#and she looked good (and flexible!) doing it

[saycheeeese]

Professional Shirt Ripper (A.K.A. Nanami)

Your tailor is used to this by now. She scowls at you as soon as she sees you at the threshold for the third time this month.

A shirt clutched in your hand, you sheepishly approach her shop, the bell jingling as you enter the sunbathed room. And even though the sun kisses her skin, she somehow scowls at you that tells you she's predicted why you're here.

"Again?" Her voice is flat, but there's a hint of amusement.

"Again," you nod, handing the shirt over. She sighs, and picks it up to examine it.

This is the nth time you bought or made Nanami a shirt - and the buttons ripped apart. You didn't understand; did the man grow buff-er every day? How was it possible that you got him a shirt that should've fitted, yet it didn't. Did his muscles grow larger than the last time?

You both stare at the shirt, the place where the seams ripped, the stitches stretched and the buttons practically popped off the shirt.

"How does he manage to do it?" The tailor grunts, placing her spectacles on the bridge of her nose.

"Beats me," you shrug. "Maybe I get it a few sizes smaller?"

She shoots you an incredulous look. "Girl, you've had me make the chest so much larger than the torso, it can't be more altered now. I mean, it's impossible to tailor shirts for a man who has a chest larger than the Kardashians and a waist snatched by God himself. And, trust me, I always get my measurements right."

She pauses, a smirk lifting the corners of her lips. "What does he wear at home?"

"None of your business," you roll your eyes at her, feeling your face heating. Nope. Not gonna think about how he roams the house with either a shirt holding on by sheer will and God's wish, its buttons cleaving apart, or absolutely flashing you with those ginormous tiddies he was blessed with - unfair.

"Never mind that," she dismisses you, "take this with you. I had this sewn with the strongest fabric and thread I could get my hands on. It's stronger than Geto's hair gel. That thing doesn't move, babe." The black shirt ripples like water in her hand, and you doubt its flexibility.

You nod, accepting the offer graciously. "You sure it won't tear?"

"Unless he somehow puts on muscle faster than the speed of your growing crush on him, it won't budge," she affirms you, shooing you off.

And you return home to a sulking Nanami, staring blankly in the distance, sitting on the sofa with a blanket draped over his torso.

"I got another shirt," you inform him, snapping him out of his reverie. He glances at you and softly smiles, the sunlight setting his blonde hair ablaze, glasses perched precariously on his nose.

"Thank you," he says, taking the cloth from your hand while brushing your fingers subtly. He gets up, the blanket falling off of his figure like a curtain falling to reveal the divine structure in an auction, back muscles flexing, and disappears into the bathroom.

You just simply wait, tapping on your chin, counting the seconds. Three minutes later, he walks out stiffly.

You swallow your laughter. Creases line the shirt across his chest, the slab of muscle almost piercing through the fabric, twin spheres clearly visible against the fabric hanging on for dear life. The buttons - oh, God, the buttons - are somehow functional. Well, this is better than the last shirt; it lasted longer. 2 minutes.

"You look good, Nanami."

"Did Gojo pay you to lie?" He folds his arms, and you swear you could hear cloth shredding, the noise ringing out like a tear in the fabric of the goddamn universe itself.

"Why would he pay me to lie?" You narrow your eyes at him.

"This must be a prank." He pointedly glances at his bulging muscle, the biceps and the poor shirt.

"I swear, it's not," you choke out between giggles, kindling Nanami's annoyance (you both know he's the last person to be annoyed by you).

"You're laughing at me?" He sighs, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"What can I do? It's hilarious to see a grown man unable to wear a cloth without looking scandalous," you grin.

"I'll teach you to laugh at my predicament," he mumbles - and in a blink, he has you hauled over his shoulder, his shirt twisting and stretching yet miraculously fine, the world upside down, as he walks down a corridor, heading to a room you know very well.

Newsflash:

It's not even a week before you're taking the button-less, allegedly "strongest-thread" shirt to the tailor.

[idontknowmanijustlikereading]

Unique!AU continuation: Zoey

Okay, Zoey's turn to be unhumanified

Unlike Mira, who's abilities are primarily physical, Zoey's are primarily magical.

The physical aspects extend to speed and not much else. She's a bit more durable than a human, but not Mira level of durable.

Speed and endurance? She is a fucking demon. I'm talking can cross a room in a fraction of a second, not quite teleporting, but to the human eye it would look like it. The only reason Mira and Rumi keep up is because of their own inhuman genetics. The one time Celine caught Zoey speedblitzing she thought she blacked out for a moment and just didn't realize (we excuse so much shit on our own, and Zoey, a social butterfly, knows this, so she didn't bother making an excuse. She did nearly have an anxious breakdown about it when she was alone tho).

Can see in the dark, but doesn't get the animal shine to her eyes.

Unnaturally flexible, but suffers no joint issues/pain from it (apparently dokkaebi are enthusiastic wrestlers? Idk how flexible you have to be for wrestling, but I say you have to be flexible for it, so.). She liked to freak out Rumi and Mira by pulling her fingers flat against the back of her palm in the beginning, but then they got used to it. It was a party trick she used because she knew she could just excuse it as being double jointed or something similar.

Because of the wrestling aspect she also has strangely good balance. I'm talking cat like balance. Usually she plays up her clumsiness because of this, just to throw people off.

Despite all this she herself doesn't have a particularly big interest in wrestling (disappointing all of her dokkaebi ancestors smh (jk))

When it comes to the magical aspect there are a lot more things.

Has natural resistance to most magics and curses. That includes being able to tell if someone's been cursed or if someone is attempting to curse her.

Is extremely sensitive to magic. This allows her to also sense other magical beings, such as dragons and demons amongst other things...

This sensitivity also helped her a lot during demon hunter training. Because it was so familiar to her, she connected to the Honmoon very easily. Rumi was thrilled and Celine was honestly slightly suspicious.

She can fly -like properly fly- which aids her a lot in her speedblitzing. When she's alone she likes to just hover in the air and spin around like she's in a microwave, says it helps her think. When she needs to be stealthy she sometimes hovers imperceptibly above the ground so that her "footsteps" are completely silent.

Does have genuine magic. She can create fully-fledged illusions that feel like they have mass, can make sound etc. Can curse people if she wants to(never wants to). These are the strongest parts of her magic, but she can also do small things, like conjuring up a trip-worthy pebble, misting up Mira's glasses etc (Mostly things that creates a slight bit of chaos/mischief since Cham dokkaebis are known for playing pranks on humans, and even if Zoey isn't one, it's still in her DNA)

Since I went with her being part Go dokkaebi, she is naturally very good with most weapons, but her one true love is her Shin-kals. Go dokkaebis are supposed to be exceptional with arrows, but I just changed it to any projectiles.

And her magic extends to her weapons, allowing her control over them while they're in mid-air. We already see a little of this when she's fighting in the movie, since she kind of uses her blades like a bladed fan? Im just extending it a bit, allowing her to change the trajectory of them in mid-air. Think Yondu's arrow that he uses in the gotg movies. If she is focused enough she can also change the trajecotry of other people's projectiles. This is very difficult and draining for her tho.

When it comes to physical features one of the big things to keep in mind is that Zoey is the definition of uncanny valley. Mostly because of the illusion she puts up to hide herself, you can just kind of sense that she isn't quite human, quite normal.

But we're talking about what she actually looks like, so first and foremost: Her sclera(white part of the eye), gums, and tongue are pitch black. (learned to smile without teeth very quickly, unless she had had her illusion in place. Rumi and Mira are absolutely obsessed tho)

Speaking of teeth; her upper canines curl out slightly form her mouth, like tusks, similar to Mystery before his transformation. They aren't nearly as large though, they just barely peek out from beyond her lips (Mira and Rumi think they're adorable)

Has markings like Rumi, but hers look closer to tattoos, being black. They're also not sharp like the tiger-stripes demons tend to have, hers are far more angular and line-like. They kind of follow her bone structure, following the lines of her collarbones, the hollows of her cheeks etc. They are very slightly sunken into her skin, like scars. (is immensely jealous(not really) of Rumi's markings since hers glow fun colours while Zoey's do not)

Her ears are pointy, not long like an elf's, but still pointy. Like a goblin. (given that dokkaebis are kind of known as Korean goblins as far as i could tell lmao)

Her nails also grow into sharp points. They don't have any extra durability or anything, they just naturally grow into a triangle shape.

Kay, that's it. Imma get into the habits and urges of these guys next.

[unopenablebox]

ok i am going to be brave tomrrow and ask my friend whose climbing gym membership got me into yoga class for free a few weeks ago whether that's a sustainable thing for me to come along to frequently and/or just pay the nonmember fee at the door a few times. i should really just find a different yoga class that isn't gated on climbing gym membership but this one 1. didn't make me miserable by asking me to meditate 2. was the right level of difficulty for me, a worm whose only skill is being kind of ok at pigeon pose 3. has my fwiends in it sometimes and will therefore cause me to be motivated to actually attend/have a strong impetus to leave work for it

[grison-in-space]

Since the dental Tribble has been on a strict no kibble, no crunchy, no chewing diet. (In a week or so she'll be allowed to use her teeth again a bit more, but no one wants to see a dog get dry socket.) Spouse feels that canned dog food (perpetually on hand to make into pupsickles) is not experienced as filling enough, and we do know that Tribble has done better on grain inclusive foods for the past decade, so... the rice cooker has been simmering with chicken stock rice too bulk out the canned food all week, and Matilda and Benton have both gotten a fair bit of overflow rice as a treat.

Unconnectedly, tonight happens to be my first night alone as the sole human all evening in quite a few months. Matilda has been doing her job of enforcing bed, of course, but I can also rely on other humans to help make routine happen if she's too tired to be on it.

If I was worried that Tilly hadn't worked out her evening routine enforcement functions before now, I shouldn't have been. I don't think I've ever seen a dog so excited to move the evening along towards the part where dinner and the good cookies are.

[fragmentedblade]

Boothill's presentation being entirely on the twitter post makes me think he will be irrelevant in the story in the long(ish) run, and that the game itself won't dwell on him almost at all

[orcelito]

hey since i have access to all my phone's photos much more easily, check out my old violin

got it from my great uncle, who said it belonged to His grandpa. so we r looking at like 4 generations up here. he gave it to me in 2010 ish bc im the only person in the family that plays violin lol. & being in middle school, i named it Star :')

it still plays well, too! not my default for when i play bc i use my newer violin for that. but i still value her greatly

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

fine line ── l. hs

↳ summary ── heesung's got two problems: (1) he can't sleep, and (2) he's addicted to the 1AM combo of instant ramyeon and coffee milk from his favorite convenience store around the corner. the only thing more consistent than his insomnia? his nightly visits for his beloved snacks (and maybe to glare at the new night shift employee, too). & pstt, spoiler alert: you're the said new night shift employee. and you don't know what's worse: his weird food choices or his apparent superiority complex. either way, if you have to watch him inhale another bowl like it's his last meal ever, you might lose it. but hey, you know what they say—there’s a fine line between love and hate...

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

↳ genre ── idol!heeseung, e2l!au, strangers to lovers!au, convenience store worker!reader || angst hehe, crack, eventual fluff

↳ ✎ᝰ 15.4k (gasp, she kept it under 20k????)

↳ contains ── so much bickering and banter, reader is kinda sassy and a lil crazy, heeseung is a lil weirdo at first, CRACK (this entire fic revolves around EXTRA HELL FIRE RAMEN PLS), angst, both heeseung & reader can't communicate their feelings & are stubborn as hell, tension tension tension! , deep conversations about life choices lol, cursing

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── IM ALIVE (barely) ! i survived a global expedition (one 12 hr flight) just to come back and face an apocalypse (i got a bug infection and a cold) but dragged myself out of my deathbed (my comfy bed) to finish editing this because i told yall i would and bc i felt bad ghosting everyone for a week LOL apologies (if anyone cares,,,pls tell me u do or i'll cry rn) anyways i hope yall enjoy this one,,,this one was fun to write, it felt very sitcom-y and was lowkey based off of backstreet rookie vibes (only bc it's set in a convenience store). i hope you all enjoy & pls let me know what you think :') thank u for the support & love always <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

It’s simple, really. 

Customer service voice on, a smile plastered on your face, greet the customer, scan the item, take their money, bag said item, throw in a half-hearted ‘Have a good night!’

And repeat. 

Well, most of the time. 

Occasionally, there’s the fun of kicking out a few drunk teenagers looking for a bathroom that you definitely don’t have (yes you do). But otherwise, this graveyard shift at your local corner convenience store? 

Total dream job. 

You get paid—as in actual, legit money—to sit behind a counter, scan snacks, and feast on your personal holy trinity of microwavable cheesy ramen, peach juice, and potato chips. What could possibly go wrong? 

At least, that’s how the manager sold it during your interview. And by interview, you mean the three-minute conversation that went something like: 

“Can you work nights?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool, you’re hired.” 

No background check, no follow-up questions, not even a glance at your resume. A broke college student with insomnia and schedule flexibility? You were the perfect candidate. 

And it’s not like you’re picky. You needed cash, and this seemed like a pretty solid deal. What can you say? College is expensive, and someone’s gotta fund your caffeine addiction and deeply specific (and yet completely necessary, you would argue) habit of playing at every single claw machine game you stumble across. 

So yeah. Easy work.

At least, that's what you thought.

Because on the night of your first shift, exactly at 1:09AM, the doorbell gives its friendly little ding, and in walks...something.

Someone?

Whatever it is, it's a walking shadow. Oversized hoodie. Baggy pants. A baseball cap shoved under the hood. A black face mask covering whatever’s left of his identity. You think it’s either a ninja, a celebrity in disguise, or—more likely—a vampire who hasn’t seen sunlight since the Joseon era (you’re leaning more towards vampire).

But more than the wild theories running around in your head, something else piques your curiosity.

Because unlike the other weirdos that usually shuffle in at these ungodly hours, this one moves with true purpose. He beelines straight to the ramen aisle, snags something off the top shelf (most likely the ultra-spicy soup one because, of course, you already have the shelves memorized), and then grabs a bottle of coffee milk from the cold drinks section without even so much as glancing at it.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. Like he’s done this a thousand times before and is now on autopilot mode.

You watch, intrigued. And then—horrified.

Because who in the right mind pairs volcanic spicy ramen with coffee milk? Is that even legal?

You’re barely recovering from your own appalled thoughts before he’s already at the counter, placing his borderline apocalyptic snack combination on the counter in front of you with the same eerie precision he has.

You fail to keep your poker face on when you scan his items, your face scrunching up in disgust.

“Uh,” you shake it off, forcing yourself back to reality, “That’ll be—��

But before you can even finish your sentence, he’s already fishing out the exact amount—three crisp bills—out his back pocket and holds it out for you.

There’s a beat of silence.

You stare down at the money in his hand for a second too long, suddenly convinced this guy practices his convenience store interactions in the mirror or something.

When you don’t show any further signs of moving, he eventually gives up, placing the money on the counter with a quiet sigh, grabbing his ramen and coffee milk, and striding off to the self-service corner like he personally owns the place.

All of this. Without. A single. Thank you.

Wow. Okay. So tonight’s customer is potentially a vampire with a side gig as a professional jerk. Good to know.

You internally scoff at the entire interaction, but—unfortunately for you—you can’t look away. Because this guy? This walking shadow?

You’re weirdly intrigued. Like when you accidentally click on a pimple-popping video and immediately regret it, but still end up watching five more.

It’s a curse.

Out of the corner of your eye (because obviously you’re not staring, you’re just…hyper-aware of your surroundings), you watch him execute his ramen-and-coffee-milk routine with the precision of a man possessed.

Step one: Hot water in the ramen cup.

Step two: Ramen into the microwave.

Step three: Wait for exactly one beep before yanking the microwave door open with alarming speed, as if he's scared to even give the second beep the chance to ring.

Step four: Peel the lid back in slowly—so painfully slow you're about to march over there and do it yourself.

Step five: Insert the straw into the coffee milk—of course, perfectly right in the center. Bullseye.

Honestly? It's all kind of impressive. Horrifying, but impressive.

And, of course, just when you think you might finally look away, because out of sight, out of mind—he slides onto one of the bar stools by the window, right in your direct line of vision. The perfect spot for you to get a pristine view of his back, which, spoiler alert, is completely unhelpful in your personal mission in trying to see even a glimpse of what this guy looks like.

Maybe if you squint hard enough, you can make out his face in the reflection of the store window. Maybe. Just maybe—

Nope.

All you catch is a brief glimpse of his eyes—barely visible beneath his excessive hoodie and hat combination. Even his mask stays glued to his face and you wonder how he even plans on eating his outrageous meal.

But even so, you still can’t look away. What even is that color? And why can’t you look away?

Whatever. It’s just eyes. Totally normal. Everyone has them. Not noteworthy at all.

Except it is.

Because you catch yourself still squinting, hoping the glare of the fluorescent lighting against the window hides your not so subtle mission from him. You’re probably risking retinal damage at this point with how hard you’re trying to decode this guy’s entire identity from literally just his eyes.

You catch another short glimpse of his eyes as he shuffles in his seat and just as you’re trying to piece together why his eyes look oddly familiar—

He looks up.

His eyes catch yours in the glaring reflection of the store's windows, and you freeze.

Abort mission. Now.

You cough—loudly, dramatically—and your eyes immediately dart elsewhere, your hands shuffling on the discounted candy bars displayed on the counter top, pretending to look busy and silently praying he didn't catch you looking for too long.

When enough time passes by, you risk another quick glance back at him, to see he’s now digging into his ramen, head tucked so low you can’t even see his eyes anymore. He’s gone full turtle mode.

You lift a brow.

Weirdo.

A weirdo with an ego. Slurping and sipping away at his crime-against-humanity meal as if he owns the building.

Maybe he's mute. Or a people-hater. Or a cryptid who thrives on ramen and coffee milk instead of human interaction. Maybe I'm being pranked?

You shrug it off, because no matter how hard you try to figure him out, one thing is glaringly obvious: he does not want to be bothered.

And you're not sure if that makes him more intriguing or more annoying.

You’re in the clear. At least, you think you’re in the clear. 

After your first weird encounter with Mr. No-Name-No-Face—spicy ramen enthusiast and potential vampire—you’ve begrudgingly adjusted to his nightly visits. 

He shows up at 1:09AM like clockwork, grabs his neon red Extra Spicy Hellfire Ramen (yes, that’s the real brand name, and yes, your soul dies a little every time you even have to think about it), and parks himself in the window seat across from your counter like it’s a Michelin-star ramen bar—and not your humble convenience store with a health inspection rating of B+ (don’t ask). 

By night three, you’ve downgraded him from potential murderer to mildly annoying ramen connoisseur. 

By night four, you’ve decided he’s your own personal karma sent by the universe. 

It starts off with the door chime. You don’t even flinch. 1:09AM. Right on schedule. 

You don’t look up from the colorful juice pouches you’re restocking. You’re halfway through creating a perfectly symmetrical pyramid display—color-coded, of course—because, clearly, you’ve peaked as a human being. 

Behind you, footsteps head straight to the ramen aisle. And sure enough, you peek over your shoulder, and there he is: drowning in black hoodie layers, hood up, mask on, the patron saint of please don’t perceive me. Same old routine, same old—

Wait. 

He freezes, mid-reach for his usual ramen on the top shelf, his hand hovering in the air. And then, horrifyingly, he turns. 

And looks directly at you. 

Your face heats up—probably not as red as the hellfire ramen he was about to grab, but it’s close, you imagine. You find yourself clutching onto the random juice pouch in your hand as if it’s your lifeline before you clear your throat, “Uh—is something wrong?” 

He glances from you and back to the shelf in front of him, and for the first time in…ever, he speaks. 

Gasp. 

So we can cross mute off the list. 

“They’re out of my flavor,” he says. His voice is deep, which isn’t surprising to you, given he’s the literal human embodiment of the color black, but it’s also serious. So unnecessarily serious that you almost laugh. 

Almost. 

Because his tone isn’t just serious—it’s accusatory. As if you personally raided the ramen aisle and hid his favorite flavor for entertainment. 

Excuse me? 

Your mouth opens then closes, flopping like a fish that now deeply regrets every life choice. The fire rising in your chest is about two seconds away from erupting into a full-blown lecture on how supply chains work, but you keep it in, deciding getting fired on the fourth day probably doesn’t look good on your resume. 

Instead, you plaster on a flat, unimpressed look. 

“Uh..yeah, it looks like it,” you deadpan, inching closer to where he’s standing to investigate the shelf. 

Leaning up on your toes, you scan the shelf for any hidden Hellfire cups, hoping some miracle will save you from continuing this interaction. 

Nope. It’s empty alright. Emptier than your will to entertain his dramatics. 

“Tragic,” you glance back at him, strategically avoiding eye contact, and settle on offering a shrug. “There are plenty of other flavors. Maybe try…the regular spicy?” 

You grab the flavor below his usual one and hold it up as an olive branch, but he cuts you off with a tone that even convinces you that you’re deranged. 

“No.” 

You blink. 

“No?” 

“It has to be Extra Spicy Hellfire.” 

You blink again. 

You wait for the punchline.

It never comes. 

This man is dead serious. 

You’re standing in the middle of a fluorescent-lit ramen aisle, at your minimal wage night-shift job, at 1:12AM on a random Tuesday, and this guy is dead serious. 

And he’s staring at you like this is a life-or-death situation. And judging from the look in his eyes, it’s looking like you’re facing death. 

But then, you really notice his eyes. And for a split second—just a split second—you’re derailed from your rising anger. 

They’re brown. But not just any brown—the kind of brown that makes poets write bad metaphors. Cinnamon swirls. Autumn leaves. Possibly falling in love in a Hallmark Christmas movie. 

But then you blink again, hard, snapping yourself out of whatever ridiculous moment your sleep-deprived brain just conjured. This is not the time. You’re literally staring at, like, three inches of this guy’s face. 

And he’s a jerk. Get a grip, Y/N. 

“Uh, yeah,” you clear your throat, trying your best to sound professional through your disbelief. “Sorry. We probably put in our shipment request late. But I’m sure you won’t implode by going one night without it?” 

You tack on a small laugh and smile at the end of your sentence, hoping to lighten the mood. 

He does not smile back. 

Not even a flicker. 

Instead, he continues to stare at you like you just suggested he eat plain, untoasted bread for the rest of his life. 

You want to bury yourself into a hole. Maybe getting fired on the fourth day won’t be so bad afterall. 

“I’m sure the regular spicy one is just as good. What’s the worst that could happen?” you offer weakly when he makes no sign of saying anything, and you really hope this guy doesn’t explode in front of you—mainly because you’re not confident in your own ability to explain that situation to your manager. 

“I’m not risking it,” he finally deadpans. 

Your jaw drops slightly. 

“You’re not ris—” you hesitate, debating whether you want to ruin your night further. But you’ve come this far. “You’re being…serious?” 

The question lined with your clear judgement hangs in the air between you two, and no amount of fake customer service can mask the expression of disapproval on your face. 

His eyes narrow at you as he scoffs, “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Oh, I understand,” you tilt your head, your annoyance slowly reaching a boiling point, throwing all professionalism out the window. All you wanted was to enjoy your juice-sorting in peace, not babysit this walking ramen manifesto. “I understand that you’re just picky.” 

At that, his eyes flash—sharp, unreadable. “I’m not picky.” 

“You won’t eat a perfectly fine ramen just because it’s not named after the ninth circle of hell.” 

Silence. 

He stares at you with the intensity of someone about to write a strongly worded online review. 

Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, he finally mutters, “Fine. I’ll take the mild one.” 

You blink at the flavor in your hand—the one that’s clearly labeled in giant, blazing-red, font: Regular Spicy. Then you look back at him. 

“You mean regular spicy.” 

“Right. Whatever. Same thing.” 

He grabs the ramen cup from your hand and stalks off to grab his usual coffee milk, leaving you stranded in the middle of the ramen aisle, questioning every life choice that brought you here. 

Before you’re about to mentally spiral, his voice cuts through the store. 

“Hello?” 

Oh. Right. Your job. 

You scramble back to behind the register, quickly moving your hands to ring him up and get him out of here as soon as possible. 

He hands you his three crisp bills, and before you hand him his glorified ramen and godforsaken coffee milk, you hesitate, pulling them back slightly. He freezes, his hands hanging in the air between you two. 

“You know,” you narrow your eyes as you look up at him, “some people would say thank you for the recommendation.” 

His brow arches—or at least, you think it does. It’s hard to completely tell under his stupid hat. Then he fires back—

“And some people wouldn’t forget to restock the ramen.” 

Your mouth falls open, your words failing you as he grabs his goods from your hands, heading to the self-serve station to continue his nightly noodle worship as if he didn’t just verbally body-slam you. 

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic. 

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore? 

Between back-to-back choreo sessions, recording tracks at hours that shouldn’t legally exist, and navigating the emotional and physical minefield of constant shows, interviews, photoshoots—you name it—nothing about his life is consistent. 

However—

There are two things—two sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness. 

The first? 

Insomnia. 

Not by choice, of course. He doesn’t love being awake at 3AM, staring at his ceiling and waiting for sleep to take over. But it’s a loyal companion, like a stray cat that keeps showing up at your house no matter how hard you try to shoo it away. Heeeseung’s insomnia is always there for him, night after night, ensuring he gets exactly only four hours of sleep—with a side of existential dread. 

And the second? 

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk. 

Yes, it’s a weird combo. 

No, he doesn’t care. 

This unlikely pairing is Heeseung’s personal slice of heaven he can actually control and choose in a life otherwise ruled by the rest of the world. 

Every night, he drags himself to his favorite corner store, grabs his fiery ramen and sweet, creamy coffee milk, and plants himself in the window seat to enjoy his culinary masterpiece in peace. 

Then—and only then—can Heeseung catch a few hours of sleep, the spice-induced euphoria lulling himself into a temporary state of calm. 

Does he have a problem? Absolutely. 

Is he addicted? Without a doubt. 

Does he care? Not in the slightest. 

Because in a world that demands he change at the drop of a hat, this little routine of his is the one thing that stays consistent. 

Well, except for last night. 

Because last night, someone dared to disrupt the cosmic balance of his existence. Someone failed to restock his precious Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen. 

He had stared at the empty spot on the shelf, the betrayal hitting him like a personal attack. He went home last night only a quarter satisfied from the mild spicy ramen he had settled with. 

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the someone responsible. 

Now here he is, stepping into the corner store at 1:09AM, ready to make up for last night’s disappointment of an outcome. 

Heeseung steps into the brightly lit store, the familiar ding ringing behind him as he enters right on time. He continues his familiar route to the ramen aisle, but not before shooting a quick glance from below his hat toward the counter. 

Yup, there she is. 

You. 

The new graveyard shift employee. The one who dared to challenge his sacred ramen ritual and stared at him like he was a walking poor life choice. 

You’re here again. This is five nights in a row. Heeseung wonders if you 1) are insane, 2) have no life, or 3) are purely here just to spite him. 

But tonight, he’s prepared. His focus is razor-sharp, his mission clear: Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk. Nothing will get in the way tonight. 

Heeseung looks up, exhaling in relief when he spots the fiery red packaging of the Extra Spicy Hellfire sitting innocently on the shelf. There you are. 

He grabs the cup (with too much excitement that it should honestly embarrass him), cradling it like a long-lost love, before he makes his way to snag his coffee milk. 

Perfect combo. Perfect routine. Perfect night. 

Except—

Except, of course, you’re watching him. Again. 

He doesn’t even need to look up to know it. He can feel your judging eyes burning into the back of his head like you did the other night—like you’re seconds away from filing a report against his own taste buds. 

He doesn’t get it—what’s so strange about ramen and coffee milk? It’s not like he’s dipping the noodles in it. Why you’ve made it your personal mission to antagonize him, he has no idea, but it’s really throwing him off his ramen zen. 

Heeseung sighs to himself as he steps up to the counter, making sure you hear the sheer misery in this voice—because, of course, fate has cursed him with yet another encounter with you.

“So…do you actually enjoy these together, or are you just trying to destroy your stomach lining?” 

He freezes. Great, you’re talking. So much for a perfect night. 

He adjusts his cap to peer at you and that same unimpressed, judgmental look sitting on your face as you lean against the counter behind you. “What’s wrong with my choices?” 

Your eyebrows shoot up, “What's right with them? This combo screams, ‘I have unresolved issues I’m trying to boil away with spicy and sugar.’” 

Okay, ouch. 

Heeseung narrows his eyes, trying to ignore the weird pinch in his chest at how quickly you read him, whether he likes to admit it or not. 

“I like them. That’s all that matters,” his voice drips with a certain sharpness, hoping the edge in his tone is enough to make you back off. 

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

“Just trying to help,” you shrug as you scan his items, “looking out for your poor taste buds.” 

For a moment, Heeseung considers firing back, but then his gaze catches yours for a millisecond too long as you take his cash and, immediately, he’s wondering—for the hundredth time—if you know. 

Do you recognize him? 

The thought has been gnawing at him since the first time he stepped into this store and saw you sitting there five days ago. Sure, he’s got his identity pretty much concealed under his borderline clinically insane hat-mask-hoodie combo, but still—most people at least give him a double take, a lingering glance. Something. 

