull his head away from your shoulder and crash your lips back onto to his. you swallow his moans as best you can, tongues fight for dominance, but he lets out a deep groan, and lets you win. you bite down on his bottom lip just as you reach your climax, causing him to let out a deep groan once more.

you gasp when he suddenly flips you over, pulls out of you and stokes himself a few times before painting your body with his release. coriolanus all but collapses on the bed beside you. you're both breathing heavily for a few moments, on your backs looking up at the ceiling, before he turns on his side towards you. coriolanus trails hs fingers down to your abdomen, sticky with his cum.

"i told you: snow lands on top."

"was that a joke, coryo?" you guffaw, genuinely surprised at the mischievous but playful glint in his eye. a bit surprised at yourself, too, for using his nickname that you'd so carefully avoided. you had to remind yourself that he was still the same coriolanus snow you'd grown to hate.

the boy tangled in the sheets beside you, his messy curls translucent under the light of your chandelier, his skin glowing with sweat and decorated with lipstick and rose-petal bruises. the boy who now smiles at you with dazzling blue eyes, leans closer and whispers:

"don't get used to it. it's a special occasion." coriolanus kisses you sweetly, and you shiver before he adds: "happy birthday."

this boy in bed with you now is the same manipulative, power hungry snake who would stab you in the back if need be. and, the truth of the matter is: you aren't much different, either.

you get up to grab his wine-stained shirt, use it to wipe off his release and toss it back down to the floor.

his eyes follow you the entire time, even as you come back to straddle him again. almost instantly, you feel him harden underneath you. you hold his head in your hands, kiss him deeply, tease his bottom lip between your teeth as you pull away.

"snow lands on top, huh? not for long, if i can help it."

#posting this again bc tags are being weird... #but please enjoy!! #coryo snow #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coryo snow x reader #coryo x reader #tbosbas #the hunger games fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg #saf writes #inspo: these violent delights have violent ends #Spotify #snow x reader #snow x you

[cosmoeticss]

Haven’t I Been Good to You? | Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader (18+)

my masterlist

Words: 2K

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Neice!Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), good old fashioned targcest, p n v, overall bad writing because I haven’t properly written in so long

Note: Reader is Rhaenyra’s heir/eldest daughter and the argument takes place after the dinner scene. I tried not to use any physical descriptors but those gorgeous targaryen platinum locks so I hope thats okay and you enjoy. Literally crawling in my skin right now because I’m about to post this, existing is an embarrassment, if you see this ily thank you for reading.

part two

Aemond was anything but cooled off when he returned to his marital chambers that night. He bound into the room, his displeasure from the night clear in his body language and his labored breathing. His wife sat stoically in front of her vanity, clad in only her night dress as she combed through the length of her silky, silver curls.

Aemond stared her down in disbelief as she barely acknowledged him. How could she honestly be angry with him? It was her bastard brothers who started the disagreement, who started the rivalry to begin with, who teased him their whole childhood and took his eye that fateful night on Driftmark. And here she sat, his wife, shoulders back and proud and angry with him.

Gods, she was beautiful when she was angry. If he didn't know her so well he wouldn't be able to tell. She was so serene and regal and surprisingly calm when she was upset. He often thought of how opposite they were in that sense. He thought of how hot tempered and quick to snap he was, and how she thought everything through before it slipped from her pretty lips. He envied this about her, and yet it was what he had loved most about her as well.

Aemond couldn't help it. He broke first. "Where are the children?" He inquired, steadying himself to the best of his ability.

She hardly gave him the time of day as she answered, her eyes not leaving her own reflection. "I've settled them into bed,” she said.

The Prince furrowed his brow. "Did you not think that I would wish to bid goodnight to my sons?"

"The hour is late. They've had their fill of excitement for the day, Husband."

Husband. Not her usual 'my dearest love,' not 'my darling.' He was in trouble far more than what he had bargained for. He eyed her in disbelief. "You're truly taking their side?"

She finally turned then, vast (e/c) eyes meeting his violet one. "There is no side to be taken, Aemond,” he hated her formality when they argued, "We are a family. We're supposed to be on the same side. Did you see how pleased the poor King was to see everyone finally getting along? Our mothers finally found some common ground after all of these years and yet you ruined an otherwise pleasant night with your wounded pride."

"My wounded pride?" he spat harshly, raising his voice at her. "Did you not see the way your beloved brother laughed as they sat a roasted pig in front of me? Or have you forgotten the torment I was subject to as a child? What do you expect to me to do, (Y/N)?"

She stood then, the silk of her long night dress accentuating her rounded stomach. "You are to be the Royal Consort one day, you will be King!" she scolded him sternly, silencing him. "I expect you to be the bigger person. I expect you to act with dignity and not meet the teasing of a child with the ferocity that you did tonight!"

Aemond softened at this, turning away from her to face the burning embers of the hearth. He did not retaliate, only moving to sit in a chair placed in front of it. He gripped the arms of the seat trying to calm himself, breathing deeply.

His wife watched him carefully. "It is not fair. I know it isn't," she swallowed, her eyes glazed over as she did. "I know that it angers you that I love my family after all my brothers have done to you, after what Lucerys has taken from you and I am sorry, Aemond. I truly am."

He was silent still, eye glued to the flames before him as if they were the most important thing in the room. "I cannot keep atoning for crimes I did not commit," her voice was almost pleading as she stepped closer to him then, slowly, testing the water carefully. When he did not retaliate,  she kneeled on the floor in front of him. "I know that you would not have chosen me to wed on our own, dear husband."

Her hands reached out to take his, and he allowed it, watching down the bridge of his nose as his wife gently held his hands in her small ones and brought them both to her lips, kissing them tenderly and repeatedly. "We have been honest and good to each other in these near seven years as man and wife, though," she stated, eyes wide and pleading as she rested her chin on his knee. "Have I not been a good to you?"

"You have," Aemond's voice cracked, his eyes fluttering shut at her soft inquisition. He breathed deeply, removing one of his hands from hers and carding it through her beautiful hair. “My love.”

"I have given you my body, mind, and soul. I have given you my virtue, and my fidelity. My heart has only ever belonged to you," she whispered as her husbands tensity began to dissolve between her nimble fingers and lips. Her soft kisses continuing slowly up his arm. "I have bore you two beautiful, healthy boys. Boys that will be Kings and Warriors one day, and I carry another inside me."

The air was stolen from her as Aemond halted her pecking and surged forward, lifting her swiftly from the stone floor to straddle his lap as if she weighed nothing. She gazed down at him, moving to gently remove her husbands eye patch. He hadn't minded the action for years now, as it was a bother to wear and his pretty wife had never judged his appearance or what he had lost all those years ago. She set the patch on the end table next to them, not taking her eyes off of him as her hands slid up his shoulders and found their home at his jawline. Her thumbs moved in slow circles on his face.

"I have given you power," he whimpered at this, gripping the soft meat of her thighs. "Outside the walls of this chamber you are my equal, and one day we will rule the Seven Kingdoms side by side, however we see fit to."

"Yes," he groaned hoarsely, continuing his kneading at her thighs, sitting up to press his lips to her throat, leaving hot opened mouth kisses down her neck to the swell of her breasts as he detangled the strings of her shift, baring her supple chest to him.

"You would like that wouldn't you, My King?" Aemond growled in agreement, continuing his ravishing as she slipped her fingers to the base of his neck and weaved them into his hair, gripping it tightly. "And in this room, you will rule me as you see fit."

"If that we're true then I would bound you to our bed, little wife," he sank his teeth delicately into the flesh of her breast, tongue swirling against the skin, causing her head to snap back in pleasure and a breathy moan to fall from her lips. "You would never leave these chambers. Who would be left to rule if I'm buried inside this sweet cunt for all of our lives, hmm?"

"You have many years before we are crowned for me to ride you, my dragon. And I plan to mount you morning and night,” she grinding into him, their lips meeting finally in a messy kiss. "Surely you'll tire of bedding me by then."

"Never," he pressed his forehead to hers, their breathing hot as he moved a large slender hand to cover her swollen stomach. "I enjoy no sight more than your belly swollen with our children."

She rutted her hips against his once more, her weeping cunt begging for friction. "Please, my dearest love"

"I wonder how the realm would feel if they knew the truth of their precious Princess?" he smirked as she fucked herself on his covered length. "If they knew how she begged for me each night? How wet she gets without me even having to touch her."

"Aemond, please," she wined.

"You wish to ride your dragon, my Queen?" he began hiking up her night dress to rest on her hips.

She panted at his movements, so tender, so achingly slow and teasing. "Yes," she whimpered.

He cocked his brow at her. "What's stopping you? Claim me then."

She didn't have to be told twice. Her trembling hands moved frantically to the strings of his pants, unfastening them and pulling them down to his thighs. He hissed as she took his length into her hand, stroking it sweetly before he lifted her hips and guided her to sink down on him. Her eyes screwed shut, crying out in pleasure as she adjusted to the size of him. Neither of them moved for a moment, their breathing tense and labored.

Aemond brushed a lock of hair out of his wife's face, her forehead falling to meet his as he cradled her head with his hand. "Alright?"

"Mhm," she hummed needily, bracing herself as her hands dropped to his shoulders. Aemond's free hand moved to cover the swell of her stomach, a lazy grin forming on his lips, before finding it's way to her hips once more, helping to roll them against his. Aemond cursed, his jaw going slack as his wife unraveled above him. Once she found her footing, she picked up her pace, bobbing up and down steadily, her finger nails curling into his shoulders. His hips snapped up to meet hers, and she cried out, his name tumbling from her lips like a prayer. Something came undone in him at the sound, his hands were everywhere then, cupping her full breasts, wrapped around her throat, sinking into her thighs. He was pawing at her like she would disappear if he let go for one second, grunting like a wild animal as he rutted against her.

"So good," he captured her lips in a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth clashing. "So pretty and all mine."

She babbled something nonsensical in appraisal, her heat clenching around his cock as he worshipped her, their movements becoming sloppy as they approached their peak. "I'm so close."

"Say you love me," he demanded, fingers making their way to her pearl as he toyed with it, causing her to squeak at the touch. "Tell me again that you're mine and mine alone."

"Please," she panted, whimpering as he fucked into her relentlessly, hitting her sweet spot with each thrust. "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou."

Aemond's fingers were torture, slow and taunting. "Say it." "I'm yours," she cried out. "Only yours. Please--"

"Let go," he permitted, following close behind as she toppled over the edge, back arching and eyes rolling back as she was overcome with pleasure. They were still, chests heaving and hot breath mingling as they came down from their shared orgasm. Her nimble fingers tangled into his hair, brushing it away from his sweat soaked neck. He fell back into the chair, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her. "I would've chosen you," he broke the silence after a long moment. She lifted her head slightly to look him in the eye, confusion evident as if she had not registered what he said. "When you said that you weren't the wife I would have chosen for myself. If I had been presented with a choice, I would've chosen you."

Her gaze softened at the sincerity and raw emotion flickering in his eye. "Then choose me now. Choose our family," she gripped his shirt tightly, pleading with him. "Love me more than you hate them."

Aemond sighed deeply, covering her hands with his. "I do love you. More than anything."

"Then promise you will try." Neither wanted to admit what they both knew, that even if he did, it was too late. The King's health dwindled more and more by the day, and the wounds cut between the Greens and the Blacks were too old and too deep for even their love to heal. The time was coming where they would have to choose. War was looming and their last chance at peace had slipped through their fingers like flowing water. So they didn't, and chose in silence to carry on pretending while they still could.

Aemond cupped her face gently, and pulled her into a soft, sweet kiss. "I promise," he whispered, the sweetest of lies, and he met her lips again in a more fervent kiss.

And she let herself hope, she let her self believe, just a little while longer.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond imagine #Aemond Targaryen fanfic #aemond x velaryon!reader #hotd aemond #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon imagine #hotd #hotd imagine #ewan mitchell

[husbandhoshi]

title: eat. play. love.

pairing: seungcheol x f!reader

wc: 19.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Candied lemon, pecorino, garlic. Derivative, but it's a good bite.

"You're distracting me." You point your fork at him. "You're like 80% alcohol, anyway. Bad opinions."

"Sue me," he laughs. "I would take a client here, is all I'm saying."

You pass on the opportunity to bring up that Jeonghan once brought a client to a Bubba Gump because he was craving coconut shrimp. But Jeonghan isn't a food critic—he's a business analyst and your best friend from college, back when all you cared about was Friday's house party and writing pizza joint reviews for the university paper.

It's a good arrangement. You appreciate his company, and he's never one to turn down a free meal. The both of you keep a small circle—such is the price of discernment.

There aren't many things that can come between you and a delicious meal. But, you have notifications turned on for just three things (all work-related) and you both watch the linen tablecloth light up under your face-down phone in true horror-movie fashion.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Popular on a Saturday night," he jokes. "Copy on your ass again?"

"Nothing's in production," you reply, letting the evil claws of your terrible work-life balance encircle you once again as you open your email.

URGENT: LIFESTYLE EDITOR TRANSITIONAL PLANS, it reads. It's from Wonwoo, your editor in chief, who has sent it with priority, as if the caps lock wasn't scary enough.

"So Joshua decided to quit. Just like you said," Jeonghan says, but it's like he's speaking to you through a wet paper bag because it takes every working brain cell of yours to read the email.

As you may know, Joshua has decided to step down from his position as our current Lifestyle editor.

Not a surprise, given his wife is having a kid. You had called it six months ago over the paper's Christmas dinner at Eleven Madison Park, when Joshua spent half of it outside on a phone call and the other half browsing the Baby Gap website.

I have decided to hire internally to fill his position. I and upper management believe you would be a good fit for the position. Please plan for a meeting 9 AM Monday to discuss transitional plans.

It's that part that you have to read over three times. And then you read it over a fourth, just for good measure.

"You're starting to scare me." Jeonghan puts down his glass, which is something akin to a baby separating from their bottle.

Sometimes you need a dictionary to understand Wonwoo, but the email seems clear as day to you. Good fit. Transitional plans. Suddenly you wish Jeonghan hadn't had so much of the wine because you're in desperate need of a drink.

"I-I think…I think I'm getting promoted."

How funny to think your lifelong dream would be realized over a 40 dollar plate of pasta. You want to cry and hug the maître d' and eat the entire complimentary bread basket.

"It's about time." The glass finds his relieved hand again. "You breathe journalism. I'm afraid one day you'll text me in AP style."

You read over all of it again, trying to memorialize the words that undoubtedly will launch your wonderful and long career in the upper echelons of media.

Looking forward to talking with the two of you.

Wait—two?

Then the proverbial cherry on top, the laughably convenient other thing your eyes had glazed over before.

CC: Choi Seungcheol.

"Choi Seungcheol?!"

Nothing is ever that easy and it then dawns on you that this is a competition type thing because never in the history of the printing press has there been two editors for a section.

Jeonghan stares at you blankly. It would be funny if you didn't feel like you were being double deep-fried like terrible fair food, all the thrill and elation of the moment boiled down to lead in your chest.

"I—he," you stammer.

Jeonghan mouths check to the poor waiter assigned to watch your table. God bless him.

"Words," he tells you. "You went to journalism school."

You take a syrupy breath that sits in your lungs unhappily. Your food is cold. This is a disaster.

"Well, actually, I'm not getting promoted."

Jeonghan's eyes soften, just enough without making you pity yourself more.

"There's this guy," you start. "He's the love and relationships columnist, the one I complain about all the time." Jeonghan makes a small ahh sound, your predicament finally dawning on him. "I guess we're both under consideration for the position. I didn't-I didn't even think of him. I—"

You slump into your seat, the arancini your only solace despite your complaint that the breading was too salty earlier.

"So? I bet you're a way better fit than him. It'll be a shoe-in. Easy decision."

Jeonghan's confidence in you makes you want to cry.

The problem is that Seungcheol is the human equivalent of Cosmopolitan Magazine. You can't recall the last time he walked into the office with a fully buttoned up shirt. You also can't recall the last time one of his advice columns wasn't in the end of quarter recap for popularity.

It's not in you to explain this debacle to Jeonghan. This whole situation is so cosmically awful that all you can do is ask for dessert in a takeout box and watch Jeonghan calculate tip without a calculator because that's all you learn in business school.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jeonghan asks when you're both in the Uber.

"Yeah." You have a headache. You also can't decide whether or not to give the restaurant three or four stars, and you always know by the time you're out the door. "It's fine."

The tiramisu is cold in your lap. Jeonghan squeezes your shoulder. You refresh your email.

Choi Seungcheol's name stares back at you.

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The meeting goes exactly how you would expect.

Wonwoo, in his lanky taupe sweater vest, says that Joshua is leaving and you and Seungcheol are standing toe-to-toe in the space left behind.

"I'm sure you two are well-acquainted," he begins.

You stifle a laugh, but Seungcheol's cat-like grimace says more than enough. Neither of you have the heart to tell Wonwoo that your very first impression of Seungcheol was that he tried to hit on you at the new recruit party, or that Joshua probably deserves reparations for how often he mediated fights between the two of you during weekly meetings. (Maybe not reparations, but at least an Edible Arrangements.)

For better or for worse, Wonwoo's genius does not extend to social cues, and he follows with a blithe, "Therefore, I hope you two will treat this as a friendly competition between equals."

You almost laugh again, but this time it's because you need the promotion more than you need air, and you cannot allow some Buzzfeed reject with the face of a model take that from you. And you don't doubt Seungcheol wants it as bad as you do, considering how often you've seen him try to schmooze his way up the ranks.

He may have become a columnist by rubbing elbows with the right people, but you'll never forget the late nights you spent sifting through hours of interview transcripts, on the grueling climb up the totem pole to earn your position.

"We'll evaluate an article of your own submission at the end of the month before we decide. Best of luck."

At least Wonwoo knows to quit while he's ahead—he closes the meeting with a succinct nod before returning to his seemingly infinite unread emails.

"Exciting," Seungcheol says. He claps his hands together, Rolex gaudy under the office lights, and sends a nauseating smile your way. "May the best writer win."

He offers you a handshake. You think he has real life cooties, so instead you close your planner and shoot him a very pointed look.

"There's only one writer here. Thrilled to read your next thinkpiece on how men should spend more time on Tinder and not therapy."

That earns you a chuckle from Wonwoo, but Seungcheol is not easily fazed.

Instead he rushes to hold the door open for you on your way out, likely his favorite piece of advice to give his poor, indolent readers.

"I'll book a table for us at Avra next month," Seungcheol gloats. "Consider it a gift from your future boss."

"They don't have a kids menu, you know."

"No problem. I'll have my darling food critic order for me." He places a wicked hand over his polyester covered heart. "Ending misogyny in one fell swoop, huh?"

You wait for the door to Wonwoo's office to close before looking at him right in his wet, cow eyes with the most malice you can possibly muster. You feel it collect in your bones, enough to feel like you can physically hack it up and hurl it at him.

"You have no clue what you're talking about, huh? Do you actually attract women with that attitude? Or are you just a really good liar?"

You are so close to him, you could kiss him if you wanted—luckily for the both of you, you would rather die a thousand fiery, terrible deaths, and then die all over again. Instead, you watch his pout unravel into a grin from hell, and he leans in closer, the scent of Old Spice and break room coffee heavy on him. This morning's matcha latte churns in your stomach, and you wonder if you should have gotten oatmilk instead of dairy.

Up close, he's worse. His hair reminds you of the sad, tired swoop of the washed-up lead of a daytime soap opera. And he has no pores, which is deeply upsetting because he looks like the type to wash his face with Palmolive and a prayer.

"You know what?"

His breath hits your lips and your skin prickles like you have an allergy.

"What?"

"You just gave me the winning idea for my next column." No way, you think. Mind games. Classy. "See you at dinner, sweetheart. Looking forward to it."

The pet name makes you seethe. There are a million things you want to say, all colorful and none workplace appropriate.

"I'd rather starve."

"Better not let Wonwoo hear you with that bad attitude. I'm sure management loves a team player." His cheshire grin somehow gets bigger, all white teeth and pink lip. "Try to smile a little, huh? Have fun writing about snails and black garlic and cwa-ssants, or whatever it is that you do."

you watch all the laminated syllables of croissant go through his paper shredder smile and you think you black out.

He spins on his heel triumphantly, almost bowling over Minghao from Arts & Entertainment, who is undoubtedly wondering if you did, in fact, kiss.

Seungcheol laughs as he walks away, linebacker shoulders rippling under his one size too small shirt.

The metal-red knot of anger swells in your gut as you watch his perfect silhouette and his tiny little waist disappear into the staff room. Then you realize what you've been looking at and let yourself get mad all over again.

He does have a nice ass, though. You'll give him that.

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"You'll never guess what I have."

"Is it better than this lox bagel?" You answer, mouth unattractively full.

Seungkwan's answer is the sound of a straw hitting the bottom of an empty cup and the grating jostle of ice. Phone calls with him are like ASMR because he's always doing a million things at once, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Infinitely," he finally says, after procuring the last milliliter of what's likely his second coffee of the day. "Besides, we all know pesto is way better."

"Wrong, but okay," you reply. "What is it?"

"You're not gonna thank me for being the best friend in the world? Me, an editor, keeping nepotism alive for you? A mere columnist?"

"Senior columnist," you laugh between bites. "You need me. Who else would you text during content meetings?"

"Whatever." His eye roll is audible. "I guess I won't tell you."

He shakes his cup again, all ice and no patience.

"Fine! I owe you. My career and my life."

"And a seat at Momofuku."

"And that."

You take another greedy bite, letting the everything on an everything bagel get all over your chin. You love dressing up and going to restaurants that cost more than both of your kidneys, but there's something sacred about eating a $10 bagel behind the shield of your computer screen at a cafe where no one knows you.

There's someone laughing really loudly somewhere, and if you weren't otherwise preoccupied, you would look for the offender and give them a hard glare. You don't know what could possibly be that funny at 9 AM, but, then again, you never were a morning person.

"So, I have intel. About Seungcheol." You can picture the glint in Seungkwan's eyes, glittery and caramel. Unfortunately, the news that it's related to your worst enemy makes you sit up a little straighter. "At today's content meeting, Joshua said that he's working on some kind of challenge to go on as many dates as possible. He might make it a series."

"How tacky," you say, but the information clanks around in your brain like shoes in a washing machine. The indulgent, clickbaity headline just falls together perfectly—I Went On 50 First Dates So You Don't Have To. Exactly the kind of article your mom sees on Facebook and sends to you.

"You have to admit it's a decent idea. Not as good as yours, but it'll get engagement," is Seungkwan's reply, but you can barely hear it over the swell of another sitcom-esque laugh, this time, from a woman. "The other editors are very invested in this whole thing, by the way. Of course, I'm betting on you."

You're about to very openly stress about people gambling on your success when your eyes wander to the backside of the Sports Illustrated model getting napkins at the counter. Not bad at all, you think. It may be too early for the comedy club, but appreciating the male figure has no schedule.

And then he turns around, and you're able to see past the curly hair, muscle tee, beauty pageant smile—it's none other than Choi Seungcheol, fully outfitted with the audacity to trespass on your bagel place. You have never been more disgusted by your heterosexuality.

You hide behind your computer screen.

"Helloooo?" comes Seungkwan on the line. "Are you making out with your breakfast or something?"

"Seungkwan, I gotta go," you hiss. Your eyes follow Seungcheol as he makes his way back to his table. "There's a…situation."

You watch him sit across from a beautiful girl in a sundress and Prada sunglasses, and her lips tumble into a brilliant red smile.

It would be really fucking funny if he was on a date, you think, but then you see him make the kind of eyes you last saw in the deepest, stickiest recesses of a frat house on thirsty Thursday. Then you realize he is on a date, that he's been on a date, and it's his laugh that is equally annoying as it is loud.

Seungkwan works hard, but the devil always works harder.

"Ok, talk to you later. Bye!" You can hear the beginning of one of Seungkwan's protests, but you hang up before he's able to properly complain. Maybe you'll have to do a little better than Momofuku—that's a problem for later.

