#i REALLY want this to be casual it is NOT a big deal

[authortelevision]

“No hesitation. It’s literally George Clarke.”₊˚⊹♡

words: 2,312 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆george clarke smut, friends to lovers, cunnilingus, penetration

while very drunk you confess to george how attractive you think he is. leading to a written and signed contract that allows him to do whatever he wants to you, whenever he pleases.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The pub was warm and loud, the kind of place where voices bounced off the wooden beams and glasses clinked endlessly. You were way too many drinks past tipsy, and the world was beyond just tilting in that soft, familiar way that made everything seem funnier than it should. George sat across from you at the round, slightly sticky table, surrounded by your friends, all of whom had that casual kind of good-looking presence that felt unfair when gathered in one group.

Someone had started a game, but it had long drifted from that and was now about ranking everyone’s attractiveness in the group. It was lighthearted at first, but soon, due to far too many pints and the safety of friendship, had began bordering on pure confessions.

“Alright, alright,” one of Arthur said, pointing his half-empty beer bottle around like a microphone. “Let’s be honest—if we had to pick the fittest here, It’s definitely George, right?”

The table erupted in overlapping shouts and exaggerated groans of protest. People threw out names, deflecting or tossing compliments back and forth, but the consensus was obvious from the beginning, it was definitely George.

“Alright, alright, we get it,” George said, laughing and leaning back in his chair. His cheeks were tinged pink, probably from the alcohol but also maybe from the compliments. “I’m flattered, really.”

You, meanwhile, had been quiet for a bit too long. Not because you disagreed, but because the alcohol had dissolved whatever barrier normally kept your thoughts in check. You were watching him laugh, the way his head tipped back, his hair slightly messy but in a way that somehow worked better than if he’d tried to style it. And, well, drunk-you thought it was probably time to say something.

“You’re not just fit, though,” you blurted, cutting through the noise. The table went quiet for a moment before bursting into laughter again, assuming you were joking. But you weren’t done.

“No, I mean it,” you said, gesturing sloppily at George. “Like, George could literally hook up with me anytime. No questions asked.”

The laughter shifted, turning into a mix of shocked giggles and playful hoots.

“Wait, what?” George said, leaning forward now, his grin somewhere between amused and incredulous.

“I’m just saying,” you continued, undeterred. “If he showed up at my place like, ‘Hey, let’s go,’ I wouldn’t even ask why. I’d just—” You made a vague, sweeping gesture, nearly knocking over your drink. “No hesitation. It’s literally George Clarke. He’s fit.”

George was laughing so hard he was practically doubled over, one hand gripping the edge of the table for support. “I’m sorry, I need this in writing,” he managed to get out between gasps.

Without thinking, you grabbed a napkin from the table and fumbled for a pen. Someone handed you one, either out of encouragement or sheer disbelief at what you were doing.

“Fine,” you said, squinting hard at the napkin as if it were a legal document. Your handwriting was atrocious, big, looping letters that slanted off the edges of the napkin, but you managed to scrawl something that resembled:

‘George Clarke can hook up with me anytime. Whatever and whenever he wants.’

You signed it with a weak signature, your name barely legible, and slid it across the table to him.

“There,” you said, leaning back in your chair like you’d just closed a business deal. “It’s official.”

George picked up the napkin, holding it delicately between his fingers like it was a priceless artifact. He stared at it for a moment before bursting into laughter again. “This is going on my fridge,” he said, tucking it into his jacket pocket.

The night carried on, the napkin forgotten by you as the drinks kept coming and the conversations grew even more chaotic. By the time you stumbled home, you’d all but erased the memory of your drunken declaration.

You woke up with a pounding headache and vague, mortifying flashes of the night before. Something about George. Something about a napkin. You groaned and buried your face in your pillow, praying it had all been a dream.

Meanwhile, across the city, George stood in his kitchen, sipping a cup of tea and staring at the napkin stuck to his fridge with a magnet. He smirked to himself, thinking back to all the ways he’d imagined you in his bed.

You weren’t expecting anyone. It was late, a quiet Wednesday evening, and you’d just settled onto the sofa with a blanket and some tea. The sound of the doorbell startled you, pulling you out of your own head.

When you opened it, you were met with the last person you expected to see at this hour.

George stood there, the napkin, the napkin, held loosely between his fingers. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times on the way over, and his signature wide smile tugged at the corners of his lips. But his eyes held something else tonight.

“Hey,” he said casually, as if he wasn’t standing on your doorstep with a piece of evidence that could end your sanity.

“George?” you blurted, clutching the edge of the door. “What are you doing here?”

He leaned lazily against the doorframe, holding up the napkin like a winning lottery ticket. “I thought it was time I cashed this in.”

Your stomach flipped, and heat rose to your cheeks. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, already mortified. “I didn’t think you were actually keeping that thing.”

“Oh, I’ve kept it,” he said, his voice coated with amusement as he waved the crumpled napkin. “Are you kidding? This is priceless.” He tilted his head, stepping just close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off him. “Besides, you always tell me that drunk words are sober thoughts and I think it still counts when you wrote this.”

“George—”

“Relax,” he interrupted, his voice teasing. “I’m not here to embarrass you.” He paused, his eyes flicking down to your lips and back up to your eyes. “Although, if I’m being honest, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You swallowed hard, your breath like a rock in your throat. “Thinking about what?”

He grinned, stepping into your flat. “What you said.” He lowered his voice. “The way you looked at me when you said it. The way you wrote it down without a second thought.”

You wanted to crawl under a rock, or maybe pull him closer. You hadn’t decided yet.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you said, trying to laugh it off, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible to breathe, let alone think straight.

“Am I?” he murmured, taking another step toward you, closing the distance completely. He leaned down slightly, his face scanning your expression. “Because I think sober you meant every word.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out. George’s grin widened at your silence, and he reached up, lightly brushing his fingers along your jawline.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, his tone shifting, his playful confidence turning more intimate. “Tell me you didn’t mean it, and I’ll leave right now.”

The challenge hung in the air, and you hated how easily he could unravel you with just a few words. But he wasn’t wrong, not even close.

“I…” you started.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at his lips again. “I’m waiting.”

“You’re not wrong,” you admitted finally, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

George’s smile turned triumphant, and he closed the last inch of space between you, his hand settling on your waist. “That’s what I thought.”

The kiss came fast, catching you off guard but leaving no room for hesitation. His lips were soft, warm, and just demanding enough to make your head spin. His hand slid up to cradle your face, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss, while his thumb brushed against your cheek.

When he pulled back, you were breathless, your heart racing as his forehead rested lightly against yours.

“So,” he murmured, “does this mean I get full rights to the ‘whatever I want’ part of the deal? Or do we need to renegotiate?”

You laughed, your hands gripping the front of his shirt to steady yourself. “Oh, shut up.”

He grinned, pressing another kiss to your lips. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

But soon his tongue demanded entry, and you opened, moaning softly as he explored your mouth with a possessive hunger.

He broke the kiss, leaving you gasping for air, and a wicked smile played on his lips. "I want you, right here, right now," he lifted you, making you wrap your legs around his waist, and carried you to the bedroom.

The room spun as he tossed you onto the bed, the soft mattress cushioning your fall. George loomed over you, his eyes burning with an intense desire that made your skin prickle with anticipation. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand.

"You’re beautiful," he said, his voice rough. "And I promise you, you’ll never forget this."

You struggled playfully, testing his hold, but George only tightened his grip, his fingers digging into your sensitive skin. The pain was pleasurable, a sensation that only furthered your arousal. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, and whispered, "Be a good girl and take what I give you."

As he spoke, his free hand trailed down your body, tracing the curve of your breast, then lower, until he reached the waistband of your jeans. He undid the button and zipper, sliding them down your legs, leaving you exposed in your underwear.

George's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your naked body. He ran his fingers along the edge of your underwear, making you squirm under his touch. "Beautiful," he whispered,"but I want to see all of you."

With that, he tore the flimsy fabric, baring your body to his hungry gaze. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but the look in his eyes promised pleasure beyond measure. He stroked your thighs, spreading them apart.

"Look at me," he commanded. You opened your eyes, meeting his intense gaze as he lowered his head, his tongue tracing a path from your navel to the throbbing feeling between your legs. You gasped, arching into his touch, as his tongue flicked and teased, driving you wild.

He sucked on your clit, drawing it into his mouth, and you cried out, your hips bucking off the bed. His fingers joined in, delving into you, stretching and filling you as his tongue continued.

The pleasure was overwhelming, building to a crescendo. You were close, so close, and George seemed to sense it. He released your wrists, and you threaded your fingers through his hair, holding him to you as your orgasm crashed over you. Your body shook, and you cried out his name, a plea for more.

But George wasn't done with you yet. He rose, his hard body casting a shadow over you, and ripped open the button of his jeans. His thick, erect cock sprang free, and he positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with the tip.

"Please," you begged, your voice hoarse from the moans and gasps.

"Okay baby," he replied.

With one swift thrust, he filled you, so completely that you cried out in surprise. He held himself there, letting you adjust to his size, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, he began to move, withdrawing almost entirely before slamming back into you, over and over, each thrust harder and messier than the last.

His hands gripped your throat, his fingers curled around your neck forcing your breath to settle just above his grip. You gasped, your eyes widening as you struggled for breath, but he held you in his gaze, his light blue eyes burning into your soul.

"You’re such a good girl for me" he grunted, his voice in harsh gasps. "Tell me how much you want me, baby."

"Fuck… George," you managed to whisper, your body branded by George’s hot strong hands. "I want you, please George I need you so much."

George burrowed into your neck, biting your skin roughly, not bothering to soothe the pain, only kissing you aggressively. His pace quickened, George’s hips pounding into yours. The pleasure was something you had never experienced before, your body was craving George’s release so hard, it was bordering on pain, but you welcomed it, craving George deep within you, the smell of sweat and his cologne consumed all that was left of your senses. His fingers tightened around your throat, and he pounded deep into you one final time, his body stiffening.

As he released himself inside you, his grip on your neck loosened, and he collapsed onto the bed beside you, both of you panting. You turned to face him, your breathe slowly becoming less laboured, and saw the satisfied smile on his face.

"George stop smiling you dick” you weakly whisper.

George panted out a light laugh, “Sorry, just think about this a lot”

“You’ve been thinking about me?” you state as you roll onto your side cuddling into his chest.

“I’ve done a lot more than just thinking about you,” George confesses as he adjusts his arm to place his hand in your hair, playing with the strands as they fall through his fingers.

“Yeah?” is all you can say as the exhaustion floods your mind.

“Yeah. But I can’t believe there’s written proof of how bad you wanted me.” he laughs as his words become muffled in your hair.

You cringe at his words, hiding your face in your hands. “That’s so fucking embarrassing oh my god!”

