#don’t like this? just scroll and move on with your life

[linoxpudding]

Inches In Between Us

summary: moment where you and him are caught too close for comfort… or maybe just close enough, tension simmers

pairing: skz x gn!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff, forced proximity trope

a/n: this one’s been sitting in my drafts forever (based on this request) I took my time crafting each moment to really bring the tension and emotion to life! comment below and let me know which scene had your heart doing somersaults ♡

Masterlist

~°~

Bang Chan (established relationship)

You flew across two countries just to see him.

You told yourself it was worth it—the late-night packing, the long airport waits, the time off you had to beg your manager for. You missed him. You missed you and him, and those Facetimes squeezed between rehearsals weren’t enough.

But now, sitting stiffly on the plush leather seat of the tour bus, knees locked together and jaw tight with frustration, you weren’t sure why you bothered.

You had claimed the wide back row—meant to seat four or five—but you sat all the way in the corner, facing the window, hoping to be left alone.

Chan’s voice had barely left your ears since the fight earlier—sharp words you both didn’t mean, silence that hurt more than shouting. He’d said he needed space.

So, you decided to give it to him.

Now that the schedule was over, the members and staff had scattered across the bus, most of them slouched in the two-seaters lining either side of the aisle. Some had earbuds in, some quietly scrolled their phones, but no one said a word about the tension radiating from the very back.

Chan climbed in last.

For a second, you thought—hoped—he’d take one of the many empty two-seaters. Maybe even sit with Minho or Changbin, who were already half-asleep a few rows ahead.

But no. He walked straight to the back and slid into the long seat. Not just the seat—but right next to you. Right up against you.

You blinked at him. “Seriously?”

In response, he just leaned back with a soft exhale, gaze forward.

Annoyed, you got up and moved to a two-seater near the middle of the bus. You didn’t look at him.

Seconds later, the seat dipped beside you again.

You didn’t even have to look to know it was him. The quiet, stubborn presence. That familiar scent. The way your thigh brushed against his because the seat was narrow and neither of you budged.

You huffed, loud enough for only him to hear, but said nothing. You didn’t want to draw attention. Not to the fight. Not to how your heart still sped up when he was near—even now.

His thigh pressed against yours, his shoulder brushing yours. There wasn’t enough room not to touch unless you climbed out the window. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

You refused to look at him, eyes glued to the streetlights racing by outside. Still, you felt him— his quiet sigh, his fidgeting fingers. The way he turned his body toward you, even if he didn’t say a word.

"You’re really not gonna say anything?" he finally whispered, voice low enough that no one in front could hear.

You shrugged.

"You were the one who said you needed space," you murmured bitterly, still not looking.

He was silent for a long second, then said, "Yeah. I was wrong."

"You can’t just say stuff like that and expect it to go away, Chan."

"I know," he said. "That’s why I’m here. In your space. Because I don’t want it. I want you."

“You told me to fly out. You wanted me here. And then you barely looked at me all day.”

Chan’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You think that makes it better?” Your voice cracked. “I cleared my schedule, booked time off, flew across countries just to watch you pull away from me every second. I know what dating an idol means, Chan, but this—this felt different.”

He looked like he’d been punched. “I know. I messed up.”

He reached for your hand, tentative. You let him, but didn’t squeeze back yet.

“I thought if I focused on the tour stuff first, I could make time for you later. But I just pushed you away, I’m sorry, baby.”

You turned to the window again, biting your lip.

“I was just excited to see you,” you whispered. “And you made me feel like an afterthought.”

Chan exhaled shakily. “You’re not. You’re the only part of this I don’t want to mess up.”

His voice was rough, edged with guilt.

“For the rest of today, I’m yours,” he said, gently pulling your intertwined hands to his chest. “No staff. No members. Just us. And I swear, I won’t let you feel like this again. Let me fix it.”

You hesitated. But you looked at him and there it was again: that open, vulnerable gaze only you ever got. He was looking at you— eyes glassy, sincere, scared.

So you nodded.

He leaned in, his voice even quieter.

"You can keep being mad at me. I’ll sit here the whole ride, touching your knee like a loser, until you’re ready to forgive me. I just… I don’t want this silence anymore."

Your anger crumbled a little at the edges. He was ridiculous. Dramatic. Stubborn. And yours.

You huffed, barely hiding the smile tugging at your lips. "You’re squishing me."

"Good," he said, bumping your shoulder gently. "I missed you."

You let your head drop onto his shoulder, just for a second. “You’re lucky we’re in public.”

He smirked. “Trust me. I know.”

Lee Know (frenemies)

It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend. A break from the city, from work, from stress.

A weekend camping trip with all your friends consisting of a bonfire, setting up tents, good food, and no cell service— sure, it sounded cute on paper. Until you found out Lee Minho was coming too.

Minho. The eye-roll king. Your arch nemesis in every group chat and game night. The one who always had something smug to say, who knew exactly how to push your buttons and enjoyed doing it.

So, here you were, standing in the middle of a forest clearing with an uneven patch of dirt under your shoes, mosquitoes humming in your ears, and Minho—a.k.a. your personal plague—stretching beside you like he owned the woods.

You didn’t even want to make eye contact.

“Alright!” Chan clapped his hands. “Everyone gets paired up in tents—but, to make things fun, we’re drawing sticks.”

Groans went up immediately, mostly from you and Jeongin.

“What is this? Summer camp?” you muttered.

“Exactly,” Felix grinned, holding out the small bundle of color-coded sticks. “Pick your destiny!”

One by one, your friends picked sticks, with excitement and curiosity filling the air.

You pulled yours last. It was red.

And then your heart sank.

“Red too,” Minho called casually, holding his up and locking eyes with you.

You blinked. “No. Nope. Pick again.”

He smirked. “Aw, are you scared of sharing a tent with me?”

“More like scared for my sanity.”

You whipped around to Han. “Please, just switch with me. I’ll give you my hoodie—the one you love. Or that extra brownie from earlier!”

Jisung burst out laughing, already dragging his guitar to a fancy-looking tent. “Can’t switch! I got the one with the LED light strip and padded floor. I’m not giving THAT up for your romantic tension!”

“There is no tension,” you barked. “Only rage!”

Minho was already walking toward your sad, lopsided tent, humming like he was enjoying every second of your meltdown. You shot pleading eyes at Chan, at Hyunjin, at anyone—but they were all pretending to be busy adjusting gear or unrolling mats.

Betrayal. Pure betrayal.

Sighing dramatically, you picked up your bag and trudged after Minho, muttering curses under your breath. Grumbling and defeated, you stomped into the tent, tossing your bag to the far corner. The inside was cozier than you expected, but that didn’t mean you were happy about it. 

“Okay but seriously,” you said, peering into the tent, “why is there only one camping mattress?”

Minho, behind you, tsked. “You lost. I shouldn’t have to suffer.”

“You think I didn’t suffer the moment I saw your face and ‘red stick’ in the same moment?”

He didn’t answer, just ducked inside and threw his sleeping bag onto the narrow mattress—if you could even call it that. It was barely wider than your body, lumpy, and definitely not meant for two.

“Oh, hell no,” you snapped, following him in. “That’s not just yours.”

Minho raised an eyebrow as he flopped down and smirked. “You wanna sleep on the floor then?”

“No. You sleep on the floor.”

“I got here first.”

You both stared at each other for a moment. The unspoken war was real. 

“Fine. I’m not giving it up,” you stubbornly said and climbed in.

There was maybe—maybe—three inches of space between your bodies. Arms touching. Legs bumping. Shoulders pressed awkwardly side-by-side.

This was not ideal.

“Stop moving,” you hissed as he adjusted.

“You’re poking me with your elbow!”

“You’re hogging the blanket!”

“Your knee is in my spine!”

A moment passed.

Silence.

Then, somehow—inevitably—you both stilled. The night was quiet outside the tent, filled only with the distant crackling fire and soft murmurs from the others. Inside, the air was warm. Heavy.

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest. Every little breath.

His eyes met yours. And you didn’t look away.

The bickering faded. The closeness became unbearable in a different way. His face was inches from yours, eyes flickering from your mouth to your gaze and back again.

Your heart pounded. Loud. Messy. Dangerous.

“Don’t snore,” you broke the silence.

“I don’t snore,” Minho piped up, rolling his eyes. “But I do talk in my sleep. Usually insults.”

“You’re really annoying,” you whispered.

“So are you,” he replied quietly.

But he didn’t move away. And neither did you. His hand brushed yours under the blanket. Barely touching. But enough to make your breath hitch.

You both leaned in—slow, tentative, until your noses almost touched—

“Yah! Who stole the marshmallows?!”

Han’s voice rang outside the tent and you both jerked away like you’d been electrocuted.

Minho cleared his throat, turning stiffly onto his side. “Sleep. Now.”

You swallowed hard, heart racing, facing the opposite direction.

But long after the outside voices faded, you stayed awake, replaying that moment—one breath away from disaster.

*************************************

The sun had barely risen over the quiet campsite, dew still clinging to the grass and birds chirping in the distance. Most tents were still zipped up, the fire pit long gone cold.

Han yawned dramatically as he and Hyunjin wandered toward your tent, both of them tasked with rounding people up for breakfast duty. "Let’s just yell and run," Han muttered. "Classic wake-up strategy."

Hyunjin shushed him. “No, I want to see their faces. Especially those two.”

Han smirked. “Ohhh right. Mortal enemies sharing a tent. Bet they killed each other in their sleep.”

They unzipped the tent slowly, careful not to wake any potential dragons.

But what they did see stopped them in their tracks.

Inside, the two of you were a complete mess of limbs—your arm flopped across Minho’s chest, his hand loosely resting on your waist, legs tangled beneath the thin blanket. One of his knees was even wedged between your thighs, and your face was tucked into the crook of his neck.

Utterly relaxed. Peaceful. Intimate.

Hyunjin let out a quiet gasp. “Oh my God.”

Han clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Dude. What… the hell?”

Hyunjin grinned. “So the tension finally melted.”

Han whispered, “Yeah. Into a puddle of cuddles and potential kisses? Do you think they kissed?”

Hyunjin smirked, “It might’ve happened.”

They slipped away without waking either of you—though Han did snap a silent photo on his phone, “just for documentation.”

However, the quiet rustling outside was just enough to stir you.

You blinked, stretching a little—only to freeze the second you realized something was very wrong.

Your cheek wasn’t against your pillow.

It was on someone's chest.

Warm. Steady. Rising and falling slowly beneath you.

You shifted just a little—and then you noticed it. Minho’s arm around your waist. One of your legs slung over his. His hand resting lightly on your back.

You nearly stopped breathing.

And just then, he stirred too—brow furrowing, eyes fluttering open. He blinked once. Twice. Then looked down.

Right at you.

There was a beat of silent realization. Eyes locking. Tension crackling in the small, stuffy tent.

Your breath caught. His hand twitched on your back.

“…You—”

“This isn’t—” you both started at once.

You scrambled back in a panic, elbowing the tent wall as you untangled your legs and rolled toward the exit. “I—I didn’t mean to—!”

“You’re the one who shoved me over in your sleep!” he whisper-hissed, equally flustered, hair a mess and voice rough from sleep.

You yanked the zipper open and practically ran out, heart pounding, cheeks burning.

The morning air slapped your face as you stumbled into the open, hoping no one saw. (Too late.)

From the campfire pit, Han and Hyunjin exchanged a look—and then burst into laughter.

Inside the tent, Minho sat up, running a hand through his hair and muttering to himself.

“…So dramatic.”

But even as he said it, a faint, undeniable smile pulled at his lips.

Because your warmth still lingered on his skin.

And that moment—however brief—was now burned into him.

*************************************

Back at the communal camp kitchen, Han was making scrambled eggs while Hyunjin cut fruit, both humming softly. Minho emerged from the trees a while later, hair a bit messy, lips pressed in a line as he poured water into the kettle like nothing happened.

“You sleep okay?” Han asked innocently.

Minho side-eyed him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Han shrugged. “You know. Considering the person you used to say you’d rather fight a bear than share a tent with.”

Minho didn’t look up. “Shut up. There’s nothing between us.”

But then he hesitated. Almost like something tugged at him.

And when he glanced over his shoulder, there you were—laughing at something Felix said, your cheeks squished adorably in the cool air, your hair a mess from sleep. You tossed your head back as you laughed, eyes sparkling while Minho was watching. And he smiled softly. Almost in a daze, like it bloomed out of his chest before he even knew it was there.

Han caught it, catching the way Minho lingered just a second too long before turning back around.

He didn’t say anything.

He just smiled too—watching his best friend quietly fall.

Seo Changbin (friends to lovers)

Changbin’s apartment smelled like buttered popcorn and clean laundry.

It was your favorite place to be lately—low lights, cozy blanket, a ridiculous action movie playing on the screen, and him beside you, warm and familiar. Your legs were tangled casually over his, a bowl of popcorn between you, laughter spilling out as some over-the-top fight scene played.

"This is the dumbest movie you’ve made me watch," you grinned, tossing a popcorn kernel at him.

Changbin caught it in his mouth effortlessly and winked. "Admit it. You love it."

"I love mocking it," you teased, nudging his thigh with your foot.

He caught your ankle before you could pull back, grinning wickedly. “You sure you want to start something?”

You wiggled your toes defiantly. “What, you’re gonna fight me?”

“I could win.”

“You wish, Seo Changbin.”

That’s all it took.

Suddenly, the popcorn bowl was tossed aside, and you were squealing, squirming, as Changbin tackled you onto the couch in a flurry of limbs and laughter.

It wasn’t serious—just a mess of soft slaps, blocked pokes, mock grunts. You wrestled, pushing at his shoulders, but he was strong and quick, playful growls leaving his throat as he countered every move with ease.

“Okay, okay, I take it back!” you laughed breathlessly, trying to twist away.

He caught your wrists.

One smooth motion, and you were pinned flat against the couch cushions, Changbin hovering above you—knees on either side of your hips, hands holding yours gently but firmly down beside your head.

The laughter stopped. Well everything… stopped.

His chest was rising and falling, breath just a little uneven. Your wrists burned under his fingers, not from pressure but from presence. The movie still played in the background, but it was a muffled hum now—nothing compared to the thunder of your heart.

He was close. Too close.

His face hovered just above yours, eyes flickering over every part of your expression—your parted lips, your wide eyes, the heat that was now unmistakably there in both of your gazes.

Neither of you moved.

You swallowed hard. “Are you gonna let me up?”

He didn’t blink. “Do you want me to?”

You couldn’t answer.

Because maybe you didn’t want him to.

Your silence stretched. His grip loosened ever so slightly, just enough that your hands could move if you wanted—but you didn’t pull away. Not yet.

Your fingers curled around his wrists instead, and his breath caught audibly.

“You’re dangerous,” you whispered.

He leaned a little closer, voice low. “You bring it out in me.”

For a second—just a second—he dipped his head, your noses brushing, lips almost meeting. Almost.

But he hesitated. Like he needed permission. Like he didn’t want to cross a line unless you asked him to.

“Binnie…” you breathed, and that was all it took.

His forehead touched yours. Not a kiss, not yet—but his weight above you, his warmth, the want in his eyes was enough to melt you.

“You’re more than just a friend to me,” he murmured. “I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, but when you look at me like that—”

You surged up just enough to press your lips to his.

Soft. Careful. But charged like fire.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting forever.

Changbin’s lips lingered on yours like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

You watched him in that small, quiet moment—his lashes brushing his cheeks, his hands still cradling your wrists. He looked… vulnerable. Not like the loud, confident Changbin who barked laughs and flexed his arms to annoy you. This was different.

He finally opened his eyes and met your gaze—softer now. Nervous, even.

“So…” he said, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “Now what?”

Your heart flipped.

You smiled shyly and tugged your hands free, only to lace your fingers with his. “Now,” you whispered, “you help me up, because you’re crushing me.”

A breathless laugh escaped him, and he immediately rolled off to the side, reaching down to help you sit up. “Sorry,” he said, a little flushed. “Didn’t mean to KO you on the first date.”

You both paused.

You tilted your head. “So this is a date now?”

He looked a little caught, but the smile never left his face. “I mean… if you want it to be.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “Only if it ends with another kiss.”

Changbin turned bright red, chuckled, and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re gonna make fun of me forever for this, aren’t you?”

You leaned in, close enough that your noses touched again, your voice barely a breath. “Probably.”

He kissed you again—quick, sweet, like he couldn’t help himself.

Then he got up, held out his hand, and pulled you to your feet. Still holding on. Still close.

“So,” he said again, this time with a grin, “sleepover rules still apply. I’m making ramen. You’re picking the next movie. And maybe later, we kiss again.”

You smirked, tugging him toward the kitchen. “We’ll see if you earn it.”

“Hey!” he whined playfully. “I pinned you! That’s gotta count for something!”

“It counts as me letting you win, obviously.”

“Oh, it’s on.”

And just like that, you were back to bickering—but now, between the sarcasm and the teasing, were shy glances, soft smiles, and the kind of tension that didn’t need words anymore.

You’d always been close. Now, you were closer than ever.

Hwang Hyunjin (crushing on seonbae)

It was your second week as a trainee for a new girl group under JYP Entertainment, and you had already learned that the training schedule was intense. You were still trying to find your rhythm in a world filled with highly talented idols, and it felt like everything was moving too fast. You spent most of your time in the practice rooms, working on vocal exercises, choreography, and dance routines.

One day, after a particularly long session, you found yourself taking a quick break to catch your breath. You'd never thought you'd meet Hyunjin from Stray Kids during your training, but here you were, sitting in the corner of the studio, trying to recover from a grueling dance practice. He was in the middle of a solo routine, and you couldn’t help but watch, captivated by his flawless movements. The way he danced was mesmerizing, and for a moment, you forgot everything around you. You did harbour a huge secret crush on him. 

When his practice ended, he caught you staring, a playful smirk appearing on his face. “Like what you see?” he asked with a teasing tone.

Caught off guard, you blushed, quickly looking away. “Oh! Uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No need to apologize,” he interrupted, walking over to where you were sitting. “I saw you struggling with your choreography earlier. Need some help?”

You blinked, surprised by his offer. You had only been a trainee for a short time, and the idea of dancing with someone like Hyunjin made you nervous. But his smile was disarming, and you could tell he genuinely wanted to help.

"Actually, yes," you admitted, standing up. "I can't quite get the moves down for our routine. Maybe you could show me some tips?"

Hyunjin grinned, taking his place in front of you. "No problem. I'll teach you the basics, and we'll see if we can make it a little more fun."

He started by showing you the footwork, his body moving effortlessly to the beat. You mimicked his movements, but the steps felt awkward under your feet. Hyunjin noticed immediately and gave a little chuckle.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. “Relax. You’re supposed to feel the music, not stress about the steps.”

His hands lingered just a second too long, and you felt a heat rush to your cheeks. You took a deep breath, nodding. “I’ll try again.”

You continued practicing, and as the movements started to feel more natural, Hyunjin encouraged you with small comments here and there. The choreography was getting better, but you were still a little offbeat.

"Okay, how about this," Hyunjin suggested. "Let’s do the next part together. I'll guide you."

Before you could say anything, he stood close behind you, his hand lightly resting on your waist to help guide your movements. His proximity caught you off guard, and your heart skipped a beat. The way his body was pressed against yours, his warmth radiating onto you, was almost overwhelming. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he leaned in to correct your posture.

“Here, just like this,” he said, adjusting your hips with his hands. The touch was gentle, but the closeness made it impossible to ignore the sudden tension in the air. You could feel your body growing tense, unsure of how to act with him so near.

His grip shifted slightly, and you found yourself in an almost perfect mirror of his stance. "See?" Hyunjin smiled, his voice low. "Much better."

The way his eyes locked onto yours made your breath catch in your throat. The dance had become less about learning the moves and more about the unspoken connection forming between you two in the space. His hands were still guiding you, his touch firm but soft, and every movement seemed to bring you closer together.

You both continued practicing, but it wasn’t long before the movements became more fluid, and you realized that it wasn’t just the choreography that was making you feel this way. Hyunjin’s presence, his proximity, was stirring something in you. Every time he adjusted your form, his hand would brush against your skin, sending a shiver through your body. Your heart beat faster, and the air between you felt heavier, charged with an unspoken tension.

At one point, you made a small mistake and spun the wrong way, causing your bodies to collide. For a brief second, you both froze, trapped in a moment of unintended intimacy. Hyunjin’s chest was pressed against your back, his arms still holding you in place as you both tried to steady yourselves. His breath hitched slightly, and you could feel his heartbeat racing against your skin.

You locked eyes, and for a second, everything else faded. The studio, the other trainees, the music—it was just the two of you, caught in this unexpectedly close moment. The space between you was nonexistent. The gentle brush of his fingers on your arm sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Well,” Hyunjin said, his voice now husky, as he reluctantly stepped back, breaking the tension. “I guess we got a little… carried away.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady yourself. “I—I didn’t expect that,” you murmured.

He smiled, a little sheepishly. "Yeah, me neither. But hey, at least the moves are starting to look good, right?"

You nodded, though your thoughts were still a little scattered from the closeness you’d just shared. You both stood there for a moment, the silence between you filled with the lingering tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

“Well, if you ever need more help," Hyunjin said, his voice returning to its usual playful tone, "I’m just a call away.”

You gave a small, nervous smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As he left the practice room, you stayed behind for a few moments longer, your heart still racing from the unexpected intimacy of the dance. There was a mix of excitement and confusion swirling inside you. What was that? Was it just the dance, or was there something more there?

You didn’t have time to answer your own questions because, as a trainee, there was always another routine to learn, another move to perfect. But as you left the studio later that day, your mind kept returning to the way Hyunjin had touched you, the way he’d held you close, and how in that one moment, you couldn’t tell if it was just dance… or something more.

Han Jisung (secretly dating)

It was game night, a regular gathering with the boys at their dorm, where laughter and playful competition filled the air. You'd been looking forward to this night, to unwind and enjoy their company, especially Han Jisung's. You were secretly dating him, keeping it low-key for the time being, but lately, it felt like a secret you wanted to shout from the rooftops. There was just one problem—you didn’t know how to tell the others without making things awkward.

Tonight, everyone was hyped up and playing a board game, the atmosphere light and buzzing with friendly rivalry. The stakes had gotten higher as the rounds went on, and the trash talk was flying. You and Felix had become a bit of an invincible duo—strategizing, making each other laugh, and working seamlessly together. 

But as Hyunjin leaned back in his chair with a smirk and exclaimed, “Oh my god, Felix and Y/N, you guys are totally an unbeatable duo!” the comment seemed to hit differently. Jisung, who had been quiet for a while, stiffened beside you, his eyes momentarily narrowing as he watched you laugh along with Felix.

You noticed the subtle change in his demeanor. A quiet jealousy simmered beneath his usual playful and easy-going attitude. You felt your stomach tighten with an instinctive pull toward him. Felix, oblivious to the shift, was still bantering with Hyunjin.

But Jisung was different. He was unusually quiet, and the energy in the room had shifted in a way that only you could sense. You could feel his gaze lingering on you for a little too long, and it made your heart race—nervous, excited. The tension between you two was palpable, something you both tried to keep under wraps.

As the game continued, you couldn't help but glance over at Jisung. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. His playful vibe had shifted into something more guarded. It wasn’t like him to stay quiet for so long, and it made you feel uneasy, like you had inadvertently caused the shift in the air.

Felix was deep in conversation with Hyunjin, while the others were absorbed in the game, but you couldn’t focus anymore. You excused yourself from the table, slipping into the hallway in an attempt to get some space. You figured you could give Jisung a moment to cool down or maybe even talk about whatever had been bothering him.

But before you could walk further, Jisung was there. You didn’t even hear him approach, but suddenly his hand was on your wrist, and he was gently tugging you toward the hallway leading to his room. “Hey, where are you going?” you asked, trying to keep the casual tone.

He didn’t respond right away, his grip firm but gentle. There was a certain intensity to his gaze now—his eyes darkened slightly, and his usual teasing smile was replaced with something more serious. “I need to talk to you,” he muttered, his voice low.

You didn’t say anything. You knew this wasn’t just about the game anymore.

When you reached his room, Jisung quickly closed the door behind you, his hand resting on the handle for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. The two of you stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds, the air thick with unspoken words.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t like the way you two were... getting so close. Felix and you, laughing together like that.” His eyes were intense, full of something you hadn’t seen before—something raw. “It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong, but… it makes me feel something I don’t know how to handle.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You stepped closer to him, instinctively. “Hannie…” you began, but he interrupted you.

“I want to tell them, baby. I want to tell everyone we’re together,” he said, his hand gripping yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles gently, though his voice was firm. “I’m tired of pretending like we’re just friends.” He took a step closer, his face inches from yours now. His breath was warm against your skin, and you could feel his heart racing in his chest, matching yours.

The proximity was overwhelming, intoxicating, and for a moment, you forgot everything around you—the noise of the game, the others in the house. It was just him, and the desire in his eyes. You couldn’t lie to yourself any longer; you felt the same way. You had been trying to ignore it, keeping your relationship under wraps for the sake of the group, but in that moment, it all felt like too much to keep inside.

You swallowed, struggling to find the right words. “I want to tell them too, baby. I really do. But…” you hesitated. “Do you think they’ll understand?”

Jisung’s eyes softened, and he gently cupped your cheek with his free hand. “It’s not about them understanding,” he said, his voice tender now, the tension easing from his shoulders. “It’s about us. I want to be open with everyone, especially with you. You mean so much to me.”