Over the rim of your laptop, you catch glimpses of their conversation. You notice Seungcheol talks a lot with his hands, and you wonder if that's another one of his tips or if that's just him. Him and those big clown hands, illustrating a story that you're unfortunately too far away to hear.

But you can hear her laugh again, and you try to guess what he's talking about. His childhood dog. The insurmountable burden of being prom king and captain of the football team. This little not-competition and this little not-rivalry between the two of you. How the PB&J bagel is the best thing on the menu (it's not, but you see the berry compote all over his fingers and you know that's the hill he's dying on).

No matter how you spin it, it's a hard pill to swallow. Choi Seungcheol is good at what he does, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

You hear the careening lilt of what seems to be Seungcheol whining, and there's a brief flash of something like endearment in your stomach before the repulsion sets in.

Nothing you can do to stop him, huh?

The question, sinister and burning, writhes in your brain as you chew on the ice from your coffee and stare at a blank Word document, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.

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Beware the wrath of a woman scorned.

It's number 3 on Seungcheol's article titled Revenge and Other Stories. Unsurprisingly, he must not practice what he preaches, because you currently have all nine circles of Dante's Inferno inside you right now.

Play nice, Jeonghan had told you. Looks better to upper management.

And you did, until one of your photo requests mysteriously got deleted. Then Joshua told you to cut 500 words from this week's column because Seungcheol's just "happened" to be a little longer this time.

The knockout punch was yesterday when Seungcheol told you he was using your January critic's choice pick to take Wonwoo out for a friendly dinner, his treat. If you had known, you would've called ahead and told them to poison the hamachi. (No matter. Any foodie worth their salt knows Thursday is the worst day for sushi).

Now you sit on the C train, dressed to the nines, because you have a date with destiny at Nai. Sometimes destiny is a big pan of paella for one, but this time, it's Seungcheol and his next victim on date night.

Getting him there was so easy, it was almost criminal. An obnoxiously loud elevator phone call in which you name dropped the executive chef, a friend of yours, at least four times. Seungkwan very strategically asking you if a press pass can bypass reservations for a booked-out restaurant. Gossip in the break room with the intentional use of "intimate," "sangria drunk," and "affordable."

Affordable was a lie, but you're learning quickly that a hungry fish will take any bait. And seeing Seungcheol's face is never a joy, but you're not opposed to watching him open the menu for the first time.

"I have a killer Spanish accent," Seungcheol told you on the way out today.

Hook, line, and sinker.

The subway car rumbles under you. You're almost in East Village. You don't normally spend your Friday nights crashing dates—you actually don't really spend them outside your apartment at all, but Seungcheol is the exception to the rule and you're making a lot of them for him. A small price to pay for the glory of dethroning Casanova.

The plan is to "accidentally" run into Seungcheol and his Friday night exploit, and then to casually, non-bitterly mention a, that she is about to become a statistic, b, that his idea of chivalry was birthed in the basement of the Alpha Omega house, and c, that you're surprised he's still single because you always happen to catch him on dates. Something like that.

This is admittedly the best you could come up with. Like you said, you don't really crash dates. You don't really sabotage people either, but Seungcheol declared war the minute his Folgers breath hit your face outside Wonwoo's office.

Then you think of all the ways things can absolutely backfire. Seungcheol's warm, carefree whirl of laughter when he explains you're office rivals, or worse, lies and says you're nothing but a jilted, jealous ex. Or this whole thing could simply be immortalized in his winning article as a jaunty sentence about making the most out of a bad situation, yada yada yada.

You picture watching another girl, spellbound, as you dig into your table-for-one paella.

In your mind's eye, she laughs, floaty like his date at the bagel place, and for a moment you understand what it might feel like to want Choi Seungcheol.

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Friday night at Nai is red and glittering and heady with saffron.

You remember when you first ate here, two weekends after the soft open, early in your career at the paper. After a three hour conversation over wine and octopus with the owner, you wrote the restaurant a glowing review that, to your surprise, helped land it several ritzy awards. Now the dining room is never empty, but they always find space for you.

That was the first time you learned that all of this work meant something. Yeah, you loved an excuse to stuff your face and get paid for it, but what was even better was the chance to tell the stories of a working father's hand-pulled noodles, the drunk, midnight origins of a tasting menu, the caramel-greedy fingers of a well-loved childhood.

This is the long way of explaining how you bypass the two hour standby wait time, and how you walk in on a first name basis with the manager.

You're fully prepared to see Seungcheol mid-churro, perhaps four pick-up lines deep and wondering if he still has a condom in his wallet.

That's why you almost miss him on your way to your table. His is empty, other than a lonely, watered down martini on the rocks and two menus.

"Seungcheol?"

He looks up at you, and something like genuine surprise melts into relief, then intrigue.

"Look at who crawled out of her dungeon," he chuckles. "You clean up good."

Whatever pity you may have felt for him vaporizes instantly. Although, when he beckons for you to sit in the empty seat across from him, you do take the bait—you're not about to pass up a good opportunity to humble your least formidable foe.

"Refreshing to see that our love guru isn't above dining solo," you reply. "I have to admit, your acting is impressive. What an elaborate ruse to get another poor, single diner to pity you enough to sit with you."

"It worked, didn't it?" He takes a sip of his cocktail, which is almost a brand new drink because it's 90% water, 10% martini by now.

"I'm no expert, but pretending to get stood up is not a tip I would give the general public."

"Who said I was pretending?"

No fucking way. Your jaw drops. It's too unreal to believe. Even if the slutty cut of Seungcheol's shirt wasn't persuasive enough, surely the prospect of enjoying a free Michelin star dinner would warrant an appearance, even for you. Breaking News: New York's Hottest Bachelor Ghosted at Top Restaurant. If only that were as wonderful to the average reader as it is to you.

Because waiters are trained to enter conversations at the best possible time, you're forced to pause and order a wine for the table and some tapas. (No paella for one? Seungcheol asks, and you try to reconcile your annoyance with the fact that one, he's read your review of this place, and two, that he looks mildly turned on that you can pronounce all the menu items. You tell the waiter to add a paella.)

"You got stood up?" You cross your arms over your chest. "You may think I'm dumb, but I'm not that dumb."

"You have no idea how flattering your reaction is." He laughs, and the air shifts around him, drawing you further into his eyes, inky under the lowlight. "I understand you think I'm irresistible, but, alas, not everyone shares your opinion."

"I never said that."

You hate how easy it is for him to push your buttons. You hate how in control he is, and you hate how he's looking at you like you're on the menu.

The waiter returns with the wine, and you decide you're feeling equally as terrible.

"Truly, you can't be that irresistible. After all this time writing about relationships, you would think you'd actually be in one."

Touché, you think. Normally, it would be too low a blow, even for you, except that his column-related debauchery is one of the four thrilling conversation topics he subjects you to at the office. And who are you to bury the lede?

"Coaches don't play," Seungcheol says, leaning back and popping the martini olive in his mouth offensively, as if he's not at a restaurant that takes months to get a good table at.

"Bullshit." You lean forward and chase his gaze. He doesn't shy away; rather, he meets you with an appraising raise of an eyebrow. "Coaches should at least know how to throw the ball."

"What do you think we're doing right now?"

"Oh, please." Your wrist twitches as you fight the urge to down your entire glass of merlot in a single gulp. You picture the title of his next article: Top 10 Ways To Get A Woman Drunk. And then the oh so charming punchline: 1. Be so insufferable she cannot last a conversation without her real life partner, wine.

"See? I've already got you laughing." He notices the generous sip missing from your glass and tops you up.

"No, you do not get to make this about me."

Somehow, you are laughing, but you chalk it up to the spiteful little man in your brain writing headlines for Seungcheol's column.

How To Antagonize Your Date In 5 Easy Steps.

"Need I remind you I'm only here because your actual date stood you up? Too soon?"

"I prefer you anyway," he answers, his expression half-challenge, half-something else that you don't really want to think about.

"Crazy, because I'd rather be literally anywhere else."

Signs You Are In A Hostage Situation, Not A Date.

"You should stick to food. You're a bad liar." He cocks his head to the empty table next to him. "It's still open if you want it."

"I'm no quitter."

Maybe The Male Gaze Isn't So Bad: A Thinkpiece.

Definitely not that one.

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"So, before I try anything," Seungcheol says, leaning across the table. "Teach me how to be a food critic."

"Why, so you can steal my job?"

"You can keep it," he laughs. "I'm gonna be your boss, not your replacement."

You notice he'll linger on the tail end of his sentences, betting on the response you haven't even come up with yet. He's picking apart the furrow of your brow, the marrow of your brain. It's like one drawn out interview, but you suppose that's all dating really is. Maybe your journalism degree wasn't a waste of money after all.

You won't give him the satisfaction of a fight (plus, you don't want the food to get cold), so you change the subject.

"Well, I take pictures first," you say, waving away his overeager fork.

"Genius. They really scammed you out of your Pulitzer, huh?"

You ignore him in lieu of repositioning the chorizo. Unfortunately, Seungcheol is unrelenting. You hear the snap of his phone camera, clearly taking a photo of you and not the meal—clever, but you won't bite.

"Wanna be in my story? I can tag you."

In your periphery hovers his wry, wanting smile.

"Sure. So the world can know I'm a charity worker too."

He whistles, clutching his heart. If he weren't so annoying, you would find him a little cute. Just a little. You blame the kitchen for whatever aphrodisiac is in the food today.

"Live update: date with food critic going about as well as an episode of Hell's Kitchen."

He says this leaning forward, elbows on the table, so close to you that your knees might touch. You tense at the thought.

"Any date of mine would be on better behavior."

"So you're admitting this is a date?"

"This," you wave your hand over the table. "This is not a date. This is me regretting ever pitying you."

"Well, pity looks good on you."

And there it is again, that accursed, perfect smile. This time, it works, and you fight the losing battle of the wine flush undoubtedly all over your face. It bothers you that there's a little part of you that enjoys this, but that's a confession you plan on taking to the grave.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, because you're not getting any again."

"Fine. I'm still waiting for your grand secret," he says, now biting the tines of his fork like an untrained dog. No rest for the weary, you suppose. "Food is food. Prove me wrong."

Despite the betrayal of your basal human instincts, you're determined to make this a bad encounter. Maybe you hadn't anticipated the full force of Seungcheol's overgrown fratboy persona, but you came here for a reason and you do plan to see it through.

"There is no secret." You split apart an empanada, the guts steaming and fragrant. "You eat."

"Like this?" He crams an entire piece in his mouth, and you watch him recoil and huff the heat out. "Mmm, 's pretty good, though."

Your eyes almost roll back far enough to see the wrinkles of your brain. Of course he wouldn't get it, but you don't know what you were expecting from a guy who thinks Hot Pockets are fine dining.

You put on your most pretentious food critic face. "Eating is about respect. Storytelling. He's retelling the first time someone made him this dish. The ingredients—they're words on a page. An autobiography." Your hand finds your chest and you sigh, a final touch to your Oscar winning melodrama that would certainly annoy anyone with even half a brain.

"Huh. Poetic," he says. He's still fanning his (very full) mouth, but he chews a little more slowly. "I'm respecting. I'm taking it in."

You don't know if he's actually doing any of that, but, when he takes his next bite he asks about what's in it (tomato, raisin, egg) and if someone really made the chef an empanada when he was younger (yes, on the flour-printed counter, every Sunday morning).

You press on. It shouldn't take much to bore him, but with every question, food-related factoid, and snide comment you have, he matches you with genuine curiosity. Either he's an excellent actor or he's secretly culinary school-bound, because you can't actually imagine anyone putting up with any of that, nonetheless I like dick jokes and football Choi Seungcheol.

You spend the rest of the evening like this, spoon to heart to cherry mouth. The wine is abundant, and Seungcheol spends more time listening than talking, which he admits is a first for him.

"You really know a lot about food," he says, likely fighting the urge to use his finger to get the last of the chocolate sauce off the churro plate. "I like that."

It's a cheap compliment in a game of low blows, but it sits warm and content in your chest. You have to force yourself back to the night you met him, when he was all cognac and one-liners and he gave you his spare hotel room key. A good reminder of his true nature, you think, despite the fact that he just listened to you talk about all the different grains of rice, ad nauseum.

"It's my job," is your reply, adequately distant for your liking.

"Fair. You gonna ask me about mine?"

"What more is there to know?" You hold up the check. "You're paying, right? Chivalry and all that?"

You're waiting for him to mention the company card, the only one allocated to your section that Seungcheol couldn't possibly have because it's sitting snug in your purse. The one you'll say you conveniently forgot so you get to see a grown man squirm at paying the bill.

"Already did. Gave the host my card when I got here. You're holding the customer copy." His chuckle disappears under the lip of his wine glass. "Bet you were excited to use the company card, huh?"

If shame were a physical object, you feel like your own personal Atlas. Your only option is to stare at the wasteland of empty plates before you and wonder how deep Seungcheol's pockets really are.

"Hardly. More excited that I burned a hole in your wallet." You click your tongue, out of options on how to ruin Seungcheol's night. You would spill wine on him but there's none left. "Anyway, I'm heading out."

"Running away?"

"Bored," you lie.

He calls you a taxi, and you walk out together, night heavy with the rhinestone glare of Friday night traffic.

"I actually had a nice time tonight," Seungcheol says, emphasis on the actually.

"Unfortunate."

"How do you think I feel?"

The taxi pulls to the curb, and he sighs, weighty with exaggerated relief. You can't even take it seriously because he's looking right at you and badly failing to push down the smile at the corners of his mouth.

It's only now that you notice his eyes are really brown, like he's from a cartoon or something. Worse, you'd daresay they're nice, less menacing, when they're tempered by a good meal and semi-public humiliation.

"Text me when you get back to your villain lair."

"If I were a real villain, you would have a lot more to worry about."

Seungcheol opens the cab door for you, and you catch a whiff of the cologne he undoubtedly smeared on in the toothpaste-streaked mirror of his five by five studio bathroom. Pine, leather, and citrus, which is the most pedestrian combination of smells to exist and yet you doubt it hasn't done him any favors.

"I'm terrified. Shaking." You clamber into the backseat, and he smiles at you again, as if you've forgotten what all his other ones looked like. "By the way—"

You have half a mind to shut the door in his face, but you can't find it within you—maybe it's the wine, or perhaps pure defeat. Probably the former.

"This job. It's—" He clicks his tongue and looks at the tops of his leather shoes. He's actually thinking, and you don't like it. "Never mind. See you Monday."

And then the words are gone. He shuts the cab door, and they're left in a plume of exhaust and Seungcheol's tiny waving figure in the rearview mirror.

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"So you're telling me you went on a date with your worst enemy."

It's 8 AM, and Jeonghan isn't pulling punches. Even through the phone, you can see his lazy grin, the pen he's flipping in his hand, the green ribbon of the Dow Jones on his desktop.

The newsroom is refreshingly near empty, except for Joshua, who hovers around the water cooler like a fly on the wall, if flies wore Armani ties and cigarette jeans.

"It wasn't a date, and I wanted to ruin it so he would have nothing to write about."

"No one goes on a date to ruin it. You could have just left."

"Clearly you haven't seen How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days."

"Are you serious." Jeonghan laughs, crackly and bright. "Care to tell me how that movie ends?"

"Except he isn't Matthew Mcconaughey. He says spaghetti like pah-scetti and doesn't use Oxford commas."

Mid-laugh, you endure another beat of extended eye contact with your editor until he beckons you over. He'd likely been waiting for the perfect time to interrupt the conversation he was so subtly eavesdropping on—oh, how you love a newsroom with an "open floor plan" to "facilitate communication." Sometimes you think the reason Joshua's stuck around this long is because reporters can't stay away from drama, especially if they're not the ones reporting it.

"I gotta go," you tell Jeonghan, whose version of a goodbye is a triumphant cackle.

You find Joshua putzing around, plastic water cup incriminatingly full.

"I take it you had an enjoyable weekend?" he asks, eyes sequined with all the secrets they hold.

"Yup. Just working on that Dining Through The Years article." Not entirely a lie—you are hedging your bets on this story, one where you revisit the restaurants you wrote about when you first got your start at the paper (Nai included, although admittedly yesterday's food was the least of your concerns). "You needed me?"

"Glad to see New York's finest chefs are well-versed in Kate Hudson's filmography," he says, grinning something beastly. If he weren't your boss, you'd knock that little water cup clean out of his hand. "Anyway, if your interview is over, I need you to go on a field trip."

"Field trip?"

Surely you're better than a task for the interns. You wonder if they're off fighting their own demons, seeing as you missed the circus in the elevator this morning, the usual juggle of hazelnut lattes and lemon poppyseed muffins for the higher-ups.

"Wonwoo needs you to help pick out catering for the corporate event later next week." Joshua tips his head back at Wonwoo's glass-plated office, where you see him redoing his tie in the reflection of his computer monitor. "My guess is that Yerim is going to be there, and he wants to make a good impression. Like an 'I consulted a food expert' impression."

Classic gossip queen Hong Joshua, always with the unnecessary but incredibly cogent commentary on office politics. You think you're actually going to miss the bastard.

"Flattered," you remark dryly. "Catering from where?"

"That's the thing. It's from this Thai place like two hours out from the city."

Two hours: code for an all day endeavor. He wasn't kidding when he said field trip.

You graciously resist the urge to groan out loud. No one told you taking the high road is one big slog through the mud, but here you are. You tell yourself this will help your campaign to be editor—the stinky, dirt-smeared silver lining.

"Before you ask—yes, I know you cannot take the subway there." You blink at him, wondering why this all feels like the set-up to a terrible joke. "Luckily, as you probably know, Seungcheol drives here every day and has offered to help."

Ah. There it is. You look for the blinking applause sign hanging above your head and the chorus of riotous Seungcheols making up your own personal laugh track.

"Only back to the office, though—" Joshua adds, as if that provides you any solace. "There's a one-way bus going up there at noon."

"N-not both ways?" you croak.

"Something about funds," he replies, shrugging. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"You're not the one I'm thinking of shooting."

"Who knows? Maybe he is Matthew McConaughey." And when your glare turns sharp as the edge of a santoku knife, he holds his hands up like he's getting arrested. "I'm just saying. As your friend, not your editor."

Whatever.

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You have to admit, Wonwoo does have impeccable taste in Thai food.

Three noodle dishes, two curries, and the best mango sticky rice you've ever had: that's what it took for you to finally say "not all men." Certainly not Wonwoo, who's in deep enough to send his goons cross-state for a girl he's tried to woo for almost a whole year now.

A tamarind sunset blankets the countryside in milk and honey. You're sitting on a bench, ridiculously full with leftovers to spare, waiting for your chauffeur from hell.

Two years and you still don't know what car Seungcheol drives. Your last memory of it is it being flashy, impractical, and loud, much like him.

You know this, and yet you are still surprised when a gnat of a BMW rips into the curb in front of you. The passenger window crawls down, and Seungcheol has the gall to whistle at you.

For someone so predictable, he sure does manage to find new ways to piss you off. Unfortunately, on brand— according to him, Consistency Is Key (number 2 on Keeping the Spark Alive, August 2022 issue). You've done your reading.

"You're welcome," is the first thing Seungcheol says to you after cranking down the volume of the radio and watching you fumble with the seatbelt.

"You really didn't have to." You look at the array of gas station snacks bubbling out of the cupholders—Sour Patch Kids, a Big Gulp, and Flamin’ Hot Fritos. You didn't even know they sold Sour Patch Kids to full grown adults.

Still, you do feel a little bad. You can count on one hand the amount of people you would do this for and still have one or two cheese-dusted fingers left.

"But, thank you."

"Joshua made me," he says, and what happened this morning starts to make a lot more sense. "Plus, I was a little jealous. I would kill for a day frolicking in the sun, eating delicious food, far, far away from the big city. Not trapped like me in the newsroom, exhausted, toiling away on my magnum opus."

The sigh that crawls from his chapped lips practically shakes the car.

"I'm retracting my thank you."

"I'm devastated. Really."

You choose to watch the strip of shitty New York highway unravel through the greasy passenger window. No point in picking a fight when you're in a leather quilted jail cell for the foreseeable future.

It's at the thirty minute mark where Seungcheol casts the first stone of terrible, stilted small talk.

"Why'd you get sent all the way out here anyway?"

The red taillight flush of rush hour floods the car, an unpleasant reminder of the real sunset left far behind you.

"Thought you knew it was Wonwoo."

"Yeah, but why?"

Why does it matter? Is your first thought, but you realize he's attempting to actually have a genuine conversation with you, which you suppose is better than him flinging around another rude remark. Either that, or he's falling asleep, and you'd rather not have the last moments of your life be in Seungcheol's chick magnet car.

"Joshua thinks it's because he wants to impress Yerim at the corporate meeting this week. I guess she likes Thai."

Traffic is slow enough for him to turn to look at you, really look at you.

"Come on, he can't like her that much."

"Yes, he can." you try to read his expression, neon-glossy. "This isn't even that much effort."

"Nah," he shrugs. "There's gotta be some kind of ulterior motive. Maybe he wants to move into corporate."

"Hot take for a romantic." You frown. "Not everything people do is a career move, you know."

You omit the unlike you that sits heavy in the back of your throat, although, his cavalier approach to relationships is starting to make a little more sense. You wonder if this whole thing—the dates, the watch, the Invisalign smiles—is just a long, drawn-out joke to him.

"Seems like a lot of effort to go through for an office crush." His gaze drifts back to the road. "The extravagant birthday present. Always having her favorite flowers in the office. That one cringe voicemail we all heard him re-record ten times. No one likes anyone that much. Come on. Her dad is the CEO of the company."

Suddenly his winning smile doesn't seem so triumphant. It almost feels like a betrayal, but you don't know why.

"Maybe he just likes her," you reply. "I dunno. I choose to believe that. I think it's sweet."

"Maybe you're the romantic." The words come out like an accusation; Seungcheol laughs, but all the joy's been sucked out of it.

"Who hurt you?"

"No one did. I'm just being honest."

You would laugh at the irony if it didn't feel like there was a vine wrapped round your throat. Life is funny, but never so funny as to curse New York's favorite romance writer with cynicism and a lying streak.

"Controversial, but I actually want to do nice things for the person I like."

"And when was the last time that happened?" He's deflecting, which is predictably on brand for him. His grin, now playful, is propped up by a pair of frustratingly well-formed dimples.

You can't even find it within you to protest because he's right—you haven't dated in a long time. Joshua stopped asking if you were bringing a plus one to office parties ages ago.

But it's not that you can't—in fact, the last time you did, you think it broke you a little inside. It's certainly not a story Seungcheol's privy to, though. You already feel strange, cut-open, trying to convince him that people are capable of meaningful relationships.

Childishly, there's also a part of you chasing the truth about him because it takes him further and further away from you. So you do what you do best and deflect again. Two can play at that game.

"Not taking criticism from a guy who's dated half of the city and has nothing to show for it."

"I wouldn't say nothing."

He opens his mouth then closes it again, as if he's revising the words on his tongue. Journalist behavior, which you didn't even know he could still exhibit.

Now you're really thinking. Who hurt him, and how? The development that Seungcheol is more than the playboy slime haunting page 3 intrigues you more than you'd care to admit.

Before you can pry, Seungcheol's stomach growls, almost offensively loud.

"Sorry," he says. "Who would've thunk that corn chips aren't a balanced meal?"

You stare at the takeout boxes snug in your lap. There is a cosmic message being sent right now.

Seungcheol's sad, Frito-filled belly. Fresh noodle that won't keep well in the fridge. Tax and tip for a four hour car ride back to the city. Expanding your repertoire of blackmail so that you can claim your rightful helm at the paper.

These are all the reasons you give yourself for what you ask next.

"You in a rush?"

"How could I be—do you see the blinding speed we're driving at?" He laughs at his own incredibly unfunny attempt at a joke. "No, I'm not."

"I may or may not have an actual balanced meal for you."

That’s how you end up in the parking lot of a random 7/11 off the freeway. In any other circumstances, it would be a cruel and unusual punishment, but you've already been whittled down enough to actually care about Seungcheol, even if just a little.