But you? Nothing. No flash of recognition. No curiosity. Nothing to indicate you know you’re talking to Lee Heeseung—part idol, part insomniac, 100% ramen enthusiast. 

And for some reason, that both annoys and intrigues him. 

“Thanks for your concern,” Heeseung mumbles dryly, quickly grabbing the ramen cup and cold drink from your hands. 

“No problem,” you chirp just as sarcastically, an annoying smile on your face. “Enjoy your…uh, gourmet meal.”

Heeseung throws you one last glare before shaking his head and stalking off to the self-serve station. He puts the cup down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and pours boiling water over the noodles, glaring into the steam as your voice rings in his head. 

What’s wrong with ramen and coffee milk? He scowls. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I definitely don’t have unresolved issues. 

But as he steals a glance back at the check-out counter and catches you sorting bills like nothing happened, a weird unease settles in his chest. 

He looks down at this ramen, then at the coffee milk. 

For the first time ever, he feels…self-conscious. 

And now you’re in his head. 

Great. 

By night six, you don’t know whether to pity the guy or stage an intervention.

The ding of the automatic doors announces his arrival, as usual, at exactly 1:09AM. You know it’s him—Ramen Guy. The guy who you’re convinced single-handedly continues to keep the Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen business float. 

You lean against the counter and subtly watch him make his usual pilgrimage to the ramen aisle, internally scoffing to yourself at the weird moment he picks up his ramen like it’s his newborn child.

He’s so weird. 

You wonder what kind of person he is outside this convenience store. Does he always make such objectively strange choices? Like, does he wear socks with sandals? Does he mix his cereal with orange juice instead of milk? 

Your haunting thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his usual unholy pair of snacks hitting the counter in front of you with a soft thunk. You look down at the items before glancing back up at him with a skeptical look on your face, “You ever think about switching it up?”

Ramen Guy, clearly expecting the snark, doesn’t miss a beat, “You ever think about minding your business?” 

“Not really. Boredom makes me nosy,” you shrug. “And at this point, you’re the only thing keeping me entertained at this hour.” 

He rolls his eyes so dramatically you’re mildly concerned he might sprain something. 

“And I’m starting to think you like judging me a little too much.” 

“Wrong. I like judging everyone equally,” you scan his items, then tilt your head. “But maybe you’re a special case. With issues.” 

To your surprise, he snorts. Like, an actual, out-loud laugh. 

“Says the girl who voluntarily works the night shift.”

Your smirk falters for half a second. He catches it.

Ramen Guy raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. “What? Too close to home?”

You shift in your spot, “Bold of you to assume I have issues.”

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You shift the attention back to him. “What about you, then? Why do you keep showing up here, huh?”

At that, something changes. The words in the air, and for the first time, you notice a slight shift in his demeanor—the slight awkwardness in the way he shifts his weight. 

Then, after a brief pause, he meets your gaze and throws the question right back at you.

“Why do you keep working the night shift?”

You freeze, putting his items back down on the counter, caught off guard by the reversal. "Touché. But I asked first."

There's hesitation again for a moment, his fingers tapping the edge of the counter impatiently—nervously?

"I like the peace and quiet,” he finally says, and for the first time tonight, he meets your eyes.

For a split second, you’re startled by the sincerity in his gaze and sudden shift in tone—it’s almost distracting. But you shake yourself out of it just as quickly.

"Nothing about Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk sounds peaceful or quiet," your voice softer now but still teasing.

"Okay, Miss Graveyard Shift," he fires back, leaning a little closer over the counter. "Why are you here every night? Do you have a thing for fluorescent lighting and cleaning up after drunk customers or something?"

You don't miss the faint challenge in his voice as you narrow your eyes at him.

Then, you settle for a shrug and take a breath, answering honestly.

"It's flexible. Pays well enough," you start, before looking back at him, and add, almost as an afterthought, "...and I like the quiet too."

It’s an honest answer, one that seems to hang in the air between you two for a beat too long. His gaze softens ever so slightly, and you swear you see something shift underneath that stupid cap of his, but before you can dwell on it, he straightens up.

He places his three bills on the counter, grabs his items, and pauses.

“So,” he starts, his lighter tone breaking the silence, “do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Graveyard Shift Girl?”

You raise a brow, amused, as you start putting his bills away, “Do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Ramen Guy?”

For a split second, you think you see something flicker in his eyes—something smug, something entertained. And you don’t know it, but under his mask, his lips twitch, fighting back a faint smile.

“Touché,” he murmurs, echoing your earlier words before stepping back from the counter, items in hand, but lingers just a moment longer than necessary—like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the self-serve station, falling back into his regular routine.

And you should do the same.

You try to do the same. But as you go back to your usual tasks—wiping down the counter, restocking shelves, pretending to be productive—you find yourself sneaking glances out of the corner of your eye toward his window seat.

He just sits there, just like he always does, stirring his ramen absentmindedly as he stares out into the empty street. And yet, tonight, something feels…different.

It’s nothing. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just curiosity. Natural, given how he keeps showing up every night, breaking up the monotony of your shift with his weird food choices and even weirder personality.

And yet—

No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to stop thinking about him—the way he looked at you earlier, the way his demeanor shifted even slightly.

It’s nothing.

Still, your gaze flickers back at him, catching the way his fingers tap lightly against the table, lost in thought. You wonder what kind of things keep a guy like him up at night.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to find his weird little habits endearing, too.

The faint sound of the store’s music plays in the background, the clock ticks, and eventually, he finishes his ramen, tosses his trash, and makes his way toward the door.

And then—he hesitates.

Just for a second. A small pause, a barely-there moment where he stops, glances over his shoulder just slightly—just enough to look at you.

“See you tomorrow, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

You blink, caught off guard, and for a moment, all you can manage is to stare at him. Then, as you fail to ignore the weird blooming feeling in your chest, your words slip out almost on instinct:

"Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

The next night, you do something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—you take your cheesy ramen, peace juice pouch, and bag of potato chips and plop yourself down right next to Ramen Guy and his usual window seat. 

He pauses mid-slurp. Keeping his head low, he turns to you slowly. Suspiciously.

“What…are you doing?” 

“Having dinner,” you say matter-of-factly, popping open your bag of chips. 

His gaze drops to your meal, and then back to you. “It’s almost 1:30AM.” 

“Okay? Dinner, early breakfast, midnight snack, call it whatever you want,” you shrug, unbothered as you continue unwrapping your meal. 

Ramen Guy exhales through his nose, shaking his head to himself like he’s just accepted his fate. Without another word, he turns back to his own meal and resumes eating. 

A surprisingly comfortable silence follows—the only sounds filling the empty store the quiet hum of the store’s playlist, the buzz of the lights above you, and the synchronized slurp of two insomniacs with poor diet choices. 

Then, without thinking, you tilt your bag of potato chips, holding it out between you two, “Want one?”

He stops mid-motion, as if he’d almost forgotten you were still here.

Almost.

A glance into your bag, a small shrug, and then, just like that, he grabs a chip and pops it into his mouth, moving so fast you barely catch a glimpse of his face without the mask.

“Thanks,” he mutters before taking a sip of his coffee milk, still keeping his head low.

You hum in response, your fingers drumming against the counter before your curiosity wins the best of you, “So…what kind of life leads you to seek peace and quiet in a convenience store?”

It’s a question that’s been on your mind since last night’s conversation. What can you say? You’re a creature of curiosity.

Ramen Guy shrugs next to you, “What do you mean?”

“Like…you’re here every night. Why at night? Why not during the day?”

He lets out a short chuckle. “You want me to leave?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

You exhale sharply, your fingers now absentmindedly swirling the noodles in your bowl. “Look, I’m just saying—most people are asleep at this hour.”

He smirks. You can hear it in his voice without even looking. “You’re here too, aren’t you?”

“That’s different, this is my job,” you scoff, amused, before pointedly gesturing at this meal before him, “Unless you want to call your weird habits a job. Which, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone was paying you to subject your tastebuds to that every night.”

And he laughs. It’s small, barely there, but you catch it. Then, with a quiet exhale, he finally answers, “It’s like I told you before, I like the quiet at this hour…I don’t get a lot of that.”

You stop twirling your noodles, the air shifting into that same unspoken understanding from last night. Faint, but unmistakable.

Something unsaid hanging between the two of you, something that tells you this guy is more than just an insomniac with questionable food choices.

You tilt your head. “So, what, you got a bunch of loud roommates or something?”

A small, almost knowing smile tugs at his lips. “Something like that.”

You raise a brow at his vague answer but don’t press. Instead, you nod towards his food. “And your criminal meals? That part of the quiet too?”

He huffs, “Maybe I just have superior taste.”

“Right, totally,” you laugh, the tone in your voice almost testing him. 

Ramen Guy finishes up his meal, wiping his mouth quickly with a napkin before putting his mask back on and finally turning to face you fully.

He narrows his eyes at you, “You think you have me all figured out?”

You mirror his actions, facing him fully for the first time tonight, folding your arms, “Oh, I do have you all figured out, Ramen Guy.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans forward slightly. “Alright, go on. Tell me who I am, Graveyard Psychic Girl.”

You roll your eyes but accept the challenge, leaning back in your seat.

“You’re a creature of habit, clearly. You like consistency. Probably because your life is very inconsistent otherwise.”

Ramen Guy doesn’t react, so you continue.

“You’re a night owl, but not by choice. You want to sleep, but your brain won’t let you.” Your eyes flick down to the coffee milk. “So, instead, you drink this, even though it probably makes it worse.”

Still no response.

“So now, you just keep showing up here because it’s predictable,” you finish with a small shrug. “And maybe…‘cause you’re kinda lonely.”

That makes him pause.

You immediately regret saying it. Because…what was that?

That was too much. Too deep. Too intrusive.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t deflect. He doesn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, or peer them at you the way he does a million times a night.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

“…Not bad,” he says finally, reaching for another chip from the bag in your hands.

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“I mean, kinda harsh, but…mostly true.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t that.

A beat of silence passes before Ramen Guy speaks up again, “So basically, you’re saying we’re the same.”

You let out a snort, “Not even close.”

“We both work weird hours. We both like the quiet. We both eat the same convenience store junk food.” He holds up the bag of potato chips before eating another one.

“You just started eating those,” you deadpan. 

“Yeah, but I’m still eating them, which means my taste is obviously elite.”

“You literally eat coffee milk with nuclear ramen.”

“Okay, you’re the one who made it weird.”

A mischievous smile starts forming on your face as you snatch your bag of chips back from him, “So you agree your food choices are weird?” 

His smirk falters as a small giggle rises out of you. 

“Whatever you say, Graveyard Shift Girl.” 

The next night, Heeseung does something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—he’s late. It’s 1:30AM, well past his usual 1:09AM show-up time, and the store is Heeseung-less.

He blames late-night dance practice. He also blames Ni-ki for stealing his usual black hoodie—forcing him to spend an extra thirty minutes looking for another one. Not that the hoodie matters, he would argue (yes, it does).

When he finally steps through the door at 1:32AM, the familiar ding barely finishes echoing before—

“Wow,” you drawl from behind the counter, arms crossed. “Tragic. Unbelievable. I was starting to think you found a new place to bother.”

Heeseung snorts, making a beeline for the ramen aisle, “You wish. Wouldn’t want you to get bored without me.”

You let out a dramatic gasp, “Wow. Thoughtful and self-aware. Who knew you had layers?”

Heeseung tries to ignore you, moving to grab his coffee milk. But his lips twitch under his mask, and he’s glad it’s hiding the way he’s failing to fight the smile growing on his face.

When he finally reaches the counter, you push off from where you were leaning against the counter, hands settling on your hips. “Okay, be honest. Outside of this, do you have anything else going on in your life?” 

Heeseung raises a brow, completely caught off guard. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the past few nights, it’s that you’re incredibly nosy. And for someone who claims to like working the night shift because of the quiet, you’re absolutely terrible at keeping things that way. 

“Excuse me?”

“You mentioned that you work weird hours yesterday,” you gesture vaguely at him. “So, spill.”

His stare remains blank, debating if he can distract you by handing you his three bills of cash (he can’t).

“I do…stuff.”

“Stuff,” you repeat, “Quite riveting.”

Heeseung exhales, “Why do you care?”

You shrug, taking his cash and putting it away. “You must do something interesting. You’re too weirdly confident for a guy who just bums around convenience stores at night.”

Heeseung scoffs. "Weirdly confident?"

"Yeah, like—" You wave around you. "You walk around like you have some big, mysterious purpose. But all I ever see you do is glare at instant noodles and sip milk like a sad Victorian child."

Heeseung shakes his head, letting out a breathy laugh. "Maybe that is my purpose."

Then, he simply shrugs. But there’s something in his gaze—something unreadable, like he’s deciding exactly how much he wants to say.

"It’s hard to explain,” he finally says. “I just…have a weird work schedule.”

"Weird how?"

"Weird as in, I don’t really get normal hours. Always moving, always working. Makes sleep kinda impossible."

You pause, taking in his words. Then, you shift slightly, crossing your arms. "Sounds exhausting."

Heeseung exhales a laugh, leaning against the counter. "You have no idea."

For a moment, a familiar and warm quiet fills the air as the two of you linger, as if waiting for the other to say something more.

And he doesn’t know why, but his chest feels a little too tight—like he’s let you stumble into a part of him you weren’t supposed to see yet.

“Well,” you say quietly, your lips curving into a soft smile that sends a weird jolt through his body that he chooses to ignore. “I’m honored you’ve chosen this fine establishment as your official sanctuary.”

He scoffs, reaching for his items. "Don’t let it go to your head, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

He then turns to head to his usual corner when—

“Y/N.”

Heeseung pauses, turning back at you like an awkward child lost in the middle of a store.

“My name,” you clarify, casually returning to sorting the register’s bills. “A lot easier to say than Graveyard Shift Girl.”

Heeseung gives you a slow nod, something unfamiliar and unplaceable twisting in his stomach as he turns back around.

And when he finishes his meal and leaves that night, he calls out—

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

And, this time, he doesn’t fight the smile under his mask when he hears your voice, a little softer, call back out:

“Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

It happens the moment he steps inside.

Heeseung doesn’t even make it past the threshold before a familiar melody drifts through the weak convenience store speakers and to his ears.

Familiar because he’s heard it a thousand times.

Familiar because it’s literally his voice singing the line.

His stomach drops.

Instead of his usual beeline to the ramen aisle, Heeseung turns towards the counter where you’re idly tapping on your phone, oblivious.

The hum of the melody continues, and Heeseung is suddenly too hyper-aware of how loud his own voice sounds in the otherwise dead-silent store.

Panic creeps up his spine.

He moves fast, crossing the store in a few long strides, slamming his hands down onto the counter that divides the two of you.

You jump in your seat.

“Geez—” you clutch your chest, wide-eyed as you take in his very sudden, very urgent presence. “What the hell?”

Heeseung ignores you, pointing above him, “Did you put this on?”

Your brows furrow as you put your phone down, glance up at him, then at the speakers he’s pointing at. You barely register the song before recognition flickers across your face.

“Oh—this? Nah, it’s the store’s playlist,” you gesture towards the iPad behind the counter, currently playing a Current Hits playlist on shuffle. “It’s some group’s new song. Pretty catchy.”

Heeseung just stares at you, mind racing.

You don’t recognize it.

You don’t recognize his voice.

The realization sends relief crashing over him, but he quickly snaps out of it with a brand-new problem—because now he has to decide what the hell to do with this information.

Does he tell you? Drop the act and lay it all out? Would you believe him? Would you even care?

“You okay?” Now you’re staring at him, suspicious. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

Heeseung clears his throat, realizing his stance is way too conspicuous, and slowly removes his hands from the counter to stand up straight, attempting to sound normal, “No reason.” 

You squint at him.

Then—

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes suddenly lighting up. “Wait.”

His heart stops. Oh, shit. She figured it out. This is it.

“Are you a fan?” you blurt, leaning forward in your seat eagerly.

Heeseung blinks.

…What.

“Oh, you totally are,” you continue, completely missing the way his soul is currently leaving his body. “You came straight to the counter like a man on a mission. Oh my god. Are they, like, your favorite group or something?”

Heeseung has never wanted to laugh and cry at the same time more than he does in this moment.

“Something like that,” he mutters, bringing a hand to rub this temple, because no way this is happening right now.

You beam brightly from your seat, “That’s cute. Who’s your bias?”

At that, Heeseung does laugh—because this is now officially the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to him.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

And then—after a deep breath, a long and heated internal debate, and one last glance at your innocent, completely oblivious face—he finally exhales, looking you straight in the eye.

“This guy,” he says as he hears his own voice ring out through the store. “Because that’s me. That’s my voice.”

Silence.

You stare at him.

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then, after what feels like an eternity—

“…Huh?”

Then you tilt your head. "I'm sorry—what?"

Heeseung watches as your expression cycles from confusion to skepticism to outright disbelief. He braces himself.

"My name is Lee Heeseung," he repeats slowly. "From Enhypen."

Another beat of silence.

Then—because you’re you—

You burst out laughing.

"Okay, Ramen Guy," you snort, crossing your arms. "Very funny.”

Heeseung sighs, "I knew this would happen."

"Because you’re delusional?"

"Because you don’t pay attention."

You roll your eyes, "Oh, I’m sorry, but when in our thriving relationship have you ever given me a reason to believe that you’re actually a famous idol and not just some guy who has concerning dietary habits?"

Heeseung groans.

He regrets everything. He regrets this entire conversation. He could have lied. He could have said literally anything else. But no—he had to be honest. And look where that got him.

"I’m serious," he insists, leveling you with a look.

You stare back at him.

Then, something seems to click in your brain, because you suddenly lunge for your phone.

"Oh, we’re doing this," you mutter, fingers flying across the screen as you type in his name. "Let’s see if—"

You stop.

Heeseung watches as your eyes widen, scanning the images in front of you. Then you look up at him. Then back down at the phone.

Then back at him.

“Take the mask off,” you mutter quietly, slowly holding your phone up next to his face.

With an exhausted sigh, Heeseung does what he’s told and pulls it down for the first time in front of you.

You scan him. Then the phone. Then him.

"You've gotta be shitting me," you breathe.

Heeseung shrugs, "Told you."

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing.

You don’t know what shocks you more—the fact that a literal celebrity has been standing in front of you this whole time, or the realization that the once-random stranger you used to relentlessly tease has, somehow, always been this ridiculously good-looking all along. 

"So…you’re famous?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that?" You shove your phone toward him, your screen now displaying the group’s Instagram page. "You literally have fans. Like, millions of them."

Heeseung cringes, "Okay, you don’t have to say it like that."

"Like what? Like you’re a superstar and I’ve been treating you like a regular guy who can't cook for himself?"

"Because that’s exactly what I am?"

“Unbelievable,” you scoff, shaking your head. “So you sing. You perform. You—commit crimes against humanity with your ramen choices each night.”

Heeseung groans. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” you echo, standing up from your seat behind the counter. “So you’re telling me that every night, an actual, real-life idol has been showing up here, inhaling a week’s worth of sodium, and I—” You pause, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Are you even allowed to be eating this garbage?”

“And are you ever able to mind your own business?” Heeseung counters, now fully regretting this entire conversation.

“Absolutely not, Lee Heeseung, because this is literally the plot of a drama,” you wave your hands in disbelief. “Mystery insomniac convenience store guy turns out to be a world famous pop star—”

“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

“—and I, the unsuspecting cashier, unknowingly roast him every night like he’s just some sleep-deprived college student instead of a millionaire with talent. Wait—” you then pause again, placing your hands on your hips, staring at him with a newfound judgment. “—you’re loaded, aren’t you?”

Heeseung pinches the bridge of your nose, exasperated, “Why is that your takeaway from this?”

“You are!” you exclaim, your smile widening as you ignore his suffering. “You’re rich and you’re out here eating instant ramen every night!”

Heeseung groans again, dropping his head onto the counter in front of you, “Oh my god.”

Grinning, you bend down to this level. “So this whole time, you’ve been lying to me?”

He lifts his head just enough to glare at you. "It’s not lying. It’s…selective honesty.”

You scoff, straightening up just as Heeseung does, meeting his gaze with an accusatory squint. “That’s literally the definition of lying.”

“Look, it’s not like I planned to make a habit out of this,” he gestures to the store around him. “I came in one night, and then I came back, and suddenly, I had a thing going. Then you showed up and started running your mouth, and—”

“And you kept coming back anyways,” you finish, crossing your arms, a slow, amused smile tugging at your lips.

Heeseung freezes. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“…Yeah.”

A silence stretches between you—charged, almost personal—until you decide to cut through the tension with a smirk.

“What if I play your group’s music over the speakers every night?”

The look on his face is deadly. “You wouldn’t.”

Your grin grows, “Wouldn’t I, though?”

“This is the worst night of my life,” Heeseung drags a hand down his face and turns towards the ramen aisle. “I’m leaving.”

“Aww, c’mon,” you tease, calling out after him and delighting in his suffering. “Also can we talk about how you literally just said you’re your own bias?”

“Shut up.”

You’re still laughing when he returns to the counter thirty seconds later—Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk in hand, cheeks tinged pink.

“Alright, serious question,” you say, leaning in slightly from your seat at the window barstools. “If you had to give up either Extra Spicy Hellfire or coffee milk for the rest of your life, which would you choose?”

Heeseung immediately stops chewing, his chopsticks frozen midair as he turns to you with a look that says you just personally offended him.

“That’s straight evil.”

“You must choose, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “You can’t just throw life-altering hypotheticals at me like that.”

“Choose.”

He stares at his ramen. Then at this coffee milk. Then back at you.

Then back at his ramen.

Then back at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

“Aw,” you flash him your sweetest, most infuriating smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me. Like, ever.”

Heeseung shoots a glare at you, “I hope your regular spicy ramen tastes like disappointment.”

“Oh, it totally does,” you look down at your own ramen in front of you and take an exaggerated slurp, “It’s just so awful.”

Heeseung’s lips perk up into a smile at your weirdly endearing antics before shaking his head, “You’re a lost cause.”

You giggle to yourself, taking a sip of your own juice when you hear Heeseung, barely audible, suddenly mutter:

“…I’d give up coffee milk.”

It’s quiet. It’s barely there.

Your jaw drops.

“I know, okay?” He rubs his temples as if the decision is actually hurting him. “It’s like choosing between two children. But at the end of the day, ramen is ramen.”

You nod along, pretending you understand the gravity of his heavy decision (you don’t). But still, you smile—because you were the one who got him to betray his beloved coffee milk.

Heeseung takes a sip of it anyway, groaning as he swirls the bottle in his hand. “I hate that you made me think about this.”

“You should be thanking me. Y’know, character growth and all that.”

“More like character damage.”

You grin, victorious, and he just rolls his eyes before pausing for a second to think, then—he nudges his ramen cup toward you.

“Here. Try some.”

You recoil immediately and look up at him with a look that tells him he’s absolutely psychotic.

“Absolutely not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why? You scared?”

“No, Heeseung, I just have these things called taste buds.”

He scoffs, shoving the bowl between you two closer. “Just one bite. C’mon, Graveyard Shift Girl, live a little. For me.”

You hold his gaze, suspicious but faltering, because—damn it—he’s looking at you like that. All smug and teasing, head tilted slightly, and it affects you.

And then he moves. 

He picks up his chopsticks, twirls them in the bowl, and catches a perfect bundle of noodles before leaning forward, holding them up between you two. He waits.

Your breath hitches. Your eyes flicker to the steam curling from the noodles, twisting in the air between your faces, fragile and fleeting.

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

It’s ridiculous, really. I mean, it’s ramen. But the way the space between you suddenly feels thin, the way his grip on the chopsticks stays steady, his fingers just inches from your lips, the way his dark eyes stay locked onto yours, watching you with something unreadable flickering beneath the usual teasing glint—it feels like time slows down.

You blink rapidly, clearing your throat. It’s fine. It’s cool. You’re overthinking.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, watching. Waiting.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and slowly lean in to take the bite.

Your lips brush the chopsticks as you close your mouth around the noodles, and for a split second—one charged, unspoken, split second—neither of you move.

Heeseung is so close.

So close.

You can see the soft curve of his mouth, the way his gaze flickers over your face, the way his breath catches slightly like he just realized something.

You’re suddenly painfully aware of the close proximity and it sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. Panicked, you pull back quickly and settle into your seat like nothing happened.

But then you start chewing.

And that’s when you realize—

No, wait. Wait. That heat in your cheeks?

Oh.

Oh no.

Yeah. It’s definitely not because of Heeseung (well, maybe a part of it is). 

Because the second you swallow down the bundle of noodles—the embodiment of heat, pain, and suffering all slams into your mouth instantly.

You freeze.

Your brain short-circuits.

And then—

“Oh my GOD—” you choke, slamming your hands onto the counter, your body shaking as the spice courses through your veins.

Your throat ignites, your sinuses clear, and you swear you can hear colors.

Heeseung? Heeseung loses it.

His laugh bursts out of him—loud, unguarded, and completely delightful. He clutches his stomach, nearly hiccuping from how hard he’s laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, dimples deep in his cheeks.

If you weren’t literally physically dying in this current moment, you’d probably be absolutely too flustered to function at the sight.

“No way—” he wheezes through his laughter,“—are you actually struggling right now?”

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, HEESEUNG?!” you glare at him through the tears forming in your eyes as you desperately flail your arms around, searching for your juice pouch. “You eat this voluntarily?!”

“Every night, baby.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

Your hands finally find your drink and you gulp it down as if it’s your lifeline, eyes still watery, throat still burning, lungs barely breathing. But somewhere in the middle of your suffering, you catch yourself staring.

At Heeseung.

At the way he’s still smiling, like he just had the best meal of his life. At the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs, his dimples peeking out like his own hidden secrets, the way his nose scrunches slightly when he’s amused—

Weird.

You blink the thoughts (and your tears) away, shaking it off, and blame the spice, the delirium, and sheer trauma of what just happened.

You clear your throat, sitting back with a desperate huff.

“I hope,” you catch your breath, gesturing to his bowl, “that when you come in tomorrow, we’re all out of this horrid flavor.”

Heeseung smirks, leaning back in his chair as he gives you a knowing look.

“You’d still restock it for me, though.”

Damn it.

Your shoulders slump, and both of you know you’re defeated.

He knows you know you’re defeated. 

Heeseung just grins, then, without a word, slides his coffee milk toward you in a silent truce.

You stare at it. Then at him.

His smile grows.

And you accept it.

Begrudgingly.

It’s 1:20AM when you find yourself behind the counter, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes of instant noodles and bottled drinks. The store hums with its usual white noise—lights buzzing above, soft music humming overhead, the low whirr of the coolers. 

And Heeseung? 

Heeseung is across the counter, perched on a barstool he dragged from across the store, doing absolutely nothing to help. 

For the nth time tonight, he flips a soda bottle into the air. 

And for the nth time tonight, he fails to land it upright, the bottle clattering onto the counter.

“You’re supposed to be helping me restock,” you remind him, tossing a pack of chips at him. 

“I am helping,” he argues, dodging the bag in time and letting it fall flat onto the ground. Great. 

You cross your arms, scoffing, “Oh yeah? What category does sitting there and flipping Diet Coke fall under?” 

Heeseung finally puts the bottle down on the counter and hums, tapping his fingers against the counter like he’s deep in thought. Then, he flashes you a meek smile, “Moral support?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, turning back to unbox another package from the pile stacked in front of you. 

Another silence falls between you and Heeseung watches as you go back to your job before he breaks it—

“How do you do this every night? Does it not get…I don’t know, tedious? Boring?” 

You freeze in your spot, caught by surprise at the question.

“Hm,” you turn to him, head tilted as you think.

Heeseung glances up at you, intrigued. The way your lips purse slightly, how your fingers fidget absentmindedly with the torn edge of a cardboard box. 

You exhale, leaning back against the counter, “Yeah, the hours suck, pay is…alright. And—” 

You hesitate. Your gaze drifts toward the floor, fixating on a dent near the register, “—and I think, at some point, I thought I felt stuck.” 

Something in Heeseung’s expression shifts. 

“I mean, I’m a college student, for god’s sake,” you continue, a small, humorless laugh escaping you. “And I spend my nights serving cigarettes to barely legal teens and cleaning up after ramen spills. It kind of felt like I was just…watching life pass me by, you know?”

Your voice quiets and it’s just the soft hum of the store again. You pick at the box without thinking, fingers grazing over the worn edges, and Heeseung watches you.

Because he gets it. 

He gets it in a way that makes his chest ache a little.

Because despite the differences in your lives—despite how he’s constantly moving while you feel stuck—you both know the feeling of watching life slip between your fingers, of wondering if you’re ever going to feel like you belong in it.

Heeseung holds the soda bottle between his hands, rolling it back and forth, murmuring, “Yeah, I get that.” 

You glance up at him, making eye contact, but you don’t push. 

“But then,” you say quietly, “I started seeing this place differently. Instead of somewhere I was stuck, it became more of a…break. An escape from everything. A breath of fresh air from expectations and routine.” 

And that—that makes Heeseung look up. 

