#and i sit and wonder why i fucking bother

[alchemistc]

Tommy ignores the knock at his door. He's in day three pajamas and the only person who might make the effort to check in on him is his exes best friend. Which.

The knocking continues.

It's getting louder.

There's a Kings game on in the background and he's been elbow deep in the Jeep manual he'd finally cracked open in some sort of weird, fucked up pattern of mourning.

Tommy's never gonna buy a fucking Jeep. He hates them. You own one for more than five years and more than half the parts are replacement parts.

He's been staring at a diagram of the timing belt for half an hour, at least. The last thing he remembers about the game is Kuemper letting in three goals on five shots and somehow the Kings are up two, now, and there's still 25 minutes of game time left.

Tommy reaches for the remote. Turns the volume up.

The knocking returns less than a minute later.

---

There's a box of odds and ends tucked under the table in his entryway. He avoids looking at it. He knows there are a few things missing from it and he really doesn't want to examine what he'll have to do to avoid giving it to Eddie tonight. He cut the cords, he shouldn't be lingering watching the frayed edges sway in the wind, clutching his line like there's anything braced on the other side of it.

Evan's oldest, softest LAFD hoodie, the one that's technically too small for both of them but has stretched shockingly evenly and is definitely not sitting unwashed at the bottom of Tommy's laundry basket. The program from a recital of Denny's they'd stopped by to support him for, on their way out of town for a long weekend. Evan's stupid keto bread and the milk frother he'd left behind three months ago and never bothered to grab because he had more than one.

Whoever is at his door is still fucking knocking, and suddenly Tommy doesn't feel like being polite. He'll shove the box in Eddie's arms and tell him to fuck off and close the last few remaining open doors he has to this.

Only when he swings the door wide it's not Eddie on the other side, and the box nearly takes out whatever Evan - Buck, Jesus Christ - has in his own arms.

Not a Tommy box - too small for all the shit that he'd left behind. He misses the house slippers that had had a permanent spot tucked under the left side of the bed.

Tommy flinches, reels away, tries to shove the box away before Buck can see its contents.

"What are you doing here?" Even tone. No quiver in his voice. He's been called rude and dismissive for less.

Buck scowls. Hefts the rectangular dish in his hands and shoves past Tommy before Tommy can blink.

It's silly to say he chases after him, down the hallway towards the kitchen, but he's not exactly following along behind at a casual leisurely pace.

The glass pan slams down on his kitchen counter and Buck spends a minute staring at the calendar he was only getting two months out of because he couldn't look at the one with all Buck's notes penned in anymore.

"Wow," Buck says, and shifts his weight awkwardly.

"What are you -?"

"Jee and I made you birthday cupcakes," Buck says. His voice is hard. Angry. Hurt. "Happy birthday, asshole."

---

He cracks the lid and there are only three cupcakes inside. Tommy forgets himself. Raises a brow, amusement rolling over him pleasantly, prepared to tease him, but then he catches the set of Buck's legs and the curl of his mouth and the tight way his arm tucks itself back in against his belly, a protective gesture that reminds Tommy very effectively what this is.

"Why?" Tommy wonders aloud, and Evan's scowl deepens.

Buck's scowl.

God.

"We've been planning it for weeks." Something flashes across his eyes before he schools his features. "Jee made me promise to bring you some."

"She must not be a skilled baker," Tommy jokes. "If these are the only ones that made it."

Evan's expression twists. "I ate most of them."

The frosting looks fresh. No creases in the paper cup holding them together.

"I had to make a new batch of frosting because I used some of it for -." He cuts himself off. Looks like he'd like to throw it in Tommy's face but can't quite force himself to hurt Tommy.

It hurts as much as he'd expected, anyway.

The world is a small place. It's not the first time he's had to speak to an ex when he didn't want to. It's never pleasant.

This is worse. The cut and run is supposed to give him time.

Evan Buckley has been an ache behind his ribcage for months, now, long before he'd made that final decision. He'd known it was too little too late. Buck's gonna be the shadow other men see behind his eyes for years.

Buck's apparently found and slept with someone within the week and a half span from Tommy walking out to his sad shitty mopey birthday.

That he'd forgotten about.

Tommy leans in. Picks up a cupcake. Licks a stripe through the frosting and makes a face when he realizes it's buttercream.

"The ones you were supposed to get had the whipped cream one you like," Buck says, accusingly.

That somehow stings just a little bit extra.

Tommy pulls back the paper, takes a bite. There's raspberry filling inside, and Tommy can feel tears prickling at the edges of his eyes, because when he'd told Evan about how his grandma baked he'd been thinking of Evan being a grandparent, the kind of shit he'd forbidden himself from imagining with anyone he was dating years ago.

"Thank you," he manages, and Buck frowns.

"He thought the whipped cream was too sweet." And Tommy probably deserves this but he's not particularly in the mood.

"Cut it out, Buck."

Buck rolls his jaw. "I just figured you'd wanna know how it's going. Maybe I could tally up the hookups for you, count them all up by gender and stamina and opinions on how I should feel and act and fall for someone. Find out if I'm actually gay enough to be a man's last."

---

The rest of the cupcake kind of collapses and oozes as Tommy smacks it down on the counter. He takes thirty seconds to pull the other two cupcakes out before he's grabbing the too-large fake Pyrex and turning heel. The keto bread goes in the pan. Then the milk frother.

Tommy yanks the recital program off the fridge and tosses it in the trash.

Buck almost looks triumphant.

"The box under the side table has the rest. You can see yourself out."

He actually does exactly as he's told, and Tommy listens to his footsteps drift off, shoulders hunched in and the breath tight in his throat. He'd been cruel, it was only fair Buck got a few final kicks in.

Tommy sucks in a breath and blinks away the moisture at the edges of his vision.

The footsteps take a heel turn at the side table and turn right back around.

"This isn't everything."

Tommy half expects some panned comment about how Tommy's got his heart - the kind of silly shit he'd say to a dead outlaw.

"My sweatshirt," Buck says, and Tommy freezes.

He could lie. He could pretend he had no idea where it was. Claim he didn't remember it even being here, because that particular piece of clothing did have a tendency to travel.

He doesn't fucking want to hand that one over.

Buck smirks, like he's caught the crack, and is looking for ways to exploit it.

"I own my own house!" Tommy says, and it's a terrible launching point but Buck latches on.

"You just left, Tommy! I know I jumped the gun, Tommy, but you didn't even - you just left! I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry I didn't know I was into men until you. I'm sorry you had to be my first, I'm sure that must have been such a burden for you."

"That's not fair."

"You didn't even give me a chance. That was - I'm so angry with you, Tommy. I'm so fucking mad."

"I know."

"But that's what you planned for, right? That's - you ripped the bandaid, Tommy, except there's a whole fucking untreated stab wound right underneath and it's still bleeding, Tommy."

"Did you even make this round of cupcakes with your niece?" It's better to keep his family's names out of his mouth. Just keep those ties cut.

Buck looks livid. "No, you idiot, I whipped up a tiny batch of this recipe just for the excuse to see you and - and tell you what a stupid, awful coward you are."

"That's not f-." He isn't sure whether Buck is being facetious about the small batch thing or not. He doesn't have any time to think about it.

"My sister and Chim are having another baby. Bobby and Athena are probably gonna host Christmas this year. Eddie shaved off the mustache and he's, like, dancing now, I guess. Hen and Karen are good for the first time in -." He shakes his head. Stares at Tommy. Tommy can't quite hide from that gaze. "We were good, Tommy. We were - you loved me."

He'd never said the words. Neither had Evan, but they'd both known. Both felt it. Tommy let it go too far, did it scared for longer than he usually would.

"It's not like that just went away when I walked out, Evan," Tommy hisses, and then regrets it immediately.

Evan has spent most of this visit pushing, pressing, digging fingers into the wound to make it hurt.

Evan goes silent now, reeling back a little. He seems shocked that Tommy had admitted it.

"I want you to go," Tommy says. "I need you to go, Buck."

It was the right dagger the first time, but apparently it's only effective once.

"I love you too, you know." His voice is soft. Tommy can't meet his eye. "And I hate you. I hate you even though I know that's what you wanted but I love you too much to not hate you out of spite."

Tommy knows if he caves it's done. He's signing himself over to whatever fucked thing will end them a week, a month, five years, two decades from now.

"Go home, Buck. Hate me there."

---

He goes in for the kill.

"I called Abby, two nights ago."

Right for the jugular. No survivors.

"She laughed for like twenty minutes, and then she tried to get me to chat about our sex life for comparison, and then she was shocked silent for a full minute when I wouldn't." Because Evan had always been a little too open about those details. "She also told me she forgave you but she doesn't think you ever forgave yourself."

Tommy agrees. For all that they'd been terrible for each other, they'd known how the hell to take care of one another like no one's business.

"I want you to go," Tommy says, steady, quiet, nearly a snark for how deep his voice goes to hide the tremor in it.

Buck cocks a hip against the doorframe. "I want my sweatshirt."

The breath that escapes him is shaky, but her think he hides most of it behind the hand over his face, the finger pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do this."

"Exactly how many men and women do I have to fuck before you believe the future I'm looking at is with you?"

"All of them! None! It was a stupid thing to say and it's not what I meant and I can't do this."

Buck spins on his heel. Grabs the box he'd set aside and hefts it up into his arms. "I'm coming back for my sweatshirt," he says. "You let me know whether you want to talk about the data points of the sexuality spreadsheet or about us."

"There is no us, Buck." His voice sounds defeated even to himself.

"If that was true you'd just give me the stupid sweater and be done."

Tommy sits in silence. He does not get up to retrieve the hoodie. Buck is still angry, but his smile is wide and bashful.

Tommy listens to his footsteps trail down the hall, towards the door, out of it. He hears the Jeep's ignition catch, the wheels roll off the drive.