That's what you tell yourself, anyway, as you watch him finish the last of the takeout.

"So I'm bad at food, and you're bad at love. Why the fuck did Wonwoo even think of promoting either of us?" Seungcheol kicks his shoes off and props his feet up on the dashboard. You notice his socks have dogs on them, little linty brown ones, and you feel a little worse about openly bullying him about his fashion taste in front of the entirety of copy staff.

"I may be bad at love, but you're worse. Especially for someone who does it for a living," you retort. "Don't think I forgot our earlier conversation."

You try to read the tiny text on a receipt he's got stashed in the center console, among his graveyard of snack wrappers. (2) CHEESY GORDITA CRUNCH…8.78. (1) M MT DEW BAJA BLAST…1.00.

Definitely bad at food, you muse to yourself.

"You think I'm not kicking myself right now? That I have a beautiful girl in my car right now, and all we do is argue?"

Now that—nothing could have prepared you for that.

It gets awfully quiet. The noise of the freeway seems to screech to a fever pitch, all horns and the thrum of the asphalt. You wish anything but John Mayer was playing on the radio.

You will the headlines man in your head to make you laugh. Instead, your brain presses the word beautiful into your neurons and you feel all the heat in your body float to your face, traitorously, dizzyingly. John Mayer croons, your body is a wonderland and your stomach knots into itself over and over again.

"Stop that."

"What?" Seungcheol's head lolls to his shoulder so he can look at you from the corner of his eye. " 's not a big deal. Never been called beautiful?"

A grin plays on his lips, expression dancing on something grim, like he's spoken his final words.

"I'm serious! Stop trying to get me to like you." You huff and cross your arms over your chest, like it'll somehow make you feel more normal. "I'm not some experiment for your column."

"Is it working?"

You don't answer. How can you? There's a yes resting on the roof of your mouth, surely the product of the handful of real, actual moments you've now had with him—far too many for your liking. This whole charade has been a balancing act on the razor edge between rivals and something else, and now you're feeling the sting.

"For the record, I have been called beautiful before."

"And for the record, you're not an experiment for my column. You never were."

There's a relief that pulses through your chest, a breathless, wonderful kind of dizziness. You grab hold of it as soon as it's reared its ugly head. You're flying way too close to the sun, chasing cheap validation from the same guy who ate your lunch out of the fridge last week.

He's no better—he looks like the vulnerability cracked him open a little, and you're the one holding the hammer. It makes for a grubby, unflattering portrait of two emotionally inept people trying to play feelings.

However, much like all other things Seungcheol, any glimpse of something real is gone before you know it. He takes a loud, noisy pull of Diet Coke, and the spell is broken.

"Want any?" And when you shake your head, grateful to swallow the words pressed to your tongue, he says, "Should we wait out traffic here?"

This is an easier yes. You tell yourself you're getting sick of brake lights and reading the license plates on the back of other people's cars. Certainly that makes Seungcheol's gaze, lingering and moonlight-warmed, a little more tolerable.

For once, you don't talk about Wonwoo or your job. You don't talk about love, either.

Maybe this is the reason the next few hours slip through your fingers. Three folded takeout pagodas and a secret—somehow this is all it takes for you to hate Seungcheol just a little less.

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Usually, a good eggs benedict can solve the majority of your problems. Today seems to be the exception. The hollandaise is broken, Jeonghan is already laughing at you, and nothing will ever erase the fact that Seungcheol drove you home last night and now he knows where you live. If you wake up one morning and see a sniper laser pointed at your forehead, you have no one to blame but yourself.

"You look exhausted." An eighth of a buckwheat pancake disappears into Jeonghan's mouth. "You literally eat for a living. There is no reason for them to keep you late."

Jeonghan has a funny way of caring about you, but he's right. You did get home at 2 AM yesterday, but that was on you, not Wonwoo.

"I'm not going to let a corporate slug tell me what is and isn't a real job," you sigh, taking a swig of your half-flat mimosa and reminding yourself to figure out which staff writer gave this place 4 stars in last week's paper.

"Says the girl who needs the company card to afford bottomless brunch," Jeonghan replies.

"At least I'm not a slave to my career."

"What do you call this whole thing with your coworker then, huh? It's all you text me about." The smirk on Jeonghan's face is miserably, tragically righteous, and you can't even be mad about it.

"Seungcheol is my enemy, remember?"

"You sent me a five minute voice memo the other day ranting about how he went on a date with another girl." And just like the little shit he is, he even pulls up your mile-long text history, just to rub it in your face a little harder.

"Am I not allowed to wish for his demise? Since when were you the mature one?"

"I wouldn't call keeping track of his whereabouts wishing for his demise." Jeonghan takes a well-timed bite of your hashbrowns. "Something tells me you're wishing for something a little different."

You almost choke on a blueberry.

"Absolutely not."

You watch Jeonghan power down another mimosa, half-fascinated, half-appalled he would even dream of suggesting something so vile.

The memory of Seungcheol, leant back in the driver’s seat, lowering greasy spools of rice noodles into his mouth, crosses your mind. He had laughed until he cried when he asked you if a pineapple had really fried this rice. That was the kind of man you were dealing with. You can't believe you laughed with him.

"I think it'll be good for you to get back into dating again. Mingyu was, what, three years ago?"

And that's the chocolate chip studded, syrup-covered nail in your coffin. Of course all roads had to lead back to you and your relationship trauma Jeonghan considered unresolved.

You had dated Mingyu when you were younger, softer. It was a love of firsts, of sun-washed mornings and farmer's market Sundays, of raw, black currant midnights and whatever long-winded conversation you had spent all day on.

Mingyu was a chef. His hands, his lips, his eyes—that's how you fell in love with food. Strawberry kisses into fresh pasta into the first time someone had ever cooked for you. What a wonderful, terrible thing to see all your history on a plate, the I could never eat peas, the once I ate mangos till I was sick, the guilty spoon in the vanilla ice cream after a bad day and the dark chocolate you keep in your purse. He remembered that you like your noodles just a little bit overcooked, and you don't even think you told him that.

Food, like some shitty piece of home decor would say in that swirling, curly font, really is some window to the soul. It didn't fully hit you until, one day, you were at the grocery store alone, and somehow you knew exactly what brand of everything Mingyu liked.

You opened a restaurant together after you graduated from college. Then it closed, and you lost Mingyu to Naples or New Orleans or Seoul—somewhere, anywhere to escape the corner of 5th and 40th, the December-pleated memory of his hands in yours and a promise you could never keep.

You're sure you're over it by now, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't look for him in a bowl of his favorite ramyun, the one you could never replicate even though he insisted he just added hot water (Food tastes best when it's a gift, he'd say. You never understood until now.).

Jeonghan doesn't believe you because every time you try explaining this to him, you end up sounding like the most chronically lonely person on planet Earth.

"That is the wrong guy to suggest then," you instead reply, feeling all the food dry up in your mouth.

"I'm running out of options."

"Don't you have a hot coworker or something?"

You shut your eyes, pushing Mingyu back to recall literally any face from one of the many swanky corporate parties Jeonghan bullied you into attending. The only person coming to mind is Lee Chan, and even more than his face, you remember the fat platinum band around his ring finger (Better luck next time, Jeonghan had said, mid-cheese cube).

Worse, amidst all the fuzz, a grainy recollection of Seungcheol's wet cow eyes washes up against your eyelids, and it's not going away this time.

"I thought we were all corporate slugs," Jeonghan replies, enjoying the way you glower at him over your fork. "I was kidding, anyway. Relax."

Your entire body heaves with the sigh that escapes you.

You thank god that Jeonghan is never serious, because otherwise you'd have to consider the fact that he really thought you should date Seungcheol. Jeonghan, who knows the pizza column you, the Mingyu you, and now the you that works late because there's nothing else left to do, really might have thought you should date grifter by day, con artist by night Seungcheol.

The fluorescent glaze of the gas station lights. Seungcheol's hand on the gear stick. His voice, warm and gauzy. It's like there's a flash drive of last night plugged into your head, and you can't take it out.

The stem of the champagne glass finds your hand, and you down the whole thing.

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Monday is uneventful. So is Tuesday, and you wonder what good deed you'd done to deserve such a blessing.

Wednesday, you realize you're just three interviews away from what could possibly be the best article of your life. Unfortunately, two of those won't pick up the phone and the third keeps rescheduling on you.

That's fine—Rome wasn't built in a day, and the same hopefully applies to your future noodle empire.

You're using your lunch break to write an email to number two when you notice Seungcheol hovering around your desk, a plastic straw in his mouth and evil in his eyes.

He's taken to publicly annoying you at work more than usual—Progress, Joshua had told you in the elevator this morning. Towards what? you had asked. He shrugged, letting his crafty, knowing look do all the talking.

"Me, you, and date number two?" is today's opening line. Before you can peel yourself away from your computer and give him a good lashing for whatever the fuck he just said to you, he continues with, "How's that for a follow-up text to my speakeasy date?"

"Lame," you reply, hackles still raised but now re-reading your email for typos.

"Wrong. You were supposed to say incredibly romantic, extremely witty, and unfairly charming." He perches his baseball player ass on the corner of your desk, waiting to be humbled. This is the usual order of things, which has shockingly become more of a familiarity than anything else.

"Do you even have a romantic bone in your body?"

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Just one, but it's the only one that matters."

"Ew. Gross." You wrinkle your nose and attempt to soothe your temper with a sip of the terrible protein shake you got for lunch. "No wonder your column sucks."

"If mine sucks, I'd hate to see what people are saying about yours." And when your reply is a tired, hungry swig of your sad drink, he says, "No lunch today? Even I had something better."

"Lucky you."

The bigger truth is that that the deadline for your article, looming before you, is getting to you more than you'd care to admit. Seungcheol isn't helping, not with his bottomless magic hat of date stories that seems to only grow deeper by the day. Now you're forgetting to pack a lunch, and the highlight of your day has been reduced to punching numbers into a vending machine.

Things are bad, but you'll never say that aloud, especially not to the guy who'll spend the next five years dunking on you if you keep this up.

You stare down the lip of your bottle at the faux-chocolate dregs streaking the bottom.

The month before Mingyu opened his restaurant, you were so preoccupied with making sure everything was just right that you also forgot to eat. One day, leftovers from his work started magically appearing in your fridge. Chow fun (miss you!), salt and pepper shrimp (don't forget to drink water!), a gargantuan vat of hot and sour soup (love you most!).

It was a perfect coincidence until you realized there was no way Chinese takeout was coming out of a very French restaurant, and it was then you learned that love is never really a coincidence.

Now you have no coincidences, mapo tofu, or romance. Just muscle milk and a front row view of the struggling inseam of a man who must shrink his pants in the dryer.

He's peeling a tangerine. Your worst confession to date is that it's easy on the eyes. For once, his hands, always made busy with some scheme, now still over the rind, steady, practiced. Plus, it looks like a marble in his huge hands, which is unfortunately both funny and a little hot.

"Stare any longer, and I'm gonna forget how to peel this."

"Don’t flatter yourself. Just hungry," you half-lie.

Hungry, Stressed, And Delusional—The New Holy Trinity.

It's a catchy headline, but not a great look for you. Never in your life did you think you'd be ogling a man peeling an orange. He even takes all the pith off, and you don't have the heart to tell him that's where all the nutrients are.

"Exactly," he replies. Then he plops the naked, shiny fruit right on your bare desk. "Here. Eat."

You’re so taken aback, all you can do is stare. First at the orange, then at Seungcheol, who suddenly cannot make eye contact with you. Instead, he stacks the peel in his hands, dimpled piece over piece.

"Payback for the, uh, Thai," he says, and although you wouldn't equate a tangerine to James Beard awarded pad kee mao, all you can think of is an lime green sticky note in your fridge and a smile.

A gift. A pithless, wrinkly one.

The idea that Seungcheol was capable of being genuinely nice to anyone, nonetheless, you—probably the most undeserving person of it in the world—makes you feel something close to guilt.

You push through the feeling, instead taking the fruit in your hand and splitting it between your thumbs. The flesh caves so easily, and it's then you remember that food, unlike people, doesn't have to be complicated.

You can feel a better person somewhere inside you, someone easier to care for and with less of a bad attitude. You're not there yet, but there's a dark, satisfying comfort in not being good enough for the indulgence of that kind of intimacy. An arm's length was never too far away for you, except now there's someone sitting on your desk and they gave you lunch. Worst of all, you don't think you mind.

You hold out the half—sticky, guilty fingers and all.

Seungcheol wordlessly accepts it. There's no surprise or confusion—he smiles, you say cheers, and you both take a bite.

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On weekends, the Korean place down the street from your college apartment sold corn dogs until 3 AM. That was when words came easy and love came easier.

It was with sugar all over your nose, eyes pressed to the once forgiving half-moon, where you told Mingyu you would become a writer.

The thing about youth is that it can float anything, no matter how holey, desperate it was. So you sailed through college, that gasping hope wound tight in your fist. Then you started freelancing, just in time for Mingyu’s soft open. You wanted to write, but more importantly, you wanted some way, any way to be useful to the person who had given you so much.

In retrospect, there was no way your crude attempts at actual journalism could ever generate real publicity for him. Not in the heart of New York, where a new restaurant opened every two days and someone wanted to get published every three.

So you eventually sank, and so did Mingyu, leaving you with all this creased, no good love in your chest to shrivel up with nowhere to go.

All of that landed you here. A degree, a dream job, and a laundry list of accolades, but the fruit of that love still hangs heavy and joy-rot on the vine, as you wait for it to be good enough for the taking.

Ironically, it reminded you of cooking. No one ever teaches you when to stop, and now every other joint has dry-aged steak and some version of a three-day demi glacé. But at least demi glacé tastes good—you don't even know what the fuck you're doing some days, and the feeling's never been worse than now, waiting on a call you were supposed to get two days ago.

The phone rings, just in time to distract you from the top button of Seungcheol's fitted shirt, which looks like it's holding on for dear life. He's currently deep in conversation with Mina from design, but every so often, he'll glance your way to see if you're just free enough to be bothered.

The unspoken perils of working late—less people around to pester on Wonwoo's dime.

Mina stuffs her laptop in her bag and checks her watch. Strike three for Seungcheol.

Working Hard Or Hardly Working: A Guide To Office Romances. You're surprised he hasn't written that one yet. Maybe Joshua shot it down.

"Hello?" The dial tone breaks into the warm, risen-bread voice of the woman you know to be the owner of one of your favorite hole-in-the-wall noodle spots. The Friday night after your review was published, there was a line out the door. It honestly felt like a no-brainer to you, and you had no hesitation telling the owner that you were sure her place would become a local mainstay. You watched her crow-footed eyes go moony and you couldn't help but picture the day your yellowed newspaper would be posted up on the wall, framed and prophetic.

You're ready to profusely apologize for not stopping by—truthfully, no bone broth has come close to hers. Instead, she apologizes to you, which you aren't sure is flattering or a sign something terrible has happened.

You hope it's the former, but you should have known that hoping has never been enough.

She tells you that she closed the doors to her restaurant yesterday. It all comes spilling out, one gut punch after the other, the bills and the empty tables and how things just weren't the same the year after your review was published. She thanks you for your time, your writing, and your belief, and then she hangs up.

Not a thing in your body feels capable of moving. All the phone static passes right through you until the week's canned up dread balls up in your throat and some darker-than-black feeling swallows you whole.

The fluorescent ceiling lights sear into you. You think you're going to cry, and that's the last thing you want.

To anyone else, it wouldn't be that serious. Restaurants close all the time, and you know an entry in your silly little column is a far cry from a Hail Mary. But all you can think of is Mingyu’s neon sign on 5th and 40th and the two pairs of hands that had to take it down. You think your fingerprints are still on it, right over the blue shock of the I and the N.

One more dream taking on water, and once again, you're at the sad, cruel center of it.

You try to imagine the gumpaste walls, bumpy and water-stained. Maybe a pale square where your review used to hang.

No, you're definitely going to cry.

Fuck this, fuck work, fuck the article. And fuck Seungcheol, who's packing up his annoying, jingly messenger bag and is the only thing standing between you and an empty office to lose your shit in.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember if you're wearing waterproof mascara today. Unfortunately, the cowbell of Seungcheol's bag sounds like it's catching up to you, and, like it or not, you are two shaky breaths away from breaking down in front of the last person in the world you want to see.

"Final touches on another titillating piece about pineapple on pizza?"

You have no stomach for yelling at him. You can't even look at him. Instead, you bury your head in your hands and tell him to never use the word titillating again.

"A little too soon to play editor, in my humble opinion."

You don't reply. You're trying to scare him off without really scaring him off because god knows you've done that with enough people. Either way, he's calling you a crazy bitch at the next holiday party. You can just hear it.

But you should've known Seungcheol, of all people, doesn't flinch at a little silence. You still feel him hovering behind you, probably wondering if it's the half-full vanilla protein shake on your desk that's turned you sour. Or if you'll really make good on your threat to shank him with the plastic knife you keep in your top drawer.

Just walk away, you think. Go the fuck home.

Seungcheol, who gets paid to play cupid like it's fantasy football, would never understand that bite of the dial tone. Not like that. Half an orange is a hell of a toll to pay for your unfortunate work-related trauma.

You count the seconds till he walks away.

One. Two. Three.

Four is cut short because instead of doing what he should have done and left, he places a hesitant hand at the base of your neck, between your shoulder blades.

"Hey, you ok?"

Easy, noncommittal words, but something in you cracks. You don't know what it is—maybe it's because it's late and you're running on nothing, maybe it's because you can't remember the last time a hand was so warm.

And so, against your better judgment, you lift your streaky, raccoon-eyed face (definitely didn't use waterproof today) from your hands to look at the same eyes you looked at not more than a month ago and swore at.

You're glad you have no idea what you look like, because it's bad enough that all the corners of Seungcheol's face fall.

"Whoa," he breathes.

Now he'll know when to leave me alone, you think, but then that hand slides to your shoulder and his expression becomes impossibly soft and what you thought was confusion, pity even, dips into affection, stinging and raw.

"Listen, I—," he clears his throat nervously. Perhaps he's running through his repertoire of Wikihow phrases to say to a sad person, but you, inexplicably, don't believe that. "I don't know what's going on, but if you, you know, ever needed to talk…" Then he points to himself because that's probably the longest he's gone without attempting to tell a joke.

You're two and a half shaky breaths into this conversation, and the likelihood you will start crying has not changed. If anything, the odds have gotten much worse because the stubbornness of Seungcheol's expression is fooling you into thinking he actually cares. The illusion is comforting—after all the fighting and sabotage and inconveniences, he's still made space for you. That, or he's keeping his enemies close.

Then his thumb rubs over the plane of your collarbone, and all the little walls and hurdles and dams and shields in you drop.

Close friends, closer enemies, and the infinitesimal space between you and Seungcheol.

You'll blame your sorry state of mind for what you're about to do because you can't really cope with any other explanation. That's a tomorrow problem.

Today, you trust Seungcheol. Today, you tell him not everything, but enough.

"Forgive yourself," he says. And before you protest and tell him, through the waves of tears and snot and lightheadedness, that your heart has yet to catch up to the rest of you, he interrupts you before you even start. "I get it. Just try."

You’re all too familiar with his sugar-floss, candy-coated platitudes that make everything seem so simple, but he looks you in the eye, or somewhere even deeper than that, with so much belief, it's contagious.

The words are ripped out from under you. All you can do is what you wanted to do in the first place. So you cry, and when Seungcheol takes you into his arms, at first tentatively and then all at once, you cry even harder.

"Is this ok?" he asks, so quietly, you almost don't hear him.

"Yeah, I-I think so."

You let him hold you, and all the noise and the heat and the static fades into a hum. His chin finds the top of your head and you let him do that too.

Neither of you say anything more. You don't need to.

All that matters is the welcome sound of someone else's heartbeat, a kind hand in your hair, and Seungcheol, with none of the charms and boasts and failed, half-baked insults he hides behind.

Just him, and you decide you like this version best.

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The emotional hangover you wake up with rivals that of every vodka-flavored morning you had when you were in college, plus another two shots.

There is nothing worse than the aftermath of a particularly bad episode of oversharing. There's a reason you don't talk about your personal life at all, but something about Seungcheol makes every single thing claw its way back up your throat.

A need to prove yourself. A tiny, whispering hope that if you give a little, you'll get a little in return. Or your pride, the familiar knife you keep wedged into your side. A million excuses rattle around in your head, but nothing will ever take away the fact that it felt good.

Shields down, heart bleeding—never did you think that's how you would find yourself in a state where you actually liked Seungcheol. It felt good to be taken seriously, to say that all the talk about foie gras and peppercorns and microgreens was just tableside service for a great love and an even greater apology. And you'd like to think somewhere between the tears and the linen of his shirt, you were finally understood.

Just try. The words, sun-warmed stones, float in the hollow of your chest. It felt a little more possible, coming out of Seungcheol's mouth, with that dumb, resolute expression of his.

You don't even know if you would do the same for him. If he came to you, rosy-eyed and breakdown-adjacent, would you drop everything and listen to him? Clearly his problems ran deeper than a pretty girl not calling him back, but you had never really cared to listen.

And that's something you'll give Seungcheol credit for—he puts up with you, with everything, really, albeit with clumsy hands and the mask of reluctance.

You roll onto your side to reach for your phone. There's a text from Jeonghan asking if you're still up for grabbing drinks this evening. (Always). You have your final interview at 2. (Thank god).

And no text from Seungcheol. (Damn.)

Somehow this is disappointing, which makes your day that much worse. Maybe the runny mascara wasn't as flattering as you thought.

8 Totally Normal Texts To Send When You're Overthinking.

Not a good headline for a worse situation. Honestly, you shouldn't care, but now you're here, staring at your phone and undecided on if you even want Monday to come or not.

You'll order one (or three) margaritas tonight. You'll ask Jeonghan about his upcoming trip to Seoul. You'll make your favorite overnight oats and you'll go to sleep and Sunday will pass just the same.

You won't think about Seungcheol's arms around you or his head on top of yours or the way he insisted he would drive you to the subway so you didn't have to walk. You almost brushed against his hand on the gear stick and the nearness made you want to throw up.

But you're not thinking about it. You can't. Not without falling in love just a little.

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"Here. Drink."

You set two cups on the table before sitting face-to-face with Seungcheol, who decided to roll up to a coffee date in a somehow flattering polo and slacks.

But it's not a date—you're just talking. It's a meet-up. Not a hangout, which sounds too familiar, and definitely not a date.

Yesterday did not go as planned. Margarita-buzzed and under Jeonghan's terrible influence, you texted Seungcheol. Just to clear up some stuff, you told yourself. Friday night's like a scab, and you just can't help coming back to it.

"So, you're a coffee connoisseur too, huh?" Seungcheol says, tipping his head to the side.

"Not nearly," you reply. "Just wanted to pay for something for once. I'm pretty sure I owe you at least fifty of these."

"I'll hold you to it." He's doing that thing where it's like he stares past you. It's the most impressive eye contact on the planet, and it's making you nervous.

Then the silence, once welcome, becomes awkward—the air turns stiff, clinging to all the things you haven't said yet.

You play chicken with the idea of being an emotionally intelligent person and just talking about what most certainly is on everyone's mind right now. The cup between your hands is burning your palms. Seungcheol smiles.

"I'm—" The exact moment you start, the words crinkle up on your tongue and all the walls come back up again. It's a terrible, inevitable instinct. "I'm sorry. For Friday."

"For…what?" Seungcheol pauses mid-sip to say this. "Also, this coffee is really good."

Arabica, orange, and honey, you want to say. But you can't deflect this time. Somehow Seungcheol has cornered you into this tiny cafe chair with that disarming grin and an overabundance of patience.

"Everything, I guess. You were just trying to leave."

"No, I wasn't." And he laughs, which makes your stomach fold over trying to figure out what there possibly is to laugh at. "I actually liked getting to know you. You…care a lot. And I didn't expect that."

Seungcheol's sincerity staggers you. You could ask what the hell he just meant by all of that, but you decide to take him for his word. You think you've experienced the most honesty from him in the past three days than you have in the entire span of time you've known him, and it almost feels like a privilege.