The words hung in the air, a promise wrapped in vulnerability. You were quiet for a beat, the intensity of the moment consuming you. Slowly, you nodded. “Okay. Let’s tell them. Together.”

He smiled, the usual playful glint returning to his eyes, but there was still an undercurrent of sincerity. Without another word, he closed the gap between you two and kissed you, soft and slow, as if savoring the moment that had been a long time coming. The kiss deepened, both of you letting go of the tension and unspoken feelings you’d been holding onto.

When you pulled away, your foreheads touched, breaths mingling. He whispered, “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

You smiled, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “Me too,” you said softly.

From that moment on, there was no more hiding. You were his, and he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

Lee Felix (colleagues to lovers)

The music video shoot had gone longer than expected, and most of the staff had either stepped out for a break or were busy resetting lights outside. The trailer where touch-ups usually happened—the one usually buzzing with stylists, cords, and brushes—was now completely empty.

You were the only one there, you were sitting on the couch scrolling through your phone when Felix popped in, flashing that signature grin and muttering, “Hyung said I need my hair re-gelled. Sorry,” like he was inconveniencing you, even though it was literally your job.

“Sit,” you said, trying to sound normal. Professional.

But nothing about Felix ever let you stay fully calm. Not the way he tugged off his jacket with one hand and tossed it lazily on the couch. Not the way his damp dark hair curled against his forehead, making him look more boyish, more human, than the stage idol version everyone else saw.

You stood behind him, gently combing through his roots. The gel hadn’t fully set, and you needed to rework it from the front.

"Can you tilt your head back?" you asked.

He did, but the angle was awkward. He sat too low in the chair, so you had to lean forward, your hips brushing the armrest. When you reached to push his fringe back, your chest nearly grazed his shoulder.

He stilled. You froze.

Then, in one ungraceful second, your foot slipped against the leg of the chair. Your balance tipped forward—too fast to catch. A small gasp escaped you as your knees bumped the edge, and suddenly you were no longer standing.

You landed on him.

Your hands flew to his shoulders to steady yourself, but it was too late—your body was already pressed against his, knees planted on either side of his lap, your faces just inches apart.

His breath ghosted across your cheek. Warm. Shaky.

Neither of you moved.

“Sorry—” you whispered, trying to push yourself back up.

But his hands had found your waist. Not tight, not holding, just there. Warm, grounding. And when your eyes met, something shifted.

“No—” he breathed, voice quieter than you’d ever heard. “Don’t move.”

Your breath caught.

“Felix—”

“I didn’t mind… I mean, it’s okay. I just…” His stammered.

You blinked at him, heart hammering, heat blooming across your chest and neck. You’d danced around this for weeks—maybe months.

The lingering stares, the way his smile always stretched wider when you were near. But this…

His hands were still on your waist. And for a moment, neither of you moved.

The only sound was the low hum of a distant monitor and your heartbeat hammering in your chest.

Then, slowly, his fingers reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch barely grazing your skin. The motion was so gentle, so intimate, that it made your breath hitch. And the moment his hand dropped, his eyes widened—like he hadn’t realized what he was doing until it was already done.

“I—I didn’t mean to—sorry, that was—” he breathed, voice shaky.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. His cologne wrapped around you like a net, grounding and dizzying all at once.

“I just—” he went on, swallowing, “God, I’m sorry.”

You stared down at him.

His face was already flushed pink, his eyes still locked on yours like he wasn’t sure if he should let go or pull you closer.

“I didn’t mind,” you said quietly.

He blinked.

“What?”

Your voice came out softer this time, more vulnerable. “I didn’t mind. That you touched my hair.”

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded.

He exhaled through a breathless laugh, like disbelief. “Because I’ve been trying not to do anything like that since you started.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you,” he said instantly. No hesitation. Just the truth.

“And I didn’t want to make things weird. But God, you’re always so close, and you’re so gentle, and I’m pretty sure I’ve started dreaming about the way you touch my hair—”

You kissed him.

Quick. Certain. Nothing intense, just a quiet yes to everything he’d just admitted.

His hands tightened on your hips, grounding himself. “Okay,” he whispered against your lips, dazed. “Yeah. That just happened.”

You laughed softly and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. “It did.”

“I still need to finish your look,” you teased.

He grinned, pulling you even closer. “I think you just did.”

The silence was comforting this time. Not awkward but intimate.

Kim Seungmin (sunshine x grumpy)

When Chan invited you for a quiet weekend at his countryside farmhouse, you didn’t hesitate. It had been months since you last saw your best friend—too many midnight voice notes, too many “I miss you’s” with a sad emoji tacked on at the end. So you packed a bag and drove up that Friday evening, not even bothering to ask who else would be there. 

Chan had welcomed you in with the warmest hug and whispered, “Seungmin’s here. Try not to combust.”

You elbowed him, cheeks warm. “I don’t like him.”

“Sure,” he smirked.

Of course Seungmin was here. Still just as grumpy, still refusing to smile at your stupid jokes, still never calling you by your name—just “you” or “Chan’s friend.”

And yet, somehow, you still looked for him in every room.

By Saturday night, you were full of barbecue, three glasses into a fruity drink, and cozy in an oversized hoodie. Laughter buzzed through the warm-lit living room. Chan had pulled out board games and card decks, and Hyunjin tossed on a playlist. You and Seungmin had exchanged exactly four words since arriving: “Morning,” “Move” and “No, thanks”

After too many rounds of Mario Kart, Chan flopped onto the massive couch and clapped his hands. “Okay, new game. Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“Are we in high-school?” you and Seungmin said in perfect sync from opposite ends of the couch.

Everyone laughed, but Chan just wiggled his eyebrows. “Come on, you’re all cowards. It’ll be fun.”

Chan started spinning a bottle, and before you could sneak away, your name was called—followed by Seungmin’s.

The room howled.

You whipped around to Chan, whispering furiously, “You rigged that!”

“Did not,” he said with a very smug expression. “Enjoy.”

The closet—tucked in the corner of the master bedroom—was dim, a little too warm, and far too tight for two people. The door shut behind you with a soft click.

“I hate them,” Seungmin muttered, already looking up at the ceiling like it might offer a hatch out.

You nervously glanced around in the little space. You took a breath. “Wow. Cozy.”

“Not really,” he said flatly.

You smiled anyway. “I forgot how much fun you are at parties.”

His lips twitched. The smallest, smallest smirk.

Minutes passed. Maybe only one. Maybe ten. You didn’t know. The quiet between you felt heavier than the night sky outside.

Then—he spoke.

“You flew all this way just to see Chan?” he asked.

Your brows rose. “Yeah, why?”

“No reason,” he said immediately, then hesitated. “Just… wondering.”

You took a step closer, trying to read him. “Why do you always look at me like I annoy you, but then keep showing up in every room I’m in?”

His jaw flexed. “You don’t annoy me.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He pushed off the wall now, standing straighter, closer. “You’re… too much sometimes.”

You blinked. “Too much?”

“Too much sunshine. Too much sweetness. It gets under my skin.”

You smirked. “Good.”

He gave you a flat look. “This is ridiculous.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not.”

You grinned. “You are. It’s kind of cute.”

He glanced away, jaw tightening, but the pink in his cheeks betrayed him.

You leaned in just a little. “What’s wrong, Seungmin? Closet too small? Or is it just me that’s making you all flustered?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You wound me,” you gasped, hand over your chest. “I’m just being friendly.”

“Yeah, well… maybe tone it down a little.”

You tilted your head. “But I thought I was ‘too much sweetness’ and ‘gets under your skin’—don’t tell me I’m growing on you.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m stuck in a closet with my longtime crush.”

Seungmin froze.

Your eyes widened. Crap. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“…What?” he said after a beat, voice lower.

You scrambled. “I mean—not crush crush. I mean like, maybe. Possibly. Okay, definitely. For a long time. Like years-long. But you were always so—”

He took a step forward. You stopped babbling.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you for a moment, then leaned in slightly, voice dry. “Chan told me you’d be here.”

“…Okay?”

“I’ve been trying to act normal since yesterday.”

“That was you acting normal?”

He smirked, just a little. “I don’t flirt like you do.”

“I don’t flirt—”

“Really?” he stepped closer, close enough that your breath caught. “Then what would you call this?”

You were backed against the shelf, heart in your throat, eyes flicking between his and his mouth. He braced one arm beside your head, gaze sharp.

“…Trouble,” you whispered.

He smirked again—wider this time. “Yeah. You’re trouble.”

And then, just before the timer outside buzzed, he kissed you.

Slow, deliberate, and nothing like the annoyed boy who always pretended you were too much.

When he pulled back, lips barely grazing yours, he whispered, “Next time, we skip the game.”

And when the door finally swung open to the cheering crowd, neither of you said a word—but the heat in your face said everything.

Yang Jeongin (brother's best friend)

You hadn’t seen Jeongin properly in almost a year—well you really haven’t seen him much since he’d debuted and got busy with his idol life. But when your brother casually mentioned, “Jeongin’s having a little dinner thing at his place. Just a few of us. You should come—it’s been forever.”  something fluttered in your chest that you tried very hard to ignore.

You’d crushed on him since you were probably twelve, back when he was just your brother’s slightly awkward best friend who always let you have the last slice of pizza. And now? Now he was I.N—idol, heartthrob, and the same boy who still texted your brother dumb memes at 2am.

You didn’t expect much when you arrived—just polite greetings, awkward small talk, maybe a few inside jokes that would go over your head. But when Jeongin opened the door…

Your heart did that stupid thing again.

He looked tired but beautiful, hoodie sleeves pushed up, the kind of soft glow that came from being around people he trusted. He looked mature now—fame-polished, confident, sharper around the edges—but you still saw glimpses of the boy who used to chase your brother through your backyard, who used to steal popsicles from your freezer and grin like he won the lottery.

“Hey,” he smiled, eyes flickering over your face for a second too long. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“My brother dragged me,” you said lightly.

Jeongin tilted his head, still holding the door open. “Good. I’m glad you’re here.”

The dinner was casual, cozy. Laughter echoed through the apartment, plates clinked, and stories flowed like old times. But something about the way Jeongin kept glancing at you when your brother wasn’t looking—when he refilled your drink before anyone else’s, when your knees accidentally touched under the table and he didn’t move away—it felt like you weren’t imagining it anymore.

It wasn’t until later—when everyone was a little too full and a little too tipsy and began playing loud music—that you slipped away to find some quiet. 

The bathroom was unlocked, thankfully, and you slipped in, locking the door behind you. Only to turn around and freeze.

“Oh?” you exhaled.

Jeongin stood leaning against the counter, arms crossed, he was startled to see you too.

You nodded, suddenly too aware of the small space, the way the air felt heavier between you two. You both stood there in silence, not quite looking at each other. You should leave, your mind said. Step out, apologise, pretend this didn’t feel like something.

But for some reason… you stayed.

His gaze flicked to you, then away. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… needed a break from all the noise,” you said softly. “Didn’t think I’d find you here too.”

He gave a half-smile. “Yeah, well. Guess we’re still in sync.” Then he shifted. “I didn’t think you’d actually come tonight.”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your hands felt clammy. “Yeah, well. My brother can be pretty persuasive.”

Jeongin smiled, then glanced down, almost bashful. For a second, he looked like the boy you remembered—the one who got flustered when you caught him singing in your garage.

You stepped back, “I’ll find somewhere else—”

You were about to step toward the door when he suddenly reached out and caught your wrist.

“Wait.”

You turned, startled by the contact. His hand was warm around your wrist, gentle but firm enough to make you pause.

His voice was quiet. Earnest. “How long are we gonna pretend we’re not dying to be with each other?”

Your stomach flipped.

You looked away, jaw tight. “My brother would never agree.”

He chuckled—soft, humorless. “Your brother doesn’t get to decide who I want.”

“Innie,” you warned.

He locked the door behind him.

“Innie?” he echoed, teasing. “You haven’t called me that in a while.”

You froze. “Jeongin—”

“I know. Your brother would kill me.” His voice was lower now, almost a whisper. “But it’s driving me insane, pretending I don’t feel something every time you walk into a room.”

He stepped in. Close. Too close.

“I thought I was imagining it,” he said, finally looking at you. “But the way you look at me sometimes... it doesn’t feel one-sided.”

“It’s not,” you whispered.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, voice rough.

He pinned you to the counter so easily you couldn’t think straight.

He stepped even more closer before saying quietly. “If I kissed you right now, would you push me away?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you closed the space between you, barely a breath apart. And whispered, “I should.”

“But you won’t,” he said, voice hoarse.

“No,” you breathed, “I won’t.”

And then he kissed you—soft, hesitant at first, like he knew the line he was crossing. But when your fingers curled into his hoodie and he pulled you closer, you both forgot everything but the feeling of finally, finally not pretending.

----------------

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[yourmomsawh0r3]

The grand life

Joel Miller x Wife!Reader

Warnings: 18+

Word count: 3,443 words 19,394 characters

Sunday mornings at the Miller house were sacred.

There were no alarms, no obligations just the smell of bacon popping in the skillet, the warm sun slanting through the blinds, and the sound of Joel’s heavy boots trudging into the kitchen like a grumpy bear.

You didn’t even look up from the pancake batter as he came in.

“Coffee’s fresh.”

Joel grunted, pouring himself a cup and leaning against the counter, watching you. “You make breakfast just to fatten me up?”

You turned with the whisk still in hand, raising a brow. “You’re the one who asked me yesterday if I’d make pancakes. You begged, if I recall.”

“Didn’t beg. I said I wouldn’t mind some pancakes.”

You smiled, flipping a piece of bacon. “You said, and I quote, ‘Baby, you know I can’t live without your pancakes, please make them, I’ll die otherwise.’”

Joel grumbled something under his breath and took a long sip of coffee, watching you move around the kitchen in one of his old T-shirts and sleep shorts. His eyes softened.

“Still grumpy?” you teased, brushing past him and patting his stomach playfully.

“Not grumpy. Just hungry,” he mumbled, curling an arm around your waist and pulling you in close.

“You’re always hungry lately.”

“Only for you,” he said, voice low in your ear.

You were about to respond maybe something flirty, maybe something sarcastic but your phone vibrated on the counter.

Sarah: “Important family meeting. 6pm at Mom and Dad’s. No excuses. I’ll bring dessert.”

Joel read over your shoulder. “That sounds suspicious.”

“Very.”

By 6:00, the house was full of noise again your favorite kind of chaos.

Joel Jr. came in first, tall and broad like his dad, kicking off his boots at the door. “You guys dying or something? Sarah was being dramatic in the group chat.”

“Watch it,” you warned, giving him a playful swat with the dishtowel. “We could be dying. You don’t know.”

“Guess I better stay for dinner just in case.”

Monica entered next, already scrolling through her phone. “If this is another intervention because Ellie says I talk too loud on speakerphone, I swear”

“I never said that,” Ellie snapped, walking in behind her. “I said you sound like a drunk squirrel when you laugh.”

“I do not!”

You were about to tell them all to quiet down when Sarah finally walked in, holding a bakery box and looking well, glowing.

“Hey, everyone.” She was smiling nervously.

Joel perked up, sensing something.

You watched as she placed the box on the coffee table and said, “Before we eat, I need to tell you something.”

Everyone went still. Even Ellie stopped chewing her gum.

Sarah opened the box, revealing a neat row of cupcakes half pink, half blue with tiny plastic booties on top.

Joel Jr. blinked. “Wait. Are those baby cupcakes?”

“Yeah,” Monica whispered. “Those are baby cupcakes.”

Sarah looked up at her siblings, then at you and Joel.

“I’m pregnant.”

It was like the air left the room.

Joel sat down hard on the couch, eyes wide. You stood frozen, hand over your mouth.

Then came the chaos.

Monica screamed, Ellie dropped her phone, Joel Jr. muttered something like “I thought this was about Dad’s cholesterol”, and you walked over to Sarah and pulled her into a hug, tears springing to your eyes.

“Oh, honey. Oh my God. Really?”

Sarah nodded, laughing through her own tears. “Yeah. I found out last week. I wanted you all to be the first to know.”

Joel was still silent, holding a tiny cupcake in his calloused hand like it might bite him.

“Joel?” you asked gently, eyes searching his.

He looked up, jaw tight. His voice cracked.

“You’re… you’re havin’ a baby?”

Sarah smiled. “I am, Daddy.”

He stood slowly, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around her. He didn’t say anything else. Just held her, tight and quiet, like the weight of the years was finally settling in.

After the kids had left still shouting across the driveway, Monica already planning the nursery you and Joel stood in the kitchen, the leftovers cooling on the stove, the house quiet again.

You turned to him, resting your arms around his neck. “You okay, old man?”

He looked down at you, his eyes warm, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“I watched her take her first steps in this damn kitchen,” he said softly. “Now she’s havin’ a baby of her own.”

You kissed his chest. “I know.”

Joel leaned in, touching his forehead to yours. “She’s gonna be a hell of a mom. Just like you were. Just like you are.”

Your fingers slid under the hem of his flannel. “You know what I was thinking?”

“What?”

“That we’re alone now. The kids are gone. House is quiet…”

He raised an eyebrow. “You makin’ a move on me, darlin’?”

“Joel, I just watched you cry over baby cupcakes. I’ve never been more in love with you in my life.”

That was all it took.

He hoisted you up onto the kitchen counter, kissing you like it was the first time, his hands rough but reverent as they skimmed up your sides. The cool tile beneath you only made his body feel hotter, his mouth trailing fire down your neck, your breath catching when he murmured against your skin.

“You gave me her, y’know,” he whispered. “And now she’s givin’ us another piece of her.”

Your hands found the edge of his shirt, lifting it as you whispered, “I gave you four pieces, Joel Miller. Don’t forget the twins and Ellie.”

He laughed really laughed and kissed you hard.

The moment your hands slipped under Joel’s flannel, his breath hitched.

The kitchen was warm from the oven, the scent of bacon still lingering in the air, but nothing compared to the heat building between your bodies.

Joel leaned in, his nose brushing your cheek, his voice rough and low.

“You got any idea what you do to me, sweetheart? Hm?” he murmured, his lips grazing your jaw as he slid your oversized T-shirt up, revealing soft skin and a pair of cotton panties that made his groan audible.

“You’ve been walking around in my shirt all damn day, legs bare, ass peeking out just enough to drive me crazy.”

You bit your lip, watching his pupils darken as he settled between your legs on the kitchen counter. His hands gripped your thighs possessively.

“Joel…”

“You think I don’t notice the way you sway your hips when I walk in? That you ain’t doin’ it on purpose?”

“I wasn’t”

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled, biting your earlobe. “You wanted me like this. Wanted me desperate.”

Your breath hitched as he ground his hips into you, the hard outline of his arousal unmistakable beneath his jeans. His lips crashed into yours hungry, claiming while his hands pulled your panties aside with practiced ease.

“You know what I was thinkin’ all through dinner?” he rasped between kisses. “While the kids were talkin’ ‘bout baby names and nursery colors? I was thinkin’ about how wet you were gettin’ just from watchin’ me be a good dad.”

You whined, arching into his touch as his fingers found you. He swiped once through your folds, groaning when he felt just how ready you were.

“Goddamn, baby. Already soaked for me.”

“I love you like this,” you gasped. “All rough and sweet.”

He smiled against your neck. “Yeah? Love when I talk to you like this, don’t you? When I remind you you’re mine?”

You nodded desperately as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them just right while his thumb worked your clit with slow, deliberate circles.

“You gave me a whole family,” he whispered, voice shaking now. “You gave me a home. You made me a father. And now you’re makin’ me a fuckin’ grandfather.”

Your walls clenched around his fingers, making him curse.

“You still tight for me after all these years. Still my favorite thing in this whole damn world.”

“Joel, I..I need you”

“I got you, baby,” he promised, pulling away just long enough to shove his jeans down and line himself up. “I always got you.”

He entered you in one smooth, deep thrust, both of you gasping at the contact. The stretch, the fullness, the way his hips snapped into yours with aching precision it felt like the first time all over again.

“Fuck, you take me so good,” Joel groaned, gripping your hips as he thrust slow and deep. “This pussy’s mine. Always has been. Always will be.”

You moaned loudly, nails digging into his back, your body trembling with each stroke.

“You look so goddamn beautiful like this writhin’ for me, beggin’ for it. My wife. My girl. Mother of my kids. And now…”

He leaned close, kissing you softly this time, voice cracking.

“…soon to be Grandma.”

You laughed breathlessly against his lips, clutching him tighter.

“I’ll be a hot grandma.”

He grinned. “You’ll be the hottest fuckin’ grandma Texas has ever seen.”

And he kept moving worshiping you, unraveling you until you came apart around him with a strangled cry, dragging him over the edge with you. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and he emptied himself inside you with a low, possessive growl.

He held you there for a long while, panting, pressed forehead to forehead.

“Still got it,” you whispered, dazed.

Joel kissed your shoulder. “Damn right we do.”

That night, you didn’t just celebrate Sarah’s announcement. You celebrated every moment that led to it. Every diaper, every sleepless night, every scraped knee and school play and long road trip in a beat-up car full of kids and Goldfish crackers.

You celebrated the life you built.

Together.

And just before drifting off to sleep, Joel rolled over and mumbled, “We need to baby-proof the house again.”

You groaned. “Not again.”

He chuckled. “Worth it.”

9 months later, Joel was walking around the living room holding a fussy baby girl in his arms like she was made of glass.

“Why’s she makin’ that face?” he asked, peering down at her. “Is that her poopin’ face? Jesus, she looks like Ellie when she’s constipated.”

You laughed from the couch, bottle in hand. “You’re so dramatic. She’s just hungry.”

Joel huffed, gently handing over your granddaughter. “She’s so small. Smaller than Sarah was.”

“She’s healthy. She’s perfect.”

He watched you feed her, his hand resting on your thigh, thumb stroking circles through your leggings.

After she finished and was snuggled up on your chest, asleep, Joel whispered, “Never thought I’d see the day. You, rockin’ a baby to sleep again. Me, worried I’d break her just by holdin’ her.”

You looked up at him, heart full.

“I think we did alright, huh?”

He nodded, eyes damp.

“Yeah, darlin’. We sure as hell did.”

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, Joel leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice soft as ever.

“Still want you. Still love you. Always will.”

The living room was a battlefield of soft pastel blankets.

Joel stood dead center, brows furrowed, lips pressed in concentration as he stared down at his wriggling granddaughter on the couch. The baby blinked up at him with innocent confusion, one chubby arm escaping the sad excuse for a swaddle he’d attempted three times.

“Alright, you little Houdini,” Joel muttered, grabbing the blanket again and trying to fold it like that video Sarah made him watch on YouTube.

From the recliner, you were dying of silent laughter, watching your husband argue with a seven-pound infant like she was an Army recruit who wouldn’t take orders.

Joel gently rolled her tiny body to the side. “Stay still now, sunshine. We ain’t got all day.”

The baby cooed, kicked her legs, and proceeded to stick her entire fist in her mouth.

Joel, visibly sweating, made another attempt tucking one corner under her bottom, folding another across her chest but somehow she ended up looking like a lumpy Chipotle burrito with one arm sticking out and one sock missing.

“I swear to God,” Joel whispered like he was defusing a bomb. “If Ellie saw this, she’d never let me live it down.”

“I’m right here, and I’m not letting you live it down,” came Sarah’s voice from the front door.

Joel jumped like he’d been caught with a Playboy.

Sarah strode into the room, holding a Starbucks cup in one hand and a smirk in the other.

“Jesus, Dad,” she laughed. “She’s not a camping tent. You don’t need to roll her up like a sleeping bag.”

“She moved,” Joel defended, stepping aside like he was trying to preserve his dignity. “I almost had it.”

You cleared your throat behind your mug of tea. “You also said that last night with the IKEA shelf.”

Joel turned to you with an offended grunt. “That was different. The instructions were in Swedish.”

Sarah sat beside you, gently picking up her daughter and expertly re-swaddling her in less than twenty seconds.

Joel blinked.

“See?” she said, winking at him. “You just gotta make her feel like a little sushi roll. Tight, but not too tight.”

“She’s my granddaughter,” Joel muttered. “Not a damn California roll.”

Sarah laughed, kissing his cheek. “You’re lucky she already loves you. Even if you do swaddle like Frankenstein.”

Joel rolled his eyes, trying not to smile. “I raised you, didn’t I? You turned out fine.”

“Yeah, despite the burrito trauma,” she teased.

The baby gave a little yawn, content in her now-perfect swaddle. Joel stared down at her, one hand resting protectively on her back.

“…She looks like you when you were a baby,” he said quietly. “Same sleepy little mouth.”

Sarah softened. “She’s got your grumpy brow.”

He chuckled, eyes a little misty now. “Poor kid.”

You stood, wrapping your arms around his waist. “She’s got the best parts of all of us.”

And for once, Joel didn’t argue. He just nodded, kissing the crown of Sarah’s head, then yours.

The front door slammed open with the sound of sneakers and sarcasm.

“Alright, what did Dad break this time?” Ellie’s voice called from the hallway. “Was it the baby? Please tell me it wasn’t the baby.”

“In here!” you called, cradling the now-swaddled baby while Sarah handed Joel a burp cloth like he was a new recruit on the first day of bootcamp.

Monica and Joel Jr. barreled in behind Ellie, the twins already arguing over who got to hold their new niece next.