Because deep down, that’s exactly what all of this has become for him too. 

He doesn’t know when it happened—if maybe it was the first night he found the store, maybe whenever you showed up, maybe all the sarcastic exchanges, or somewhere in between all of that—but these late-night visits, these stolen moments in a world that demands from him, have become something steady. Something his. 

And he wonders if maybe…maybe you’re the reason for that. 

Maybe you’ve been keeping him grounded in a life that never stops moving. 

And maybe he’s been keeping you from feeling stuck. 

Just maybe.

It’s late. Way later than usual. And Heeseung is still here. 

And you don’t know how, but you’ve both abandoned your usual spots—his self-proclaimed window seat and your stool behind the register.

Instead, you’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the register counter, backs pressed against the shelf of over-the-counter medications that you just re-organized, with a laptop and plenty of empty snack wrappers sitting between the two of you.

“See this is exactly my problem with this movie,” you point at your laptop screen, your voice slightly muffled by the gummy bears in your mouth. “One idiot makes one bad decision, and suddenly everyone’s dead! Like, be so for real.”

Heeseung scoffs, leaning back on his hands, “It’s a movie, Y/N. It doesn’t have to be realistic.”

“And I don’t have to pretend this isn’t garbage,” you shoot back as the credits roll, unimpressed. “This is objectively the worst thing I’ve seen.”

“I think I just have an acquired superior taste,” Heeseung quips, his eyes teasing. “Just like with my food choices.” 

“Right,” your voice drags out. “Superior delusion, maybe.”

Heeseung shoves your shoulder with his own, and you laugh, the sound natural, unfiltered, and totally at his expense.

As you shut your laptop and start gathering the remains of your late-night snack feast, the conversation quiets for a moment into an easy, warm silence. It’s the kind of quiet that feels good, the kind that’s been happening more lately—something you never would’ve expected that first night you ever saw him enter the store. 

Then, Heeseung exhales, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leans back against the shelf, “You know, this might be the longest I’ve sat and relaxed in months.” 

You glance up at him, brows raised, “What, you don’t get to laze around on the floor surrounded by junk food with your favorite convenience store worker on a regular basis?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he huffs a laugh. “But I thought a lot about what you said the other night. And sometimes it’s like…”

He pauses and tilts his head back, his eyes following the way the light fixture above him flickers in and out, “Like I’m moving so fast I forget what it’s like to just…be.”

Something in his voice makes you pause in your actions, your hands putting down the miscellaneous wrappers between you.

“Is it hard?” you ask quietly.

He lets out a breathy chuckle from beside you, “It’s…a lot. You’re always being watched, always expected to be on. And even during breaks I’m already thinking about the next thing. The next schedule, next performance, next practice.”

You watch him for a moment, watch the way his fingers tap absentmindedly against his knee, something you’ve started to notice over time whenever he’s lost in thought. 

“But there are moments that make it worth it,” he continues, a small smile playing on his lips. “The music, how fun it is to be on stage, the fans. The feeling of performing and knowing people are there because they love what you do. It’s unreal.”

Your own smile unconsciously appears as you listen to him reflect, taking in his words. You never stopped to really think about his life in-depth before—and it does sound like a lot. Like something people dream of but don’t realize the weight of until they’re carrying it themselves. 

You nudge his knee lightly with yours, “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve to just exist sometimes, too.” 

Heeseung turns to look at you, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, reaching into the closest bag of gummy bears to you and tossing one to him. He catches it easily, popping it into his mouth with a grin.

“See, this is why I keep coming back,” he says, chewing. “Gourmet snacks and free therapy.”

You roll your eyes. “Unbelievable. I take it back. Suffer.”

Heeseung laughs, popping another gummy bear into his mouth, before his fingers start tapping his knee again. Then, after a beat—

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

When you look up at him, he’s already looking at you with a new…something. A newfound sincerity, maybe. Or uncertainty. Or both.

Your eyes meet, and suddenly, he visibly hesitates—shifting almost awkwardly in his spot, as if he both rehearsed what he’s about to say and yet has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact.

“I—um,” he swallows hard. “I’m sorry? For, y’know, being kind of a jerk when we first met. I think I was pretty…” He trails off awkwardly. “Jerk-ish.” 

You don’t move for a second. Slowly, one brow arches.

Heeseung thinks he regrets everything.

Then, a smile—slow and sweet—curls at your lips.

And suddenly, Heeseung realizes he doesn’t regret a damn thing.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, nodding along dramatically. “You were a menace. Like, an insufferable, grumpy, little menace.”

Heeseung lets out a noise that lands somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Okay, I get it.”

“But,” you continue, locking eyes with him again, “I guess I should apologize too.”

Heeseung perks up, now his brow lifting, “For what? Finally admitting I was right about—”

“For judging you and your still…very questionable choices.”

“Ah, there it is.”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow before pausing. 

“But seriously…you’re, like…” you dramatically draw out the moment as if the words physically pain you to say.

Heeseung smirks, leaning in slightly, waiting for you.

“…pretty cool, I guess.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face, “I’ll take it.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you scoff. “You’re still a ramen-addicted jerk.”

Heeseung hums, still smiling, “Might be too late.”

Then, he tacks on, without thinking twice, “You’re pretty cool, too, I guess.”

You laugh at the hesitancy in his voice, “Okay, that sounded almost sincere.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile softens, “No, but seriously, it’s…nice. Having someone I could talk to outside of…you know, my whole chaotic life.”

The sudden shift in the air quiets you for a moment as you look at Heeseung, noticing the slight drop in his shoulders, the way his fingers continue to drum against his leg. When you don’t say anything, he continues.

“I don’t…really talk to people like this,” he quietly says, as if admitting something to himself more so to you. Then, after a pause, he glances back up, eyes searching your own. “Now like how I do with you. Like…I could tell you anything and everything, really.”

Your breath catches, but you keep your expression neutral, “Oh?”

Heeseung shifts, looking down at his hands before exhaling a quiet laugh, “Sorry. Too serious?”

You find yourself quickly shaking your head. Because although, yes, most of your interactions with Heeseung are filled with jokes and teasing, the serious conversations or shared warm silences in between recently—have started to mean something more. They’ve become an outlet, a quiet escape from reality. It’s like the moment he steps through the store’s doors, the door rings, the outside world fades, and for a few hours, it’s just the two of you in this shared space.

A space that feels safe, untouched by expectations, where both of you can just be.

“No,” you say, softer this time. “Not at all.”

You hesitate for a beat before adding, “I…really like talking to you too. It’s—” you let out a small laugh, “almost unnaturally easy, actually.”

Heeseung doesn’t respond right away. He just nods, and then looks up at you from the ground and his eyes are serious—no teasing, no usual smugness, just something…real. Vulnerable.

Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

You should say something. Something light, or something sarcastic, or something normal.

But you don’t.

Because you’re too busy looking at his face.

Then, without thinking, his lips.

And he’s looking at yours.

You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly, you’re close. He’s close. Too close. Close enough to hear his quiet inhale. To see the way his lashes flutter. To feel the space between you two thinning into something dangerously nonexistent.

You should move. You should break the moment before it turns into something neither of you can take back.

But you don’t.

And he doesn’t.

And then—

Ding.

The sound of the automatic doors sliding open shatters the moment.

You both jolt apart like a pair of teenagers caught guilty, and your heart is practically breaking out of your ribcage as you scramble to your feet, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants, your face burning as you appear from behind the counter to greet the customer that was blissfully unaware of whatever was definitely not about to happen behind the counter. 

You clear your throat as you look down at Heeseung, who’s still frozen in his spot and trying his very best not to lose his mind, “I should—um. Go back to work.”

Then, suddenly, Heeseung stands too, nodding quickly as he runs a hand through his hair, his face slightly pink, very much not looking at you, “Right. Yeah. Work.”

Right when you turn back to the counter, the customer is there, waiting for you to ring them up. You plaster the most normal smile you can muster, scan their snack, take their cash, and hand them their change—all while pretending you don’t feel Heeseung’s presence still lingering behind you.

You don’t turn around, and he doesn’t move.

And despite the complete lack of physical contact, you still feel his warmth. The same amount of warmth as when he was only mere inches away from your own face.

The door chimes as the customer leaves.

Then, finally—Heeseung clears his throat.

Hesitantly, you turn around, bracing yourself.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding your gaze before forcing out, in the most casual voice he can manage—

“So, uh—same time tomorrow?”

You blink.

Then, finally, you let out a small laugh, “You’re so weird.”

The tension in the air cracks just enough, and Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, “And yet, you’d miss me if I didn’t show up, wouldn’t you?”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, except—nothing comes out.

Because, unfortunately, you know he’s right.

And he knows he’s right.

So, naturally, instead of admitting defeat, you suddenly grab a rag from behind the counter and start aggressively scrubbing at a perfectly clean surface.

“Go home, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung just grins, shoving his hands into his pockets as steps out from behind the counter and backs away. “Night, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

When he’s finally gone, you’re left standing there, staring at where he just was before you.

And finally, when the reality of what just happened fully settles in—

You groan, dropping your head against the counter.

Because now he's in your head.

Great.

The clock above you ticks, a sound that usually fades into the background and becomes a part of the store’s white noise. But tonight? 

Tonight, it’s your biggest freaking nuisance. 

You think if you have to hear it tick one more time, you’re taking the ladder from the backroom, climbing up there, yanking that thing off the wall, and tossing it right into the dumpster. 

Why? 

Because, it’s 2:21AM. 

2:21AM, and you’re alone. Stuck in this sad, empty convenience store with nothing but your own annoying thoughts and the snacks laid out in front of you with no one to share them with. 

Same time tomorrow, my ass, you think bitterly, aggressively straightening a stack of receipts near the register that don’t even need straightening. 

Heeseung’s voice from a few days ago still rings in your head—completely, and unfortunately, uninvited.

You don’t even know why they’re stuck in there, his words looping around, constantly taunting you.

The worst part?

His words had been entirely untrue.

Because it’s been three days.

Three full days since Heeseung has walked through those automatic doors, plopped down in his usual seat, and proceeded to either a) annoy you, b) argue with you over his food-related crimes, or c) make you laugh against your will.

And you don’t know why it’s bothering you so much.

Frustrated? Yeah, you’re frustrated. But the real question is—at what, exactly?

Frustrated that he just disappeared without so much as a heads-up? No warning?

Or maybe you’re frustrated at the very fact that you’re even thinking about this at all.

It’s not like he owes you an explanation. It’s not like he belongs to this store…or to you.

So why does it feel like something’s missing every time you glance at the entrance, half-expecting to hear the ding of the doors and see him stroll in with his stupid hoodie and even stupider smirk?

You shake your head, trying your best to snap yourself out of it.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You don’t care.

You don’t care so much that, for some reason unbeknownst to you, your brain—your traitorous, overthinking, hardworking brain—itches with a thought.

A stupid, ridiculous, subconscious thought.

And before you can fully even process what you’re doing, your fingers are already unlocking your phone, your thumbs moving on autopilot as you do something you swore you wouldn’t.

You search up his name.

It’s pathetic. It’s sad. Even you’re disappointed in yourself. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t associate Heeseung with his job, with the persona that everyone else sees. Because to you, Heeseung is just…Heeseung—the insomniac who bickers with you every night, who somehow turns every conversation into an argument he has to win, who sits cross-legged with you behind the register eating spicy noodles and giving objectively bad movie recommendations.

And to him? 

Well. You thought that to him, you were just you. Just some convenience store worker he happened to befriend. Someone outside of his world, outside of the blinding lights. Someone he didn’t have to be anyone around. 

His words echo in your mind as you think—just a person he could tell anything and everything to. 

You push the thought along with their feelings down as you continue scrolling—quick, desperate, your fingers flying over your screen, swiping through posts, comments, anything that could explain his sudden absence—

And then. 

You see it.

A tweet. 

Tagging his group, followed by a message. It’s short. Sweet. Simple. 

Yet entirely soul-crushing. 

“Can’t believe they’re leaving for tour already tomorrow! So excited to see them in a few days!!” 

Your breath catches. 

Your eyes flicker over the words again.

And again.

Leaving. For tour.

Tomorrow.

Your stomach twists violently as you scan for more confirmation, your hands gripping your phone with a newfound frustration as you tap through articles, fan accounts—anything to tell you this isn’t real. That there’s some mistake. That you didn’t just foolishly spend three days waiting for someone who was never going to show up.

But there it is. Everywhere. Right in front of you.

Confirmed dates. Cities. Posters.

Heeseung is leaving. Tomorrow.

And he didn’t say a word.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring at your screen. The words all blur together, but the sinking feeling in your chest is sharp, clear, and undeniable.

And you hate it.

You hate that you feel like this. You hate that your first instinct wasn’t to be happy for him, or proud, or even remotely understanding.

Instead, you’re angry. Upset. Hurt.

And what you hate the most?

You know exactly why you feel this way.

And just as that realization settles in—just as the blur of your feelings finally sharpens into something unmistakable, something you can no longer ignore—the familiar ding of the automatic doors cuts through the quiet store and the screaming thoughts in your head.

You almost don’t look up.

Almost.

But then you do, and your stomach drops.

Because there he is.

You blink, because at first you think maybe you’ve been drowning in your thoughts for so long that you’ve started hallucinating him—manifesting his presence out of sheer frustration towards him.

But, no.

Heeseung stands there, at the entrance, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, looking at you like nothing’s changed.

Like he hasn’t been gone for days, like he hasn’t left you suffering with your own emotions—like he hasn’t been the only thing on your mind even when you really, really, didn’t want him to be.

“Hey,” Heeseung nods at you casually, walking over to his usual stupid aisle, grabbing his usual stupid Extra Spicy Hellfire, then reaching for his usual stupid coffee milk—all like clockwork, all like he never left.

You don’t respond.

Instead, you busy yourself—wiping the spotless corner of your counter, smoothing out a crumpled receipt, pretending you’re looking for something in the shelves beneath you.

Anything to keep yourself from looking at him.

And you might actually lose it.

Because if you have to stand here and pretend like you’re fine, that these past few days haven’t felt like an eternity for you—you might actually lose it.

Heeseung finally walks up to the counter, places his things between you, then pauses before repeating, tilting his head, “Hey?” 

He shifts slightly, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

A beat passes. Then another.

“You mad at me or something?” he asks, his head still tilted, his voice light, hesitant.

You inhale, your fingers subconsciously tightening around the edge of the counter.

Then, you let out a quiet laugh—an empty, humorless scoff.

“Should I be?”

Heeseung frowns, clearly confused, “What?”

You finally look at him. And you think it was a mistake. Because the second you meet his gaze—uncertain, searching, so annoyingly familiar—you feel your throat close up.

He looks the same. Same stupid hoodie. Same messy hair. Same tired eyes that you’ve somehow come to find comfort in.

And that makes you hate this even more.

“Is this because I haven’t been showing up?” Heeseung tries again, a small, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Damn, I didn’t realize you’d miss me that much. Sorry, Graveyard Shift Gi—”

“When were you going to tell me?”

Your voice is quiet, but he doesn’t miss it.

And he stills.

There it is.

He shifts in his spot again, his eyes now darting down to where his fingers are tapping against the counter.

“What?” he says again, but this time, it’s different. Careful.

You swallow, forcing down the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to look at him.

“When were you going to tell me you were leaving?”

It’s soft. Barely above a whisper. But lined with something raw, something vulnerable, something hurting.

And Heeseung hears all of it. He feels all of it.

He doesn’t answer. He just stares at you, lips pressing into a thin line.

Somewhere in the background, the clock continues ticking, the lights overhead buzzing, a song from the speakers humming.

And Heeseung stays silent.

“You weren’t,” you murmur, the words caught in your throat. “Were you?”

Heeseung exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, “I—” 

He stops. Starts again. 

“It’s not—it wasn’t—”

You cross your arms tightly, more so to ground yourself more than anything.

He lets out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head.

“Look,” he gestures vaguely, between you, at the store, at the shelves, at the space you’ve unknowingly carved out for him here. “This—this is the only thing that’s felt normal for me in a long time.”

Your stomach twists.

“Everything else—my whole life, it’s all…chaos. But this?” He swallows, his eyes finally looking up to meet your gaze, his voice quieter now. “You?”

His eyes flash with something new, something softer, something that lingers in the way he looks at you. The same way he has over late-night snack feasts, whispered movie nights, conversations that blended into the early mornings. 

“You’re the closest thing to normal I’ve had.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because you get it. You know him, so you understand.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he was going to leave without telling you.

You inhale slowly, your heavy gaze holding his.

“So what?” your voice is still quiet, but now edged with a new sharpness. “You thought if you didn’t say anything, it wouldn’t have to be real?”

Heeseung presses his lips together. “I thought maybe if I didn’t say it, I wouldn’t have to lose this yet.”

Your breath catches.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

Heeseung didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to ruin this.

Whatever this is.

Whatever the two of you had built over the weeks between instant noodles and snacks, between arguments over food choices, between all the unspoken moments that made you feel like maybe, maybe, this was something more.

You let out a wavering breath, shaking your head, “That’s not fair, Heeseung.”

“I know,” his voice is rough now, like he’s tired of saying it. Like he’s already told himself a million times and accepted it. Like he wants you to just accept it and move on.

But you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t know how!” His voice rises in frustration, an exasperated sigh slipping out. “Because you—this—whatever this is, it started feeling real. Too real. And I just didn’t want to fuck it up, alright?”

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, everything you’ve been trying so hard to ignore, every feeling you’ve been trying to convince yourself wasn’t there, is suddenly painfully undeniable.

And worse than realizing how real this is?

Knowing that Heeseung knows it, feels it, too. 

But heavier than that realization is the anger.

Not just at the situation.

Now, at Heeseung.

“So you thought it’d be better to just disappear instead?” Your voice shakes, biting down on the thick emotion rising in your throat. “You didn’t even think to tell me.”

Heeseung steps closer, and for the first time tonight, you see it—his own frustration bubbling beneath his surface, the barely restrained emotion.

“What does it matter, Y/N?” his sharp voice cuts through the heavy air lingering between you. “What difference would it—would you—have made? It’s not like this was ever going to change anything.”

Your heart stops.

At that, you falter, and Heeseung sees it.

He sees the way your eyes move away from his. He sees the way your posture suddenly deflates, as if his words physically hurt you.

Because they do.

Because you know what he’s saying.

He’s leaving. And you’re staying.

And no matter what, no matter the amount of realness, no matter what either of you feel—that was always going to be the reality.

“Right,” you finally say, your voice dangerously close to giving out. “Because it’s not like any of this really meant anything, right? At least not enough for you to acknowledge.”

Now your words hurt.

Heeseung winces. His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Then finally—

“…I don’t know,” he mutters.

The final crack.

You let in a sharp inhale, nodding once, your lips pressed into a straight line. “Got it.”

Heeseung clenches his jaw, like he wants to take the words back, like he wants to fix whatever just broke between you.

Instead, he exhales, stepping back from the counter, “I should go.”

This time, you don’t stop him.

You don’t say anything at all.

Heeseung hesitates for a half second, like maybe—just maybe—he’s waiting for you to say something.

But you don’t. 

Not when you feel so utterly lost in everything you’re feeling that you can’t even begin to put into words. 

So he nods once, shoving his hands back into his pockets, turning away.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting you.

Cold air rushes in.

And then—he’s gone.

And you?

You’re left at the counter, staring at his abandoned cup of ramen, untouched coffee milk, and the ghost of something that never got the chance to be.

Heeseung doesn’t think. 

He wasn’t thinking four days ago, when the space between you two had grown impossibly small—when he was this close to you, when the air felt thick with something unspoken, yet undeniable, something that made his pulse race and his breath hitch. 

He wasn’t thinking when he let fear creep in, when the weight of him realizing his own feelings sent him running, keeping him from stepping foot into the store at all. For three days. 

He wasn’t thinking when he looked you in the eye last night and told you this didn’t matter. That none of it ever did. 

He wasn’t thinking when he walked out of the store, leaving you to think that you didn’t matter to him. That you never did. 

And he definitely isn’t thinking now, when he’s supposed to be leaving for the airport in an hour, but instead—his feet pound against the pavement, tearing through the empty, quiet streets like a man possessed, like maybe if he runs fast enough, he can outrun the regret clawing in his chest. 

The cold air stings against his face, streetlights flicker overhead, and the city hums all around him—but none of it matters. None of it even registers. 

Because all Heeseung knows, all he cares about, is getting to you.

Because Heeseung?

He can go months on tour without his Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen.

He can go months on tour without his coffee milk.

He can go months on tour without those, even if it means braving his insomnia.

But what he can’t go without?

Heeseung can’t—he won’t—go months on tour knowing you think you meant nothing to him. That you didn’t bring him relief after the longest days, laughter when he forgot how to find it, comfort in a world that never slowed down for him.

That you weren’t the one thing that felt real in a life that so often didn’t.

And if there’s even the smallest chance to fix this—to make sure you know—then nothing else matters.

The neon glow of the convenience store sign comes into view, and Heeseung’s heart lurches in his chest as he approaches, his staggered breathing visible in the cold air in front of him, his hands clammy.

He stumbles through the sliding doors, the familiar ding barely registering in his mind as his eyes dart around—only for his stomach to drop.

The counter is empty. The soft sound of your absentminded humming, the teasing lilt of your voice, the annoyed glare in your eyes—it’s all missing.

And all wrong. Too quiet, too empty, too…not you.

Instead, some guy he’s never seen before glances up from behind the register, staring at the way Heeseung just lingers frozen near the entrance.

“Uh,” Heeseung swallows thickly, his voice strained from his sprint. “The girl who usually works nights. Is she here?”

“Oh, Y/N?” the worker raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, she called off tonight.”

Heeseung stills.

You’re not here.

You’re not here.

And it’s his fault.

Because last night, you were here—waiting, hoping, and he walked out on you.

“Oh,” is all Heeseung can manage before he feels the words getting caught in his throat.

His jaw clenches, his stomach twists. The weight of regret settles deep, heavy and unrelenting.

“Right. Okay. Thanks,” he mutters, nodding absently, then turns towards the door.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting him.

Cold air rushes in.

And just as Heeseung steps out—

He sees you.

You.

Right there, walking towards the store, hands shoved into the pockets of your coat, face buried into your scarf.

You stop.

He stops.

For a moment, neither of you move. Neither of you breathe.

The neon glow of the store’s sign reflects off your face, casting a shadow over your widened eyes. A car honks in the distance. A gust of wind blows past.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Heeseung says without thinking, almost breathless.

A small laugh escapes your lips, airy and uncertain, “Yeah, well…neither are you.”

You’re right.

He should be on his way to the airport. Bags packed, schedule set, moving on.

But instead? Instead, he’s here, standing in front of the only person who has ever made him hesitate.

Heeseung takes one step forward, “I was looking for you.”

You tilt your head, your lips pressed together like you’re weighing something in your mind.

Then you take a small step forward.

“And now you’ve found me.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

It comes out all at once and rushed, but utterly honest. Honest and heavy, the way it’s been aching in his chest—and he can’t hold it in anymore.

You blink, unmoving.

“I’m so sorry,” Heeseung says again, stepping closer. His voice is steady, gentle, but nervous, scared you won’t believe him. “For everything. For not telling you. For leaving like that. For being a completely fucking idiot about—”

He stops. The look in his eyes is vulnerable, genuine. Longing.

“About this. Us.”

You don’t say anything right away, just watching him carefully.

Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, letting out a dry laugh as he realizes he’s about to lay everything out bare.

“I think I was scared,” he admits. “Of what it all meant. Of what you meant to me. I kept telling myself none of it was real, that it didn’t matter. But then I walked out yesterday and, I realized—”

He swallows hard, looking at you and the way your eyes soften with something unreadable.

“It does. You do. So, so much, Y/N.”

Another pause.

Then, you let out a soft exhale, shaking your head, as if something’s finally clicking into place, “I’m sorry too.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows burrow in confusion.

“For not—,” you sigh, your hands now fidgeting with the ends of your scarf. “For not saying something sooner. Because the truth is, I’ve been denying it too. I didn’t even realize how much I—how much you meant to me until I saw you last night and…”

You trail off, your cheeks warming. Then, with a deep inhale, you take another step closer, meeting his gaze from an arm’s length away.

“I was just so angry and upset, but I think…I realized it’s only because I like you, Heeseung. So much.”

Heeseung swears his heart stops. It feels like his whole world has just shifted, and all his thoughts are tangled up in the way you’re looking up at him now.

“And…I should’ve been more understanding,” you add softly. “I shouldn’t have held it against you like you owed me something. I was just hurt, and I didn’t know how to handle it, honestly.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, not when his thoughts are running wild and his heart is beating like it’s about to fully grow legs and escape.

Then, he exhales a breath of relief.

And lets out a quiet laugh to himself.

You blink at him.

“We’re both idiots,” he says finally, shaking his head softly. 

A small, knowing smile dances on your lips, your eyes locking onto his, “Yeah. Looks like it.”

The tension eases. Just a little.

Heeseung takes a small step closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off of you, despite the cold air surrounding you both. 

“So now what?”

You tilt your head as you look up at him, eyes searching his, “Aren’t you supposed to be catching a flight soon?”

Heeseung’s breath hitches.

Because he knows he should say yes.

That’s what’s been planned all along. That’s the reality.

But, for the first time—

He hesitates.

“Maybe."

Your eyes narrow slightly, a playful glare sparking in them, "Maybe?"

Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering at the nape of his neck. "Yeah. Maybe."

The warmth in his chest spreads when he sees the way you bite back a smile, the way your weight shifts just the tiniest bit closer—like you're testing the space between you.

Then, you reach into the tote bag slung around your shoulder and pull something out. 

“Here.”

You press a small bottle of coffee milk into his hands.

Heeseung stares at it in his hands.

Then at you.

And you’re looking at him with something gentle—something that makes his chest tighten in the best way possible, something that makes the world feel just a tiny bit warmer.

“Just in case you need a reminder,” you say, your voice light and grounding. “Of what’s normal.”

Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and suddenly—everything makes sense. 

The missing piece clicks into place as the static in his mind all fades away, leaving only this—only you. 

You, standing here in front of him, looking at him with that small, steady smile, and Heeseung knows. 

He's never been more sure of anything in his life.

A laugh escapes him before he even realizes it, soft and breathless, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, where warmth curls all around it, wrapping around his own heart like a quiet, undeniable truth. His heart races and his fingers tighten around the bottle in his hands—slightly trembling, not from nerves, but from the realization of something so much bigger. Something so much realer. 

And then, without even thinking, he steps forward like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and closes the small space between you before wrapping his arms around you. He pulls you in, slow but certain, with a gentleness that catches you by surprise. 

You freeze, breath catching, but only for a second. Because then—like a reflex, you melt into him, your own arms tightening around him.

Holding onto him just as much as he’s holding onto you.

Neither of you say anything.

There’s a quiet calm between you two—no need for words, just the rhythm of your heart beating against his own. Steady, calming, like it’s syncing with his, like they’ve always known each other’s pace.

Like they’ve been moving in tandem all along, even when neither of you realized it. 

And in a way, maybe that’s just how it’s always been with you two—balancing on the fine line between pushing and pulling, between sharp words and lingering glances, between pretending you didn’t care, yet feeling everything all at once. 

So easy to cross, so easy to blur, so easy to mistake for something else. 

Maybe you spent all this time thinking you were standing on opposite sides, only to realize you were always moving toward the same place.

And now, as one of his arms moves across your back, the other threading gently through your hair, holding the back of your head against his chest like he never wants to let you go, his heartbeat still steady against yours, you know for certain—

You were never meant to stay on one side. 

You were always meant to cross it. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore?

However—

There are three things—three sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness.

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course.

The second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

Yes, it’s a weird combo. And no, he still doesn’t care.

And the third?

You.

And honestly?

You’re the only one he really needs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it to the end, i'll ship u some extra spicy hellfire ramen & coffee milk rn ! <3 luv u mwahmwahmwah !

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list pt.1 (luv u all):

@xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaaah @heejamas @jiyeons-closet @sagegreenhairclip @betda @ineedsomezzz @motherscrustytoenailclippings @bussolares @soobnuuy @deluluscenarios @chrrific @vvenusoncasual @rairaiblog @mwahvvis @lveegsoi @desssss-0 @hoonkishoe @sunhyeswife @ilovbeshotaro @dearestdreamies @starry-eyed-bimbo @planetmarlowe @lovialy @ambi01 @elairah @therealmrsbahng @lov4hoon @hollxe1 @lovenha7 @ilovhoonie @coqhee @i03jae @letwiiparkjay @manuosorioh @mintysunoo @amiraazzz @renaishun @enhadd @ikeulove @starniras @heartheejake @zaycie

(bolded didn't let me tag, sorry :( )

[velvet-milk]

──── everybody knows that i'm a good boy, officer...

❤︎──── pairing: dick grayson x officer!reader.

❤︎──── summary: ❛❛as the newest cop on blüdhaven’s force, you hated masked freaks. nightwing, the masked freak himself, wants nothing more than your delicious, sweet approval. and maybe your naked body.❞

WARNINGS. dick wants your pussy so much he looks fucking stupid. 18+, jerking off. authority kink on his part. he loves a hot woman in uniform. hints of sub nightwing. female reader. officer reader. ©velvet-milk.