"Thanks…?"

"Don’t let it go to your head, though," he adds, as if to erase what he just said. "Can't have you walking around the office with a bigger stick in your ass."

"Poetic." You sigh. Once again, the illusion is shattered. You wonder if his kindness has a time limit. "How's your article coming along?"

"Nice try," he replies. "I'm not that easy."

"You're literally the definition of easy."

"Is that a compliment?" There's that challenge in his eyes again, that same look that he gave you outside Wonwoo's office. "You did ask me out on a date, despite saying that you'd rather eat glass. So I guess either there's a half-eaten plate in your trash or you've finally come to your senses."

"This is not a date. Dream on."

"You're right. This isn't a date." He leans forward on his elbows. "Just like our dinner date wasn't a date."

"It wasn't."

"Of course. If it was, I'd be asking stuff like…Where you're from. But I already know—h, e, double hockey—"

"Chicago."

"Same difference."

Your conversation continues as such.

Not a date, but where'd you go to college? Not a date, but do you have a pet? Not a date, but can I walk you home?

You realize your talk in his car two weeks ago involved everything but your pasts, but you suppose neither of you are the type to unwrap old wounds. Sometimes the bandaid is better on, but, in your case, there's really nothing left to tell.

You divulge that you went to Northwestern for journalism. You have a family tabby, and no, you wouldn't mind being walked home.

You also realize before today, you knew less about Seungcheol than you thought, but there's some give to his secrecy. He went to USC because his parents wanted him to. Played football for half of it until he tore his ACL and got adopted by the sports section of the school paper. He even captained the advice column for three semesters—something he wants to return to, but you're happy to tell him you wouldn't trust his advice as far as you could throw him. (What was your alias? Samuel. Sounds kinda like Seungcheol, huh? You say no. He laughs.)

After circling the same park three times, you reach the doorstep of your apartment building. You cycle through some one-liners to end on a high note, but none of them seem quite right.

It's not a date, but you've noticed Seungcheol keeps glancing at your lips, and it almost seems like one.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol asks some stupid question about if coffee could be considered tea, which you start to answer before you are rudely interrupted.

First, the bump of his nose against yours, then his lips, slow, insistent, dizzying. Your heart jumps all the way to your throat and you think there's so much heat in your cheeks that he can feel it.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol just kissed you and you liked it.

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The next time you see Seungcheol is in the elevator to the newsroom on Monday.

He sticks his dumb, big arm out of the cabin to hold the door open for you, and his smile bruises your overripe heart.

"Hi," he says, sneaking a glance like a guilty child.

"Hi."

The floor indicators flicker like fireflies, one by one. He sidesteps toward you so that your shoulders touch. You watch the 4 crawl to 5. The air in the cabin is sticky, electric.

And as if taking a great big dive, you kiss him, a fleeting, tender thing that you rolled around in your head for a good thirty minutes earlier this morning—and you never thought the fruit of overthinking could be so sweet.

The elevator dings.

Before the doors open to your floor, Seungcheol slams the close button, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you again.

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You have three reasons to get drunk.

1. It's Friday.

2. You finished your article.

3. You and Seungcheol are no longer mortal enemies, but now you don't know what you are.

(The other day, you both worked late, and he ordered takeout to the office. You sat crosslegged on his desk as he tried to explain what a touchdown was and why he was obsessed with the Steelers. Normally a two hour long conversation about football would be a punishable offense, but that night he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt the next day.)

After Wonwoo's dinner with corporate, he went to the market across the street and picked up a few handles of soju and the fattest bottle of cheap vodka you've ever seen.

You're all getting a raise—you guess the Thai must have worked out well, although Wonwoo must have struck out with Yerim since he's spending his Friday night drinking with you guys instead.

So you get drunk.

Drunk enough to tune out of Jihyo from Sports giving Wonwoo dating advice—riveting, if not for your near double vision—and follow Seungcheol to the staff bathroom.

"Anyone—," you manage. His lips are hot on your neck, and every dizzy neuron in your body seems to be reaching, grasping for him. "Anyone ever tell you that your forearms look really good when you roll up your sleeves?"

"All the time," he replies, and he swallows the laugh right off of your tongue.

"You are so annoying." Your palm finds his heartbeat, and you revel in how it leaps towards your skin every hurried beat. You don't want to think about how many girls came before you, leant back against the bathroom counter just like this, but having a body against yours never felt so good. You guess that's what a three year hiatus will do to you. "Bet you hear that one a lot too, huh?"

"You got that right."

Another kiss, just a nudge of his nose and you're leaning up to him; your lips feel swollen and warm and somehow they still crave the feeling.

"How is it that we still bump noses," you ask, half words, half air. Seungcheol's hands, skin-greedy, skim over the back of your thighs like they're water and find the swell of your ass.

"You make me impatient." Cheshire grin across heart lips and you're toast. "Anyone tell you that you have a great ass?"

"All the time," you squeak out. It's a lie and a half but who cares. His fingers drag under the seam of your underwear and you've never been so thankful you forgot to wear shorts under your dress.

"Need you," he says, lips flush to the skin behind your ear, and your lower half would give out if you weren't propped against the sink.

The idea of Seungcheol on his knees, your thigh hiked over his shoulder, crosses your mind. He'd probably be really good at head, and that makes you dizzier than any ungodly combination of alcohol would. Or would he press you against the mirror, want your skirt pushed to your waist so he could fuck you from behind?

Anticipation tumbles into anxiety into some primordial, horrible shyness because you haven't had sex in years. You feel hot and damp and sweaty and you can't remember if you shaved or not. Plus, you're already seizing in his arms and he hasn't even touched you for real yet.

"H-home," you breathe. "Let's go home."

"Hm?" His hand slows in the dip between your thighs. "You wanna stop? We can stop."

"No, I just…I just thought it would be better if we went home. To…you know."

"Yours or mine?"

"Mine’s closer," you answer after a considerable amount of mental gymnastics trying to figure out if you're both drunk enough to not mind the mess.

You know your apartment and you know your bed and you know where the bathroom is in case you have to pee. There's a box of condoms under the sink. You have an extra toothbrush for him. Less variables to worry about because nothing else has really gone to plan. You watch Seungcheol misbutton the top two buttons on his shirt and all the fondness in your heart feels like a welcome stranger in your body.

How To Ruin The Moment In One Easy Step!

You feel incredibly horny and guilty all at once, but Seungcheol kisses your cheek on the way out and it's like you're able to breathe again.

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It seems that the car ride to your place sucks all the sobriety back into the both of you.

You're lying stomach-down on your bed, Seungcheol against the headboard with his shirt undone. You're in your bra and your still sticky underwear, and somehow, despite being ready to break your three-year spell, you like this much better.

"Imagine if someone needed to piss," Seungcheol groans. "I think we would have gotten fired. Lifestyle would have no editor."

"I honestly think that's why Seungkwan was standing outside for so long."

Upon hearing this, Seungcheol's eyes shoot open. If your phone wasn't charging, you would take a picture. He fell asleep on your shoulder in the car, and now, even with all the affection you can muster, you can only describe his hair as broom-adjacent. Einstein-core. How far you've fallen from grace.

"Don't worry, he won't say anything." And as you watch the color return to his face, you add, "Also, it's not that I didn't want to have sex, I just…" you trail off, hoping he'll get it even though you're making no sense.

"No, it was the right call. I wanna do it when we're both sober."

It smooths your frayed-out nerves knowing that none of this was a performance or a test, just two shy, touch-starved people stumbling in the dark.

"Lemme guess—this is just a typical Friday night for you."

"Flattering but no," Seungcheol replies, grinning something stupid. "Do you always spend this much time wondering what I'm doing?"

"No!" His hands, once busy with scrunching up the fabric of your bedsheets, now find yours, and he runs a careful thumb over your knuckles. You notice he has the care-worn hands of a line chef, or maybe even a baker, which is funny because you don't even think the man knows how to turn on an oven. "I dunno. You just seem so experienced. What about all of those other girls?"

He flips your hand over, tracing the creases of your palm.

"Just dates. Nothing serious."

You want to ask—What about us? Are we serious? But you swallow it all down. You watch Seungcheol's eyes, midnight-weary, fall back upon you, and it feels like he's trusted you with something important.

"Don’t get it twisted, though," he adds, before yawning big and wide without covering his mouth. "I'm a loser, not a virgin. Definitely not."

You bite back a laugh. Killer journalist bio, but that's something to pitch next content meeting.

"Definitely a loser. I think you make me a loser by association."

"Good. So we're both losers. I like that." He smiles at you with so much warmth, it makes your heart physically hurt. Then he clamps down another yawn. "God, I'm exhausted. I think if we fucked in the bathroom, I'd have passed out. Or pulled my back."

"Then sleep," you chide, shucking a pillow at him. "Also take your shirt off. I don't like outside clothes on the bed."

"Say less," Seungcheol says. "I’ll blow your back out another day. Save the date." Between your almost audible gulp and his unfortunately attractive physique, you almost forget the place you're in-between.

Did everyone fit into his arms? Did he lift a hand for just anyone? Two silhouettes in the lamplight—was that how every day with him ended? Or just you, the only other person competing with him for his dream job? The convenient reality scares you.

The thought never seems to cross Seungcheol's mind. His head hits the pillow, and he's out like a light. But not without a not-so-subtle scoot to your side of the bed, near enough that the heat of his skin plays off yours.

You lean into it, liking how your skin buzzes with the closeness.

You're lulled by the sway of Seungcheol's breathing behind you—probably the most quiet he'll ever be. The moonlight oozes into the room; sleep comes over you like water, a slow, gentle wash.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

You can't remember the last time you cooked for two.

You open your fridge, and the hollow insides stare back at you. Rows of condiments and two water bottles. You have finally reached K-drama CEO status.

"Is this the part where I get kicked out?" Seungcheol says, shrugging his shirt back on as he walks out of the bedroom.

"This is the part where I cook breakfast for you."

"Really? You don't have to." He sounds genuinely surprised, which tips your heart a little off-axis.

"I want to," you reply, double checking the fridge as if opening it a second time would repopulate it. "That's what people do when they care about each other."

"Or if they're trying to poison you."

"Will you just let me do something nice for you?" You yank your head out to glare at him, and he looks stung.

"Thanks." He says it after so much pause that you wonder if this is the first time someone has done this for him. You wish you had a better offering, but surely the man with the worst palate in the world could spare his judgment for one meal. "No really, 'cause I am starving."

You let him bask in the rare glory of the unobstructed refrigerator light while you rummage through the pantry for a plan B.

"Holy shit. You live like this?"

"Not always. It's been…a week." All you have is the ramyun Mingyu likes, which feels like a weird, culinary betrayal. But you're hungry, and Seungcheol is eyeing a strange bag in the freezer that you don't even remember putting there. "You good with ramyun?"

"Honestly, I'll eat anything," he whines, gnawing on the ice straight from the freezer drawer.

At least he's self-aware. But he makes all the spaces Mingyu left behind seem a little less empty, and you can't find it in you to be mad at that.

You wait for the water to boil and Seungcheol finds a seat at your tiny dinner table, a misaligned, wobbly product of Mingyu’s inability to read an Ikea manual.

"I'm hoping your week got better?" Seungcheol asks, referring to your capital W week.

You tentatively nod before dropping the noodles in.

"Of course it did—you woke up to me in your bed. Can't get better than that."

"Actually, it's because I finished my article yesterday."

Seungcheol pauses before laughing to himself. "Congrats," he replies, now wiggling the table on its bad leg. "Can't say the same for myself."

you watch the starch-foam wash over the mouth of the pot, precariously close to the edge. You overfilled it, which mildly surprises you until you consider that you're cooking double the food.

There's a stretchy, anxious tumble in your stomach. It's not like you were expecting him to cheer or anything, but it just reminds you that you are, still in fact, competitors. When all of this is said and done, one of you is losing, and from every angle, it seems like quite the death knell for whatever you've got going on now.

It's a pity because you actually kind of like this arrangement. If Seungcheol was in your banged-up flea market chair next Saturday morning, you wouldn't be mad. Maybe you would even make him waffles. From scratch, even.

"What, too many dates to cover?"

He laughs again, somehow to no one in particular. "Something like that."

Past the bruising swell of his smile is the much sharper, more unforgiving edge of an unspoken hurt that you're neither trusted with nor owed, and yet you refuse to drop it. What about me? It feels like you're almost there, wrapped around something bigger, a scoop you can't pull your stubborn teeth out of.

"Is there a reason none of those were serious? Come on."

"What's so wrong with that?" And when you don't say anything, he says, "Trust me, it is never that serious."

His voice ticks up at the end like a teenager trying to play cool and the noodle water boils up around your chopsticks as you try to get your portion cooked through.

You won't—can't—turn to face him. You committed to the line, and now you must see it through, no matter how bad an idea it may be.

"That's not true," you finally squeeze out, finding the right footing for your voice. "It was serious for me. I'm sorry it wasn’t for you."

The table stops rocking.

"I'm glad. Really." He claps his hands together like a cruel punctuation mark, and it's then you remember that the only person as ill-tempered as you happens to be sitting two feet away.

Like an injured animal, your heart wants to cower back into your chest. You knew this was a mistake—this being everything—but an open wound can't help but bleed and your pride can't do without seeing the knife.

"Look, I don't know what your problem is." The pot hisses, astringent and pleading, beneath your fist. "I don't know what happened with your love life, but don't take it out on me."

"You asked."

"Yeah? Well, what is this?" You turn to face him, feeling the air between you tense, pulled like a rubber band. "You can't sit in my kitchen and tell me you don't care about whatever this is."

After all of the terse meetings, elevator spats, and foul-mouthed encounters in the parking lot, you can now recognize the fresh twist of Seungcheol's mouth and the livewire of a temper you've become so familiar with.

"Who said I didn't care? I'm just tired of you trying to lecture me about my life. I—"

"I'm not lecturing you, I just know you can't really believe what you're saying." Every word stumbles out, trembling and doe-legged, barely audible over his attempts to interrupt you. "There's nothing wrong with admitting you were in love with someone. And if you can't, I just feel really fucking sorry for you."

There’s an incredulous look in Seungcheol's eyes. But it's the worse part of you, ruthless and hungry for acceptance, that makes you say, "Maybe the fact that nothing lasts is your fault."

"Oh, really?" Seungcheol's voice, half-laugh with none of the warmth, rips through you. "You're really gonna act like you're better than me? As if you don't write in your pretentious little column every week, just waiting for your ex to read it and decide he wants you back again?"

There’s a red hot flash behind your eyes and everything inside you feels like it breaks at once.

"You know, at least I had someone who cared about me. Can't say the same about your miserable, sorry ass. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."

"Wh—"

he stands up, table croaking underneath his fists, and you realize you've crossed a bridge that can never be uncrossed.

"Get. Out."

It feels like a stitch in you has come undone. The water has long boiled over the pot and there's no joy to be found in watching Seungcheol stumble over his pant legs on the way to the door.

"I didn't want Mingyu. I wanted you."

it's not an apology, nor is it an indictment. You don't know why you say it, and you guess Seungcheol doesn't either. The door slams behind him, and all you're left with is a bloated pot of ramyun you never really wanted anyway.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Celery. Red wine. Short rib.

If you had one day left on earth, you think you would go grocery shopping. It was like a prayer to you—you could close your eyes and know exactly what aisle had the beef broth, or feel the stone weight of a can of San Marzano tomato paste.

That's one thing you can thank Mingyu for—it's true that you don't love him like you used to, but you refuse to believe that any love worth having is also worth leaving behind.

Fingerling potatoes, the red ones. A Vidalia onion.

You recite your shopping list, slowly, quietly, a rosary.

Baguette is the next item, with a question mark next to it because sometimes your local bakery sells out after 3.

You pass by, expecting to see the shop window cleared out. Instead you see a familiar crown of cowlicked black hair and a horribly well-worn grin that only looks good because it's on Choi Seungcheol's face.

He's paying for a pretty girl's sourdough, and thyme, rosemary gets washed out by a dizzying riptide of heartache.

It was never personal, you tell yourself. Just another date. That's the angle.

You think it hurts a little less, knowing that it all was a business transaction. A long interview.

The thyme is next to the dill. The rosemary is next to the chives, at the end of the shelf.

You watch Seungcheol lean over the tiny cafe table to take a sip of his date's Americano. Did he always laugh like that? Were you really any different?

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Monday feels tilted.

There's the usual gust of cinnamon sugar and cold brew—today's offering from the interns, who have begun to master the art of pressing the elevator buttons with full hands. Wonwoo is wearing his Monday outfit, a wrinkled cream button up under a navy blue sweater vest. Your cubicle is empty, just the way you like it, save for the ass-shaped spot cleared off on the desk edge.

You like days like this, except today you don't and you know exactly why.

"Today's the day," Joshua says, nose buried in a bakery-style muffin, the top pillowing out of the wrapper.

He stares over your shoulder at your article, locked and loaded for submission to copy.

You are not exaggerating when you say you would die for these four thousand words. You ate and cried and argued for them in what you can only describe as the worst literary coliseum of your life, and now their (and your) fate rests in Joshua’s massive Mickey Mouse hands and Wonwoo's bespectacled whimsy.

"Well, don't let me stop you." He laughs and then totters away, sucking a crumb off a finger. Just another Monday.

Your cursor hovers over the SUBMIT button. You've always been a little scared of it—unsurprising, since you're also the type to triple read an email before sending it—but there's a new kind of fear boxed in those little pixels.

Last night, you emptied out your freezer. Stuck on the back wall was a neon green sticky note, behind all the bags. See you when you get home, it said. You laughed and then you cried and then you ripped it up because that's probably what Seungcheol was looking at the morning you chewed him out.

All of that heartache must have been good for something. To say you wasted it on a no-love situationship wouldn't do any of it justice, not when all that's left is most definitely a crude shoutout on Seungcheol's next listicle. If you weren't already getting one earlier, you sure are now.

You wonder what you'll be:

10 Signs She Is Clinically Insane.

It's Not You, It's Them!

Help! My Friend With Benefits Isn't A Friend Or A Benefit!

At least that one is funny, although if it's the winning line, you don't think you can ever show your face in the office again.

The beginning and the end and the muddy in-between. Entrenched in all of it was this article and this job, and you'll be damned if you let your misplaced faith get co-opted by a sweaty-palmed Casanova.

(8:19 AM; the smell of summer and dried-down cologne. A hand on your ribcage, just beneath your heart. Good morning, Seungcheol says, as if emerging from a long, wonderful dream.)

You picture the byline with editor tacked next to your name. To run your finger over the ink spackled serif of a paper hot off the press, as if somehow it would radiate the misery you had to endure.

(11:41 PM; jajangmyeon and a pack of rice crackers. Seungcheol had given you his chopsticks because you dropped yours. The hum of the broken light outside Wonwoo's office sings in the silence of an empty newsroom. Your eyes meet, and you don't look away.)

There's a sinking feeling in your chest. You close your eyes and hit submit.

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Ask Samuel!

It's 6 PM on a Thursday and if you weren't already on your last thread, you are now. The angry red of the Daily Trojan website glares back at you from your phone as you step into the elevator with none other than your editor-in-chief.

You've resorted to reading Seungcheol's old advice columns. Not because you miss him, but because you want to know if he was ever a competent writer capable of talking about something other than how to score on a second date.

That's the only way he's beating you.

(There's also no way you miss him. The thought would make you laugh out loud if you weren't standing next to your boss).

One column became four became ten. After thirteen you concluded Seungcheol must have sustained a head injury some time before starting his job here—you can find no other explanation for how someone so generous and intuitive could've gotten lost in the chaff of articles with more pictures than words.

"Congrats," Wonwoo says, seemingly speaking into the void.

"Pardon?" You close out a particularly riveting query about estranged childhood friends to look up at him.

"Congrats."

"F-for what?" You get that head rush again, the same one you got a month ago at the Italian restaurant with Jeonghan.

"The job. You got the position." Wonwoo clears his throat calmly, as if he's not delivering the most important news of your life. "I wanted to let you know in person before we sent out Monday’s email."

For once, you have no words. In a wonderful instant, they are all zapped out of your brain. You feel hot and clammy and anxious all at once and you half expect to close your eyes and see either god or the flare of a hospital light, waking you up from an impossible coma.

"Holy shit," the primordial ooze inside you says instead. "T-thank you."

"No need."

"What about Seungcheol? Does he know?"

"I haven't told him yet, but he should be aware." Wonwoo pauses. "He didn't submit anything."

"What?!"

There are only so many surprises your body can handle. You feel like you are being held together by a fast-unraveling string on a poorly made sweater. Your stomach is somewhere in your feet and you don't even know where your heart is. Part of you is waiting for the elevator to stop so the entire office can jump out of the walls and laugh at you.

"I too was surprised," Wonwoo says, now checking his smartwatch for messages. "He must have changed his mind. No matter—I'm confident you will be an excellent fit."

The elevator jerks to a stop at the first floor. You feel boneless, like a can of cranberry sauce.

"Forgive me, I have a dinner appointment." Wonwoo ends the conversation the best way he can—with his trademark parentheses smile and a nod of the head—and leaves you in the elevator cabin alone.

All the times you've dreamed of this moment, you're tear-dizzy, joyous, fumbling with your phone to call your parents.

Instead you stand motionless, waiting, emptied.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

To make croissants, you fold a slab of butter into a square of yeasted dough. You roll it out thin and then fold it into itself before leaving it to rest in the fridge. Then you take it out again, roll it, and fold it. You do this until you've forgotten how many times you folded it and you no longer crave croissants.

When you were five, you pressed your nose to the window of your favorite patisserie and decided this is how your mind works.

You've had ample time now to flatten out Saturday morning, to watch all the little layers of doubt and loathing form, and now you're sick of it. It's not often you're star witness to your own unhappiness, but, as if you were called to the stand, you can easily play back the moment you lit the match and then watched everything explode.

You're not sure what either of you were expecting. A playboy and you, who loves so insistently, almost as if out of spite—there is truly no reality in which it makes sense. The fact that you fought over a literal pot of ramyun only proves this.

And now he's saddled you with the final blow. The position of your dreams with none of the glory because he gave up.

He gave up.

None of this should matter to you.

You're standing outside the office, waiting for your ride to your celebratory dinner (this time, on Jeonghan). The little headline man in your brain is silent for once. Instead, you try to enjoy the breeze, honeyed with late June, and not dwell on the horrible twist in your stomach every time you think about your new position. It's been 24 hours since you found out but it is no less raw.

It's then that you catch Seungcheol, creeping out the double doors of the office like some sort of criminal. You're not sure if it's the plod of his Sasquatch feet or that bag you hate so dearly, but you could recognize that walk from anywhere.

His pace quickens when you turn to face him—he's running away. You won't grant him the satisfaction. Not when he's fucked up what little you had left, and then some.

"You're an idiot, Seungcheol."

That does the trick.

"Funny way of saying hi," he responds, bracing himself on the sidewalk as if you're about to hit him.

"Why didn't you submit anything? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"What does it matter to you? You got the position."

"Look, I—" You shut your eyes, feeling the frenetic ice-cream churn of your brain try to put together a million broken up words. "I'm sorry for Saturday. But I never wanted to scare you off from the job. You deserve it as much as I do, and, as much as I hate to say it, I care about you too fucking much to watch you throw away your shot."

Saying the words is like cutting something loose from your chest, a million strings coming undone.

Seungcheol takes a deep, unsteady breath. You watch the crest and fall of his shoulders and the inescapable tar pits he calls eyes get big and shiny.

"No, I—" He pulls himself from your gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have never said that to you. And I should have never treated you like that."

The silence between you ripples, as if after a long rain.

"I was scared. A long time ago, I threw myself into a relationship. I thought we had something really, really good, and then I found out she was also seeing someone else."

Being right never felt so bad. It's even worse that something you would look forward to—the I told you so, the jokes really write themselves—no longer holds any satisfaction, only a sense of loss and a terrible urge to make it right again.