“Yeah maybe it is, but there’s no limit I hope.”

“There will be if you’re gonna be annoying tomorrow,” you mention.

“Tomorrow? Was I that good?”

“Fuck off.”

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authortv note: I WILL POST SOON, i’ve been so unmotivated to post so if you like this PLS PLS PLS let me know cause i need some motivation !! LOVE YOU SO MUCH !!

MERRY CHRISTMAS <333

[veggiesxxx]

What if... GENSHIN EDITION . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

What if.... (Part 2/?)

Scaramouche ignored you after an argument?(Scaramouche x F!reader)

Ft: Angst, Fluff, Argument. (our bffs)

It wasn't that big a deal, was it? He just.. didn't see breakfast on the table... and he.. He's busy! That's why he hasn't responded to any of your letters. Right? You tried to rationalise with yourself, refusing to believe Scaramouche would purposefully hurt you. You guys were past that, weren't you?

A couple sharp words about his distrust of you and guarded nature had turned into a full-on argument, each side feeling the need to validate their heated words with more. A wave of regret washed over you as you slammed the front door, storming off into the winter night. But remnants of Scaramouche's cold demeanour, kept you from turning back. The cold air stung, but not as much as his disdainful, mocking glare would.

Two days had passed, and he hadn't spoken to you. Not even an icy glance in your general direction. Scaramouche was often prickly and sharp, but those biting remarks were usually accompanied by teasing smirks or mocking scoffs that indicated he didn't mean any hurt. But this was different. He was distant. And deliberately. Every time he graced a doorway, you raised your head hopefully, but that hope was crushed repeatedly when he casually grabbed a cool cup of water, or a book to read before wordlessly leaving you in miserable solitude. It was like he was punishing you.

You tried to be the bigger person, but it was like he refused to let you. He was denying you the chance to fix your relationship.

"Scara-" You tried, blocking his path to the kitchen, but he managed to get past you. "Scara please," you tried again, watching him go and sit curled up on his armchair, reading an old novel Nahida had give him. He didn't even flinch. He cleared his throat, flipping a page of the novel, as if mocking you. Like he was really trying to rub in the fact he was ignoring you.

"Are you really going to keep ignoring me?” you asked, your tone a mix of frustration and hurt. He wouldn't dare let you know, but his chest burned hearing that. His grip on the novel in his hands tightened subtly. “I said something I shouldn’t have, and you did too, but is this—” you gestured to the distance between you “—really what you want?”

When all you got was silence in response, and no movement at all from him, it drove the point home. The point that Scaramouche didn't seem to care anymore. "..Scara.. you're hurting me.." You choked back a sob, chest tight. "I apologised-.. I don't know what you want from me.."

You raised a hand to your mouth to muffle a sob. God, you sounded so pitiful. You hated it. You hated how pathetic you sounded. Like you actually needed him or something-

"...tch"

"You humans.. always so weak.." his voice was cold, but... it's the first you heard of it in what felt like forever. You stilled, your heart shattering again as he seemed to be trying to bring you more misery. You turned your head, only to stumble a few steps back, seeing him right in your face.

"..."

His clothes ruffled as he moved to pull you into him, a stiff hand on the back of your head, pushing your face into his shoulder. Your tears soaked into his jacket as you cried; with hurt and relief.

“You’re crying,” he stated quietly, his tone lacking its usual sharpness. “I’m sorry,” you blurted, the tears spilling over, soaking his shirt now too. “I just—”

He cut you off by pulling you further into his chest, his arms squeezing you in a way that was almost hesitant. “Stop,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. His hand rested on the back of your head, his touch gentle as he let you cry. "I thought- you hated me.." you continued. His chest tightened, like it was collapsing in on itself. why did it hurt when you said that? He couldn't stand the mere idea of you doubting his feelings for you.

“Don’t be foolish,” he replied, his voice low but firm.

“I was just angry." He thought if he stayed quiet, he’d win somehow. But… seeing you like this… he actually lost, didn’t he?

“...You’re really bad at this," you mumbled weakly, raising your head and this time he didn't stop you. He looked into your eyes for the first time in two days. It wasn’t a perfect apology, but for Scaramouche, to you, it was enough.

“I don't care… don’t cry like that again. I hate it.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧༶

Hope you enjoyed!!

Previously :

╰┈➤ Part 1 (What if CHILDE saw a man flirting with you?)

Part 3

╰┈➤ [coming soon] (What if—..)

A/N : this is unexpectedly short- oh well

Please leave a note they make me happy 🐸✨

[honeyhae-svt]

🎮On Off On🎭

Part-Time Lover | JxW - masterlist

⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: emotional tension, love triangle (we're getting serious), jealousy, angst, possessiveness, unresolved feelings, conflict, intimate situations, mature themes (smut), emotional hurt/comfort smut warnings: kissing, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex (fictional! not ideal IRL), rough sex (explicitly described thrusting, intense actions), overstimulation, desperate kisses, tension-filled build-up, power dynamics (m dom), creampie (fictional context), consent (implied and verbal), emotional vulnerability (expressed through intimacy), body worship and attention to physical details, breath play (heavy breathing, audible reactions), dirty talk, descriptive sexual acts (explicit descriptions of genital stimulation), post-coital intimacy (gentle moments after sex) wc: 10,994 ♪ playlist ♪ : adore you (harry styles), into you (ariana grande), slow hands (niall horan), you (the 1975) a/n: pls i think i made this shit messier. im gonna die wtf im just warning that its too much drama so read at your own risk (please enjoy tho ! dont let my own words deceive you lmaooo)

06

It started with little things. The way Jeonghan's gaze lingered a moment too long when he thought you weren't paying attention, the way he seemed to show up at your workplace more often—always with some excuse. "I was in the area," or, "I needed your opinion on something."

Today was no different.

You were packing up for the day when Jeonghan strolled in, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his coat. His hair looked freshly styled, loose waves framing his face in a way that made it impossible not to notice how effortlessly good-looking he was.

"You're getting predictable," you teased, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "What's the excuse this time?"

Jeonghan grinned, unfazed. "No excuse. I figured you'd want coffee after work. Am I wrong?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to consider. "Not wrong, but suspiciously convenient."

He simply held the door open for you, his smile widening. "I'll take that as a yes."

The café was one of those cozy, dimly lit spots with worn leather chairs and the faint scent of cinnamon lingering in the air. You'd been here before with Jeonghan, but today it felt different.

He ordered your usual without asking, then led you to a corner booth, his easy demeanor masking something unspoken.

"So," he said, leaning back in his seat as the two of you waited for your drinks. "How's everything going? Work, life... Wonwoo?"

You froze mid-reach for a napkin, your fingers curling back as you met his gaze. His tone was casual, almost too casual, but there was a glint in his eye—mischievous, probing.

"Wonwoo?" you echoed, feigning innocence. "Why are you bringing him up?"

Jeonghan shrugged, his expression unreadable. "No reason. Just curious."

The barista arrived with your drinks, breaking the moment, but the tension lingered. You stirred your coffee absently, unsure how to respond.

"We've just been hanging out," you said finally, keeping your tone neutral. "It's not a big deal."

"Hmm." Jeonghan's lips quirked upward, though his eyes remained sharp. "It's funny. I don't think I've ever seen him so... animated. He must really enjoy your company."

"Jeonghan," you said, a warning laced in your tone.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. "Relax, I'm just teasing. But..." He trailed off, studying you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "I wonder what he'd say if he knew about us."

Your breath caught, the words hitting like a subtle jab and lingering in the air. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jeonghan tilted his head, his expression unreadable yet impossibly confident. "It means I think he'd be curious. Maybe even a little jealous."

You scoffed, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. "There's no us, Jeonghan. You're just stirring the pot, as usual."

"Am I?" he asked, his tone softer now, almost teasing. "Or are you just trying to convince yourself of that?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you couldn't find the words to reply. He leaned back again, taking a sip of his coffee as if he hadn't just flipped your world upside down.

The conversation shifted after that, easing into safer territory—shared stories, light jokes, and discussions about work. But his earlier words lingered in the back of your mind, their weight impossible to shake.

As you walked out of the café together, the cool evening air biting at your skin, Jeonghan slid his hands into his coat pockets, his gaze fixed ahead.

"By the way," he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. "You've been distracted lately. Is something on your mind?"

You hesitated, your grip tightening on your bag. "Not really. Just... a lot going on."

He nodded, his expression unreadable once again. "Well, whatever it is, don't forget I'm here. You don't have to figure everything out on your own."

There it was again—that maddening ability of his to slip past your defenses without even trying. As much as you wanted to brush him off, the sincerity in his tone made it impossible.

"Thanks," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan turned to you then, his smile soft and almost wistful. "Anytime."

And just like that, the moment was over. But as you parted ways, his words echoed in your mind, leaving you more confused than ever.

That evening, as you settled into your couch with a blanket and your phone, you couldn't shake Jeonghan's words from earlier. "I wonder what he'd say if he knew about us..." They replayed in your mind, making it harder to focus on anything else.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. It wasn't like Jeonghan to speak so candidly—or maybe it was, but this time it felt different. Intentional. And the worst part was, he wasn't entirely wrong.

Your phone buzzed on the armrest, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Wonwoo.

The notification was simple:

Wonwoo: Hey, you free right now?

A small smile tugged at your lips despite everything. There was something about the way Wonwoo messaged you—straightforward, no games—that felt grounding.

You: yea what's up? Wonwoo: Feel like getting some air? I'm parked outside.

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn't the first time he'd done this—shown up unannounced but with impeccable timing, as if he knew exactly when you needed a distraction.

You: give me five

When you stepped outside, Wonwoo was leaning against his car, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, the cool night air making his breath visible. His gaze softened when he saw you, and he straightened up, opening the passenger door with a quiet, "Hey."

"Hey," you replied, climbing into the car. "You always this spontaneous?"

He chuckled as he slid into the driver's seat, the sound low and warm. "Only with you."

Your cheeks warmed at his words, but you brushed it off, letting the quiet hum of the car's engine fill the space.

"Where are we going?" you asked after a moment, glancing at him.

"You'll see," was all he said, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

The drive was peaceful, the city lights giving way to quieter streets as he took you somewhere more secluded. When he finally pulled over, you realized he'd brought you to a lookout point overlooking the city.

The view was breathtaking, the skyline glittering like stars on the horizon. Wonwoo turned off the engine but left the music playing softly in the background—a familiar tune you couldn't place but found comforting.

He leaned back, resting his arm along the top of his seat as he turned to you. "You've been quiet."

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. "Just... thinking."

"About Jeonghan?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "What makes you think—"

"You're bad at hiding it," he interrupted, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "And Jeonghan's been... different lately."

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "I don't even know how to explain it. He's always playing these mind games, making me second-guess everything."