He realizes he'd left the goddamn Jeep manual open on the timing belt page, right there on his side table where he'd pointed out the things he wanted Evan to take to clear him from his life.

---

There is someone knocking at his door.

Tommy doesn't quite ignore it.

He hid the sweatshirt in one of his toolbox drawers when Evan texted him this morning to let him know he'd be over with a six pack and a pot of chili.

There's a zero percent chance Evan's getting that sweatshirt back, tonight.

[procyonloser]

Pt 5

Lucifer stood nervously on the stage, after Adam clapped him on the shoulder, winking at him. He didn't look bothered to see Lucifer, but Lucifer was bothered to see him. Why was Adam here, at the zoo? Did he work here and at the aquarium? What, did he work at the wildlife park too? The arboretum? Six flags?

"Okay, Lute, if you want to put Hoot away, we can start the demonstration!" Adam said happily, and the girl on stage with him shot Lucifer the most toxic look he'd ever seen outside of a courtroom, before she walked over and had the owl step down onto a stand. When she came back, her expression hadn't changed much.

"What are we doing, Adam?" Lute asked, not the most amazing actress in the world, but Lucifer didn't think it'd be a good idea to tell her that right now.

"I'm going to have you and Lucifer stand about a foot apart from one another, and then we're going to see what Sweetness can do." Adam said easily, leaving Lucifer wondering who the fuck Sweetness was. The eagle? Who named it that?

The gist of it was Adam was going to have the very large eagle fly between Lucifer and the angry woman, narrowly avoiding hitting them. It went off without a hitch, Lucifer felt the power of the eagle going past him, the gust of wind from it's wings, and it was weirdly invigorating to be close to.

But all Lucifer could think about was Adam leaning in to his ear after and whispering to him to come back stage after the show was over. He'd turned red again as he made his way back into the bleachers, beside Charlie, who was talking animatedly and at length as to how cool he looked, and how scary it must have been.

Over the course of the show, Adam brought out snakes and spiders and one fairly large cat, and a parrot that Charlie seemed to love. The show was a hit with the kids that were there, and they all got a little adventure coloring book for their efforts, passed out by Lute, who handed Lucifer theirs with much more force than needed.

They lingered behind after, until Adam poked his head out and gestured for them to come back around. Charlie seemed confused, until they walked through the door, and could see all the holding enclosures for the animals, and her eyes got huge. The Lute girl was leaning against a table, glaring at him openly, but Lucifer tried to ignore her to the best of his abilities.

"I don't work here," Adam said, taking Lucifer's attention off of her. He blinked in surprise, not knowing what to say. "I mean, I used to work here, with some of their aquatics, but then I got the job at the aquarium. But, I'd been doing this show for years, and I have friends here like Lute, so I still volunteer to do it a few times a week."

"As long as you don't think I'm stalking you," Lucifer laughed nervously, not knowing what to say, especially not in front of Lute. "Charlie loved the show, though, didn't you CharBar?"

Charlie barely nodded, crouched and sitting eye to eye with a raccoon.

"How about you?" Adam asked, and Lucifer nodded repeatedly.

"It was great! I love birds, to tell you the truth. It was too bad the parakeet exhibit was closed, I love feeding them on sticks. So does Charlie." Lucifer told him, and Adam hummed to himself.

"I can get you in," Adam said, and Lute sent him a look.

"Adam..."

"It's fine, relax Lute." Adam said with a shrug, clearly not caring much for her opinion on the matter, which gave Lucifer an odd sense of victory over the woman.

"You're going to get in trouble," Lute warned. "They shouldn't even be back here..."

"He's a friend," Adam said with a hint finality in his voice, turning to leave and nodding for Lucifer to follow him.

"Is that what they're calling it now?" Lute asked under her breath, but Lucifer had heard it anyway. What had she meant by that; and did Adam actually see him as a friend? Lucifer didn't fully know, but at least he had a good view, watching Adam walk ahead of him.

Lucifer laughed as Charlie was suddenly swarmed by about ten parakeets, as soon as they'd gotten into the parakeet exhibit. Adam had given her a few seed sticks, and the birds reacted in kind. Lucifer took a few pictures of his daughter, deciding one was most definitely going to be his new phone wallpaper.

"Hey, you want to go on a date sometime?"

Lucifer was so distracted by Charlie and the birds, he'd almost missed the question, but it sank in quickly enough, and Lucifer was left blinking owlishly up at Adam.

"If not, it's whatever, I just thought-" Adam glanced away. "It doesn't matter."

"Oh my god, no, yes." Lucifer breathed out, and Adam looked confused. "I mean, yes. God, yes. I'd love to. Pretty please."

Adam laughed at the tacked on nicety, grinning down at him as a parakeet landed on Lucifer's shoulder. "You're such a fucking weirdo. I like that."

[rainbow-arrow]

uh oh!!! spent too much time comparing fic stats!!! made myself sad!!!!

[cozylittleartblog]

bug doodles so i can say i drew something

[starrierknight]

like/reblog ratio goes crazy. literally what

[silasbug]

note to self: if you have repeatedly been made to feel some type of way about your silly little doodles by someone in the past, don't fucking draw them something for their birthday.

[skeletons-in-ur-closet]

i AM a violent dog i DO know why i bite

[fauxfroot]

how to explain to my mother that i don't want to make any stops before my dr appointment tomorrow bc i don't in fact trust her to get me there on time if we stop anywhere

[pastel-rights]

And then I finally end it off with some doodles of them… they make me feel things.

[pinkseas]

girls who are generally huge fucking flakes to the point where they genuinely do not have Any Idea how or why their friends still want to be friends at all

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY ONE: degradation with sub!gojo

kinktober masterlist

The strongest, the fastest, the greatest.

Satoru Gojo knows that he is all of those things—he's told it every day. People dote on him, idolise him, praise him like he's holy—and lavish worship can only go so far before it starts to feel hollow.

Satoru likes being loved, don't get him wrong, he revels in the praise he gets. To know he's so admired, such an effigy of power, is intoxicating. He's constantly in a state of egotistical bliss—which is why it's so rejuvenating when you take him down a notch.

Because as strong and tireless as he is in the real world, your Toru is the opposite in the bedroom. It's the place he gets to relax, to melt, and he takes full advantage of shedding the title of strongest, even if only for a night at a time—because god does the way your chiding roll from your lips turn him on.

You can't help but smile at the beautiful blush that dusts his cheeks, it matches the pink tip of his throbbing cock that pulses in your hand. His hair, soft and lovely, rests in a mess against the pillows as you stroke him lazily, sitting on his thighs, lips curled into the wickedest of grins. He frowns, whiney pleas escaping form his throat.

"Please, just fuck me," he's so hard it hurts, and the delicate stroke of your fists over his cock isn't enough. He needs more of you, he needs all of you.

But you just hum, "so needy. This isn't good enough for you, Toru? You think you're worth my time, honey?"

Honey. So sweet in comparison to the sickly tone you use with him. He's not worthy, not of someone like you, and the suggestion makes his hips buck. "Please," he bites.

"Fucking desperate," you let go of his cock entirely and instead ghost a nail from his base to the tip. He gasps, face scrunching up, "you know you're pathetic, right baby? What's all this about you being the strongest—you're barely holding yourself together."

A pause. Satoru swallows. His dick twitches, his cock growing thicker and harder than he thinks it ever has been. "Please, you're… too much," it comes out hoarsely. He feels pathetic and small as he begs, but you ignore him, fingers still circling his sensitive head until it throbs painfully.

"What do you want to hear?" You purr, leaning down to press a kiss to his tip. "That you're being so good for me? Because you really aren't, Toru—not until you break for me. C'mon, baby, I know you, what you are."

You reposition yourself to sit over his cock, lining him up with yourself, smiling at the ay he squeezes his eyes shut in carnal need. You lean forward a little—enough to emphasise your words—"you're my Satoru, who needs to get fucked like the desperate whore he is."

And as you seat yourself on his cock, not bothering to hide just how blissful the stretch of his overbearing size makes you feel, Gojo swears he could cry. You're right, he is desperate, a whore—achy and teary-eyed and already close to cumming with just how good you feel wrapped around him.

"Not without permission," you read the tremble of his lips. Your hips roll against his, the drag and pull of his cock inside of you enough to drive the poor man crazy. "What do you think the masses would think if they saw you like this, huh? All dumb for me, Satoru Gojo—my favourite toy. You think they'd still think you're the strongest, baby?"

"Mm, fuck," his tongue near lolls out of his mouth at your words, you can feel him twitch inside of you. "Y—y…"

"Too stupid to even use your words huh? Can't even get a decent ride out of you. Look at you, I know you're close—can't hide from me."

He's gone red in the face, and avoids the urge to hide behind his hands in favour of meeting your gaze with his beautiful blues. Glossy and pooling with lust, he looks at you like you're the god he is to worship. He wonders how anyone can think he is worthy of praise when you're right there—god, he'd lay himself down for you before any of them could even think to. He's got no choice but to accept your approval though, and if it'll get you to keep fucking him, he'll be grateful for anything.

It's too much for the both of you to handle. Your own orgasm crests just as you think Satoru is going to unravel, and you place a finger in the middle of his toned chest to ground him. "Beg me."

"Ple—"

"No," you shake your head, trying to keep your breath in check as you quicken the pace of your rolling hips. "Thank me, for giving you so much already—more than you deserve. Thank me properly and you can cum."

He doesn't hesitate, he's beyond devoted to you—if he could thank you until the end of time he would. "Thank you," he says softly, voice thick with relief. You feel him shudder underneath you, a few more thrusts of your hips and he'll come undone. "Fuck, thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou, I love you, god I love you."

"Prove it," a moan breaks through your sharp words. "Cum with me, Toru."