"And it's not right, but I decided that it was a mistake to take chances like that again. And it was fine, fun even, going on all of these casual dates and getting paid for it. Then you just had to mess it up."

"H-how?"

"You were so dead-set on convincing me otherwise. You wouldn't let it go, not with your weird sayings and the way you talked about your ex and when you told me you were making me breakfast. I started believing you, and it really fucking scared me."

There's a sharp pain in your head. It feels like, at once, you were skinned like a fruit. Like the interlude between dream and waking, all the sheets of sleep yanked from your person.

"What…what about the article?" you ask, scrambling. You don't really want to contend with what he just told you. You don't think you can.

"You deserved it more. And you really love what you do. I used to think it was all bullshit, but I was wrong."

You take a hard swallow. The image of Seungcheol, head bowed, a nervous hand on the back of his neck, swims in front of your eyes.

"Whatever. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore," he laughs, mirthless.

"No, wait," you say. "I-I also…never took you seriously, not even when I should've. You know, I read your advice columns. Crazy, I know."

"I do have to say that is one of your more insane claims."

"No, I thought, they were actually, you know…really good." You watch him blink, mouth already twisting up as he fights a smile. "What I'm trying to say is that I think we messed up. In a lot of ways. But I want to be friends again. Or at least not enemies."

Seungcheol takes a long pause before he sticks his hand out.

"Choi Seungcheol. Writer. It's nice to meet you."

Some force, as if you had always been connected, pulls your skin to his. You shake his hand for the very first time, and starting over never felt so good.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

"You're booking Eleven Madison for the office dinner again, right?"

Wonwoo pops his head into your office, his Monday uniform now festive with a holiday tie. Today, it's snowmen with glasses.

"Naturally," you reply. "Unless you have plans on that Friday."

You're referring to last week, when Wonwoo took a call in the middle of a staff meeting and revealed that yes, he would most definitely be available for drinks with Yerim that evening. He ended the meeting thirty short seconds later, and you think you saw him skip to the elevator.

He laughs, deep and caramel. "Not this time. Also—don't forget to review those job applications. Sent them to your email."

Before you can tease him again, he leaves, and you are forced to look at your teeming inbox, the only unfortunate side effect of your new position. But you've never been happier, and a hundred new unread emails never seemed so wonderful. The first time Jeonghan saw you in your new office, you were so giddy he thought you were coming down with something.

You take a hefty sip of today's coffee (ginger, molasses, cinnamon). On the side of the cup, the one you keep facing away from the door, reads SEUNGCHEOL and OAT, in loopy marker letters.

After you shook hands in the parking lot, you agreed to take it slow. You thought bringing everything to a simmer would cure you of your affection, but it wasn't even a month before Seungcheol was back in that same seat in your kitchen, eating the blueberry waffles you promised him.

But if slow meant long phone calls and the nervous twine of your hands after an ice cream date, then you think you like slow. You could do slow for a while.

He's taken to bringing you coffee in the morning. He claims it's your editorial right, but you think he just likes having an excuse to barge into your office. (And close the door behind him. And kiss you. But that's aside the point.)

Plus, Seungcheol's had plenty of legitimate reasons to be in your office. The newest one is the launch of Ask Sunny! , which you think is the best idea he's had since deciding to get you coffee every day. He spent the last few days campaigning to reuse his old alias, but you're pretty sure he was just looking for reasons to argue with you.

"Afternoon, boss."

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You always seem to learn the hard way with Seungcheol.

He swaggers in, ear-to-ear smile on his face, before taking a seat at the designated corner of your table.

"I think I like this desk better," he says, folding at the waist so he can lean close to you. Instead of reminding him it's the same desk, you just choose to make space for him, you let him press his nose to yours.

"Friendly reminder we're at work."

"Everyone's at lunch, genius."

He interrupts you with just a touch of his lips, which should be considered no less than a war crime by now.

"You are the worst."

"Not what you said last night. Not even close." He places another wet kiss on your nose before sliding off the table edge to his feet. There's a horrible warmth in his eyes as he watches you very clearly remember what exactly he's referring to. (A wandering hand. A cherry. Dark hair, wound through your fingers). "Anyway, I've got serious problems to solve. Or should I say Sunny? I still think we should have gone with Samuel."

"Executive decision," you tease. "Now if you don't need anything, scram. Out of my office."

"Just wanted to remind you I made reservations for us at Avra today," Seungcheol says, lingering in the doorframe with the shit-eating grin he tends to sport nowadays. "I'll even let you order."

There's no fighting the familiar bloom of laughter in your chest. It boils up, sparkling and citrusy, as you roll your eyes and watch Seungcheol return to his desk no less starry-eyed than how he walked in.

If cooking is a language, then love is the words, and you finally think you're learning to speak them.

You open the email at the top of your inbox: Seungcheol's last draft of the article he never published. You urged him to let you consider it for the next issue, and he finally caved (although you're learning that he really doesn't take much convincing when it comes to you).

Eat, Play, Love: A Guide.

Maybe you'd put it through. Maybe.

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#mine #seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #scoups x reader #scoups fluff #scoups x you #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #scoups imagines

[astrologylunadream]

What About You Makes Them Blush? 💝🥰🎀 (Pick a card/Tarot love reading)

Hii it's Lunadream💞 Love is in the air so this will be a reading on everything about you that makes your person blush🥰✨️ hope you find your message💌

Notice: Only take what resonates because the most important thing is your own judgement!♡ If anything doesn't resonate, don't worry! It's not your message right now <3 (Entertainment purpose only. All rights reserved)

Now, shall we begin~? ^w^ Think of the your person, and pick whichever pile that fits the energy you're feeling~💖

Pile 1🎀

Pile 2🍓

Pile 3💌

Pile 4🫦

Take your time and choose carefully with the heart~♡

On to the readings —> 🩷

Pile 1🎀

Sign energy: Waves, Work place, Libra, Touch, Community, Venus, Cancer, Pluto, Water, 2nd house, 🎥🪞🛍🐭

💝Your person's energy: Aww you guys there's such soft energy in this pile, you and your person both omg🥺💞 Your person is SO good at maintaining relationships with other people, they are a true magic worker in their social circles.💬 I'm hearing "making waves" so yeah they're good at that, super kind and likeable. Getting water energy, Libra, Cancer, Scorpio, Taurus but also some indirect aquarius for some reason?? This person could have water signs in 3rd/7th/11th houses in their chart. Very charming soft allure to them, like a magnetic beauty of some kind.🌸✨️ Most of my pile 1's find this person very pretty🥰 Your person is so sweet and gentle with others, like they even touch people in such a soft way so comforting to be around😭 For some of you they have a very feminine/nurturing work environment, perhaps working around females or related to beauty. I'm picking up on some fashion/makeup related stuff take what resonates.🛍💋💖 Your person has a sweet voice, it's honestly so nice. Filming may be significant, beauty industry vibes~✨️ Their sense of style is amazing, they could enjoy shopping and trying on outfits.👚 Like seriously pile 1 your person is so aesthetic!! Mouse may be significant, maybe they find thay animal cute. They enjoy beauty routines and self care, it's no wonder they look so good🤯💕 Such lovely vibes from this person omg

🥰What about you makes them blush: Interpretation, Responsibility, Mindfulness, Venus, Self sabotage, Juno, 10th house, Leo, Uranus, 9th house,🙍‍♀️🤙🍷🩲 Interesting so maybe some of you know more about this person than you should..?😅😳 That makes your person blush a little since you have so much awareness about them and how they are, I'm getting maybe some of you have really figured this person out in some way.🔦🙊 Also your ability to analyze yourself makes them impressed, so they find it very attractive.🤭💗 Maybe you see yourself as something a little strange, they find it cute (omg). You have a lot of self worth and they love that lowkey, your poweful feminine energy no matter your gender is something they would find themselves blushing over.😳✨️Juno is here some of my pile 1's feel obligated to commit to this person, and that makes your person turn red in the cheeks! Your self awareness and determination makes them blush really. But also they have a soft spot for when you are Sad🥺 Your thighs and hair is something for them too. They feel there is really no one quite like you.❤️ This is a more specific message but for those of my pile 1's that are drinking age, maybe you have a high tolerance and that makes them blush??🍷🙈 They believe you would be very mature and responsible in your work/commitments, maybe you are very serious about your career/marriage/future plans. You radiate a bright lovely and self promoting energy that they just adore.😩💫 Your person may blush over how you're so special and the way you steal their attention.💗 Omg my pile 1's I am seeing your person blushing so much over you rn every little thing!!

💌Messages from your person: I would let you, I would do anything for you, It's not your fault, I promise, Oh my god, You might get hurt, Be careful, You will find happiness. (Maybe some of my pile 1's they're worried about you/don't want you to be hurt by anything rn🥺) Extra cards: Kabedon, Stay, Online, Tsundere, Block, North node, Moon, Leo, Venus, 2nd house (Someone really wants attention from you omg some of my pile 1's blocked this person on social media but only some. For others it's more emotionally guarding yourself from giving or recieving love from this person, but yeah they're really wanting to show you a soft love and admiration for you guys💗💗🥹)

Thank you my pile 1's! If you feel this resonated, you may tap the heart to claim this message!🍨✨️

I hope you enjoyed your reading! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ If you did be sure to let me know pile 1 with the bow emoji~🎀 Thanks for scrolling through, Hugs hugs hugs!! See you in the next reading💝

Pile 2🍓

Sign energy: Win, Unexpected, Quiet, Jewelry, Remedy, Pluto, Capricorn, Taurus, Vertex, Fire, 🥰🕺🤧🎰

💝Your person's energy: Ooh powerful energy for your person✨️ Their presence speaks for them, like they don't even have to say much for everyone to go like, wow.😳😍 Lol for some of my pile 2's this person likes jewelry or accessorizing omggg, snazzy. Oh right so Scorpio, Capricorn, Taurus and fire signs in their chart. That combination of heavy earth +pluto is just🤌😩 Like seriously you guys your person is so fine. They may be more quiet or have a low voice, they aren't overly talkative or anything. They may spend a lot of money on rings, neck jewelry or earrings, I feel like it's very healing to them. Your person has a powerful aura and they may be surprisingly more intimidating than you think😳 It doesn't have to be but there is a high class/luxurious vibe to this pile's person.💼 Could be tall or act as if they are. For some of you this person has a successful business of their own on the side, I'm getting introvert vibes for some too. Chill vibe to them especially their voice. I feel like your person is unexpectedly a good dancer lol like you think they're not into that sort of thing and then the next thing you know they take you dancing and sweep you off your feet✨️🙈 Ohhh specific message but your person may have thing for gambling, this may be surprising to you guys. They like to win and this happens to them often with many things, but that'd also something they keep to themselves.🤫 My pile 2's may really love this person like you may be the one blushing rn haha🥰💖

🥰What about you makes them blush: August, Cinderella, Silence, Clench, Suspicion, 8th house, Pluto, Saturn, Earth, 6th house,🍑🆓️☁️🕯 Ahh omg🤩 So you have a really magnetic beauty they find themselves blushing over oml🥵 Like less is more for my pile 2's the less you say the more they fall for your silence!!🥹❤️‍🔥 Some of you the month august may be significant, any of my pile 2's born in fall?💗 Your person is low key obsessed with your ordinary qualities you don't think much of at all, like it could be a small little habit you don't even realize and then there's them over there blushing like crazy🙉💓‼️ I can see them start to sweat when they look a you, and like if there's an awkward silence between you both they will be so red omg😭🟥 Sometimes they feel like you have your head in the clouds when you stay silent haha like "what is pile 2 thinking right now?" They like how you try to ground yourself, maybe you meditate or take walks outside trying to connect with the universe and and they find that cute. Also they like figuring you out, so like if you seem mysterious like you have a bit of a secret it gets them smirking like "I bet I can figure pile 2 out" OMFG😰❤️ They blush just thinking about grabbing you and pulling you to them. Your dark/hidden side makes them blush but also..... your 🍑 A little obsessed that's all I'll say okay🥲 They like your fascination on tarot and spiritual topics. Oh and the way you get when you're determined about something, like you make up your mind and don't back down that would make them blush idk why but it's so cute😭🩷 Your person sees you as sort of a cinderella energy, maybe they hope you're the special one who they give everything to.✨️ Oh and if they catch themselves overthinking about you, their cheeks will turn red.🙉❤️ My pile 2's I'm loving this energy between you both!

💌Messages from your person: Just dance with me, I can't wait to meet you, We can't let anyone know, It's nice meeting you, Are you loyal to me? I'm worth it, How could you? How are you so calm? (Haha maybe your person is freaking out and you're just like mhm yeah I know😌💓) Extra cards: Treat, Cut, Impulsive, Reminder, Meant to be, Water, 9th house, Leo, 12th house, Air (Lol they wanna remind you that they feel this is meant to be between you both🥰)

Thank you my pile 2's! If you feel this resonated, you may tap the heart to claim this message!🍨✨️

I hope you enjoyed your reading! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ If you did be sure to let me know pile 2 with the strawberry emoji~🍓 Thanks for scrolling through, Hugs hugs hugs!! See you in the next reading💝

Pile 3💌

Sign energy: Image, Valentine, Regret, Physical, Tangled, 10th house, North node, Venus, 9th house, 11th house, 🆓️☄️🔝😱

💝Your person's energy: Wow this person is a somebody for sure, they have a big image to keep up. Especially ties with their online persona and self promotion, maybe they are an influencer or have a successful social media.📱✨️ Signs for them are Capricorn, Libra, Taurus, Sagittarius and Aquarius in their chart. Valentines is a significant time (also the time I'm posting this haha cute💖) I feel like they were asked online to be their valentine, like recieving a lot of love from their socials. They are physically attractive and pretty😭💗💗 Ugh like they have such soft and lovely features, and the way they dress is so pleasing. They may travel a lot or get caught up in that often, maybe they have to study really hard? For some of you this person speaks many languages and gets confused a lot of times lol😂 So a message I'm getting is that they may have regrets already about their future may turn out, they want to top themselves but also they are afraid of crashing and burning🛬🔥 This stresses them out omg😥 Maybe they identify with the movie tangled from disney, you may view this person as your ideal valentine or someone you would want to spend valentines with.💓 They want to free themselves and may feel trapped (Omg and identifying with rapunzel on that one) so they just want their future to be bright and don't want to get caught up with everything that's holding them back from reaching the top.🥇✨️ They may be respected and admired at their work or online, my pile 3's are so attracted to this person!!😍💗 College may be significant, maybe your person is studying something hard right now. They want to be very successful I'm hearing.

🥰What about you makes them blush: Poker face, Style, Intimacy, Dominant, Tongue, Leo, Venus, 1st house, Libra, 12th house,💁‍♀️👇🟥🍒 So your person finds your clothing style and preference really beautiful💗 They like the way you dress, It makes them blush like "Wtf how is pile 3 so pretty??" Lol they love your soft aura and angelic presence.🪽✨️ So a lot of physical chemistry especially on intimate levels🥵 Your body has them more than just turning red🫣‼️ They are really into your face, body, tongue, also your chest they find very attractive. All that turns them super red omg like seriously the color is there😭❤️ The idea of dominating you has them blushing, like laying you down and yeah intimacy. Some of my pile 3's are Leo venus or Libra ascendant/Venus in 1st house.🌸 They like your facial expression and like especially ones with the tongue.😳 You grab their attention and it makes them blush omg, your feminine side also is something very attractive to them (No matter the gender).🌹 They want to touch you especially what they find attractive. Yeah they definitely find your whole appearance very appealing and physically attractive, they want to do things to you that is all I'm gonna say😭 You look good in the color red to them, literally you pull out their darkest side they weren't even aware of😳 They find you very cute like they may want to squish your cheeks, also they may dream of you and then wake up with rosy cheeks like aww pile 3🥰 Yeah they have romantic fantasies about you, especially dominating you, intense ones🥵. You give off a lovely shining energy and they also see you as their other half🩷 Yeah intimacy with you would make them blush, like a lot.

💌Messages from your person: I'm playing with fire, I get lost in your eyes, There's something between us, Say my name, I won't push you to do things you don't want to, I want to cheer you up, Don't look at anyone else, Please don't give up on me, I want to travel with you (Aww🥰😍) Extra cards: Romance, Cheeks, Anger, Final, Slide, Cancer, Taurus, Fire, Juno, Leo (Yeah lots of passion and romance in this pile omg💗)

Thank you my pile 3's! If you feel this resonated, you may tap the heart to claim this message!🍨✨️

I hope you enjoyed your reading! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ If you did be sure to let me know pile 3 with the love letter emoji~💌 Thanks for scrolling through, Hugs hugs hugs!! See you in the next reading💝

Pile 4🫦

Sign energy: Certain, Break, Teeth, To the grave, Stress, 6th house, 9th house, Gemini, Capricorn, Pisces, 🎪👨‍🍳😎🏰

💝Your person's energy: I am getting workaholic vibes, maybe your person has a lot to do. They may have a stressful job or schedule, leading to success but also burdens on their mental health. Cooking may be significant to you or them, like traveling to try food is coming through for me.🛩🍳 Your person has a lot on their plate right now, it's funny because didn't I say for some of you food may be significant? LOL😂 They are intelligent and use their mind a lot, they are prone to overthinking aswell. They may travel to conventions often, it could be for their job or a hobby/interest of theirs.❤️ Signs for them are Virgo, Sagittarius, Gemini, Capricorn or Pisces in their chart. I don't know why but europe is coming to mind for some reason. Ah so your person wants to break their stressful routine and relax, they just want to forget all their worries and escape.🫥☁️ They may socialize with people often, they definitely think A LOT.💭 They may also sound like they're dead tired when they speak. This is more specific but maybe for some of you this person broke their tooth one time? Their teeth are noticable. They are very serious about their goals and tend to worry themselves often.💬💦 They tend to be realistic and forget to take breaks and indulge in the fantasy every once in a while. They are too strict with themselves I'm hearing "working themselves to death" omg like they need to take care of themselves😭 They do love travel and new experiences, they may want to visit a different country and have a fun vacation to clear their mind.✈️🗺💗

🥰What about you makes them blush: Breath, Intent, Despair, True feelings, Home, Moon, 2nd house, 1st house, Saturn, 9th house,😏🚀🦷👗 Ohh so they feel very emotionally connected to you guys, your comforting energy makes them blush omg🥺💗 You are their safe place that they can come to when they're stressed and not feeling well. You may be the voice of reason when they're down or anxious. Aww this is so sweet, you hugging them would make them blush so hard🫂💘 Like so soft and comforting to them, they love your nurturing side. When they are in despair you are their light.⭐️ Your physical appearance also makes them turn red, they would love seeing you in something nice like a dress.💎🥰 Your person is a little naughty for that actually, they wouldn't mind using their teeth to get what they want😳🥵 I see them making a little smirk when you two are alone together, that's all I will say for that one.🤐 If they ever feel your breath it calms them, they may want to feel your steady breathing as you are home to them. Your intentions for wanting them to feel better and care about them would make them blush a lot🥺💖💖 Also your neck and thighs have them smiling. Touching you probably skyrockets their heart rate, they may want to kiss your thighs and the thought of that makes their cheeks red🫢❤️‍🔥 Some of you may enjoy shopping and they find that cute. Oh my pile 4 this is a really sweet and romantic connection, I am seeing lots of lip biting on their mind lol (Which fits this pile perfectly with the lips haha). Your voice makes them blush, they just want your love and care because it's so good to them😩💘

💌Messages from your person: Do you still want this? You're my special someone, I saw it coming, Are you in love with them? You make me feel at home, I see your efforts, Tell me what's bothering you, You are my favorite song. (Aww pile 4 again you are home to them💖) Extra cards: Fantasy, Queen of hearts, Recover, One and only, Blossom, Scorpio, Uranus, Fire, 11th house, Pluto (You're like the omly fantasy they believe in omg. Yeah there is a lot of magnetic attraction to you guys seriously they're kinda hooked🤯❤️‍🔥)

Thank you my pile 4's! If you feel this resonated, you may tap the heart to claim this message!🍨✨️

I hope you enjoyed your reading! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ If you did be sure to let me know pile 4 with the lips emoji~🫦 Thanks for scrolling through, Hugs hugs hugs!! See you in the next reading💝

Wanna see more readings like this? Check out my tumblr for accurate readings for you!💗🌊🌸

Thanks for reading! \(*^w^)/💌 -Lunadream <3

#daily tarot #astrology reading #pick a pile #love tarot reading #tarotblr #free tarot #pick a photo #tarot pick a card #love reading #tarot #tarot reading #love tarot free #pac tarot #divination #tarotcommunity #tarot pac #love pac #pac future spouse #pac reading #tarot readings #astrology readings #pick a reading #valentines aesthetic #valentines pac #intuitive readings #channeled message #future lover #pick a card reading #pick a picture #pick a card

[moonstruckme]

hiii! i love the way you wite james, so i was wondering if you could write something with reader getting james flowers and he's never gotten flowers before,,, it would be so cute, thanks bae!

Hi, thanks so much sweetheart :)

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 720 words

You show up at James’ doorstep on a crisp Tuesday afternoon with a small bunch of sunflowers clutched in your hand. 

His grin is automatic. “Hi, angel.” You smile back at him, raising your hand in a cute little wave. “We don’t have plans, do we? I thought I was picking you up for coffee tomorrow morning.” 

“We don’t,” you reassure him. “I was just around, and I thought I might say hi, if that’s okay.” The wind blows your hair into your face, and you brush it behind your ear. 

“Of course it’s okay.” James reaches forward, giving your shoulder a squeeze while he ushers you through the door. You look really lovely, cheeks pinkened and hair tousled from the chilly wind. “I always love to see you, you know that. What are these?” 

“These?” You hold up the flowers, and he nods. “They’re for you.” 

He feels his heart do a funny little twitch. “Wait, isn’t giving flowers supposed to be my thing?” 

You roll your eyes, moving past him into the kitchen. “Don’t be so old-fashioned, Potter. They made me think of you, so I got them. Do you have, like, a vase or something I could set them in?”

James is starstruck. He’s so in love he’s choking on it. 

“Or I could just set them on the table, I guess,” you go on, opening and closing cabinets. “They’re your flowers, you can do whatever you want with them.” 

“They made you think of me?” 

You pause, giving him an odd look. “Well, yeah.” 

“Why?” 

You shrug, looking, for the first time since you’ve arrived, a bit bashful. “I don’t know. They just reminded me of you a little bit. They’re yellow, I guess. You don’t feel like you’re a yellow person?” 

A smile tugs at James’ lips. “I’d be honored to be a yellow person.” 

“Well, good.” You blow out a breath that’s half laugh. A piece of hair slips from behind your ear, and you slot it back in place. “So, do you have anything I can put them in, or?”

“I might have an empty wine bottle, or I could borrow a vase from Remus…” he shakes his head. “Sweetheart, could you come here for a second?” 

You look bemused, but oblige him, meeting him halfway by the kitchen table. James’ arms come around you so fast a tiny oomph of surprise leaves you just before he lifts you off your feet. You hug him back a second later, pushing your nose into his shoulder, and James can feel the soft silkiness of petals where you’re crushing the flowers to the back of his neck. 

“What’s this for?” you ask after a little while, and it’s a good thing, because James was starting to worry he was holding you so tightly you couldn’t breathe. 

“This is so nice of you,” James says, voice heavy with fondness. He lowers you back to the ground, but sets his hands on your shoulders to keep you still while he plants a solid kiss on the top of your head. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

“James, they’re just flowers.” 

There’s nothing just about this. “They made you think of me,” he says feebly, big thumbs stroking lovingly on either side of your face. “Angel, that’s the sweetest thing I ever heard. What’re you trying to do to me, huh?” 

“Oh my god.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in your tone, only warmth. “You bring me flowers all the time. I’m just returning the favor for once.” 

James smiles at you with all he’s worth. You don’t get it, but that’s okay. It’s enough that you care. “I’m gonna get you the best, most chocolatey coffee in the world tomorrow,” he promises. “And a giant pastry to go with it.” 

“You get me enough.” You push against his chest playfully. “How am I supposed to get even if you keep getting me things?” 