“Okay, but I brought the diapers and that organic baby butt cream,” Monica said, hands on her hips.

Joel Jr. rolled his eyes. “She poops. She doesn’t need luxury.”

“She’s a lady, you absolute troll”

“Kids,” Joel barked gently. “Calm down. You’re gonna stress her out.”

Ellie flopped onto the couch, cracking open a soda.

“Stress her out?” she snorted. “You almost wrapped her like a Quesarito thirty minutes ago.”

Joel stood tall, adjusting his flannel like he was at the podium for a presidential address.

“Y’all better show some respect,” he said, voice full Texas. “Because Big Poppa is in the building.”

There was a silence.

Then

“I’m sorry.. what?” Ellie sputtered mid-sip, coughing violently.

“Big Poppa?” Joel Jr. gasped. “Like… like the Notorious B.I.G. song?”

Monica doubled over, wheezing. “Oh my god, please stop. I’m begging you.”

Joel smirked smugly, arms crossed over his chest. “What? It’s got a ring to it. Better than ‘Grandpa Joel.’ I ain’t ready to sound like I wear orthopedic shoes and play bridge.”

You choked on your laugh from across the room, rocking the baby gently.

Sarah blinked. “You literally wore compression socks on the plane to Colorado.”

“That was for circulation,” he snapped defensively.

“Sure, Big Poppa,” Ellie teased, kicking her feet onto the coffee table. “Next thing we know, you’ll be dropping a mixtape called Burps & Bottles.”

Joel gave her the flattest look he could manage. “You done?”

“Not even close,” Ellie grinned. “I’m putting you in my phone as Big Poppa starting now.”

Joel Jr. was already typing furiously. “Group chat rename incoming.”

Monica added, “Oooooh! Can I be Lil G-Ma? Mom, say yes.”

You just groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. “I regret all of you.”

Joel walked over to you and leaned down to kiss your temple, grinning as he whispered, “Still got it.”

You murmured back, “God help me, you really do.”

And as the living room filled with laughter, bickering, and the soft, sleepy sounds of your first grandchild sighing in her swaddle, Joel Big Poppa himself wrapped his arms around you from behind and whispered in your ear:

“House might be full again, baby. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The front door shut with a soft click, with a heavy sigh and a soft kiss behind your ear.

“Well, sweetheart,” he murmured, “we survived.”

You turned in his arms, your hands sliding up the worn cotton of his flannel. “Barely. You almost got jumped for that ‘Big Poppa’ nonsense.”

Joel smirked, chin dipped down so your noses brushed. “You liked it.”

“I tolerated it.”

“You bit your lip.”

“I was trying not to laugh.”

Joel leaned in, his voice husky, low. “Could’ve sworn you were lookin’ at me like you used to… back when the house got real quiet at night. After the girls went to sleep.”

You raised a brow. “Is that right?”

“Mmhmm.” He backed you slowly toward the kitchen island, his hands already roaming, finding every familiar dip and curve. “Back when you’d pull me by my belt loops and whisper that I was handsome when I was grumpy.”

“I still do.”

“Yeah,” he rasped, pinning you gently against the counter. “But now you’re a grandma when you do it. Real filthy of you.”

You gasped, pretending to swat him. “Joel Miller!”

“Don’t act shocked, darlin’. You know I like it when you get a little bad.”

His lips met your neck, slow and warm, trailing down just behind your ear where he knew it drove you wild. You tilted your head back with a soft gasp as his fingers teased beneath your blouse.

“You cooked me breakfast this mornin’,” Joel murmured. “Fed our whole family. Rocked our granddaughter to sleep. And now…” He pressed against you, unmistakably hard. “Now I wanna ruin you a little.”

Your breath caught.

He lifted you with ease onto the counter, stepping between your thighs, crowding you in. “Let me have this,” he said. “Let me remind you you’re still mine. Every perfect inch of you.”

You curled your fingers in his hair. “Door’s locked?”

Joel grinned. “Sweetheart, I deadbolted it the second they backed outta the driveway.”

He was unhurried with you tugging your shirt over your head, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin like you were something precious. He whispered filthy things against your collarbone how good you smelled, how soft you felt, how no one had ever made him lose his mind the way you still could with just one look.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as his hand slid down your thigh, callused thumb teasing where you ached for him most.

“You’re soaked already?” he murmured, voice gone low and gritty. “Fuck, baby. That for me?”

Your nails dug into his back, breathless.

“Been wantin’ to touch you like this all day,” Joel growled. “All through dinner, all through dessert… watchin’ you with her. You’re so damn beautiful. Gonna have to take my time with you.”

And he did. Right there on the cool granite of the kitchen counter, with your hands clutching his shoulders and his name falling from your lips like a prayer. He worshipped you like the woman who gave him everything a home, a family, a forever.

When it was over, he held you close, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and uneven.

“Still think I’m grumpy?” he murmured, teasing.

You smiled, lazily running your fingers through his silvered curls. “Mmhmm. But you’re my grump.”

He chuckled, lifting you off the counter and carrying you toward the bedroom like it was second nature.

“C’mon, Big Poppa’s got one more round in him.”

“Joel!”

[kpoplustzone]

Game of Nine Part 3

OC X DAHYUN

7246 WORDS

Follow me on KOFI for morer stories

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Kiho lingered in front of Choi Hyuk, eyes gleaming under the pale streetlight, his smirk deepening with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you’ve crossed a line—and enjoyed it. He subtly unlocked his phone, its screen momentarily displaying a vivid image before he angled it just slightly, letting Choi Hyuk catch a tantalizing glimpse.

“You ever really look at them?” he asked, his voice low and slow, like velvet sliding across glass. “I mean not just as idols on a screen, but as women? Real, breathing women with heat and hunger and secrets?”

Choi Hyuk’s jaw twitched, his silence sharp, brittle. He couldn't help but notice the flash on Kiho's phone – a close-up shot that screamed Momo. Her lower body was the focus, the curve of her bare hip and the dark triangle of hair just visible at the top of her thighs taking centre stage. A playful bubble emoji seemed to float just above her most intimate area.

Kiho gave a short laugh, soft and dangerous. “Momo?” he said, savouring the name like a delicacy. “God, the way she moves when no one's watching… there's this rhythm in her hips, like her body’s always dancing, always asking. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it. But I noticed. And once I touched her—not even anything obvious, just a hand on her waist—she leaned into it like she’d been waiting her whole life for someone not afraid to close the distance.” As he spoke, he casually flicked through his gallery, another image briefly appearing – Momo lying on her stomach, her bare backside raised slightly, a mischievous wink seemingly directed at the camera.

He tilted his head, letting the words settle. He then brought up another image, this time a message thread with Jihyo. “And Jihyo…” he breathed, almost reverent. “She’s something else entirely. Fire and control wrapped up in one perfect storm. She acts like she’s in charge—and to everyone else, she is. But when you get close enough, when you say the right thing in just the right tone, you see it. That moment her mask slips. The way her breath catches when someone sees past all that armor.” As he said this, Choi Hyuk caught a fleeting but unmistakable glimpse of Jihyo. She was in a dimly lit room, her top pulled down just enough to reveal the plump curve of her bare breast, the dark outline of her nipple clearly visible.

Kiho stepped closer, until the air between them was charged, electric. He then brought up a full-screen image, this one unmistakably Momo. She was leaning back in a chair, her legs spread wide, her short skirt hiked up to reveal the tops of her stockinged thighs and a hint of something much more intimate. Her expression was a playful pout, her finger teasingly touching her lips. “I didn’t seduce them with tricks, Hyuk. I made them feel seen. Made them feel like women, not dolls in glass cases. And they gave me back something real in return.” He subtly scrolled through his gallery again, this time lingering for a moment on a shot that made Choi Hyuk’s breath hitch – a close-up of Kiho’s own erect cock, thick and glistening.

Choi Hyuk’s breathing had quickened, though he tried to hide it. His fists were still clenched, but now it wasn’t just anger—there was confusion, resentment… and something darker. Something Kiho saw immediately.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Kiho whispered, voice curling around the tension. “The heat. The jealousy. That little voice in your head wondering what it would be like to have that kind of power. To be inside their orbit the way I am.” He then brought up a final image, this one of Nayeon, her previous barely-covered picture now in full view. Her breasts were gloriously bare, pushed together to emphasize her cleavage, her hard nipples practically begging to be touched. Her expression was sultry, a playful bite on her lower lip.

He leaned in, just enough to drop the final blow. “And I’m just getting started. Nine members. Nine different stories. You going to keep watching, Hyuk? Or are you finally going to admit you like what you see?”

Kiho turned with a flourish, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he pocketed his phone, the images seared into Choi Hyuk’s mind. He strolled off into the night, his presence still lingering like expensive cologne.

Choi Hyuk remained rooted, burning with a mixture of rage, envy, and something far more dangerous: temptation, his mind reeling from the explicit glimpses of the women he admired, now intimately connected with the man who had just so brazenly flaunted his conquests.

Having tasted the forbidden fruit with Momo and Jihyo, Kiho's confidence had ballooned. He’d boasted, in his usual smug way, to Choi Hyuk about his "growing connections" within Twice. To further solidify his self-proclaimed success and perhaps to twist the knife of jealousy a little deeper, Kiho had casually mentioned that Dahyun was filming a scene for a movie and suggested they go "check it out." Choi Hyuk, despite his resentment, found himself tagging along, a reluctant spectator in Kiho's increasingly audacious exploits. And so, they found themselves lurking near the bustling set of "You Are the Apple of My Eye," watching as Dahyun prepared to film.

The humid air of the outdoor filming set clung to Dahyun like a second skin, the tight school uniform doing little to conceal the generous curves of her figure. The crisp white shirt, though buttoned demurely to the top, strained visibly across her surprisingly full and round breasts, the outline of what looked like a delicate lace bra clearly pressing through the thin fabric. Each breath she took caused the material to stretch and pull, hinting at the soft, yielding flesh beneath. The short plaid skirt, riding high above her naturally curvaceous hips, showcased a significant length of her smooth, pale thighs, their gentle swell hinting at a delightful softness. The tightness of the skirt accentuated her small waist before flaring slightly over the subtle but noticeable roundness of her ass, promising a handful of pure, unadulterated softness.

Kiho leaned against a light stand, his gaze possessively sweeping over Dahyun's figure. “That uniform barely contains her,” he murmured to Choi Hyuk, a lascivious smirk playing on his lips. “Those little boobs are just begging to be freed.” His eyes lingered on the way the shirt seemed to fight against the fullness of her chest, imagining his hands cupping their weight, feeling the soft give of her flesh against his palms.

Choi Hyuk, a few steps behind, felt a familiar heat pooling in his groin. Dahyun’s petite frame packed a surprising punch in that uniform. The way her thighs filled out the short skirt, promising a delicious squeeze, had his blood racing. He fantasized about his hands sliding up those smooth legs, inching closer to the secrets hidden beneath the plaid fabric. He imagined pressing his face against her ample chest, inhaling her sweet scent.

Dahyun moved with an inherent energy, her steps light and bouncy, causing her breasts to jiggle subtly beneath her shirt, a sight that didn’t escape Kiho’s notice. “See that?” he whispered, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Even that innocent little bounce is enough to drive a man wild.” He imagined peeling that pristine white shirt open, revealing the rosy tips of her nipples, tracing their delicate outline with his tongue.

Kiho briefly caught Dahyun’s eye, offering a casual wave. She responded with a bright, innocent smile, a stark contrast to the explicit thoughts running through both men's minds. “She’s so oblivious,” Kiho chuckled softly, turning back to Choi Hyuk. “Doesn’t even know the kind of thoughts she’s stirring up just by standing there.” He then let his gaze drop lower, lingering on the subtle curve of her backside beneath the tight skirt. “That little ass… perfect for gripping while you take her from behind.”

Choi Hyuk swallowed hard, his gaze mirroring Kiho’s. He imagined pulling that skirt up, revealing the lacy edge of her panties, pressing himself against her until he could feel the soft give of her buttocks. The primness of the uniform only amplified the forbidden nature of his desires, making Dahyun's youthful curves seem even more tantalizing. Kiho had the casual confidence of a man who felt he had access, while Choi Hyuk could only watch, his mind a whirlwind of explicit images fueled by Dahyun’s deceptively innocent yet undeniably sensual form.

Dahyun, a mischievous glint in her bright eyes even as she feigned exhaustion, bounded off set towards the green room, her short plaid skirt bouncing perkily with each step, flashing glimpses of her long, slender legs that ended in white ankle socks peeking just above her sneakers. Kiho, a predatory smile already forming on his lips, gave Choi Hyuk a pointed look before sauntering after her. Choi Hyuk, predictably, followed, glued to Kiho’s movements like a shadow.

The green room door remained slightly ajar, offering Choi Hyuk a tantalizing peek. Dahyun had tossed her water bottle onto the table and was already fiddling with her tie, a playful frown on her face as if struggling with the knot. Kiho was instantly by her side, his fingers gently brushing hers as he took over. “Let me, clumsy,” he chuckled, his gaze lingering on the soft curve of her neck just above the crisp white collar of her shirt.

Dahyun giggled, a bright, airy sound. “I swear this tie has a mind of its own,” she said, tilting her head back slightly, giving Kiho even more access to her slender neck. As Kiho’s fingers worked at the tie, he deliberately slowed his movements, his knuckles grazing the top button of her shirt, feeling the slight pressure against the fabric that stretched across her chest.

“You know,” Kiho murmured, his voice low and suggestive, his eyes now fixed on the way her shirt clung to her surprisingly full breasts, “this whole innocent schoolgirl look… it’s really doing things to me.”

Dahyun’s playful frown returned, but this time it was laced with a teasing edge. “Oh yeah?” she purred, her gaze dropping to his lips and then flicking back up to his eyes. “What exactly is it doing, Kiho-oppa?” She leaned in slightly, the tips of her fingers tracing the edge of his collar, her movements mirroring his earlier touch on her neck.

Kiho’s hand had now fully loosened her tie, letting it hang undone, revealing a hint of the skin beneath her collarbone. His fingers trailed down, lingering just above the second button of her shirt, the fabric pulled taut over her budding cleavage. “It makes me want to see what’s underneath all this prim and proper attire,” he whispered, his thumb lightly brushing against the edge of the button.

Dahyun’s breath hitched. She stepped back slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She reached down and playfully hiked up her short skirt a fraction higher, revealing even more of her long, smooth legs and the tops of her white socks. “Maybe you’ll have to work for it,” she said, her voice a soft challenge. She then leaned back against the table, crossing her long legs, the movement causing her skirt to ride up even further, offering a tantalizing glimpse of the fabric underneath.

Choi Hyuk, watching through the sliver of the open door, felt his throat tighten. The playful yet overtly sexual banter between them, combined with Dahyun’s teasing use of her uniform, was incredibly arousing. He could see the clear outline of her bra through the damp fabric of her shirt, the undone tie suggesting a loosening of inhibitions. Her long, bare thighs, revealed by the hiked-up skirt, were a direct invitation, and the way she held Kiho’s gaze left no doubt about the undercurrent of desire flowing between them. Kiho was clearly in control of this game, and Choi Hyuk could only watch, a frustrated voyeur to their escalating flirtation.

With a swift, effortless movement, Kiho reached out and gently lifted Dahyun onto the small table, her short skirt riding even higher, revealing the delicate lace trim of her underwear peeking out from beneath. Dahyun giggled, her hands instinctively reaching behind her to steady herself. Kiho, now standing directly in front of her, took the ends of her loosened tie in his hands. Instead of simply straightening it, he used it to gently tug her closer, her body sliding forward until her knees almost brushed against his thighs.

Kiho’s gaze swept over Dahyun’s face, lingering on her bright, expressive eyes, her cute, button nose, and the fullness of her lips. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her cheek. “You’re even more beautiful up close,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper.

He then began to tease her delicate features, the back of his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her cheekbone. Dahyun shivered, her eyes fluttering closed for a fleeting moment. Kiho then trailed his fingers down to her lips, gently outlining their shape, feeling their softness. He lingered there for a moment, his thumb lightly pressing into her lower lip, making her part them slightly.

Moving lower, Kiho’s fingers danced along the slender column of her neck, pausing at the sensitive spot just below her earlobe, sending another shiver through Dahyun. He could feel her pulse quickening beneath his touch. “You feel that, Dahyun-ah?” he whispered, his gaze intent on her reaction. “That’s what you do to me too.”

Choi Hyuk, still watching through the crack in the door, felt a surge of intense jealousy. He could see the clear attraction between Kiho and Dahyun, the intimate way Kiho was touching her. He imagined being the one standing that close, feeling her soft skin beneath his fingertips, her breath warm against his face. His own body tightened with longing and frustration as he witnessed Kiho’s effortless charm and Dahyun’s clear enjoyment of his attention.

Without any further hesitation, Kiho leaned in, his lips crashing against Dahyun’s in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw and immediate, his mouth opening wide against hers, demanding entrance as his tongue slid deep into her mouth. It tangled with hers in a slow, wet, and utterly unrestrained exploration, a primal dance of saliva and heat. Dahyun gasped, a surprised sound that quickly morphed into a soft moan of arousal, her lips parting further to grant him deeper access. Their tongues met and swirled, a sloppy, intimate ballet that left no doubt about the intensity of their sudden desire. Kiho’s hands, which had been framing her face, now tightened in her hair, tilting her head back to deepen the connection, his thumbs pressing firmly against her cheeks.

At the same time, Kiho subtly shifted his hips, the thick, hard length of his cock pressing insistently against Dahyun’s clothed mound. He began to rock his pelvis slowly at first, a deliberate grind that sent a visible shudder through Dahyun’s small frame. She moaned again against his lips, a deeper, more urgent sound this time, her hands leaving his arms to clutch at his waist, her own hips instinctively meeting his with a growing, frantic rhythm. The friction through their clothing was immediate and incredibly arousing, a blatant, insistent pressure that promised the even greater pleasure waiting beneath. He could feel the wetness already seeping through her uniform skirt, a clear sign of her quickening arousal.

Breaking the intense, wet kiss, both of them were breathing heavily, their eyes locking, glazed with lust. Kiho’s grip on her hair tightened for a fleeting moment before his hands dropped with a sudden, almost violent urgency to the buttons of her crisp white shirt. He ripped downwards, the plastic fasteners popping open and skittering across the table, the sharp sound echoing in the small room. The fabric parted dramatically, revealing the delicate lace of her bra, a flimsy white thing that barely contained the fullness of her perky breasts. Kiho didn’t hesitate, his hands immediately going to the soft mounds. He palmed them roughly, his thumbs rubbing hard over the delicate lace, feeling the unmistakable hardness of her nipples pressing against his fingertips. He squeezed, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Dahyun, her eyes widening in a mixture of shock and intense arousal.

Choi Hyuk, pressed against the slightly ajar door, felt his own cock throb with a desperate urgency. The raw physicality of Kiho’s actions was a brutal assault on his senses, igniting a firestorm of lust and envy within him. The passionate, open-mouthed kiss, the blatant, insistent humping against her clothed pussy, and the almost savage ripping open of her shirt sent jolts of pure, unadulterated desire through him. He could see the deep flush creeping up Dahyun’s neck, her rapid, shallow breathing, the way her eyes flickered between shock and an undeniable, almost desperate arousal. Kiho was moving with a possessive confidence that spoke of prior encounters, and Dahyun, despite the abruptness of his advances, seemed completely enthralled, her body already reacting in kind. Choi Hyuk’s jealousy coiled tighter in his gut, a burning ache that mirrored the intense throbbing in his own groin. He was a helpless observer, trapped just inches away from the explicit scene, his own desires a painful echo of the pleasure unfolding before his very eyes..

Without wasting another second, Kiho leaned down, his mouth opening wide as he latched onto Dahyun’s exposed nipple through the delicate lace of her bra. He sucked hard, drawing the sensitive nub deep into his mouth, his tongue flicking and swirling across its erect tip, eliciting a sharp, almost painful cry from Dahyun that she bit back against her lip. He repeated the action on her other breast, his teeth gently scraping against the fabric before his wet mouth enveloped it, alternating between deep, insistent sucks that made her gasp for air and teasing flicks of his tongue that sent shivers of raw, electric sensation coursing through her entire body. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, her head falling back against the table, her breath coming in short, ragged pants that echoed her mounting desire.

His hands, still grasping the edges of her now fully open shirt, slid lower, finding the hem of her short plaid skirt. With a sudden, forceful rip, he yanked it upwards, the fabric tearing slightly as it rode high on her thighs, revealing the thin, pale blue fabric of her panties stretched across her damp mound. Without hesitation, his fingers, already slick with her arousal and his precum, slid beneath the elastic at her hip, tearing the small garment with a sharp, decisive rip. The sound echoed loudly in the small, tense room, and Dahyun’s thighs instinctively parted wider, completely exposing her wet and swollen vulva. Her eyes flew open, meeting Kiho’s with a raw mixture of shock, vulnerability, and fierce, undeniable desire.

In the next instant, Kiho shifted his body, the thick, throbbing head of his fully erect cock pressing directly against her bare, slick pussy. The contact was immediate, intense, and undeniably visceral, a raw, primal connection that made Dahyun gasp and arch her back off the table, her body instinctively trying to grind against him, seeking more of that incredible pressure. A soft, wet moan, this time fully escaping her lips, rippled through the air, a clear, unmistakable sign of the incredible pleasure and overwhelming arousal the direct, skin-on-skin contact was giving her. Her hands slid from his shoulders to grip his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for the friction.

Choi Hyuk, his face pressed against the narrow gap in the door, felt a jolt of pure, agonizing lust shoot through him. The sight of Kiho’s mouth aggressively sucking on Dahyun’s bare nipples, the abrupt and brutal ripping of her panties exposing her vulnerable core, and then the undeniable bulge of his hard cock pressed so intimately against her wet pussy was almost unbearable to witness. He imagined himself in Kiho’s place, feeling the heat and slickness of her body against his own, hearing her unrestrained moans of pleasure directed at him. His own erection throbbed with a desperate, aching need, the sounds and sights emanating from the green room fueling his intense jealousy and a near-crippling level of arousal.

Without any hint of tenderness, Kiho’s hands clamped onto Dahyun’s hips, his fingers digging possessively into the soft, yielding flesh of her buttocks. He lifted her slightly, positioning her perfectly, and then, with a sudden, brutal thrust, he drove his thick, hard cock deep into her wet and unprepared pussy. Dahyun’s breath exploded from her lungs in a sharp, involuntary cry, a fleeting flicker of surprise and a momentary sting of discomfort crossing her face before being instantly overwhelmed by a rush of intense, almost shocking pleasure. She gasped, her eyes widening as Kiho’s substantial length filled her completely, stretching her tight, virginal walls with a satisfying resistance. She instinctively reacted, her long legs wrapping tightly around his waist, her heels digging into his back, pulling him in deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him buried inside her.

Kiho, without missing a beat, began to pound into her with a raw, primal urgency. His hips slammed against hers, the fleshy thud of their bodies colliding echoing loudly in the confined space of the green room. He drove his cock in and out, each thrust a deliberate, forceful act, plunging to the hilt and then withdrawing almost completely before repeating the deep penetration. Dahyun’s head thrashed against the table, her moans escaping her lips now with less restraint, growing louder and more insistent with each powerful impact. Kiho relished the slick heat engulfing his shaft, the tight, almost desperate grip of her inner muscles clenching and releasing around him with each frenzied movement. His gaze roamed freely over her body as he fucked her relentlessly – her short plaid skirt was hiked up around her hips, a tangle of fabric revealing the bare skin of her thighs and the torn remnants of her panties. Her crisp white shirt hung open, the popped buttons scattered on the table, exposing the delicate lace of her bra, now damp with sweat, and the tops of her heaving, gloriously full breasts, their nipples already hard and erect from his earlier ministrations. He briefly reached down, his hand cupping the weight of one of her perky boobs, his thumb roughly stroking her already sensitive nipple as he continued his aggressive assault, his movements becoming more frenzied, his own breath catching in his throat.

Dahyun’s initial shock had completely dissolved, replaced by an unrestrained wave of carnal pleasure. She met Kiho’s brutal thrusts with an equal, almost desperate fervour, her body bucking against his, her moans turning into cries of pure ecstasy with each deep penetration. Her hands clutched tightly onto his shoulders, her fingers digging into his back, her nails leaving faint scratches in his skin as she rode him hard, her head thrown back, her long neck exposed, her eyes half-closed and glazed with a haze of pure, animalistic pleasure. Her entire being was focused on the incredible sensations flooding her body, the intense stretching, the rhythmic pounding, the feeling of being completely filled by him.

Without pausing his relentless assault, Kiho suddenly gripped Dahyun’s thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her buttocks, lifting her with surprising strength while his thick cock remained firmly lodged deep within her slick pussy. Dahyun gasped, her legs instinctively wrapping tighter around his waist for balance as she was suspended in mid-air, still gloriously impaled. The change in angle was instantly electrifying, Kiho’s shaft now pressing against her G-spot with a more direct and intense pressure with each movement.

Kiho, holding her weight effortlessly, continued to thrust into her, his hips pumping with a renewed vigor as he carried her a few steps away from the table. Dahyun cried out, a breathless sound that was a mixture of surprise and heightened pleasure erupting from her lips. The feeling of being completely filled and suspended, moving as one with each powerful thrust, was overwhelmingly intense. Her head lolled back, her eyes squeezed shut, her grip on his shoulders tightening until her knuckles were white as she felt a new wave of sensation begin to coil deep within her.