❤︎──── The first time he saw you, he had just taken down two armed robbers outside a liquor store — easy work, nothing fancy. A normal friday night for him. Dick was still catching his breath, escrima sticks holstered, the night wind tugging at his suit as he turned toward the flashing lights of the approaching squad car.

He muttered something to Oracle about the cops in the area and cut his comms. The flashing lights bathed the street in red and blue, casting just enough glow to catch the look you gave him — bored, patronizing, and vaguely amused. But the moment the window rolled down, he got hit with your full pretty face. And rude tone.

"Sweetheart, I know times are hard and stuff, but soliciting’s still a crime in this part of town."

Nice.

Your partner let out a strangled noise beside you. She leaned toward you like she could physically stop the words from coming out of your mouth, but it was far, far too late. You didn’t flinch. Just blew a bubble with your gum and popped it. Dick glanced down at himself — the skintight suit, the very iconic symbol across his chest — then looked back up at you.

"I literally just stopped a robbery."

You shrugged, unimpressed. "Cool. And I just filed a report. We all have hobbies."

To his credit, Dick didn’t get mad. Just gave you this slow, stunned little laugh, like he wasn’t sure if he was offended or intrigued.

"Wow. And here I thought I had a decent relationship with the BHPD after all these years."

You smiled sweetly, razor-sharp. "Oh, don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against sex workers."

Your partner in the passenger seat looked like she wanted to crawl into the glove compartment. She pressed a hand to her face and whispered, horrified, "Oh my God… that’s Nightwing."

You didn’t even flinch.

"Night-who?" you said, glancing at her like she’d just made up a word. "Why would I know his stage name?"

She turned to you, pale. "He’s, like… famous. National superhero famous."

Yeah, he fucking was. Thank you very much.

He took one last look at you — still lounging behind the wheel, smirking like you hadn’t just verbally curb-stomped a national hero. The other cop couldn’t even meet his eyes. Poor woman looked like she wanted to dissolve into her seat from secondhand embarrassment.

"Have a good night, officer," he said, voice clipped but smooth.

Then he turned on his heel, tapped his comms. "Oracle, remind me to review Blüdhaven precinct relations tomorrow," he muttered, raising his escrima stick and firing the grapple line. "Preferably before I set myself on fire again."

The line snapped taut, and he vanished into the night sky.

❤︎──── Of course he kept tabs on you after that night. You called him a hooker, straight to his face, and somehow looked obscenely hot while doing it. What was he supposed to do after that? Move on?

He was a simple man. A simple man with a morally flexible sense of privacy and way too much access to high-end surveillance tech. At the moment, he had four tabs open on the BHPD’s internal database. When Babs and Tim asked, he muttered something about "tracking a person of interest in the department."

Which, technically, wasn’t a lie. You were very interesting. You had a sharp mouth, a mean stare, perfect lips, and the kind of tits that made even the Nightwing suit feel a little tight.

"Yeah," he mumbled to himself, eyes fixed on your ID photo. "That’s the suspect. Definitely her."

He kept digging. It wasn’t enough to memorize your patrol schedule and ID badge, no, he had to go deeper. He found your Police Academy files. Graduated top of your class. Commendations in firearms, tactical response, and, of course, disciplinary reports for "insubordination" and "excessive sarcasm."

Then came your field test footage. Blurry body cam recordings. One of you talking down a suspect at gunpoint with zero backup. Another of you pinning a guy twice your size to the hood of a cruiser.

Very sexy of you, officer.

So he kept in close contact with the BHPD — closer than he needed to, if anyone was being honest about it. It had been years since Dick hung up the badge. But as Nightwing, he still had full access to department files, incident reports, internal memos, almost everything. All the tools of his former life, right at his fingertips.

And he’d been using them for one very specific reason. You. Every report you wrote, every arrest logged under your badge number, every disciplinary note with your name at the top, he read them all. More than once. It wasn’t intel gathering anymore. It was something else.

Something worse.

And you looked at him like he was a freak, every single time he showed up at a crime scene near your precinct. Last time, there was a body on the floor, half a dozen uniforms already securing the perimeter, and you crouched low, gloves on, examining blood spatter like it was just another tuesday. He tried to offer something helpful, something sharp, something detective-y.

You didn’t even look up.

"Sure thing, doll," you said, tone dry as bone. "Let me know if you wanna borrow a flashlight."

Then you stood, brushed past him, and kept working. He was still standing there ten seconds after you walked away, jaw tight, pride stinging, wondering what the hell was wrong with him that that turned him on. The dismissal. The uniform. The way your hips moved when you walked.

Jesus, he hadn’t been that hard in months.

Later that night he found himself alone in his apartment, right after patrol, hand wrapped tight around his cock, jerking off with embarrassing urgency to the mental image of your thighs straining against those uniform pants. He moaned softly, his thumb touching his leaking tip.

Dick could almost see it when he closed his eyes with a tiny whimper.

You, officer, climbing into his lap in the backseat of your cruiser, straddling him like you owned him. Belt undone, holster still strapped to your thigh. His hands cuffed behind him, helpless to do anything but take it.

You’d ride him so fucking hard, your pretty little pussy gripping him tight, warm and soaked around his cock. One hand tangled in his black hair, yanking when he got too mouthy, the other braced against the fogged-up glass of the car window as your hips slammed down, again and again, using him like a fucking toy.

He’d choke on a groan, eyes rolling back, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, because you wouldn’t let him finish until you were done. Until you were shaking on top of him, breathless and spent, nails dragging down his chest.

He came faster than he wanted to. Pathetic, really. He groaned your name like a fucking prayer, teeth sunk into his own wrist to keep quiet, while hot, messy cum spilled over his fist, his stomach, his shirt — hips jerking up off the mattress, desperate for more.

Desperate for you.

He looked up at the ceiling with a sigh, hands still sticky with his own cum like some desperate, horny teenager who’d never even touched a woman.

What the hell had you done to him, officer?

[hainge]

While mama is away...

bllk!dads summary:You’re off on a well-deserved vacation, and it’s Dad’s turn to take care of the morning school/daycare chaos (but not for everyone). But don’t worry, they are trying.

characters: Michael Kaiser, Itoshi Rin, Itoshi Sae, Nagi Seishiro, Shidou Ryusei, Chigiri Hyoma and Isagi Yoichi

Michael Kaiser and Felix (5)

"Your hair looks like a mop with regrets."

Kaiser wakes to the rhythmic sound of tiny fists slapping wood, not his face, thankfully, but his bedroom door. Each knock is punctuated with a little voice that sounds way too calm for this level of passive aggression.

"You forgot to prep my uniform like you promised."

Kaiser groans, dragging a pillow over his face. "That can’t be right. I swear I laid it out." His voice is hoarse. His brain is not yet connected to his limbs.

"You didn’t. Mama always does it the night before. Organized people do that. You are not one of them."

He peeks out from the pillow. Felix is standing there in blue footie pajamas, arms crossed like a tiny HR rep preparing to file a complaint. His hair is somehow perfectly brushed, probably brushed it himself. Probably judged Kaiser in the mirror while doing it.

Kaiser stumbles up and scans the room. There’s no sign of a uniform. Just a mountain of track pants, training jerseys, and a rogue shin guard sitting on a chair like a depressed accessory.

"Okay, okay. We’ll find it. Let me just—"

Felix sighs with the kind of disappointment that ages a man ten years. "This is why I schedule things. Mama says time is a tool, and you're just swinging it around like a sword in the dark."

"You're a kid" Kaiser squints at him.

"And yet, I'm thriving."

Breakfast is chaos, wrapped in good intentions and sealed with failure.

Kaiser, in boxers and one sock, confidently pours chocolate chip cookie cereal into a bowl like it’s a gift to mankind.

"No," Felix says immediately, deadpan.

Kaiser blinks. "What do you mean no?"

"I want the star cereal. With the astronaut bear on the box."

"We don’t have astronaut cereal. I checked."

Felix picks up his dinosaur cup, takes a long, judgmental sip of water, and sets it down like he's a seasoned divorce attorney about to deliver a verdict.

"Then you failed twice."

"Okay, I’m improvising!" Kaiser declares, dramatically. "That’s called flexibility. Champions adapt."

"You made me a bowl of disappointment"

The kid turns on his heel and stomps toward the living room.

"Play Paw Patrol."

Kaiser sighs and flips it on. The theme song blasts while he toasts bread and slices a banana, trying to channel his inner domestic god. Felix sulks under a blanket on the couch, his face barely visible, eyes fixed on Sky like she’s the only creature who gets him.

"Are you mad at Papa?" Kaiser asks, creeping over with the toast like a peace offering.

"disappointed."

Kaiser recoils. "That’s worse!"

In the car, the silence is palpable until Felix decides to reopen the case file.

"Your hair looks weird."

Kaiser glances in the rearview. "It’s bedhead. I didn’t get to do anything to it."

"You look like a mop with regrets."

Kaiser nearly swerves into a dramatic spiral. "You’re still young and vulnerable. You’re supposed to love me unconditionally."

Felix shrugs. "Love doesn’t mean enabling."

Kaiser stares at him for a moment too long at a red light. "Are you sure you’re five?"

"I’m advanced."

He squints. "You don’t have, like, dwarfism or something? Because your tongue is ancient."

Felix tilts his head, unbothered. "Maybe you just need to grow up."

Kaiser exhales. "This is why your mama needs to come home."

Itoshi Rin and Masako (7)

“You’re brushing my spine. My hair is higher than that.”

Rin Itoshi was not ready.

And he’s been in World Cup finals. He’s played in front of millions of people. He’s stared down some of the best strikers in the world. But none of that prepared him for the soft pink battlefield that is Masako’s bedroom at 7 a.m.

He’s standing there, clutching a hairbrush like it personally offended him, staring down his tiny opponent: a seven-year-old in a unicorn nightgown, legs swinging calmly over the edge of her bed, smiling like she’s about to give him performance feedback.

"Morning, Papa," Masako says sweetly, eyes shining with innocence and a hint of dread.

"Hey, baby. Let’s get you dressed, yeah?"

"Okay. Mama usually does it while I tell her about my dreams, and then we do affirmations. But you can do it your way."

Rin pauses. "Affirmations?"

"You know. ‘I am brave, I am strong, I am smart, I am kind.’" She tilts her head. "Mama says it rewires my neurons."

Rin has no idea what that means. He awkwardly clears his throat. "You are… all of those. Very… neuron-y."

Masako beams. "Good try."

He opens the dresser drawer and grabs a blue dress with little daisies on it.

"That’s the Tuesday dress," she says without even looking.

Rin blinks. "It’s… Friday?"

She points. "Mama folds them in day-order. See the little tags?"

There are labels. Actual tiny labeled dividers — "MONDAY," "TUESDAY," "WEDNESDAY" — staring up at him like proof he’s unfit for this mission.

He stares into the drawer like it betrayed him. "I feel lied to by fabric."

Masako pats his arm gently. "It’s okay. I’ll help you. You’re learning."

He finally gets her into the Friday dress after a mild struggle involving backward tights and a missing sock (it was on her hand, pretending to be a puppet named Alice).

Now: the hair.

He lifts the brush, cautiously. Masako gives him a look.

"That’s not the detangle brush."

"It’s a brush," Rin replies flatly.

"The detangle one is the purple one with the soft bristles. And Mama uses the pink spray first. It’s in the cabinet behind the scary face cream."

"My shaving cream?"

"Yes. It’s foamy. I don’t trust it."

He sighs, finds the spray, and squirts half of it into his own eye. Masako blinks politely and hands him a towel like this is routine.

He starts brushing, gently.

"Papa," she says after a few strokes. "You’re brushing my spine. My hair is higher than that."

"I’ve played against international strikers," Rin mutters.

"And now you're brushing the wrong bones."

By some miracle, he gets one (1) braid done. It is crooked. It is struggling. It looks like it just came back from a very windy jog. Masako looks at herself in the mirror, then turns to him with a soft smile.

"You tried. I’ll tell Mama you tried."

"That bad, huh?"

"No. It’s a fashionable tornado. Very abstract. Very… movement."

"You’re so much like your mom, it’s terrifying."

"She said that too."

"Do you do this every morning?" he asks, exhausted, watching her munch on heart-shaped cereal pieces.

"Yup." She chews thoughtfully. "But Mama makes it feel less like a crisis."

"Cool. Cool cool cool."

When he ties her shoelaces and gets them both into the car, both dressed, fed, semi-composed, he lets out a breath like he just finished a 90-minute match in overtime.

From the backseat: "You did good, Papa."

He smiles, warmed.

"Except for my braid. I feel like I can hear it."

"Thanks for your support."

"You’re welcome. You tried really hard. But maybe… don’t quit your day job."

Rin glances in the mirror, mock-offended. "Why are you like this?"

Masako shrugs.

Itoshi Sae, Kimiko(6) and Haruki (4)

“Papa: useless.”

Sae wakes up to the sound of war.

Not actual war, just the six-year-old kind.

"GET UP! WE’RE GONNA BE LATE AND I SWEAR TO EVERYTHING IF I HAVE TO PACK MY OWN LUNCH—"

The voice echoes through the apartment with the fury of a kindergarten general. Sae blinks at the ceiling, sighs, and reaches blindly for the mug already on his nightstand. Cold coffee. He knew this would happen.

A door slams. Feet stomp. A high-pitched rant about someone putting the purple lid on the pink cup.

Welcome to morning with Kimiko.

He shuffles into the kitchen where his daughter, dressed in blue pajamas and righteous purpose, is furiously spreading jam onto toast. She’s standing on a stool, her hair already brushed and braided, a sparkly headband angled with extreme precision.

Her little brother Haruki is laid out face-first on the couch like he passed out mid-protest, blanket over his head, legs kicking idly in the air.

Sae sips his coffee. "Is he breathing?"

Kimiko glances over her shoulder. "Barely. He won’t eat the eggs, and I did the smiley face ketchup thing. Just like Mama. I even gave the eggs eyebrows."

Sae leans on the counter. "You’re terrifying."

Haruki lifts his head an inch. His hair is flattened on one side like a soggy croissant. "I want bread."

Kimiko slaps a hand to her forehead like this is the fourth trial she’s endured today. Sae tosses a slice of bread in Haruki’s direction. It lands on his back. He grunts in approval and flops back down like a tranquilized cat.

Kimiko chugs her milk like it’s a stress reliever. "Hair: brushed. Water bottle: filled. Math homework: complete. Papa: useless."

Sae raises an eyebrow. "At least one of us is thriving."

"I did your and Mama’s job today."

"Should I pay you?"

"Yes. A LOL surprise."

Sae thinks about it, nods slowly. "Only if you stop yelling at Haruki."

"Deal."

Ten minutes later, Kimiko is doing a last-minute inspection of her backpack like a TSA agent. Haruki is under the table, still eating his bread one crumb at a time.

Sae walks over and crouches down. "You gonna make it, champ?"

Haruki gives him a slow, sleepy thumbs up. "Papa’s cool."

"Wow. That’s the highest rating I’ve ever gotten from you."

Kimiko calls from the hallway. "He only compliments people once a week."

On the way out the door, Sae looks down at his son, bed-headed, shoeless, still munching.

"You and me are the same, huh?"

Kimiko turns back around, arms crossed. "you’re both boring."

Sae shrugs.

Kimiko lets out a long, exhausted sigh like she’s raising both of them. "I hope Mama never finds out how bad this was."

"Too late," Sae says, unlocking his phone and pointing at the camera. "I recorded everything. Gonna show her you braided your own hair."

Kimiko gasps. "That’s illegal!"

Haruki looks up. "Tell mama I brushed my teeth."

"You didn’t." she yelled.

Sae sighed. "I thought about it." he smiles faintly as they head out, Kimiko already bossing her brother down the hallway.

Sometimes being a dad felt like being on a team where the coach was six, the star player was asleep under the coffee table, and he was just there to drive the van.

But hey. They were dressed, fed (kind of), and on time. That’s a win.

Nagi Seishiro and Shizuku (4)

“You said that three times already.”

Nagi wakes up to a presence.

Not noise. Not shaking. Just…vibes.

He opens one eye and sees Shizuku standing silently at his bedside, holding her bunny and staring like a tiny, polite ghost. Her hair is a waterfall down her back, too smooth to be legal at this hour.

“…You okay?” he mumbles.

She nods once. Then whispers, “It’s wake-up time now.”

Nagi grunts. “Five more minutes.”

“You already said that three times,” she says, barely audible, like she’s unsure if she’s allowed to correct him.

He flops back down dramatically. “Tragic.”

But she climbs into bed beside him and waits like a quiet judge. Two minutes later, she gently pokes his face.

“...mommy said we can’t be late.”

He groans into the pillow.

In the kitchen, he burns the toast again. Shizuku just blinks at it. She picks up a slice, takes one polite bite, and slowly sets it down like it offended her ancestors.

“I like it less when it’s… smoky,” she says, after a pause.

“Same,” Nagi mutters, already Googling “how to not burn toast.”

The apple slices go untouched. He side-eyes her. “You asked for apples.”

She nods shyly. Then whispers, “I meant the crunchy green ones. Not the sad red ones.”

“Noted. I’ll fire the fruit guy.”

But the real boss fight? Her hair.

Nagi stares into the mirror. Shizuku sits on the bathroom counter in her unicorn pajamas, legs swinging. Her long hair spills behind her like it’s mocking him. The brush is already stuck and it’s been ten seconds.

“Okay,” he says. “This is fine. We’ve trained for this.”

They have not trained for this.

He tries to gather it all into one neat ponytail. It slips through his fingers like magic. Her bangs fall into her face again. He brushes them aside. They fall again. He lets out a single defeated sigh.

“You okay, Papa?” she asks quietly.

“Not really.”

She watches as he tries again. The elastic flies off his fingers and hits the mirror. They both freeze.

Shizuku slowly offers him a second hair tie from her lap like she’s handing over a weapon in a movie.

He attempts a braid. It ends up looking like a sad pretzel.

After thirty exhausting minutes, he gives up.

“…Let’s go wild today.”

She nods. Then whispers, “Like a lion?”

He blinks. “Uhh...yes. A little lion"

They head to the front door. Shizuku, bundled up in her puffy coat, stands quietly while Nagi struggles to zip it all the way. The zipper catches twice. He mutters something about the universe being against him.

“Almost got it,” he says.

Shizuku stares at him. Then carefully holds out one mittened hand and says, “You have to push it up first.”

Nagi blinks. Tries it. It works immediately.

“…When did you learn that?”

She shrugs. “Mama does it.”

Of course.

He grabs her tiny backpack. She reaches up for it like a sleepy executive going to an important meeting. Just as he’s opening the door, she suddenly stops.

“Wait,” she says, frowning. “You forgot your kiss.”

Nagi freezes mid-step. “My what?”

She reaches up, stands on tiptoe, and plants a tiny kiss on his cheek.

“For luck,” she whispers.

He melts.

But as he buckles her into the car seat, she turns serious again.

“Papa?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re still wearing your bunny slippers.”

He looks down. Loafers: missing. Bunny slippers: present.

He groans.

She just nods, calm and composed.

“I won’t tell Mama,” she says quietly.

Nagi stares at her, utterly amused.

Shidou Ryusei and Shoko (6)

“That’s called fashion, babe.”

Shidou kicks open his daughter’s bedroom door like he’s breaking into a villain’s lair.

“RISE AND SHINE, BABY GREMLIN!”

There’s a silence. Then the blanket rustles. A pillow sails through the air like a missile.

“YOU RISE, LOSER!” comes the response, shrill and feral.

She hurls herself off the bed in a flying tackle. Shidou catches her midair and spins her.

“AHHH—MY BONES! I’M TOO YOUNG FOR THIS!”

“YOU’RE 28, ACT YOUR AGE!”

“NEVER!”

Their mornings are less "routine" and more "WWE meets glitter daycare." And today is no exception.

The kitchen smells like chaos.

Shidou is flipping neon pink pancakes with a spatula in one hand and mixing syrup with food coloring in the other.

“We feast like royalty today!” he declares, sliding a plate onto the table with the flourish of a man who’s proud of his crimes.

“Royalty who eats sugar for breakfast and cries at the dentist,” Shoko mutters, unimpressed but already loading up on whipped cream.

“This is called culinary art, thank you very much.”

“You put candy eyes on everything.”

“Because everything should have a soul.”

She snorts, kicking her feet under the table. Her purple unicorn onesie is still half-zipped, and her hair looks like she fought a wind god. Which means—

“Hair time,” Shidou announces ominously.

In the bathroom, she climbs onto the counter while he gets to work. And this is where Shidou actually shines.

You wouldn’t know it by the rest of his lifestyle, but when it comes to his daughter’s hair? He’s a machine.

He sections, detangles, and smooths with laser focus. He could probably braid blindfolded. The final style includes two delicate braids, glitter strands, two color-matching bows, and, at her request, a tiny butterfly clip "for intimidation purposes."

She stares at herself in the mirror with satisfaction.

“I look like a fairy who could commit war crimes,” she says, hands on hips.

Shidou nods. “Exactly the vibe.”

She leans in closer, turning her head from side to side. “It’s giving… magical girl"

“Ten outta ten.”

Speaking of lunch, that’s a whole other thing.

Shidou’s idea of a balanced meal is… questionable. Today, her bento includes: three mini meatball sliders, heart-shaped cucumber slices, rainbow gummy worms, and a juice pouch labeled “Liquid Victory” in marker.

She peeks into the box.

“You forgot the sparkle jelly.”

He gasps. “Oh my god. I’m a disgrace.”

He literally runs to the fridge, grabs a cup of blue sparkle jelly, and slides it in with a bow like he's handing over a rare gem.

They high-five.

Shoko zips up her jacket while Shidou is still trying to put on sneakers with mismatched socks. The morning sun hits her like a spotlight, her glittery hair practically glowing, lunchbox swinging, war-ready energy at max level.

“Alright, tiny menace,” Shidou says, tossing her backpack over her shoulder. “Go wreak some controlled havoc, yeah?”

She grins.

They do a complicated secret handshake that ends in jazz hands.

Then she squints up at him.

“…uhh"

“Yeah?”

She steps forward and gently tugs the hem of his hoodie. “Your pants are inside out again.”

He looks down. Pauses.

“Intentional,” he says confidently. “That’s called fashion, babe.”

She exhales the way a mother does when her child disappoints her.

“You’re welcome.”

They march to the car like a superhero duo. As they approach the school gate, the teacher sees them and visibly braces herself.

Shoko waves sweetly. Shidou throws finger guns.

Chigiri Hyoma, Mayu and Himari (twins, 6)

“Let’s go, bitch!” The morning had started with harmony.

Chigiri was plating up breakfast like he was filming for a cooking channel, tiny waffles with chocolate syrup swirled into art, strawberries fanned out on the side, and little heart-shaped forks placed neatly on matching plates.

“Breakfast is ready” he called out as the twins marched into the kitchen in matching fuzzy slippers.

Mayu slid into her seat with a soft “thank you, Papa,” immediately picking up a strawberry with delicate fingers. Himari, however, stared at her plate like it had personally insulted her.

“Papa,” she said, squinting. “This syrup is… attacking.”

Chigiri turned from the sink. “Attacking?”

“It’s too much. My waffle is drowning. It looks like chocolate soup.”

“It’s the same amount as always,” Chigiri said, tilting his head. “Maybe the syrup bottle was just feeling generous today.”

Himari poked her waffle with the fork like it might explode. “It’s gross.”

Mayu, ever the diplomat, offered sweetly, “I can trade with you if you want. Mine doesn’t have as much—”

“I DON’T WANT YOURS” Himari snapped, eyes wide and brows scrunched. “Why do you always talk when I’m mad? It makes it worse!”

Mayu blinked. Her lip quivered slightly, but she said nothing. Just put down her fork, slipped off her chair, and walked quietly out of the kitchen.

Chigiri froze, one hand holding the juice jug. “Himari…”

She was still glaring at her plate, mumbling, “I didn’t mean it"

Chigiri sighed. “That was pretty harsh. You okay if I go check on her?”

Himari shrugged, then grabbed her waffle with both hands and took an angry bite. “Fine.”

He found Mayu sitting cross-legged on her bed, hugging her stuffed dolphin, blinking very fast.

Chigiri sat beside her, gently brushing her bangs back.

“She didn’t mean it,” he said softly.

Mayu nodded. “I know.”

“But it still hurt,” he added.

Mayu’s chin wobbled. “A little.”

He kissed the top of her head. “That’s okay. You don’t always have to be the nice one, you know. You're allowed to feel things too.”

“I didn’t want her to be more mad,” Mayu whispered. “So I didn’t cry.”

Chigiri smiled and pulled her into a hug. “You’re strong, Mayu. But you don’t have to carry everything alone.”

Back in the kitchen, Himari had eaten her entire waffle and was now staring down the empty plate like it was to blame. She looked up guiltily when they returned.

Mayu gave her a tiny smile.

“I saved you a strawberry,” Himari muttered, sliding it across the table without looking up.

“…Thanks,” Mayu replied, quietly taking her seat again.

Chigiri clapped his hands. “Okay, drama queens. Time to get gorgeous.”

Ten minutes later, Chigiri had perfectly braided Mayu's hair and gave Himari her usual high pigtails. “There, perfect,” he said, fluffing them both up.

Mayu beamed at her reflection. “Thanks, Papa!”

Himari gave a little nod. “can you make them bouncier next time?”

“Of course,” Chigiri said with a sigh.

With their outfits on, Chigiri gave a final once-over. “Clothes: 10/10. Hair: flawless. Now, let’s avoid a glitter explosion before school, yeah?”

Himari huffed. “Fine. No glitter.”

They walked out, looking like a Pinterest-perfect family. Chigiri handed them their lunchboxes and led them to the car.

Ready for the day?” Chigiri asked with a smile.

“Ready!” Mayu said calmly.

“Let’s go, bitch!” Himari cheered.

Chigiri froze, eyes wide, his mouth slightly agape. “Excuse me?”

Himari looked at him with a judgemental look. “What? I’m just hyped for the day!”

Chigiri blinked, still processing the words. “Where... where did you hear that?”

Himari shrugged, unfazed. “From that film we watched this weekend. You fell asleep halfway through, but I watched the rest.”

Chigiri’s face went a shade paler, his mind racing. “What exactly were they saying?”

“Uh, I don’t know... some stuff,” Himari said nonchalantly. “It was funny.”

Chigiri closed his eyes for a brief second, imagining the chaos. He could already picture your reaction if you find out Himari picked up that word. A small shiver ran down his spine.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath, mentally preparing for the inevitable fallout. “Just...fantastic.”

Isagi Yoichi and Isamu (7)

“I don’t get school,” Isagi had made a to-do list the night before. He was determined to make this morning perfect.

To-Do:

Wake up by 6:30

Eggs & toast

Soccer uniform ready

Water bottle filled

Motivation speech (brief)

He wakes up at 6:42. Panic hits like a red card.

His son, Isamu, is sprawled out in bed like he’s auditioning for a starfish role in an ocean documentary.

"Isamu, buddy, time to get up," Isagi says, shaking him gently. "Big day ahead!"

"Ugh," Isamu groans, barely opening an eye. "I want to drop out."

"You’re seven."

"Exactly," Isamu says, rolling over and curling into a blanket burrito.

Isagi’s internal monologue screams as he rushes to the kitchen. Breakfast needs to be perfect. The eggs are half-scrambled, and the toast? Slightly burned. He slides it onto a plate like it's the Mona Lisa of breakfast, though it looks more like abstract art.

"Breakfast, Isamu. You’ll need energy for school!" Isagi says, trying to sound motivational.

Isamu eyes the toast like it’s a science experiment. "What is this...? It’s... not pizza."

"Eat it, or no soccer later," Isagi threatens.

Isamu rolls his eyes dramatically and takes a bite. "You’re so dramatic. I still don’t care about school."

"School is important!" Isagi insists, getting flustered. "You need education to—"

"I’m gonna play soccer," Isamu interrupts, chewing with all the intensity of a man who’s just been told he has a free pizza pass. "Who needs school when you’ve got soccer?"

Isagi ignores the comment and rushes to get his son’s clothes. He’s sure he left them right there on the chair. He checks the chair. Nothing. He checks the floor. Nothing. He checks under the bed, under the table, in the laundry basket.

"Where the heck are they?" Isagi mutters, sweating now. "I swear I put them here."

"Maybe the ghosts took them," Isamu offers nonchalantly from the kitchen, barely glancing up from his toast.

Isagi freezes. "Ghosts? Why would—"

Before he can finish, Isamu shrugs, "I don’t know. Could be."

After a few more frantic minutes of searching (and Isamu offering absolutely no help), Isagi finally finds the soccer uniform under the couch.

"Found it!" Isagi declares, holding it up triumphantly like a knight retrieving a sword.

"About time," Isamu says, unbothered, chewing slowly as if he were watching paint dry.

They race to get out the door. Isagi grabs the water bottle, zips the bag, and notices Isamu’s shoes are mismatched. He doesn’t have time to fix it.

"Teeth brushed?" Isagi asks as he grabs his keys.