“You’re not,” he says plainly. “That’s my grand plan for keeping you on the hook. You’re never allowed to even out the balance.” 

“We’ll see about that.” You grin as you step out of his embrace, moving back into the kitchen. “Where’s that wine bottle? The next thing I’m getting you is a proper vase.” 

James thinks he could get used to this. 

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x self insert #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter drabble #james potter blurb #james potter scenario #james potter imagine #james potter oneshot #james potter one shot #marauders #the marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #marauders fanfic #hp marauders

[nadinediary]

The 7 Dating Bare Minimums from 𝒩adine

1. Shared Values + Belief

Values are prioritised characteristics that build who we are as individuals and our belief is what forms our world view and lifestyle. I find it easier to build a relationship with someone when your values and beliefs align. I cannot envision a relationship or even casually date someone who I can't see eye-to-eye on the core attributes that form my life and character.

I can understand being lenient on religious and political beliefs when casually dating although for long term relationships, I need to be on the same topic about religion, politics, children, cheating, etc.

2. Romantic (Considerate)

I personally can not be in a relationship or date a person who can’t exhibit romance. Romance to myself isn’t the flowers (not saying I don’t adore flowers), or the chivalrous actions shown in the rom-coms.

Romance is the small intimate actions that show you’ve been paying close attention to your loved one wants and needs. It’s the considerate small things that may take a little more time but are worth it.

3. Chivalrous

Talking about chivary, don’t get it confused, I love a chivalrous man. The door opening, pulling the seat out, making sure I’ve gotten home safe, I’m quite old fashion when it comes to dating. I love it all.

I find it charming when someone is chivalrous to everyone not just when it pertains to myself. If they see someone needing help and step in, I think that's a great trait to have. I don't want someone who just does things out of attraction but rather because of kindness.

4. Well groomed

Personally a man is most attractive when they are well groomed, actively upkeep themselves and pay great attention to their hygiene. This idea that only women get manicures and pedicures is ridiculous. I know plenty of men that like keeping their cuticle healthy.

Every man that has had the honor of taking me on a date or more, has had a skincare routine (even if it's just a three step routine). They’ve all had beautiful nails and I could tell they cared about cleanliness.

5. Adaptable + Resilient

I‘m a first-generation immigrant who has seen poverty and wealth, I’ve gone from living in the scums of rural Nirobei to the upper class Australian suburban area. This is all because of God’s blessing and my family’s resilience.

I need a partner who is both resilient and adaptable when in situations less than ideal. I’m a strong minded individual and hope the same for my partner.

6. Communicative

We’ve all heard about the importance of communication in relationships but not all communication is healthy.

It's important for your partner to be open to hearing you, a lot of people lack listening skills so it's precious when you find someone who really listens and respects you. Trauma can cause people to close up but there are many different ways to communicate from written to spoken, as long as my partner shows they are communicative I don't care.

7. Generous

I come from a generous family, I’m surrounded by generous people and I myself am always ready to give if someone needs. I could not envision any relationship, friendship or romantic relationship with someone who wasn’t as giving.

Generosity isn’t neglecting yourself for other, it's lifting each other up, know when to say no while being kind to others situations. I don't want a pushover, I want a generous partner.

Sincerely,

𝒩adine.

#dating #black femininity #relationships

[colie-nne]

Hello dear writer 👋 there's this reader-insert prompt in my head that I couldn't just get it out of my head. I hope this prompt takes your interest. It's up to you how you will want this to go as whether it be an imagine, headcannon or etc. Thank you, much love 𔘓

Prompt:

Carlos Sainz Jr., the renowned Formula One driver, takes to his social media account and shares a cryptic message that hints about a special someone in his life. As fans eagerly await further details, it becomes apparent that Carlos' significant other is no ordinary person – but is a beauty queen in her country.

my queen

pairing: carlos sainz x beauty queen!reader | instagram au

requested: yes | no

a/n: Hi this is my first in au, hope I did your request justice. I also really really liked the prompt, thanks for the request!! (Requests are open)

+ Valiente will be updated tomorrow so hang tight.💌

carlossainz55

liked by charles_leclerc and 163,452 others

carlossainz55 On a trip with royalty❤️

view all 1,045 comments

user excuse me? Carlos?

charles_leclerc a trip with royalty indeed👑

user what's with all the royalty?

user 😍😍😍

user Carlos is entering his aesthetic era!!!

Daily WAG updates

liked by pierregasly and 217,951 others

Daily WAG updates Ferrari's very own Carlos Sainz is seen with a mystery woman on a beach trip to the Maldives. The source stated that the two have been cozy with each other the entire time. Are we seeing a new wag on the paddock this coming season?

view all 524 comments

user oh carlos has game all along

user lord, i see what you've done for others

user does this have something to do with the royalty thing?

user to be the girls these f1 men date !!!

user girl i don't think that's a mystery woman at all

user care to explain?🤨 user Carlos has been following Spain's winner for some universal pageant or whatever for about a long time now, even before her winning the crown. So I'm not going to be shocked if the mystery woman's her. user reallyy?? what's her @? user its yourusername

user Pierre wtf you doing here?!☠️

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 326,803 others

yourusername very late vacation dump 🌶️

user ahhh y/n!! i've missed you

user will you be coming to the show in Paris?

yourusername of course!! can't miss it😊 user oH MY GOD! she responded, Y/n i love you!!

user uhmm... looks like you didn't crop a pic properly🧐

liked by landonorris

user why is lando here😭

user omyy just came here from the wags update!!! the emoji and the cropping error just proved a lot of things

user wdym wag update? user just search it up you'll see the most recent one.

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, vittoria and 771,218 others

yourusername are you happy to be in Paris? oui...it's good to be back

user the fact that a French designer invited Miss Universe-Spain to their show, shows how wanted the y/n l/n is in the fashion industry. this is coming from a french woman too

carlossainz oui🥐

charles_leclerc no, mate... no yourusername i wholeheartedly agree with you user f1 collab, when?

user CARLOS?! Is this a confirmation?

vittoria looking good 👑❤️

user there's the crown thing again. who is she anyways? user how the hell, don't you guys know who y/n is? she's the reigning miss universe and the most sought Spanish beauty queen after years. user ooh so she's from Spain too. I see now user ☠️

user why am I just realizing the meaning of the crown emoji...

Daily WAG updates

caption: ✈️ >> 👑🇫🇷

331,092 likes

Daily WAG updates Carlos is confirmed to go on his way to Y/n. The story was posted 5 hours ago. He might be in Paris now, update you guys soon.

user the fact that you've typed that so casually just tells me how much you've waited to have a Carlos girl on the paddock

user He be flying to his girl during his supposed time to rest... when will it be my time?

user the fact that we all know he'll be meeting y/n despite them not confirming it yet is so funny.

f1updates

742,663 likes

f1updates Carlos Sainz has landed this evening after being invited by a french-designer in Paris, France.

user ...i see it very clearly now

user the story caption and this just gave everything up. ya'll better confirm it asap

user carlos in a fashion show was not on my 2023 f1 bucket list

user if we see him and y/n together, let's just say that "i told you guys"

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55 and 931,438 others

yourusername Thank you for tonight, Paris (credits: 🌶️)

user the chili🫣

user y/n!! i love your dress so much, thank you for letting me take a picture with you

user saw her being called into the runway so suddenly, the crown fits her so much🫠

user oop y/n in her soft launching era. is it Carlos?? i hope so

carlossainz55 🤍

user it's confirmed guys... user cute🥲 kill me rn

Daily WAG updates

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly and 196,582 others

Daily WAG updates UPDATE!!! It is confirmed by multiple sources that the reigning Miss Universe Y/n L/n is indeed Carlos Sainz's mystery woman. Who would've thought that our newest WAG would be the queen of the universe herself, can't wait to see her in the paddock!!! 👑

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, danielricciardo and 907,531

yourusername bebé, hemos sido atrapados... anyways, these are some of the very flattering pictures of us from our trips during the past 3 months. Buena seurte en tu proxima carrera, mi amor!!

(Baby, we've been caught) - (Good luck on your next race, my love!!)

carlossainz55 mi amor, ¿por qué las fotos? (my love, why the pictures?)

yourusername because you look flattering in them🤩 landonorris flattering isn't what I'd call them

charles_leclerc you should have posted what you posted in the other one

user charles? qhat other one!! user this made me curious yourusername the internet might not handle it!

danielricciardo all hail the king and queen👑

user dannyy😭 yourusername says the man who's insisting Carlos isn't fit for a king danielricciardo why'd you have to do me like that carlossainz55 still has a ring in it, no? landonorris we'll have to see you in a dress before we can answer

#f1 #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 x you #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x you #f1 x oc #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula one #formula 1

[frogchiro]

okay wait why am i now just hearing about butcher/slasher ghost, and why am i foaming at the mouth!!!???! like ripping apart pillows, tearing down walls, doing flips—RAHHH i am officially OBSESSED!!

i read it and thought of texas chainsaw massacre, but it’s the 2006 one so like simon is an absolute menace but he sees a pretty lady who’s new to town and his cold killer heart just can’t help but swoon :((( and she’s so polite, nervous, and timid because it’s so different in this town and simon with his cursed blessed keen sense of smell

OH MY GOD BUT SLASHER GRAVES IN A SMALL TOWN DOWN IN TEXAS!!!?

so sorry if this is a lot!! 😣 i’m just a little obsessed 🤭🤭 either way, have an amazing day!! stay hydrated and make sure to eat 🩷🩷

HOW THE FUCK DID I NEVER THINK OF SLASHER GRAVES

My dear, I know that you probably expected Butcher!Ghost but I'm highjacking this ask now and writing slasher Graves because oh my god-

The setting I imagine to be in a small southern town in Texas, and I imagine it to be like one of those creepy, small southern gothic towns with the old abandoned churches, houses and old beaten up signs that say "His return is near" or "God is watching you", you get the idea.

And there we have Philip Graves who owns a big ranch passed down for generations in his family, and by big I mean HUGE. Enormous pastures, corn fields, cows, horses, pigs and all that which means he and his name is quite well know in the area which admittedly makes his...hobby a lot easier than you'd think. Graves has friends in high places and he's buddy buddy with the town's sheriff, basically the golden child of the town which means that both the police and the sheriff will turn a blind eye to the "sudden disappearances" of people, be it locals or newcomers to town.

But the thing is that Philip Graves is bored. Bored out of his mind and nothing seems to excite him anymore, not even the desperate hysterical screams of his victims do the thing anymore. Sure he definitely has the money, the looks that refined well with age, he's respected and liked in the community but the truth is-he doesn't give a shit about it.

I imagine that Slasher!Graves is an incredibly arrogant man, and while he may put on a pleasant facade, his accent a thick and purring drawl and his southern charm do the trick he's a whimsical and capricious prick who gets easily bored and when he does...Well let's just say that it doesn't end pretty.

So imagine how surprised he was when he was in town once in his pickup truck, cowboy hat low on his brow as he watched the cars go by when suddenly his eyes were caught by a bus, one of those that travel for very long distances and the only person who got out was you. To say that Philip's interest was piqued would be an understatement; what's a pretty soft little thing like you doing in this bumfuck nowhere in Texas?

A pretty young lady, seemingly around 20, who looked like a lost little lamb, but just what were you doing here? Everything about you screamed that you're obviously not from here and while he could see even from a distance that you tried to act confident, his sharp blue eyes saw right through that act-you were scared shitless and more than lost. Were you here to visit someone? Or maybe...you are running from something? Whatever the case was, you definitely caught his attention in more than one way.

You just looked...so soft, so pretty, lovely he'd even say and I'm sorry but this Graves that we're talking about would definitely be a little misogynistic :(( He's old fashioned, maybe it comes with his age or maybe due to how his pa raised him but the further he observed you the more he he couldn't help but think about how such a pretty young lady like yourself should be married off already to a nice gentleman, getting provided for like you deserve and in return takin' care of your husband too; bringing him beer, cookin' and popping out a kid or two :((

His train of thoughts got interrupted only by a loud booming voice calling out his name cheerfully and when he turned around annoyed to see who was interrupting him, it turned out to be old Michael, an old friend of his pa. He greeted him politely but when he turned around to watch you a little more it turned out that you already wandered off, sneaky girl.

Philip cursed under his breath but on the other hand he decided to just ask the sheriff about you since he knows that the man has access to all the information about any newcomers to town. It looks like his bored streak came to an end <3

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #this is literally godsend #slasher!Graves #cod mw x reader #cod x reader #philip graves x reader #graves x reader #philip graves

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hii! Can we get a fic with how would it like to be if the reader was basically douma same personality appearence etc. With Alastor? I REALLY WANT TO SEE HOW IT WOULD GO.

Oh my fucking god. This Duo— it’s this duo and Discord with Alastor, I think would mesh well! Haha! Anyway! I am definitely trying this out, thank you, loves! Hope you enjoy!

Alastor- Rainbow Irises

Ah… a cannibalistic murderous cult has rolled into the Pride Ring. Alastor isn’t surprised when he hears over the new Overlord being the Eternal Paradise Cult leader. He’s heard worse

Though… her eyes are a mesmerising rainbow. A gorgeous, colourful, almost hypnotic swirl of multiple colours and the way she has presented herself to the Pride Ring… menacing yet elegant and cool-headed. Dressed like a fancy old-fashioned Japanese woman and wielding golden sharp fans

You’re an entire walking-talking red flag of a person. Speaking smooth and doting to everybody you meet but raising your fangs to their neck. You’re possibly even worse than Valentino. You trick everybody into thinking you’re polite and considerate and playful but you have a VERY ugly monster under those rainbow eyes

You have that charisma and friendliness Alastor uses regularly, coming off as upbeat and you greets all the Overlords politely but the proclaims you make… the way you eat other sinner demons with no problem and even brag about putting heads of decapitated men in pots. You have everybody in the room’s spines shivering in both disgust and intimidation at how you’re like

Alastor respects the way you establish yourself and getting his full respect is hard. You are intimidating, you are menacing, it’s a sign of how strong you actually are. The second strongest Overlord in Hell’s history(right behind Alastor). You regularly loom over Alastor and enjoy sweet-talking him

Alastor can recognise when a psychopath is talking so he never falls for your tricks nor your innocent act. You’re dangerous and twisted, specifically targeting and only eating men, hence you’re only-men member cult. He won’t let you even try take a finger off him

Alastor is basically our Shinobu, except Al doesn’t beat on us

Alastor doesn’t like you just touching him. You’ll reach out and touch him, solely to annoy him. He isn’t scared of you but he can tell why the other Overlords are so tense around you… you’re the most perfect cult leader, a inviting aura and a sensual voice that screams illusionary safety

Alastor has to hold his breath around you. When you’re angry, you turn ice cold and you don’t mind making the air too frozen for anybody to breathe in. So, he is quite careful with you. Juggling inbetween cold treatment and warm treatment, he feels like he is handling a spoiled brat when he talks to you

Alastor ignores the ‘gifts’ you make or get him. The lotus ice statues are wonderful but he knows what you’re trying to do… he may compliment your work but he won’t let you talk him into anything

But that doesn’t mean, Alastor doesn’t find your work nor your power impressive. He is very impressed and he rewards you for all you’ve done with your little cult and rising up to the rank to being the second strongest Overlord ever known in Hell. It’s a grand feat that he will clap to

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Aren’t you even a little bit worried about me, Lord Alastor~?”

“Darling. Kindly do not touch—“

“You don’t know how dreadfully worried I was. Since you all are cherished comrades of mine. I’d be heartbroken if I lost any of my comrades~”

Alastor finds your Japanese voice and language irresistible in a way, since it reflects your English and ‘nature’ very well but once again… he won’t fall for how often you say you like him. He knows people like you, he’s one of them. He’ll just commend what you’ve done as a Pride Ring Overlord

Alastor HATES the ‘Lord Alastor’ nickname you give him and always address him under… yeah. You give it to every other Overlord, he isn’t the only one who is called ‘Lord’ but it feels so condescending and in reality, it is…

“Silence, my dear. The adults are speaking… now, calm down that temper of yours. We don’t need anymore aircon in this room”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel love #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel characters #vivziepop hazbin hotel #vivziepop #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel radio demon #alastor headcanons #alastor x reader #alastor #radio demon x reader #radio demon #douma reader #what a damn menace #hazbin radio demon #platonic alastor x reader #platonic alastor #headcanons #two psychopaths equal big mess #kinda one-sided love #hazbin hotel crush

[oldfashioned-lovergirl]

Can I suggest a lewis hamilton fic where the reader is their teammate they've basically been through through thic and thin and they have an argument abt lewis not tell you abt going too ferrari and they confess their feelings and let their frustrations through sex??? (( THIS IS LITERALLY SOO MUCH TOO ASK FOR SO UF YOU CAN WRITE IT ITS FINEEE)) - anon 🌺

lost in the fire — LH44 x reader

cw: switching control, sexual tension, angry sex, dirty talk, age gap

note: first ff I write in a while, please y’all be kind with my english :3 hope you like it, I thirst way too much for this man

masterlist

The way the evening is ending is making you nervous and you’re not very good at hiding it. Well, you didn’t expect to discover the worst news possible in the middle of the after party of a fashion show in Paris and above all you didn’t expect to hear that from a stranger and not from the person concerned. Such person concerned is now driving you back to your Paris hotel because according to him you are “too upset” to take your own car.

Now, while you’re looking outside the window without saying a word, you hope he told someone to take your car to the hotel, or you swear to God you’re gonna scream to his face. You want to scream to his face so bad.

The city night lights are magical but you can’t think about anything that isn’t what you had just discovered. The atmosphere is awkwardly silent. Lewis is keeping his sight straight on the road, hands on the wheel. His profile is a picture you know way too well. It’s obvious he wants to say something. Anything.

“You know we’re still gonna see each other every week, right?”

“That’s not the point.”

He lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“I’d rather not talk about it right now.”

“Then what do you wanna talk about?”

“Nothing.” You miss the awkward silence.

You already had arguments during your friendship/coworking/whatever that is, but never like that. That’s different. You feel hurt.

He finally reaches the hotel. He can’t stop right in front, so he parks in the next street. You open the door.

“I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to.”

He gets out of the car anyway. You’re not surprised he’s acting like a gentleman even when you’re so angry you could punch him. “It’s 2 AM and I won’t leave you alone.”

You walk alongside him, trying not to look at his open jacket. The fact that he’s wearing absolutely nothing under it isn’t helping. Damn this man and his impeccable fashion sense. “You weren’t so kind when you lied to me about your new contract.” At this point you don’t even care if people hear you argue.

“I didn’t lie.”

“Oh right, you just forgot to tell me.”

“I was going to.”

“When? When you’re already driving a Ferrari car? Don’t worry I’m not colourblind.” Great, now you reached the point where you can’t keep your mouth closed. And he’s following you to your room because he’s just like you, he has to have the last word.

“Soon. And stop using that sarcastic tone with me, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Of course, my bad, you’re always right about everything. You’re so selfish and childish, running away from the things you love just because you’re scared.” You ask yourself if you’re provoking him too much. No, he deserves that. You’re about to open the door with the electronic key when he takes you wrist and pulls you away. He stands right between you and the door, preventing you from getting in. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m not scared, I don’t like to be ignored. You are the selfish one here, not trying to see things from my point of view. You think it’s so easy for me?” He’s raising his tone. He never did it with you and now you find yourself holding back the tears. “You can’t even imagine what does it mean to leave my team, to leave my friends, to leave… you. But I can’t stay anymore, it’s dragging me down and you know it.”

Those words touch your heart. You feel sorry for him but you just can’t forgive him. You simply can’t stand the thought of racing without him as your teammate. “Then why didn’t you tell me? We can fix this, we can make changes and…”

“I don’t want change, I want to be myself and I want to be listened to. I would have told you sooner but I didn’t want to hurt you. See, now you’re hurt and I don’t know what to do because…” You’re eyes are on him but he’s looking down. He’s still holding your wrist and you bet he feels your heartbeat going faster than him in a Mercedes. “Because I care about you and I don’t want to lose you.”

You try to release from his grasp but he pulls you close. “Well done, now you lost me.”

“You sure?”

“I hate you.”

He kisses you, immediately moving his other hand to your neck to pull you even closer. His dreads brush your shoulder. You try not to shake for the emotions filling you. You lose yourself in the kiss. You can’t think about anything else than your tongues tangled, so you completely forgot you’re still in the hallway. Lewis takes the electronic key from your hand and unlocks the door. He brings you in and closes it behind your back, pushing you on the door. It frustrates you that he always has you under his thumb, no matter how much effort you put into escaping it.

He wouldn’t force you to do anything, ever. You know that he will keep away his hands if you won’t make a move in that direction. However the moan you let slip makes him inevitably smile. You lick the gap between is teeth and proceed to kissing him more passionately.

He shouldn’t dare to laugh at you right now, not even if you’re probably about to explore each other bodies. You put your hands on his chest and push him on the wall of the bedroom so violently that you worry you’ve hurt him. Bold of you to even think you can hurt a F1 driver’s back. A seven times world champion F1 driver’s back.

Your hands travel under his jacket, brushing his nipples and causing him to hold his breath. His naked chest feels smooth. There’s no better feeling than having him finally in your hands. It’s a dream coming to reality.

“Oh you hate me so much.”

Can he read your thoughts? Or did he just say that because you’re mapping his upper body with your fingers? His kisses continue on your chin, then on your jaw and then on your neck. They’re soft yet so hot. You want to reply but you’re too worried to make another sound. His strong hands are now on your hips, they slide up to your waist, stroking it up and down, his mouth now reaching your naked shoulder and leaving marks on it.

He’s definitely now in control of the situation, as always. You want to regain it, but he’s good at making you melt under his palms. You want him in you so bad and you’ll have him. You take him by his jacket and drag him in front of the bed, quickly getting rid of his jacket. You push him on the white bed sheets, climb and sit on top of him. You can feel him hard.

He has the body and the face of a young god, he’s so flawless that makes your almost 20 years age difference look 0.

“Take off your clothes.” He commands.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

You pin his hands on his sides and begin slightly moving your hips. His eyes turn to the ceiling for a moment and his breath becomes louder. “You can’t torture me like this.”

“I think you deserve that.”

You stop and sit back in his lap. He looks up at you with his dark bambi eyes. They’re the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. You take a moment to appreciate the sculpted inked chest he likes posting on instagram so much, thinking about all the times you spent trying to hide how jealous those fuckboy pictures make you feel. Maybe the jokes you always make on the topic betray you.

“Does this mean you forgive me?”

You’re unsure about that, but what you’re definitely sure of is that you’re falling deeply in love with this man. Those puppy eyes are making you regret all the bad things you said to him.

That doesn’t change that you’re still mad. “We’ll see.”

He helps you unzip your dress, moving his hands across your back and slowly down on your ass, and you let him. The straps of your dress fall down on your arms and he stands in order to press his mouth on your collarbone. He takes your dress off, it falls down on the moquette. “I want you.” He gets rid of your bra and begins kissing your breasts like they’re the sweetest fruit on Earth. “I want you so bad.”

Years of friendship colliding into that moment. You want to shout, insult him, hurt him because it hurts you so much watching him leave, but the only words that escape from your mouth are: “L-Lewis I–“. You bite your bottom lip.

You can see through his pleased smirk that he couldn’t wait to make you eat that “I hate you”.

He takes advantage of your moment of weakness to take back control. He flips your positions and frees you both from the last clothes. God, his arms are perfect. “Open wide for me, darling.” His hands on your thighs are making you unable to speak. “Good, just like that.” He licks his lips at the sight of your wetness.

You can’t take it anymore. “Stop playing Lewis, just… just do it.”

He bends over you, a few centimetres from your mouth. “Pretty please?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

And so he does.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #smut #formula 1 #f1 #fanfiction

[mkkk12345]

Divus Crewel x Wife Reader How they met

Sorry this took so long to write, I was once again procrastinating lol Feel free to request situations (I write slowly and I’ll be pretty busy for the next while sadly, but please do request if you would like to! I'll do anyone in twst for the most part with your usual restrictions) (side note I got the names for the dogs from the 101 Dalmatians)

1.2K words

------

Oh how Crewel would come to regret what he had done that day, he really should have seen it coming. “Hey! Professor Crewel, tell us how you met your wife!”