Wonwoo's gaze darkened slightly, his usual calm giving way to something sharper. "That's just how he is. But if he's messing with your head, maybe you should take a step back."

You stared at him, surprised by the edge in his voice. "Why do you care so much?"

He didn't answer right away, his jaw tightening as he looked out at the city. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant. "Because I don't want to see you get hurt. Not by him. Not by anyone."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. Then, almost on instinct, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand where it rested on the console.

"Wonwoo..."

He turned to you, his eyes searching yours, and suddenly the space between you felt impossibly small. You didn't know who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was you—but before you could think, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was slow at first, careful and deliberate, as if testing the waters. But then his hand moved to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek, and something shifted.

You leaned into him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie as the kiss deepened, all the confusion and tension of the past few days melting away in the warmth of his touch.

His lips moved with ceratainty, tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. You opened it for him, and that's when your tongues felt like they were tangled.

It was then when he adjusted to lean closer to your seat to kiss you better from different angles, leaving your lips all swollen and red, not because of the lipstick, but because of how he nipped and sucked at your lips like it's the last thing on earth to do.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed.

"This isn't just attraction anymore," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "At least not for me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of his confession crashing over you. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat.

Because as much as you wanted to deny it, part of you knew he was right.

The night felt quieter than usual as Wonwoo drove you home. The streets were empty, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, and the silence in the car was heavy, not uncomfortable but laden with unspoken words.

"Thanks for tonight," you said softly, breaking the quiet.

Wonwoo glanced at you briefly, his profile illuminated by the passing lights. "Anytime," he replied, his voice calm but distant, as if there was something on his mind.

When he pulled up in front of your place, neither of you moved to get out right away. The stillness stretched on until you finally turned to him, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"Wonwoo, are you okay?"

He let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Am I that easy to read?"

"Kind of," you teased gently, hoping to lighten the mood.

But he didn't smile. Instead, he turned to face you fully, his dark eyes searching yours. "I'm not good at this... saying how I feel. But tonight, being with you, it just... felt different."

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his words sinking in. "Different how?"

"The way I look at you... it's not just about attraction anymore," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand reached out, hesitating before brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "It's more than that. You make me feel things I wasn't prepared for."

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten. You wanted to say something, but the words escaped you. Instead, you leaned forward, your lips finding his in a kiss that started slow, careful, deliberate.

His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as the kiss deepened. It felt like all the confusion and tension of the past few days melted away in the warmth of his touch.

When you finally pulled back, breathless yet again, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.

Your heart pounded, but before you could say anything, he leaned back, his hand dropping to his side. "It's late. You should get some rest."

You nodded, slipping out of the car with a soft "goodnight," though the weight of his confession stayed with you long after the door closed behind you.

The Next Morning

The café was unusually busy, but Jeonghan didn't seem to mind. He sat across from you, coffee in hand, his usual playful smirk firmly in place.

"You've been distracted lately," he said, his tone light but his gaze sharp. "Something—or someone—on your mind?"

You rolled your eyes, playing along with his teasing. "Don't flatter yourself, Hannie."

He laughed, reaching across the table to nudge your arm. "See, that's the fire I like. Don't ever lose that."

The two of you lingered over coffee, chatting about everything and nothing, and by the time you left, he had his arm slung casually around your shoulders, his laughter ringing in your ears.

What you didn't notice was the figure standing across the street, watching the two of you with a mixture of hurt and frustration.

Wonwoo stood frozen, his hands clenched at his sides as he watched Jeonghan lean in close, whispering something in your ear that made you laugh. The way you looked at Jeonghan—so relaxed, so comfortable—felt like a punch to the gut.

By the time he turned away, the image of the two of you was burned into his mind, and the questions he'd been wrestling with all night came rushing back with a vengeance.

It started with a text.

Wonwoo: Busy tonight?

You stared at your phone, the memory of Jeonghan's laughter from earlier still fresh in your mind. Wonwoo's timing felt uncanny, almost as if he could sense when you were thinking about someone else.

You: nope You: why Wonwoo: Come over. I found a new game you'll like.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers hovering over the screen. The invitation felt simple enough, but there was something about the way he asked—direct, no room for excuses—that made your heart skip a beat.

You: whats the game Wonwoo: You'll find out when you get here. Don't keep me waiting.

The last message came with a small but unmistakable sense of urgency, and before you could second-guess yourself, you were grabbing your jacket and heading out the door.

When you arrived at his place, the atmosphere felt different. The usual dim lighting and faint smell of coffee greeted you, but there was an undercurrent of something unspoken in the air.

Wonwoo was already setting up the game, his back turned to you as you stepped inside. "I was starting to think you weren't coming," he said without looking up.

"You don't exactly leave much room for saying no," you replied, your tone light but teasing.

He glanced over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Good. I'd hate to lose my gaming partner to... other distractions."

The way he said it made your stomach flip, but you chose to ignore the implication. "So, what's this game you're so excited about?"

"Sit down, and I'll show you."

It had become a thing between the two of you—gaming sessions at Wonwoo's place, where you'd sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, sharing laughter and mild trash talk over the sounds of button-mashing and victories. But tonight felt different. The way his knee brushed against yours when he adjusted his position, the way he leaned a little closer when explaining the controls—it all felt deliberate, as if he was trying to pull you into his orbit.

It had become a thing between the two of you—gaming sessions at Wonwoo's place, where you'd sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, sharing laughter and mild trash talk over the sounds of button-mashing and victories.

Tonight was no different, except something felt off. Wonwoo was quieter than usual, his responses shorter, his usual calm demeanor tinged with something heavier.

"Alright, spill it," you said after another round ended, setting your controller down and turning to face him. "What's up with you?"

He didn't look at you immediately, his fingers still hovering over the buttons as if debating whether to start another game. Finally, he sighed and leaned back against the couch, his gaze fixed on the TV screen.

"You're making this really hard for me, you know?" he said, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, confused. "Making what hard?"

"This," he gestured vaguely between the two of you, finally turning to meet your eyes. "Being around you. Pretending I'm okay with... whatever this is."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you were at a loss. "Wonwoo, I—"

"I know," he cut you off gently, running a hand through his hair. "I know you're caught up in something with Jeonghan, and I'm not trying to make this more complicated for you. But I can't keep pretending it doesn't kill me to see you with him."

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, and before you could think, you reached out, your hand resting on his arm. "Wonwoo..."

His eyes softened at your touch, and for a moment, the tension seemed to dissipate. But then he shifted closer, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn't.

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, the kiss slow and searching at first, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn't, when you instead leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, the kiss deepened, becoming hungrier, more urgent.

Wonwoo's hands found your waist, pulling you into his lap as the kiss grew more intense. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hitching as your hands slid under the hem of his hoodie, your fingers grazing the warm skin beneath.

"You're driving me crazy," he muttered against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

"Good," you replied, your own voice breathless as you nipped at his bottom lip.

He groaned, his grip on your waist tightening as he guided you against him, the friction making you both gasp. His lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses that had you arching into him, your hands tangling in his hair.

"Wonwoo," you breathed, his name coming out like a prayer as he continued his assault on your senses.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he explored every inch of skin he could reach. "Tell me if I need to stop," he said, his voice strained but sincere.

"Don't stop," you whispered, your own hands tugging at his hoodie, eager to feel more of him.

His hoodie was the first to go, leaving him in just a plain black t-shirt that clung to his frame. You caught yourself staring for a second too long, but Wonwoo didn't seem to mind. His lips were back on yours before you could even form a coherent thought, his hands slipping under your shirt again, this time more purposeful, more confident.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice low and edged with restraint.

You nodded, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible but resolute.

That was all the confirmation he needed. In one fluid motion, he lifted your shirt over your head, followed by the unclipping of your bra. His eyes darkening as he took in the sight of your breasts. His hands were back on you immediately, roaming over your bare skin with a mix of reverence and hunger.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your shoulder, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin there before trailing down to your collarbone. His hands squeezing one of your breasts, thumbs grazing your sensitive nipples.

Heat pooled from your soaked cunt as he kissed his way lower, his hands firmly gripping your hips as if grounding himself. Your own hands found their way under his shirt, pushing it up and over his head, and the sight of him—flushed, disheveled, and entirely focused on you—made your heart race even faster.

When he leaned back to pull you closer, your legs straddling his hips, you felt every inch of him pressed against you, the friction sparking something primal between you. His lips were on yours again, his kiss deeper, hungrier, as his hands slid down to the waistband of your jeans.

"You can still stop me," he murmured against your lips, his fingers pausing just shy of the button.

Your response was immediate. "I don't want to stop."

His lips curved into a small, satisfied smirk before he made quick work of your jeans, tugging them down just enough to leave you exposed to him. He paused for a moment, his gaze raking over you with an intensity that made you feel both vulnerable and desired.

"You're perfect," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, before his hands were on you again, his touch igniting a fire that consumed every thought, every hesitation.

Wonwoo's hands trailed down your thighs, his touch deliberate and teasing as he mapped out every curve. The heat in his gaze was undeniable, a fire that matched the one building within you. When his fingers hooked under the waistband of your underwear, he paused, his dark eyes flickering to yours.

He slid your underwear down slowly, his lips pressing soft kisses along your inner thigh as he did, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made you tremble beneath him.

When his mouth found your soaked pussy, a gasp tore from your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair as he worked you over with an expertise that left you breathless. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure just enough to have your hips bucking against him, seeking more.

"Fuck, Wonwoo," you moaned, the sound of his name falling from your lips only spurring him on. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you firmly in place as he pushed you higher against him, his tongue reaching that one spot, your body teetering on the edge of bliss.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening, he looked up at you with a satisfied smirk. "You taste so good," he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

Before you could respond, he was back over you, his body pressing against yours as he captured your lips in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the intimacy of it only heightening your arousal. His hand slid between your legs again, his fingers teasing you, sliding through your slick folds before slowly pushing inside.

A cry escaped your lips, your back arching as he set a slow, torturous rhythm. "You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his forehead resting against yours as he watched your every reaction. "So perfect."

Your hands roamed his body, desperate to feel every inch of him. When you reached for his waistband, he let out a low chuckle but didn't stop you, his breath hitching as you freed him from his sweats. He was hard and heavy in your hand, and the guttural groan he let out when you stroked him made you feel powerful despite the way he had you unraveling beneath him.

Your palm did well enough, but when you took his cock in your mouth, that's when his precum was leaking out. You bobbed your head and licked the tip of his cock until he finally came in you. 

His hot load leaking from your lips as you swallowed hard.

"I need you," he whispered, his voice rough with restraint as he positioned his cock at your entrance. He paused, his gaze locking with yours. "Tell me if it's too much. I don't ever want to hurt you."

You cupped his face, pulling him into a kiss as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "I trust you," you whispered against his lips. "Take it in."