To further stoke her rising pleasure, Kiho used his free hand to cup her bare backside, his thumb pressing firmly against her clit through the damp fabric of her torn panties. Dahyun’s whimpers grew more frantic. He then shifted his grip, sliding his fingers between her legs from behind, gently spreading her wider, allowing his cock to penetrate even deeper with each thrust.

The rhythm intensified, Kiho’s thrusts becoming deeper and faster, each powerful plunge sending shockwaves of pleasure through her core. Dahyun’s breath hitched, and she began to whimper and gasp in rapid succession, her body convulsing subtly with each forceful impact. A high-pitched moan escaped her lips, followed by another and another, each one laced with increasing urgency and a desperate need for release. Her inner muscles began to clench around Kiho’s cock, tighter and tighter, a frantic, involuntary squeezing that made Kiho grunt with satisfaction. Then, with a final, shuddering gasp that seemed to tear from the depths of her soul, Dahyun’s back arched, her body going completely rigid as a series of intense, pulsating waves of pure, unadulterated ecstasy ripped through her. Her first orgasm hit her with a force that made her cry out, a raw, unrestrained sound of pure, unadulterated bliss that echoed in the small room.

One of the sexiest idols in Korea, Kiho thought, a surge of pure dominance flooding his senses, millions of men fantasize about fucking her, and here she is, trembling and screaming her first orgasm on my cock. The memory of just yesterday, Jihyo’s soft moans and Momo’s wet sounds as they both trembled under his fingers, flashed through his mind, making his already rock-hard erection feel even thicker and more potent. He gripped Dahyun’s thighs tighter, his thrusts deepening with renewed vigor, reveling in the absolute power he held in that moment.

Kiho, feeling the incredible, tight contractions gripping his cock, continued to pump into her with a renewed intensity, relishing the feel of her climax washing over him, her wetness lubricating him even further. He could see the pure, unadulterated pleasure etched on her face, the tears that squeezed from beneath her tightly shut eyelids, the way her body trembled in his arms.

Without breaking their connection, Kiho gently lowered Dahyun until her hands rested on the edge of the table for support. Her skirt had twisted high around her hips, a chaotic mess of plaid revealing the bare curve of her lower back and the torn edges of her panties clinging precariously to one thigh. Her white shirt hung open, the flimsy lace of her bra now damp and clinging to the full curve of her breasts, their nipples still hard and sensitive. He gripped her hips firmly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her buttocks, pulling her back against his rock-hard length, the head of his cock teasing the wet entrance of her pussy. Her long legs trembled slightly, a visible sign of the intensity of her arousal.

Reaching forward, Kiho gently gathered a handful of Dahyun's soft, silky hair at the nape of her neck, the strands cool against his heated skin. He used it to tilt her head up, exposing the delicate line of her spine and giving him a clearer view of her flushed face and parted lips. He then positioned himself behind her, the thick, throbbing head of his member rubbing against the slick, swollen lips of her eager pussy, sending electric jolts through her already sensitized nerves. Dahyun whimpered softly, her hands gripping the table tighter, her anticipation a tangible thing in the air.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, Kiho finally slid his entire length into her, filling her completely with a satisfying stretch. Dahyun cried out, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that echoed in the small room. Kiho began to fuck her in the doggy style, his hips pumping with a deep, steady rhythm, his hands still gripping her hips, guiding her movements and controlling the pace. He could feel the incredible tightness of her slick walls clenching around his thick shaft with each deep thrust, her inner muscles milking him with a delicious intensity.

From his vantage point, Kiho had a perfect, unobstructed view of Dahyun's body. Her messy school uniform, the white shirt revealing the enticing swell of her trembling breasts, the plaid skirt a disheveled frame for her long, bare thighs and the glimpse of torn lace, only amplified her vulnerability and his dominant control. Her long, slender legs shook with each powerful thrust, and her soft, breathy moans filled the air, punctuated by sharper gasps as his cock hit just the right spot deep inside her. This was Dahyun of Twice, an idol worshipped by millions, and he was buried deep within her, fucking her hard, her body trembling with his every move, her pleasure his for the taking. The realization sent another surge of heat and power coursing through him, making his cock feel even thicker and more potent as he continued his relentless, pleasurable assault

Without breaking their intense rhythm, Kiho reached around, his hands cupping Dahyun's full, trembling breasts. His thumbs rubbed hard against her already erect nipples through the damp lace of her bra, eliciting sharp intakes of breath from her. He squeezed and kneaded the soft mounds, his fingers digging into her flesh as he continued to pound into her from behind. The sensation of his thick cock stretching her from within while his hands aggressively played with her sensitive breasts sent new waves of pleasure crashing through her.

“You like that, hmm?” Kiho grunted between thrusts, his hot breath hitting the back of her neck. “My cock buried so deep inside you, and my hands all over your sweet tits.” He squeezed one breast particularly hard, making Dahyun cry out. “Such perfect little things, aren’t they? Begging for a good squeeze.”

He continued to fuck her hard, his hips slamming against hers with a wet, insistent rhythm, all while his hands remained firmly on her breasts, “Tell me how good it feels, Dahyun-ah,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. “Tell me how much you love my cock inside you.”

Dahyun moaned loudly, her head thrashing back and forth, her hands gripping the table for dear life. “Oh, Kiho… yes… fuck me… it feels so good… so deep…”

“That’s right,” Kiho growled, his thrusts becoming even more forceful. “My cock belongs inside you, doesn’t it? And these perfect little tits belong in my hands.” He leaned forward, nuzzling his face against her neck while his fingers pinched and rolled her nipples, driving her closer and closer to the edge. “You’re so fucking hot, Dahyun. Such a good little idol getting fucked just the way you deserve.”

Suddenly, a sharp rap on the door startled them. “Dahyun-ssi? We need you back on set in five minutes!” a voice called out from the other side.

Kiho froze mid-thrust, his body still deeply embedded within Dahyun. Her eyes snapped open, widening in surprise and a hint of panic. Her hands, which had been gripping Kiho’s back, tightened instinctively. A soft gasp escaped her lips.

Choi Hyun, who had been glued to the crack in the door, flinched at the sudden sound. He quickly backed away from the door, his eyes darting around the room for another vantage point. Spotting a window partially obscured by a curtain, he silently rushed towards it, carefully pulling the edge of the curtain back just enough to create a small gap to see inside. He could still clearly see Dahyun and Kiho, now both frozen in their compromising position, Kiho’s hard cock still buried deep within her.

Dahyun’s chest heaved, her gaze flicking towards the door and then back to Kiho, her expression a mix of alarm and lingering arousal. Kiho, a smug look still on his face, leaned down and whispered something in her ear, his hand still firmly cupping one of her breasts.

From his hidden vantage point behind the partially drawn curtain, Choi Hyun’s breath hitched in his throat. Dahyun’s eyes darted from the door to Kiho, a flicker of panic mixed with a strange sort of thrill in her gaze. He could see the way Kiho’s lips were moving as he whispered to her, his hand still possessively cupping her breast.

Then, unbelievably, Dahyun took a step. Kiho didn’t budge, and Choi Hyun saw the subtle lift of her skirt, the awkward shift in her posture. He was still inside her. Choi Hyun’s jaw dropped slightly as she took another step, a barely perceptible wobble in her gait. With each movement, he could see the almost imperceptible clench of her thighs, a clear indication of Kiho’s continued presence within her.

She started to walk towards the door, and with every step she took, Choi Hyun saw the slight, almost involuntary thrust that rippled through her body. Kiho was fucking her with each movement, right there, in broad daylight, almost. The contrast between her schoolgirl uniform, now disheveled and revealing, and the blatant sexuality of the situation was a potent aphrodisiac, even through his jealous haze.

She reached the door, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for the handle. “Yes?” she called out, her voice a little higher than usual, a slight breathlessness to her tone that made his own cock tighten.

“Dahyun-ssi? We really need to get started on the next setup. Five minutes, okay?” the muffled voice replied from the other side.

Dahyun took a shaky breath. “Actually,” she said, her voice now sounding a little more composed, but still with that tell-tale tremor, “could you give me just… ten more minutes? I just need to… fix my makeup.”

There was a brief pause. “Ten minutes, Dahyun-ssi. But no longer, alright?”

“Yes, thank you so much!” Dahyun replied, a forced cheerfulness in her tone. She closed her eyes for a fleeting second, a small, almost imperceptible groan escaping her lips. Choi Hyun watched, mesmerized, as she then subtly shifted her hips, rocking them back almost imperceptibly to meet Kiho’s cock deeper inside her. Her movements were small, controlled, but undeniably sensual, and he could see the slight strain in her neck as she fought to suppress the moans that must have been building within her with each secret thrust. His own cock throbbed against his zipper, the sheer audacity and brazenness of their actions fueling his envy to an almost unbearable level.

Kiho, a wicked plan forming in his mind, subtly tightened his grip on Dahyun’s hips. Still deeply embedded within her, he began to take small steps, guiding her slowly towards the window where he had spotted the tell-tale flicker of movement behind the curtain. Dahyun, lost in the throes of her first climax, moaned softly, her body moving almost instinctively with his lead. She was so thoroughly consumed by the intense waves of pleasure still washing over her that she remained completely unaware of Kiho’s deliberate direction.

As they reached the window, positioning Dahyun directly in front of the gap in the curtains where he knew Choi Hyun was hiding, Kiho paused. Reaching forward with his free hand, he gently but firmly grasped a handful of Dahyun’s hair at the nape of her neck. With a slow, deliberate pull, he lifted her head, tilting her face upwards and towards the window, giving Choi Hyun a clear, unobstructed view of her stunning features, now flushed and beautiful in the throes of pure ecstasy. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips parted slightly as she gasped for breath, her expression a raw testament to the intense pleasure wracking her body.

Kiho, his eyes briefly meeting the barely visible shadow behind the curtain, felt a surge of triumph. He then tightened his grip on Dahyun’s hips once more and redoubled his efforts. He began to thrust deeper and faster, his cock slamming against her G-spot with each powerful stroke. Dahyun cried out, a mix of pleasure and surprise escaping her lips. Her body began to tremble anew, the aftershocks of her second orgasm quickly giving way to the building pressure of a second. Her hands gripped Kiho’s arms tightly, her nails digging into his flesh as she rode his increasingly frantic rhythm. Her head thrashed from side to side, her moans growing louder and more unrestrained, each sound a symphony of pure, unadulterated bliss unknowingly directed at their hidden audience. Her inner muscles clenched around Kiho’s shaft, tighter and tighter, and then, with a final, shuddering gasp, her back arched, her body convulsing violently as a third, even more intense orgasm ripped through her, her screams echoing in the small room.

Kiho finally released his grip on Dahyun’s hips, stepping back slightly after her third shuddering climax. Her legs instantly buckled, her knees going weak as the last waves of pleasure receded. She instinctively reached out, grabbing onto the edge of the table to steady herself, her body still trembling uncontrollably.

Her once neatly styled black hair was now a disheveled mess, strands sticking to her damp forehead and neck. Her makeup, no doubt meticulously applied for the camera, was now slightly smudged around her eyes, and her lips were swollen and red from Kiho’s intense kisses. Her crisp white shirt hung completely open, revealing the sweat-dampened lace of her bra clinging to her heaving chest. The short plaid skirt was twisted around her hips, barely covering her, and the torn remnants of her blue panties lay discarded on the floor. Her long, pale legs, now slightly shaky, bore the marks of Kiho’s rough handling, a faint blush evident on her thighs. This was Dahyun, the vibrant and beloved idol of Twice, now utterly undone, her usual cheerful composure replaced by a sated, almost dazed look.

That cock… it’s so thick and hard, Dahyun thought, her eyes, still glazed with lingering ecstasy, fixed on Kiho’s impressive member that stood just inches in front of her. A wave of heat washed over her again, a familiar ache settling in her core. Despite her weakened state, a powerful urge to taste him, to feel him in her mouth, took over.

Slowly, deliberately, Dahyun released her grip on the table and sank to her knees in front of Kiho. Her gaze never left his throbbing cock as she reached out a trembling hand and gently circled its thick head with her fingertips. It was still slick with her juices, and she could feel its powerful pulse beneath her touch. Taking a deep breath, Dahyun opened her mouth and slowly slid the tip in, her lips closing around the smooth, hard flesh.

Dahyun’s lips closed around the thick shaft, taking in as much as she could, her cheeks hollowing as she began to suck with a newfound eagerness. Her tongue traced the underside of his cock, flicking over the sensitive frenulum, making Kiho groan softly. She used her hands to cup his heavy balls, gently squeezing and then licking the taut skin, sending another jolt of pleasure through him.

Kiho, his eyes half-closed in bliss, suddenly flicked them open, his gaze finding the barely visible gap in the curtains where he knew Choi Hyun was still lurking. A slow, deliberate smirk spread across his face as he watched Dahyun’s head bobbing up and down, her black hair swaying with the rhythm of her ministrations. Her beautiful, stunning face was now inches away from his engorged cock, her soft lips and tongue working magic on his stiff member. The contrast of her innocent idol image with the explicit act she was performing was incredibly arousing for Kiho, and he knew it had to be torture for Choi Hyun to witness.

Dahyun continued her passionate assault on his cock, her suction strong and insistent. She varied her technique, sometimes taking the full length into her mouth, other times focusing on the head, her lips and tongue working in perfect coordination. She occasionally glanced up at Kiho through her lashes, a playful, almost wicked glint in her eyes, before returning to her task with renewed enthusiasm, making sure to pay special attention to the sensitive underside and the thick veins that pulsed beneath her touch.

Dahyun’s lips closed firmly around the thick shaft, taking in his full length with a practiced ease that belied the earlier surprise. She began to suck with a fervent intensity, her tongue dancing against the underside, tracing the engorged veins with deliberate strokes that made Kiho groan and grip her hair lightly. Her hands, still resting on his thighs, occasionally squeezed and then moved to gently cup his heavy balls, her thumbs lightly rubbing the taut skin, sending shivers of pure pleasure through him.

As Kiho’s pace quickened, his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts, Dahyun matched his rhythm, her head bobbing with a passionate urgency. He could feel the tightening in his groin, the unmistakable signs of his impending climax. He leaned back against the wall, his eyes half-closed in sheer bliss, relishing the incredible sensation of her mouth working its magic.

Then, it hit him, a powerful surge of pleasure that made him cry out. He bucked forward slightly, unloading his hot, thick semen deep into Dahyun’s eager mouth. He didn't pull away immediately, savoring the moment as his life force poured into her. Dahyun continued to suck gently for a moment longer before finally pulling back, her lips slick with his ejaculate. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mixture of satisfaction and playfulness, a small smile gracing her swollen lips.

“That was… intense,” Dahyun said softly, licking her lips, a hint of Kiho’s semen still glistening on them.

Kiho chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “You’re a natural, Dahyun-ah.”

She giggled, a bright, airy sound. “Maybe you just bring out the best in me, oppa.” She reached up and gently wiped a stray drop of his semen from his chin with her thumb, her touch lingering for a moment. “Now,” she said, stepping back and picking up a tissue from the table, “I really do need to fix my makeup. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the fans, would we?” She turned towards the mirror, her movements no longer rushed, a quiet confidence in her demeanor as she assessed the slight smudges around her eyes.

Kiho watched her for a moment, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He then walked up behind her, his hands sliding around her waist and then up under her open shirt, cupping her bare breasts from behind. Dahyun gasped softly, her eyes widening slightly as she looked at their reflection in the mirror. Kiho’s thumbs rubbed gently against her nipples, which were still hard from their earlier encounter. He leaned down, his lips close to her ear. “You’re perfect just the way you are,” he whispered, his fingers now tracing the curve of her side, dipping slightly under the waistband of her twisted skirt. Dahyun leaned back against him, a small smile playing on her lips as she continued to examine her face in the mirror, seemingly unbothered by his lingering touch.

After a few more moments of enjoying the feel of her soft skin under his hands, Kiho finally stepped back, adjusting his pants. He gave Dahyun a final wink and then strode out of the green room, directly towards the spot behind the curtain where he knew Choi Hyun had been watching.

“Well, well, well, Hyuk,” Kiho said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction as he emerged into the warm parking lot. He stretched languidly, a picture of post-coital contentment. “Did you enjoy the show? I told you I had a way with these idols. Dahyun was… exceptionally enthusiastic, to say the least.” He chuckled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “That tight little body of hers? Amazing. And that mouth… she knows how to use it, that’s for sure. Swallowed every last drop.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and casually flicking through his gallery until he landed on a recent, suggestive selfie Dahyun had sent him. He angled the screen slightly, just enough for Choi Hyun to catch a glimpse. “You know, Hyuk, you need to learn how to make these connections. It’s a whole different world when they’re actually… responsive. Maybe I can give you some pointers sometime.” He clapped Choi Hyun on the shoulder, his smirk widening, before heading towards his car, leaving Choi Hyun simmering in a potent brew of envy and frustrated desire.

[074calicocat]

PEACHES & SPIT

──★ 🍑 ̟ !! Leon is too old to be going back and forth with you. so when you want to have your way with him a particular way, he really has no choice but to say yes.

cw: Di Leon x fem!reader. sub-ish!Leon. RIMMING! SHOVING YOUR TONGUE IN A (washed) OLD AND HAIRY ASSHOLE! MEN IN PINK LINGERIE! ball sucking, handjob, reader is a little shit, Leon is old and tired. the good stuff.

note: hello. @rigorwhoring @kcolrom. i'm 🏩 anon and yes I was the one sending those asks about Leon's asshole and yes this was supposed to be posted on Monday. moving on. this probably sounds really janky by the end so either I hope you find this okay or you find this laughable. either way I had fun writing this, shoutout to Quora for the insider scoop about rimjobs. and for @rigorwhoring I hope you know that you're an incredibly talented writer and I love reading your work. happy early father's day!

Vulnerability is not Leon’s forte. 

So when you’ve been pestering him with questions for the past half hour, he’s rightfully anxious. 

“Have you ever fucked a guy, Leon?” You’re supposed to be sleeping, but instead you’re lying on his chest like an oversized cat, absent-mindedly staring at his screen as he tries to scroll through Facebook. Ever since you’ve introduced the app to him, he’s suddenly developed the nosiness of a bored housewife.

“No. I haven’t.” He sounds a little crabby as he responds, but the words “guys” and “fucking” don’t bode well in his mind. Makes him think of blond hair and a particular scar on the lip. Which could mean nothing. It does mean nothing and the last thing he wants to do is talk about it with you. 

But unfortunately, you catch onto his dismay, and before he knows it, he’s nose-to-nose with a frowning you. 

“You sound defensive.”

“Am not.” And now you have him frowning. Pouting like a petulant kid. 

“Am too.” You raise an eyebrow at him as if to silently sass him, the wisp of a curious grin on your lips. “Are you into guys?”

“No.” ….Not really. 

“Are you into butt stuff?” you ask and so casually too as if you asked about the weather. It catches him off guard, and now it’s his turn to raise an eyebrow, only with half the sass. “Assfucking or anal or whatever they call it?”

“Yeah…no, not-”

“Liar.” It’s a good thing age has given Leon patience. “I have psychic vision. The spirits told me you want a fist up your ass,” you giggle out in such an innocent voice he has the mind to whack you on the head. But that’s domestic violence. And that’s bad.

He retorts, “Are you two?” as he pushes you away, having you sit upright. “And besides, why’re you asking? You wanna fist me?”

“Rim you, actually,” you correct him so smoothly that you manage to surprise him again tonight. So either you really are a psychic or you’ve gone through his search history and found the bookmarks to his favorite porn videos. Hey, he knows what he likes, so he’s sticking to it. And yet- 

“Absolutely not,” he declares, gently pushing you off of him and sitting up on the bed. Unless you’re magically in a rut or going crazy, he has no idea why you’re bringing this up. It’s honestly a little creepy. 

And of course, you’re whining, “Why not?” in his ear, coming up behind him as you rest your chin on his shoulder. “It’s meant to feel good for you. Please? Lemme give you a rimjob, it’ll be fun. Think of it as an early Christmas gift.”

“It’s April.”

“Early Father’s Day gift.” It’s like you’re trying to kill him. Because, despite all his protests, he can feel himself stirring to life under his sweatpants in the most pathetic way possible. He can’t see your face, but he can already imagine your shit-eating grin. “Please, just lemme do this one thing. We always do what you want to do. I can only pretend to be your daughter so many times before it gets boring.”

“Alright, alright.” Leon forgets how immoral his kinks sound when he’s not balls-deep inside you. “I’ll…sleep on it.” “Yay!” You kiss him on the cheek like he just promised you a pony, and all he can hope for is that you’ll forget about this with a good hour of head and some matcha latte. 

It took you two days to convince Leon to let you give him a rimjob, but it took two weeks to convince him to let you do it while he wears lingerie. 

It’s clear Mama didn’t raise a quitter. Sure, you got on your knees and throated his dick for two whole hours but it was so worth it. Also crying and wailing helped at the end. Because now you have him on the bed in pink lingerie that you picked out to your taste: a soft pink bralette too small for his (begrudgingly) fat tits and a garter belt with stockings; no panties so you’d get the perfect view of his cock flushed and weeping against his softening abdomen. You got The Leon Scott Kennedy in pink lace stockings. No one will ever understand how immense this victory is for you. Just the sight of him all dolled up with his coarse hair poking out the fabric can bring world peace. 

“…Uhh? I don’t think I wanna do this-”

“How many times are you going to say the same thing?” There’s a beat of silence between you and Leon after you cut him off, mainly because you have his legs over your shoulder and your face hovering over his ass. His asshole, to be specific. You’re already here, and he wants to chicken out, no way.

“I feel like you’re worried for no reason,” you continue with a pout, jutting your lips at his tempting pink hole. Not the lightish pink like the tip of his cock, but a little darker. Still a tempting sight, no doubt. It’s not fair, why does it look so…cute? Absolutely unfair. “I’m not going to bite you. Relax..”

Leon doesn’t seem convinced, given the fact that he has even more wrinkles on his face compared to before. But you have a sneaking suspicion he only feels that way because he’s the one who used to have you in the mating press and not the other way around. 

He looks so scared, it’s adorable. Leon reminds you of a hamster sometimes. 

“You look good, Leon,” you reassure, lowering your face to press a lingering kiss on his inner thigh. God, if you had a dick it would’ve blown up from hard it would be. Even with all his wrinkles and greying hair, there’s an unmistakable feminine charm to Leon that you want to drag out. “You look pretty, okay? I love you.”

And something is so soothing about the way Leon’s face relaxes a bit and his eyebrows unpinch. At the end of the day, you really want to do this for him. Is it gross? Maybe. But you know it will be so rewarding making Leon fall apart on your tongue for a change. 

So he nods and swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing at his throat. There’s still worry there, a tinge of shame on his face. You want that face gone by the end of the night. 

You start slow. Dragging your tongue over the flesh of his thighs and ass, taking note of the faded stretch marks. So cute. You kept going on, leaving trails of spit and bite marks, reminders that you were in fact all up in his butt. And you could feel him tensing under your touch, your hands firmly holding the back of his thighs. It’s like heaven, feeling the lace under your fingers and seeing that pink bralette on his chest. 

Your eyes flit back to Leon and, oh gods, he looks perfect. Eyes unfocused and cheeks rosy under all his silver stubble. You don’t waver in eye contact with him when you raise your face enough to start making a mess. Slobbering and laving your tongue over his balls, why are they so fat and big? And sensitive too, because you don’t miss the way he whines ever so softly under your breath when you graze your teeth over them. They sit so nicely in your mouth, so well behaved as you suck on them one at a time. Modesty is out the window for you and him because before you know it, your tongue is against his hole and his knees are pressed to his chest.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck-” It slipped your mind that Leon was pushing forty and that there was a (small) chance he’s never been folded like this. Oh well!

And honestly, all you tasted was Irish Spring, a hint of musk, and…hair. Could be worse. Leon gives you head so it’s your turn to do the same. You can feel that the rim of his hole is all puffy as you give it a few kitten licks, lost in the way his body jerks to get closer to your mouth. Slut. You always knew he was into these sorts of things. 

And that only spurs you on. You pull back to spit on his hole and there it was. He straight up moans and his head is thrown back against the pillows, the bra on his chest threatening to snap off with the frantic rise and fall of his chest. You dove back in with vigor, not holding back with the theatrics as you made out with his ass. It’s doubtful that this is a pretty sight for him but you don’t ever want to stop, pushing your tongue past the rim and feeling him clench down on you. 

Spit. Irish Spring. Musk. Leon. It’s like his ass is the gateway to his heart because you’re sucking on his hole like it’s the last thing you do. Like his ass is his face and you’re kissing him like all couples do in their wedding pictures. 

Which reminds you to start dropping hints that he needs to propose to you soon. You can’t keep doing this without a ring, you fear. 

Leon, Leon, Leon. He lies to you, but it’s okay. You know he likes this, you hear his hiccuping whimpers bouncing off the walls and his body trembling. And how helpful of him to hug his own legs to his chest, leaving your hands free to wrap around his cock. The poor head is leaking precum all over his abdomen, smearing into his thick happy trail. So much for not wanting this. You run your thumb over the drooling tip, your free hand idly playing with the thin straps of his garter belt. 