This had all started when Crowley had approached him with a challenge. “If you manage to raise the class average of the first years to let's say~ 80 percent? I'll give you a raise! Am I not so incredibly generous? Hahahhahaaaa” He cawed to himself as Crewel walked away absolutely done with the crow mans shenanigans

Rolling his eyes he responds “I guess there is no harm in attempting it”

As an encouragement to study harder he had told his students that if they were able to raise the class average to 80 percent by the next semester he would allow them to ask one question about his personal life. Of course all of the students had jumped at the chance to glance into the oh so mysterious and strict teachers personal life.

And that is why we are here now.

Professor Divus Crewel, now being forced to tell the oh so embarrassing story of how he had met his lovely wife.

“Well it's not the worst question you lot could have asked. I would rather not share this story but if I must I will do so…”

—----

Divus was around 17 when he first met Y/N It was a bright and sunny day, the weather was perfect and it just so happened to be a long weekend, a rare opportunity to visit home in the Queendom of Roses.

It was also a perfect day to take his beloved pet dalmatian Perdita for a nice long walk in the nearby park for some long deserved bonding time.

When Crewel was home from NRC he would often take Perdita to the park. Whether it was actual exercise or for some relaxing time outside to sketch new fashion designs, Perdita never really minded. But today was different, the minute the pair stepped out of the door the spotted dog went bolting in the direction of the park. “Hey! Slow down girl, why on earth are you in such a rush today?!” he said, trying to keep all his sketching supplies from falling to the ground.

Luckily for young Divus, the dalmatian did eventually slow down once they reached the park. “You act as if no one has been bringing you to the park since I left for school.” he said exasperated from the impromptu run.

Soon after catching his breath Divus and his companion walked over to a nearby bench so the boy could start sketching, but right as he put his sketching equipment down there was another sudden tug on the lead and once again they were off “hey! Slow down! What has gotten into you toda-” CRASH he had been cut off suddenly, crashing into another person as Perdita and what seemed to be another dalmatian were running circles around the two very effectively tying the two together.

When he finally pried his eyes away from the dogs he finally realized the full situation he was in, tied up with a very beautiful young lady. “Oh my god I'm so sorry he doesn't usually act like this, Pongo would you stop that already?”

“Don't worry it was neither of our faults really, I guess these two have taken quite the interest in one another” he said as he pulled his arm out of the leashes to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck a blush forming on his face as he looked at a very interesting tree behind her.

“They've actually been like this for weeks!” she laughed as she finally met his eyes, “Oh you must be Divus! Your mother talks about you very often.” He was surprised, not only was this girl absolutely stunning but she already knew him. Although he would never admit it, he practically fell in love with her right then and there, the way she beamed with joy, the slight blush on her cheeks, her laugh even in the strangest of situations.

In an attempt to calm himself he averted his gaze again and began to untie him and his new developing crush from the entanglement of leashes they were trapped in “Oh you must have met mother while she was walking Perdita I do hope she didn't tell you anything embarrassing” a strained smirk appeared on his face, knowing how his mother liked to tell the most embarrassing stories of his childhood.

“Well I cant say she didn't say anything” she laughed softly again drawing Divus’s attention for a moment the blush on his face growing ever brighter.

Snapping out of his short trance he asked “Might I ask for your name then since you already know mine?” With blush remaining on the tips of ears he held out his hand like a gentleman, both with the intention to give her, her dogs leash back but also to lead her over to a bench so they could hopefully continue their conversation.

“Oh my apologies how rude of me, My name is Y/N nice to finally meet you.” She bashfully took both the leash and his hand, walking over to the bench.

“The pleasure is mine”

—-

“And whilst that was all happening I looked over to our dogs, only to find them looking at each other with what seemed to be a grin on their faces like they planned that all out.” Crewel sighed as he recalled how proud those little devils looked. “After quite a long conversation that ended up in me never actually starting a new sketch, we traded contact information and left the park.” he looked up at his students now regretting all his life decisions.

“And that is how I met my wife, now it seems like class is over, please leave quickly so I can question why I ever became a teacher in the first place.”

“But prof how did you ask her out?” “Yeah yeah! Who was the first one to confess!” “How did you propose????”

Frustrated crewel quickly answered “If I recall correctly you were all only given the privilege of asking one question, now if you don't stop pestering me I will be giving you even more homework.” a completely very unnoticable blush began to form on his face.

“Sorry sir!” Everyone shouted in unison, but on their way out the students did not miss the slightest hint of red that dusted their professor's cheeks as he pretended to sort through papers.

Once everyone had left and silence had fallen through the classroom a laughter could be heard coming from the Professors phone. “Awwwww darling, you retell that story so fondly~” Crewel sighed as he finally looked over at his phone

“I honestly can not believe I let you talk me into letting you listen to that.” he said with a hand firmly planted on his face covering any sign of pink that appeared.

“Consider it as repaying me for when I dropped those papers off for you. Now hurry home our two rascals of dogs are looking at me like I should thank them for getting us together.” she laughed nervously

“Yes yes honey see you soon” ending the call with a small smirk as he muttered “I should buy some more dog treats on the way back.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #crewel x reader #divus crewel #divus crewel x reader #divus crewel x yuu #twisted wonderland headcanons

[staarri]

𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨 — 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡.

c.  scaramouche

character(s) are friends with reader, gn!reader, angsty-ish, scaramouche is still in the fatui, this is a work of fiction

      fluff     ,    love letter     .      word count : roughly 0.9k

t. @aventurne @tragedy-of-commons @yvnaology @nyoomiin

Scaramouche is not an easy man to love. He’s busy, constantly busy, awake even during the most ungodly hours of the night and constantly rubbing at his eyes from his exhaustion. It’s no surprise the Fatui are overworking him again. What’s funny is that he’s sitting at his desk, a pile of papers on the right side–all reports from his underlings–were unnoticed; all of it, even the chirping of the birds as the sun rose and showed the start of a new day, Scaramouche was stuck on a piece of paper in front of him with the words that reads, To my dearest.

There's no way he can capture your beauty on a cheap piece of parchment . He should’ve bought something expensive instead, like a new set of clothes he thinks you’ll like. But lately you’ve just seemed so distant. He needs to reach you somehow. You’ve been driven away by the lies his mouth spills and now, he’s suffering with the consequences, and not once will he ever say it to you, but he needs you to stick with him while he tries to better himself.

So here he is: a fountain pen in hand, wasting his time with something so.. childish. Who writes letters anyway, isn't it something you did as a child towards someone you liked? 

Call him a child then. Call him old-fashioned, traditional, and in love. Call him whatever you like, because in the end he’s yours, and he’s always been. 

He’s let his thoughts linger for too long and suddenly it's 7 am. His eyebags have never been worse and his mind is tired, not from his job, but from this stupid letter he’s made no progress on. To my dearest should be good enough, right? I mean, you were easy to please. He was sure that it would be more than enough for you. 

How tiring. He says, mindlessly scribbling on the paper, jet-black ink scattered all throughout and splattering around the words. Was he angry? Not at all. Frustrated, yes, but for a good reason–to think he did this just because you two were friends was infuriating. Shouldn’t you two be something more?

You were pretty, far too pretty for him to describe. Scaramouche thought his vocabulary was wide enough, but this letter alone has him searching for the words he once knew. Your eyes, leaving him feeling small in a never ending forest and your smile–god, your smile was intoxicating. It would give light to the things he’s been hiding from you this entire time. Your laugh–your voice, sweet and soft, loud and oh-so clear. How you’d bring it down to a whisper when you feel embarrassed about admitting something, how your nose scrunches up when you laugh or when your smile lines just seem so fitting for someone like you.

What was so special about you? 

You were like the sunset on the beaches, glowing. Absolutely stunning, ethereal, lighting everything in a bright orange, his eyes becoming a mix of brown and a dark blue. He’s different around you, he's a completely different person. From the color of his eyes to the racing of his heart, to the feeling that he wasn’t getting enough air whenever you hold his hand–but you’d do it in a friendly way. You don't squeeze his hand too tight, you let go when necessary and don’t leave any kind of touch lingering for far too long.

Scaramouche is not an easy man to love. He’s bad with words and he can’t tell you the things you want to hear;he can’t provide you with the touch you crave, he can’t make up his mind. One moment he’s thinking about just giving you a whole bag of mora for you to use for your next trip, the other he’s thinking about finishing this damn letter that has plagued his mind ever since you first whispered the fact you appreciate him.

There’s no way he can treat you right. There’s absolutely no way he will be perfect, that he’ll be the partner that’ll leave such a mark on you. But god, ask for the world and he will give it to you. Name one thing and when you wake up it's right at your nightstand. Choose the ring and its design, he’ll get a matching one that you yourself decided on as well. Just say the word because he is a child in love.

So here he is, an envelope in hand. Going to the nearest flower shop to buy something that will still wilt under the sun after a few days. He will not love, and can’t love the same way as you, but he will learn how to. 

Call him stupid;call him an idiot for falling for someone he knows is way too out of his league. But that’s all he is, and it's far too late to change that. He might lose you at some point, and that's really what scares him the most. 

Suddenly he’s standing at your doorstep, ringing the doorbell and you’d be confused who in the world decided to bring you a sunflower and a piece of envelope in the middle of the day–you don't recall ordering anything. 

He didn’t even get to sign it.  Maybe next time he can get it right… for his dearest.

characters belong to their respective companies. everything is written by staarri - do not steal, reupload, translate, modify or feed my work to ai.

#🎏 : my works #astronetwrk #—stellaronhvnters. #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader fluff #scaramouche drabble #scaramouche x gn reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche headcannons #wanderer #wanderer genshin impact #wanderer x reader #wanderer x reader fluff #kunikuzushi #ahhhhhhrhrrggg #ty to gwen and hanyi 4 proof readingm

[camilaxmartin]

I’m so glad there is another Lute lover 😭 literally she makes me feral. I was wondering if you could do headcanons for Lute w a super feminine gf (in personality and fashion sense)! If not that’s totally cool and you can ignore this ask!!! Have a great day! :) 💜

her princess

navigation // rules // masterlist

summary: headcanons about lute being in relationship with a high feminine girl and everything that comes with it:)

warnings: soft!lute, a bit suggestive part at the end, adam being a dick in one scene

notes: finally getting to the requests! yay! anyway, LOVED WRITING THIS ONE AS I AM PERSONALLY A VERY FEMININE GIRLIE SKDHDDJ

requests: open!!

★ | let’s start with the fact that you’re literally the purest and most beautiful angel lute has ever seen in her life and in whole heaven. the first time you two meet she literally can’t take her eyes off of you, explaining to herself that she’s just simply admiring how confident you are while being so… girly and the literal opposite of what she has thought her whole life being confident means.

★ | it was nothing special, the first time you two met, just a simple, accidental meeting on the promenade of heaven, lute walking home off-duty when she spots you. if she hadn’t have this much of self control she’d just stop in her tracks and stare at you, but thankfully her mind didn’t let her. she notices the way you’re dressed and how amazingly beautiful your wings present themselves with this whole look and she’s literally speechless. not that she’d utter a word to you if she wasn’t.

★ | it’s obvious you notice her as well, how could you not? an angel like her just walking around the promenade, cmon now, who wouldn’t notice her? you smile softly to her and just turn away, walking your own path, making that dress of yours flatter perfectly. lute’s eyes haven’t left your presence till you literally disappeared from her field of view. and she could’ve sworn her body didn’t have any reaction to you, yet her wings came right in to disobey her. they puffed up ever so slightly, making lute feel the heat going through her back. and since then, you haven’t left her thoughts alone, messing up with her daily schedule and everything she’s known.

★ | adam has picked up on her strange behaviour almost immediately and looked at her suspiciously:

“what’s up your ass this morning, danger-tits?” he asked looking at her with his eyebrows raised. she sighed and rolled her eyes.

“nothing, just…” she stopped mid sentence and huffed. “nothing” she added and flew off, getting ready for her training.

★ | the next time she saw you, she was walking home as well but this time spotted you sitting at the ‘gods-caffe’ eating a donut with sprinkles. she stopped and just simply observed you through the huge window on the wall of the caffe, definitely forgetting about a fact that you can, indeed, see her too. just when you finished your last bite of that donut you instinctively turned your head to the side and noticed her, literally starring at you. at first you were a bit confused but that expression almost immediately turned into a soft smile, as you started to get up from your seat. that action seemed to pull lute out of her state as she immediately started walking away and even flew up just to not let you catch her.

★ | and that simple interaction if you can even call it that, caused another wave of questions from adam to fall over her the next morning:

“okay, you’re quite out of this world, what’s on your mind huh?” he asked smiling like he knew exactly what was going on and put his hands on his hips. lute rolled her eyes and groaned flying away once again, to join the other exterminators in their sparring.

★ | as she finally thought she got over that mystical angel girl that seemed to corrupt her mind, as she was flying around heaven with adam, he bumped into you causing a lot of chaos:

“watch where you’re flying, asshole!” he yelled not even looking at who he’s bumped into. when lute turned her head and noticed you, her eyes immediately went wide and she felt the lump in her throat forming, looking at your another dress fitting you just so perfectly, the colour matching your eyes.

“oh, sorry” you said stroking your cheek where adam’s mask has hit you few second ago. he rolled his eyes and immediately flew off, flying even higher up the clouds. your eyes finally noticed the girl who seemed to be staring at you for a moment now. you smiled to her softly and waved.

“hi” you said with remaining smile, your dress floating in the motion of your wings keeping you in air. lute was immediately pulled out of her thoughts and stared at you even more intensely now.

“uh- hi” she said looking away and her eyes stared following adam who was now waiting above the two of you with confusion forming on his mask.

“i saw you in front of that caffe, and wanted to talk to you but you disappeared” you said with a soft chuckle and lute swore it was the softest sound she’s heard in her life. and then she noticed you were waiting for her response.

“oh yeah- i was just passing by” she shrugged simply, trying to erase the fact that she was literally starring at you that day. “you…” she cleared her throat and looked up at adam again. “i have to go” she said quickly and flew off, joining adam high up. you just followed her with your eyes and with a small frown but decided not to chase them not wanting to get into another conversation with that dude.

★ | and after that incident adam was even more sure what was happening. he started annoying lute all day long about that girl she suddenly lost her ability to speak around and that it’s unknown for her to do so. he started joking about how the girl was literally looking like a doll and that was when lute had had enough of him and decided to take a day off, just to gather her thoughts and, let’s be real here, get a break from this dipshit

★ | on her day off, she decided to simply fly around heaven to let her mind wander and finally get rest. after a lot, and i mean, a lot, of thinking and wondering she’s come to conclusion that it’s immaculate that you’re able to be confident as an angel looking that… feminine. which made her mind spiral even deeper making all of her thoughts just about you, about how you look, about your voice and how soft it is and how outrageously sweet your lips must taste… wait-

★ | she’d probably spend her whole day off just on that when she noticed you sitting on a cloud close to when she was actually flying. she took a deep breath and decided to approach you. she flew up to the cloud immediately and just floated right next to you. your head turned immediately and the most beautiful smile she’s ever seen creeped onto your face.

“hi” she said with more confidence this time her wings immediately opening more and puffing up a bit. you obviously noticed that and chuckled, the sound making lute’s wings puff up even more.

“hi” you responded and moved a bit so she could sit down next to you. and she did.

★ | i’d say your attraction to her grew rather quickly same as hers to you. she was still amazed by your delicate personality and the way you dressed and how you managed to pull it off so… effortlessly. and believe me, it added a lot to her liking to you.

★ | after that accidental meeting on that cloud, lute decided to ask you out to that caffe she saw you in, not even realising it sounded like a date and not just a normal meet-up, but the smile on your face assured her that you didn’t mind it being an actual date.

★ | when you two met up for that date, lute was surprised to find out that you had some kind of a sweet tooth and couldn’t imagine a coffee without something sweet to eat with it. she let you pick whatever you wanted and whichever coffee you wanted and smiled seeing you picked out the sweetest one they offered while also ordering a slice of strawberry-chocolate cake with it. she ordered an expresso for herself without anything to eat.

“i see you like sweet things” she chuckled sitting down at one of the tables against huge windows. you giggled taking a sip.

“what can i say? i guess i like to sweeten up my life as much as i can” you chuckled taking a bite from your cake. “in any matter” you added with a small smirk.

she raised her eyebrow at you not fully understanding. “what do you mean?” she asked taking a sip from her cup.

“i choose sweet people to sweeten up my life as well as the sweetest treats i can find” you laughed and lute’s eyes went wide as she looked away from you with a chuckle trying to hide her embarrassment from that little teasingly compliment of yours.

★ | lute was delighted to find out you loved flowers. the first time she’s ever been in your apartment, she noticed straight away how many plants you had and that you always had some kind of flowers on your coffee table in the saloon. she smiled to herself knowing exactly how to surprise you next time.

“hi!” she yelled flying up to your window one day and waking you up. you yawned and walked over to the window opening it and looking at her surprised.

“lute?” you asked surprised, looking at the girl floating behind your window wearing a wide grin.

lute’s smile widened even more as she took out flowers from behind her back and handed them to you. “just a little treat for you” she said more nervously now but still trying to keep her voice calm. your eyes widened and a smile immediately creeped up to your face.

“my god, thank you!” you said taking the flowers and moving away from the window so she can enter your bedroom. you immediately put the flowers onto your desk and walked back to lute locking her in a hug she definitely wasn’t prepared for. “best morning ever” you whispered with a giggle at which she chuckled nervously.

you leaned away a bit when you felt her wings flatter a bit and she looked away awkwardly, feeling her cheeks starting to burn. you chuckled and decided there won’t be a better occasion than this. softly your hands grabbed her cheeks and you moved your lips to hers, connecting them in a soft and quick kiss just showing your gratefulness. lute didn’t kiss you back, but not because she didn’t want to, but because she was too stunned to do so. when you leaned away with a chuckle she immediately moved her face to yours, locking your lips in another kiss, less soft and definitely less stunned.

★ | something she’d need to get used to is how many little stuff you own. lute isn’t really the one to be nostalgic and sentimental about a lot of stuff, but when she saw your collection of random things that just bring joy or any other feeling to you, that you decided to keep, her brain told her she doesn’t own anything sentimental.

★ | when you started spending even more time together and lute stayed the night with you, she was surprised but very pleasant to get to know about your love for baths and everything that comes with it. she couldn’t believe her eyes the first time she saw how many bath salts and bombs you had not really expecting you to have so many in so many different colours and shapes. she looked through them curious and picked up a heart-shaped, black one smelling it, her eyes going immediately wide when the scent hit her nose.

“you like it?” you asked with a giggle running a bath for yourself, standing next to her.

“it smells marvellous” she said smelling it once again. you just giggled at her reaction and started to take off all your rings to prepare for the bath.

“you can use it if you want” you said nonchalantly with a smile watching her face turn up into a smile.

“really?” she asked looking at you with literal glimpses in her eyes at what you giggled once again.

“of course” you responded with a smile.

★ | speaking of which, lute was surprised to see your collection of rings. of course she noticed those that you were wearing daily but she didn’t expect you to have a full box of different rings and necklaces. she looked through them fascinated and even put on some of them when she was sure you couldn’t see her. she looked down on her hands and smiled enjoying how they looked on her fingers, making them longer and slimmer. when you came into the room her wings immediately went out hiding her while she tried to desperately take off the rings so you wouldn’t notice she tried them on. you slowly walked over to her with a curious smile, moving one of her wings out of your way and noticing how she tried to put all of them in their places. you chuckled softly.

“you can wear them if you want” you said walking away from her and going to the mirror to brush your hair. lute smiled sheepishly at you and picked out one ring putting it on her finger admiring it once again.

“i didn’t know you liked jewellery so much” she said still being focused on her hand. you chuckled softly and shrugged.

“what can i say? i like to have many options” you smiled looking at her through the mirror. “you can keep it” you added looking at the ring she chose.

“definitely not” she said laughing nervously and taking it off. you rolled your eyes playfully, walking over to her and putting the ring on her finger once again, softly looking into her eyes.

“keep it. please.” you said with a smile and lute couldn’t help but look away trying not to blush, as her wings puffed up without her consent.

★ | the same night she couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw your collection of stuffed animals. she smiled uncontrollably seeing how deeply you talked about every and each of them and couldn’t wait for you birthday to come so she could surprise you with another one of them. or to be fair, she just couldn’t wait to surprise you with it any day, not looking at the occasion.

★ | lute also didn’t expect your pyjamas to be as soft as they actually were. when the two of you got into your bed, lute wearing some old t-shirt with shorts and felt your silk matching set of pyjama on her skin she literally looked down at you with pure surprise in her eyes which you softly laughed at.

“you like my pyjamas?” you asked and she nodded her head, cuddling you tightly, pressing her skin onto yours her wings puffing up uncontrollably.

★ | deeper in the relationship lute would need to get used to a lot of things with you. for example your mood swings. of course she was a bit moody herself but the first time she saw how easily your mood could be changed just because of a small thing she needed a moment to understand it. she loved your personality and everything that came with it so it didn’t really change much, and just the thought of getting to know more of your sides made her heart flutter which she hated herself for, not being used to having that much feelings for someone.

★ | the first time you offered doing a spy night with her she was a bit sceptical but your puppy eyes made her change her mind very quickly. and just like that she ended up with a black care mask on her face, cucumber on her eyes and some kind of pink mask on her lips.

★ | when you asked her if you could paint her nails she didn’t have anything against it, until you said you wanted to paint them pink. she squinted her face and sighed but agreed, telling you she’d wash it off in the morning when she’d leave.

“pink really suits you” you said painting her toe nails and giggling. lute rolled her eyes but smiled looking down at her pink nails both on her toes and hands.

“sure” she said teasingly and laughed as this time you rolled your eyes.

“really, it brings out your lips” you said and she looked away feeling her blush.

“shut up” she said as her wings puffed up a bit, and her eyes stayed on your ceiling. you chuckled.

★ | safe to say, she didn’t wipe it off in the morning no matter how badly she complained before that she’d do it.

(a bit suggestive!!)

★ | another thing lute was surprised but also delighted to find out was the collection of lingerie and matching sets you owned. she didn’t mean to find them at first, but when you told her she could pick out something from your wardrobe to change into she just… happened to find them and beside the huge blush that covered her face she also couldn’t stop her mind from wandering and imagining you in all of those sets in many, and i mean many, different situations.

you walked back into your room noticing lute was just starting at something in your closet, so you softly sneaked up to her peeking at what she was looking and chuckled softly.

“enjoying my collection?” you asked with a giggle feeling your blush coming out. lute immediately looked back at you with a dumb smile and a nod of her head.

“yeah, very” she said looking away from you and her eyes uncontrollably going back to the underwear and then slowly to your body. you giggled seeing her eyes.

“wait for the day you see me in them” you smiled and kissed her forehead leaving a lip stain there.

“can’t wait” she chuckled and looked at you, grabbing your waist softly and pulling you in for a deep kiss, her wings puffing up immediately, when her lips only touched yours.

@lizbizbae <3

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lute #hazbin hotel lute #lute x reader #lute #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #lute fluff

[zombyjuice]

YOU USED TO LIVE A BLONDED LIFE₊˚⊹ ᰔ(๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)>c[_]

in which it’s almost valentines and all wonbin can think about is the girl on his bus rides home.

wonbin x fem!reader

cussing, awkward, kinda bad ngl, reader is poc ermmm enjoy :3

“I’m lonely, I need a man before Valentine or I’ll go fucking insane” you speak coming up behind your friend Luna who practically jumped out of her seat phone flying in the air “Goodness! Someone needs to go put a bell on you” you look down at her with a menacing stare getting out of your 🕴️pose and going to the other side to grab your chair, stepping over her phone.