With a quiet groan, he pushed into you slowly, filling you inch by inch until you were gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders. He stilled once he was fully seated inside you, his breath ragged as he gave you a moment to adjust.

"You feel so fucking good," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Better than I ever imagined."

You whimpered in response, rolling your hips against him in silent encouragement. He took the hint, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, his movements measured but deep, each stroke drawing a moan from your lips. The way he filled you, stretched you, left you trembling, your body meeting his with every thrust.

"Wonwoo," you gasped, your voice breaking as he picked up the pace, his hands gripping your hips to guide you. He buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he lost himself in you.

His cock was slamming into you real hard as if there was no time to waste. Your moans only encouraging him to move faster to reach his climax and yours.

The room was filled with the sound of your labored breathing, the wet slap of skin against skin, and the occasional groan or whimper as he drove you both closer to the edge. The intensity of it—the way he worshipped your body, the way he whispered your name like a prayer—had you spiraling, the tension coiling in your stomach until it snapped.

You came undone with a cry, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. He followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he spilled into you, his groan muffled against your neck.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound the heavy rhythm of your breathing. Wonwoo finally pulled back, cock dripping with your mixed cum, his lips brushing over your forehead as he gazed down at you with an expression so tender it made your heart ache.

"That wasn't just about lust," he murmured, his voice soft but certain. "Not for me."

Your chest tightened at his words, the weight of them sinking in. You wanted to respond, to tell him everything you were feeling, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, you cupped his face, pulling him into another kiss—slow, lingering, and filled with all the emotions you couldn't yet put into words.

You were almost too smug for your own good, leaning back with a satisfied grin as you glanced at Wonwoo, wearing nothing but his hoodie that was oversized in your frame.

"You got lucky," he grumbled, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Admit it," you teased, leaning toward him, your breath brushing against his ear. "I'm just better than you."

His eyes flickered to yours, a spark of mischief in their depths. "Oh, is that so?"

Before you could react, he reached out, pulling you onto his lap in one swift motion. You gasped in surprise, dropping the controller as his arms locked around your waist, keeping you firmly in place. Wonwoo swore under his breath when he recognizes his scent from your body.

"Still think you're better than me?" he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You blinked, confused by the sudden change in his energy. "Wonwoo, what are you—"

Before you could finish, his lips were on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was anything but playful. It was deep and hungry, the kind that made your knees weak and your heart race.

The controller clattered to the floor, forgotten as your hands instinctively tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. His hands roamed over your body, sliding under the hoodie to grip your waist, his thumbs brushing over your skin in a way that made you gasp against his lips.

"God, you're distracting," he muttered, pulling back just enough to speak, his forehead resting against yours.

"You started it," you shot back breathlessly, your hands clutching at his plain black t-shirt.

"Maybe," he admitted, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "But you're going to finish it."

Before you could respond, he reached for the controller with one hand, the other still firmly on your hip. "Let's see if you can focus now," he challenged, restarting the game.

"Wonwoo, you can't be serious—"

"Oh, I'm dead serious," he cut you off, his voice low and teasing as his free hand trailed down to your thigh, squeezing gently.

"What's the matter? Can't handle a little distraction?" he murmured against your neck, his voice low and teasing.

You bit your lip, trying to focus on the game, but every inch of your body was hyperaware of his touch, the way his fingers traced patterns against your inner thigh, slowly inching higher. You could feel the heat pooling between your legs, the sensation intensifying with each teasing touch. It was getting harder to keep your eyes on the screen.

"Wonwoo, I swear—" you started, your breath catching in your throat.

But before you could protest further, his hand slid between your legs and grazed on your soaked cunt, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through you. You gasped, the controller slipping from your hands as your body leaned into his touch. The game was the last thing on your mind now. His fingers were careful, deliberate, and oh so teasing as they brushed against your soaked clit, sending waves of pleasure through you that you couldn't escape.

Wonwoo's teasing turned into something deeper, his desire evident in the way he touched you, his movements becoming more urgent as he lifted you slightly to adjust your position.

"Fuck the game," he muttered against your lips, his patience snapping as he pushed you down onto the couch, his body pressing against yours. "You win."

Your head fell back against the couch, the words tumbling from your lips without thought, every part of you overwhelmed by his touch. You couldn't think straight, couldn't even remember what the game was about as he kissed along your neck, moving lower, his hands never leaving you. His lips, warm and insistent, found your skin, marking it with soft bites and caresses that made you shudder.

"Wonwoo... please..." Your voice was thick with need, and you didn't care that he could hear the desperation in it. You wanted him closer, deeper, as your body arched against his, silently begging for more.

He smiled against your neck, a slow, confident grin that made your pulse spike. "You're so fucking beautiful, you know that?"

You let out a soft laugh, though it was shaky, breathless. "Stop teasing me."

"I'm not teasing," he murmured, his fingers slipping inside you, drawing out a sharp gasp from your lips. "I'm giving you exactly what you need."

His thumb circled your clit in rhythmic, deliberate movements as his lips found yours once again, swallowing your moans. It was slow, methodical, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building deep in your stomach, the pressure mounting with every stroke of his fingers.

You tangled your hands in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, your body pressing into his as if you were trying to become one. The connection between you felt almost overwhelming, like every touch, every kiss, was laced with raw emotion—desire, yes, but something more.

Something tender.

He pulled away for a moment, his eyes searching yours, intense and unguarded. "Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice soft, filled with genuine concern. It was a question that showed just how much he cared, how much he wanted to make this more than just physical. 

Wonwoo positioned the tip of his cock onto the entrance of your pussy.

You nodded, breathless, and smiled up at him. "I'm more than okay."

And with that, he kissed you again, this time with a gentleness that sent a shiver down your spine, before he shoved his dick in you and began moving faster.

The game continued in the background, forgotten, as you surrendered completely to him. And this time, it was different—it wasn't just about the physical, it was about the intimacy, the way you fit together perfectly in that moment. 

He groaned softly against your skin, his movements becoming more urgent. "Fuck, you feel so good."

Your hands slid down his chest, your nails grazing lightly over his skin as you urged him on. "Don't stop," you whispered, your voice thick with need. "Please don't stop."

He didn't.

The way he continued thrusting in you felt like a bliss. Every hard slam with his balls slapping your already-soaked ass added to the heat of everything. 

The night had been nothing but kisses, gaming, sex, gaming, and sex. 

Wonwoo grabbed one of your legs up to get him a better angle before thrusting real hard into you. His heart pounding like never before. 

And when it finally came—when that wave of pleasure crashed over you both—it was nothing short of overwhelming. You clung to each other, bodies trembling as the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled together, lost in the moment.

As you both slowly came down from the high, Wonwoo kissed your forehead softly, his breath warm against your skin. "You're incredible," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"And you're a sore loser," you teased, a playful smirk tugging at your lips even as your heart raced.

He laughed lowly, a sound that made your pulse spike, and leaned down to kiss you again. "Maybe. But I think I'm about to make up for it."

Wonwoo brushed your hair back from your face, his thumb gently grazing your cheek as his dark, smoldering gaze softened. "You know, I wasn't just talking about the game earlier," he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

Your breath caught at the sudden shift in his tone. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you're incredible," he repeated, his fingers tracing along your jawline. "Not just here, not just now. I mean everything about you. You drive me crazy in ways I didn't even know were possible."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. For a moment, you didn't know how to respond, the weight of his words sinking deep into your heart. But instead of fumbling for the right thing to say, you cupped his face, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone as you leaned in.

Your kiss was slow and deliberate, a silent answer to the emotions swirling between you. He responded immediately, his lips moving against yours with a mix of tenderness and hunger, as though he wanted to pour every unspoken word into that kiss.

When you pulled back just enough to rest your foreheads together, you whispered, "You mean just as much to me, Wonwoo. Maybe even more."

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your lips. "That's impossible."

The teasing edge to his voice made you smirk, the playful tension between you rekindling. "Guess we'll have to agree to disagree," you quipped, your fingers gliding down the firm planes of his chest, now bare and warm under your touch.

His lips curved into a wicked grin, his gaze darkening as his hands roamed over your body, reacquainting themselves with every curve. "Still feeling smug, huh? Should I knock you down a peg?"

His hands slid down your sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The sofa creaked beneath you as he shifted his weight, his body pressing more firmly into yours. His fingers trailed lower, tracing lazy circles along your thigh before gripping it and hitching it higher around his waist.

"Smug? No," you teased, your voice breathless. "Just confident."

Wonwoo let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling against your skin. "We'll see about that."

Without warning, he dipped his head, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that stole the air from your lungs. His tongue teased yours, slow and deliberate, his kisses deep and unrelenting as his hand slid between your legs, his fingers skillfully reigniting the fire that hadn't had time to die down.

You gasped against his mouth, your back arching off the couch as he explored you, his touch knowing and intentional. "Wonwoo," you whimpered, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes filled with desire and something deeper, something raw. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned down to kiss you again.

The rhythm of his touch became more insistent, drawing soft moans from you as your fingers dug into his shoulders. He didn't rush—each movement was deliberate, every touch meant to drive you closer to the edge.

"You're driving me crazy," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with need.

"Good," he muttered, his lips trailing down to your neck, leaving a line of heated kisses as his hand disappeared to adjust himself. "Because you've been driving me insane all night."

Before you could respond, he lined his cock up and pushed into your cunt with one slow, deliberate thrust, your bodies melding together perfectly. Your pussy had already recognized the way his cock seemed to slip in you, it still had you gasping, your nails raking down his back as he buried himself completely, his breath coming out in a shaky groan against your ear.

The pace was slower this time, more intimate, but no less intense. Every thrust was deliberate, his hips rolling into yours as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you. His lips found yours again, silencing your cries as he deepened the kiss, his hands gripping your waist to keep you steady beneath him.

The air between you was thick with heat and unspoken emotions, your bodies moving together as if they'd been made for this—made for each other. His name spilled from your lips in breathless whispers, your hands roaming his back, his chest, desperate to feel more of him.

"Look at me," he demanded softly, his voice strained. When your eyes met his, the intensity in his gaze nearly undid you. "I want to see you. Every part of you."

Your heart ached at the raw vulnerability in his tone, your chest tightening as you reached up to cup his face. "Wonwoo..."

He leaned into your touch, his movements growing more urgent as he chased both your highs, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "I love this," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the sound of your labored breaths. "I love you."

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the world, the room, the lingering tension that had always existed between you. There was only him, and the way he made you feel whole.

Your body tensed beneath him, the pleasure building until it finally crested, leaving you trembling and crying out his name. Wonwoo wasn't far behind, his own release crashing over him as he buried himself deep inside you, his groan vibrating against your skin.

For a moment, the room was silent save for the sound of your heavy breathing, your bodies still tangled together on the sofa. Wonwoo shifted slightly, pulling you closer as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You win," he muttered, his lips curving into a tired but satisfied smile.