Your name tumbles from his mouth like a prayer, raw and desperate, and he gives a shaky nod. You clench around him as you allow yourself to finish, and the sight of your orgasm spurs Satoru on. As his climax crescendos and his body jerks beneath you, he's sure he can never look away from how beautiful you are in your release despite the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and bathe in the overwhelming pleasure that washes over him—nirvana.

You collapse atop him, panting. You lie there while your muscles unwind, waiting for you heart to calm and your lungs to expand enough for your breath to steady. Once Satoru has finished jerking his hips up into yours, and he starts to come back down to earth, you push yourself up to hover over him again. The stern look that had been in your eyes is gone, and replaced with a gentle softness he knows all too well—he replicates your smile with his own.

"Good?" He raises his eyebrows, ready for the onslaught of love you tend to give him after sex like this.

"Perfect," you hum and lean down to kiss the tip of his nose. "You are perfect."

"And desperate," he coos, reaching up to wrap his arms around your waist.

You nod, a smile pulling at your lips. "Yeah—that too."

tags are in the comments, because tumblr is an opp!

[mywritersmind]

TOUCH ME - LN4

summary : y/n shows her affection through hugs, kisses, and just plain touching. lando is sad when he realizes that she does this with everyone but him.

listen up : no warnings!! cuteness!! singapore win!

word count : 747

⋆｡‧˚⋆

It had been bothering him for months. Lando noticed when he and Y/n started becoming friends. After a long period of not liking each other, the two finally agreed to put their differences aside because of all their mutual friends.

Their mutual friends started becoming the issue for Lando.

She touches everyone. Not in a weird way, she just shows affection through touch… Through touching anyone but him.

Lando watches her in his drivers room, she’s drawing on the small whiteboard; a tiny lando and a tiny y/n in the corner.

“Why do you touch everyone?” He asks out of nowhere, she turns back slightly, giving him a look before turning back to the board.

“My love language is touch… I guess? At least that’s what people tell me.” She shrugs, coming to the end of the drawing.

“But you don’t touch me.” This makes her pause for a moment before finishing off the drawing and turning back around to face the man.

He's sitting on his drivers bed, race suit unzipped half way and water bottle in hand.

“You want me to touch you?” she raises a brow, teasing him a bit.

He looks down at his water, fiddling with the straw, “I just mean- we’re friends, right? You seem to kiss and hug everyone except for me.”

This makes her more uncomfortable, she slips her hands in her pockets and shrugs, “I don’t mean to not. I guess it’s just different with you.”

“How am I different from Oscar or Charles?” He looks up at her again, his eyes so bright, “They both have girlfriends and you don’t seem bothered.”

Y/n laughs, not thinking before speaking, “Yeah because I’m not into them like that.”

Lando’s eyes widen a bit, “But- you’re into me… like that?” Y/n decides there is two options,

1. Confess her feelings for Lando, ruining all the progress they’ve made to have a good and comfortable friendship while simultaneously risking rejection from someone she really cares about.

2. Lie.

Two seems safer.

“Of course not.” she shakes her head.

Lando doesn’t believe her, or he just doesn’t want to believe her, “So why don’t you touch me? Even after I won in Zandvoort you didn’t hug me.” she hadn't realized how much this had hurt him. She was simply thinking about the hundreds of cameras facing them and how she was already blushing.

Someone knocks on the door then, calling out, “Lando, Warm up starting now.” He swallows, looking up at Y/n.

“I’ll go.” She says quietly, wondering how everything so quickly went south, “Good Luck, Lan.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Y/n watched the race with Max, on the edge of her seat and sweating. The moment Lando crossed the finish line, a grin was permanently planted onto her face.

After every interview, the podium, a shower, and change of clothes, he walked out to the track where Y/n sat.

She jumped up and hugged him.

“You’re so fucking amazing.” Lando’s heart skipped a beat.

“Enjoy the race?” He smiles as she pulls away, her hands joining and clapping.

“Duh! Everyone else was all boring and whatever but you did so well! Twenty seconds ahead- shit!” even though he was in the race and just had a thirty minute meeting about it, he could listen to her talk about it for hours. “And Lan, about before- I really didn’t mean to hurt you it’s just different and I don’t know why but I swear it’s not to be mean! You’re my friend and-”

“Just friend?” Lando stops her immediately.

She looks up at him, “Well… I always thought-”

“I fancy you. I have for a while.” He just spits it out, his hands on her elbows as she stares blankly at him.

She blinks, “You’re not taking the piss are you because I swear!” He kisses her then.

She’s laughing against him as he pulls her closer, touching her softly and savoring it.

“I like you too.” She blushes. “And fuck you for not telling me sooner!”

He scoffs, “You could have as well! Plus you’re so damn mysterious I couldn’t tell if I should be flattered at your yelling or scared.”

She laughs, kissing his cheek before resting her head on his chest.

He puts his arms around her, his heart beating rapidly, “If you touch your friends like that then i’m damn excited to see how you treat your boyfriend.”

[writersdrug]

waitress reader’s reaction to bartender Ghost getting hit on by someone they think is more attractive?

Oh, she would be so so jealous.

You're wiping down your table, standing on your tippy-toes to reach the middle of the high-top, when you spot the receipt tucked in between the sugars and the pepper. Another successful, big tip, and you're tucking your rag into your server apron and jogging across the floor to share your victory with Simon - when you spot her.

She's sitting at the bar; perfect, blonde waves of her hair cascading down her upper back. She's stylish, wearing a green, corduroy jacket and skinny jeans, wedges on her perfectly manicured feet. Her ankles are crossed politely on the edge of the barstool, her back is arched with perfect posture, and you just know her boobs are a ten out of ten, even though you're facing her back. She's definetly taller than you, you can see that while she's sitting down.

You're so jealous you're probably steaming - and the worst part about it is Ghost. He's not giving her the gruff, unbothered attitude he usually gives everyone at the bar - far from it. He's leaning back against the liquor shelf, eyes crinkled in what you can only assume is a flirtatious smile, hands gripping the counter to flex those goddam Greek-god muscles. He listens to her as she prattles on, laughing at everything and anything he has to say (he just asked if she needed more napkins. Why the fuck is that so funny?!)

Truthfully, he's over this chick. He's the same as you, playing up his charm to keep those tips rolling in - but this girl is exhausting. Always laughing, kinda daft, talks like she's the only woman on the planet... his muscles are tense as he fights the urge to throw his rag at her, he's grimacing behind his mask, teeth clenching to hold back an annoyed groan and god does she ever shut the fuck up-

He notices you, standing in the middle of the restaurant floor, pen tucked into your hair, with flyaways sprouting from your scalp like fireworks, chin slightly jutted out in a pout. Your hands are balled into fists at your sides - you're choking your notepad to death, and you have the nastiest, most adorable look on your face that Simon's ever had the pleasure of seeing.

He scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. "Doin' alright, luv?"

You blink at him, and he has to hold back a snort. The girl turns around to you - great. She's hot, too.

"Oh- hey..." she grabs her ramekin from her dish and holds it out to you. "Is there more ketchup?"

You glare at her for a few moments, not bothering to hide your distaste for her. Simon's about to get it himself, but you snatch the ramekin from her and storm past the kitchen door with a "lemme see."

Ghost furrows his brow at your irate behavior. He wonders if one of the customers gave you a hard time; he politely excuses himself from the woman (thank fuck, she's getting exhausting) and goes to check on you in the kitchen.

"-ye need a feckin' wot now?!"

"I need you to fill a ramekin with half ketchup and half tobasco!"

"Ye got hot sauce oan all th' bloody tables!"

"I need you to do it!"

Ghost chuckles to himself, putting the pieces together. He isn't blind - he recognizes that green-eyed monster anywhere, lord knows he's felt it too. Makes his chest ouff up a bit, seeing you get all ruffled and grumpy over him. It also makes him feel a bit better about fussing over you, when his patrons try to win you over. Guess we both have double standards.

You walk back out, smiling at the woman and handing her the ramekin back. "You got the last of the ketchup! Enjoy!" And, with a cheeky grin, you walk back off to tend to your tables.

She looks at Simon and he shrugs. "Looks like ya got lucky."

[gyuswhore]

Grease (the tragedy)

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.”

jeon wonwoo x reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut [minors DNI], fluff, angst, mechanic!wonu, annoyances to lovers, blind date gone wrong but then gone right, kissing, clit stuff, oral (f. rec), thigh fucking (oop), this all happens at a desk LMAO, title is a what I thought was a funny spin on how people say "grease (the musical)"....has nothing to do with the musical though but lots to do with actual grease!!!

synopsis: In which you have to sit through one of the worst dates of your life, followed by the insistent tug of fate and compulsion that lead you straight back to where you'd sworn you'd never go.

[a/n]: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY WIFE CAMOTHY @highvern everyone go say happy birthday to cam or ill appear in your room at night 🔫 anygays HAVE FUN READING THIS I hope this is all the sexy wonu content you wanted, I cant wait for your reaction hehehhehe

and also bigbigbigbig thank you to jessifer @the-boy-meets-evil for proofing this for me!!! ily heh

and and to everyone reading this who is not cam, I hope you enjoy reading mechanic!wonu as much as I liked writing him heheh PLS REMEMBER TO REBLOG AND TELL ME UR THOTS it could be in the tags, replies, an ask literally anything!!!! id love to hear what you guys think!!!!

masterlist

 [You]: do you think he died on the way [Liv]: hes still not there??? [You]: what do you think????? [Liv]: let me ask Amelia [You]: dont bother [You]: he can show up whenever he wants im leaving in 5 [Liv]: you promised you’d sit thru this!! [You]: sit thru what? an empty seat across from me???

Liv doesn’t respond immediately, and you immediately know she’s buggered off to ask her cousin why your date still wasn’t here. 