Drool’s pooling down your chin now and you’re dimly aware that your jaw is starting to ache like a bitch. Makes you wonder how Leon can go at this for hours but then again, he never shuts up so it must come naturally. No other reason. His dick presses into your hand like it’s beggging to be touched so you oblige, slowly pumping his length to hear him sing. 

But unless the sound of a dying animal was singing…Leon wasn’t. No, it sounded like he was in pain with the way he gutturally cried out, nails ripping at the silk around his thighs. It almost freaks you out, but you don’t get the chance to pull away because before you know it, he nearly breaks your nose from how violently his body jolts and his load is painting your hand. At least now you know why Leon ended up working for the government instead of casting couches. His moans were less than pleasing. 

But that, in its own way, is endearing to you. You finally pry your face away from his ass, admiring his hole now puffy and slick with your spit. He’s breathing heavily on the mattress, finally letting go of his legs as you rise from the floor and wobble to your feet. The stockings are torn up under the welts and his bralette has rubbed his chest raw, red lines prominent among his pale skin and tufts of silver hair. And his face makes you wish he could be on the cover of Playboy. There’s a bit of drool ebbing down his lips, his eyes are shut, and his lips are a little bloody from how hard he’s bitten them. 

“And you said you weren’t going to enjoy yourself,” you tease, bringing your cum-stained hand to your lips. Your tongue darts out to get a taste and you make a mental note to tell him to lay off the whiskey again. 

And all he does is groan, turning over to his side and curling up. Like a cat or some other domestic animal. Cute. Makes you feel a hint of pride knowing you’re domesticated Leon Kennedy enough to tongue-fuck his ass. “Legs hurt. Cramping. My fucking ass crack is wet.” 

“Don’t complain,” you tut, making your way to the dresser and pulling out some wet wipes to clean up your hands. “I know you liked that. You sounded so….passionate.”

“Just get me out of this shit.” Someone doesn’t sound entertained. So you finally crawl into bed and lie down next to him, and almost immediately, his head is against your chest. You can see the way his eyes and lips crinkle at the corners, and yet he looks so vulnerable as he rests against you. It makes something in you stir, so much so your arms are around him in a heartbeat, holding him close. 

“Thought you wanted me to undress you.”

“...Later,” he grumbles. “And-uh, that didn’t suck at all. So thanks. You’re still weird, though.” And there’s that playful wisp of a smile on his lips again. Just how you like to see him. 

[aroselaine]

Hii! It's my first time writing a req, so please ignore any issues! I was gonna ask for more Cas wing smut, ignore this if u don't wanna do it, obvi<3

OMG YES hi!! sorry it took a bit for me to respond but I am always down for more wing smut 🤭

Curiosity

Masterlist, AO3 Cas x AFAB!fem!Reader Word count: 2.1k Summary: You and Castiel love trading questions, so when you start wondering about his wings, you ask—only to discover why they’re considered so "intimate" ;)

Content: smut!! kissing, wing kink, praise kink if you squint, sub!castiel, body worship, no use of Y/N

When Castiel first entered your life, you couldn’t help but ask him all sorts of questions. What was heaven like? Are all angels the same age? What does your true form look like? To name a few.

But eventually, once all your basic questions were exhausted, he became the one asking. Why do humans eat junk food if it is bad for physical health? What is the purpose of watching television? Do all humans speak in sarcasm?

The two of you had bonded over your shared curiosity. So when a question came to your mind one day, you had no qualms about asking the angel the next time you saw him.

You sat in your motel bed, laptop on your lap as you mindlessly scrolled. Sam and Dean were out questioning witnesses, leaving you to do the research. It was unfortunately typical. Even with your status as a professional hunter, you were a pretty crappy liar. But without the witness reports the brothers were gathering, there wasn’t much for you to do yet. According to the police report, all of the bodies had been found with their hearts missing, which typically meant werewolves. However, the victims had been completely drained as well, leaving you all a bit stumped.

The ruffling of feathers brought you out of your thoughts as Castiel materialized, standing at the end of your bed. It had taken some time, but you hardly ever jumped when he popped in unannounced.

“Hey, Cas,” you greeted, looking up from your laptop.

“Hello,” he spoke gruffly, his voice sending a pleasant shiver through you. He had always had that effect on you, much to your dismay.

“What’s up?” you asked, shutting your laptop.

“I’ve finished my business in heaven for now. I thought I would check in.”

His words made you smile. “Perfect timing. I actually had another question for you. Sit,” you said, patting the spot on the bed next to you.

He nodded seriously, slipping off his shoes and hopping onto the bed. His eyes met yours, wide and curious, as he waited for your question.

“I was just curious. You told me angel wings were an intimate subject for angels, right?”

His brows furrowed, but he nodded in confirmation.

“Well, do they have feeling? Like if someone were to touch them, would you feel it? Is it like touching any other part of you?” you asked, voice laced with curiosity.

He hummed at your words, seemingly taking a second to think before responding. “They do have feeling, but it has been centuries since another being has touched mine. We don’t typically bring them into this plane; it leaves us vulnerable, as it is the only part of us, besides our grace, that can be seen outside of a vessel.” He broke eye contact, looking down at his lap. “To answer your other question, no, it is not like touching any other part of me.”

You nodded thoughtfully at his words. His answer was vague, making you even more interested than you were before. “Can I see them?” you asked, watching as his head turned back to you, eyes wide.

“You would like to?” he asked, his voice unusually timid, making your heart melt.

“Of course I would,” you spoke quietly, matching his tone and giving him a soft smile in confirmation.

He stood up quickly, walking to the center of the room. Your eyes followed him, watching as he moved stiffly. Was he nervous?

Cas brought a hand up and snapped his fingers, leaving him naked from the waist up. Your eyes went wide, realizing just how much his clothes had hidden his figure. He was impressively toned, his skin tan and smooth, his distinct v-line sending a shiver through you. He rolled his shoulders, and you sucked in a breath as you watched his muscles move. You bit your lip and looked down. Ogling an angel of the Lord would certainly send you straight to hell.

“You will need to close your eyes as I bring them forward,” he spoke stoically, his expression guarded.

You shut your eyes obediently, your heart hammering against your ribs in anticipation. The room fell into a hushed silence, before a bright light shone through your closed eyelids. The air shifted—heavy with grace, thick with power. You heard the rustling of feathers, similar to the noise he made when he arrived, only louder.

“Okay,” his voice came—soft, almost hesitant. “You can open them now.”

When you did, you gasped.

The motel room, once dim and unimpressive, was bathed in a soft, blue glow. His wings stretched behind him, massive and celestial, the edges blurring into the air like shadows made of light. They weren’t what you’d imagined—not white and birdlike—but they shimmered like smoke and starlight, folding and unfolding with slow grace.

“They’re… beautiful,” you whispered, breath caught in your throat. “You’re beautiful.”

He looked down, his cheeks going pink at your compliment.

You couldn’t help it; you stood up, moving closer until you were standing only a few feet in front of them. Your hand went up to your mouth in awe as you admired him.

“All angels' wings are different. Mine are nothing special,” he spoke, turning to look behind him.

Your eyes squinted at his self-deprecating words. “Castiel, I don’t have words for how special they are. They are the most incredible things I’ve ever seen,” you spoke honestly, watching as his wings gave a flutter at the praise.

He smiled shyly at your words as his eyes met yours.

“Do you think—” you paused. “Can I touch them?” you asked softly, watching as his jaw went slack, his eyes wide at your question.

There was silence between you, and just when you were about to take it back, he nodded hesitantly, turning around so his back now faced you.

You bit your lip as you took him in—his broad shoulders and muscular back making a heat pool low in your stomach. With Cas now being unable to see you, you couldn’t help but check him out. He had always been unfairly attractive, but the wings were certainly doing something to you.

You took a careful step forward, your heart pounding in your chest as if it, too, were bracing for divine contact. The closer you got, the more you felt it—the warmth radiating off his wings, an energy that made your skin prickle. It wasn’t just heat; it was power, ancient and gentle, and entirely Castiel.

Raising your hand slowly, you hesitated for only a second before letting your fingers brush the outer edge of one wing.

The sensation was unlike anything you’d ever known.

It was soft—impossibly soft—almost electric. You moved your hand inward, carding your fingers through the feathers. Cas’s wings fluttered under your touch, and he let out a small, involuntary gasp. You froze.

“Did I hurt you?” you asked quickly, pulling your hand back.

He shook his head, voice low and uneven. “No. You didn’t.”

You blinked, studying the line of his shoulders. “Should I keep going?”

Another pause. “Yes,” he said, barely above a whisper.

With newfound confidence, you brought both hands up, tracing the top curve of his wings. His feathers responded to your touch, flexing and rippling like they had a life of their own. You stepped closer, trailing your fingers to where wing met skin, feeling him shiver. A soft groan rumbled in his chest, his head dipping forward.

“Cas?” you asked cautiously.

He turned his head over his shoulder, and the look in his eyes nearly stopped your heart. They were darker now, stormier, like the grace within him was stirred awake.

“I didn’t realize…” he began, then paused, voice thick. “I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

You smiled softly, “Does it feel good?”

He nodded, quickly turning away, almost desperate. “Please don’t stop.”

You moved your hands outwards, and Cas instinctively drew his wings in, giving you full access. You traced the edges, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of the energy at your fingertips. Slowly moving in, you watched as he shivered again, his wings fluttering and pressing into your palm. Getting an idea, you used your nails to gently scratch the length of the wings, moving outward in a sweeping motion.

The angel reacted immediately, sputtering out a low moan as his wings twitched. “Again,” he let out through gritted teeth.

Your brow furrowed; it’s almost like—oh.

Oh.

You bit your lip, realizing this was doing a lot more for Cas than you had originally thought.

Deciding you certainly didn’t mind, you did it again, a deep shudder running through his body. His shoulders tensed, a soft growl rising in his chest.

“You like that, huh?” you murmured, voice playful  as you traced lazy circles in his wings. Cas didn’t answer, and you wished you could see his face as you continued touching him.

You leaned in, pressing against his back as your lips ghosted near his ear. “You like me touching your wings.”

A whimper escaped him—“Please”— and the sound made you ache with desire as you felt yourself clench on nothing.

You moved your hands slowly, deliberately, dragging your nails along the junction where his wings met his skin. The shiver that wracked his body told you everything you needed to know.

Castiel’s breath was uneven now, his wings trembling as you continued your ministrations. The air seemed to buzz with the static of his energy, each feather twitching toward your fingers as if desperate for more.

"You're shaking," you whispered. "Am I overwhelming you, angel?"

His breath hitched again, as he stuttered out another moan. “It’s… intense," he admitted, voice rough and low. "I’ve never felt this way before."

The confession made heat bloom in your chest—and lower.

"You said it had been centuries since anyone touched them," you murmured, your hand just beneath the arch of one wing. "Then I suppose it’s no wonder you’re a little… sensitive."

A sharp breath left him, and you could see the tension in his shoulders coiling tighter.

You leaned in, placing a soft kiss to the spot where wing met spine, and felt him jolt under you, a choked sound escaping his lips.

"That’s it," you breathed. "Let me take care of you."

His only response was a broken, whispered version of your name—like a prayer.

You let your hands wander , tracing along his spine before curling around the lower base of his wings tightly, massaging him deeply. He arched into you, letting out a primal noise, similar to a growl as the lights flickered, his wings trembling as you continued.

“Close your eyes,” he let out through gritted teeth. You followed his orders as a blast of blue light filled the room. The angel in front of you was moaning loudly as the sound of glass shattering hit your ears.

When the light no longer filled the room, you opened your eyes slowly. The room was darker than before, only illuminated by the sunlight coming through the blinds.

Castiel turned around to face you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, chest heaving with every breath. His blissed-out expression caused your stomach to flutter.

His wings, though now partially retracted, still shimmered faintly behind him, twitching with the aftershocks of sensation. Your gaze drifted over him, lingering when you noticed the wet spot in his slacks. Your cheeks flushed — he had cum in his pants. The realization somehow made him even hotter. When your eyes met his again, you saw he was watching you.

He stepped toward you slowly, his wings folding back until they vanished into the air with a sigh. His hands, large and trembling, came up to cup your face. “I didn’t know,” he murmured, voice rough from use. “I wasn’t aware I was capable of that”.

You leaned into his touch instinctively, one of your hands finding its place over his, fingers curling. “I’m glad I could be the one to show you,” you whispered, searching his face. “That was… I mean, Cas, it was incredible.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, fleeting. “You weren’t afraid?”

“Afraid?” you echoed, your own smile tugging at your mouth. “No. Are you kidding? I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

Cas’s cheeks flushed again—adorably human as he asked, “And if I said I wanted to feel that again? That I want to feel you again?”

Your answer came without hesitation. “Then I’d say next time, I want to see your face when I touch you like that.”

“Next time,” he repeated, his eyes flicking to your lips, then back to your eyes.

He leaned in and kissed you—fierce and full of everything he hadn’t said. You moaned softly into his mouth as his lips moved over yours. The world stilled around you, and for a moment, there was nothing but Castiel.

tags: @scary-noodlesblog, @alitzel02, @ser4phim-on-e4rth, @vengeance139, @olaflookalike, @strawberrymochikitty, @americanvenom13

[itaehynz]

TAKE A BITE ⋆ ˚ ࿔

pairing: choi soobin x reader.

genre: angst, bittersweet.

word count: 3.019k words.

warnings: semi-forced proximity, the following are mentioned; cheating, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, mental health struggles // profanity, unresolved tension, crying, bittersweet ending.

synopsis: all you ever wanted was love but once you got it, it wasn’t good to you. one person ruined your perception of love, let you go and the both of you moved on—you think. but somehow, you end up crossing paths, for the last and final time.

ni’s notes: i’m finally back! i’m so sorry for taking so long with this work but i’m glad to be able to share this with you guys! happy reading. 💕

The morning sun crept through the edges of your curtains, the soft glow dragging you out of a dream you couldn’t remember. You blinked slowly, then rolled onto your side, arm brushing the cold half of the bed beside you. It was quiet—no city noise, no roommate, just the low hum of your fan spinning lazily overhead.

For a moment, you just laid there, watching the ceiling, not thinking of anything in particular. Then the familiar tug of loneliness swept in like clockwork. You shook it off. It was just another Saturday. Nothing special.

You sat up, stretched until your back cracked, and trudged into the kitchen. The coffee machine gurgled to life, filling the apartment with the smell of bitter grounds. You scrolled mindlessly through your phone as the machine whirred, pausing when a notification from Yeonjun popped up in your texts.

yeonjun: call me when ur awake!!!!

You glanced at the time and winced. He’d probably been up for hours. You poured your coffee, added too much creamer, then dialed. It only rang once.

“Fucking FINALLY!” Yeonjun practically yelled into your ear. “I was starting to think you died or some shit.”

“Good morning to you too,” you muttered, sipping your coffee as you leaned against the counter. “What’s with the all-caps urgency?”

He huffed dramatically. “You forgot what today is, didn’t you?”

You blinked. “Uh… Saturday?”

“Try again.”

“…Laundry day?”

“Y/N.”

You rubbed your forehead, then it hit you. “Oh god. Your birthday.”

“Yup. I’m not even mad. Just disappointed.”

You groaned, sliding down into a chair. “I didn’t forget. I just… forgot this morning. But I got your gift. It’s all wrapped and ready, okay?”

“Okay, forgiven. Barely. But hey, that’s not even why I called.” He paused. “I’m throwing a little party at Beomgyu’s place tonight. Super casual. No pressure—but I’ll cry if you don’t show up.”

You smirked. “Guilt-tripping on your birthday? Very classy, Jun.”

“I learned from the best. Just come, alright? I miss you. Everyone does.”

You hesitated, your finger tracing the rim of your mug. “Yeah, right. I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy for me?” Yeonjun asked quietly, and something about his voice made your chest ache.

You sighed. “No. Not that busy. I’ll be there.”

He let out a cheer that made you wince again. “Dress nice. Eat first. We’re doing cake at ten!”

You smiled, genuinely this time. “Got it. See you tonight.”

You hung up, placing your phone on the counter, and sat in silence for a beat.

Yeonjun’s birthday. That meant everyone would be there. Probably including Soobin.

Your stomach clenched before you could stop it.

You didn’t even know if he’d show. Maybe he wouldn’t. But if he did—what then? What would you say? What would you do?

You shook your head quickly, standing up. You weren’t going to ruin the night over someone who wasn’t even yours anymore. You were fine. You are fine.

You took your time getting ready. Took a long, hot shower. Stared at your closet for twenty minutes before settling on something that made you feel confident—but not like you were trying too hard. Not for anyone.

You curled your hair loosely, added light makeup, and paused when you caught your reflection. You looked good. Strong. Put together. Like someone who wasn’t unraveling at the thought of possibly seeing her ex for the first time in months.

You grabbed Yeonjun’s present—an inside joke wrapped in shiny blue paper—and left before you could think twice.

-

The air inside the apartment was thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses as Yeonjun’s birthday party raged on. The music pulsed through the walls, and the group of friends filled the room with their cheerful chatter. You tried to block out the noise, smiling in polite distraction as you sipped your drink, pretending to enjoy the festivities. This was supposed to be a good night, wasn’t it?

It had been two years since you’d last seen him. Two long years. The last time you laid eyes on Soobin, your world had shattered into pieces. The last time you spoke, the words that were exchanged burned—because they were laced with truth.

You were over him now, or so you thought. Time had passed, and though the memories still haunted you, you’d rebuilt yourself. Or so you’d like to think.

But there was one thing you hadn’t anticipated: the possibility of running into him tonight. At Yeonjun’s birthday party of all places.

You should’ve known. Yeonjun and Soobin had been friends long before you ever got involved with him. You knew that Yeonjun would invite him. He was kind like that—inviting any and everybody who mattered to him. But you hadn’t expected it, hadn’t realized that this mutual friend would lead you straight into the one thing you tried so hard to forget.

And there he was, standing near the door, smiling as he greeted some of Yeonjun’s friends. His voice was the same, his laugh even more familiar. But the way his eyes scanned the room—a trace of recognition settling on you when they landed—made your heart twist in a way you hadn’t expected.

You should have walked away. You should have left, told Yeonjun you weren’t feeling well and retreated to your apartment, back to your safe space where your broken heart wouldn’t have to face its past. But you stayed. You didn’t know why. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was that part of you that wanted closure—the part that had been yearning to just know why.

As the night carried on, you could feel Soobin’s presence like a weight in the room, his eyes trailing you. It was impossible to avoid him. And finally, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him move. Soobin, standing by the drinks table, seemingly deep in conversation with someone else. But something in his posture, the way he seemed to shift just a little too often in your direction, told you he was still aware of your presence.

Your pulse quickened. You couldn’t avoid this forever, could you? The thought of facing him, confronting the mess that had once been your relationship, made your stomach churn.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You were over it. Over him. But the ache that settled in your chest, the sharp pang of nostalgia and grief, was enough to make you question that certainty.

“Hey,” Yeonjun suddenly appeared beside you, his wide grin breaking through your thoughts. “You okay? You were kinda zoning out there.”

“Yeah,” you forced a smile. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long week.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. He seemed to sense that something was off, but like any good friend, he respected your need for space. “Alright, well, if you need anything, just let me know. I’m gonna grab another drink. Wanna come?”

“Sure, yeah,” you lied, hoping the excuse would give you a moment to breathe.

As the two of you made your way to the bar, you could feel Soobin’s eyes following you, even though you dared not look back. The sensation was almost suffocating.

Yeonjun and you continued to chat, but your mind was elsewhere. A few minutes later, you both returned to the party, where the conversation grew louder, and the atmosphere more chaotic. It felt like everyone had forgotten the real weight of the night—the uncomfortable tension that existed in the space between you and Soobin.

But it wasn’t until later in the evening that things took a turn.

You were standing near the back of the apartment, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, trying to get away from all of the noise, when someone suddenly appeared beside you.

“So,” his voice, low and hesitant, sent a jolt through your body. “We’re not really going to pretend like we don’t see each other, are we?”

Your breath hitched. Soobin.

You refused to look up, even as his presence loomed beside you, impossibly close. The room felt smaller with him near you, and your heart was pounding in your chest. The last thing you wanted was to have this conversation—not now, not here, with so many eyes around. But his voice—his tone—was quiet, intimate. And you knew, deep down, that you couldn’t keep avoiding him forever.

“I didn’t think you’d still be around,” you replied, voice colder than you intended, as you finally allowed yourself to glance at him. Your gaze quickly darted away, but not before noticing the subtle changes in his features. He looked… different. Tired. Like he’d been through more than you had ever imagined.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” he said, his voice strained. “But here we are.”

Silence hung thick between you, the weight of your shared past settling over you like a thick fog. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words felt too heavy. The memories, the pain, the raw emotion you had buried so deep inside—was it possible for him to feel it too?

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” you whispered, barely audible. “Not like this.”

“So, what? You don’t want to talk?” Soobin’s voice cracked, and you noticed the way his hand clenched at his side. You had never seen him so vulnerable, so unsure. “You don’t even want to know why?”

The air in the room felt suffocating, pressing in on you as you fought to keep your composure.

“I don’t think there’s anything left to say, Soobin,” you managed, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. “You said everything when you left.”

He flinched, the expression on his face crumbling. “I know,” he whispered. “I know what I did to you… and I hate myself for it.”

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Hating yourself doesn’t fix anything.”

There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I never wanted to hurt you, Y/N. You have to know that.”

“You never wanted to hurt me?” you repeated, the anger building in your chest. “You didn’t want to hurt me? Then why did you cheat? Why did you lie to me?” Your voice grew louder, more desperate, as the emotions you’d buried for so long surged to the surface.

Soobin looked away, his face contorting with regret. “I was stupid,” he said quietly. “I thought I could keep both—”

“Both?” you cut him off, your voice sharp. “You thought you could keep both? You couldn’t even keep one, Soobin. You couldn’t keep me.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the sounds of the party fading into the background as you both stood there, locked in an invisible battle. Every word that left your mouth felt like a stab, but you couldn’t stop yourself. It was like everything you’d been holding in for the past two years was pouring out all at once.

After a few beats, Soobin took a deep breath and met your eyes. The look in his eyes was one of helplessness, and you could see it—the guilt. The same guilt that had once been a constant in his eyes when he realized he had broken you.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I need you to know that I never stopped caring about you. I never stopped loving you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. How many times had you wondered if he ever thought about you? If he regretted it? If he had moved on and forgotten about you? And now, here he was, saying the words you never thought you’d hear.

“You think that makes it better?” You took a step back, fighting the sob that threatened to escape from your throat. “You think that after everything, you can just say that and make it go away? You broke me, Soobin. You ruined everything.”

His face twisted in pain, and he reached for you, but you took another step back, your hand held up to stop him. “Don’t.”

The moment stretched on, the weight of his words hanging between you like a heavy shroud. Neither of you spoke for what felt like an eternity, both of you grappling with your emotions. The silence was deafening.

“I can’t do this,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t forgive you. Not now. Not ever.”

Soobin flinched like you’d struck him, but you weren’t done. You couldn’t be. Not after everything.

Your voice shook as you continued, like every syllable weighed a hundred pounds. “Do you even understand what you did to me?”

Soobin blinked, guilt written all over his face. But he stayed quiet. Maybe because he knew there was nothing he could say to fix it. Maybe because he knew you needed this more than he needed to be defended.

“I loved you,” you said, your voice rising, raw and trembling. “God, I loved you so much it made me look stupid. I defended you when my friends told me something felt off. I waited for your texts that never came, accepted your excuses, ignored every single red flag. Because I wanted to believe you loved me too. That you were just… going through something.”

Your chest heaved with the weight of memories. “But you weren’t going through anything, Soobin. You were just slipping away. And the worst part is—I felt it. I knew. Every time you avoided my eyes, every time you pulled your hand away from mine. I felt it in my bones, but I didn’t want it to be true.”

You gave a broken laugh, one that didn’t carry any real amusement. “I remember crying in your apartment once, begging you to tell me what was wrong. And you just… kissed my forehead and told me I was imagining things. That everything was fine. Do you remember that?”

He nodded, tears now clinging to his lashes. “I remember.”

“I went home that night thinking I was insane. That I was crazy for not trusting you. Do you know what that does to a person?” you asked, voice cracking. “To be gaslit into believing you’re the problem? That your own intuition is wrong?”

Your hands trembled at your sides, and the tears you’d tried to hold back finally spilled. “You shattered my self-worth, Soobin. You made me feel unlovable. Replaceable.”

He looked like he was about to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“I would have given you everything,” you said, softer now, voice frayed at the edges. “And you gave me doubt. You gave me anxiety. You gave me her. Whoever she was—whoever you chose over me—I hope she was worth it.”

He looked down, shame pressing into his shoulders like an anchor.

“I’m not saying this because I want you to feel bad,” you added, quieter, breathless. “I’m saying it because I carried it alone for so long. I blamed myself for your choices. I internalized everything—my looks, my voice, my worth. I spent months trying to figure out how to become someone you wouldn’t leave. Someone you wouldn’t cheat on.”

You stepped back, needing space from the thick, suffocating air between you. “But now I know better. I know it wasn’t about me. You didn’t cheat because I wasn’t enough—you cheated because you didn’t see enough in me. And I can’t keep bleeding over that.”

Soobin looked up at you then, face damp with tears. “I was scared,” he croaked. “Of how much I loved you. Of how serious we were getting. And I messed up. I messed up so badly. And I think about it every single day.”