You laughed, the sound light and breathless as you nuzzled into his chest. "Damn right, I do."

He chuckled, his hand trailing lazily down your back. "But you're still wearing my hoodie next time we game," he teased, his voice low and teasing. "You're too distracting without it."

"And you're not?" you shot back, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

"Fair point," he admitted, his grin widening as he pulled you into another kiss, one filled with unspoken promises and endless possibilities.

You and Wonwoo were still wrapped up in the warmth of each other's embrace, your body pressed snugly against his as you both lay tangled on the sofa. The soft glow of the paused game screen flickered across the room, the controllers forgotten on the floor amidst the aftermath of your intimacy.

Wonwoo's fingers traced lazy patterns along your bare back, his lips occasionally brushing against your forehead in quiet affection. You were just beginning to drift into that blissful post-climactic haze when the sharp sound of a knock broke through the quiet.

"Wonwoo," a familiar voice called from the other side of the door. "I'm here for the CD. Open up."

Your heart dropped into your stomach. "Oh my god," you whispered, your eyes wide as you shot up, scrambling to pull the throw blanket over your completely naked body.

Wonwoo cursed under his breath, sitting up as well. "Shit. I forgot he was coming."

"You forgot?" you hissed, grabbing at the nearest piece of clothing—Wonwoo's hoodie—but realizing it wasn't enough to cover you entirely.

"He said he'd stop by today, but I wasn't exactly thinking about it in the moment!" Wonwoo muttered, running a hand through his messy hair, now tousled from your earlier activities.

Another knock came, this time sharper, with Jeonghan's unmistakable impatience seeping through. "I can hear you in there. Don't make me wait, Wonwoo."

Your eyes met Wonwoo's in a silent panic. He quickly threw on his discarded black t-shirt and sweatpants, his movements hurried but calculated as he adjusted himself to look as composed as possible. Meanwhile, you grabbed the throw blanket and curled up at the corner of the couch, doing your best to look casual despite the unmistakable heat still lingering between you.

Wonwoo opened the door, and there stood Jeonghan, looking as effortless as ever in his beige trench coat and sharp gaze. He didn't bother with pleasantries, stepping into the apartment as if he owned the place.

"I told you I needed the CD back today," Jeonghan said, his tone light but edged with something sharper. His eyes flickered briefly to Wonwoo before scanning the room—and stopping dead when they landed on you.

His gaze narrowed slightly as he took in your disheveled appearance, the way the blanket was draped over you, and the faint blush still coloring your cheeks. "Oh," he said, his voice dipping into a dangerous kind of curiosity.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, trying to draw Jeonghan's attention away. "It's, uh, on the shelf. I'll grab it for you."

Jeonghan didn't move, his sharp eyes now pinned on Wonwoo. "Am I interrupting something?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Wonwoo, on the other hand, let out a short laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "No, we were just gaming," he lied, but the slight crack in his voice betrayed him.

Jeonghan's brow quirked as he slowly crossed his arms. "Gaming," he repeated, the word dripping with disbelief. His gaze darted back to you, lingering on the blanket and the clear absence of any actual gaming activity.

"It's just a little warm in here," you blurted out, clutching the blanket tighter around yourself.

Jeonghan's lips curved into a faint smirk, but there was no humor in his expression. "Right. Warm."

Wonwoo returned with the CD, holding it out to Jeonghan. "Here. You can go now."

But Jeonghan didn't take it right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes darting between the two of you. "This is the game you wanted to show her, isn't it?" he asked Wonwoo, his tone casual but laced with meaning.

Wonwoo stiffened, his jaw clenching slightly. "Yeah. It is."

Jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, finally taking the CD from Wonwoo's hand. "Took you long enough," he said, turning the case over in his hands. Then, as if suddenly struck by a thought, he glanced back at you.

"You've got good taste in games," Jeonghan remarked, his gaze lingering just a little too long. "I wonder if that extends to... other things."

The air grew heavier, the tension crackling like static electricity as Jeonghan's words hung in the air. You could feel your pulse racing, your hands gripping the edge of the blanket as Wonwoo's posture shifted, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Jeonghan," Wonwoo said, his voice low and warning.

But Jeonghan just smirked, slipping the CD into his coat pocket. "Relax," he said smoothly. "I'm just making an observation."

With that, he turned on his heel and made his way to the door. But just before stepping out, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Enjoy your game," he said, his eyes locking with yours for a moment longer than necessary. Then he was gone, leaving behind an air of unease that neither you nor Wonwoo could shake.

The door had barely clicked shut behind Jeonghan when you exhaled shakily, the weight of his lingering presence still pressing on you. Wonwoo paced in front of the sofa, his jaw tight, and his hands clenched into fists. You could see the storm brewing inside him—frustration, jealousy, and a simmering anger that he was trying to keep under control.

"I should go with him," you blurted out, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Wonwoo stopped dead in his tracks, his head snapping toward you. "What?"

You adjusted the blanket around you, avoiding his eyes. "I need to explain things to him. He knows, Wonwoo. He's not stupid. If I don't clear this up, it's just going to get worse—for all of us."

Wonwoo's expression darkened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "So, what? You're just going to run after him and... what? Smooth it over with some bullshit excuse? Jeonghan doesn't care about explanations. He's probably already twisting this into whatever narrative suits him best."

You stood, the blanket slipping slightly as you moved to grab Wonwoo's hoodie from the floor. "I can handle him. You know I can."

Wonwoo stepped closer, his voice dropping into a low, urgent tone. "This isn't just about handling him. Do you seriously think he's going to let you walk out of there without digging deeper? Without trying to... to turn this into something else?"

You pulled the hoodie over your head, the familiar scent of Wonwoo enveloping you like a second skin. "And what do you suggest I do? Sit here and let him assume whatever he wants? Let him keep showing up, throwing out veiled threats and smirks until we all lose our minds?"

Wonwoo's hands found your arms, his grip firm but not rough. "You stay. With me. Let him stew in his own suspicions—who cares what he thinks?" His voice softened slightly, his eyes searching yours. "I don't want you to go."

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his gaze, but you shook your head. "Wonwoo, this isn't just about us. Jeonghan's your friend, your teammate. If we don't handle this carefully, it's going to blow up in all of our faces. Let me do this. For both of us."

He hesitated, his grip faltering as he weighed your words. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, he let go, stepping back. "Fine. But don't let him manipulate you, okay? He's... he's good at that."

You gave him a small, reassuring smile, though your heart was pounding. "I won't."

With that, you slipped on your shoes and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway where Jeonghan was leaning casually against the wall, as if he'd been waiting. His sharp eyes flicked to you, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

"Changed your mind?" he asked, his tone light but his gaze far too calculating for comfort.

"It's late," you said evenly, crossing your arms. "Wonwoo thought it'd be better if I went with you."

Jeonghan's smirk widened as he straightened, pushing off the wall. "Of course he did."

The two of you walked toward the elevator in silence, the air between you thick with unspoken words. It wasn't until you were both inside, the doors sliding shut, that Jeonghan finally broke the quiet.

"So," he said, his voice smooth and deliberate. "How long has this been going on?"

You turned to him, your expression carefully neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. "Come on. Give me some credit. The disheveled look, the way you wouldn't meet my eyes, Wonwoo acting like a deer caught in headlights—do you really think I don't know?"

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag. "It's none of your business, Jeonghan."

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the small space. "See, that's where you're wrong. It is my business—because whatever's happening between you two is already affecting him. And if it affects him, it affects me."

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. "What do you want from me, Jeonghan? An apology? Fine. I'm sorry if this complicates things for you, but it's not your place to judge."

Jeonghan's expression shifted, the smirk fading as something darker flickered in his eyes. "I'm not judging," he said quietly, his voice almost too calm. "I'm warning you. Wonwoo's not the only one who knows how to play games."

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, breaking the tension. Jeonghan stepped out first, turning back to look at you with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Let's see how well you handle this, hmm?"

As you stepped out of the elevator with Jeonghan, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, studying every shift in your expression. The silence stretched as you walked toward the parking lot, your nerves taut with anticipation.

When Jeonghan finally spoke, his voice was as smooth as ever, but there was a sharpness underneath. "You know, I almost didn't come by tonight. Figured I'd give you two more time to... bond."

You stiffened, but kept your voice steady. "You're reading too much into this."

He hummed, unlocking his car with a casual flick of his wrist. "Am I? You're wearing his hoodie. That doesn't exactly scream subtle, does it?"

You glanced down at the fabric, suddenly hyperaware of how it clung to you, still warm with the scent of Wonwoo. "It's just a hoodie, Jeonghan."

He opened the passenger door for you, his smirk returning as he gestured for you to get in. "Right. Just a hoodie."

The ride was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the space between you. Jeonghan didn't push, didn't prod—he just let the silence stretch, knowing it would fray your nerves more than words ever could.

Finally, he broke it with a question that felt more like a trap. "Did he tell you about the game?"

You frowned, caught off guard. "What game?"

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head as he turned onto the main road. "The one he's been obsessing over for weeks. The one he wanted to show you."

Your breath hitched. Of course. The CD. You hadn't even realized it was the same one he'd been talking about that night.

Jeonghan noticed your reaction immediately, his smirk widening. "Guess not. Too busy with... other things, I suppose."

You shot him a sharp look. "If you've got something to say, just say it, Jeonghan."

He pulled into a small café, the kind that stayed open late, and parked the car. Turning to you, he leaned against the steering wheel, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "What's your endgame here?"

The question caught you off guard. "What are you talking about?"

He tilted his head, his gaze unrelenting. "With Wonwoo. With me. With whatever this is. You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart, and I'm not sure you even realize it."

You bristled at his tone, but before you could respond, he got out of the car, motioning for you to follow. Inside the café, the dim lighting and soft hum of conversation provided a strange sense of calm, though the tension between you and Jeonghan remained electric.

Over steaming cups of coffee, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. "You're trying to fix this, aren't you? Trying to keep everyone happy, keep the peace. But you've already made your choice."

You frowned, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. "And what choice is that?"

Jeonghan's smile was slow, calculated. "You stayed with him. You didn't run when I walked in. That says a lot."

Your grip tightened on your mug, the heat seeping into your skin. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" he countered, his gaze piercing. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've already picked a side. You just don't want to admit it."

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the table. Wonwoo's name lit up the screen, and Jeonghan's eyes flicked to it, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

"Speak of the devil," he murmured, leaning back in his chair.

You hesitated, your heart pounding as you reached for the phone. But before you could answer, Jeonghan's hand shot out, his fingers brushing against yours as he slid the phone away.

"Let him wait," he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at him, caught between frustration and something you couldn't quite name. "What are you trying to do, Jeonghan?"