It’s not like you couldn’t have asked him yourself, the sparse textbox sitting just under Liv’s contact. You open it to inspect the contents. 

[liv’s cousin’s something]: Amelia gave me your number [liv’s cousin’s something]: friday night at the sage&salt at 7  [liv’s cousin’s something]: is that okay [You]: uh hey [You]: yeah that’s fine

Today 7:20 PM

[You]: im here?

The first thread of texts were enough to make you feel like this was some cold business meeting instead of a date, knowing wherever this would lead would be either the city dump or off a cliff. Liv was hearing none of it, taking the guilt tripping route, saying she’d already committed and her cousin was irritating enough even without a scuffle.

So when Friday evening came around you’d pulled on the first dress your fingers could find, took all of ten minutes fighting with your makeup to make it look like you did something and left the house with zero expectations. 

Despite that, as you see a man walk into the establishment dressed like he’d gotten into a fight with a squid and a paper shredder, you feel the stone in your chest tank into the abyss. Zero expectations, and he’s somehow managed to strike out anyway. 

The jacket looks like he’s put it on as a weak cover for the grime stains on his shirt and trousers, a couple jet black splatters across the outfit to really pull the whole thing together. It’s not like he looked homeless or anything, his face surprisingly handsome with his hair pushed away from his forehead. Although he remains looking like he’d been playing football in some neighbourhood parking lot before remembering he had an adult appointment too. 

You’d never seen the man in your life, but your gut told you this was the shit texter who’d kept you waiting for nearly an hour. He seems to notice too, eyes locking from across the restaurant as the waitress leads him to your table. 

“Wonwoo,” you greet with a difficult smile, half sure it came out as a grimace. “Right?”

“Yeah,” he huffs as he practically slams back down on the chair, and you wonder for a moment how the legs didn’t give out. He says your name and you nod. “Sorry I’m late, I got a call in the parking lot.”

He’s been in the parking lot this entire time?!

It’s like you’ve been doused in gasoline and lit on fire, yet somehow needing to give him a shaky reply anyway. 

“O–oh, I see.”

The waitress saves you from spitting in his face when she asks if you were ready to order. 

Dinner was off the table, as you discussed with Liv who forwarded it to her cousin to her–whoever it was that set up this god awful date–and agreed on dessert and perhaps a drink. 

“I’ll have the chocolate cake,” you request in an attempt to make this somewhat better. You consider for a moment before asking for a drink as well, “And a dry gin martini, please.”

“Um,” he staggers as he barely skims the menu, ultimately flipping it closed. “I’ll have the same, I guess.”

Deep voice. You might’ve liked that if you weren’t already so peeved. 

The waitress disappears with the menus, leaving you two alone for the first time. 

“So,” you start with an exhale. “How do you know Amelia?”

“Her husband.”

“I see.”

Silence. 

“How do you know her husband?”

He sighs like this is all inconveniencing him, and it irks you to an irrespective degree. Like you wanted to be here either. 

“He brings his car to the workshop alot, became friends somewhere along the line.”

“Workshop?”

He looks a little startled, cocking his head to the side. “I’m a mechanic? Did Olivia–was it–not tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

It’s silent yet again as the man across from you refuses to elaborate. You curse as you ask him a follow up question. If there was anything you hated more than shouldering a dead conversation, it was sitting through an awkward silence. 

One hour. You’d sit through this for one more hour and then you’d leave. 

“What kind of cars do you work on?”

“Expensive ones,” he answers. You might’ve kicked yourself if he’d ended it at that, but he continues with a purse of his lips. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it. Vintage pieces too.”

“Have I heard of it?”

“The cars?”

“No, I mean,” you let out a breath. “Your workshop.”

“Jeon Motors, just a couple streets down actually.”

You did know what he was talking about, not expecting to recognise it through the empty question, passing by it on multiple occasions in this part of the city.

“Oh, I’ve seen it a few times.”

“Yeah, we’ve been there for a while.”

“Family business?”

“Uh–sort of.” 

“Okay,” you sigh in an irritated laugh. This was going to be a very difficult hour. “Keep that to yourself too.”

“Is there a problem?”

Just as you lift your eyes to lock with his, a ready yes, there is actually a problem on your tongue, there’s an intrusion. 

“Here are your chocolate cakes,” the waitress places the cakes down, and then the drinks. “And your dry gin martinis. Do you guys need anything else?” By the time the waitress is gone you’ve somewhat forced yourself to put that sudden surge of flames out, to a degree at least. 

“Okay,” he sighs, grabbing his glass and downing nearly half the contents. He emerges, wiping a bit of a spill from the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get this out of the way.”

“Hm?” He’s speaking to you with a very weird surge of intensity, and it confuses you.

“Neither of us wanna be here. You’re clearly trying to be hospitable but I’d really rather you not, especially when we’re both doing this to get our respective ticks off our hides.”

There isn’t much you can do but stare at him. 

“Have I misjudged your advances?” he asks over his glass, sharp eyes piercing. 

“No!” you yelp, reaching for your drink yourself, taking big sips only to emerge sputtering and heaving. 

Your date looks like he’s rising out of his chair when you raise a hand to stop him. 

“No,” you repeat, less jumpy this time. “I guess we could’ve cleared that out from before.”

Did he…snort?

“Sorry.” Dropping his chin to his chest, he composes himself. 

“What?” you ask, remaining annoyed as ever. 

“Nothing.”

That does it. You slam your now empty glass down on the table, slipping your fork out of the napkin a little forcefully, the metal glinting in the light of the restaurant. You dig into a corner of the cake and shove it in your mouth. 

If he was gonna be rude, you could be too. 

“I don’t know about hospitable.” You swallow. “But I assumed not being an ass was kind of an unwritten rule for any situation really. Including the ones you’d rather not be in.”

Wonwoo stares at you with a blank face, his cake untouched. “I’m being an ass. My laugh couldn’t have offended you that much.”

“So you did pick that up,” you comment. “With the way this conversation’s going I would’ve thought it flew right over your engine.”

“I’d argue your laugh was the least offensive thing you’ve done tonight.” You plunge your fork into your cake again. “But clearly we’re in different realms of etiquette.”

Your eyes meet the rough stains on his attire, and then his own that bore into yours like a challenge. The cake isn’t too sweet, rich just the right amount and texturally sound. Maybe something good did come out of this fiasco. 

“Okay fine,” he announces, sitting up straighter. “I apologise.”

“For laughing?”

“And for being obscenely late.”

“And?”

“And…” he genuinely looks like he’s struggling to figure it out, but catches your eyes flickering to his tattered and stained outfit. “And for my entirely inappropriate dressing sense. You’ll have to forgive me for that one, oil and grime are my spoils of war.”

“Wear it like a badge, mister mechanic, but perhaps somewhere it’s appreciated.” 

Wonwoo has already finished his drink, his cake remaining untouched. “You’re quite adamant on disliking me.”

“And you’re quite adamant on being a horrid conversationalist.”

The corners of his mouth lift the slightest bit. Opening his mouth to respond, you cut him off. “Cars don’t talk? Or perhaps, machines are easier to understand?”

“More like I don’t care to be personable.”

“That can’t be good for business.”

“The cars speak for themselves.”

He’s a weird one. Even more so when he offers to pay the entire bill, promising you he wasn’t lying when he said he was good at what he does, and to “make up for lost personality points.” You manage to pay your half anyway, considering the circumstances. 

“Can you at least let me drive you home?” Wonwoo asks as you both step out of the establishment soon after. 

“Depends.” You fix the strap of your bag. “Will it fall apart on the highway?”

The blaring white of the restaurant's outdoor lights backlight Wonwoo to make him look like some sad angel. He turns to you, the same slight smirk that seems to be plastered on his face. “Why don’t you find out?”

“What do you mean sell it? I got this thing a year ago!” 

There isn’t much you can do but sigh loudly as you listen to Olivia talk about the state of her car, the one that cost too much to justify but she seemed to use and abuse like a very replaceable toy truck. 

Leaning against the hood of the darn thing, you talk to her. “The dealership is giving you a shit deal to take it off your hands, you might as well try your luck.”

The look on her face is easy to read as she silences. Not convinced in the slightest, waiting for the conversation to end just so she could figure it out on her own. Sighing loudly, you look back to the dark beauty with a crate of issues that make it spit and sputter to a stop every few weeks. 

“How much did you say the repairs cost again?”

“Enough to put me on food stamps,” she whines through her frustration, tears pricking against her eyes as they glisten under the neighbourhood streetlights. “Why are you smirking like that?!”

“It’s just,” you pause as you consider your next words, pressing your lips together. “This is a little bit your fault.”

Lies, it was entirely her fault. 

Liv stares like you’ve just offended her, which you’re sure you have.

“Care to share how this possible bankruptcy could be my fault?"

“Because you drive the thing like you have a secret reserve buried somewhere in Tenerife.”

“My apologies for making a habit of not being a public nuisance and going forty on a national highway.”

“Your speed-o-metre is not the issue here.”

“Yes, of course, everything’s my fault.”

“Liv, please!” You groan loudly. “Just…let’s try putting up a listing tomorrow. Consider the prospects and you can decide from there.”

Sagging her shoulders and stretching her neck, Liv decides to simply trudge back indoors in silence. You take it as a begrudging yes, and follow her inside. 

That very night, when you were at the very cusp of falling into the dark space of sleep, your brain re-awakens before your eyes do. A jolt as the memory comes back to you of the many months ago, sitting in that restaurant across from a man who was too handsome for the personality he seemed to sire. 

“Expensive ones,” he had said. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it.”

How fitting. 

“Are you going to explain or should I explode instead?” 

You’d mentally prepared for the bombardment of accusations from Liv, her questioning perfectly right as you yourself cringed at the thought of showing your face here of all places. The one last one that’d officially banned her from ever setting you up with an individual of her choosing ever again. 