You let the silence stretch this time. Let him sit in it. Let him feel it.

“I used to hope you did,” you whispered. “That maybe somewhere in your perfect, post-me life, you’d lie awake at night and remember the look on my face when I found out. That maybe guilt would keep you company the way grief kept me.”

He winced.

“But I don’t hope for that anymore,” you continued, wiping your tears away. “Because hoping you suffer doesn’t bring me peace. It doesn’t undo what you did. It doesn’t give me back the version of myself who trusted people blindly. Who loved with her whole chest and didn’t second-guess it.”

Soobin’s expression cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

You nodded, not out of acceptance—but acknowledgement. “I know you are. But sorry doesn’t rewind time. It doesn’t fix the way I flinch when someone’s phone buzzes late at night. Or the way I shut down when things start to feel good again.”

A tear rolled down your cheek. “You taught me that love isn’t safe. That it ends without warning. That even the person who holds you at night can destroy you by morning.”

Soobin covered his mouth, breaking, but you didn’t go to him. You didn’t reach out. That part of you—the one that used to hold him together—was buried now. And you weren’t digging it back up.

“I can’t forgive you,” you repeated, but it came out softer this time. Not bitter. Just tired. “Because forgiveness would mean reopening the wound. And it’s finally starting to heal.”

You looked around the room, at the faint sound of music still playing from down the hall, at the people laughing, unaware of the war being fought in this quiet corner of Yeonjun’s apartment. And you knew—this was the last time you’d ever speak like this.

“I hope you find someone who makes you better,” you said finally. “And I hope you don’t hurt them the way you hurt me.”

Soobin opened his mouth, maybe to beg, maybe to apologize again—but you didn’t let him. You stepped away from him, out of his reach.

“You already got enough of me,” you said, voice steady now. “You don’t get to have my peace too.”

You turned toward the door, each step feeling like it took every ounce of strength you had left.

And this time, you left first.

© 2025 iTAEHYNZ.

taglist: @boba-beom, @kiokantalope, @gardnhee, @n0-thisispatrick, @hyukafied, @hyunimylove, @luvsoobs, @choiwrld, @tyunkus, @belovedxiao, @h00nerz . . .

[everettswritings]

Hi I just want to say firstly I love your work, it’s very sweet and I love reading this kind of sfw tickle fics. I was just wondering if you could do a polychamp tickle fic? With kougign-amann cookie as the ler and either prune or capsaicin as lee. Take your time, I’m sure whatever you make will be amazing!

Thank you!!

Ohoho, how I’ve awaited the day to write some lee!Capsaicin. Please forgive me if I misspell their names at all, I may be a writer, but I cannot spell to save my life. Seriously, if you scroll through my fics you’re guaranteed to see at least five spelling mistakes. Anywho, enjoy!

“Capsacian Cookie!” Kouign-Amann Cookie called, an irritated air to her voice. It was already a boiling day outside, hot enough to melt butter and cream in seconds, and the flaming hot hunk wasn’t helping any. Even whenever he stepped away, she could still feel the heat!

“What?” Capsaicin Cookie looked at her, a dorky grin still on his face- it’s like he wasn’t aware of what he’s doing! He probably wasn’t, it’s in his nature to be spicy, but sometimes his obliviousness was quick to get on one’s nerves.

“You’re like the sun!” The paladin wiped the sweat off her brow, the spice overlord grinned “Thank you!”. “No, not like that!” She groaned “You’re making the world itself feel like an oven.” She sighed, fanning herself, “Normally I can handle it, but not today, hon.”. Capsaicin Cookie bashfully scratched the back of his neck “Aw, but you love my spice. Besides, we could always hit up a pool or something.” He offered, Kouign-Amann Cookie scoffed lightly “I’m not jumping into lava. And if you’re talking about a water pool, you’d probably evaporate it.” She said, he shrugged “Touché!”.

He scooted closer to the paladin, walking his fingers over to her shoulder in an attempt to pull her in. She scooted away “Don’t even, you’d burn me alive.” She huffed.

Capsaicin Cookie pouted “Come on!”, he slid his arm around her, the contact against her dough made her start sweating even more.

Kouign-Amann Cookie had a knee-jerk reaction to the touch, she immediately pushed him over, landing herself on top of him. Her hands hovered over his sides. “I’m warning you! Keep pushing and see what happens.” She raised her voice a little, her cheeks flushing a bit. Capsaicin Cookie grinned smugly, lifting up his hand to poke her side, “Push.~” He cooed. The paladin let out an amused scoff “Nice try, but I’m not ticklish.” She said “However, I’m pretty sure you are!” Her hands darted down into his sides, digging into his dough.

He let out a girlish squeak and started laughing “Nohoho! Hahahaha! Ahahaha!” He was loud about it, too. It felt like the earth shook with each giggle. However, Kouign-Amann Cookie was stubborn, she wouldn’t let go! Her fingers danced and twirled precisely around every ticklish spot. It was days like this that made him consider actually wearing a shirt.

“AGHHH! AHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA! HAHAHA! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!” He kept laughing and laughing, sparks began to fly as the poor guy thrashed about. Yet, alas, she wouldn’t stop tickling him!

”Coochie coochie coo! Coochie coochie coo!” She teased, scratching at each individual rib. She also made a point to trace each line of his muscular build. Capsaicin Cookie’s voice cracked and his eyes went wide, he began laughing even harder at the sound, “NOHOHO! HAHAHAHA! HAHAHA! AHAHA!” He squealed indignantly as he flailed his legs around helplessly. He rocked back and forth like a turbulent ship, but the paladin wouldn’t move an inch! “STOP IT! STAHAHAHAP IT!” He pleaded, even more sparks began to swirl in the hot air.

Weirdly enough, Kouign-Amann didn’t even feel the blistering heat anymore, she was far too focused on giving him what for.

She brought her head down, her blond curls falling over her shoulder and brushing over Capsaicin Cookie’s sides. With a deep breath, she exhaled it into his stomach with the loudest, rumbliest raspberry’s he could muster. The spice overlord began to snort with every breath he could catch, laughing hysterically. The sound echoed throughout the open air, it wouldn’t be a surprise if it traveled through every mountain and valley of the world. “HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA! AHAHAHA! NOOOOO! LET GOO!” He screamed “I’M SORRYYYYYY! HAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHA! AHAHA!” He kept laughing and laughing.

Finally, Kouign-Amann Cookie let go of him for a moment, “You’re sorry? For what?” She tilted her head as she asked, teasing him. “For p-pushing it!” He put his hands up in defeat “No more, please! I beg!”.

The paladin contemplated it for a moment, then smiled, “Alright, I’ll go easy on ya!” She said, pecking his cheek. “But… I can’t guarantee I won’t do it again.” She winked. He gulped nervously.

the end

AHHHH! SILLY!! Dude, school and band season are so draining. I don’t even know how I pulled through for this. Until next time, if there is a next time. Have a good one 🫶

[elswhore]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍 𝟎𝟎𝟏

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ─ death. murder. drugs.

you’re slouched in a chair, scrolling through your phone, when you hear the jingle of keys and the rustle of leather.

your dad’s getting ready to leave again, he’s a broad man, not tall but solid, with a face carved by hard years—deep lines around his eyes, a scar splitting his left eyebrow, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow.

his hands, rough as sandpaper, are shoving a battered leather jacket over his shoulders.

you’ve seen him like this a hundred times: ready to vanish into the night, dodging your questions with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“dad, you’re going out again?” you ask, setting your phone down.

your voice is light, teasing, but there’s a thread of something else woven in—curiosity. “what even is your job?” he pauses at the door, one hand on the knob, and turns to look at you.

his smile is crooked, familiar, the kind that used to make you feel safe when you were a kid.

his eyes, the same shade as yours, crinkle at the corners, but there’s a tightness there, a shadow you can’t quite place.

“just hustlin’ to keep you in those fancy sneakers, kid” he says, his chuckle warm but rehearsed.

“don’t worry your pretty head about it, i’ll be back before you know it.” you roll your eyes, playing along, but the question hangs in the air like smoke.

“yeah, yeah, mysterious man of mystery” you quip, tossing a balled up napkin at him.

he catches it mid-air, tossing it back with a wink before stepping into the hallway.

the door slams shut, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment, and you’re alone again.

you don’t know it yet, but that’s the last time you’ll see him alive.

your dad’s always been a puzzle, a man of contradictions, he’d come home with stacks of cash, enough to buy you new clothes or fix the leaky sink, but he’d never talk about where it came from.

he’d laugh too loud, hug you too tight, like he was trying to outrun something.

you knew he was mixed up in the city’s underbelly—guys like him didn’t make that kind of money pushing papers—but you never pushed too hard.

he was your dad, your only family since your mom walked out when you were six.

whatever he was doing, it was for you, that’s what he always said, you clear the dishes, the clink of plates a small rebellion against the silence.

the city hums outside, a symphony of car horns, distant sirens, and the low pulse of bass from a neighbor’s apartment.

you try not to think about the gnawing feeling in your gut, the one that’s been there since you were old enough to notice the bloodstains on his jeans or the way he’d check the locks twice before bed.

you tell yourself he’s fine, he always is.

───────────────────────────

your dad was one of Ellie Williams’ dogs, a low-level dealer in her sprawling drug empire.

he wasn’t a kingpin, just a runner, moving product through the city’s veins.

he’d slip baggies of white powder or pills into the hands of jittery junkies in alleyways or hand off packages to slick club kids in neon-lit bathrooms.

it was dirty, dangerous work, but it paid better than any factory job, every dollar he made, he told himself, was for you—for your future, for a life better than the one he’d been born into.

but greed got the better of him, for months, he’d been skimming from ellie’s deals.

not much—just a few bucks here, an extra gram sold on the side there, he was careful, funneling the cash into a shoebox under his bed, dreaming of the day he could get you out of this city.

a college fund, maybe, or a house somewhere quiet, where sirens didn’t wake you at night.

he justified it, told himself ellie wouldn’t notice, she was too big, too untouchable, to care about a few missing dollars.

he was wrong.

ellie williams doesn’t build an empire by being careless.

her mafia runs like a swiss watch—every deal tracked, every dollar accounted for.

she’s a ghost to most, a name whispered in fear, but to those in her inner circle, she’s a force of nature.

lean and sharp, with auburn hair and green eyes that cut through lies like a blade, ellie rules with charisma and cruelty.

cross her, and you’re done.

no second chances, when her accountants flagged a discrepancy, it took less than a day to trace it to your dad.

ellie didn’t hesitate.

in a derelict warehouse on the city’s edge, under the glare of a single hanging bulb, she met him.

he tried to talk his way out, stammering about loyalty, about you. ellie listened, her face unreadable, then drew her pistol and put a bullet between his eyes.

his body hit the concrete with a dull thud, and by dawn, it was weighted down and sinking in the murky river.

ellie didn’t think about him again.

he was a problem, and problems get solved.

───────────────────────────

four days have crawled by since your dad walked out the door, his crooked smile and teasing wink burned into your memory, his absence is a growing void, seeping into every corner of the cramped space you’ve called home.

his coffee mug sits untouched on the kitchen counter, a thin ring of stale liquid at the bottom, and his leather jacket hangs over a chair, the scent of his cologne fading with each passing hour.

you’ve called his phone at least a dozen times, each unanswered ring tightening the knot of dread in your stomach.

his voicemail—gruff, familiar, promising to “call you back, kid”—is a cruel mockery now, looping in your mind like a broken record.

he’s never been gone this long, not without a text, a call, something to let you know he’s okay.

you sit on the edge of the couch, the springs creaking under your weight, your phone clutched in your hands.

the screen glows with the call log, a string of “dad” entries that lead nowhere.

you dial again, pressing the phone to your ear, willing him to pick up this time.

the line rings once, twice, three times, then cuts to voicemail. “hey, it’s me” you say, your voice cracking despite your effort to sound calm.

“where are you, dad? it’s been days. just… call me back, okay?” you hang up, tossing the phone onto the cushion beside you, and bury your face in your hands.

the city hums outside—car horns, distant sirens, the low thrum of a neighbor’s bass—but it feels like a different world, one that’s moving on while you’re stuck in this suffocating limbo.

he’s been gone for stretches before, a day or two, maybe three, but never four.

never without a word, the possibilities claw at you, is he hurt?arrested? or—your mind recoils from the thought—something worse?

you shove it down, clinging to the hope that he’s just laying low, caught up in whatever shady job keeps the lights on.

you can’t stay here, staring at his jacket like it’ll summon him back.

you have a class to get to, a lecture you’re already dreading, but sitting still feels like surrender.

you grab your backpack, the weight of textbooks a small anchor against the chaos in your head, and head out.

the city is gray and damp, the sky threatening rain as you weave through crowded sidewalks, your sneakers scuffing against cracked pavement.

the community college is a squat, brick building, its halls smelling of industrial cleaner and burnt coffee.

you slip into the lecture hall just as the professor starts droning on about macroeconomic theory, his voice a monotonous hum that barely registers.

you take a seat near the back, your notebook open but untouched, your pen dangling between your fingers.

the room is stuffy, the fluorescent lights too bright, and the other students are a blur of bored expressions and tapping pencils.

you try to focus, to anchor yourself in the mundane routine, but your eyes keep drifting to your phone, willing it to light up with a message from your dad.

nothing.

your gaze wanders, restless, to the window beside you.

the glass is streaked with grime, framing a view of the street below—people hurrying under umbrellas, cars crawling through traffic, the city pulsing with indifferent life.

but something catches your eye, a flicker of movement that doesn’t belong.

there, across the street, half hidden by the shadow of a building, stands a man in a black cloak.

the hood obscures his face, but his posture is rigid, deliberate, like he’s watching something—or someone.

your breath catches, a prickle of unease crawling up your spine.

he’s too still, too out of place in the bustle of the city, his dark figure stark against the gray backdrop.

you lean closer to the window, squinting to make out details, but the distance and the hood conceal too much.

is he looking at you? the lecture hall feels suddenly smaller, the professor’s voice fading to a distant buzz.

you glance around, but no one else seems to notice, their heads bowed over notebooks or phones.

your heart picks up, a steady thump that drowns out the rational part of your brain.

it’s just a guy, you tell yourself.

a weirdo in a cloak, probably homeless or high, nothing to do with you.

but the unease lingers, sharpened by the weight of your dad’s absence.

you try to refocus on the lecture, scribbling a few half-hearted notes, but your eyes keep snapping back to the window.

the man hasn’t moved, his cloaked form a fixed point in the shifting street.

the professor drones on about supply and demand, his chalk scratching against the board, but the words slide off you like rain on glass.

your fingers tighten around your pen, the plastic creaking under the pressure.

you want to get up, to run across the street and confront him, demand what he’s staring at, but that’s crazy.

you’re not that person—not yet.

the clock ticks forward, each second dragging.

you check your phone again—no calls, no texts.

the worry for your dad is a live wire, sparking with every unanswered question.

───────────────────────────

you’ve barely slept, your eyes heavy with exhaustion, your mind a storm of worry and guilt.

you’ve tried everything—filing a missing person report at the police station, where a bored officer dismissed you with a promise to “look into it” walking the streets near your apartment, hoping to spot his familiar slouch checking his usual haunts, only to find shrugs and vague excuses.

the city feels like it’s conspiring against you, its gray streets and shadowed alleys offering no clues.

yesterday, you found a burner phone in his sock drawer, its cracked screen flickering with cryptic texts

|Drop at 3rd and Pike, 2k. Meet J at the Nail.

you found a shoebox in his closet, stuffed with cash—thousands of dollars, more than you’ve ever seen.

the discoveries confirmed what you’d long suspected, your dad was tangled in something dangerous, something that paid in blood and secrets.

but knowing doesn’t bring him back, and the weight of his absence is crushing.

you’re sitting on the couch, the burner phone in your hands, when your own phone buzzes.

it’s a voicemail notification, from your dad’s number.

your heart lurches, hope and dread colliding as you fumble to play it.

his voice crackles through the speaker, rough and strained, not the warm, teasing tone you know.

“hey, kid” he says, and you lean closer, clutching the phone like a lifeline. “i… im not coming back. i’ve been thinking, and i regret a lot of things, having a daughter like you… it’s been a burden. you’re better off without me. don’t look for me. just… move on.”

the words hit like a physical blow, each syllable a shard of glass in your chest.

the voicemail ends with a click, and the silence that follows is deafening.

you replay it, hoping you misheard, but it’s the same—cold, final, cruel.

your dad, the man who’d braid your hair when you were little, who’d sneak you extra dessert and call you his “best girl” saying he regrets you.

saying you’re a burden.

saying he’s never coming back.

tears come before you can stop them, hot and unstoppable, streaming down your face as you hurl the phone across the room.

it hits the wall with a dull thud, but the pain doesn’t ease.

you curl into yourself, sobs wrenching from your throat, your body shaking with a mix of grief and fury.

how could he say that?

how could he mean it?

you’ve spent your life defending him, excusing his late nights, his secrets, because he was your dad, because he loved you.

but this? This feels like betrayal, like he’s ripped out the foundation of your world and left you to fall.

anger surges, burning through the tears.

you hate him for saying it, for abandoning you, for making you feel like you’re nothing.

you want to scream at him, to demand why, to make him take it back.

but he’s gone, and the voicemail is all you have—a knife he left behind to twist in your heart.

you don’t know where he is, don’t know why he’d say something so cruel, but the words loop in your mind, poisoning every memory of his smile, his hugs, his promises.

you don’t know that your dad didn’t choose those words.

you don’t know that, five days ago, in a derelict warehouse on the city’s edge, ellie stood over him, her green eyes cold as steel.

your dad was on his knees, blood trickling from a split lip, his hands bound behind him.

she didn’t care about his excuses, his pleas about needing the money for his daughter.

loyalty is everything in her empire, and he’d broken it.“say it.” ellie had ordered, pressing a gun to his temple, her voice low and unyielding.

she handed him a phone, already recording. “tell her you’re done with her, make it hurt, make it stick.”

he’d begged, tears mixing with blood, but ellie’s finger tightened on the trigger. “do it, or i find her myself” she said, and he knew she meant it.

so he spoke, his voice breaking as he forced out the words, each one a betrayal of the love he’d carried for you since the day you were born.

when the voicemail was done,

ellie took the phone, nodded to her crew, and put a bullet in his head.

his body was dumped in the lake by dawn, weighted with concrete, sinking into the murky depths where no one would find it.

you don’t know any of this.

all you know is the voicemail, the pain, the rage.

you wipe your face, your breath hitching, and resolve to find answers.

he can’t just say that and disappear, you won’t let him.

you track down tommy, one of your dad’s buddies, at a dive bar called The Black Dog.

it’s a grimy hole-in-the-wall, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the sour tang of spilled beer.

tommy’s at a corner table, hunched over a glass of whiskey, his wiry frame tense, his sunken eyes darting like he’s expecting trouble.

you slide into the seat across from him, your hands clenched into fists to hide their trembling.“where’s my dad, tommy?” you demand, your voice raw from crying but sharp with determination.

“he left me a voicemail, said he’s not coming back, said he regrets me. what the hell is going on?” tommy flinches, his fingers tightening around his glass.

he won’t meet your eyes, his nervous tic more pronounced as he taps his foot under the table.

“jesus, kid.” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “i told you to stop asking questions, your dad… he’s in deep shit, okay? he got mixed up with the wrong people.”

“Who?” you snap, leaning forward, your voice low but fierce. “Stop bullshitting me, tommy, i found his burner phone, the cash, i know he was doing something shady, tell me who he was working for.”

he hesitates, glancing around the bar like he’s afraid someone’s listening.

finally, he leans in, his voice barely above a whisper. “Ellie Williams, he was running drugs for her. small-time, just a courier, but… that’s who he was with.”

the name hits like a punch to the gut, ellie Williams, even you know that name, whispered in the city’s underbelly like a curse.

she’s a myth, a monster, the untouchable queen of the underworld.

the thought of your dad—your goofy, overprotective dad—working for her is surreal, like a nightmare you can’t wake from.

but it makes sense, the cash, the secrets, the bloodstains, and now, the voicemail.

“did she do something to him?” you ask, your voice shaking with a mix of fear and fury.

“is she why he’s gone?” tommy shakes his head, too quickly. “i don’t know, kid. i swear. he was just… he was in over his head, maybe he pissed her off, maybe he ran. ellie don’t play nice with fuck-ups. that’s all i got.”

he stands, tossing a crumpled bill on the table. “stop digging, alright? for your own sake.” he’s gone before you can stop him, leaving you alone with the name burning in your mind.

your dad worked for her, and now he’s gone, leaving behind a voicemail that broke your heart.

───────────────────────────

[no34t1ng]

How do you get energy without food?

I get way too tired when I don't eat, and I can't concentrate nor study

I know you can't really starve forever as it's dangerous, but how do I starve myself without losing all my energy?

Does exercising help maybe?

Thanks for your time :3

hiiiiii lovelyyy💞🤧

of course i was always l0w 3n3rgy during that time omg🐾💞🤧

and about studying, i’d listen to teachers and forget everything immediately (or i just basically lazy), so my tips for study is just cram things in constantly!!!! like instead of waiting until exam season, review right after learning each topic, and act like u will have to do exam about it right tomorrow 😭😭🐳

and ideally, choose a time to ⭐ i know it sounds dumb telling someone with 3Ⓓ to “choose the right timing” to have an 3Ⓓ😭 (?), but if you can, aim for summer/spring/winter break

now that im maintaining and not long ⭐ anymore, it’s tbh better🦭🐾

things feel a bit more normal, but i still have memory problems🐬like i forget random details from daily life a lot

i take brain supplements now so maybe you can look into that too

and yeah… if you ⭐, you will l0se energy 😭😭😭 but if you want to cⓤt as much as possible, just don’t ⭐ for too long (more than 3 days)

and if you have something fun or someone funny around you, it’ll help prevent that emotional cr4sh🤧💕like friends, that kind of thing🚶‍♀️

and for working out, in the beginning, when you still have energy, try to move more💞 bc later on u probably only be able to do light yoga 🐳⭐

(just a quick announcement🤧right now i’ve got around 90 questions from you guys (thanks for trust me that much omg)💞😭some of them are repeated or very similar, so i wont be able to post separate answers for everything anymore, im sorryyy my love😭😭 i’ve already written and shared all the main tips and info, so feel free to scroll through my posts to find what you need! ofc, my dms are always open and i usually reply pretty fast, so if you want a personal reply, just dm me!🐬)

[morphean42]

Falsettos unpopular opinions because two people asked for this and honestly I don’t give a fuck anymore. I want to state this isn’t in response to anyone in particular, though, and if you get offended by any of these think about why. For a good reason? Please tell me and I’d love to debate it, truly. For a petty reason? You’re simply part of the problem.

1. They are Jewish. End of story. If I see anything related to Christianity or Christmas or whatever the fuck with them… shut up. Yes Whizzer is half-Jewish, yes in the revival Cordelia isn’t Jewish (WHICH BRINGS ME TO ANOTHER POINT ILL GET INTO LATER), yes they are most likely secular as evidenced by Mendel’s “religions just a trap” and ‘Days Like This’, no this does not give you the right to ignore their ETHNICITY AND CULTURE.

2. It’s okay to like the revival more. It’s not okay to ignore the original just because you get blinded by conventionally attractive men. Going to my Cordelia point, she’s Jewish in the original, her line ‘Shiksa caterer’ is ‘Kosher caterer’. Again it’s fine if your headcanons and fanfics and fanarts are based on the revival, I love it too, but stop acting like it’s the only version.

3. Whizzer’s entire personality does not revolve around being gay. He’s not a sassy twink. He’s a full grown man with issues that need to be addressed. Again, I reiterate, he is not a twink. Stop. Drawing. Him. Skinny. And. Hairless. I don’t care if ‘ oh but but that’s just my art style!’ Shut up.

4. Correlated to the above point, here are things Whizzer is not: a prostitute, a drug addict, relying on Marvin for everything, a twink (saying that again to get it through peoples fucking skulls), innocent. I’m 100% positive if the people who had these headcanons watched the OBC version of the show they’d never continue to advocate for them… once more I’m begging you guys to look past Andy Randy’s beautiful face and actually use critical thinking skills when it comes to Whizzer.

5. Short but (not) sweet: don’t claim to understand Marvin if you haven’t watched In Trousers. Just don’t.

6. If you flat out hate any character in the show, you’re wrong. Yes I’m still mad about the Mendel thing; if you think any one character is worse than the rest and isn’t just a fully human person with flaws and nuance, you don’t understand the musical as well as you claim.

7. It’s not the ‘gay’ musical. If you like falsettos for Whizzvin and nothing else, please, just… I don’t even know. There’s so much more to it than ‘ooo boys kissing.’ Please grow up, this leads into a whole other point but fetishisation is never okay, no matter who does it.

8. So many people treat Trina as either a perfect angel or just the side character in the way of the gay people. She’s an entire person, an entire character with flaws and hardship and terrible actions done by her and to her. Treat my homophobic queen with the respect she deserves, and acknowledge her faults too. It’s more misogynistic to treat her as perfect when she has issues too than just saying ‘she’s never done anything wrong’.