He smiled, slow and deliberate. "Just testing the waters. Seeing how far you'll go to protect him—or yourself."

As the tension in the café thickened, your fingers twitched, itching to pick up the phone, but Jeonghan's grip on it was firm, his fingers brushing against yours just a second too long, sending a jolt of something through you. His eyes locked onto yours, almost daring you to make a move.

"Jeonghan, let me answer," you said, your voice quieter than you meant it to be, the frustration barely masked by the cool facade you were trying to hold up.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk. "Why? So you can pretend everything's fine with him? That you're not tangled up in this mess already?"

You swallowed, the words stinging more than you wanted to admit. His eyes were practically burning into yours, waiting for a crack, a sign of weakness. And before you could stop yourself, you found yourself speaking before thinking.

"You don't understand," you said, your voice low but steady. "This isn't about choosing sides. It's about—"

"About what?" Jeonghan interrupted, cutting you off smoothly, leaning forward with a gleam in his eyes. "Tell me. Is it about keeping everything under control? Because, trust me, darling, I can see it. You think you have all the power, don't you? But you're just as tangled in this as the rest of us."

His words sliced through the air, and you froze, the weight of them settling like a heavy blanket around you. You didn't know how to respond, how to argue against what he was saying. It was hard not to feel like he was right—like you were walking a tightrope between both of them, trying to balance something you didn't even know you wanted.

Just then, your phone buzzed again—this time, Wonwoo's name lighting up the screen, flashing with urgency. The phone vibrated against the table, the sound loud in the silence. You reached for it without thinking, but Jeonghan's hand was faster.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, stilling you. His grip was gentle but firm, and for a moment, you couldn't move. You looked at him, your pulse quickening at the proximity. The tension between you two felt like it was about to snap.

"Don't answer," Jeonghan whispered, leaning in, his breath hot against your ear. "Let him wonder. Let him feel what it's like to be on the outside for once."

You inhaled sharply, your breath catching in your throat at how close he was. His thumb traced lightly across your skin, sending a wave of heat through your body. And even though you knew you should pull away, there was something magnetic about his touch, something that made you question everything you thought you knew about loyalty and desire.

But before you could fully process the moment, the door to the café swung open, and the sound of footsteps echoed across the room.

Wonwoo.

You felt your heart skip a beat as your gaze shot to him, standing at the entrance, his eyes immediately locking onto yours. His expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched tight, but you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

"Jeonghan," he said, voice low, like a warning. "You're not—"

But Jeonghan wasn't fazed. He didn't even look up, still holding onto your wrist with a gentle but insistent pressure. "I'm just making sure we're all on the same page. Aren't we, sweetheart?" he purred, eyes flicking over to Wonwoo.

Wonwoo's nostrils flared, his gaze flickering to you, his eyes softening just a fraction before hardening again. "Let go of her."

You could feel the tension snap like a live wire, the air between the three of you crackling with something you couldn't quite put into words. Jeonghan's smile didn't falter as he finally released your wrist, but there was something dangerous in the way he looked at Wonwoo.

"Why don't you take a seat, Wonwoo? We were just talking about how much of a mess all of this is. Don't you think it's time you joined the conversation?"

Wonwoo stepped forward, his fists clenched, but you could see the war raging in his mind—between walking away and confronting Jeonghan right there, in front of you. His voice was low, his patience wearing thin. "This isn't your business."

"Isn't it?" Jeonghan said with a cold chuckle. "You're both tangled in something you can't even control. You think this is some kind of game, but it's not. It's real. And now... the question is, which one of you will claim what's already slipping through your fingers?"

Your heart hammered in your chest, caught between the two of them, the world spinning as the air in the café seemed to close in around you. You wanted to scream, to stop this madness, but something inside you told you this was just the beginning of something bigger, something that would tear all of you apart.

With Wonwoo standing there, muscles tense, his eyes burning with something unspoken, and Jeonghan smiling like the puppeteer he was, you realized that no matter what choice you made next, nothing would ever be the same again.

The drive home was silent, save for the hum of the car engine and the occasional shift in the seats. Wonwoo didn't say anything, and neither did you. You were both still processing what had happened—the tension between you, Jeonghan's unexpected arrival, and the fact that everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of something much bigger.

When you arrived home, Wonwoo parked the car in the driveway but didn't immediately turn off the engine. He glanced over at you, his face soft but burdened.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You nodded, even though you weren't sure if you were. "I'm fine," you muttered, but it was more for his sake than anything.

He reached over, placing a hand on yours, his thumb rubbing gently over your skin. "You don't have to pretend for me, you know."

You felt the weight of his words. The evening had shifted something in you, and you weren't sure where it was leading. "I just... don't know what to do about Jeonghan. Or us." Your voice trailed off, heavy with the unsaid.

Wonwoo sighed, a mixture of frustration and understanding in his eyes. "It's not easy," he admitted. "But I'm here for you. Always."

You leaned against his shoulder, closing your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts. After a long moment, you finally spoke again, your voice small. "I don't want to lose either of you."

Wonwoo didn't answer at first, but when he did, it was with such a quiet certainty that it made your heart race. "You won't. Just... let me figure things out with you."

He walked you to your door, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead before heading back to his car, leaving you standing in the doorway, lost in the silence.

The Next Day at Work:

The office felt colder than usual when you arrived. Your heart sank as soon as you saw Jeonghan. He didn't even acknowledge you. It wasn't like him to ignore you, but there he was, sitting at his desk, completely absorbed in his work.

You walked toward him, hoping to get a word in. "Jeonghan?" you asked quietly, trying to catch his attention.

He didn't look up, and the coldness in his demeanor made your chest tighten. "Busy," he said curtly, not even sparing you a glance.

The sting of his indifference hit harder than you expected. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Were you supposed to apologize? Or was it something else? Before you could gather the courage to say anything more, Wonwoo appeared, stepping between you and Jeonghan.

"Hey," Wonwoo said, his voice calm but firm, a protective stance around you. "You should go take a break, Y/N. I'll handle things here."

You blinked, feeling both grateful and conflicted. But as you walked away, you couldn't shake the feeling that everything between the three of you had shifted in ways you couldn't fix overnight.

Later That Day:

You were sitting in the break room when Wonwoo found you, a cup of coffee in hand. He slid into the chair next to you, not saying anything at first. The silence between you felt familiar but different now.

"Jeonghan's... not speaking to me," you said, the words coming out before you could stop them. "I don't know what to do."

Wonwoo leaned in, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "You don't have to fix everything right now," he murmured. "Take it slow. Let him come around, if he does. But I'm here for you."

You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to let the comfort of his presence sink in. Despite the chaos of the situation, there was a small part of you that felt safe in his arms.

The next day at work felt like stepping into a different dimension. Jeonghan’s presence had always been a constant—a mix of charm and sharp remarks that kept you on your toes—but now, it was as if he’d built an invisible wall around himself.

You caught sight of him as soon as you walked into the office. He was leaning against the desk near the window, flipping through some documents, but his eyes didn’t so much as glance in your direction. Normally, he’d throw in a sly comment or even a teasing smirk just to annoy you. Today? Nothing.

You tried not to let it bother you, but as the hours ticked by, his cold shoulder was impossible to ignore. He barely acknowledged your presence during the team meeting, speaking only when necessary and directing his comments to everyone but you. The tension was palpable, and it made concentrating on your tasks a Herculean effort.

By lunchtime, you’d had enough. As he stood by the coffee machine, you approached cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jeonghan,” you began, your voice softer than you intended. “Can we talk?”

He didn’t look up right away. When he finally did, his expression was unreadable, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something distant and closed off. “I’m busy,” he replied curtly, turning his attention back to his coffee cup.

The words stung more than you wanted to admit, but you weren’t about to give up. “Please,” you pressed, stepping closer. “I know something’s wrong. Can we at least clear the air?”

Jeonghan sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he set his cup down. For a moment, it looked like he might relent, but then he shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, his tone clipped. “Just focus on your work.”

His words were like a slap to the face. You blinked, struggling to keep your composure. “If this is about Wonwoo—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted sharply, his gaze finally locking onto yours. His eyes, usually so warm and full of mischief, were cold and piercing now. “Don’t bring him into this.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt a lump form in your throat, but you swallowed it down, refusing to let yourself break in front of him. “Fine,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “If that’s how you want it.”

The silence between you and Jeonghan was as heavy as the weight in your chest. His hands remained tucked into the pockets of his tailored coat, his jaw tight, his gaze somewhere beyond you. For a second, you thought he’d finally say something, but he only let out a quiet exhale, the faintest fog of breath forming in the cold air.

You took a hesitant step forward. “Jeonghan,” you started, your voice trembling, unsure if it was from the cold or the overwhelming tension. “I don’t—” You bit down on your lip, searching for words that wouldn’t make things worse. “I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but I just need you to hear me out.”

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp and guarded, but he didn’t speak.

Your stomach churned. “It wasn’t—” You struggled, the words tangling in your throat. “It’s not what you think it is.”

Jeonghan’s laugh was bitter, sharp like the snap of a twig underfoot. “Isn’t it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. The question hung in the air, daring you to answer.

“I—” Your voice faltered, and for the first time, you felt the hot prick of tears welling in your eyes. You blinked them away, refusing to cry now—not here, not in front of him. But the lump in your throat grew heavier.

Jeonghan’s expression hardened. “You’re unbelievable,” he said quietly, his tone devoid of the usual playfulness or charm you associated with him. It stung more than you cared to admit. “Do you even realize what you’re doing?”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Jeonghan, please, you have to believe me. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Especially not you.”

For a moment, his mask slipped. His eyes softened, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the man who used to tease you with sly smiles and effortless charm. But just as quickly, the vulnerability disappeared, replaced by that same cold, distant stare.

“I don’t think it matters what you wanted,” he said finally, his voice low, almost pained. “Because it’s already happened.” He shook his head and took a step back, the distance between you growing in more ways than one. “I need to go.”

“Jeonghan, wait—”

But he was already turning away, the echo of his footsteps fading into the night. You stood there, frozen, the tears you had fought so hard to hold back finally spilling over.

The sound of a door creaking open pulled you out of your daze. You turned to see Wonwoo leaning against the doorframe, his expression unreadable as he took in the scene. He didn’t say anything, just held out a hand, inviting you back inside.

You hesitated for a moment, staring at his outstretched hand. Then, with a deep, shaky breath, you walked back toward him, allowing the warmth of his presence to envelope you as he pulled you inside.

He didn’t ask what happened, didn’t push for answers. Instead, he guided you to the couch, wrapping you in a blanket and sitting beside you. His hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours as if to remind you that, no matter what, he was here.

The silence was comforting this time, a stark contrast to the tension that had followed Jeonghan’s departure. But even as Wonwoo’s thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, offering a quiet kind of reassurance, you couldn’t shake the lingering ache in your chest.