Hearing only silence as her answer, she appeals; “I thought he was the worst date of your life.”

“Nothing to do with his skills as a mechanic,” you mumble, refusing to make eye contact. 

“And everything to do with this being a horrible idea anyway!” Liv stares up at the sign on top of the garage. Jeon Motors. “What makes you think this guy can fix my car?”

What did make you think he could fix Liv’s car? If you’d known you might have given her an answer, but as you stare at the giant signboard that you’ve driven past for longer than you can remember, you can’t help but feel this place has been haunting you. Just a little. 

You can’t help but feel the tingle of goosebumps rise on your skin, the hairs across the expanse standing up at the thought of walking inside. There was no way you could differentiate the reaction from plain nerves or from the cringing drills that sound all the way outside the establishment. Regardless, you make an attempt to look confident as you make your strides into the pungent of the workshop. 

The first thing you note is how…clean everything is. Cleaner than any other workshop you’ve walked into anyway. 

The interior is bigger than it looks from the outside, the ginormous hall hosting about a dozen cars within your eyeshot alone. One side of the great hall holds an array of parked cars in different stages of dismantled and deconstructed, while the other side is lined with contraptions that look like stripped and enlarged elevators. 

Once you’ve inhaled a beyond recommended amount of smoke fumes and listened past all of the clanging, banging and sparks, you register the people that are elbow deep in the hoods of the vehicle they’re working on, enough to leave you and Liv standing at the entrance of an establishment that you can barely make sense of. 

“Can I help you?” A man in stained beige overalls approaches your wide eyed pair, face half covered in his baseball hat and hands occupied with a rag. 

To your slightest dismay, it isn’t the man you’re looking for.

“Uh– is Wonwoo here?” you ask. 

“He’s in a meeting right now. Are you a friend?” 

No, just a failed love interest.

“He,” you falter. If you weren’t a friend…then what were you? “He gave me his card.”

“Do you need help with your car?”

“Mine, actually,” Liv pipes. “It’s outside if you wanna take a look first.”

With one sweeping look across the warehouse, your eyes land on one of the few doors on the left. You register the plain look of it for barely a moment before joining Liv outside. 

By the time her car has been rolled and parked inside for a more thorough inspection, it’s taken you every last grain of your willpower to not stalk back out and wait in your car. For whatever reason, you can’t help but feel a very familiar spasm of irritation spark through you. Here you are, left anxiously waiting for the same man for a second time, merely feet away but remaining occupied with more important things. 

At the very least, the multiple hands prodding around the car’s engine were being somewhat of use, attempting to survey the same issues that had been looked at about a dozen times before. You silently promise to be a better person if this trip wouldn’t be for vain.  

“Am I late for something again?” 

Your throat is suddenly clogged as you open your mouth and no sound graces your presence. The face that meets you has his eyebrows raised as he stares at you in expectation, a ghost of a smile on his face. 

“W–Wonwoo, hi, um.” You clear your throat loudly, heat cursing your cheeks. “No, of course not.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure after…four months?” he asks, hands on his hips and his back straightened.

“I…my friend’s car needed to be looked at so…”

“Ah, of course!” He turns to where you’ve motioned, looking at the popped hood of the car his employees are working on. “I’ll take a look at it myself, don’t worry about it.”

He’s already walking away, towards the car and leaving you a ways away from the action. You stare at his back; the overalls tied at the waist and the stained white T-shirt that clings to his form from the humidity.

Wonwoo remains a man of a few words, and you remain at wits end about it all. 

A loud honk gives you something to do as you jump at the sound so up close, scrambling to move away from the smack centre as another car pulls into the garage. 

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.” Wonwoo snickers from his place hunched over the hood as he cranes his neck to look at you. 

You walk over to where he is to get out of the way. “Was that meant to sound like an innuendo?”

“I was talking about the occasional running over someone’s foot,” he answers. “Not sure what you were thinking.” 

Ignoring the jab, you note that it was now only you and him crowding the car, “Where’s Olivia?”

“Went to look at spare parts.” You watch him as his gloved hands reach further into the enclave and yank at something hard. 

“So you can fix it?” 

“The car? It’ll take a couple days but it’s not really an issue.”

Furrowing your brows, you press on, “But the dealership—”

“Dealerships are the spawn of the devil,” he grunts as he finally wrenches out a spare nut or bolt or something that’s covered in oil. “Let me guess, they wanted her to sell it back to them?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Yes. They tried fixing it, but it'd just stop again.”

“Because they’ve been fixing the symptoms.” He raises his eyes to meet yours, hands occupied with rubbing the part in his hands relatively clean with a rag. “They haven’t bothered to do anything about the actual problem.” 

“Because that’s gonna cost…?”

“Couple hundred, give or take,” he announces nonchalantly, turning his focus back to the engine. 

“But—” That’s it?

“Fifty extra for every question I have to answer after this.” You briefly wonder if Wonwoo’s eyes were always this piercing, boring into your soul like he didn’t need words to know what was going on with you. 

“Fine,” you huff, moving to drag a chair over, mostly just so you could have reason to break eye contact, and plop down as you watch him work. 

The more you think about it, the more you can find yourself unbothered by his strange behaviour. He wasn’t bleak, but nowhere near one of the more interesting people you’ve met. Taking the opportunity to really scan the man head to toe, you can’t say you find anything truly concrete to be this put off by him. 

Not much of a talker, but with the times you’ve prayed for a man that knew when to shut up sometimes, you wonder how much you can actually complain about this boon in particular. 

Besides, he was a looker, and you were completely content shutting your trap if it meant you got to shamelessly ogle at him from this close. 

“You know, this place looks bigger than it does from the outside.”

Wonwoo stares pointedly. 

You raise a shoulder in nonchalance, “Wasn’t a question!”

He simply huffs as he mumbles, “More length than breadth I suppose.”

“What are those things called?” you ask as you watch a sedan get lifted into the on some platform on the other end of the row. 

Glancing back, he answers, “Post lift, car lift, whatever you wanna call it.”

“What does it do?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Touché.” 

Glancing back at him, you catch sight of his stained shirt once again. “Is that the same thing you wore to our date?”

Chin to chest, he registers what he’s wearing, hands still working on pulling bolts and boxes out of the hood. “Have about twenty of the same shirt, I can never be too sure.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirks, “Touché.” 

You questioned if this was a mistake. 

Olivia could pick up her car herself, so why did you insist to be the one that did it? As you pay the taxi driver, you feel your ankles lock for a moment as you move to slip out of the cab. Frozen, you hear the driver ask you if everything was alright, to which your legs seem to work again, finally foot to gravel in front of the dreaded workshop.

The Jeon Motors sign blares the same as it always has in the afternoon light, glinting as it encourages you to walk in and do one of the stupider things you’ve done in life. Other than the ridiculous outfit you’ve put on, of course. 

But alas, as you hand over your slip to one of the many mechanics in the workshop, you find yourself praying he wasn’t here after all, that perhaps you could miss him as you leave and never have to see him again. 

Somebody yells out his name, and the dream drifts away like smoke. 

Finding the courage, you look up to where the man shouted for him, and immediately wish you hadn’t. 

Wonwoo remains in his overalls, the same ones that he had tied to his waist the last time you saw him. His undershirt however…

The tank top is revealing too much for you to pretend you don’t care, his hair remaining pushed back and away from his forehead as he walks over to you in what feels like slow motion. He takes the slip that he does not need, smiling at you as he says his hellos. 

“Car’s all fixed up, just need some papers that need signing and you’re all set.”

“Oh, but Liv isn’t here today.”

“That’s alright, you can sign them too,” he reassures, motioning for you to walk with him towards the car. “The car was alright in the test drives, revving hasn’t caused any problems either.”

He halts in front of the now (supposedly) fixed black sedan and pats the hood lightly, “If anything happens tell her to bring it straight here, although it shouldn’t have any more problems.”

“What’s your rate of return on customers?” you ask, a slight smirk on your face.

He thinks for a moment, “Pretty crap. But I guess that means I’m doing something right.”

You consider yourself something of a helicopter parent when it comes to your own car, but perhaps you’d change that if it meant you’d get to come here a little more often. 

Goodness, what’s gotten into you.

Wonwoo’s smiling too, and for a brief moment the silence is nearly awkward. A pause before he proposes leaving. 

“Shall we go to the office then?” 

Nodding eagerly, you trail behind him as he leads you towards the other end of the workshop, passing by even more cars in all their stripped or constructed glory. Glancing in front, you catch sight of Wonwoo’s back, ensnared for a moment before you snap your head away, reciting every curse word you know like a mantra. 

“It’s less hot in here too, keep the air on all the time.” Wonwoo stands in front of the plain doors, hands on the handle to wrench it open. You recognise it as the same door you had noted a few days ago. “Would you like anything? Coffee, tea?”

“Um, just water is fine, thanks.”

It’s quite plain, beige and leather against cream walls and unfittingly white lights. There’s a desk on one corner that’s beyond cluttered with more papers than you can register, pens and other office supplies mixed into the disorganised chaos of the large tabletop.

“Sorry about the mess, I can never find time to sort through it.” To your surprise, the light tinge of his cheeks suggest he might actually feel a little embarrassed. 

Cute. 

There’s cabinets that line on one of the far walls, and you watch him take his gloves off to open it and reach for a cup. The white porcelain emerges stained with an ashy grey as his fingers betray him. He looks flustered, glancing at his hands and back up to the cabinet. 

You can’t help but laugh a little, moving forward to help. “It’s alright, let me.”

“Sorry,” he apologised again, with a sheepish look on his face. “I’ll, um, wash this off.”

“Go on, I’m here,” you reassure as you move towards the water dispenser in the corner to fill your clean cup. 

He returns with significantly cleaner hands and apologises one last time. “Seems all I do around you is apologise.”