9. Stop making AIDS jokes.

10. This next one is probably the most iffy on the list. I will never be one to police fandom and creation, you can engage with material in any fucking way you like it literally doesn’t matter to me… but I dislike AUs. Now, I’ll always enjoy a little fun, adding in a twist like lesbian Whizzvin, or enjoying a feel good college AU. But. Especially for Falsettos the canon events are so fucking important and cannot be disregarded as casually as some do. AIDS is an extremely important part of the story, as well as the fact that both Marvin and Whizzer are men. I’m trans myself, but I dislike making them so simply because everything about their characters, all the characters, are so highly specific and important to take these aspects away is to disrespect the message of the musical.

11. It’s very important Mendel is straight. I see some people headcanon him as bisexual or trans or so on, and this just feels so wrong to me. Trina and Mendel are straight and that’s why their acceptance and love for the others in the Tight Knit Family is so important, especially Trina struggles with moving away from the idea that these ‘homosexual tendencies’ are wrong. They are straight but they love Whizzvin and the lesbians just as much as anyone else.

12. This one is so petty and I accept that, but… HIS NAME IS NOT MARVIN GARDENS. GARDEN IS A JOKE CHRISTIAN BORLE MADE BASED ON MONOPOLY. Jesus guys please just stop it it’s so stupid, William Finn didn’t have a last name for Marvin on purpose, and though I can’t do more than theorise what that purpose was, Gardens is so stupid. It’s not even funny. Same goes for Cohen, which just is odd. The only name I could begin to accept is Falsetto, and even then… just work around the last name in your fics.

12 1/2. SIDE TANGENT Jason would never take Weisenbachfeld as his last name. As a child of divorce… no. He’ll never view Mendel as a true father over his own dad, especially after Falsettoland, and he wouldn’t take that name. Hell, I’d known my ex step-father since I was two and I’d never have taken his last name. So, please, I never want to see Jason Weisenbachfeld again. That’s just not how it works.

At the end of the day this is just me alone in my room bitching… I just hope these points resonate with others.

[justuraverageweirdo]

Y’all can we just please stop all this shipping drama? Let people ship what they want, why does it matter to you so much 😭

Edit: Just gonna add that I don’t ship SolarMoon. But seriously, if someone wants to ship something, let them. It’s not really a problem. Please start acting like the adults most of you are-

[er1nne]

rafe hates when you buy things without using his card

(do not copy or plagarize, original work) The Range Rover hummed quietly, its blacked-out interior wrapping you and Rafe in a cocoon of shadows and muted streetlights. It had been his idea to take you for a nail day—completely unprompted but not surprising. Rafe had a way of knowing when you needed a little spoiling, especially after the week you’d had. The air smelled like his cologne, something expensive and sharp, mixing with the faint scent of leather from the seats. You were reclined comfortably with both legs stretched out, your freshly painted white toes wiggling lazily as you scrolled through your phone.

Rafe sat in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh. His thumb stroked absentminded circles into your skin while his sharp blue eyes flicked toward the darkened street ahead. Traffic was crawling, a sea of red taillights stretching endlessly ahead. Rafe didn’t seem too bothered, one hand resting on the wheel while the other stayed on your thigh. His thumb moved in slow, hypnotic circles against your skin, his blue eyes flicking between the road and the glow of your phone screen. He was calm—you liked him this way.

“What’s got you so quiet, huh?” His voice broke the silence, smooth but with an edge that always demanded your attention.

“Just trying to check out before everything sells out,” you mumbled, barely glancing up. You were busy, furiously tapping away as you finalized your cart. The latest House of CB drop was a battlefield, and you weren’t about to lose.

“Lemme see.” He leaned closer, his sharp gaze cutting toward your screen. When he caught sight of the digits you were typing, his brows furrowed, his jaw tightening. “Wait, is that your card?”

You paused, immediately bracing for what was coming. “Yeah? Why?”

Rafe let out a short, irritated laugh, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You have all of my cards saved to your phone, and you’re using your own card? What the hell for?”

“It’s not a big deal, Rafe.” You kept your voice calm, like you weren’t trying to spark an argument in the middle of what was such a nice day. “It’s not like I can’t afford it.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a humorless smirk. “Afford it?” he repeated, voice tinged with a certain tone to it. “Sweetheart, I literally pay for your life. Why do you even have a card? For decoration?”

You glared at him, but the faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrayed you. “Rafe—”

“No, seriously,” he cut in, shaking his head as if the idea itself was absurd. “What are you holding onto that thing for? Just in case I drop dead tomorrow and you suddenly need it?”

You huffed an air of annoyance as a pout covered your slightly glossed lips and starred out the car window. The car filled with an almost unbearable silence. His hand, which had been rubbing your thigh, went still.

He turned to glance at you a few times before looking back at the road, the corner of his mouth twitching with a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “Afford-” he repeated again slightly scoffing, voice low and slow, like he was trying to decide if you were messing with him. “Do you even hear yourself?”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms leaning slightly closer to his natural warmth. “It’s not that much.”

“To you. To me, that’s pocket change.” His fingers drummed a little harder against the steering wheel now, a restless energy creeping into his movements more obvious than ever.

“Rafe,” you started to whine, but he cut you off, shaking his head.

“Nah. Don’t start.” He turned fully to face you now, his hand lifting to cup your jaw, gently but firmly enough that you couldn’t look away. “Why do you always make this a thing? Is it so hard to let me take care of you? That’s why I’m here. To take care of you. You’re supposed to let me.”

Your resolve faltered under his intense gaze. He wasn’t just irritated—he was hurt. His words were a reminder, the same ones he’d given you before. Rafe wasn’t just possessive for the sake of it—he hated seeing you stress over anything, especially when he had the means to give you whatever you needed, whenever you wanted it. He didn’t want you holding onto burdens you didn’t have to carry. He’d told you before how it made him feel when you refused to lean on him, how he hated the idea of you ever struggling when he had the means to make your life easier. Rafe always told you how much he loved taking care of you, he felt proud to. Anything you ever want, he would give you, plus more.

“I’m not helpless,” you said softly, and it sounded weak even to your own ears.

“Did I say that you were?” he shot back immediately, his sharp blue eyes flicking from the road to meet yours. There was no trace of anger in his voice, just a steady, unyielding determination. “I know what you’re capable of. But you don’t have to do it all alone anymore.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his gaze softening, though his tone stayed firm. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. You’re mine, remember? So stop making it harder than it needs to be. Let me do my job.”

Even while navigating the slow-moving traffic, his focus on you didn’t waver. His eyes flicked back to yours, holding them for just a second longer than he should have, but long enough to make your heart skip a beat. You felt the weight of his words settle over you, the quiet conviction in his voice leaving no room for argument.

“Rafe…” you started. You stared at him for a long moment before finally relenting, handing over your phone with a quiet sigh. “Fine. Just this once.”

He smirked, already deleting your card details and replacing them with his own Amex Black information. The confirmation dinged almost immediately, and he handed the phone back to you, smug satisfaction written all over his face. “There. Easy. Now you’ve got your shit, and I’ve got my peace of mind.”

“Thank you,” you muttered, cheeks warming as you avoided his eyes.

Rafe tilted your chin up, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips. “Don’t thank me, baby. Just stop making this harder than it has to be. Just let me take care of you?” A small pout covered your slighly glossed lips as you responded to him in a small voice, "Okay."

“That’s my girl,” He smiled and leaned back in his seat, hand returning to your thigh as he glanced toward the street, his usual sharp focus slipping back into place.

You smiled slightly, your frustration melting away as you leaned into him. Because no matter how stubborn you could be, you both knew he’d always win in the end. And deep down, you didn’t mind.

[ruloaapaul]

“YOU’RE NOT STUCK — YOU’RE JUST A LAZY PROCRASTINATING BITCH.” 🐆🥂🩶

so you wanna enter the void, manifest your dream life, get rich, be hot, and have people obsessing over you, BUT YOU CAN’T EVEN GET YOUR LAZY ASS TO DO THE WORK? be fucking for real. you’re out here acting like you have a real problem when, in reality, you’re just avoiding shit like a weak little dumbass.

ive noticed a pattern—y’all aren’t actually “struggling” with the void or manifestation. you’re struggling with your own laziness, your own excuses, and your own weak-ass discipline. and honey, if you don’t fix that, you’re gonna stay exactly where you are: broke, lost, and watching others live the life YOU could’ve had.

“WHY YOU PROCRASTINATE (and how to fix your dumbass behavior.)” 🪩

you keep telling yourself, “oh, I’ll do it tomorrow” or “i just need to be in the right mindset” BITCH, TOMORROW IS A LIE. you will NEVER feel “ready.” the motivation you’re waiting for? It doesn’t fucking exist. action comes BEFORE motivation. you don’t feel motivated THEN do the work. you do the work, THEN the motivation comes. you either force yourself to start, or you stay stuck like a dumbass.

** FIX IT: use the 3-second rule. the second you think about doing something, count down from 3…2…1… and just start.

“YOURE ADDICTED TO AVOIDANCE — BECAUSE YOURE WEAK AS FUCK.”

you “just can’t bring yourself” to do it? so what, bitch? do it anyway. your problem isn’t a lack of ability. it’s a lack of discipline. youre more comfortable avoiding things than actually fixing your life. WEAK BEHAVIOR. you’d rather scroll for hours and waste time than take 10 minutes to get your shit together. PATHETIC. you think avoiding the work makes life easier? NO, BITCH. IT MAKES IT HARDER. Now you’re stuck, overwhelmed, and hating yourself.

** FIX IT: use the 10-minute trick. tell yourself, “i’ll just do this for 10 minutes.” 10 minutes is nothing. but once you start? you’ll keep going.

“YOURE MAKING SHIT SEEM HARDER THAN IT REALLY IS.”

you “don’t know where to start”? oh, it “feels overwhelming”? BITCH, YOU’RE LYING TO YOURSELF. you’re making it seem like a big, scary process so you can justify not doing it. the void? lay down and shut up. THAT’S IT. manifestation? assume it’s done. move on.

** FIX IT: break shit down into small steps. instead of saying “i need to manifest the perfect life,” say, “i need to affirm for 5 minutes.”

“YOURE LETTING YOUR FEELINGS CONTROL YOU LIKE A WEAK BITCH.”

“but i don’t feel like it…” BITCH, NOBODY CARES. if you only do shit when you “feel like it,” congrats, you’re gonna stay a failure forever. successful people don’t wait to feel inspired. they get up and fucking do it ANYWAY. if you let your emotions control you, you are a SLAVE to your own weakness.

** FIX IT: when your brain says “i don’t feel like it”, respond with “i don’t give a fuck” and DO IT ANYWAY.

[kooklovee]

Ruined Right (m) - JJK

Your boyfriend’s back to you on a break from his military training, now all yours. In other words, you’re making up for the lost time in the hottest, messiest way possible.

Pairing - bf!Jungkook x gf!Reader

Genre - 18+ established relationship au, fluff, smut MDNI

Warnings - hard dom!Jk, sub!reader, Explicit smut - unprotected, protected sex, oral (m&f receiving), hair pulling, light choking, fingering, edging, overstimulation, head pusher Jk🥵, gagging, marking, mild degradation, doggy, man handling, rough sex, (is black lace a warning?), aftercare. basically pwp?

Wc - 4k

a/n - have you'll seen Jungkook's vdos from a concert he attended recently.. I mean.. my man is definitely hUge🫠 anyways here's a little treat for making HOTM a hit🤗 nfhhdhjakq posted this in a hurry enjoy

Masterlist kofi☕

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Jungkook is attending a concert tonight.

You’re curled up on your couch, scrolling through Twitter and Instagram, and there he is. Blurry, low-quality videos flood your feed—Jungkook in the audience, dressed in a black leather jacket and that ridiculously cute brown fur hat.

He had told you earlier that he’d be attending, and now that you’re seeing him, it’s impossible to ignore how much he’s changed. His body is massive now—so much broader, so much bigger. Sending the entire internet into a meltdown.

"WTF is he eating in the military??"

"Hobi really meant it when he said Jungkook is HUGE now. I can’t breathe."

The tweets keep rolling in, people thirsting over his military physique, but none of them know what you know. None of them know that after the concert, after months of being apart, Jungkook is coming to you.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen each other. In the beginning, when he first enlisted, you managed to meet a couple of times. But then life got in the way. his schedule, your schedule, time slipping through your fingers. Just glimpses from video calls. And now, after months of waiting, you’re finally going to see him.

You swallow hard, your heart racing.

Because if Jungkook looks this good in a grainy fan video…you can’t even imagine what it’ll be like when he’s standing right in front of you.

Your phone vibrates. Your boyfriend's name on the screen.

Kook: On my wayyyyyyy 🏃

You stand up, suddenly restless. You move to the mirror, running your fingers through your hair, adjusting your clothes, smoothing your hands over your skin.

Anticipation buzzing under your skin. you don’t have to wait much longer. You keep checking your phone, hands a little clammy, nerves thrumming in your stomach from excitement. It’s been so long. Too long.

The doorbell rings.

Your heart jumps. Running a quick hand through your hair, and you head for the door.

The second the door swings open, you don’t even give yourself time to process. He’s here.

Jungkook barely gets a breath in before you launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck, legs instinctively locking around his waist. A surprised chuckle rumbles from his chest as his strong hands catch you with ease, holding you up like you weigh nothing.

“Woah—someone missed me,” he teases, his voice rich with amusement, but there’s no mistaking the warmth in his tone.

“Of course I did,” you mumble against his skin, planting kisses all over his face—his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, anywhere your lips can reach. You feel the way his body shakes slightly with laughter, his grip on you tightening as he walks inside, shutting the door behind him without letting you go.

His scent surrounds you but there’s something different now—he’s bigger, his muscles even firmer beneath your touch, his frame broader than before. You pull back just enough to look at him properly, taking in the way his eyes soften as he gazes at you.

“Damn, baby,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a grin. “You’re not even gonna let me breathe first?”

“Not a chance,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his, your fingers threading through his oh so short hair as he holds you impossibly close.

His lips move against yours, slow at first, savoring, but then he tightens his grip, fingers pressing into your thighs as he deepens the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours, and you whimper into his mouth, your body pressing closer, desperate to just feel him.

Jungkook groans lowly, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “Fuck, baby… you have no idea how much I needed this.”

You swallow, heart pounding. “Then don’t hold back.”

His jaw clenches not wasting a second, carrying you straight to the bedroom.

His lips find yours again, rougher this time, his breathing heavy as he devours your mouth. You gasp against him, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

By the time he reaches the bed, you’re dizzy from the kiss, from the sheer heat of his body surrounding you. He lowers you onto the mattress, but before you can even catch your breath, he’s on you—caging you in,  hands already roaming.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained as he drags his lips along your jaw, down your neck. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

His teeth graze your skin, and your body reacts instantly, arching beneath him, a soft whimper slipping past your lips.

Jungkook grins against your throat. “Missed me that much, baby?”

His tone is teasing, but the way his hands are gripping you—tells you he’s just as desperate as you are.

You don’t bother answering. Instead, you pull him down, crashing your lips against his, pouring every ounce of pent-up longing into the kiss.

It’s messy, desperate, your fingers immediately working to shove his jacket off his shoulders. He lets out a low chuckle, amused by your urgency, but he doesn’t stop you. He shrugs out of the jacket with ease before tossing it aside.

Your hands barely have time to explore before he’s pulling back, just enough to grab the hem of his t-shirt.

Your breath catches as he yanks the fabric over his head in one fluid motion, revealing the full extent of how much he’s changed.

The dim light of your room casts soft shadows over his skin, the broad set of his shoulders, the sheer size of him now.

Fuck.

Your eyes roam over him, taking in everything. The way his arms flex slightly as he tosses his shirt aside. He’s so much bigger now, so much more built than before.

Jungkook's lips curls up into a smirk, dark eyes watching you as you stare, shameless. “Like what you see?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your fingers itching to feel just how solid he’s become. Instead of answering, you reach for him, gripping his wrist and pulling him back down. You need him closer.

His hands move immediately, one gripping your waist, the other sliding up your arm.

“You’re staring too much,” he murmurs, lips brushing along your jaw before trailing down to your neck, hot and slow.

Your breath hitches as his teeth graze your skin, nails digging slightly into his shoulders, “It’s distracting.”

Jungkook exhales a quiet laugh, the sound low and knowing. With one swift tug, he pulls your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside.

His hands freeze for a second when he sees what’s underneath.

Black lace.

Delicate, barely-there black lace lingerie, the kind that clings to your curves. The kind you’ve never worn for him before.

Jungkook’s eyes darken instantly, “Fuck.” His gaze devours you, dragging over every inch of skin, before flicking back to your face.

“You wore this for me?” His tone thick with something heavy, something raw.

You nod, heat creeping up your neck, but his reaction makes you bolder. “Wanted to surprise you.”

Jungkook exhales sharply through his nose. “Baby…” He shakes his head slightly, his smirk returning, darker this time.

“You have no fucking idea what you just started."

His hands slip to your shorts, hooking his fingers into them. Slow.

“Off,” he mutters. “Now.”

And when you lift your hips, letting him strip them away, his eyes radiate just one thing—like he’s about to ruin you. Ruin you so right.

His hands hover over your skin, not quite touching yet, tongue swiping over his lower lip, eyes roaming over you, “You’re fucking dangerous,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

His hands move, gripping, spreading. Tracing their way up to your hips, dragging his fingers along the delicate lace, making sure you feel every single movement. The contrast of his rough touch against the soft fabric sends a shiver through you, your body reacting without hesitation.

“You like this?” he murmurs, his fingers teasing over the thin strap at your hip, “Wearing something this pretty—just for me?”

You barely manage a nod before he’s leaning down again, lips pressing against your stomach, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower.

His teeth graze against the sensitive fabric, right over your heat.

Your whole body jerks. A choked gasp leaves your lips.

"Relax, baby," he murmurs, his breath hot, teasing.

Jungkook’s grip tightens around your thighs, keeping them firmly in place over his shoulders. His breath warm against the soaked fabric of your lace.

His fingers slide along the delicate material, pressing just lightly over your heat, just enough to make you whimper.

His tongue flicking out just enough to make your thighs tremble.

Your frustration bubbling in your throat. “Jungkook—”

“Hm?” He looks up, smirking, eyes dark and playful.

You glare at him, panting slightly.

Jungkook chuckles, the sound deep, dangerous.

“Jungkook, please—”, you finally breathe out.

His hands flex against your thighs. “Please what?”

You swallow hard, desperate now. “Please—please touch me. No more teasing, just—”

You don’t even get to finish. Jungkook shoves the lace aside in an instant, his mouth finally pressing against your bare heat. Hot. Wet. Messy.

You cry out. He devours you whole.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans against you, hands holding you down for him. “Should’ve begged sooner.”

Your back arches off the bed, a choked moan spilling from your lips as heat floods through your veins. His tongue moves with purpose, licking up every bit of your desperation like he’s been starving for this.

“You taste so fucking good,” he mutters against you, his voice raspy. His pace steadily increasing until you’re a mess beneath him, gasping, panting.

It’s too much.

Your fingers dig into his scalp, pulling him closer, your hips moving without thinking, chasing that high that’s so, so close.

“J-Jungkook—,” you breathe out, desperate now.

And then—he pulls away.

Your eyes snap open. “Wh—”

He licks his lips, his chin glistening, smirking as he watches you. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your legs still trembling—

“Not yet,” his eyes dark, thumb lazily tracing your inner thigh, ignoring the way you whimper, squirming under him.

You glare at him, frustration bubbling over. “You—”

“Be patient,” he mutters against your skin, smirk never fading. He loves this. loves seeing you needy, wrecked for him.

His lips trail up, enjoying the way your body reacts, the way your breathing stutters the higher he goes.

“Still looking so pretty for me.”

His fingers tracing over the thin lace barely covering your breasts. You shudder.

He licks over the lace, dragging his tongue slowly over the sensitive peak, soaking the fabric, teasing you without giving you what you need.

“Jungkook—” Your voice is breathless, hands gripping his biceps, nails digging into his skin.

He hums against you, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, grinning as he does it again—slow, torturous.

One hand trails lower, skimming over your waist, before hooking into the waistband of your lace panties dragging them down your legs.

His hands return immediately, fingers dipping between your thighs.

“Already so wet for me,” Jungkook murmurs, his voice laced with satisfaction. “Messy little thing, aren’t you?”

He pushes a finger inside. A sharp gasp escaping your lips at how easily he slips in.

Your hands fly to his biceps, fingers gripping onto the hard muscle, holding on as he starts working you open.

Jungkook groans, feeling the way you clench around him, so warm, so tight.

“Fuck, baby,” he exhales, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he adds another finger, stretching you perfectly, curling just right. His pace deep, perfect.

His lips attach to your neck, sucking, biting. He wants you covered in him, wants you to see the evidence of this all over your skin when he’s done.

Jungkook feels the way your grip on his biceps trembles, nails pressing into his skin.

His fingers curl, pressing against that spot that makes your back arch off the bed, a sharp moan slipping past your lips.

And the second he presses his thumb against your aching clit, a strangled gasp rips from your throat. The added pressure sends a sharp jolt of pleasure through you, your hips bucking against his hand instinctively, chasing the feeling.

“Be a good girl and come for me.”

His fingers move faster, deeper, his thumb pressing down just right.

“J-Jungkook—” you gasp, your voice breaking as your stomach tightens, heat rushing through you in waves.

He feels it, the way you clench around his fingers, your body shaking under his touch.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your throat, marking you again, sucking another bruise into your skin. “Come for me, baby.”

The pleasure crashes into you all at once, ripping through your body like a storm, your back arching, your thighs trembling. Your grip on him tightening, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Jungkook groans at the sight, his fingers still pumping into you, dragging out your release. His thumb giving one last, lazy stroke over your achingly sensitive clit.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your grip on his shoulders tight, your nails digging in as the aftershocks ripple through you.

He pulls his fingers out bringing them to his mouth.

Your eyes widen slightly, still hazy from your high, as he licks his fingers clean.

His gaze never leaves yours.

“Fuck,” he exhales, his voice deep, wrecked, utterly sinful as he sucks the last of your release from his fingers. “Always fucking sweet.”

Jungkook’s mouth is on yours the second he finishes his filthy display.

His hand slides up your body, fingers slipping beneath the lace still covering your chest.

A low groan rumbles from his chest as he cups your breast, squeezing, his thumb rolling over the hardened peak, teasing. His other hand grips your waist, holding you steady beneath him.

But you’re impatient.

The heat still buzzing through your body is too much, your need for him too overwhelming.

So you push at his chest, flipping him over in one swift motion until you’re on top.

Jungkook lets out a low, dark chuckle, his hands immediately gripping your hips, his eyes burning with lust as he watches you take control.

"Impatient, are we?" he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk.

You don’t answer. Instead, you kiss him again, messy, desperate, your hands roaming over his broad chest. His hardness presses against you through his pants and you can’t ignore it any longer.

Your fingers trail down, cupping him through the fabric. A low, gravelly groan rumbles from his throat, his hips pushing up into your hand, seeking more.

“Fuck,” he hisses, head tilting back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second.

You don’t waste time.

Your fingers move to his zipper, pulling it down with ease, and Jungkook lifts his hips, helping you tug his pants and boxers down.

And there he is. Hard, flushed, leaking for you.

You kiss your way down his chest, your lips skimming over his abs, leaving a heated trail.

You consider teasing him—making him suffer the way he did to you. But you’re too impatient for that.

So you lick over his tip.

Jungkook’s sharp inhale is immediate.

“Fuck,” he breathes, fingers tangling into your hair, gripping tight—just enough to keep you exactly where he wants you.

You press your tongue flat against him, as you take him deeper.

His thumb strokes along your cheek.

“Just like that, baby,” he mutters, voice thick with praise.

A sharp curse spills from his lips, his hand tightening in your hair, his hips pushing forward just enough to make you gag around him.

His thumb wiping at the corner of your mouth.

“Messy,” he murmurs, his thumb pressing against your lower lip, feeling how wet and swollen it’s become. “God, you look so fucking pretty like this.”

Your thighs clenching at his words.

Jungkook’s grip in your hair tightens, pushing you down further.

Your throat tightens, a strangled gag ripping from you as your fingers instinctively tap at his thigh.

His hold loosens, his cock slipping slightly from your mouth as you gasp for air, your eyes watering as you look up at him.

Jungkook exhales heavily, his hand sliding from your hair to cradle your jaw instead, thumb stroking softly against your damp lips.

“Shit—sorry, baby,” he murmurs, but the smirk tugging at his lips tells you he’s not really sorry.

Your breath is still uneven, but you don’t hesitate lowering yourself again, wrapping your lips back around him, taking him as deep as you can.

Jungkook groans, his fingers slipping back into your hair.

You can tell he’s close.

The way his thighs tense, the way his groans become rougher, deeper, the way his fingers start to tug at your hair just a little more—

And then, he pulls you off him.

Yanks your head back, his cock slipping from your mouth, glistening, swollen.

His eyes burn into yours, wild, dark, filled with something dangerous.

“On all fours.”

Your stomach flutters violently, your legs weak, but you do as he says.

You shift, turning around, your hands pressing into the mattress.

His hands slide down your waist, fingers gripping, kneading, as he takes in the view.

“Fuck, baby,” he exhales, his voice filled with pure hunger.

You whimper softly, shifting impatiently, feeling the heat of his body behind you, but not enough of him.

“Needy?” His tone is mocking, but when his hand slides between your thighs, fingers teasing along your slick folds, his breath catches slightly. “God, you’re dripping for me.”