"Close enough," Isamu replies with a yawn.

“I love you” Isagi says, feeling a mix of exhaustion and love.

"I love soccer," Isamu replies, not even looking up from his phone game.

Once dressed and vaguely clean, Isamu plops into the car seat like it personally offended him. Isagi starts the engine, already five minutes behind schedule.

The car is quiet until Isamu sighs like he’s been carrying emotional weight since birth.

“I don’t get school,” he mutters.

Isagi glances at him. “What do you mean?”

“I sit in a chair for hours while the teacher tells me triangles are important. For what? Triangles have never scored a goal in their lives.”

Isagi stifles a laugh. “Triangles are used in passing formations.”

“Not emotional triangles. That’s different.”

He stares out the window dramatically. “And you know what else? People lie. Yesterday, this kid told me we were best friends. Then he passed the ball to someone else.”

Isagi hums sympathetically. “Harsh.”

“I’m starting to think school is just a government distraction from my true potential.”

“Which is…?”

“Becoming the best striker”

There’s a pause. Then Isamu adds, “Also, I don’t trust teachers who wear shoes indoors. That's villain behavior.”

Isagi parks in front of the school with a slow breath. “Okay. Big day. Deep breaths.”

Isamu opens the door and mutters, “Time to enter the battlefield.”

bllk!dads

[orphicsun]

warnings: soft dom vi/abby + sub!fem reader, strap-on sex, praise, this is soooo self indulgent.

You'd think your strong girlfriends would be mean to you in bed. You previously imagined their degrading words. You thought that they would be the type to have you fucked dumb, failing to hold in your whimpers as they call you their needy little whore.

They're sweet, but it makes it even worse. They're so unaware of everything they do to you.

Abby and Vi are flexible. They forget you aren't. They fuck you in the most humiliating positions—your legs spread as wide as possible with Abby's grip on the back of your thighs, thrusts not gentle but words surely are.

"That's it, my love. Just be a good girl and take it. Look at our sweet girl, Vi." Abby coos praisingly.

Vi is quick to tease and give you the most sarcastic responses anywhere but in the bedroom. Now, all she can do is sweet talk.

"And a pretty pussy. I bet it's squeezing your dick so tight." Vi adds, her vulgar words causing just what she says. Abby can feel it like a phantom limb, and your clit twitches underneath her large thumb as a tell.

Vi squeezes your tits and leans down to suck on your nipples. Her tongue is warm against your pebbled skin, and you squirm despite Abby's firm hold. She doesn't scold, though. She lets you try and get away, self-assured you'll just lay down and take it until her favorite strap-on has that creamy ring of precum around it.

It's even more embarrassing when Vi gets her turn with you, loving to fuck you sideways. She has you laying on your side, one leg resting and the other hitched up. She lovingly yanks you until your bodies are flush and you can feel the tip of her strap nudge at your cervix.

Abby and Vi don't call you dirty when you turn your head into the pillow and moan a jumble of incoherent begging into the fabric. They think it's cute. Vi pounds you just like that, loving having you fully exposed to her hungry gaze as Abby strokes your cheek like you're not getting fucked into oblivion.

Their staminas are the scariest part of the whole ordeal, though. They can spend hours making you cum--feeling you clench around their fingers, fucking you or rubbing their own pretty, wet cunts against yours, and taking greedy turns tasting your release when you tap out.

And aftercare unfortunately doesn't work. It turns you on again when they're sweet and loving as they clean you up, Abby smothering your skin in soft kisses and Vi holding you against her, bare back to chest. And they won't tease you for wanting more, only carefully laying you back down and stuffing your cunt for the fifth time that night.

taglist: @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @starryeyedlovergirll, @abbysmeatrider, @ferxanda, @frillynpinkprincess, @meow4510, @eriiwaii, @g4ys0n, @mitskimisfit, @ruelezz, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs want to be tagged? click here

[cressidagrey]

Mr Oblivious

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri is absolutely oblivious to the fact that people try to flirt with him. It drives Lando nuts. Felicity finds it very amusing though. 

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Lando Norris had a very simple opinion about Oscar Piastri:

The man was smart, fast, loyal to a fault — And completely, hopelessly, oblivious.

Especially about certain things.

Like, say, the fact that every now and then, some thirsty influencer or overly-friendly interviewer decided they wanted to test their luck around one of McLaren’s golden boys.

Case in point: today.

It was supposed to be a simple media day.

Smile, wave, answer a few questions without accidentally swearing — easy stuff.

And then she showed up.

Some influencer.

Lando didn’t catch her name.

Didn’t want to.

Her outfit was orange enough to suggest she'd Googled "McLaren colors" five minutes before showing up.

 Her laugh was the kind that made Lando want to put himself in an ice bath.

But what really got him was the way she locked eyes on Oscar from the moment she walked into the room.

Like a hawk spotting a particularly delicious rabbit.

And Oscar — sweet, pure, unsuspecting Oscar — stood there politely, posture perfect, nodding like he was about to explain suspension geometry to a cactus.

She sidled up to him with all the grace of a Bond girl in heels, flashing teeth and dimples and Lando could see it coming.

Could see the slow-motion train wreck unfolding with the inevitability of a Ferrari strategy call.

She sidled closer.

Tilted her head. Big fake lashes, even faker laugh.

"So, Oscar," she purred, "looking very fit this season. What's your secret?"

Lando, standing just off to the side, already felt his skin crawl.

Oscar, meanwhile, nodded thoughtfully like she’d asked him about chassis balance.

"Consistency," he said, serious as anything. "And good hydration habits. Also core strength. That’s really important for maintaining control in high G-force corners. I’ve been working with a new strength and conditioning coach. Core engagement and flexibility training. Lots of functional range mobility exercises. Very important for endurance."

Lando nearly dropped the can of Monster Energy he was carrying.

He physically turned away, took a moment to compose himself, and turned back — and she was still going.

She giggled — the kind of giggle Lando associated with botched lip filler and red flags — and twirled her hair like they were in a teen movie from 2004.

"Flexibility, huh?" she said, her voice doing That Thing™. Then winked.

WINKED.

Oscar, God bless him, nodded solemnly.

"Yeah. Critical for cockpit comfort. Limited hip mobility can lead to premature fatigue during longer races."

Lando just stared.

The influencer stared.

Oscar stared earnestly back. Oscar blinked at her with the open innocence of a Labrador Retriever about to explain knee cartilage.

It was like watching someone flirt with a toaster.

And then — then — she tried it.

She went for the kill.

"Well," she said, laughing in a way that definitely wasn't natural, "maybe you could show me some... flexibility exercises later?"

Lando choked on air.

Oscar, bless him, just looked mildly puzzled.

Lando’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

Oscar thought she wanted workout advice.

Meanwhile, this woman was basically trying to climb him like a tree.

"I mean," Oscar said, frowning thoughtfully, "I guess? If you’re interested in physiotherapy protocols? There's a lot of hip flexor and thoracic mobility involved."

He paused.

"Although," Oscar added very seriously, completely unaware he was standing in a verbal minefield, “you should always get a doctor’s clearance before starting any high-intensity exercise program.”

The influencer blinked.

Lando stared at the heavens.

Why.

Why had the universe given this man a marriage, a child, and a heart of gold, but no flirting radar whatsoever.

Lando was so angry on Oscar’s behalf he actually saw red.

Because it wasn’t just the flirting.

It was the disrespect.

Oscar — who had a wife who fixed racing models better than half the paddock. Oscar — who had a four-year-old daughter who beat engineers at Sudoku. Oscar — who literally carried his entire family in his heart wherever he went.

He wasn’t available.

He wasn’t interested.

And he damn well deserved to have people respect that without needing to tattoo MARRIED. TAKEN. HAS A BUMBLEBEE-OBSESSED DAUGHTER across his forehead.

And then — because clearly the universe wanted to personally test Lando’s self-control — the influencer winked.

Like, full-on, slow-motion, cartoon-style winked at Oscar.

Oscar blinked back, confused.

Then said, very seriously:

"You should also stretch regularly to avoid cramping."

Lando actually made a noise — somewhere between a groan and a dying animal.

The influencer tried to recover, laughing awkwardly, but Oscar had already turned — calm, unfazed — and was politely thanking the PR rep for organizing the media day.

Lando stormed over, practically vibrating with protective rage.

"Mate," he hissed when Oscar finally wandered off-stage, "you realize she was hitting on you, right?"

Oscar frowned. "Was she?"

"YES," Lando hissed, arms flailing. "She was basically ready to throw herself at you!”

Oscar looked genuinely perplexed.

"But... I’m married."

"YES," Lando repeated, louder, like he was explaining quantum physics to a pigeon. "You are married. You have a kid. You are the dictionary definition of off-limits."

Oscar scratched the back of his neck.

"Maybe she didn’t know?"

"She definitely knew," Lando muttered darkly. "You are actually wearing your wedding ring for once and Bee’s little bead bracelet. You might as well walk around holding a sign that says 'I love my wife and daughter more than oxygen.'"

Oscar shrugged, entirely unfazed.

"I mean... it’s true."

Lando stared at him.

Somewhere between admiration and absolute rage.

When they reached the McLaren motorhome, Felicity was there — perched on the couch, Bee asleep with her head on Felicity’s lap, Button the Frog tucked under her tiny arm.

Oscar’s whole face lit up like a sunrise.

He crossed the room without hesitation, dropped a kiss onto Felicity’s hair, and gently stroked Bee’s back.

Felicity smiled up at him, all soft and warm and easy, like they had a language no one else could hear.

Lando stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching it all unfold.

Watching how Oscar's whole world just locked into place around them, without hesitation, without second thought.

Yeah.

Let them flirt. Let them try.

Oscar Piastri had everything he needed right here. And he was smart enough — good enough — to never even glance anywhere else.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1TeaSpill: BREAKING: Influencer tries to flirt with Oscar Piastri.

Oscar responds with “core strength” and “doctor’s clearance.”

Meanwhile, Lando Norris nearly combusts in the background.

[attached: video clip]

@/pitlanechaos: Not Oscar offering that woman a PHYSIOTHERAPY REFERRAL I’m losing it. He thought she wanted professional advice. He’s too pure for this world.

@/felicityfanclub (pinned tweet):

‼️OSCAR PIASTRI IS MARRIED

‼️HE LOVES HIS WIFE

‼️HE LOVES HIS DAUGHTER

‼️HE IS OBLIVIOUSLY LOYAL

‼️AND WE ARE HERE TO DEFEND HIS GOLDEN RETRIEVER ENERGY

@/formulawoah: This man said “consult your doctor” instead of realizing she was flirting. He’s not oblivious. He’s loyal at a molecular level.

@/landohmygod: Lando Norris being 1 second away from lunging across the paddock like an angry chihuahua deserves its own Emmy. He was FIGHTING for Oscar’s honor.

@/suspension_nerd: If I was that influencer and Oscar hit me with “thoracic mobility is important” when I was trying to flirt, I would simply evaporate on the spot.

@/gridgossip: This man has a wife who fixes telemetry errors in her sleep, and makes him bento boxes everyday. AND A DAUGHTER WHO BEATS ENGINEERS AT SUDOKU. What did you THINK was going to happen??

@/F1psychology: Watching Oscar Piastri react to flirting like it's a sports injury safety video is the most fascinating psychological case study I’ve ever seen. Also, Lando's visible rage is priceless.

***

Oscar waited until Bee was down for the night.

She’d fallen asleep curled up around Button the Frog, one arm flung dramatically across her pillow like she was staging a nap-themed protest. He’d kissed her forehead and tucked the blanket under her chin, switching the night light to its soft pink glow before slipping out of her room on quiet feet.

He figured... if Felicity was going to hate him, she probably shouldn’t have to do it in front of their daughter.

Which was stupid. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

But the pit in his stomach wouldn’t go away.

He was sweating, suddenly aware of how clingy the collar of his t-shirt felt. His hands wouldn’t sit still — twitching, tapping, twisting his wedding ring around and around until the skin beneath it burned.

He felt fifteen again. Awkward and uncertain and too full of words he didn’t know how to say.

And then Felicity padded into the living room, hair twisted into a lazy bun, bare feet soft against the floorboards, wearing one of his old McLaren hoodies that hung off her like it still didn’t understand how it ended up lucky enough to be wrapped around her.

She looked soft. Tired. Safe.

She smiled when she saw him, sweet and a little sleepy, like she was expecting him to ask about what tea she wanted or whether he’d remembered to order oat milk.

Oscar nearly chickened out.

Instead, he sat up straighter — awkward and abrupt — and blurted:

"Someone tried to flirt with me today."

Felicity blinked.

Tilted her head slightly, eyebrows raised — curious, not alarmed.

"Okay," she said, in the same tone she might use if he told her they were out of clean towels.

Oscar frowned.

"No, like — really tried. At a media thing. In front of cameras."

She just blinked again. Still calm. Still patient.

Still not mad.

Just... waiting.

Oscar swallowed.

"And I didn’t realize it was flirting until Lando nearly had an aneurysm."

That earned him a real laugh — soft, sudden, surprised. The kind of laugh she gave him when Bee said something absurd or when Oscar accidentally fixed something in the kitchen by whacking it with a shoe.

It went straight to his chest.

God, he loved her.

"And I was worried—" he continued, words stumbling out now like they’d been dammed up too long, "I was worried you’d think I was — I don’t know — encouraging it or — or being stupid, or not noticing because I wanted to miss it—"

Felicity crossed the room in three quick steps, not breaking eye contact once.

She dropped onto the couch beside him, slid her legs over his lap like she did every night, and tucked herself against his side like she’d always belonged there.

"You thought I’d be mad," she said, amused, "because some random influencer tried to flirt with you?"

Oscar nodded miserably, guilt still clinging to the back of his throat.

Felicity pulled back just enough to look up at him.

Eyes shining. Smile small and full of something dangerously close to laughter.

"Oscar," she said slowly, "I saw the whole video. You tried to offer her hydration advice."

He groaned, already regretting every decision he’d made since opening his mouth.

"Please don’t remind me."

"You told her to stretch her hip flexors," Felicity said, delighted. "Oscar, you sounded like a yoga instructor trying to scare off a client."

"Bee probably would’ve handled it better," he muttered, rubbing at his face.

Felicity laughed — a real one this time, head back, eyes crinkled, full-body kind of joy.

Oscar melted a little.

She curled closer, arms winding around his waist like she didn’t intend to let go anytime soon.

"I’m not mad, love," she said gently, brushing her nose against his shoulder. "She never stood a chance."

Oscar blinked down at her, stunned. A little breathless.

Felicity grinned up at him.

"You are so... mine, it’s not even funny."

She said it like a joke. She said it like a truth carved in stone.

Both were true.

Oscar let out a long, shaky breath, tension finally bleeding out of his chest.

"I just didn’t want you to think—"

She kissed his cheek, quieting him with the ease of someone who knew every version of him — the champion, the kid from karting, the dad who braided Bee’s hair with frog clips.

"I married you," Felicity whispered. "I know exactly who you are. I trust you with my life. And frankly, if anyone tries to flirt with you again, I might just send them a condolence card."

Oscar laughed, startled and in love and still trying to figure out how he’d ever ended up this lucky.

"And also," Felicity added, smirking like a fox who had absolutely won, "it’s way too funny to be jealous about."

He buried his face into her neck, overwhelmed by the warmth of her, by the sharp edges of her wit and the soft edges of her love.

"You’re ridiculous," he mumbled, muffled by her skin.

"And you," she said, threading her fingers through his hair like he was something precious, "are very bad at realizing when people want you." A beat. "And your brain is permanently stuck on ‘wife good, daughter best, car fast.’"

Oscar smiled, eyes closed, letting her steady him with nothing more than her heartbeat and her presence.

"You really aren’t mad?" he asked, still half-disbelieving.

Felicity leaned back, just far enough to look at him fully — bright-eyed and ferociously sure.

"Oscar," she said solemnly, "you are the most obliviously loyal man I’ve ever met. If I had to design a loyalty test, it would look like you."

Oscar kissed the curve of her throat, slow and reverent.

"Good thing I only ever wanted you," he murmured.

Felicity’s arms tightened around him, like she could will him into her bones.

"Exactly," she whispered.

Exactly.

[chrissssssmut]

Can you write a Kazuha smut using this

https://nhentai.net/g/434185/1/

PLIABILITY

Kazuha x Male Reader

You always knew Kazuha was graceful—every fan did. But now, stripped bare beneath her, pinned to the mattress while she straddles your hips in nothing but a silky black bra, you're learning something else entirely.

She’s deadly.

"You're already hard," she hums, running her fingers down your chest, slow and elegant, like tracing choreography. “Didn’t even have to touch you properly yet.”

You groan. “Kazuha…”

Her smirk curves. “What? Embarrassed?”

She leans forward, balancing perfectly on your hips—her thighs squeezing tight around you like she’s mid-performance on stage—and brushes her lips against your ear.

“Do you know how many hours I trained to move like this?” she whispers, breath hot. “How much core control it takes to keep a man begging under me?”

Before you can answer, she lifts one leg—high, graceful, ballerina-perfect—and swings it over your shoulder as she shifts into a side split on your lap, fully seated on your cock.

You gasp.

Her pussy swallows you in one go, tight and warm and already soaked.

“Fuck, Kazuha—!”

“Mmm,” she moans, eyes fluttering as she adjusts. “Deep already? Guess all those stretches paid off.”

Her hips roll forward in a slow, calculated grind—muscles flexing in rhythm, every motion purposeful, trained, devastating. She looks like she’s on stage again, except the performance is just for you.

“Eyes on me,” she says, tilting your chin up. “If you cum too soon, I’m going to tie you up and leave you halfway hard for the rest of the night.”

You nod quickly.

She giggles. “Good boy.”

You never stood a chance.

Kazuha rides you like she’s in full control—each bounce choreographed, fluid, her core holding her steady as she angles her hips to hit your most sensitive spots again and again.

And the way she bends—god—one leg still perched on your shoulder while the other stretches behind her in a full back arch, hair swinging, back muscles rippling.

“Bet you didn’t think your little ballerina crush would ride you in a perfect penché,” she pants, her hands planted on your chest, nails digging in with every slam of her hips. “Feel how deep you are right now? My flexibility’s all for you.”

You’re shaking, hands fisting the sheets.

She smirks. “You’re about to lose it, aren’t you?”

You nod again, desperate.

“Not yet.”

She pulls off—suddenly, cruelly—your cock slick and twitching. She crawls up your body and straddles your face, lowering herself until her soaked pussy hovers just above your mouth.

“Then eat,” she commands. “And don’t stop until I say.”

You moan, tongue already flicking up to meet her. She sits down fully, hips grinding against your face, riding your tongue with the same brutal elegance.

"God, yes... You love this, don't you?" she gasps, rolling her hips in a figure-eight. “Bet you fantasized about licking my thighs backstage. Being under me while I practiced.”

You groan in agreement, licking her deeper. She tastes divine.

And when she cums—shuddering, thighs clenching around your head like a vice—she doesn’t let up.

"Keep going," she breathes, grinding her release into your mouth. "You don’t stop until I say I’m finished."

Eventually, Kazuha lets you breathe again—but not for long.

She flips you over effortlessly, pressing your chest to the mattress. Then she grabs your hips, pulls you back into position, and slides onto you again—this time from behind.

She sinks down, then folds herself over your back in a deep forward bend, her chest flush against your back, arms snaking around you.

“I can bend in ways your last girl could never dream of,” she moans into your ear, riding you slow and deep. “And you’re going to take every inch of it.”

You feel her tighten around you—like a vice—and you’re right at the edge again.

“Can I cum?” you beg, voice ragged. “Please—Kazuha—I can’t—”

She pauses. Lifts her hips slightly.

Then slams down. “Now.”

You cry out, spilling deep inside her as she keeps riding through it, taking it all, milking you dry.

She hums in satisfaction, even as you twitch inside her. “That’s it… such a good little toy.”

She finally collapses onto your chest, sweaty, breathless, still pulsing around you.

“You’re not done though,” she whispers against your ear.

You whimper.

Kazuha only laughs, sitting up again—stretching effortlessly into a high straddle split across your hips.

“I’m still flexible. Let’s see how many more times I can break you in half.”

Your chest is still heaving when Kazuha leans forward and kisses your sweat-slick cheek, her lips soft, breath hot.

"One orgasm and you're already shaking?" she whispers sweetly, even as her hips are still lazily grinding on your half-hard cock. “I thought you said you could keep up with me.”

You try to respond, but all that leaves your mouth is a breathy moan as your oversensitive cock twitches inside her.

Kazuha giggles. "That’s what I thought."

She places her palms on your chest and starts rolling her hips again—slow, teasing, with that dancer’s rhythm. Your nerves are on fire, your brain short-circuiting, and yet she looks unbothered, completely in control of her body… and yours.

“Do you want to know exactly how flexible I am?” she asks, licking her lips as she rises up until just your tip remains inside.

You nod dumbly.

She smirks.

"Then watch me."

Kazuha shifts into reverse cowgirl, still facing away, giving you the perfect view of her toned back and flawless ass. Then, slowly, with unreal grace, she lifts one leg straight up—vertical—until her ankle is pointing toward the ceiling. A perfect standing split, all while your cock is buried inside her.

"Hnnn, fuck—feel how tight I still am even like this?" she moans, rotating her hips in a grinding figure-eight with that leg raised. “Bet your ex could barely touch her toes while riding you.”

You can barely breathe. She's completely vertical, cockwarming you while showing off a ballet pose *most pros can’t hold sober—*and she's moaning like it’s nothing.

"This is what years of pliés and arabesques trained me for,” she whispers filthily, lowering her leg and dropping her ass hard into your lap. “To ruin men like you.”

She starts bouncing, slow at first—controlled, devastating. Every slap of her hips echoes with lewd, wet sounds that fill the room.

“Look at how I move,” she growls, glancing over her shoulder. “Every motion? I learned it in the studio. All those hours stretching, sweating, perfecting lines—just so I could fuck you in a full side split like this.”

She slides forward, spreading her legs fully into a straddle split while staying completely impaled on your cock. The stretch is inhuman, her thighs flat against the sheets, and you’re watching your cock disappear inside her with each elegant grind.

“Fuck—you’re twitching again. Gonna cum already?” she teases, circling her hips faster. “I thought I told you—I’m the one who decides when you're done.”

You whimper.

Your body’s on edge again—painfully hard, overly sensitive—but she’s relentless. She leans forward, ass still pressed flush to your hips, arching her back into a deep bridge, hands planted beside your legs as she bounces harder now.

Her moans grow louder. Higher. Hungrier.

Then she twists her torso slightly—balancing one hand on your thigh while the other reaches behind her—and pulls her own leg behind her neck.

"Bet you didn’t know I could fuck you in a needle pose, huh?” she breathes, lips parted, sweat dripping from her chest. “You’re not even touching me, and I’m still using every muscle in my body to milk your cock.”

You choke on your own groan.

She leans down again and slaps your thigh. "Don’t even think about cumming yet. You want to cum again, you’re gonna earn it."

Kazuha rolls off you suddenly, leaving your cock throbbing in the air. She stands up and gestures toward the mirror across the room.

“Get over there,” she orders. “On your knees.”

You obey, dazed and horny, kneeling in front of the full-length mirror as she approaches from behind.

She drops into another perfect front split right behind you—then reaches around and strokes your cock slowly, deliberately.

“Look at yourself,” she murmurs into your ear. “Look how pathetic you are. Shaking. Leaking. All because your ballerina knows how to bend her body.”

She strokes faster.

“You want to cum? Tell me how good I look when I ride you like a stage prop.”

“You—fuck—you’re so hot, Kazuha—your legs, your hips—your control—I can’t take it—”

She squeezes the base of your cock suddenly, stopping everything.

“Then beg.”

“I’m begging,” you pant. “Please… let me cum. I need it.”

She grins, releasing your shaft and positioning herself behind you. She guides your cock back inside her from behind, sinking in slowly as she slides into a full forward fold, her chest pressed to your back.

“I’ll let you cum, baby,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around your neck. “But only after I grind the soul out of you.”

And she does.

Grinding in slow, deep, sinewy rolls, her split-held hips never breaking rhythm. She bounces on your cock like a dancer marking every count, core locked in control, every thrust deeper than the last.

Her words keep coming—filthy, cruel, perfect.

“Feel that stretch? My thighs open just for you.”

“Most men only dream of a girl riding them in a side tilt—you’re inside one.”

“Cum inside me, baby. Fill up this trained little cunt. I’ll squeeze it out of you with every muscle I’ve built for the stage.”

You lose it.

You explode inside her with a groan so loud it startles you. She moans, clutching you tight, riding every pulse of your orgasm as she cums again too—shaking, gritting her teeth, whispering your name into your neck like a melody.

Afterward, she’s still flexible. Still dangerous. Still in control.

You’re the one who collapses, panting.

Kazuha just giggles, stretching her arms overhead in a flawless back arch as she straddles your chest.

“Encore?”

You don’t even answer. You just nod.

You’re hers until curtain call.

[smutoperator]

Yoga Classes

Kim Jisoo, Kim Seolhyun x Male Reader

Part of Legends series

Tags: A2M, (some) acrobatic positions, anal, birthday sex, butt plugs, cameltoe, creampie, cum on face and abs, (lots of) facefucking, hole switcheroo, massage, meaty pussy, noona, ripped pants, sweaty, (lots of) squirting, threesome, twerking, wandering hands, yoga instructor

Word count: 6723

Jisoo arrived at your studio for a regular yoga session, wearing her favorite pink top and pants with black streaks combo. "Get there; we'll start soon," you said, directing her to the yoga mat.

"Open your arms, now inhale, then exhale," you commanded Jisoo in what was so far a very typical yoga session, her stretching her arms and getting herself prepared for the year that was just about to start. "Happy birthday," you said to her. "Glad you remembered," she answered.

As Jisoo made her yoga moves, you couldn't help but notice how hot her body was in those clothes. As she kept doing a praying pose and moving her body, you slid your hands from behind, touching her boobs while doing so.

"Perfect, your chest is moving exactly in the right way," you said, groping Jisoo's tits. She felt a bit awkward as she had never done that, but assumed it was just an incident. "Relax, relax," you said.

Your wandering hands kept touching Jisoo's body. She started to feel there was something different happening in today's session but also enjoyed the touch you provided in her chest and other erogenous zones. "That's good; keep that balance," you said," shaking her tits a bit.

"Spread your legs," you told Jisoo, reaching between them and touching her right in her pubic area. You could feel her meaty pussy that had shown under countless cameltoes when pressed against her tight yoga pants.

"You've got some nice and tight muscles out there," you said, pressing Jisoo's pubic area. "Hmmm, are you sure, coach?" she asked, feeling increasingly awkward. "Yes, Jisoo noona, stay focused," you answered.

"Bend over," you ordered Jisoo as she planted her hands and feet on the floor, staying on all fours. You started giving a massage to her butt. "Keep those glutes up, nice and firm," you commanded as you ran her hands all over her ass.

"Don't move, hold yourself in that position, keep focused," you told Jisoo as you shook her ass. "Don't get distracted," you continued, hitting her ass with a spank, making her moan. You then started humping your body against hers. "Stay focused," you told her as your crotch hit her glutes.

"You look so good in that position; now get down to the floor," you told Jisoo as you started massaging her shoulders and ran your hands over her body before moving down and hitting her ass a few more times. "Keep your focus," you said between spankings on her ass.

Jisoo opened her mouth in awe as she could feel your cock bulging under your pants just inches away from her face. "Don't get distracted," you kept reminding her, but she couldn't help but marvel over it. You went down and kept massaging her ass. "Flex those muscles," you told her.

"Loosen your body up, shake it off," you told Jisoo, who obliged, giving you a perfect view of her perky tits bouncing under her top. You made her do a stretching exercise, landing her head on the yoga mat while telling her to slowly open her legs while upside down.

"Coach, I don't know if I can do it; I'm not as flexible as Lisa," Jisoo said as her legs were spread at 180 degrees. Indeed, that was more difficult for her, especially as she had just entered her 30s, but that's exactly the type of effort that you love to see. "Don't be afraid; you're doing it well," you tell her.

You had a perfect view of Jisoo's meaty pussy now, enjoying the wet stain right in her pubic area. You could tell from it that she was wearing no panties, which was driving you insane. You give it a little sniff while trying to pretend it was just a regular move. "Stay there; you look wonderful," you said to Jisoo, touching her abs and making her moan as your face was right between her legs.

"That's perfect; now lay down and arch your body," you told Jisoo, looking under her body while she stretched it, admiring her great ass. "You've got a great curvature out here," you said in a very double meaning. Jisoo's yoga pants slipped a bit, meaning you could see the top of her cheeks.

Jisoo couldn't hold herself in that position for long, falling down on the yoga mat. "Are you ok?" you asked her. "Yeah, I'm just really sore; maybe I'm getting up there in age; I'm no longer in my 20s," she said. "It's fine, just tell me where you're sore; we can work this out," you replied to her.

"Flip around," you told Jisoo. "Is it right here?" you said, once again touching her ass. You poured some cold oil on her back and her butt, making Jisoo moan as you continued to massage her glute. "Is this part of the session, coach?" she asked. "Not really, but I really like my girls to be in the best possible shape," you answered.