You have the good humour to chuckle, “So I’ve noticed.”

He does well to clear out most of the clutter that’s on his desk, leaving enough room to set down a few pieces of paper as you take a seat on the opposite side. 

As you scan through the papers, he attempts to make sober conversation. “You should…bring your car around for inspections if you want.”

“Oh? Even if I ask a million questions?”

“I can make an exception or two,” he grins. 

“And if you charge me double?”

“Might not charge you at all.”

“Might?” you question as you lift the pen he’d given you to sign the first space. 

“Might.”

“And what’re the conditions for that?” 

He doesn’t answer as he ponders and you fill in the second blank. “I’ll have to think about that.”

You snort before you can help it, your last signature coming out a little wonky as your hands shake. Turning the papers over to him, you continue, “Well then, let me know when you figure it out.”

He stares pointedly as he accepts the papers before dropping his eyes again, “Can I?”

“Hm?”

“Can I? Let you know?” 

It’s like you’ve been frozen over, the typewriter in your mind jamming as it punches out the implications of what he’s saying. 

“It seems, at least to me, that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” he continues. 

You hesitate. “I think so too.”

“I…I don’t want to put anything like pressure on you but–” 

“Would you like to try the new gelato place downtown this week?” you ask finally as you save him from his misery. “If…you’d like.”

He looks stunned for a moment before he’s scrambling, “Oh–of course! Yes, anytime is fine with me.”

“Great,” you smile, lifting from your seat. “It’s a date.”

“I’ll promise to wash my hands this time…and my shirt. And I won’t be late.” 

“Let’s not make promises we can’t keep,” you tease. 

You’re nearing the door as he follows behind, and just as you’re about to pull down on the handle, you hear him say your name. 

Turning around, almost too eagerly, you look up at him in expectation. He’s close, almost right behind you as he looks like he’s debating whether opening his mouth is a good idea. 

“Are you doing anything else today?” 

“Um,” you stutter for a moment. “I don’t have to drop off the car till later tonight, that’s all really.”

He swallows. “Do you wanna stay? Just a little while. We can stay in here, nobody comes in anyway.”

You aren’t entirely sure why you said yes, because you did actually have dinner plans with Liv later tonight, but the teeny tiny voice in your mind egged you on anyway. Besides, Liv wouldn’t mind, not if you were cancelling for this.

This entailed the very friendly contact of Wonwoo’s tongue in your mouth, and the extremely cordial way it seemed to caress your insides. If somebody asked you how it led to this, you don’t think you’d have an answer. Not that you care, especially when his hands are grabbing your waist and hips like that.

He’s already locked the door, reassuring you that nobody would find their boss and client in the smack dab middle of the devil’s tango. You take his word for it, relishing in the way his hot breath hits your skin below your ears, his mouth sucking under your earlobes as you whimper ever so quietly. 

Your hands are on his exposed biceps, feeling him up all to your heart's content. “Do you–Do you always wear stuff like this?”

He emerges, wet lipped and eyes trained. “So I wasn’t imagining it.”

“Imagining what?” you ask as you let him unbuckle your trousers.

“Please. Like you weren’t stripping me with your eyes.”

If you were warm before you, you're boiling up now. Were you being so obvious?

“It’s alright,” he reassures as you feel his fingers make contact with the crotch of your panties, pushing in to put pressure on your clit. “Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t picked up on it.”

You feel his fingers push the dampening fabric away as his fingers make contact with your hole, coating his fingers in the arousal that’s made itself known. It’s hard to not hiss at the way he begins to circle it, thanking the universe that the loud noises of the workshop outside were masking whatever evidence of the heinous crime you were committing inside. 

Back against the couch in his office, you settle into the cushions once you feel him rub at your clit, one hand spreading your lips apart as he continues to massage your own wetness onto your throbbing cunt. 

When he retreats you almost cry out, but are smothered when he plunges two fingers into your hole instead, curling them almost immediately inside you. The consistent brush of the tips of his fingers on your walls are making it difficult to keep your eyes open, and absolutely impossible to keep your moans at bay. 

“Wonwoo, that’s so good, fuck.”

Through your closed eyes, you don’t note when Wonwoo gets on his knees. But you do feel him yank your trousers off entirely, and you definitely feel him place his wet mouth flush on your lower lips, sucking at your clit as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you mercilessly. 

That’s all it takes for your noises to become increasingly high pitched, hands buried in his beautiful hair as he continues to pleasure you beyond imagination. 

“I’m so close, keep going, please, it feels so–”

He somehow buries his face in deeper, sucking harder, licking faster, and it’s enough for you to finally feel yourself collapsing on the inside, your composure dissolving as you moan so loud you’re sure they can hear it outside, even through all the clanging and revs of cars. 

There’s no way for you to know how long you lay there slumped against the couch cushions, but when you hear Wonwoo speak to you in your ear, you answer. 

“Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” you say as you grab his face and pull his lips to yours, tasting the tang in his mouth from your arousal. “Do you have a condom?”

“I–fuck,” he thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I do.”

You try not to feel too disappointed, but you sigh into his mouth anyway. 

“Can I fuck your thighs?” you hear him ask, and you might have just orgasmed again, untouched. 

“Fuck, yes you can.” 

With a yelp, you feel yourself lifted off the couch as you wrap your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, letting him guide you to his desk. “Wonwoo!”

You hear a loud crash of the desk being stripped of all its inhabitants, and your back hitting the cool of the table top. 

Wonwoo unties the arms of his overalls around his waist, letting the legs pool to the floor before slipping his hard cock out of his boxers. 

You don’t see it as you feel him lock your knees together and lift both your calves to rest on one of his shoulders. But you do feel it as he pushes the head into the seam of your thighs, watching the indent as the pink of his dick appears before you through the skin of your thighs. 

Wonwoo’s face is contorted as he pulls back and pushes back through again, this time brushing against your still sensitive clit. You gasp at contact, and immediately feel him thrusting faster. 

“Wonwoo,” you grunt. “Lower.”

He obliges, pushing his dick lower so it can rub flush against your clit as he begins to roughen up his pace. 

You moan as you feel his free hand that isn’t holding your legs trail to the ends of your shirt, caressing over your stomach to pull it up and reveal your bra clad tits. He pushes his hands under the nearest cup and begins to grope you so wonderfully with his big, warm hands. Rolling the bud between his fingers, you can only grasp onto his wrists as a handheld to keep you down on earth. 

The desk beneath you is rattling with noise, the full drawers making themselves known as Wonwoo pounds into your thighs like he would die if he stopped, mouth coming in contact with whatever skin of your legs he could reach, his breath fanning the side of your knees. 

You’re close again, and you know he is too with the way his thrusts are beginning to grow sloppy. 

“There,” he pants. “Almost.”

You orgasm for the second time, the throb your clit beyond comprehension as the rough of his dick slides across your clit mercilessly. 

“Cum like this, Wonwoo please I need to see you cum.”

And he does, shooting the heft of his load to cover your already wet cunt and thighs, landing on your stomach as he continues to ride out his high between your legs. 

The back of your head hits the table as you take in gulps of air through the aftermath of it all. Wonwoo is putting his weight on the back of your thighs, holding onto the table for support. 

“Oh, Liv is never gonna let me live this down,” you pant, lolling your head to one side as you register him. 

He peers up at you through his hair, the stupid smirk on his face, “Do you care?”

You’re smiling a little too when you answer, “Not really.”

And then your legs are off his shoulders as he nestles between them instead, diving in to lift your head and kiss you. 

And you let him, although you wouldn’t really call it too much of a kiss—not when the both of you were smiling like idiots through the clash. 

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon making it clear that you are the only one he wants

“You alright, sweetheart?” Simon’s deep, gruff voice hit your ears, pulling your out of your thoughts. 

You nodded without a sound, subtly trying to divert your gaze so that he wouldn’t look into your eyes and see all the emotion swimming inside, but at this point you really didn’t need to answer the question. The way you sit across from him with your brow furrowed into two steep peaks and your shoulders slumped forward and tight as you idly picked at the skin around your fingernails was enough of a sign. Even though you tried to dismiss him with a few muttered “I’m fine” and “It’s nothing” phrases, the man knew; whatever it was had been eating away at you for some time. 

Turning his full attention to you he took your chin into his coarse grasp and tilted your head upward until your eyes met. “Then why can’t ya even look at me?” he posed his next question. 

You let out a sigh, nowhere to run now as Simon wasn’t gonna let you back out. “It’s just…silly...” 

An incident had been on your mind for a week now, something that should have been resolved already, but try as you might to let it go it just couldn’t be shaken. A new younger female recruit had got it into her head that she wanted a piece of the huge, mysterious Lieutenant and began to flaunt that young, supple body in his direction. Simon had not allowed it to continue for even a second after that initial encounter, making sure that you knew everything in detail, and immediately she was reprimanded and reassigned, but the damage had been done to your confidence.

Were you really right for him? Were you enough? You had never really thought of yourself as ugly, but when pitted up against some pretty thing that had the freshness of young beauty on her side, you weren’t so sure if you could really compare and that made your usual abundance of self-confidence drop to nearly zero. 

Amber eyes gazed back at you as Simon waited patiently for your reply. Taking a deep, calming breath you continued. “I guess I just can’t help but wonder if you made the right choice,” you said.

“And what choice is that, hmm?” he pushed, letting you use your words even though he was sure where this was headed.

“Choosing me,” you said so softly it was barely above a whisper.

Just as he suspected, it was still bothering you and he kicked himself for not doing more before now to show you that there was no one on base or even in the whole fucking world that could compare to what he had with you. There was no one up until now that had ever kept him so tightly wound as you did that he constantly felt like he couldn't get you out of his head, that he never could get enough of you; it was a constant struggle just to keep sane so that he could do his job when he knew what would be waiting for him when he got home.

That’s why it took nothing for him to know exactly what it was that he needed to do now.