“I feel like you’ve already gone insane,” she picks up her phone thanking God it’s not broken “Cute hair by the way” she points out your now dark brown hair up put in a ponytail and a white headband with a fluffy blue star clip attached to it, you smile softly touching your hair “hopefully that cute boy on the bus thinks the same, he’s always staring at me I think he wants at me” you let out a giggle and jump up and down on your chair “oh my GOSH he’s so fine how~”

“shut up I’m sure he’s going to like it your pretty and look straight out of one of those old quirky Japanese fashion magazines, also you don’t have the worst personality” she states finishing her coffee “Oh? whatever fuck you let’s go” you kick her under the table and watch her face curl up in pain laughing out loud.

You guys shuffle out of the cafe with grumpy faces seeing all Valentine’s decorations and giddy men and women with gifts for the significant others, “disgusting” you sneer “Be happy” you glare at her “Shut the fuck up and be mad with me fuck valentines!” you slightly shout her eyes darting around not understanding how you have no shame(in Korea), you were a strange complex person but she loved you for it, deciding to ignore the glares.

Not even on the bus yet eyes immediately start darting trying to find the boy excited dressed just for him even though in the back of your mind you knew you were never going to go up to him ever, especially remembering your first interaction.

To make a long story short he was at the bus station at 1 am doing God knows what (waiting for the bus) and since there was barely anyone there you and Luna thought it was the best time to do a silly little TikTok you sprouting with energy cause Luna just gave you tons of it.

The song was slowed down so there you were dancing your heart out (slowly) to Ma Boy by sistar19 to get the perfect video and everything would’ve been fine if you didn’t heard the stifled laugh that the boy was holding.

Your face contoured with fear and Luna's deadpan while tapping your shoulder to run. And ever since then you’d see the boy every day, which would be concerning any other man but this was a breathtaking man who looked at you like he wanted to go down on you any moment.

Luna says it’s not that bad because the video ended up being great the sped up video making people laugh and you guys got viral the next day but you think that was hands down the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“I think you guys would look good together” your friend states while you guys eagerly waiting for the bus “What do you mean? How?!” you get giddy slapping her arm “idk it give cute black cat bf and weird orange cat gf” “okay can you hop off always trying to insult me” “that’s what I do best” “oh you're a fucker” “ow! Stop pinching me gay fuck” “You’re g-”

“the doors open” a quiet voice that belonged to no other than your future(not really) pretty black cat boyfriend >:3

you both barely look back and beeline into the bus.

“haha,” you awkwardly laugh a little too late at the boy who looked at you a little silly, both of your eyebrows raised strangely at each other “Oh my gosh” Luna muttered.

You turned around all of a sudden you would like to leave right about now.

The bus ride was quite awkward you and your friend standing and chatting sometimes losing yourselves in the convos and laughing a bit too loud immediately going to check if he looked at you a certain way.

You guys shared cute glances here and there you could feel the way he looked at your outfit or the way he scanned your side profile also not failing to catch the soft grin plastered on his face.

When the time came around for you to get off your bus stop you frowned, yeah you guys never talked before and you weren’t planning on it, but his presence was enough you could gladly sit awkwardly next to him as he looked at you with those cute boba eyes, gladly giving him the same look back.

You gave him one last look and a soft tight lip smile before walking away with your friend off the bus, but what you didn’t catch was that he followed you guys off.

“excuse me- excuse me”

You guys turn stiff and you snap back to see him slightly smile and wave “Can I um speak to you, please, not to be weird or anything”

You look at Luna with a smile a little too bright and she nods smiling back and glaring at Wonbin before walking off.

you look back at the boy's direction and you walk up to meet each other properly…

“You changed your hair,” he states blankly your eyes go a bit wide, and chuckle a bit “Yeah I was tired of the blonde, but I’m nervous this might be too plain though it does look a lot better I might add some color or maybe like a couple of blo- sorry I blabbering” he giggles a little too hard eyes turning into crescents and cheeks burning red “sorry that was a weird statement, not your fault, haha but um I’m Wonbin…” he scammed your features and your reactions finding them all so cute how expressive and real you are it’s like he could see you take note of his name in your head.

“Wonbin.. pretty I like it! I’m y/n” his face burned more and he couldn’t help but let out a nervously high giggle “Also pretty I think you're pretty too and I wanted to introduce myself properly and take you on a date or two before you know, Valentine's” gulp.

#choqolei ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა #choqolei (⁎˃ᆺ˂) #wonbin riize #riize wonbin #wonbin x reader #wonbin x you #wonbin fanfic #wonbin imagine #wonbin imagines #park wonbin #Wonbin #riize x you #riize x reader #riize imagines #riize #riize fluff #riize scenarios #wonbin fluff #riize imangines #riize is 7

[heartstopperthoughts]

Any talented fanfiction writers in the Heartstopper fandom who want to write my Charlie Proposes First headcanon?

So, it takes place around the time that Charlie graduates uni (Nick graduated a year prior) and they’re moving into their first place together.

Tao has joined Charlie to help him do some moving-house shopping, and they pass by a jewelry store and Tao wants to stop to get Elle something for her birthday. Charlie sees a ring that it just so perfectly Nick. (At this point marriage is still kind of a far-off concept in Charlie’s mind. Like they’ve talked about getting married at some point but in a very abstract off-in-the-future kind of way.) He casually points out the ring to Tao who is like, “Haha, you guys have basically been married for years now, are you finally ready to tie the knot?” and Charlie kind of laughs it off, but then they go home, and Charlie cannot stop thinking about the ring. He doesn’t tell anyone, but he goes back to buy it and decides he’ll just save it for when he and Nick are both finally ready. But then just having the ring makes marriage feel more real, like he realizes he’s actually going to get married to Nick Nelson one day and he starts to kind of obsess over it and how he might propose. He wants it to be a grand gesture but he also wants to make it special and personal but not too cheesy and also not too public but not too boring either. In true Charlie Spring fashion, he gets himself all worked up over it, and to calm himself down, he starts to carry the ring around with him, just so he’s ready if the opportunity ever presents itself.

Anyways, flash forward a handful of months and Nick and Charlie are home for the holidays staying with Nick’s mom, and they’ve offered to do the Christmas dinner shopping. They’re walking through the store, just chatting, and Charlie can feel the ring in his pocket. He just stops and looks at Nick and all of the sudden realizes “I am so in love with this man, and I want to be married to him, like, yesterday.” And without even really thinking about it, Charlie blurts out “We should get married” and Nick thinks he means like someday eventually, so he just says “Yeah?” and turns around all smiley like nothing’s happening, and then he sees how nervous Charlie looks and he realizes Charlie is serious. Meanwhile alarms are going off in Charlie’s brain because he’s starting to realize like, “Oh shit, I think I’m proposing right now?!!!!” And he scrambles in his pocket for the ring and is like “Yeah!” and fumbles out this unplanned but incredibly heartfelt proposal. Nick is completely stunned and isn’t really saying anything, and Charlie’s brain starts to spiral like “Oh shit I’ve fucked it up! What am I doing proposing to him here?! Charlie Spring, you complete idiot! Of course you would pick the least romantic place in the entire world to ask the love of your life to marry you. As if he would say yes to you in a Tesco! You couldn’t have thought this through more?!” And then Nick starts to tear up and fishes around in his own pocket and pulls out… you guessed it, a ring! And they both start sobbing, and say yes to each other.

Turns out Nick had bought a ring back in the summer too and had wanted to propose but didn’t want to add stress to Charlie’s already full plate with graduation and starting a new job and moving into a new place, so he had decided to wait. He’d been trying to work up the nerve to take Charlie to the beach where they had their first date and propose there, but just wasn’t sure when it would be the right time, and he didn’t want to rush Charlie into anything if he wasn’t ready to be married just yet. And Charlie’s like, “Oh my God, I am so sorry I ruined your proposal! And I asked in a Tesco of all places. I’m an idiot!” And Nick hushes him and is like “You’re not. It was perfect. You’re perfect.”

And then they go to the beach anyways to celebrate their engagement.

#I know alice said she doesn’t know who proposes first #and most people seem to assume it would be Nick #but I’m here to say they are WRONG #It would 1000% be Charlie #in the most chaotic way possible #heartstopper #heartstopper netflix #heartstopper tv #heartstopper headcanons #nick and charlie #nick x charlie #narlie #nick nelson #charlie spring #osemanverse #alice oseman #kit connor #joe locke

[cherrycola27]

Like a Virgin

Pairing: Rooster x Reader (Call Sign: Blaze)

Warnings: Language, drinking, Smut, insecurities, virginity, Minors DNI 18+

Frustration. That's all you can think of right now as you make out with your boyfriend on the couch of his apartment.

Why are you frustrated? What reason do you have? You're a Navy pilot at the top of her career, you have amazing friends, and a boyfriend who you are certain God took extra time making, with both his looks and his personality.

You had a man, who despite his questionable fashion choices, loved you more than anything in the world, who looked at you as if you hung the moon, who worshiped the ground you walked on. Rooster Bradshaw was perfect.

You knew then man loved you and you could feel the evidence of his desire straining against his jeans as you straddled his lap while you kissed him.

So why were you so damn frustrated right now?

You were frustrated because at thirty years old, you were a virgin. And in the six months you had been with Rooster, you never told him. He definitely wasn't one to pressure you into sex or anything in that neighborhood. You had told him you wanted to take things slow, you felt like he was the one for you and you didn't want to screw it up.

That, and some well executed blow jobs seemed to satisfy him. You weren't necessarily hiding the fact that you hadn't had sex from him, but it embarrassed you. How many thirty years old had a man that looked like him and treated them the way he treats you aren't weren't jumping their bones?

What was even worse is that you hadn't done anything in the intimacy department. Though previous boyfriends had tried you psyched yourself out and shut them down, much like you had done to Rooster in the past. Sure you had given, but had never received

You knew deep down he would be able to make you feel good, but the thought of having to tell him scared you. What scared you even more though, was a conversation you had accidentally over heard between him and Hangman a few days ago at the Hard Deck.

"Rooster I know that Blaze has got to be giving you a run for your money in the bedroom." Hangman said to him. "Actually we haven't... we haven't slept together yet." Rooster admitted sheepishly. Hangman almost spit out his beer. "Bradshaw you guys have been together what... six months and you haven't screwed? You're a better man than I am because if it was me I might start looking elsewhere" Hangman finished.

You were too embarrassed to stay for the rest of the conversation. But in the back of your mind you wondered if Hangman was right. What if Rooster started to look elsewhere because you weren't sleeping with him? What if he got tired of waiting? You couldn't lose him because of your irrational fear, so you made up your mind that tonight you were going to have sex with him, virginity be damned.

You were almost naked in his lap, down to just your bra and panties. You were trying so hard to let yourself fall into this moment, to enjoy it, yet you felt like you were going to burst into tears at any moment.

"Rooster —wait... Rooster, I'm sorry, stop." You stated pulling away from him. You could feel the tears building. His hands went to your thighs rubbing soothing circles on them.

"Honey are you okay? Did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong Blaze?" He asked, his voice deep with concern.

"No, it's not you Bradley, you're perfect." You whimpered out as the tears streaked your cheeks.

"Y/N, baby what's wrong?" He asked pulling you close to him.

"It's not you, it's me. I, I..." you couldn't finishing

"You what?" Rooster asked, worried about you.

"I— I've never— I'm... I'm a virgin Rooster." You finally confess to him.

"Oh" He responds softly as if he isn't sure what to say next.

"I've never had sex, I've never done really anything. It's pathetic I know, and feel so bad because I know you have and that you want to. I know you have needs, and then the other night I heard you and Hangman talking about how if he was you he would go looking somewhere else for those needs to be met and that freaked me out because I don't want to lose you so I figured I could just get over it and we could do just it, but, but I'm scared." You spill your guts to him.

He takes your face in his hands a day wipes your cheeks. "Y/N, honey... I don't care if you're a virgin, and I would never leave you because we aren't sleeping together. Hangman is an ass and I told him as much after he said that. If you aren't ready, if you aren't 100% I'm fine with waiting."

God Bradley really was perfect. "But I am ready, I want this, I want you." You whisper.

"Okay." He responds before kissing you. The next thing you know, Rooster is lifting you off the couch and taking you to his room.

"What are you doing?" You ask. "I wanna do this the right way. I don't want your first time, our first time together to be on a couch. I want to take you to bed so I can properly love you.

You silently nod your head and wrap your body around Rooster, clinging to him like a koala on a tree.

His grasp on youis tight as he carries you through his home, his lips never leaving your skin as he kisses your neck, your jaw, your shoulder, any inch of skin that is exposed to him that he can get to.

Your nails dig into his shoulder blades as he kisses a sensitive spot behind your ear and you let our a breathy moan.

"Fuck sweetheart, that sounds so good, can't wait to see what other sounds I can get out of you." Rooster whispers in your ear as he opens the door to his bedroom and gently deposits you on his bed.

"Get comfortable baby. I'm going to take my time with you." Rooster tells you as you. You slide into the center of his California king and lay back on his pillows.

To him you looked like an angel with your hair fanned out around your face. The lace baby pink set you have on is a stark contrast to his grey duvet.

You look at him with big doe eyes through your long lashes. God, you look so fucking innocent, he can't believe that he is the one that gets to have you first, that you trust him enough to do this, that he is the first one to ever see you like this, and if he has it his way, he'll be the only one to ever have you.

"Darlin, God, you look—fuck, you look amazing." Rooster tells you as he moves onto the bed.

He pulls you flush against him as you lay on your side and kisses you again. This time it's sweeter than before... like he is trying to savor you.

His large hands find your hip. He guided your leg over him. Bringing the two of you even closer. He trails his hand up and skims over the lace panties you are wearing. His hand travels further until it finds the clasp of your bra.

"Can I?" He asks. "Yes." You breath out. He flicks it open with one had. Of course he would be able to do that.

He pulls the lace away from you and you roll onto your back. You quickly bring your hands up covering yourself.

"Honey, don't do that. You're beautiful. I want to see you." He tuts as he pulls them away from your chest.

You take a few deep breaths. You aren't scared, this is Bradley, your Bradley who tears up at the ASPCA commercials on TV. You're just neverous.

"I'm going to touch you now. Y/N, if I do anything you don't like, or you get uncomfortable, just tell me and we can stop. I promise I won't be mad. Okay?" He states.

You nod your head as one of his hands comes up to skim your breast.

You gasp at the sensation. He continues to palm it when his mouth finds your other one, he tentively captures your nipple in his mouth.

"Ah" you gasp as your hand flys to his hair. "Everything okay?" Rooster asks you. "Yes, feels good." You reply.

He tongue circles the sensitive flesh causing you to squirm underneath him. He keeps it up for a few minutes before switching to the other one.

The sensation has you grinding your thighs together, seeking some much needed friction.

Rooster can tell you want more. He slowly trails his lips down your stomach and stops at the waist band of your underwear. He peppers your hips with kisses before looking up to you, a silent plea for your permission to continue.

You shake your head and he carefully pulls them down your legs and drops them to the floor.

He grabs your ankle and trails wet kisses from it to your knee before switching to the other. He peppers the inside of your thighs with kisses, sucking and biting a few marks into them, claiming you as his.

"Rooster—" you breath out, not sure how to ask what you need.

"I've got you darlin." He coos before tentatively licking your slit.

"Oh fuck." You cry out, hips jerking off the bed. "So sensitive, so wet, and all for me." He says to you or to himself, you aren't sure.

He starts out slow, tongue sweeping long, broad strokes through your folds before he circles it around your clit, cause you to moan his name, God it sounds so good to him, he continues.

"Baby you taste so good, sweeter than fucking honey." He tells you. You aren't able to respond because his full lips are wrapping around your clit sucking it into his warm wet mouth.

"Oh Rooster, feels so good!" You cry out slipping your hand into his hair and grinding down on his face.

He continues to alternate linking and sucking on your clit, everything feels so good, you can feel an orgasm approach, but you need more.

"Roo— Bradley, please I need" You don't know what you're asking him for.

"What do you need pretty girl, tell me what you need." He coaxed you.

"You fingers, I need them in me please!" You gasp.

"Okay baby. Tell me if it's too much." He states before gently pushing his middle finger into you.

"So tight." He whispers. He slowly works his finger through your folds, finding that spongey spot inside you and stroking it.

You throw your head back and cry out his name. Soon his ring finger is slipping inside you to join his other.

Your hips grind down on his hand, chasing a feeling that no one has ever made you feel.

The grip you have in his hair tightens as he spreads you open further for him. His face is buried deep in your core, his nose bumps your clit as you grind against him, the fine hairs of his mustache further adds to the pleasure.

His broad fingers scissor your walls drawing you closer and closer to your peak.

Rooster grinds his hips into the mattress, enjoying this moment, perhaps even more than you are if that's possible.

Soon, your clenching around his fingers as they work in tandem with his mouth.

"Roo—Bra—I—I" you don't know how to tell him.

"I know you're close baby, let go. Cum for me pretty girl, I want to watch you fall apart for me. He encourages you.

His words cause the band to snap and soon, you're cumming all over his face and hands, but he doesn't stop. He continues to lap at you as if you're his last meal, drawing every ounce of pleasure from you, it's almost too much and before you even realize what's happening, you cum again, crying out his name as your thighs clamp around his head. White spots cloud your vision and you arent sure if you want to pull him closer or push him away.

Thankfully you don't have to decide because he has mercy on you and pulls your legs off of him and climbs back up the bed.

"You still with me pretty girl?" He asks brushing your sweat slicked hair from your face.

"Thank you, that—that was something else" you tell him panting, trying to catch your breath.

"Don't thank me just yet baby." He winks at you.

"Do you want to keep going, we can stop if you want to." He assures you.

"No, please, I don't want to stop, I want you so badly Bradley, I want all of you. I want to give you all of me." You tell him as your green eyes meet his.

He cups his hands around your face and kisses you sweetly before removing his boxers. He reaches for his night stand and fumbles in one of the drawers for a minute.

Then it dawns on you what he is looking for.

"I'm on the pill." You blurt out "And... well... obviously I'm clean." You continue.

"I'm clean too... are you sure?" Rooster asks.

You nod your head. "Okay." He states before kissing you again.

He lays you flat on your back, head propped up on some pillows before he moves his body over you.

"If it's too much, or it hurts, or anything and you want to stop, just tell me." He says.

You smile up at him knowing that he is going to take care of you.

You feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. His arms are by either side of your head, steadying himself, you grip the sheets at your sides as he slowly pushes into you.

You knew he was big, and you also knew he tried to warm you up with his fingers, but his cock still stretched you as he pushed in. You could tell he was going slow. The stretch of him burned, a few tears pricked your eyes, but you didn't want him to stop. You wanted this so badly.

"Almost there baby, you're doing so good, taking me so well." Rooster praised you sensing your discomfort.

After what felt like ages of him entering you, he was finally buried in you to the hilt.

He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

Your hands left the sheets and went to his back, drawing him closer to you.

"Are you okay baby? Do you want to stop?" He asked, feeling how tense you were.

"No, I just need a minute, I feel, really full." You try to explain to him.

You took deep breaths as you slowly began to relax around him. You drew in a deep breath and slightly adjusted your hips, causing Rooster to hiss.

"Bradley, you can move. Just go slow please." You told him after what felt like ages to you buy was maybe only a few minutes.

His hips began to gently rock against yours. Testing the waters to find out what you liked, what gave you pleasure.

At first your nails dug into his shoulder blades, but as he continued, your relaxed and gave yourself over to the pleasure.

Soon, he was picking up the pace as your sounds turned from small whimpers to moans of pleasure.

"Oh. Oh. Oh. Baby that feels so good. Oh God Rooster, right there—just like that!" You cried out when he hooked your legs over his shoulders giving him a a chance to thrust deeper into you. The angle at which his cock was driving into you made it graze your g-spot over and over again.

"You feel so good around me pretty girl. Can't believe you trusted me enough to let me be your first. My fucking beautiful baby, your pussy was fucking made for me." Rooster praise you as he continued to move against you.

His fingers gripped the meat of your hips bringing them to meet his thrusts. You were sure you would be able to count ten finger shaped bruises on them tomorrow but you didn't care.

He moved faster again you, enough to push you towards your peak, but not enough to hurt you.

Rooster knew there would be a time where he could be rougher with you, but this was your first, he wanted you to enjoy it. While he wanted to go faster and harder, because fuck did you you feel good around him, and damn if he didn't want to cum deep in you and make you so cock drunk that you forgot what your name was, because he did, this wasn't about him.

No, this was about you. You weren't some random girl he had taken home for the night, no, you were the love of his life and the woman he was certain he was going to marry.

You trusted him enough to be vulnerable with him, and he wanted to make sure you were satisfied.

"Bradley, faster, harder, please." You moaned underneath him. He picked up his pace slightly, pulling you to meet his hips with each thrust.

You were on cloud nine. Each snap of his hips wound you tighter and tighter. Rooster was taking such good care of you. He was everything you ever could have wanted.

He continued to push into you, bringing his hips flush with yours each time.

You felt like heaven around him. The way he filled you was perfect, the way your walls clenched him, he had never felt anything like it, nothing came close to this feeling head had right now. The euphoria of being one with you. Not even flying made him feel this good.

Rooster never understood what some of his friends told him about taking someone's virginity, about how it was one of the greatest things they had ever experienced.

All of the women he had been with had experience.

He thought his friends were full of shit honestly, but boy, was he wrong.

Now he knew what they meant. It wasn't just how you felt around him, it was the connection you shared that made it so much better

The fact that he was the first one to draw these sounds from you, the first one to give you this pleasure. The first one to feel the velvet of your walls wrapped around him... it was fucking addictive and he was sure he would never get enough of it.

He had never thought of himself has the possessive type until now, you were his, all of you was his and his alone. The way you squeeze around him and pulled him in, the way your body accepted him, felt like it was made for him, and well, it would be a cold day in hell before he ever let someone else experience this.

He wanted you all to himself, forever and always.

"Babe, are you close pretty girl?" He asked as his hips began to falter. He wasn't going to be able to last much longer.

"I'm close, but I don't know if I can again. I want you to cum Rooster, you can if you need to. You already made me feel so good." You told him earnestly.

Rooster thought it was so sweet how you wanted to take care of him, but he needed to make you cum one more time.

He craved the feeling of your velet heat clenching down on him and milking him for all he had.

One of his hands left your hip and came to were your bodied met. He began to draw tight circles over your clit pushing you to the edge.

The new feeling overwhelmed you. You threw your head back and closed your eyes as a third orgasm rapidly approached you.

"Fuck, Bradley... I'm gonna cum!" You cried, rolling your hips to meet his.

"That's it pretty girl, I know you can do it." He encouraged you as his rhythm stuttered.

"Open your eyes baby, I want to see how beautiful you look when you fall apart on my cock pretty girl." Rooster commands. Your eyes snap open and with one, two, three more deep thrusts you cry out his name while your body shakes and pleasure overtakes you. You cling to him for dear life as he falls over the edge, spilling into you.

You aren't sure how long the two of you stay like that, but eventually the weight of Rooster's body on you becomes too much and you push him off.

He smiles at you, it's goofy and a little lopsided from the post sex high.

"That was amazing." You tell him.

"Best I've ever had." He tells you.

Now it's your turn have a goofy smile.

He pulls you tightly against him. You could stay like this forever, but suddenly you are aware of the sticky sensation between your thighs, and your need for the bathroom.

"Rooster, I need to pee." You say sheepishly. He just laughs.

He give your a quick peck on the lips before scooping you up and taking you to the bathroom. He gives you a few minutes to take care of business before he comes back with one of his shirt and a fresh pair of boxers on.

He sets you up on the counter next to him.

He wets a cloth in the sink and cleans you up. Then he slips his shirt over your head and carries you back to the bed before tucking you into some fresh sheets.

He curls up beside you and you bury your face into his chest. Your body suddenly heavy with sleep.

"Bradley." You mumble against him.

"Yes baby?" He asks stroking your hair.

"I love you."

"I love you too pretty girl, I love you too."

Tag List: @dreamingathighaltitude @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @mak-32 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @rosiahills22 @thedroneranger @roosterforme @youlightmeupfinn

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