"Put your ass up," you told Jisoo as the massage continued. "May I pull your pants down? I think I need to check under it," you tell Jisoo. "Alright, coach," she answers. Normally Jisoo would deny such a move, but she really trusts you a lot. You keep pouring oil in her bare ass.

"Shake it for me," you tell Jisoo as she bounces her ass. You massage her cheeks, unveiling her tight butthole, before you push her pants back up. You massage her legs all the way to her feet, playing with it a bit. "You good?" you ask Jisoo. "A little better, but still sore," she answers. You then put Jisoo on her knees, pouring oil on her chest and massaging it. "Coach, slow down," she says, but you do the exact opposite.

"COACH, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Jisoo screams as you rip her top in half and pop her cute tits out. "I'm setting your body free, Jisoo noona. you're so beautiful, and you don't need those clothes hiding your beauty" you say.

You play with Jisoo's tits. "Set yourself free; you're entering your 30s; it's time for you to enjoy new experiences; inhale and exhale with me," you say as you grope her boobs, and she enjoys it. "AHHHHHHHH," she moans as you spank them a little bit and pinch her nipples.

You put Jisoo on all fours and spank her ass again, making her moan. "Stay in that position," you say just as you rip her yoga pants. "COACH, WHAT THE FUCK? HOLY SHIT!" Jisoo curses. "Come on, I know you have many of these in your closet, I don't think someone who made millions in one of the most famous groups in Korea cares so much about some silly yoga pants. Now just relax and follow me" you say to her.

You grab Jisoo's meaty pussy and massage her folds, spanking her ass much harder now. "Don't lose your focus; keep your concentration, good girl," you keep telling her. "AHHHHHHH," Jisoo screams as her ass gets hit.

You pull your cock out and hump it against Jisoo's butt cheeks. "UHHHHHHHH," she screams, shocked when you insert your tip in her butthole. "COACH, WHAT THE HELL?" she says. "Jisoo noona, you have a really tight butthole for a girl your age," you tell her. "I'm not that into anal, coach," she says. "Well, it's never too late to try, is it?" you say.

"Oh my God," Jisoo moans as your cock slides deeper in her ass. "Relax," you assure her, placing your thumb in her asshole too. "OH WOW, COACH, YOU'RE SO BIG IN MY ASS," she says.

"Let me spread it open; your fears of getting fucked in the ass will be gone once I'm done with it," you tell her. "OH MY GOD, AHHHHHHH," Jisoo moans. It's been a while since she had such a big cock in her ass. "All the way in," you tell her, fucking her ass on all fours and reaching deeper. "Stay relaxed; just let me go in and out of that tight ass," you tell her as her anal walls keep tightening around your cock.

"Guide me, coach, fuck my ass, oh my God," Jisoo pleads as you increase your speed a bit and she spreads her cheeks. "Such a tight girl," you tell her, taking your pants completely off to push harder inside her butt. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD," Jisoo keeps screaming, you grabbing her top from behind for better grip.

"Taste it," you tell Jisoo, pulling out and leaving your cock into her mouth for her to savor her sweaty ass. "Get in a praying position and worship my big cock," you tell her as you fuck Jisoo's beautiful face, and she looks like a devout whore to your cock, your balls hitting her chin as she chokes on your dick and gags.

You fuck Jisoo's face harder once she gags on your cock for the first time, then shove your balls in her mouth. "You're such a great student, worshipping the coach's cock," you say to her, handing her another rough skull-fucking as a reward. "Stay focused; choke on this dick," you say as you push Jisoo's face against your crotch and slap your cock in it, turning her beautiful face into nothing but an outlet to please your cock.

"Get back on all fours, you tell Jisoo, who obliges. "AHHHHH," she screams as your cock pops out of her mouth. "You gave me the perfect lube I needed," you say to her, going back in her ass with much ease this time with her saliva all over your cock leading to an easy slide inside her anal hole. "Oh yes, yes, yes, fuck me like that coach," Jisoo pleads as your penetration feels much more enjoyable this time. "Spread your cheeks," you tell her as you push deeper and deeper in her ass.

"Those muscles need some extra massage; just relax and let me do it," you tell Jisoo, pulling out and placing your fingers up her butthole for some extra massaging before going back in and clapping your balls against her cheeks. "Oh yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck," she moans, you grabbing her ripped top and pants for better grip. "Put your face down and your ass up," you say to her as Jisoo reaches to her pussy and starts fingering it as you fuck her ass harder and harder, and soon you discover what her meaty hole is capable of.

"SHITTTT," Jisoo curses as she squirts all over the yoga mat. "Bad girl, I didn't tell you to squirt already," you tell her. "Sorry, coach, I can't control myself," she tries to explain. "Well, let me punish you then," you say.

Your cock easily penetrates Jisoo's meaty pussy. "Such a fucking loose, squirting hole," you tell her. "Yes, I know, Jisoo noona loves cock in her loose pussy," she tells you. And you can't tell she's not lying as her walls quickly wrap hard around your cock, and you fuck her hole hard, slowly building a wet puddle of juices inside Jisoo's cunt.

But you aren't going to give up easily, using the juices from Jisoo's pussy deposits in your cock to slide better in her asshole. "You've got great potential to be an anal slut; let me teach you," you tell her. "Oh my God, yes, yes, yes, fuck my ass hard, coach," Jisoo pleads as she gets more and more assimilated to your cock in her ass. "See how easy it is?" you ask her.

"Oh my God, you're stretching me so good," Jisoo says as you move your cock to penetrate her asshole in a vertical position. "AHHHHHHH, FUCKKK!" She can't stop screaming, which only makes you push harder in her asshole, fucking her balls deep. "Don't move," you tell her, using her asshole for your pleasure and then switching to her pussy to do the same. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she moans.

Jisoo gets brutally analyzed, screaming at each thrust you give her butthole. "Shut up, slut," you tell her, quickly pulling out and fucking her face hard to block her from screaming. "Take it deep, as far as you can," you say to her, making her choke on your cock as spit drops out of her chin.

You sit on the floor, and Jisoo prepares to sit on your cock, but you have different plans. "Straight down, dive that filthy mouth on it," you tell her. Jisoo obliges as you start pounding her throat from down low while she spreads her legs. "Oh yeah, good girl, choke on that cock; you're learning it so well," you say.

"Now you can sit on it, good girl," you tell Jisoo as she impales her meaty cunt on your big cock. "Let's make you sweat and squirt," you tell her, letting Jisoo bounce on your cock as her ass hits your crotch. "Harder," you instruct her with a little spank in her ass. "Am I doing it right, coach?" she asks.

"Yes, now let's do it in your ass," you say to Jisoo, moving her body a little sideways as your cock quickly slides in her asshole once again. Jisoo bounces on it, struggling much more than in her pussy. "OH MY GOD, HOLY FUCK, IT'S SO MASSIVE," she says, but keeps squatting on your dick regardless. "See, you can be a great anal slut," you tell her as Jisoo bounces faster and faster.

"Let me give you another test," you say to Jisoo as you start pushing your cock upwards against her butthole. "OHHHHHHH, AHHHHHHHH," she moans, a little out of breath and getting very sweaty and messy as your cock leaves your mark in her once tight ass. "GOD DAMN IT, YOUR COCK IS SO BIG, COACH," she says as your balls slap against her cheeks and she gets pounded so hard her body floats in the air.

"Yes, that's what I like, good girl, show me how slutty you are and keep bouncing that ass, Jisoo noona," you tell her. Jisoo obliges and suddenly is twerking on your cock. "Damn, I didn't expect such a cute girl like you to bounce like a twerking whore," you tell her. "Well, Jennie and Lisa taught me, so I had to try, AHHHHHH," she says, feeling your cock hit deep in her ass and screaming afterwards.

Jisoo gets more and more acclimated to your big cock in her ass, twerking harder and harder. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, AHH, AHH, AHHH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, KEEP PUSHING," she screams. You bring her body closer to yours and keep pounding her asshole hard. "YES, COACH, YOU FUCK MY ASS SO GOOD, AHHHHH, YES, OH FUCK, I JUST CAN'T STOP," Jisoo screams. "Are you getting the massage you needed, Jisoo noona?" you ask her. "YESSSS," she rapidly answers.

You spread Jisoo's asshole, amazed at the gape you created in there. "Not so tight anymore, right?" you say. "Let's stretch it a little further," you continue. "OH MY GODDDDD, PLEASE, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, THAT'S SO GOOD." Jisoo is a moaning mess now as her ass gets pounded deeper and deeper. "Such a good girl," you tell her. "Yes, I'm a good girl for my coach, please, keep using my fucking asshole," she says.

You choke Jisoo and do as she pleases, still fucking her ass hard as the yoga mat gets more and more slippery with both of you sweating. "OH MY GOD, I'M CUMMING, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE," Jisoo pleads as she squirts all over your torso. "Let me taste myself," she begs, diving hard on your cock, promptly leading you to fuck her pretty face once again. "Good girl, choke on that dick," you say as you spank her ass while she sucks your cock.

"Keep using your fucking mouth; stuff my balls in it," you tell Jisoo, who follows your instructions. "Suck them harder," you order, spanking her ass. "UHHHHH," Jisoo screams with your balls in her mouth as her ass keeps getting hit. "Good girl, you deserve a reward," you tell Jisoo, pounding her throat hard again. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh fuck yeah, good girl," you say when you're finished.

"Ride it again," you command Jisoo as she sits her ass on your cock in a reverse cowgirl position, still out of breath after you made her gag on your cock. "OH GOD," Jisoo screams, her asshole getting very sore now. You tease her, getting your cock in and out of it multiple times. "Yes, back and forth," she says, before you surprise her with a rough pounding from down low that makes her moan further.

"Oh my God, holy shit, yes, please, please," Jisoo moans as you ram her asshole and slap her tits, your cock going in and out really fast. "OH MY GODDDDDD, IT'S SO GOOOD," she screams as the pounding doesn't stop. Jisoo reaches to finger her pussy and is on the verge of squirting again. "Please, keep going; I love that," she says.

"AHHHHHHHHH," Jisoo screams as she lets out a massive geyser of squirt all over the room. You pull out of her, and she removes her ripped yoga pants to the fullest, staying completely naked now. "Spread those legs; use that move I taught you," you command as Jisoo puts her head on the floor and opens her legs right in the position for you to eat her meaty cunt and gaped asshole. You start playing with her pussy. "Make it rain," you tell her, massaging her folds and building up more juices.

"FUCKKKK AHHHHHHHH," Jisoo squirts like a fountain. You quickly take advantage of her, fucking her ass in an acrobatic position with her legs fully spread while she's upside down. "Look at you. And you told me you couldn't do it, everything for the coach's big cock, I guess," you say to her. "Holy fuck, I've never been fucked like this before," Jisoo says as you clap her cheeks hard from up top, and she uses all her forces not to fall down.

"Please, coach, let me taste my ass once more," Jisoo pleads. You give that to her with another hard facefuck, truly your favorite move to stretch her sexy mouth. "Does that taste good?" you ask her with your cock all the way deep in her throat. "Yes, coach, my ass is amazing," Jisoo says.

"Let's do it again; this time I'm going to take that meaty noona pussy," you say to Jisoo, opening her legs and pounding her cunt upside down, enjoying your belly bulging under her toned abs. "Yes, coach fucks Jisoo noona so good, OH MY GOD," she moans. "YES, YES, YES, PLEASE," she then screams.

After you're done, you massage her pussy and asshole, making her squirt while you hit her ass. Jisoo can barely think straight as you move her towards the window and put your cock back in her ass. "OH MY GOD," she screams as you spit in her pretty face, choking her and spanking her tits as she looks at you with begging, sexy eyes, that ethereal beauty now turned into a sweaty slut that is only worth being a cocksleeve.

"My holes are all yours, coach; keep fucking me," Jisoo begs as you switch to her pussy. "Arch that ass," you tell her, putting Jisoo on all fours as you pound her by the window. "Use my fucking holes for your pleasure, please, coach," she begs. "Oh god, that feels so good," Jisoo says, losing her breath as her legs tremble and she squirts all over the floor.

You keep using Jisoo's meaty pussy to your pleasure. "Please, please, fuck, fuck," she begs, barely able to stay on her feet, quickly kneeling to taste herself as soon as you pull out, deepthroating your cock like a good whore and getting another dose of facefucking while fingering her cunt and squirting all over the already wet floor.

"Let's fuck this ass one last time," you tell Jisoo, pinning her against the wall as you stretch her butthole to the fullest. "Wow, that's amazing, coach, fuck," she says as you fuck her really hard. "AHHHHH, YEAHHHH, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK ME," Jisoo begs.

"Coach, I want you to cum in my pussy," Jisoo says. Hearing those words makes you go feral. "Sit on this dick and let me pump it until I cum," you command. Jisoo follows as you hammer her cunt like a madman and grope her tits, your balls slapping against her clit nonstop while she fingers it and squirts. "Please, please, cum inside me, AHHHHHH," she begs as you only push harder and harder, your balls smacking her cunt at full speed. "Please, please, fill me up," Jisoo continues to beg, and you keep pounding her using your cock like a hammering piston, pounding after pounding after pounding.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," you warn Jisoo as your load blasts inside her pussy. "Oh my God, it's so fucking warm inside me," she says as your cum drips out of her pussy, both of you exhausted and sweaty. Jisoo picks some of your semen and tastes it. "So sweet, Jisoo noona loves it," she says.

"That was a wonderful first session; the shower is right there," you tell Jisoo.

As Jisoo went to the shower, another woman entered your house with a yoga outfit.

"Happy birthday," you say to Seolhyun, greeting her with a kiss. Seolhyun moves into the same room you just fucked Jisoo. "It's so wet and sweaty," she says. "Don't mind the mess; my last client was quite intense to deal with," you say.

Seolhyun starts doing her yoga moves, and you start to push your wandering hands into her sexy body as well. Jisoo has finished her shower when she sees you touching Seolhyun's body: her long legs, sexy ass, and perky chest.

Jisoo drops the towel covering her body and puts an end to your fun. "He wants to fuck you," she says to Seolhyun.

"How do you know?" Seolhyun asks. "Because he did that to me in that room just a couple of minutes ago," Jisoo answers. "So she was the client you were talking about?" Seolhyun asks. "Well, yeah," you answer.

"Well, it's never too late to have some fun, right?" Seolhyun asks. "Join me, Ms. ...," she says.

"Jisoo," she replies to Seolhyun. The two girls don't know much about each other; despite being born on the same day, loving yoga, and being idols turned actresses, they hardly share the same friends circle. However, both also have one common trait, and that's the one that matters the most right now: they are really thirsty for cock.

"Seolhyun pulls your pants down and quickly tastes Jisoo all over your cock. "Hmmm, I can see why you were so addicted to her," she says, kissing you and sharing those flavors while Jisoo dives to suck your cock. Seolhyun soon follows, and both girls are bobbing their heads on your big dick together and sharing kisses.

You lay on the yoga mat and let them have fun with your cock. "It's amazing, isn't it?" Seolhyun asks Jisoo. "You look so pretty sucking it," Seolhyun says as both move in perfect sync licking your shaft, Seolhyun then letting Jisoo focus on it while she sucks your tip. "Such a fucking hard cock," the AOA girl says.

Seolhyun jerks your cock off while Jisoo uses her mouth to make it sloppier before taking it herself and deepthroating it. "So good," Seolhyun says.

"You want to rip my yoga pants?" Seolhyun asks you, who quickly follows and tears it apart while Jisoo stays focused on sucking your cock. "Oh fuck," you say as Seolhyun sits on your face and pushes Jisoo to gag on your cock and deepthroating it, grabbing the Blackpink girl's head and shoving it against your shaft.

Another round of double blowjob follows as you admire both girls asses right in the sight of your face, reaching to lick their fuckholes. You grab the oil and pour it on Jisoo's ass, noticing that she came out of the shower with a butt plug in her asshole, slowly removing it and fingering her butthole with your middle finger.

Seolhyun's butt plug is the next to get removed, as you tease her before pulling it out. "Her ass is so tight," Jisoo notices as you keep playing with the plug, taking it in and out of her ass until it finally gets fully down, leading you to shove both your thumbs in Jisoo and Seolhyun's arseholes.

Seolhyun is eager to jump on your already well-oiled cock from the session with Jisoo, going for a cowgirl ride that she knows can give any guy a heart attack. "That's so good; it seems so easy to you," Jisoo says as Seolhyun spreads her ass and increases her speed. "Oh yeah, yeah, yeah," the AOA girl moans as she claps her cheeks on your crotch while Jisoo massages your balls.

You can't resist Seolhyun's tight pussy, pounding it hard from down low as she impales herself deeper and deeper on your cock. "Yes, coach, fuck that slut," Jisoo says as you pound Seolhyun hard, smashing your balls against her asshole until she squirts. "Yeahhhh," Seolhyun moans, quickly positioning herself for another wild ride afterwards. "OH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, AHHHHHH," she screams as she bounces on your cock and cums all over it.

Jisoo quickly moves to taste Seolhyun's juices and oil your cock for herself. "I want to sit on it too," she says. "Look how good it stretches her pussy, just riding that fucking cock," Seolhyun says as she runs her hands over Jisoo's ass and spits on it while Jisoo twerks on your dick, then moving down to jerk your shaft while you start pounding Jisoo. "Oh fuck yes, I love watching her pussy grip that fucking cock, taking every inch of it, such a little fucking whore," Seolhyun says.

"Oh, that feels amazing," Jisoo moans as she keeps bouncing on your cock, Seolhyun giving her ass some little taps of incentive. Jisoo's meaty pussy keeps getting stretched out hard by your monster cock. "Just like that, keep working that big dick," Seolhyun commands. "There you go," she says, stroking your cock while Jisoo spins on it.

"Let me rub that fucking clit while you get pounded," Seolhyun says, massaging Jisoo's meaty cunt and giving you free rein to pound it as the Blackpink visual tries to deal with the heat in it. "AH YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, OH FUCK," she screams as her cheeks get clapped on Seolhyun's watch, and you choke her. "AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she keeps screaming as Seolhyun squirts all over the floor, masturbating herself to the scene.

Jisoo cums all over your dick and tastes it too. But the ride is far from over. As soon as Jisoo climbs out of your cock, Seolhyun positions herself to ride it in an anal reverse cowgirl, which will show why her group was known behind the scenes as Ace of Asses, climbing on it with ease while Jisoo rubs her clit.

"There you go, fuck that asshole," Seolhyun commands as you push your cock upwards inside her tight, wonderful butthole. "I love being a good buttslut," she says as she keeps bouncing that hot ass on your cock.

"Make that pussy cum while I bounce that ass," Seolhyun orders to Jisoo, who shoves a pair of fingers in her pussy while she gets anally drilled. "Oh yeah, perfect, just like that," Seolhyun says. "FUCK, FUCK, I'M CUMMMING, I'M CUMMING, AHHHHHH, FUCKKK," Seolhyun screams as she squirts all over the floor, spinning herself on your big cock before you resume pounding her sexy ass. "YES, KEEP GOING, FUCK THAT ASS, PLEASE," she screams as she kisses Jisoo.

Seolhyun climbs out of your cock to taste her asshole, jerking your cock off for Jisoo's turn. "Show me what you can do," she tells Jisoo, who smiles and positions herself in the same position Seolhyun was just moments ago, opting for a sexy spinning anal ride on your dick. "Oh fuck, it's so big," she says as your shaft hits the sides of her already sore ass.

"Are you enjoying this big fucking cock in this fucking ass?" Seolhyun asks Jisoo. "Oh fuck, yes, the coach fucks me so deep in my ass," she answers as you pump your cock in and out of her butthole, slapping your balls in her meaty cunt as Seolhyun enjoys watching her get pounded.

Seolhyun massages Jisoo's meaty folds, ready to make her cum again. "That feels so good; that feels so fucking good," Jisoo says as she feels the juices start to come out of her pussy. "MAKE ME CUM, PLEASE, MAKE ME CUM," she tells Seolhyun as she increases the speed of her fingering. "OH, THAT'S AMAZING. THAT'S SO FUCKING AMAZING, THAT BIG COCK POUNDING MY ASS NONSTOP," Jisoo screams.

"Grind on that cock and cum all over it," Seolhyun tells Jisoo as she drops closer to your body. "Look how stretched out that asshole is," Seolhyun says as you put Jisoo under a full Nelson, her cunt now squirting geyser after geyser as she gets pounded by your cock and massaged by Seolhyun's big hands.

"FUCK, FUCK, HOLY SHIT, YOU'RE MAKING ME CUM SO HARD," Jisoo screams as she turns into a free-use fuckslut. "That's so fucking amazing; I needed this so much," she says. "That tight asshole got what it deserved," Seolhyun comments as Jisoo keeps getting pounded nonstop. "Such a good buttslut getting that pink anus drilled nonstop," Seolhyun says.

Seolhyun spreads her long legs as soon as Jisoo climbs out of your cock, giving you her needy cunt for you to fuck once again. "Put it in my hole," she demands as you fuck it in a spooning position. "My pussy is so amazing getting stretched out by that big fucking cock, hitting it so fucking deep in there," Seolhyun says. "Look how deep he's pushing it," Jisoo says.

"YESSS, AHHHHH, OHHHH," Seolhyun starts to scream as you push so deep it hits her cervix. "OH MY GOD, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she begs as your cock hits her pussy balls deep while massaging her clit. "You fuck my pussy so good, baby," Seolhyun says as Jisoo observes her getting pounded hard, you moving your hips really fast and thrusting like a madman in her cunt.

"Let's go upstairs," you tell the girls, pushing them to your bed. You lift Seolhyun's body up and eat the pussy you just fucked while inserting your cock in Jisoo's, who bounces her ass up and down to ride your cock while you enjoy the juices of Seolhyun covering her face and her long legs wrapping around it as the tanned AOA girl rolls her eyes while you pump your cock in Jisoo's cunt.

You stack Seolhyun's hot body on top of Jisoo's, switching to the Blackpink girl's asshole. "You look so pretty taking all that fucking cock," Seolhyun says, and it doesn't take long for her own turn to arrive, launching on top of Jisoo as you fuck her ass next. "Oh fuck, still tight," you tell Seolhyun as you quickly pick up the pace, spitting in her asshole and grabbing her long legs.

You pick up Seolhyun and carry-fuck her in the ass. "Oh, that's so fucking amazing, so fucking perfect, the way you fuck my ass like that, yesss," she moans as you clap her cheeks hard while Jisoo massages your balls and Seolhyun clings to your arms, before shoving her back to your bed.

Both girls spread their legs, but Jisoo spreads them further, and you present her with another anal insertion. "OH, I LOVE HOW YOU BULGE UNDER MY STOMACH, OH FUCK," she says as she gets pounded, and Seolhyun spits on her face and kisses her. "It feels so amazing," Jisoo says as you slow down, and she fingers herself while Seolhyun sucks her tits. "That's so fucking perfect," Jisoo says as the anal pounding and tit sucking keep going.

"I love that. I love that, fuck me like a good whore," Jisoo says. Seolhyun now moves into fingering Jisoo's cunt as she kisses you. "Yes, rub that pussy just like that," Jisoo says as she prepares to squirt once again. "OH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," Jisoo screams.

"You like the way I rub that cunt while he fucks your tight little asshole?" Seolhyun asks Jisoo. "OH YEAH, AHHHHHH, FUCKKKKK," Jisoo screams. "THAT'S SO GOOD, I'M GONNA CUM, I'M GONNA CUM," Jisoo announces loudly as another geyser of squirt comes out of her pussy, you kissing it and then immediately switching to her meaty fuckhole while Seolhyun spits in her pretty face.

You pound Jisoo's cunt really hard, making her whole body shake, especially her perky tits; you then keep going back and forth between her pussy and asshole, drilling Jisoo for being such a good slut. "AHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she screams as her body quivers and bounces, you giving a kiss on her sweaty face when you're done.

Seolhyun gets back on top of Jisoo, positioning herself with her face down while Jisoo has her face up, in prime position for them to kiss each other and for you to fuck Seolhyun's sexy, tanned butthole, as you insert your cock right back in it and tie Seolhyun's arms behind her back while she makes out with Jisoo. "Oh yeah, don't stop; keep fucking that ass," Seolhyun commands as you stretch her arms for a little anal-fucking exercise and pound her hard. "YES, YES, YES, KEEP GOING, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she begs as your balls hit her cheeks.

You give Seolhyun's ass a little spanking, leading her to twerk and bounce her ass sideways on your shaft. "Fuck, that's so hot," you say as you watch her move her butt in a way very reminiscent of some of her classic fancams. "Yeah, twerk and grind on that cock," you tell her. "Yeah, I love that cock," she answers.

You quickly tame Seolhyun, ending her fun and going back to pound her ass hard and fast. Oh fuck, yeah, yeah, yeah," she moans as you brutally analyze her and gape her asshole, going as fast as you can, her kissing Jisoo to cope with the massive heat your cock puts up her butt. "Oh God, you're still so tight," you tell her.

"Back and forth," you say to Seolhyun as you switch back to her pussy. "Look how I twerk that ass for you, coach," she says, moving it up and down once again as she feels your cock get deep in her folds. "Wow, baby, you move it so well," you tell her, letting Seolhyun have fun and bounce on your cock while on all fours for a while.

You turn your attention to Jisoo next, as you put her on all fours while Seolhyun spits in her fuckholes. "Your cock is so amazing, coach," she says as you insert it for the umpteenth time in her pussy while Seolhyun rests her head in Jisoo's ass and watches you fuck her very hard, grabbing those sexy cheeks for a better grip, before slowing down and then picking the pace back up as you tease Jisoo while letting Seolhyun taste your cock every time you pull out of Jisoo's pussy.

You spread Jisoo's legs and put her in a spooning position, sliding back in her asshole and leaving her pussy wide open for Seolhyun to dive in and lick it. "Oh, that's so fucking perfect," Jisoo moans as she kisses you and gets sent to heaven with your thrusts in her ass and Seolhyun's licks in her pussy. "Ahhh, ahhhh, ahhhh, fuck, that's so good," she keeps moaning as she gets closer and closer to another orgasm, Seolhyun more and more glued to her folds, your cock deeper and deeper in her ass.

"Right there, make that pussy cum," Seolhyun commands Jisoo while you choke Jisoo up top. A blissful experience ensues as Jisoo starts feeling as if her soul had left her body, her getting turned into nothing but an outlet of pleasure to both of you and Seolhyun. "FUCKKKKKKKK," Jisoo screams louder as she lets out the biggest squirting fountain of the day, one that Seolhyun happily tastes as it lands right in her waiting mouth.

You pull out of Jisoo and let her rest as she kisses Seolhyun's juice-filled mouth before diving into your cock to taste more juices. Seolhyun quickly brings herself to have a similar experience, as you passionately fuck her pussy sideways. "Oh, that's perfect; I can feel it all over my tummy," she says seconds before you start choking her and making her walls clench while your cock bulges under her belly.

"Fuck me balls deep, right there, right there," Seolhyun begs as you pound her wet cunt hard, Jisoo diving to taste it and get your balls smacked in her face as you pound Seolhyun really hard and choke her so hard she's almost strangled. "Oh, that cock is so fucking yummy," Seolhyun moans as she loves being turned into a fucktoy. "YES, YES, YES, AHHHHH, USE THAT FUCKING PUSSY, FUCKING DRAIN THOSE BALLS IN IT," Seolhyun begs as you let her freely scream.

Indeed you're very close to draining your balls, but decide to give yourself a little rest. Jisoo and Seolhyun, however, don't rest at all and keep sucking your cock in the meantime, using their nasty mouths to cover it, full of spit, and jerking it off together, you having to move your thoughts elsewhere not to cum while they massage your shaft really hard with their big hands, moving their mouths all over it and deepthroating it like the nasty whores they are.

Jisoo and Seolhyun kiss the tip of your cock, Seolhyun diving into your balls and rimming your asshole while Jisoo bobs her head on your shaft without using her hands. "Fuck, I love this cock so much," Jisoo says as she finishes gagging on it, handing it to Seolhyun to do it herself. "That tip is so good to lick," Seolhyun says.

Jisoo impales herself on your cock one last time, letting you wrap your arms around her body and pound her pussy. "I love watching that big cock stretch out that pussy," Seolhyun says as she stays behind Jisoo, licking her asshole like a nasty whore while you pound Jisoo's pussy faster and faster. Jisoo twerks again as you set her free. "Oh yes, bounce that fucking ass in my fucking face," Seolhyun tells her, before moving to kiss Jisoo. You start to feel you're on the verge of cumming, and so do the girls.

"Use that fucking pussy until you cum," Seolhyun commands as she spanks Jisoo's ass. You once again get feral, flipping Jisoo around and topping her to fuck her ass in prone bone one final time. Jisoo smiles as Seolhyun spreads her legs and offers her pussy for Jisoo to eat while you drill her asshole hard. "Yes, fuck my pussy with your face," Seolhyun orders as you smash Jisoo's body deeper and deeper into the mattress, her cheeks getting clapped hard as she gets violently pounded, her moans muffled in Seolhyun's pussy. "HMMMMM HMMMM HMMMM, HMMMM," is all you can hear.