Without a word the grip on your chin was released as Simon stood to his feet. He reached down and took a hold of your hand, giving it a good, solid tug. “Come on,” he beckoned with a nod of his head to stand with him and through a bit of stubborn reluctance, you followed.

As soon as you were on your feet he pulled you into his hard, warm chest, leaning his head in close until you could feel his breath against your lips. “Of all the fuckin' mistakes I've made in my life, ya ain't one of 'em. I think someone needs a bit of extra attention, and I was a fuckin' fool waitin' till now to give it to her,” he murmured, his voice lowering into that register that always sent shivers down your spine. “Let me take care of ya, let me turn that brain of yours off for a bit and show ya how sure I am that I made the right choice.”

Before you could answer, his lips had already connected with your own to steal the words right out of your mouth. If there was one thing that experienced military man was superior at it was making you come apart at the seams like it was his fucking job. And boy did he take pride in his work.

But right here and now he would be even more meticulous in his affections as it was clear you needed to be reminded that you and only you were the best goddamn thing to grace his miserable existence. All of his undivided attention would be yours tonight and he would not stop until every single worry had left that pretty little head.

Promises were breathed into your mouth by him. "I'm not stoppin' until ya know just how fuckin' much I don't want anyone else besides ya."

In a flurry of lips and tangled limbs, you found your way over to the bed. Like a surgeon performing a delicate operation, he carefully removed each article of your clothing one by one, making sure that the exposed skin was immediately caressed and attended to before he moved on to the next. Every inch of skin on you would feel the passion in his embrace. By the time you hit the mattress’ surface, your body was already a tingling mess of nerve ends bursting to life in ways that made your mind numb.

The lights had been turned down low, their soft incandescent glow warm and inviting as the breathy sounds of unspoken desires from a man consumed filled the air. It was hard to think of anything as the thick tension permeated the space while you lay there naked sprawled out across the sheets with Simon at your side. Adoration was what he was after tonight, needing you to be left as nothing more than a puddle of pure bliss in the middle of his bed.

Toughened fingers traced all of those subtle imperfections lining your body with such tenderness as if each scar and blemish and indention were incredibly precious to him; his lips followed not far behind as he whispered praises into your skin. Those gentle words that were only for your ears alone as he couldn’t have people thinking he was going soft…even though he absolutely had been since the moment he got with you.

“How could ya ever think I would want anythin’ other than this, other than ya?" he breathed the question into the skin of your torso. “You're all I could ever want, all I fuckin’ think about; the best goddamn thing to ever happen to me. My pretty girl.” 

His nose nuzzled against the crook of your neck and he caught that scent: the smell of your body’s natural musk that just one whiff of could make his head fuzzy and his body tingle in a way he could not describe. All those beautifully fragrant notes that combined together to create a profile that was distinct to you so that even if he couldn’t see you he knew you were near. Closing his eyes, he breathed you in deep.

“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he purred into the warm skin of your shoulder before he was on the move, lips caressing over the swell of your breasts with nipples already stiff. “I just can’t ever get enough of ya. How could ya ever fuckin' think I'd give up all this for some young tart who'd get sick 'a me sooner rather than later? Fuck, you’re all I want, all I'll eva fuckin' need.”

Down, down, down he continued over the length of your stomach towards your thighs. It was like performing a sacred act, him giving you the full breadth of his overwhelming desire as he made his way from your lips to your legs, getting everything in between. He shot a hungry glance back up at you as he reached those pillowy creations that he loved so much.

He sighed. "Every inch of ya is like a goddamn dream."

Extra time he spent on your thighs as he embraced those voluptuous curves over and over again with his mouth, kissing and sucking, running his nose along them until you were whining and writhing beneath him. Shit, he had not even touched anywhere near your throbbing clit yet and still you could not stop the way your heart pounded out of your chest or your short, sticcatoed breathing that filled the silence. 

“Please,” the plea fell from your open mouth, but there was no need to beg. This was your night after all and he was not about to deny you of anything.

"Whatever my pretty girl wants she's gonna fuckin' get," he smiled. "Always."

Slowly Simon’s large hands spread you open just wide enough that he could lean his face into your mossy bank. More delicate kisses were dotted over your petals, his mouth embracing all around that tender slit before his tongue gently slipped inside the folds. All that doting on your body had done it’s job in stimulating so that he was met with a wetness on his tongue as he dived in. 

Shit were you sweet, like eating a peach except this one would not run out before he had gotten his fill. 

That masterful tongue drew short, concise circles around your clit, lips locking around the bud intermittently to suck, using the two techniques in tandem while his nails drug lightly over your thighs until your were bucking against his face. There was no rush in his movements; he was going to take his time in drawing out your pleasure. 

You couldn’t make a sound, your mind consumed completely with every flick of his tongue, every press of it firmly against you, every pass of his hands over your thighs; overstimulated doesn’t even begin to describe it. Eyes closed, mouth wide open, desperate music being moaned into the room was all you could muster as he brought you closer and closer to the precipice of your pleasure. 

Leisurely Simon lapped at your clit, no rush, no hurry, with measured strokes that eased you pleasantly into your orgasm instead of violently throwing you over. You came so effortlessly that you are able to ride out that wave of ecstasy for minutes as his pace stayed at that steady rhythm until there was no more left for you to give. Only then did he emerge like a man baptized anew. 

By the time he finally thrust inside you, you were a glorious mess of sweat and mewls and cum. He took you right on your back, needing to see that look in your eyes that made him feel like he was your whole world. No muscle-straining positions will he put you in tonight as all he wants is to gaze down at the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“Do ya think I have any doubts now?” he asked with a muted smile. "Think I could do this with just anyone?"

Your cheeks, already warm and pink, flushed bright crimson. “No,” you shook your head.

“That's a good girl,” he praised as he adjusted your legs to be comfortable around his thick torso. “Then let’s finish this off right, yeah? You and me, sweetheart.”

Slow, even thrusts he pounded into you, stretching you and filling you full even at this angle, as he met your lips again to nearly choke you on all his passion. You could taste yourself on his breath as he claimed you body and soul. 

“Ya feel so fuckin’ good, just wanna stay buried in ya all the time,” he groaned between precise thrusts through your tight, moist core. Your body was paradise and he could not get enough. Pulling back he watched the connection of your bodies right at the point where he slipped inside of you. You were so full of him there was no distinction between where he ended and you began.

Simon was never a religious man, most of the time as far from it as humanly possible, but the closest he would ever come to faith was the moment he got his first feel of all that glory that first time you two went at it. It was then that your body became his church and from then on he was more than ready to give his life to worshiping at your alter with his fingers and tongue and cock; any and all instruments at his disposal to show you his unwavering devotion. 

That man had been starved for far longer than he would like to admit, but the first time he buried himself in you that was all it took to fill him up. It was only you that he craved: your softness and warmth and light and no one else would ever do. As much as you were his, he was yours.

His hands ran up the sides of your torso, leaving burning trails that made you shiver as he palmed both of your breasts in each one of his hands to massage the flesh. “I want ya to come for me again,” he said, more need in his voice. “Can ya do that for me pretty girl?”

Rapidly you nodded your head up and down as you focused on what was coming.

“That’s it; wanna be sure my girl gets everything she needs to stay satisfied with me.”

There was a feeling of safety and security that you got when you were with him; no matter how rough or passionate the sex got, Simon was always right there with you in the moment so that you never felt that it was one sided. Right now that feeling spread through you along with the gathering warmth in your abdomen to help you get out of your head and let go. All those worries, all those fears, they left completely as he thrust inside you a few more times and you spilled over the edge once more.

He kissed you hard on the mouth, holding your raw lips together once more as he followed right after you. His shoulder shook as his released himself and fell into that high that he would never tire of- not when it was with you. As he let go of your lips, he smiled back down at you; that glow of ecstasy causing his heart to skip a beat.

“Ya see, there’s no one in this whole fuckin’ world I want more than ya, sweetheart,” he whispered into your temple before placed a quick kiss. “And I am always willin’ to show ya that you are the only girl for me.”

[suskz]

Hi pretty!! Can i request something about seungmin or lee know being a dilf luv u!!

pairing: dad!Minho x fem!Reader

t/w: fluff ; smut ; single dad Minho ; babysitter reader ; reader is an adult ; oral (m!rec) ; piv sex.

w/c: around 2.5k

a/n: please dilf Minho is so 😵‍💫 my brain said SEX SEX SEX but my heart wanted more. I hope you like it!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Sometimes you think about how it could have happened, if it had to happen, and if all of this is wrong.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a handsome man. He’s mature, responsible, and so, so sweet.

But you wonder if all of this is really necessary, as your phone rings inside your bag on the chair.

You both stop your movements, and your eyes meet again. It’s really embarrassing to be interrupted at this point.

His grip on your hair doesn’t change, “Do you want to answer?” He asks only out of politeness, because he doesn’t really want you to answer. He wants you to stay on your knees and let him continue without interruptions because damn, your mouth feels so good around him and he just can’t get enough of it.

You think about it for a few seconds, but the answer is already written in your eyes.

You shake your head without even taking his cock out of your mouth, and the sight is so hot that he moans just from that.

“You’re unreal.” His hand resumes guiding the movements of your head, “You look fucking gorgeous with your mouth full.”

You squeeze your legs together at the praise and don’t suppress the moan that his words elicit because you know it sends vibrations to his cock that drive him crazy.

That’s why his hips buck hard into your mouth, pushing his cock deeper and making you choke around it for a moment.

He stops, “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

You shake your head no and start moving it again on your own, back and forth, letting him know that you’re fine and want to continue.

“Such a good girl.” His hand holds your head still as his hips begin to move quickly, “Taking cock so well,” he’s no longer looking into your eyes; he’s watching the spot where his cock enters and exits your mouth now, “Like you were— made for it.”