Because no matter how warm Wonwoo’s touch was, no matter how safe you felt beside him, the rift between you, Jeonghan, and Wonwoo was something that wouldn’t heal easily.

And deep down, you weren’t sure if it ever could.

an: ik its way too dramatic but lmao. you stayed till the end you definitely deserve an award. iloveyou.

taglist: @asyre @choppedballoondetective @kpoppiesofinternet @syluslittlecrow @minhui896

@october-saturn @kpop-will-kill-me @elegantdevill1 @shidily @angel-ishere

@lovrchl @codeinebelle @httpnamu-u @httpnamjoonie94 @6nadia9

@jjonghaniee @ateez-atiny380 @squishysquishjimin @jeonghaniya @thelost-soul

@foulcolorclodoaf-blog @133456789000000000000 @sunshinewonu @forsoonie @fyvubub

@soleihea @seuncheolcherrybaby @sigxx123 @hjs953012 @caratochan

@smileflawerr @indianmiss @kunfused0101 @jades-archive @i69flora

@whore-anghae @fyvubub @bemysolaces @09yyeol @kaepjjangiya

THANK YOU FOR READINGGG MWUAAAHH ! <3

knowing yall enjoyed this ongoing shitshow makes me really happy. all the late nights and used up free times writing this makes me really super extra happyyyy. loveyou guyyssss mwauuuuaaahhhh !

reblog / comment to be added on the taglist.

[therealbatman111]

Blue Sparks

Fembartender!jinx

I wiped down the counter of The Last Drop, the familiar smell of smoke and alcohol heavy in the air. It wasn’t the cleanest job, but it paid well, and that was all that mattered. The bar was a regular stop for Silco’s crew—a place where plans were made and deals whispered in the dark. I'd worked here forever, but lately... something—or rather, someone—had started to occupy my thoughts.

Jinx.

I wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the first time she burst into the bar, pink and blue smoke following her with that manic grin of hers. Or maybe it was just the way her electric blue hair seemed to glow in the dim light. Every time she walked in, my heart would skip a beat. She was wild, unpredictable—like a bomb about to go off—and for some reason, that drew me in.

Today was no different.

The door creaked as Jinx skipped inside, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk. The smell of paint and gunpowder seemed to follow her, and I could feel the tension in the air. I tried to act normal, but my hands trembled slightly as I grabbed a glass to wipe it down.

"Hey, sugar!" Jinx called, her voice high and full of mischief. "Got any of that juice you always make? You know, the stuff that gets me really wired?" Her eyes locked onto mine as she sits down at the bar resting her head on her chin 

My breath caught. "Of course, Jinx. I’ve got it ready just for you" I chirp, walking to the back to grab the concoction I’d perfected just for her. It was a mix of caffeine and something extra—something that seemed to fuel her chaos. I’d been experimenting with drinks for a long time and it was nice that it was a special thing between me and her

When I handed it to her,our hands brushed sending a shock down my spine.

"Thanks, sugar." Jinx took the drink, and I couldn’t help but notice the way her grin could light up the whole room. I watched her for a second, my heart racing, but she had already turned her attention to something else—a pile of explosives and parts, no doubt plotting her next big thing.

I leaned against the counter, my gaze lingering on her. "Everything okay?" I asked, trying to get her to snap out of her bomb-crafting trance.

She blinked up at me like she’d just realized I was there. "Huh? Oh yeah, all good! Just figuring out what to make next," she said, her voice filled with excitement. But for a second, I saw the exhaustion in her eyes. Maybe she didn’t care about anything—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more beneath the chaos.

Jinx took another sip of the drink. "This stuff’s amazing, toots. Seriously, you should sell it. I’m gonna need more of this if I’m gonna get anything done."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "You’ve got more than enough energy already, Jinx. You’re like a force of nature all by yourself."

Jinx laughed, her grin widening. "Isn’t that the point?" She winked, and for a moment, my heart stopped. My chest tightened, and I fought to keep the nervousness from showing.

“You’re really good at what you do, you know that right?” I asked, leaning in a little with a smile hoping i didn’t look too nervous.

Jinx beamed, completely oblivious. “Yeah, I know! That’s why they pay me the big bucks!” She twirled around, her excitement spilling out like always. She didn’t notice the way I was looking at her—the way my heart raced or how I could feel the weight of every moment we shared.

But it didn’t matter. I was just the bartender, and she was Jinx—chaotic, free, and untouchable. No matter how much I wanted to be more than that, I knew better.

"Maybe next shimmer shipment I’ll blow up the whole ship," Jinx said with a laugh, her eyes lighting up with mischief. "That’ll really get people talking!"

"Whatever you say, Jinx," I replied, trying to sound casual, even though I felt a little defeated. "Just... try not to blow up the bar, okay?"

Jinx gave me a salute, her grin wide and her eyes twinkling with excitement. “No promises, sweetheart!”

As she turned to leave, I felt a pang in my chest. It wasn’t that I didn’t love seeing her full of life—it was just that it felt like a lifetime ago when anyone had looked at her like that. She was a storm, and I wasn’t the one who could pull her out of it.

But even as she disappeared out the door, I couldn’t help but hope. Maybe, someday, something would spark between us.

[ssspringroll]

Apartment: 101 Sandy Run

Building features: Roof access

Status: VACANT

Make a sim for this space! General Real Estate Event Info

A cozy, budget-friendly 2-bedroom apartment. Perfect for roomies, a single parent, a small family, or even a single sim who dreams of turning that spare bedroom into a craft or workspace

E.T. Moneybags Inc. guarantees a personalized home renovation* for each tenant!

*minor renovations only. furnishings will be added, altered, or replaced to suit the lifestyle of the resident, but the apartment will not be completely gutted and remodeled for them. Things like personalized clutter, hobby or career-related items, and accommodations for occult type, family members, or pets.

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

It is truly fascinating how the common tumblr narrative around John and Paul somehow makes the guy who literally got violent multiple times over people insinuating he was queer appear more "on board with the whole gay thing" than the guy who said some awkward/dated stuff in interviews a couple of times.

[karamazovposting]

I've briefly talked about it before (it's somewhere in my bipolar Ivan Karamazov agenda tag) but I genuinely love how Ivan's situation is treated through the story and I really relate to it because it's so realistic and well done.

I mean, Ivan himself openly and casually admits that yeah I might kill myself in less than ten years but it's not a big deal or anything mid conversation with his brother who he hasn't seen in almost a decade like it's a completely normal thing to say and think about (because to him it is) and the narrator is like oh Ivan sees dead people sometimes but it's alright and everyone else is just cool with it.

Yes, Ivan is struggling with his mental health, but it's not treated as an epic descent into madness for the drama or for shock value or a Jekyll and Hyde or extreme situation out of ignorance or, worse, mockery. He's just a mentally ill young man being treated like a person who needs help (I wish the people around me had been as concerned and caring as Alyosha and Katya were, to be honest) and even if it's a story written and set in the 19th century, no one's ever disrespectful towards him: no demeaning language (for the time period), no mockery, everyone takes him seriously and it's even highlighted that he's still capable of rationality (his defining character trait; he has not lost himself!); even after the whole trial fiasco, no one's angry at him, they just acknowledge that he's unwell. There is something particularly delicate about how his character is handled, a particular kind of sensitivity and softness paired with a lack of exaggeration and spectacularization that really positively surprised me when I first read the book because I wasn't expecting Ivan's condition to be an accurate portrayal of what I have been through and live with every day.

Even when Ivan is distressed by it, the story never gets too dramatic with that and it never drags it on for too long and that's what I love about his talk with the devil and the trial: it's all very neutral in the most respectful way possible given the context. I don't really know how to explain this, but (at this point everyone and their mother knows) I have bipolar disorder and that's exactly what living with it (or any mental health condition I guess) is like: it's casual, it's normal, it's not a big deal; that's just your life and you gotta live it. There is a lot of nuance that I didn't think I would find so accurately portrayed in a novel from almost two-hundred years ago.

Ivan is more or less neutral towards and comfortable in his own chaos because what else can he do, really?

[anarchne]

i wish i could remove the word “adopt” from kept peoples’ vernacular lol

[astranauticus]

Do mechanites cry?

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[bookshelfdreams]

friendly reminder that

"I love everything about you."

[pleasantgirl2000]

not the kind of girl to get starstruck but just met david byrne at work and almost had a heart attack

[gearchronocle]

people mention the manga panel but we got the scene in the anime too (only difference is that he didn't mention anytbing abt singing)

it still makes me wonder did the guy actually sing or did he use his powers... interesting to think about

still need a fic of this

HOLD ON HOLD ON

KUSUO CANONICALLY HAS A PERFECT SINGING VOICE

DO YOU KNOW

DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY FICS I CAN SPAWN FROM THIS

[killerpancakeburger]

Thinking about a Reader who ends up having Scary Dog Privileges with Ghost without meaning to. It just happened.

Then they have to deal with the fact that this comes with duties too.

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, smug!Ghost, smooth!Ghost. 800 words.

Part 2. Part 3.

When Ghost is reluctant to getting sutured in Medical after accidentally opening his stitches, grumbling he can do it himself, who does the nurse call for? Yeah, you.

She could stand her ground, after all she's used to dealing with big, whiny men, but it's much more fun to knock on your door and smile at your bewildered gaze and gaping mouth when she explains the situation in two sentences.

"Ghost's being difficult, mind taking over?" "I'm sorry, what the hell does this have to do with me?" "C'm'on, everyone on base knows he's got a soft spot for you. Don't you want to make my job easier?"

You roll your eyes and slam your hands on your desk as you get up. Groaning as you walk past her— "I'm doing this for you, nothing else, got it?"

Mumbling to yourself "you've got to be kidding me" as you barge into the sick bay. Ghost is coolly seated at the end of a bed, large as life, casual clothes as black as his mask and— oh. You weren't told the wound was on his thigh— you weren't warned that he didn’t have pants on. You can’t help it, your eyes go down, down, your lingering gaze and your flustered silence forming a confession louder than words.

A noise — a scoff or a grunt, you’re not sure — emanates from him, breaks your trance, makes you look up. The amusement in his gaze tells you he noticed your oggling— of course he did. Nothing gets past the Ghost, and you've been remarkably unsubtle. Despite the mask, you swear you can make out the smug smirk on his lips. His cockiness reignites your irritation. Annoyance making you bolder than you really are, you charge at him, crossing the distance between you two in a stride, stopping close— too close. He doesn't back off.

"What's wrong with you?" you snarl. "Nothin'," he retorts, imperturbable.

It's actually the first time you’re overlooking him. You may be enjoying it a bit too much. Nevermind the fact that you've had to wedge yourself between his parted legs to get there.

You frown, unconvinced by his answer.