You pull out and shoot your first load in their faces before giving some love to Seolhyun's abs and Jisoo's back in your next loads, glazing those sluts with cum. "Wow, that was the best yoga class I had," Jisoo says. "Me too," Seolhyun agrees.

"Well, if you girls say so, you could recommend more students for me to coach some yoga," you tell them.

"Hmmm, I think she's going to be a great fit for you," Jisoo says, giving you Jennie's contact. "These two are my pick; they got banging bodies and great asses," Seolhyun answers, sending you the numbers of Momo and Nancy.

"I'll take your advice and hope they can come here for more yoga classes. As for you two, you're always welcome," you say as both girls leave, already late for their respective birthday parties.

Well, after that session, who needs a birthday party at all?

[mssalo]

dirty old man - the doctor’s office

When the doctor steps out, Joel wastes no time pulling you onto his face, turning the check-up into a filthy game of control and desire.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, age gap, caretaker f!reader, Joel is a perverted old man (imagined age 60-70), reader in her 20s, DDLG dynamic, daddy kink, exhibitionism, oral (female receiving), public setting (doctor’s office), risk of being caught, degradation, size difference, explicit sexual content, perverted/dirty talk.

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The sterile smell of the doctor's office felt like the most routine part of your day—a place you and Joel had visited plenty of times for his regular check-ups.

But underneath the fluorescent lights and the ordinary medical examination, there was a palpable tension, one that had nothing to do with Joel's health and everything to do with the dynamic you’d built together.

Joel lay back on the examination table, his shirt off as the doctor began his usual routine, prodding and listening to his chest, but Joel's attention was far from the doctor’s hands.

“Gotta say, Joel,” the doctor began, flipping through his notes. “Your physical condition has improved since your last few visits. I can tell you're in much better shape—more flexibility, blood pressure’s stabilizing. Whatever routine you've been following, it’s working wonders.”

Joel’s eyes darted over to you, and that familiar, mischievous smirk curled at the edges of his mouth.

“Well, doc,” he drawled slowly, “that’s all thanks to my new caretaker here.” His eyes locked onto yours, the look in them full of filthy innuendo. “She’s been keepin' me on my toes.”

Your face flushed instantly, heat rushing to your cheeks as the doctor glanced over at you, completely unaware of the real reason behind Joel’s improved health.

You gave a nervous, awkward laugh, trying to hide the growing embarrassment bubbling up inside you.

"Yeah, well... I try to help as much as I can," you stammered, your voice shaky under the weight of Joel’s smoldering gaze.

The doctor smiled, oblivious, and nodded. "Well, it shows. You’ve done a great job," he said. “It’s rare for someone Joel’s age to make such improvements so quickly. Whatever you're doing, keep it up.”

You forced a smile, trying to maintain professionalism, but Joel’s smirk was growing, his eyes gleaming with that dark satisfaction, fully enjoying the way you squirmed.

"Yeah," Joel muttered, his voice low and teasing. "She’s been real good to me, doc. Keeps me movin’, keeps me... motivated." His eyes lingered on you as he said it, making your heart pound even harder.

You bit your lip, trying to avoid eye contact, but the flush on your cheeks deepened. You knew exactly what Joel was hinting at, and so did he.

The doctor was completely unaware of the layers behind Joel’s words, but you could feel the tension building between you, the silent promises in Joel's gaze making it impossible for you to focus.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s clearly working,” the doctor continued, glancing down at his clipboard. “Your heart rate’s better, blood pressure is steady, and your muscle tone has improved. Honestly Joel, for your age, you’re in remarkable shape.”

Joel chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending a ripple of heat through your body.

The doctor glanced at his clipboard, then gave Joel a brief smile. “I’ll need to step out for a moment to check something with the nurse,” he said casually, already turning toward the door.

As soon as the doctor stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him, Joel wasted no time. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with that familiar possessive grip.

His smirk was wicked, curling at the corners of his lips as he yanked you closer, pulling you between his legs.

“Come here,” he growled, his voice low and rough, already thick with need. His eyes raked over your body, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt up with rough urgency.

“No fuckin' panties, just like I told ya. Good girl. Now get up here and sit that sweet pussy on my face.”

Your breath hitched, and you glanced nervously at the door, your heart racing.

“Joel… we’re in a doctor’s office,” you whispered, trying to sound logical, but the heat between your legs was already giving you away.

“Don’t give a damn,” he muttered, his hands tightening on your hips, pulling you closer until you were standing right in front of him. “I’ve been thinkin’ about your cunt all fuckin' day. Now, I’m gonna have it.”

The way he talked to you—filthy, raw, unapologetically possessive—set your body alight with anticipation.

You hesitated for just a moment longer before finally giving in, climbing up onto the examination table. Your hands shook slightly as you straddled his chest, your bare folds hovering over his face, already slick with arousal.

“Fuckin' look at you,” Joel growled as he pulled you down, his breath hot against your dripping core.

“You’re so wet, baby. This pussy’s fuckin' soaked for me.” He slid his hands around your hips, gripping them tight as he positioned you just where he wanted you.

“I wanna see every part of you, darlin’. Spread those legs nice and wide for me.”

Your legs trembled as you obeyed, spreading yourself open for him, your wet, swollen clit exposed to his hungry eyes. He groaned, his breath ragged with lust as he looked at you, his lips parting slightly.

“Goddamn, baby,” he muttered, his voice thick and rough. “Look at how swollen that little clit is. You’ve been waitin' for this, haven’t ya?”

Without waiting for a response, Joel’s tongue flicked out, the first slow, deliberate stroke dragging over your clit.

You gasped, your fingers gripping the edge of the exam table as your body jolted with pleasure. He wasn’t gentle—his mouth latched onto you, sucking hard, his tongue swirling over your clit with rough, practiced strokes.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your voice shaky as you tried to stay quiet.

The obscene sounds of his mouth on you filled the small room, wet and slick, and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning too loudly.

Joel groaned against you, the vibrations sending a shiver through your entire body. “This fuckin' pussy,” he growled between licks, his words muffled as he sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue lapping greedily over you.

“Tastes so goddamn good. I could fuckin' drown in it.”

You moaned softly, your thighs trembling as his tongue flicked over your swollen clit again, faster this time, more insistent. He sucked hard, drawing your sensitive bud into his mouth, then flicked his tongue over it in rapid, merciless strokes.

You could feel your pulse pounding between your legs, your body already trembling with the need to come.

“Fuck, Joel… we have to—” you gasped, but he cut you off with a growl, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you down harder onto his face.

“Shut the fuck up and ride my face,” he growled, his voice thick with need. “I don’t care if we’re in a fuckin’ doctor’s office. I’m gonna make you come all over my mouth.”

You could barely think straight. The filthy heat of his words, the way his mouth moved on you, the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body—it was too much.

Your hips started to rock against him, grinding down on his face as his tongue slid in and out of you, his rough hands guiding your movements.

“That’s it, baby,” Joel muttered between licks, his voice thick with hunger as his tongue dragged slowly up and down your folds, swirling around your swollen clit before dipping back down to tease your entrance.

“Fuck my face. Show me how much you need it. How much you love when daddy eats this sweet little cunt.”

His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you down even harder against his mouth. His tongue was everywhere—messy, desperate, like he couldn’t get enough.

He flicked your clit with his tongue again, but then he shifted lower, dragging his tongue along your slit, tasting every inch of you. The heat between your legs was unbearable, and Joel could feel how badly you wanted it, how soaked you already were.

He groaned, the sound vibrating through you as his face pressed further into your slick heat, his nose brushing your clit as his tongue explored every part of you.

He wasn't satisfied with just licking—he wanted to bury himself in you, use his whole face to make you come. And that’s exactly what he did.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he growled, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

His tongue moved lower, teasing the edges of your entrance before plunging inside, fucking you with slow, deep strokes.

You moaned loudly, your hands gripping the sides of the exam table as your hips rocked against his face. Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, keeping you in place as he lapped at your pussy like a man starved.

But it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted more. He pulled his tongue out of your hole, dragging it back up to your clit, where he sucked hard before letting go, only to press his entire face against your folds, rubbing it all over your pussy.

His nose nudged your clit, his lips sucking at your wetness, and his tongue slipping everywhere—flicking your clit, sliding between your folds, teasing your hole again and again.

He was relentless, his whole face working against you, his stubble rubbing against your sensitive skin, adding a rough, delicious friction.

You gasped, your body trembling from the intensity of it, and Joel only groaned louder, his tongue darting in and out of your hole before sliding back up to your clit, flicking it in rapid strokes.

“You love this, don’t ya?” he rasped, his voice muffled as he pressed his mouth back to your pussy, his tongue swirling over your clit, his nose bumping against it as he ground his face into you.

“Love when daddy uses his whole fuckin’ face on this pretty little cunt. You’re fuckin’ dripping for me, baby. I’m gonna make you come all over my face.”

Your breath hitched, your hips bucking against him, the pressure building inside you as his face moved everywhere—tongue fucking you deep one second, then sucking on your clit the next. He loved every part of you, and he made sure you knew it.

His mouth, his nose, his whole face was slick with your arousal as he devoured you, using everything he had to make you come.

Joel pulled his tongue out of your hole, dragging it up your slit again, swirling it around your clit before pressing his mouth down hard.

He sucked, his lips closing tightly around your clit as he flicked his tongue over it in quick, teasing strokes. You whimpered, your body trembling as you tried to stay quiet, but it was impossible with how good he was making you feel.

“Fuck, Joel…” you gasped, your voice shaking as the pleasure grew, every nerve in your body on fire from the way his mouth moved over you, claiming you. “I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growled, his voice low and commanding, his tongue never stopping. “Come on my fuckin’ face, baby. I want it all. I wanna taste every drop.”

His words sent a shiver through you, and with one final flick of his tongue over your clit, you came hard.

Your thighs clenched around his head as your orgasm crashed through you, and Joel groaned in satisfaction, his hands holding you firmly in place as he continued licking, drinking in every bit of your release.

“That’s it, good girl,” he muttered, his lips still pressed to your pussy, his tongue slowly dragging through your folds, savoring the taste of you. “You come so fuckin’ sweet for me.”

Your body trembled, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps, but Joel wasn’t done.

His hands slid up your thighs, squeezing them gently as his mouth moved over you again, slower this time, but just as hungry.

He rubbed his whole face into your slick folds, his nose brushing your clit while his tongue teased your entrance. He wanted to make you come again, and he was determined to get it.

“Fuck, I could eat you all day,” he groaned, pulling back just long enough to look up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes before diving back in, his tongue sliding deep inside you again.

He fucked you with his tongue, his nose pressing against your clit, his mouth wet and messy as he devoured you, completely lost in the taste of you.

“You’re mine,” he growled between licks, his voice low and possessive as he slid his tongue out of you, flicking it over your clit again.

“This pussy is fuckin’ mine.”

You were barely holding on, your body trembling as another orgasm built inside you, the sensation of his face rubbing against your wet heat sending you over the edge.

Joel could feel it—could feel the way your body tightened, the way your breath hitched, and he sucked your clit into his mouth again, his tongue swirling over it in quick, dirty strokes.

"Come again," Joel growled, his voice dark and full of filthy satisfaction. "Come all over my fuckin' face again, baby. Don’t hold back."

You couldn’t. The pleasure hit you like a tidal wave, and you came again, harder this time, your hips grinding down onto his face as your body shook with the intensity of it.

Joel groaned beneath you, his tongue still lapping at your pussy, his whole face drenched in your slick as he continued fucking you with his mouth until you couldn’t take it anymore.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice hoarse but smug, pulling back just enough to smirk up at you. His face was soaked, his lips shiny with your release, and the sight of him like that—dark eyes, glistening mouth—made your stomach tighten all over again.

"Can’t fuckin’ get enough, can ya? Rubbing that sweet little pussy all over an old man’s face."

His words dripped with possessiveness, but there was a teasing warmth behind them. Joel wasn’t disgusted by how much you needed him—no, he was fucking proud.

Proud of how you responded to him, how desperate and soaked you became under his tongue.

You whimpered softly, still trembling, the shame and arousal mixing together in a heady cocktail of need.

"Joel, we’re gonna get caught," you murmured, your breath still shaky.

He chuckled, low and dirty, his hands never leaving your hips as he kept you pinned down.

"Let ‘em catch us," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "Let ‘em see how fuckin’ perfect you look sittin’ on daddy’s face. Maybe they’ll wanna take a fuckin' picture—show everyone how much this sweet young thing needs me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the risk, the dirtiness of it all making your heart race.

You were already drenched, but hearing him talk like that—pushing the boundary between pleasure and danger—made you even wetter, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

“They’d love to see you like this, wouldn’t they?” Joel muttered, his tongue darting out to swipe at your swollen folds, sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through your already sensitive body.

"Bet they’d be jealous. Bet they’d wanna taste you too, but you’re mine, hm, baby?"

You nodded, your voice catching in your throat as his hands squeezed your hips, forcing you to grind harder against his mouth.

His nose brushed your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body as his tongue teased your entrance again, slipping in and out with slow, deliberate strokes.

"You’re all mine," Joel groaned, his words muffled as he pressed his face deeper into your wetness.

“Fuckin’ made for daddy, pretty one. Look how fuckin' soaked you are, baby. Ridin' this old man’s face like you need it to breathe."

Your whole body shuddered as his tongue pushed deeper inside you, fucking you with slow, sensual strokes.

He wasn’t just eating you out—he was worshiping you, using every part of his face to drive you crazy.

His nose bumped against your clit as he flicked his tongue in and out of your tight entrance, his lips wrapping around your folds, sucking and licking like he couldn’t get enough of you.

"God, Joel..." you gasped, your hips moving of their own accord, grinding against him, desperate for more.

The idea of someone walking in, seeing you like this—spread wide, riding Joel’s face while he devoured you—it sent a thrill through you that made your heart race even faster.

"That's it," he muttered, his voice rough and dirty as his hands guided your movements.

"You like this, sweet girl? You love letting daddy take care of you, love how I make you feel. Doesn’t matter where we are—you’ll always be fuckin' mine."

But Joel wasn’t finished. His hands stayed firmly on your hips, his mouth still teasing your swollen, oversensitive clit with slow, lazy licks, as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

"Joel, I..." you whimpered, your voice weak and breathless. "I can’t—"

"You can and you fuckin' will," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "One more, baby. Come one more time for daddy. Show me how much you love ridin' this old man’s face.”

His filthy words sent another shock of heat straight to your core, and before you could stop yourself, you were grinding harder, your slick pussy rubbing all over his face.

Joel groaned, the sound vibrating through you as he sucked your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it in quick, tight circles that had you seeing stars.

“Good girl,” he murmured between licks, his voice full of pride and lust.

“You’re so fuckin' perfect, baby. So tight, so full of energy for me. Daddy loves it when you let me eat this pussy like it’s the last thing I’ll ever taste.”

His tongue flicked over your clit faster, his hands keeping you steady as your thighs trembled around his head.

You were so close again, the pressure building inside you, threatening to overwhelm you. Joel’s mouth moved with expert precision, teasing, sucking, licking—his entire face covered in your slick, his stubble rubbing against your sensitive skin in the most delicious way.

"Come for me again," Joel growled, his tone shifting to something more commanding. "I wanna feel it. I wanna taste it all. Don’t fuckin' hold back, baby."

You moaned, your hips rocking harder against his mouth as the pleasure built higher, higher, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

The tension snapped, and your third orgasm crashed through you, even harder than the last. Your thighs squeezed around Joel’s head, your hands gripping the edges of the exam table for support as your body shook with the intensity of your release.

Joel groaned beneath you, his tongue still working over your clit, licking up every last drop as you came all over his face.

His grip on your hips was unrelenting, making sure you couldn’t move, couldn’t escape the pleasure he was giving you.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Joel muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You come so fuckin’ pretty for me, baby. Just like that. Give daddy everything.”

You collapsed forward, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps, your body trembling as the last waves of your orgasm pulsed through you.

Joel groaned beneath you, drinking in every last drop of your release, his hands gripping you tightly as he licked you through your climax, his tongue unrelenting.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, finally pulling back, his face a mess of your slick, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby. We ain’t done, though. When we get home, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be beggin' for more."

Your body trembled, still coming down from the intensity of your orgasms, but the look in Joel’s eyes told you he wasn’t lying.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a smirk playing on his wet, glistening lips as he watched you try to gather yourself.

But before either of you could speak, there was a sudden knock on the door.

Your heart leaped into your throat, and you scrambled off Joel’s chest, yanking your skirt down as quickly as possible.

Panic coursed through you as you hurried to adjust yourself, smoothing your hair, trying to catch your breath.

Joel, of course, was far too amused. He wiped his face lazily, still leaning back on the exam table, that smug smirk never leaving his face as you frantically tried to make it look like nothing had happened.

His eyes twinkled with mischief as he glanced at the door, clearly not concerned in the slightest.

"Come in," Joel called out casually, his voice hoarse but steady, as if he hadn’t just been buried between your legs moments ago.

The doctor walked back in, clipboard in hand, giving Joel a quick glance. "Sorry about the wait, Mr. Miller," he said, then paused as he noticed Joel’s flushed face, the sheen of wetness still visible despite his attempt to wipe it away.

The doctor blinked, clearly taken aback but too polite to say anything directly.

"Must be gettin' hot in here, huh?" the doctor remarked with a chuckle, trying to laugh off the awkwardness.

"This age, it’s making us all feel a bit warmer, huh? Happens to the best of us."

Joel, the devilish smirk never leaving his face, tilted his head slightly, catching your eye for just a second before replying, "Oh, you could say that, doc. It definitely gets me feelin’... hotter than usual."

His tone was thick with double meaning, so much so that you had to suppress a smile.

The doctor, oblivious to the real reason behind Joel’s flustered state, simply nodded and made some notes on his clipboard.

"Well, let’s make sure everything’s looking good. Just a quick check-up, and you’ll be out of here."

Joel shot you a look as the doctor moved to his side, leaning in to examine him.

His eyes twinkled with filthy satisfaction, his lips twitching as though he was barely holding back another comment.

"Yeah," Joel said quietly, just loud enough for you to hear. "Feelin’ better already."

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

…..I dont know what to tell y’all 😭

I’m glad some of you like older!Joel 🫶🏼 I love reading your comments and reblog notes - thank you so much!!

[hxxsxxng]

Love Your Enemy y.jw

「Pairing」 : rival!jungwon x fem!reader

「Word Count」 : 7.5k

「Genre」 : smut, angst, highschool au (seniors 18+)

「Summary」 : jungwon is your rival in competition for class valedictorian. something unexpected happens when you pick up extra tutoring lessons

「Warnings」 : mentions of societal pressure, overworking, kissing, titty sucking, oral (m&f), overstimulation, unprotected sex, teasing, creampie, multiple orgasms, jungwons dick is large.... like abnormally large. probably more that i may have missed. NOT PROOFREAD

「Author's Note」 : this is my redebut after taking an almost year long break from writing. I am hoping to get back into it like i used to be <3 also, i wrote this in my notes app so if it is spaced weirdly im sorry lol

SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING

Jungwon is just another popular boy in my senior class. He’s on the football team, he has a lot of friends, and I guess, if I had to say something nice about him, his face isn’t the worst-looking thing in the world. But none of those things are the reason I give him any of my attention. He is only relevant to me because we are in competition for valedictorian for my graduating class.

My school usually chooses valedictorian at the end of the fall semester, after final grades are put in. I have been working hard day and night with AP classes and extra study sessions scheduled on the weekends to make sure I am a contender for the top spot. It’s October now, so I only have a month and a few weeks to prepare for finals and perfect my AP scores.

Jungwon, on the other hand, makes the whole ‘top of the class thing’ seem so easy. He’s always at practice or at football games, always out with his friends on the weekends, and seemingly doesn’t seem like he has to put much effort into high exam grades and having a good image with the teachers. He is naturally gifted. I hate it.

——-

AP Calculus Tutoring Sessions Available

- Free for students

- Flexible session times

- Help Prepping for AP exam

Scan QR code below for details

I walk down the hall and see a flier on the school bulletin board. Free tutoring sessions? My ACT prep course just ended, so I might be able to set up some more tutoring? I ended up just taking a photo of the flier and continued walking towards 6th period, AP English IV.

I push open the door, the faint scent of dry-erase markers and overused textbooks lingering in the air. The lights hum softly overhead, casting a glow on the rows of desks already half-filled with my classmates. My only friend, Kazuha, is already seated near the window, idly doodling in the corner of her notebook. I slide into the seat beside her, dropping my bag with a thud. She glanced up, offering me a small smile.

“Hey," she says casually, nudging me with her elbow. “You wanna hang out this weekend? Maybe catch that new movie or just, you know, do something not related to school?"

I let out a soft sigh, already feeling the weight of my responsibilities pressing against my chest. “I’d love to, really," I start, fiddling with the edge of my notebook. “But I might be setting up extra tutoring sessions. I just found this flier about AP Calculus tutoring, and with finals coming up, I can’t afford to slack off."

Kazuha nods knowingly, the disappointment flickering briefly before it’s replaced with understanding. “Yeah, I get it. Valedictorian race and all. Just don’t forget to breathe, okay?"

I manage a small smile, grateful for her understanding, even though a part of me wishes I could say yes without the gnawing guilt of lost study hours. I just wish there was more time in the day so I could spend time with her and not worry about school, but there’s no room for distractions… not when Jungwon exists.

——

The rest of the school day goes by. I head out to my car, slowly packing my things into it. I look over to the football field in the distance. I hear the music playing while all of the sweaty boys practice. I lose my train of thought when I open my driver door and get into my seat. Hands on the steering wheel, I think to myself, maybe I could get a tutoring session set up for tomorrow?

I pull into the driveway, the crunch of gravel beneath my tires grounding me after another long day. The house is quiet, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound greeting me as I step inside. I drop my bag by the door, kick off my shoes, and collapse onto the worn-out couch, my body sinking into the cushions like it’s been waiting for this moment all day.

With a sigh, I pull out my phone, remembering the flier I snapped a photo of earlier. My thumb hovers for a second, debating if I really want to add more to my already overloaded schedule. But the thought of Jungwon’s effortless grades pushes me forward. I scan the QR code, and a simple form pops up: name, subject, preferred time. I type in my details, selecting a 5 p.m. slot for tomorrow, my fingers hesitating only briefly before I hit submit.

The exhaustion catches up with me, and I drift in and out of sleep on the couch, the soft glow of my phone screen the last thing I see. When I finally rouse again, groggy and disoriented, I notice a notification blinking. It’s been almost three hours.

Tutoring Session Confirmed: 5 p.m. Tomorrow.

The message is concise, followed by another asking for my contact information. I reply, exchanging quick details before receiving the tutor’s address. I glance at it, not recognizing the street name, but I plug it into my maps app anyway.

——-

The next day, after another grueling round of practice quizzes, I find myself driving to the address provided. The neighborhood is quiet, lined with neatly trimmed hedges and identical mailboxes. As I get closer and closer to the destination on the GPS, I notice a familiar car in the driveway. I park, double-checking the number on the house, and take a deep breath. This is it. Another step towards securing my spot as valedictorian.

I knock on the door, my heart pounding more from anticipation than nerves. The door swings open, and there he is.

Jungwon.

He’s dressed casually, no football jersey in sight, just a simple T-shirt and jeans. His expression mirrors my own shock for a split second before it shifts into that infuriatingly easy smile of his.

“Well,” he says, leaning casually against the doorframe, “This is unexpected.”

I blink, momentarily speechless, before managing to find my voice. “You’re the tutor?”

“Looks like it,” he replies, stepping aside to let me in. “Guess we’re not just competing in class anymore.”

I step inside, determined to make the most of this, even if it means learning from the very person I’m trying to beat.

——-

“I don’t know if I want to do this anymore,” I hesitate as I wait a second before taking my shoes off.

“Don’t be such a fucking baby, Y/N. I need these hours for my college application, and you need it for…. better grades… I guess,” he complained, rolling his eyes.

Whatever. I take my shoes off and follow him up the stairs to his room. He slowly opens the door to reveal the den he has been living in this whole time.

“Don’t mind the mess,” he blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. Mess? This room is cleaner than my room has ever been.

“I don’t mind,” I reassure him, and I set my bag down on his bed. I glance at his neat desk, textbooks stacked with precision, a single notebook open to a page covered in immaculate handwriting. I pull out my own materials, spreading them across the bed as I settle in, though my mind isn’t fully on calculus just yet.

“Hey,” I start, unable to suppress the question burning in the back of my throat. “Why are you even doing tutoring? You’re set. Everyone knows you’re getting into whatever school you apply to.”

Jungwon pauses, his pencil hovering above his notebook. He doesn’t answer right away, his jaw tightening slightly before he exhales, setting the pencil down.

“Because it looks good on applications,” he says flatly, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, a crack in the perfect facade he wears so effortlessly.

“That’s it?” I press, arching an eyebrow.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “No. Not really. It’s… expected. My parents think it shows leadership or whatever. Plus, if I don’t keep busy with something ‘productive,’ they think I’m slacking.” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Can’t just be a kid, I guess.”

That catches me off guard. For a moment, the image I’ve built of Jungwon, the golden boy with the effortless charm, shifts. He’s not so different from me after all.

“Yeah, well,” I mutter, fiddling with my pen, “at least you have people expecting you to succeed. I put all this pressure on myself. No one would care if I wasn’t top of the class, but I’d hate myself for it.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. He nods slowly, like he understands exactly what that feels like.

“Guess we’re both kind of screwed, huh?” he says with a crooked smile.

I can’t help but laugh softly. “Yeah. Guess so.”

We start the calculus work after that, the tension easing as we argue over derivatives and integration techniques. His explanations are sharp, concise, but I refuse to let him have the satisfaction of thinking he’s a better tutor than I am a student. Our bickering is light, almost playful, each sarcastic comment met with an eye-roll or a smirk. Maybe even a playful punch on the arm here and there.

Before I know it, the session is over. I pack my things slowly, feeling oddly reluctant to leave.

As I sling my bag over my shoulder, Jungwon clears his throat. “Hey,” he says, like the words are heavier than they should be, “you should come to the homecoming game next Friday.”

I blink, surprised. “What? Why?”

He shrugs, trying to seem casual, but there’s a hint of something genuine underneath. “I don’t know. Maybe for a break from all… this,” he gestures vaguely between us, “or maybe just to see me crush it on the field.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s a warmth spreading in my chest I can’t quite explain.

“I’ll think about it,” I reply, already knowing I probably will. “Are we set for another session next Saturday, same time?” I say while inching towards the door.

“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll text you if anything changes.”

——-

Monday dreadfully rolls back around. Going back to the same routine of class every day and studying every night. When I get to 6th period, I set my stuff down next to Kazuha and slide into my chair, the same as usual. As the bell rings, signaling the start of 6th period, she’s sketching absentmindedly in the margins of her notebook again, her pen gliding effortlessly. I steal a quick glance at her, my heart oddly racing.

The words are right there, teetering on the edge of my tongue: "Do you want to go to the homecoming game on Friday?" But they catch in my throat, refusing to come out.

I tap my pen against my notebook, pretending to focus on the lesson, but my mind’s a mess of overthinking. What if she thinks it’s weird? What if she says no? I chew the inside of my cheek, stealing another glance at her. She’s humming softly under her breath, completely unaware of the silent battle I’m waging beside her.

Finally, I muster a shaky breath. “Hey, Kazuha,” I start, my voice softer than I intended. She looks up, her eyes meeting mine, warm and curious.

“Yeah?” she says, smiling slightly.

I hesitate, gripping my pen tighter. “Uh, do you… um… want to—” My words falter, and I pretend to adjust the papers on my desk like that was what I meant to say all along. “—want to go watch the homecoming football game with me on Friday? You know, maybe school you could come to my place and we could get ready together? You’re the only person that I could have that would consider going with me.”

Kazuha’s pen halts mid-sketch, her eyes lifting slowly to meet mine. For a heartbeat, she just stares, as if processing whether she heard me correctly. The corners of her mouth twitch, not with amusement but genuine surprise.

“Wait what?” she finally blurts out, blinking rapidly. “You… want to go to the homecoming game? Like, the football game?”

I nod, feeling my face grow warm. “Yeah, I mean… if you’re free. Just thought it might be fun.”

Kazuha leans back in her chair, tapping the end of her pen against her chin, her expression a perfect blend of disbelief and delight. “Wow, okay. That’s… unexpected. You never want to do stuff like this.”

I shrug, trying to play it cool, though my heart’s thudding like a drum. “Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to switch it up for once.”

She grins, her surprise melting into something soft and genuine. “You know what? Sure. Let’s do it.”

A wave of relief washes over me, mingling with a spark of excitement I didn’t expect. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding with a chuckle. “It’ll be fun. And honestly, I’m kind of flattered you asked.”

I smile, the weight of the question lifting off my shoulders. “Cool. Maybe we can hang out at my place before the game, figure out what to wear or whatever.”

“Sounds good,” Kazuha says, her grin wide and bright. She taps her notebook playfully. “Now look at you, pulling me into spontaneous plans. Who even are you?”