His breathing has sped up again. Your phone has stopped ringing, and now the only sounds you can hear are his soft breaths and moans.

The tears forming in your eyes make them shiny. Your face is probably a mess, but what’s important is that he feels good inside your warm mouth.

And he does, because his hips start to stutter erratically.

It takes just one look at your face and he’s throwing his head back, urgently pulling his cock out of your mouth, stroking himself hard and fast through his climax.

You feel a bit disappointed, honestly, because you really wanted him to come inside your mouth, but you don’t complain when you feel the spurts of his hot cum land on your face. Some on your cheeks, some over your nose, even on your eyelashes and your still-outstretched tongue.

You didn’t even have time to close your mouth before he came, but it’s fine. At least you tasted it a little.

“Wait, don’t open your eyes.” You do as you’re told and feel him taking something. His hand delicately takes your chin to lift your face, and with a tissue, he wipes the com from your eyes so you can open them again without anything getting in.

You thank him as you sit on the bed next to him, taking the tissue he hands you to clean the rest of your face.

And you look at yourself in the mirror when you’re in front of the bathroom sink and feel something weighing on you. Your mind is empty, there are no thoughts bothering you, yet there’s something that makes you feel bad.

But everything gets better when you return to him and look at him. He’s so handsome, even as he does something as simple as gathering some papers into his work folder.

He glances up at you, “Do you need something?”

“Uh- no, just- I wanted to take Eunji to the park today, is that okay?” Yes, it is okay, it’s fine, it’s always fine if it’s with you, but you don’t know what else to come up with.

He chuckles, perhaps amused by the silliness of your question, “Of course, there’s no problem, you already know.”

And soon you part ways. He rushes to work, you rush to pick up the little girl from school.

His child. The daughter of the man you just gave a blowjob to. The daughter of the single man you’ve maybe gotten a little too close to in these past few months, and who might almost be your father’s age. But it’s okay like this.

—

"Can I taste yours?" Eunji looks at you with those puppy eyes that you can't say no to. She knows it and takes advantage of it, little brat.

Her eyes light up as she tastes your ice cream. She lowers her eyes to hers with a sad expression, "Yours is so good."

You roll your eyes at her unspoken but obvious request, "Want to swap?"

She looks at you with sparkling eyes and nods eagerly.

You smile sweetly at her, and it's at this moment that your phone vibrates in your pocket.

It's Minho.

You're confused by his message until you hear Eunji's voice and see her getting up, "There's daddy!" You turn your head in the direction she started running, and you see him, waiting for her with open arms.

He has such an affectionate, serene, and sincere smile as he picks her up and spins her a couple of times in his arms —gently, mindful of the ice cream she holds— that you can't take your eyes off them. And you can't help the way your heart melts at the sight and a smile forms on your lips.

You see him lick her ice cream and see them talking, but you don't understand what they're saying.

Then it's like he remembers your presence and turns to look at you. You watch as he approaches you, and you stand up.

“Come join us too, Y/n! Group hug!” Eunji’s words freeze you in place amidst the white flowers of the field, and even Minho’s shoulders seem to stiffen.

It all happens so quickly though. It has to happen quickly. Because there’s nothing wrong with hugging after everything you’ve done together. It should be normal, right? It should be natural for the two of you.

Yet you feel hesitant, and Minho seems slightly embarrassed. It’s just new. It’s strange to say, but it is. Many things have happened between the two of you, but never this.

You try not to think about it as you accept his invitation and position yourself between his arms, wrapping your arms around him and the little girl.

You try not to think about how this is the first time you’re hugging him and might be the last, as you unconsciously melt into his embrace and savor the moment for as long as it lasts.

And of course, sooner or later you have to let go.

“Why are you here at this hour?” You try to sound as normal as possible despite the slight —not so slight— discomfort.

“I didn’t quite understand it myself, but they let me go earlier.” He, on the other hand, shrugs and seems to be fine.

“Then Y/n can come home with us, and we can all be together!” The little girl, still in her father’s arms, cheers happily.

Minho chuckles, “She’ll have things to do too, don’t you think?” Then he turns to you, “You can leave early today.”

Actually, you would have preferred Eunji’s proposal, but you’re forced to go along with Minho’s.

The girl rests her head on her father’s shoulder and sighs sadly.

You and Minho look at each other, then he looks at her, “What’s wrong?” He asks her sweetly.

“I wanted Y/n to stay with us,” she says, her voice trembling as if on the verge of tears, which she isn’t.

“I think Y/n would prefer to go home now, she must be tired.”

She sniffs, “Can she come for dinner at least?”

Minho seems to consider it. Oh, how he would enthusiastically say yes if he could, if only it didn’t seem weird.

Instead, he looks at you, the question already written in his eyes, “Would you like to? No pressure.”

Yet you feel the pressure anyway, from the weight of both their gazes, waiting for your response.

And so, a few hours later, you find yourself in front of Minho’s apartment door, dressed in your black shorts, chosen because of the heat.

When the door opens, you are greeted by a warm smile from Minho, holding a wooden spoon, and a hug from Eunji. Moments later, you’re in the kitchen, standing behind him as he moves around the stove expertly, and you feel so useless.

“I’d like to help, but I’d probably burn everything.”

There’s something good in this, because it makes him chuckle. “No problem,” he replies calmly, “I’m almost done anyway.”

“I want to be useful though.”

He turns towards you and raises an eyebrow, “Is it really you who’s saying that?”

Your cheeks tinge with a slight blush. You try to be helpful and he teases you like this.

“Sorry for trying to be useful once in a while.” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

He grins and turns back, “You can set the table while I finish.”

“It’ll be done!” you say, “By the way, that apron suits you really well.”

“Really?” he asks, surprised, then wrinkles his nose, “It makes me look like a cleaning lady or something; at least that’s what Eunji says.”

You laugh at his words, “Eunji is just a kid,” you reassure him. “I think it makes you look hot.” you add in a slightly lower voice.

Your eyes linger on him for just a second, but you swear you see his ears start to darken.

—

Dinner goes well, with a warm atmosphere and calm conversation.

Afterward, it’s Eunji who decides the plans. After all, you are there specifically for her. Or rather, at her request.

Time passes without you even noticing. Between board games and stories told by the little girl, you and Minho manage to find time to talk just between yourselves.

He holds back laughter while telling you about that time Jeongin, whoever he is, fell into a manhole, and his eyes sparkle as you talk about the saga you just finished watching.

When you finally glance at the clock, you regret not paying more attention.

You quickly get up, but Minho stops you, “Wait,” you freeze in your tracks, “It’s really too late, it would be dangerous to go out at this hour.”

He doesn’t want you to leave. He doesn’t want you to leave because he’s worried about you. And he doesn’t want you to leave because it’s a chance for him, a chance to spend precious time with you that he can’t let slip away now that it’s presented to him. 

“I don’t want to be a burden-”

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence, “You won’t be a burden, I’m the one offering you to stay.” His voice is firm, and faced with his eyes so serious and determined, you agree to spend the night there.

After putting Eunji to bed, Minho quietly exits her room and finds himself facing you. You look into each other’s eyes, irises like chained together, and you smile at each other, amidst sentences and words kept hidden.

He prepares a space for you to sleep on the couch, and eventually, you both sit there, side by side.

“Eunji is really fond of you,” Minho says, looking down at his hands, “I think she sees in you something that I can’t be.” He lifts his eyes, meeting yours, understanding.

“You’re already enough for her; I’m just an addition.”

“You’re not an addition; you’re important to her.” He insists. And to me, he wants to add, but knows he can’t say that.

And then the unexpected happens. You don’t know who makes the first move, who leans in first, but it doesn’t matter when his lips are on yours, in a sweet kiss. A loving kiss ruined by wandering hands that force it to deepen.

But, fuck, you’d ruin it a thousand times over if it meant finding yourself beneath him every time, with his cock thrusting in and out of you in a needy, perhaps somewhat desperate way.

And you’re so wet that you know the bed sheets will need a good wash in the morning.

His voice is like a caress when he leans over you with his lips at your ear, “Shhh,” he whispers softly, “We don’t want to wake Eunji, do we?”

You are forced to bite your lower lip to stifle the sounds that want —need— to escape your lips.

But his thrusts are so well-aimed and deep, his hips so precise, and his moans released right into your ear so fucking arousing that you have to reach out and grab a pillow to place over your mouth.

He looks back at you, and a louder, needier moan leaves his parted lips, as his expression shifts from one of concentration to pure pleasure.

It’s only when you feel close that you move the pillow. “Minho, I’m close…” you warn him.

“Me too,” he groans, “Come with me.”

“Yes, yes, yes! J-just a little more, please.”

He does his best to hold back a little longer, and it only takes a few circles on your clit to make you come, tightening around his cock that finishes inside the condom.

He doesn’t realise it immediately, too caught up in the pleasure, but as he tries to catch his breath, he thinks about it and realizes.

“I love you- Minho, I-” You said it just before coming; it might have been something of the moment.

He lifts his head from where it’s resting in the crook of your neck and looks at you.

You are motionless, embarrassed, regretful. Because, fuck, you didn’t really need to say it. You could have realised the gravity of your words before saying them.

And Minho could pretend nothing happened. He could act like he didn’t hear it, and you could go on as usual. But, fuck, he can’t.

The words escape his lips before he can stop them, “Did you really mean it?” He’s so direct, a request so desperate.

And you could say, “No, it was just the heat of the moment.” but apparently, that’s not really an option for you, because you speak without thinking twice, and you couldn’t feel freer when he smiles and kisses you. His soft lips on yours, in a moment you both have been waiting for so long.

And when the next morning he wakes up first and observes your sleeping face and relaxed body, he couldn’t feel happier.

Because he doesn’t have to hide anything from you anymore.

Because you love him too.