You push back against his touch, desperate for more, but he grips your hip tightly, stopping you.

“Be good,” he warns, voice low, authoritative.

You can hear it—the slick sounds of him jerking himself, as he grinds the tip against your soaked folds, teasing you mercilessly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough, strained. “Look at you… so fucking ready for me.”

You whimper, trying to push back onto him, but his grip tightens.

Reaching over, he grabs his pants, fishing out a foil packet. You glance over your shoulder, just in time to see him rip it open with his teeth, rolling the condom onto his cock, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time.

The sight alone has your stomach tightening, your thighs clenching.

He drags himself up and down slowly, deliberately, coating himself in your slick.

You whine, pushing back onto him again, but he just chuckles.

“Impatient little thing,” he murmurs, his lips suddenly right against your ear. His teeth graze the shell, biting down lightly before he soothes the sting with his tongue.

“You wanted this, baby,” he breathes, voice deep, velvety, dripping with control. “Now, you’re gonna take it.”

He pushes in.

A gasp rips from your throat, your fingers clenching the sheets as he stretches you open, filling you inch by inch.

Jungkook groans behind you, his grip on your hip tightening, his cock throbbing as he bottoms out, completely buried inside you.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his head falling back for a second, his body trembling slightly as you both adjust to the feeling.

His hips pull back, just enough to make you feel the drag, before he slams back in, a sharp thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.

A shattered moan escapes you, your body rocking forward, but Jungkook doesn’t let you go.

Instead he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking you upright, your back flush against his solid, burning chest.

His mouth is on you immediately, kissing, sucking, biting at your throat, his free hand spreading over your stomach, pulling you tighter against him.

“Tell me how much you missed me, baby,” he murmurs against your already bruised skin, his hips still snapping into you, deep, devastating.

You bite your lip, smirking slightly despite the overwhelming pleasure, deciding to test him, just a little.

“No,” you breathe, teasing, taunting.

Jungkook freezes for half a second—before he groans, low and dangerous.

His hand moves up, fingers wrapping around your throat, firm. Enough to make you feel it, just enough to remind you who’s in control.

A dark chuckle spills from his lips as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear.

“Didn’t have my cock shoved in your pussy for months, and this is how bratty you’ve become?” he mocks, his fingers squeezing slightly, his other hand gripping your waist, holding you still as he thrusts into you harder, deeper, punishing.

His grip on your throat lingering for a moment before he releases you, only to push you down, pressing your head into the pillow.

His hips snap forward, knocking the air from your lungs. Your moan is muffled against the pillow, but it doesn’t matter—he hears it anyway.

You’re a mess beneath him, your hands gripping at the sheets, your body rocking forward with each powerful thrust.

“Feel that?” he pants, taunting, his hand sliding from your back down to your ass, squeezing. “That’s what you’ve been missing, baby.”

Jungkook groans at the way you clench around him, his grip on you tightening, his pace turning brutal, relentless.

“That’s right,” he mutters, teeth gritted, voice wrecked. “Fucking take it.”

Jungkook feels the way your body tenses, the way your walls flutter around him, and he knows you’re close.

So he moves his free hand, slipping between your legs, fingers finding your clit.

A sharp, wrecked gasp rips from your throat as he circles it, firm with his pounding thrusts.

“Come for me, baby,” he groans, his voice low, commanding.

Your legs shake violently, your thighs tightening.

Pleasure crashes through you, blinding, overwhelming, your moans breaking apart as your body convulses beneath him. Your walls pulse around him, dragging him deeper into your orgasm, milking every last wave of bliss.

But Jungkook doesn’t stop.

His hips keep slamming into you, riding out your high, his movements still relentless, consuming.

Your body jerks, overstimulated, the pleasure unbearable now.

“Too much—” you choke out, your voice broken, shaking.

Jungkook leans over you, panting, pressing his lips to your shoulder, his voice rough, strained.

“One more, baby,” he murmurs against your sweaty skin, his breath hot, desperate. “Give me one more.”

You whimper, shaking your head weakly, but he feels the way your body reacts, the way you’re already spiraling again, trapped in his rhythm, in his control.

Your second orgasm slams into you suddenly, shattering through your already wrecked body. You cry out, your walls clenching down on him, and that’s all it takes—

Jungkook groans, his hips slamming into you one last time, burying himself deep as his release finally overtakes him.

A low, wrecked moan leaves his lips as his body shudders against yours, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you tight as he spills into the condom.

For a moment, neither of you move, your bodies tangled, trembling, completely spent.

Jungkook exhales heavily, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your shoulder, his hands soothing over your body, grounding you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse, satisfied, full of something deeper. “You’re… unreal."

You let out a weak, breathless laugh, turning your head slightly to meet his half-lidded, blissed-out gaze.

You both collapse onto the bed, Jungkook still buried deep inside you, your bodies tangled, sticky with sweat, breathing heavy, uneven.

Neither of you speak for a while, just taking your time, letting the warmth of each other sink in. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, his chest rising and falling against your back.

After a few moments, his lips find your skin.

Soft, warm kisses pressed to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw. His hands glide over your waist, soothing.

“You okay, baby?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice softer now, filled with something tender.

You nod, turning your face slightly toward him, feeling a little shy now that the intensity has faded.

Jungkook’s lips brush against your temple as he murmurs, “Was I too rough?” His voice is softer.

You shake your head, feeling a little shy now, but your voice is steady when you say, “No… I loved it.”

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest.

Slowly, he pulls out, making you shudder slightly at the loss of him. He presses one last kiss to your shoulder before getting up, disposing of the condom.

He returns with a warm towel cleaning you up carefully, gently, his touch soft, eyes flickering up to yours every now and then, making sure you’re okay.

Once he’s done, he tosses the towel aside and slides back into bed, immediately pulling you into his arms. His body is warm, solid, safe, fingers tracing light patterns over your bare back.

For a while, you both just lay there, wrapped up in each other.

After a moment, you murmur into his chest, “When are you leaving?”

Jungkook sighs softly, his grip on you tightening slightly, like he doesn’t want to answer.

“Tomorrow morning,” he finally says, voice quieter.

Your stomach sinks a little, but before you can dwell on it, he tilts your chin up, making you meet his gaze.

A small smirk tugs at his lips, fingers sliding down your spine, slow and teasing.

“But,” he whispers, his voice low, filled with promise, “I still have time to make the most of tonight.”

---------------------------------------------------

[nymphaura777]

Procrastinating? Read this.

So, you wanna manifest your dream life but keep putting it off?

Let’s be real. You say you’re gonna affirm, visualize, and persist, but then suddenly, scrolling through reels, watching a whole-ass Netflix series, or overanalyzing the 3D becomes your full-time job. And then? You freak out because nothing is changing. Sound familiar? Yeah, thought so.

Why do you even procrastinate on something you want?

Your brain is lowkey tripping. It craves instant dopamine, and let’s be honest—staring at your ceiling, imagining your dream life while reality looks the same ain’t always fun. Your mind wants proof, results, and fireworks ASAP, but that’s not how this game works. You gotta train your brain like a puppy: consistency, belief, and a whole lotta "sit down and shut up" energy.

"I’ll start tomorrow" is the biggest scam ever to exist, no cap fr.

Tell me why you think tomorrow will magically make you more disciplined? Spoiler alert: It won’t. Tomorrow turns into next week, next month, and suddenly it’s 2026 and you’re still waiting for "the right moment." That moment? It’s now. Get up. Start affirming. Step into the version of you that already has it.

The 3D is playing with your head, but you gotta play it back

I know, I know, the 3D is looking disrespectful. Your SP is acting like you don’t exist, your bank account is laughing at you, and your dream life feels like a fever dream. But guess what? The 3D is just old news, and if you keep reacting, you’re just keeping the same boring storyline alive. Ignore it. You’re the director here.

How to actually stop procrastinating & start manifesting

Set a deadline for your doubts: Give yourself 10 minutes to freak out, then move tf on cause we ain't gonna suppress our emotions.

Romanticize your manifestation: Act like you’re the main character and your dream life is unfolding.

Affirm like it’s your job: No days off. No breaks. This is your reality, claim it, if you don't wanna affirm it's still alright like I already said in other posts that you need to be the version that already has that. Some people has preferences, some prefer Affirmations, while some prefer subliminals/guided meditations choice is yours.

Stop playing victim: You are literally the creator of your life. Act like it.

Make it a habit: Turn manifesting into muscle memory. If you can scroll IG for hours, you can repeat affirmations.

Drop the obsession: Desperate energy repels. Relax. Breathe. Your desire is already yours.

You either keep waiting, or you wake up and take control

The truth is, your dream life is waiting on YOU. Not the universe, not some random timeline, not "divine timing" just YOU deciding to stop playing and actually persist. So, what’s it gonna be? Are you gonna keep making excuses, or are you finally gonna step into your power?

You already know what to do. Now go do it, embody that version and manifest your dream life!

[kingdomvel]

Steddie | modern au | famous actor Steve Harrington | 3.4k | ao3

from this post

Eddie can’t stop the laugh that comes out of him because of the video on his screen, Gareth snickering next to him.

“This is great, I have to show this to the others later,” Eddie says. His fingers move automatically, pressing on the send icon and then on the profile at the very top, a move he has done hundreds of times.

“Dude, did you just send that to Steve Harrington?” Gareth asks with a dumbfounded tone.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you acting like that’s normal?”

“Because it is? I just send him the posts I find funny to find them later.”

“You know there is a way to save posts so that they are organized, right?”

“I don’t like it and this is like way easier.”

“It’s literally not,” Gareth says, but Eddie doesn’t pay attention to him or stop.

“Look,” he goes to the front page, slides to the dms and opens the conversation with Steve Harrington, always at the top. “It’s just right there.” He starts scrolling up to show him the long string of unanswered memes and videos, but Gareth interrupts him.

“Wait, wait. Scroll back down, what the fuck is that? Does he read your messages?” He is pointing to the little icon with Harrington’s profile picture just above the last video he’s sent. Eddie shrugs.

“It’s probably a bored media guy enjoying some memes on the clock or making sure I’m not a weirdo, it’s not like Steve Harrington actually uses this account.”

“You are a weirdo, I’m surprised you are not blocked yet.”

-

Eddie is on his phone, passing the time as he keeps an eye on the lonely customer currently looking through the new vinyls. It’s a routine, a mindless action as he saves another post to show the guys later, preferring to see their reactions in person. Nothing ever happens, that’s why he gets surprised to the point of sitting up when a notification appears on his screen.

Steve.hrrgtn: Dude, you just made me laugh in the middle of a table reading

Eddie freezes as the notification disappears. Did he see that right? He couldn’t have seen that right.

He goes to his dms and surely, there at the top, is a message from THE Steve Harrington, or at least from his account. A table reading. It has to be him, right? Not an intern or a media guy. The one and only.

Eddie sends a look to the customer, still engrossed in the new releases. He is tempted to call her so she can check if the message is real or an hallucination provoked by his boredom. When he looks down, the message is still there. It is also still there when he opens the conversation. His fingers hover over screen.

He can picture him, sitting around a long table with his castmates, hiding his phone like a student in class but unable to keep his laugh in.

The vision is a bit surreal. He made Steve Harrington laugh.

Batking: why are you looking at your phone in the middle of a table reading

Steve.hrrgtn: new season boring af

It’s Eddie the one that can’t keep his laugh in this time. The girl sends him a look, but he doesn’t care.

Batking: should you be telling me that?

 Steve.hrrgtn: I don’t even care at this point tbh

Batking: you are the one that signed the contract my guy

Steve.hrrgtn: I didn’t

Steve.hrrgtn: Never let your parents sign you into a multi season show when you are fifteen

Batking: I’ll keep that in mind for my next life

Batking: Sorry your parents made you a millionaire and famous

Steve.hrrgtn: 💀💀💀

Steve.hrrgtn: but really, at the time I thought hey it’s only a contract for five seasons for a teen drama, how bad could it be?

Steve.hrrgtn: now here I am, almost ten years later, listening to the worst script you have heard in your life

Batking: that does sound awful

Batking: you are making me happy that my folks are not in the picture

Is Eddie about to vent about his life to Steve fucking Harrington? It seems like it.

In the end, he doesn’t, because Harrington doesn’t answer to his message, probably swept away into actually working, or maybe he realised how weird it was that he was talking so casually to a guy he didn’t know.

Eddie doesn’t have time to wallow on it too much, because the girl comes to the counter with a vinyl and a question. The interaction with the famous actor moving to a part of Eddie’s brain normally reserved to daydreams.

-

Eddie thought that his interaction with Steve Harrington would be a one time thing, the guy looking at his phone because he was too bored and answering his message because, by some kind of cosmic coincidence, Eddie had happened to send it at the perfect moment. Just an impulsive action that he had regretted later. That’s why he is surprised when he gets a new notification after sending him the worst kind of shitpost ever, the ones that the algorithm feeds him at 2am – the current time – and send him in a fit of giggles with their complete absurdity.

Steve.hrrgtn: where do you even find these things

Batking: you are just jealous my algorithm is better than yours

Steve.hrrgtn: yeah everyday I dream about my instagram showing me a pig made with a sausage and sticks surfing some rotating meat skewers

Batking: It made you laugh though

Steve.hrrgtn: …..

Steve.hrrgtn: It did

Eddie lets out a short, disbelieving snort. It’s a bit crazy, knowing that somewhere out there a famous heartthrob is looking at his messages at 2am and laughing.

Unless this is the media guy.

Eddie prefers to believe that he is so funny he made a guy with millions of followers want to talk to him. Twice.

Batking: why are you awake at this hour anyway

Batking: shouldnt you be getting your beauty sleep

Steve.hrrgtn: we start filming the new season tomorrow

Steve.hrrgtn: today?

Steve.hrrgtn: and I can’t sleep

Batking: nightmares about the boring script

Batking: I see

Steve.hrrgtn: you could say that

Batking: well, check this out, your nightmares will go away

He sends another stupid meme (of the best kind, the ones from accounts that write in Cyrillic) and receives a set of skull emojis in answer.

-

Steve.hrrgtn: why have you stopped sending me memes

The message takes Eddie by surprise. It’s been a week since he texted with Steve Harrington for the second time – which still feels a bit surreal-, and he had decided to stop bothering the poor guy now that he knew he saw his messages. Going to his saved posts was still a nightmare, but Eddie knew how to behave.

Batking: didnt want to bother you now that you are working and I know you see them

Steve.hrrgtn: they have been my main entertainment for months you can’t just stop now when I need them most

Eddie blinks at the message. Months? The confirmation stuns him. The one that had been seeing his messages had always been him and not some media guy? Eddie remembers catching his name a few times on his Instagram stories. This is a bit trippy, if he is honest.

Batking: okay

Batking: as my liege commands

Batking: from now on I am your knight in shining armour your sole provider of memes

-

Batking: *reel attached*

Batking: did you kill the villain today?

Steve.hrrgtn: This is a teen drama???

-

Batking: *reel attached*

Batking: so, is the bad guy dead yet?

Steve.hrrgtn: Again???

Steve.hrrgtn: I told you like a thousand times that there is no bad guy to kill

Steve.hrrgtn: have you even watched my show?

Batking: I mean the scriptwriter

Steve.hrrgtn: lmao

Steve.hrrgtn: no, he is sadly not dead yet

Steve.hrrgtn: I think killing him would be a breach of my contract somehow

Batking: a pity

Batking: the way he insists on making your character straight? He deserves death.

Batking: don’t worry joe from normal life, I saw the way you looked at dacre, I know what you are

Steve.hrrgtn: I think that might have just been the way I was looking at Billy, the guy’s fucking hot

Steve.hrrgtn: an asshole though, glad he is not on the show anymore

Eddie pauses, his eyes reading the last two messages time and time again. Did Steve Harrington, heartthrob and ladies man, just admit to being attracted to a male coworker? Eddie’s thumbs hover over the keyboard. He looks up at Gareth from his place in their couch. He is not paying attention to him, too focused on his laptop.

Eddie is having a bit of a crisis here and his roommate is ignoring him. Maybe it’s best that he is, Eddie doesn’t really want to share this with anyone. Should he bring attention to it? Should he just ignore it and brush it off? The decision is not that difficult in the end. He needs to know. He knows that there is no way he has any possibility of actually bagging Steve Harrington. Exchanging messages and memes is one thing, a pseudo friendship is one thing, but something more? Not fucking likely.

He still needs to know.

Batking: did I just get exclusive confirmation that Steve Harrington likes men? Should I call tmz?

Steve.hrrgtn: you wouldn’t get any money

Steve.hrrgtn: I’ve been out as bisexual for years, the media just chooses to ignore it

Steve.hrrgtn: wow look at these pictures of Steve Harrington with his new male best friend that he goes to dinner and all premieres with! Totally platonic! Oh now they have stopped hanging out completely? What could have happened to their friendship?

Steve.hrrgtn: he cheated on me, that’s what happened

Eddie blinks at his screen. So, he had tried to avoid learning anything about Steve that the man didn’t tell him himself. Just a chivalrous, treat the guy like a normal person gesture, but now he is wondering if he should have paid a bit more attention.

Batking: ah yes, the joys of compulsory heterosexuality and conformity

Batking: that sucks, dude

Steve.hrrgtn: did you really not know anything about it?

Batking: sorry to burst your celebrity bubble where everyone knows everything about your life

Steve.hrrgtn: no no, it’s… nice

Steve.hrrgtn: I have a question though

Steve.hrrgtn: why did you start sending me memes if you were not really interested in me?

Batking: well

Batking: I needed someone very famous that wasnt likely to really see my messages and seemed chill enough to not block me immediately

Batking: and dude, you are like waaay more famous than the show you are in, it’s ridiculous, thought you must be a douche for a long time

Batking: but an interview with you and your friend Robin showed up on my fyp and I saw that you were pretty chill

Batking: so it was between you and Timothee Chalamet

Batking: and it ended up being you because you are hotter

Steve.hrrgtn: of course I am

Steve.hrrgtn: thank you for choosing me tho

Batking: anyone would have

Steve.hrrgtn: the casting director of a complete unknown didn’t think the same

Batking: well thats THEIR loss

Batking: you do a great job with the shitty script of normal life

Batking: you would have acted the fuck out of bob dylan

Steve.hrrgtn: I do a better job in my other stuff

Batking: you have other stuff??

Batking: I’m going to be honest with you here, I only watched normal life so I had context to bitch about the boring new season with you

Eddie looks at the three little dots that indicate that Steve is writing appear a disappear a few times. Did he fuck up? Maybe he sounded too eager, maybe Steve thought it was a bit weird that Eddie assumed they would continue talking. But they have been talking for weeks now. Was it bad to assume?

Eddie closes the app, deciding to give the guy some privacy to write down what he wants to write down and heads to the kitchen to prepare his dinner. If Gareth senses the way his mood has soured, he doesn’t say anything about it.

It takes a couple of hours for an answer to appear. It’s simple.

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s nice of you

-

It’s Steve the one that starts the conversation a couple of days after that. Eddie only sees his messages an hour after he sends them, too busy with customers. The group of notifications on his screen when he is finally able to look at his phone very welcome.

Steve.hrrgtn: so I just realised

Steve.hrrgtn: well, my best friend made me realise

Steve.hrrgtn: she basically said that it’s weird that I’ve been talking with you for weeks and don’t know anything about your actual life and that you could actually be a stalker with a lot of patience or something like that

Steve.hrrgtn: so tell me about yourself? You are not living like down the street from me and waiting for the right moment to kidnap me like Robin says are you?

Eddie tries not to feel giddy at the thought of Steve talking about him to his friends. He has not done it himself, mostly because he tried once and they made fun of his ‘delusions’ as they called it. Whatever. He doesn’t really expect Steve to still be online, probably already swept out to his own job, so he just sends his answer.

Batking: a very reasonable fear, some facts to follow

Batking: I live as far from you as you live from Chicago

Batking: I am a humble employee at a record store where I have to deal with pretentious assholes daily that don’t really care about music and just about bragging about their record collection

Batking: I also have a band with my friends

Batking: we have a whooping 1756 listeners on spotify

Batking: I know, I know, you didn’t know you were talking with a rockstar try not to be very starstruck

The answer, to his surprise, comes almost immediately.

Steve.hrrgtn: 1757

Batking: what?

Steve.hrrgtn: what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t listen to your band now that I know it exists?

Eddie would be lying if he said that that didn’t make his heart skip a beat. Is this healthy? Probably not. Is he developing a weird parasocial relationship with the guy? Probably yes, but is it even a parasocial relationship if he is actually talking with the guy and he called him his friend? This should be considered a normal crush, a normal, hopeless crush.

Batking: a very shitty one tbh here’s the link

Steve.hrrgtn: can I ask something else?

Batking: course

Steve.hrrgtn: you only have one pic in your profile and it’s with your friends

Steve.hrrgtn: which one are you?

Eddie taps the back of his phone a few times. It’s only natural that Steve would wonder that. He could just tell him, or… Eddie opens the camera and takes a picture, too close to see his face properly but enough that Steve will know who he is in the group picture now.

Batking: *picture attached*

Batking: this one

Steve.hrrgtn: fuck

-

Steve.hrrgtn: okay so the thought of you only seeing me in normal life is eating me alive

The notification comes when Eddie is with his friends, preparing for a night of DnD. Eddie was looking up some music to get the atmosphere going, but the music app immediately gets abandoned in lieu of the message.

Batking: can’t get me out of your head?

He knows he has been unable to keep the stupid smile out of his face when Jeff tries to glance at his screen. Eddie immediately slams the phone against his chest.

“Jeez, I thought you were looking at stupid memes again, who are you texting that got you smiling like that?” Jeff asks. He moves back to sit straight, so Eddie can look at his phone again.

“No one,” he says as he reads the new message.

Steve.hrrgtn: so I have a couple of indie films that are very good

So Steve has decided to ignore his message. Okay.

“He’s been like this for WEEKS now,” Gareth intervenes as he sits down at his spot. “He said it was Steve Harrington when I asked him when he started and has refused to say anything else.”

“The white boy of the month?” Jeff asks.

“White boy of the century,” Eddie feels the need to correct.

Batking: that’s great and all but I can’t watch your limited release indie films anywhere

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s why I’m sharing a link to the latest one with you

Steve.hrrgtn: don’t share it with anyone though

Batking: aw breaking the rules for little ol me?

Steve.hrrgtn: yeah yeah don’t get too cocky now

Steve.hrrgtn: can’t wait for your reaction 😉

Eddie stares at the winking emoji in confusion. What is that supposed to mean?

“Can you stop texting your white boy of the century now so we can start?” Gareth asks.

“Just a second.” Eddie sends a quick message back before he moves to the music app again, chooses the first song he sees and puts the phone down.

Batking: send it to me, soldier, I will watch it tonight and give you my honest opinion

-

Eddie stares at the screen of his laptop, currently on his thighs as he was lounging on his bed, seeing the film Steve had sent to him. The film is currently paused, Steve’s face staring at him with eyes and mouth half open.

Okay, so Eddie just watched his famous guy turned friend have an orgasm – fake! Fake an orgasm, Eddie feels it’s very important that he makes that clear to himself – on screen after probably the most erotic sex scene he has seen in a non porno in the last 10 years. Fuck. How did he not know about the existence of this? How did this not make the news? Probably because it was with another man. Double fuck.

Maybe this is normal for Steve, for actors in general, to send their friends a link to a film where you have a soul shattering orgasm with a message about wanting to know their reaction with a winking emoji. It is not normal for Eddie. It is also not normal for his dick, who has not gotten the memo about this not being something it should be getting so excited about.

Eddie bites his lip. His finger moves on its own, backing the film a few minutes so the scene plays again. Eddie tries to convince himself that this is not weird if Steve was the one that wanted him to see this in the first place.

Eddie curses and takes a deep breath. He eyes his phone. It’s late, nearly midnight, but he knows that Steve is normally away at this hour.

Maybe this is not normal for Steve either, maybe he did want to get some kind of reaction out of Eddie.

Eddie snaps a picture of his laptop screen, careful to get the tent in his pants just in the edge of the picture. It’s very obvious on it what scene he is watching.

Batking: *picture attached*

Batking: you sure know how to get a guy hot and bothered

Maybe he can play it off as a joke if Steve didn’t mean it like Eddie wants him to mean it.

Steve.hrrgtn: glad to see my acting is that good

Fuck, Eddie fucked it up, right?

Steve.hrrgtn: it did come out very natural

Steve.hrrgtn: but the real thing looks better

Eddie feels on the edge of a precipice, as if there should be a warning on his field of vision about how his choice here will change the trajectory of his story.

Batking: can’t say

Batking: I haven’t seen the real thing, so I can’t really compare them, can I?

Steve.hrrgtn: would you want to?

Eddie can’t get his hopes up, he can’t assume, Steve is so out of his league, this can’t be happening to him.

Batking: have you acted in a porno I don’t know about?

Steve.hrrgtn: are you always this dense?

Eddie’s heart is dying in his chest, that’s the only explanation to how it’s feeling.

He doesn’t have time to type an answer, Eddie’s screen is suddenly filled with something else.

Steve Harrington is video calling him.

Eddie has never accepted a call so fast in his life before.

part 2...???

tag list: @steddiefication @tailsfromthecrypt @orionchildofhades @coralineinwonderland @theohohmoment (you didn't ask me to tag you but I guessed you'd want to see it?)