I laugh softly, my chest feeling lighter than it has in weeks. “I guess I’m full of surprises.”

That really wasn’t it though. I wanted to go to see Jungwon play, but I couldn’t actually tell her that.

——-

The week continues like normal, and it’s already Friday. I am anxious to get out of bed because I am scared about tonight. About going to my first school even since I’ve even started high school.

Message from: Jungwon

I hope to see you in the stands tonight ;)

??? Why is he texting me? I’ve only texted his number for things related to tutoring. I flash a quick smile as I put my phone back into my pocket, my cheeks a light tint of pink.

The rest of the school day unfolds with the usual lectures, note-taking, and the occasional group discussions that I only halfway participate in. My mind keeps drifting back to the text from Jungwon and the looming excitement of the game tonight. I find myself glancing at the clock more often than I care to admit, willing the hands to move faster.

By the time 6th period rolls around, I’m practically buzzing with anticipation. I slide into my seat next to Kazuha, the familiar squeak of the chair grounding me slightly. She looks up from her doodles, her eyes immediately narrowing in on my face.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” she asks, setting her pen down. “You’ve been weirdly fidgety all day.”

I chuckle, feeling my face warm. “I’m just… excited for the game tonight, I guess.”

Kazuha raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Excited? Now that’s a word I never thought I’d hear you use about a school event.”

Rolling my eyes, I nudge her playfully. “Well, it’s something different. Plus, I mean, it’ll be fun hanging out with you outside of school and not worrying about AP exams for a change.”

She grins, leaning closer. “You know, I’m starting to think this has less to do with AP burnout and more to do with a certain football player.”

I nearly choke on my own breath. “W-What? No! That’s ridiculous.”

Kazuha laughs, clearly enjoying my flustered reaction. “Relax, I’m just teasing. But seriously, it’ll be fun. We’ll cheer obnoxiously loud, eat overpriced snacks, and maybe even pretend to understand the game.”

I snort, the tension easing slightly.

The rest of the class passes in a blur, my mind already jumping ahead to tonight. As the final bell rings, Kazuha and I gather our things, chatting about what we should wear.

——-

When we get to my house, we rummage through our closets, trying on different outfits and laughing at how dramatic we’re being. Eventually, we settle on something comfortable yet spirited in school colors, of course.

As we head out the door, my heart races with a mix of excitement and nerves. I’m not sure if it’s the game, the change of routine, or the possibility of seeing Jungwon on the field. Maybe it’s all of it. We take Kazuha’s car.

“I don’t know if I told you, but Jungwon was the one who wanted me to come to the game.” I mention on the drive there.

“What? No, you don’t mention it! Are you crazy? This is insane news.” Kazuha exclaimed, eyes widening as she turned her whole body towards me.

“Really? I could have sworn I said something about it.” I chuckled in response to her dramatic reaction.

“Didn’t mention it, not once. Because trust me, I would remember if my best friend was invited to a football game by her ‘rival’. Who even knows if y’all are rivals anymore? Y’all could have eloped and have a baby on the way at the point.” She exaggerates.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, you can 100% confidently believe that is not the case.” I let out a choked-up, airy laugh.

——-

We arrive at the football field. The school band is playing loudly as the stadium lights shine over the field. The crowd is getting loud as it is almost time for our team’s big entrance.

“Where do you want to sit?” Kazuha yells over the loud ruckus in the background. The stands are packed, and there are not many options for seating.

“I think I see an opening in the edge of the front row,” I say, directing my voice into her ear. We make our way through the crowd to get to our squished-together seats. We are seated right in front of the home team’s sideline.

The stadium lights glow down on the field, casting long shadows across the neatly painted white yard lines. The roar of the crowd swells as the announcer’s voice echoes through the speakers, hyping up the audience. I didn’t think it could get louder than it already was.

The marching band bursts into a triumphant tune, drums pounding in rhythm with the pounding of my heart. From the tunnel at the far end of the field, the football team charges out, breaking through a giant paper banner painted with bold, school-colored letters. The players sprint onto the field with a burst of energy, helmets gleaming under the floodlights.

My eyes scan the lineup, and that’s when I see him, Jungwon. He’s not just on the team; he’s in the starting lineup. The number on his jersey stands out against the dark fabric, and for a moment, I’m frozen. I had no idea he was a starter.

Kazuha nudges me, shouting over the cheers, “Is that Jungwon? He’s starting?!”

I nod, my mouth slightly open, unable to form words. He looks different out here. Focused, fierce, and completely in his element. I hate to admit that I found it attractive. The whistle blows, and the game begins.

The first few plays are fast and intense. Jungwon moves with quick precision, effortlessly dodging defenders, his agility making him stand out. His coordination is almost mesmerizing, and I find myself more invested in the game than I ever thought I’d be. Each touchdown, each tackle sends waves of excitement through the crowd.

Midway through the second quarter, after an impressive sprint that nearly led to a touchdown, Jungwon gets subbed out for a quick break. As he jogs off the field, his helmet tucked under his arm, he glances toward the stands.

Our eyes meet.

A lopsided grin spreads across his face, and then…he winks.

My heart does an unexpected flip. I blink, caught off guard, my face heating up. Kazuha catches the whole thing, of course.

“Oh my gosh,” she yells, laughing. “Did he just WINK at you?”

“Shut up,” I mutter, trying to focus on the game, but the warmth in my chest betrays me.

The game continues with fierce energy. The players clash with determination, the sound of pads hitting echoing above the crowd’s cheers. The band plays fight songs after big plays, and the cheerleaders lead chants that ripple through the stands. The night air feels electric with school spirit.

As the final quarter ticks down, our team scores the winning touchdown. The crowd erupts into deafening cheers, students jumping up and down, waving their hands in the air. I can’t help but get swept up in the excitement, shouting alongside Kazuha, my voice hoarse from cheering.

When the final whistle blows, signaling our victory, the players flood the field, celebrating with high-fives and hugs. I catch Jungwon glancing back at the stands once more, his eyes lingering just a little longer before he’s swept away by his teammates.

“Wow, that was actually more entertaining that I thought it was going to be” I admitted, still flustered about my interaction with Jungwon.

“Mhmm, are you sure that not because of a certain someone playing on the field?” she teased.

“Shut up”

——-

We are walking to Kazuha’s car in the jammed parking when we hear a faint voice in the distance. “Do you need a ride?” I look around to try and figure out where it was coming from. By the time I turned around again, Jungwon was walking towards us.

He looks at both of us and then just me, his eyes were mesmerizing, and his hair still wet from the sweat. “Do you need a ride?” he repeats.

I stop for a second and glance over at Kazuha. She gives me the ‘go ahead’ followed with a smirk. She slowly starts to walk away.

“Uhh…. yeah I guess..” I hesitate.

Jungwon's dark red Jeep glimmers faintly under the soft glow of the stadium lights, its sleek exterior a striking contrast to the bustling parking lot. I climb inside, immediately enveloped by the rich scent, a mix of clean leather, faint cologne, and something subtly sweet, maybe a lingering hint of vanilla. The interior is surprisingly nice: smooth leather seats, a tidy dashboard, and a faint hum from the radio playing softly in the background.

The hum of the tires against the road fills the comfortable silence before Jungwon breaks it.

"So… what did you think of the game?" he asks, glancing over with a quick smile, his hand relaxed on the steering wheel.

I chuckle, shaking my head slightly. "It was… better than I expected. You were pretty good out there, I have to admit"

He grins, his eyes crinkling slightly. "Glad you came. It was nice seeing you in the stands." His voice is light, but there's an undercurrent of sincerity that makes my heart skip just a little.

As we cruise down the quiet, dimly lit streets, the space between us feels charged with an unspoken tension. Our hands rest awkwardly close on the center console, fingers brushing occasionally with each turn of the car. Each accidental touch sends a jolt through me, and I catch him stealing quick glances, his lips twitching like he's fighting a smile.

Finally, without thinking too hard about it, my fingers inch closer until they lightly graze his. He hesitates for the briefest moment, then his hand slides over mine, lacing our fingers together. The warmth of his touch is comforting, grounding.

We don’t say anything about it. We don’t need to. The quiet hum of the Jeep, the soft music, and the steady rhythm of our joined hands say enough.

We pull up in front of my house. No porch light on. Pitch black outside beside his headlight gleaming over the road. “This is it, right?”

“Yes, thank you for the ride” I say before starting to grab my things. Before I am even able to undo our interlocking fingers, he pulls me closer by my hand and kisses me. Our fingers remain intertwined, the warmth of his touch still lingering as he gently pulls me closer. The suddenness of the kiss catches me completely off guard. My heart stumbles, racing with a mixture of surprise and something unspoken that’s been simmering between us.

I instinctively pull back, just enough to create a small space between us, my breath slightly uneven. My eyes find his in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, his gaze soft yet intense, searching mine for any hint of regret or hesitation. But there’s none, just the same bewildering mix of curiosity and something deeper reflecting back at me.

Neither of us speaks, words feeling unnecessary in the weight of the moment. His eyes flicker from mine to my lips and back again, his silent question hanging in the air. My heart pounds louder than the faint melody playing on the radio.

Without overthinking it, I close the space between us, leaning in with certainty. This time, the kiss is deeper, slower, filled with the unspoken emotions we’ve both been avoiding. His hand cups the side of my face gently, his thumb brushing over my cheek.

The world outside the car fades away, leaving just us, lost in the quiet intensity of the moment. Then my phone dings. It’s my Mom texting me.

“I should get going, thank you again for the ride” I say giving him one more peck before I get out of the car.

——-

I walked up to the front door, butterflies still in my stomach, I waved to Jungwon. I get inside and all I can think about is that damn kiss. I set my bag down next to the door and take my shoes off and go upstairs to lay down.

Message from: Jungwon

I can’t wait to see you tomorrow😘

Tomorrow? I completely forgot about the tutoring session booked for tomorrow. What am I gonna do? I have to sit in the same room with him while he talks about math equations with his gorgeous hair and unforgettable voice, his cute chuckles and his sweet scented cologne. I’ll have to fight the urge to kiss him… again. This is going to be a disaster.

The night stretched on, filled with the soft glow of my phone screen as Jungwon and I exchanged a flurry of cute texts. Each message made my cheeks warm with an involuntary blush, my heart skipping every time his name lit up. Our playful and sweet words were comforting, wrapping me in thoughts of him. Eventually, sleep claimed me, but even then, my dreams were painted with his easy smile and the memory of our kiss.

——-

Morning light filtered through my blinds, pulling me from a cozy slumber. I stretched lazily, my mind immediately drifting to Jungwon. A soft smile tugged at my lips as I rolled out of bed. It was Saturday, my favorite routine day. I went about my morning, brewing coffee, flipping through my study notes with half-hearted focus, and tidying up my room. However, the usual rhythm felt different, with excitement and anticipation.

When the clock hinted it was time to get ready for my tutoring session, I stood in front of my mirror longer than usual. I picked out my outfit with more care, opting for something effortlessly cute yet comfortable. A hint of gloss on my lips, a dash more mascara than usual, just enough to feel confident. My heart raced with a mix of nerves and excitement, the thought of seeing Jungwon again making my pulse quicken.

With one final glance in the mirror and a steadying breath, I grabbed my bag, ready to face the ‘disaster’ of sitting across from Jungwon. But deep down, I knew it was a disaster I couldn’t wait for.

——-

I get into my car and prepare for my trip to Jungwon’s house. Don’t over think it. Just go in like you would for any other tutoring session.

I repeat these words to myself, the souls of my thoughts overplaying the music in the car.

I pull into Jungwon’s driveway, the familiar sight of his dark red Jeep parked out front making my heart race faster than I’d like to admit. The nervous energy bubbling within me feels different this time, heavier, laced with anticipation. I take a few deep breaths, willing myself to focus. It’s just a tutoring session, like any other… right?

I step out of my car, smoothing down my clothes and adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. Approaching the door, I can’t help but replay every moment from last night in my head, the game, the ride, the kiss. My heart pounds in rhythm with each step.

Before I even have the chance to knock, the door swings open. Jungwon stands there, leaning casually against the frame, his smile easy and disarming. But this time, there’s something different in his eyes—a warmth that wasn’t there before.

“Wow,” he breathes out softly, his gaze sweeping over me with unmistakable admiration. “You look… beautiful.”

The compliment catches me off guard, sending a warm flush creeping up my neck to my cheeks. I manage a small smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Thanks. Uh, you look good too,” I mumble, feeling shy under his gaze.

He chuckles softly, stepping aside to let me in. There’s a playful glint in his eyes that makes my heart flutter. I follow him inside, the familiar scent of his home wrapping around me like a cozy blanket. We climb the stairs to his room, and he pushes the door open with an exaggerated gesture.

I set my bag down on his bed, trying to shake off the lingering tension. He sits at his desk, motioning for me to join him. As we pull out our textbooks and notes, his knees brush against mine beneath the small desk, an innocent touch that sends a jolt straight to my heart.

We dive into derivatives, our usual dynamic slipping back into place. But this time, there’s something unspoken, I find it hard to focus entirely on the math with him sitting so close, his voice a soft, melodic distraction.

At one point, he leans over to correct a mistake in my notes, his hand brushing lightly against mine. He pauses, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Our eyes meet, and for a heartbeat, the calculus problems blur into the background, replaced by the quiet pull between us.

But then he clears his throat, pulling back slightly with a small, sheepish smile. “Focus,” he says softly, tapping my notebook with his pencil. “You’ve got this.”

The scent of his cologne mixed with the sight of his collarbones being exposed from the way he is positioned made my mind drift to things… other than calculus.

When he turned his head away from my notes, I found my self instantly turning his face towards me, locking eyes with him again. His brown, cat-like eyes were heavenly. His pupils dilated as his eyes trailed down to my lips, then eventually down to my barely exposed chest, complimented to the design on my shirt. His eyes trail back up to mine and he stutters “I-“

Before he could even mutter a fraction of a sentence, my lips crashed into his. His lips melted into the kiss and he started to move to my rhythm immediately.

The kiss deepened almost instantly, all the tension from the tutoring session melting away into something electric and consuming. His hands found their way to my waist, fingers pressing gently against the fabric of my shirt as he pulled me closer. The calculus notebook slipped forgotten to the floor as I shifted in my chair, our bodies naturally gravitating toward each other.

His lips were soft and warm, moving against mine with a tenderness that made my heart race. I could taste the faint sweetness of mint on his breath, feel the slight tremor in his hands as they traced along my sides. Every nerve ending seemed to come alive under his touch.

When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing heavily, his forehead rested against mine. His eyes were darker now, pupils dilated with something that made my stomach flutter with anticipation. The room felt smaller, the air charged with an energy that hadn’t been there during our study session.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all morning,” he whispered, his voice husky and low. His thumb brushed across my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with such gentle care that it made my heart skip.

I could only manage a soft smile in response, still dizzy from the kiss. The way he was looking at me, like I was the only thing that mattered in the world, made me feel beautiful, desired, completely lost in the moment.

This time, the kiss was hungrier, more urgent. His hands slid up from my waist to cup my face, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on my cheekbones as our lips moved together. I could feel his heart beating rapidly against his chest where our bodies pressed closer.

Without breaking the kiss, he gently guided me up from my chair, his hands steady and reassuring on my waist. We moved together, until I felt the edge of his bed against the back of my legs. He pulled away just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze searching for any hesitation.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, his hands still resting on my waist.

I nodded, unable to find words, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. He smiled that gentle smile that had become so familiar, then leaned down to kiss me again, this time slower, more deliberate.

His kisses started to trail down the side of my face, down my neck, leaving all of my sensitive spots with a gentle peck. He then went down to my collar bones and traced them with kisses down to my sternum.

“Can I take this off?” he whispers when he reached to top of my shirt. I give him a quick nod and hum of approval.

He begins to unbutton my shirt and leans back in for a kiss. Underneath the first few buttons reveals a jade colored lace bra that complimented my tits perfectly. He grabs one of them in his hand and squishes it a little before continuing to unbutton my shirt, eventually taking it off.

He brings his body closer between my thighs and I can feel his cock already fighting to break through his pants. He grabs both of my breasts and moves my bra out of the way, exposing my nipples.

“Mmmmm, such perfect tits” he says, bringing my nipples between his pointer finger and thumb. I let out a small gasp in reaction to the stimulation. He leans down, his breath hot against my skin as he takes one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. I arch into him, a soft moan escaping my lips. He alternates between the two, sucking and nibbling until they're both hard and aching. I can feel the heat building between my legs, my body throbbing with need.

His hands roam over my body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin. He unbuttons my jeans, sliding them down slowly, his fingers grazing my thighs. I lift my hips to help him, and he tugs them off, along with my panties, leaving me completely bare in front of him.

He stands back for a moment, his eyes dark with desire as he takes in the sight of me. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with want. He reaches out, tracing a finger along the inside of my thigh, making me shiver with anticipation.

I reach for him, pulling him down on top of me. Our bodies align perfectly, his hardness pressing against my softness. I can feel the heat of him,He kisses me deeply, his tongue exploring my mouth as his hands roam over my body.

I reach down to his waist and lift his shirt up a bit. He lifts up his arms so I could slide off his shirt on one smooth motion. His abdomen was stunning. He wasn’t insanely muscular, but just enough to faintly see the outline of his abs. His shoulders were broad and his arms were toned and glimmered slightly from the sweat.

He reaches around my back to unhook my bra, slid it off from around my arms, and throws it to the side. “God, I’ve been waiting to see you like this.” he admits.

He kisses down my chest, to my stomach, then my waist and inner thighs. My soaked heat right in front of his mouth. He leans in closer, his breath hot against my sensitive flesh. I can feel the anticipation building, my body aching with need. He starts with gentle kisses on my inner thighs, teasing me, making me squirm. He slides his fingers between my folds, collecting my slick.

“Damn baby, you’re already so wet” he’s amazed at the sight of my bare pussy.

When his tongue finally makes contact, I gasp, my back arching off the bed. He takes his time, exploring every fold, every inch of me. His tongue is soft and warm, moving in slow, deliberate circles. I can feel the pleasure building, coiling tight in my belly.

He finds my clit, his tongue flicking over it lightly, sending jolts of electricity through my body. I moan, my hands gripping the sheets as he continues his torturously slow exploration. He slides two fingers inside me, curling them to hit that perfect spot. I cry out, my hips bucking against his hand.

He picks up the pace, his tongue and fingers moving in sync, driving me closer and closer to the edge. I can feel my orgasm building, my body tensing as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear.

Just as I'm about to tip over the edge, he pulls back, his fingers still inside me, his thumb taking over the task of circling my clit. He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Come for me," he whispers, his voice husky and low. "I want to feel you fall apart."

His words send me over the edge. I cry out, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. He rides out my orgasm, his fingers and thumb never stopping their relentless assault on my senses.

As I come down from my high, he leans up, his lips finding mine in a deep, passionate kiss. I can taste myself on him, and it only serves to stoke the fires of my desire once more.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against mine. "You're so beautiful when you come," he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder and desire.

I smile, still breathless from my orgasm. "Your turn," I manage to gasp out, my hands reaching for his pants.

He chuckles, a low, sexy sound. I unbutton his pants and slide them down with his boxers. His cock sprang free with the tip leaking of precum. It’s a lot bigger than I expected. I don’t know how i’m going to fit this inside of my mouth, let alone my pussy.

I grab the base and guide the tip toward my lips, circling it with my tongue before attempting to suck it. I only manage to get about an inch or two in my mouth because of his girth. I lick up and down the base, stroking it with both of my hands.

“Yes baby, just like that” he groans, grabbing a fish full of my hair. He gently guides my head up and down, without force, as he feels the inside of my mouth.

He gets off of the bed and lays me on my back. He rests my legs on his shoulders and he slides his tip thought my wet folds. “Are you. ute you want to do this?” He asks

“Yes please, I want this more than anything” I cry out in desperation

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching me, filling me. I gasp, my nails digging into his back as he moves deeper and deeper. He starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm. I can feel every inch of him, every ridge, every vein.

He slowly bottoms out and stays still, making sure I get used to his size before he continues splitting me open like a watermelon.

He leans down, his lips finding mine in a deep, passionate kiss. Our tongues dance together as our bodies move as one. “You can move now” I whisper as we pull away from the kiss.

He begins to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm. I can feel every inch of him stretching me, filling me completely. The sensation is intense, almost overwhelming, but it's a pleasure I've never experienced before. I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him deeper, wanting to feel him as close as possible.

His movements become more urgent, but he maintains a deliberate pace, drawing out the pleasure. I can feel the sweat slicking our skin, our bodies sliding against each other with each thrust. The room fills with the sounds of our pleasure, the wet slapping of skin, the harshness of our breaths, and the soft moans escaping our lips.

He reaches down, his hand finding my clit, his fingers circling it in time with his thrusts. The dual sensations are almost too much, my body tensing as another orgasm builds deep within me. I can feel my inner muscles clenching around him, trying to draw him in deeper.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his voice strained with effort. "I want to make this last."

I can feel his cock swelling inside me, but he pulls back slightly, slowing his pace, drawing out the pleasure. "Don't hold back," I whisper, my voice breathless and pleading.

"Yess grip that dick" he grains breathlessly as i grip tighter from the overstimulation.

He leans down, capturing my lips in a fierce, demanding kiss as he continues to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm. He reaches down, his fingers finding my clit again, circling it with a gentle, teasing touch. The sensation is intense, my body tensing as another orgasm builds deep within me.

He pulls back slightly, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate pace, drawing out the pleasure.

He leans down, his lips finding mine in a deep, passionate kiss. Our tongues dance together as our bodies move as one. "You can move faster now," I whisper as we pull away from the kiss.

He increases his pace, his hips moving in a faster desperate manner. I can feel his cock swelling inside me, his movements becoming more erratic. I meet his thrusts, my hips lifting to match his rhythm, urging him on. "Come with me," I whisper, my voice breathless and pleading. "I want to feel you come inside me."

His eyes meet mine, dark with desire and something more, something deeper. He leans down, capturing my lips in a fierce, demanding kiss as his body tenses. I can feel him pulsing inside me, his release triggering my own. I cry out into his mouth, my body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.

He collapses on top of me, his body shaking with the force of his release. We lie there for a moment, our breaths coming in ragged gasps, our hearts pounding against each other. He rolls off me, pulling me into his arms, our bodies still slick with sweat and desire.

"Wow," he murmurs, his voice soft and content. "That was... incredible."

I smile, nestling closer to him, my head resting on his chest. "It really was," I agree, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. "You were incredible."

He chuckles, a low, satisfied sound. "So were you. I've never felt anything like that before."

I prop myself up on one elbow, looking down at him. "Me neither. It was perfect."

He reaches up, cupping my face, his thumb brushing gently across my cheek. "You're perfect," he says, his voice filled with sincerity and something more, something that makes my heart skip a beat.

I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "So are you," I whisper against his mouth.

We lie there for a while longer, our bodies entwined, our hearts beating in sync. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of us, lost in the afterglow of our passion. It's a moment of pure bliss, a connection that goes beyond the physical, a promise of something more.

I stir, stretching lazily, my body aching in the most delicious way. He watches me, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Stay with me," he says, his voice husky with emotion. "Stay the night. Stay forever."

[ggidolsmuts]

Styling her hair in Doggy Style - Le Sserafim Sakura

*Hey, you do Chaewon's hair right?* Sakura texts you out of the blue.

*Not really?*

*Okay perfect, can you come by now? I asked Chaewon already and she said you're free* You look at the clock, it's 10 pm, what hairstyling would she need now? Maybe one of those late night photoshoots?

*Fine, just text me the location*

You show up at said location—it's an apartment building, a specific apartment, to be exact. You realize belatedly when you knock on the door that this is her apartment.

"Oh, you're here, come in!" Sakura greets you with a smile, dressed very casually in a cute singlet and gray sweatpants.

"You need me to style your hair... Here?" you ask, following her into her bedroom, her gaming PC glowing in RGB.

"Yes, I'll be taking some selfies, and I would like some... Messier hair."

"Messier hair?"

"Bed hair of a specific kind." Sakura already has her arms around your neck. "I think I sent my message before I finished writing it." You think you get her message loud and clear, hands holding her slim midriff and feeling her breath quicken.

"Oh did you? What did you want to say?"

"I asked Chaewon, and she said you're free to fuck me." The last word comes out as a hiss, barely getting out between her lips before you kiss her. Sakura is eager, and as you put a hand on her thigh she's already leaning backwards, allowing both of you to tilt and fall on to the bed. Quick kicks of her legs leave her naked from the waist down, and her hurried hands have you naked below the belt too.

"Hungry?"

"Starving." She has wrapped a hand around you, guiding you in already. You watch her throw her head back as you fill her, and resist the urge to leave a hickey on her neck—she had selfies to take after all. "I need my hair to be messy so..." She nips you on your lower lip, the sting like a whip to your senses, Sakura the rider to you, her stallion.

"Don't be gentle."

You spread her legs further, loving the whine she makes as you sink deep into her. Your hands plant on either side of her, and as you start thrusting the scene in front of you is perfect—Sakura's beautiful face watching your every move, expression reflecting every bit of pleasure she feels; her hands grip the sheets, wrinkling them as they twist and grab in sync with your hips; her legs dangle just out of your peripheral view, hungrily helpless, wanting nothing more than to wrap them around you, but unable to do anything except push against your arms.

"Mmmm!" There is a loud smack of flesh-on-flesh violence as your body meets hers, and Sakura's bed is up to the task of helping you bounce off her, allowing you to slam deep inside her on every thrust, pushing moans out of Sakura that she's never heard herself make.

"Kkura, I can call you that right?" You're leaning over her, hands in her hair, holding her possessively as you make her flexible, pushing her legs back until it's at her shoulders and she's feeling the burn. You won't overdo it though—you just need her to cum like this.

"Yes, yes you can, nngh!"

"Good, then fucking cum for me Kkura!" With a few more thrusts that stretch her in more ways than one she does just that, legs quivering as it washes over her. She releases a long drawn out moan, and she jerks powerfully, legs pushing away from you and up the bed. You slip out of her, slick still dripping off your shaft, but that was fine—it was time for another position anyways.

You flip Sakura on her front, and she has enough awareness to get on all fours, ass raised in the air. She grunts as you line yourself up behind her and slide in, so you give her a moment, but nothing else leaves her lips—she just came, yet not a word about slowing down or giving her a moment. You lean over her again, this time from behind, and with your hand on her head, you twist and make her face you, and all you see is desire, her thirst for messy hair unquenched.

Time for the stallion to ride the rider.

You grab Sakura's arms and pull, keeping her back arched as you begin to fuck her. The angle lets you get at her g-spot easily, and soon she's yelping, shouting as stars begin to burst behind her rolling eyes.

"Oh, oh fuck it feels so good!" After stretching her legs you really stretch her arms in this position, pulling on them hard as you crash into her with furious thrusts. Her head turns this way and that, bouncing and jangling as her neck struggles to keep up with the force and pleasure going through her body. You pull her upright against you, an arm around her tight tummy holding her there as you tilt her chin towards you—Sakura's drooling, eyes open but blank. She briefly focuses on you when you meet her eyes, but they quickly go blank again when you play with her clit, mind vacated by another orgasm. Sakura looks like a cat when you release your hold on her, only her hips still remaining off the bed as she crashes forward on to the mattress.

"Gonna cum soon," you warn as you pound Kkura's kitty from behind, the idol somehow still having the strength to push herself against you, giving you plenty to work with as you pound into her ass with satisfying claps of your body into hers. You stroke her messy hair, and as you tug on it slightly she tightens around you.

"Fuck Kkura, where!" This time you're a little more urgent, and you're the one stretching your limits dangerously.

"O-Outside, outside!" she gasps as you tug her hair on a particularly hard thrust, triggering another orgasm. You manage to pull out before she can suck you in, and with a loud groan of relief you unload your cum all over her back and ass, streaks of cum firing over her lower back and staining her top, splotches of white all over her cheeks, red and pink from the rough fuck.

With a sigh Sakura collapses on the bed, but she recovers with surprising energy.

"Ah, the selfies, quick, clean me up." She directs you to the tissues, and with a quick wipe she's sitting up, phone in hand as she quickly takes a couple, making sure that the fact she's bottomless is kept out of frame—she is truly a professional.

"Perfect," she says as she swipes through the shots.

"The hair, or the sex?"

"The hair of course. Chaewon's too nice to you, one good night and you think it's the perfect night?"

"Are you saying you need more nights to be sure?"

"Call it under evaluation. You stained my top so that's gonna hurt your score."

"Damn, remind me to take off your top next time."

"Yes, take notes. But my hair looked good, so don't worry too much about your score." As you get dressed you can't help but think that she's just messing with you—Sakura would look good regardless of her hair.

"Sure, whatever. I'll just go then?"

"Yeah, I won't see you out, just close the door behind you."

"Really?" You turn around to find Sakura still lying on the bed, blushing slightly.

"I don't think I can stand right now."

Top marks, for sure.

A/N: Just a quickie, saw that messy hair and had to write it as a followup to the previous Chaewon quickie, thanks for reading!