“Did Soap contaminate you?”

Bargaining to be cleared out earlier was the Scotsman's trademark.

“Johnny throws a fit cos he hates feeling useless. That's not what I'm doing.”

A smirk stretches your lips.

“Oh, no? I'm sure your reasons are much more noble.”

“Doesn't matter. Got what I wanted anyway.”

He's way too self-satisfied for a man in his underwear.

You throw an unequivocal look in the direction of his injury.

“What you wanted? A still open wound?”

“You.”

He replied without missing a beat, as confident as usual. It is both alluring and aggravating.

“And your idea of wooing me is making me upset?”

You don't add “because if it is, that's really fucking stupid” out loud, but you’re sure he got the message through your tone.

“Nah. But you're more honest when you’re angry. Gutsier.”

You only realize he slipped his index and middle fingers in your trouser loops when he sharply tugs at them. Off balance, you steady yourself by catching his shoulders.

Taking advantage of the strip of bare skin between your shirt and bottoms, the pads of his thumbs idly stroke your hip bones. The contact sends electricity through you, shivers of pleasure running down your sides.

“Ghost,” you start, severe, trying not to let the effect his touch has on you show in your voice.

“Simon,” he counters, surly. “Told ya it's Simon when we're alone, didn't I?”

He did, but you didn’t think he was serious. If that's what it takes to get him to listen… you’ll play by his rules.

“Simon. What's the rest of your brilliant plan? I'm here, but I can’t stitch you up.”

“How ‘bout a deal. I'll stop resisting… for a price.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“What kind of price?”

“A kiss.”

You snort. You didn’t believe him capable of something so… puerile.

“With the mask on?”

He doesn't move a muscle to get rid of it.

“Take it off.”

You usually wouldn’t obey what sounds like an order so easily, but it's the first time you get to touch the skull. Slipping two fingers between skin and cloth, you slowly roll up the mask all the way under his nose.

You gently trace the scars surrounding his lips. Then, the second you feel him relax, grip on your hips slackening and intensity of his gaze waning, you grab the bottom of his mask and drag it back down vigorously, making the holes for the eyes land way too low for him to see anything.

“If you thought you'd get a reward for acting out, you've got another think coming.”

[screampied]

MONEY HONEY! — ☆ GOJO SATORU.

➤ popstar!gojo masterlist

headline. fucking your client wasn’t on your bucket list. the famous popstar 'toru' says he can’t perform because of issues he’s having with his voice. but he finds another way to warm up his vocal cords—it involves being between your legs.

word count. 4.2k

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo, pwp, unprotected sex, modern au, he's a whiney brat, overstim, degradation, praise, semi public, impact play, cunnilingus, fingering.

an. lol this was fun 2 write !! ty @osaemu as always for beta'ing

“…nono, you don’t understand. i can’t go out there, i just…can’t—!” gojo mutters, and he’s pacing back and forth. talk about a drama queen. to think you had to deal with this every day, being the infamous satoru gojo’s personal assistant was never an easy task. his attire was…quite enthralling, to say the least. gojo was draped up in a sheeny black one-piece with rhinestones attached in a few places, he always had his outfits designed a certain way. not too tight, not too big.

you sat on the sofa, taking a sip of a latte he bought you as thanks for saving him to deal with the hoards of paparazzi that practically lived outside the stadium back-way entrance.

“satoru, you do this before every show,” you sigh, glancing at him. you couldn’t lie to yourself, he was strikingly handsome. gojo’s hair was a tad bit messy and ruffled. it was a slight v-cut towards his chest to show a bit of skin. his fangirls always went wild over the most minimal things such as that. “you do realize you’re supposed to be performing in front of 10,000 people? canceling right before a show isn’t a good l—”

“i know…i know,” he pouts, and he’s so unserious, you sort of found it hard to believe this was a millionaire pop star who’s such a household name. gojo lets off a loud sigh before walking towards you with a sheepish grin. “these cough drops you’ve been givinʼ me haven’t done shit.”

“really...” you deadpan, casually giving him nothing but a sly eye roll.

gojo sulks and he’s just a few feet apart from you now. “mhm…really,” he says, and the slight rasp in his voice catches your attention. his earpiece was still on, as well with his mic that hung just barely underneath his chin. “i did research though. about other methods that help with heh, um vocal fry..”

you stare up at the popstar, and he’s returning the gaze…as if he was trying to hide the smile that was already forming against his pink lips. you don’t give him an answer and this time, he’s the one to roll his eyes.

“…well since you asked so nicely,” he grumbles, the same pout going against his face before he pulls out his phone. gojo scrolls a thumb down against his bright screen before clearing his throat. “hm, according to this accurate article, it says… to fully recover from vocal fry, a guy must uh, receive a special treat within a woman’s—”

you blankly stare at him, already second-guessing his fake response. “just say you want to eat me out, satoru.”

“wha— where’d you get that impression?” he plays dumb, furrowing his eyebrows and cowardly looking around the room. a few seconds go by before he shrugs, speaking quickly, defeated. “….fine i wanna eat you out. hmph.”

you turn your head for a brief moment, hearing the defending roars of the crowd just a few areas down from the dressing room the two of you currently stayed in. “maybe after your show, they're chanting for y—”

“they can wait,” he frowns, and he turns you around, two hands softly holding onto your shoulders. gojo remained with a pout, bottom lip just slightly tucking underneath the top one. “i can’t.”

the both of you grow quiet for a long moment, and gojo seems serious—dramatic, but serious. you and him both exchanged sensual eye contact, and you were so close to gojo that you could practically smell the strong cinnamon scent of his intoxicating cologne. the popstar smooths his lips together before briefly shifting his eyes down at the floor and then back up at you. 

“five minutes…five minutes, that isn't too long is it?” he stammers, and the gaze the two of you made starts to get more and more intense. “i won’t get into too much trouble if it's just five minutes right?”

“you’re insufferable.” you mumble, letting off a soft sigh. “okay, five minutes. if you say this helps with your—vocal whatever.”

not much to your surprise, five minutes turned into half an hour. 

you held back a moan the sudden second you felt gojo’s warm tongue swiftly lap against your drenched folds. he made you wriggle against him, and you maintained a rough grip against the laid-back sofa.

“s-satoru,” you’d whimper out, gasping at how sloppy he was. you were prompt up in such a position to where you were bent over the arm part of the couch, skirt lifted, fishnets just barely pulled down, and the most vulgar expression. “oh my g-goddd, you're gonna make the others outside h-hear.”

“you’ll just have to be a little more quiet, assistant,” he whispers, cool breath fanning against your pussy. perhaps this was unprofessional, no it was very unprofessional. a plethora of following consequences started to race through your mind. “what time is it?”

you moaned, reaching near the wooden half table for his watch and read the time, “um.. quarter past eight.”

“aw man,” he sulks, softly licking the your tender pulsating numb with the very tip of his tongue. with a quick second, he maneuvers circles all over your clit to feel you squirm and jitter against him. “that much time passed? can’t stand rushing…”

as you cling onto the fluffed couch, your black pencil skirt that was just sluggishly raised, and yet, you continued to gnaw the inside of your lip from the feelings of his tongue, entirely sloppy.

the slurps that exited from his mouth had your bottom lip quivering in such desire. you craved more, the way he swirled and curved the length of his tongue throughout your pussy earned umpteen gasps and whines from you. 

“s—satoru,” you’d croak out, and he’s casually taking the time to make out with your folds. languidly, your slick race down his chin, and between breaks to breathe, he'd lap up his tongue before diving back in. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum again, think ‘m gonna cum..”

“wait a little longer, yeah?” he murmurs, grabbing the fat of your ass with two rough hands. you felt bundles of butterflies stir inside your stomach, feeling gojo’s nose swipe against your folds for a few jiffs. “let me eat, haven't had a good meal all fuckin’ day.”

you swallowed, not even facing him but you could practically see the grin stretching across his lips. “and…and who’s fault was that?”

he chuckles, warm breath fanning against your cunt. “okay, you have a point,” and your thighs feel feverish—you’re so hot, and not because of the sudden humidity wafting around the small dressing room.

the popstar lolls out his tongue, humming before you moan, feeling him lick your pussy in a straight direction. “mhm, this is better than anything else though.”

you were about to speak, but all that did was make you let out a shaky whine. the smooth pads of his thumbs graze against both parts of your ass as he continued to eat you out like a starved man. it was as if time stood still, your mouth grew exceedingly dry and your legs felt like they could barely stand up on their own. 

“sa..satoru,” you once more repeated, not knowing how long you could last. simply, his tongue was dangerous—god, it was just the way he moved it in every direction.

he knew where to lick, where to suck, and even nibble. gojo found himself tickling his tongue against your little nub before sucking on it. all to hear you cry out in desperation. cacophonies of whimpers depart from your glossed lips such as, ‘satoru,’ ‘please-please,’ and ‘m gonna c-cum.’

there was no denying, gojo had you an entire stammering mess. you found yourself even questioning how this became, the two of you were never intimate. although, there's always been steamy moments between the two of you. 

for instance, there was a moment where gojo took you with him to the hot springs while he was on tour…which non-surprisingly led to a hot make-out sesh. that was a few months ago, and the two of you decided to not think much of it. of course, though, there are always assumptions being made about the two of you—always from the nosy journalists and interviewers. 

each interview, it’d always be questions they’d ask about the precious little assistant that’s essentially attached by the hip to the famous gojo satoru.

“are you and that girl exclusive yet?”

“how long have you two seen each other?”

“please. describe to us. what’s she like in b—”

they’d get more perverted each time. alas, gojo always loathed it whenever the press referred to you as ‘that’ girl.

his jaw would always clench in sheer annoyance. perhaps he didn't have the right to feel that way, but he was somewhat protective over you. it wasn't like you were his bodyguard or anything clearly, but still. he always liked how you treated him just like you’d treat anyone else.

“satoru..” you'd cut him off from his deep thoughts. “your phone keeps beeping.”

“huuuuh?” he grouches, ears perking at the annoying screech of his device. gojo’s thumbs remain against both edges of your ass before he breaks off his lips, a long string of his saliva running down your slit. “oh, can you hand it to me?”

he's so nonchalant, and with your back still arched, you lightly fling his phone towards him.

he grumbles.

picking up the phone, typing in his twenty-one digit passcode of ‘sexymansexyspraycan69’ before with a click, it unlocks. gojo darts his eyes towards his phone and hums at the five messages left by his manager, kento nanami. 

‘Greetings. Where are you? Message me Ass.’

‘ASAP. Autocorrect.’

‘Your fans think your dead.’

‘Don’t tell me you're busy with that assistant of yours again.’

‘When your sales start going low, don't blame me.’

and many more unread, “blah blah yeah yeah,” gojo murmurs, skimming through the loads of unread gray bubbled messages. “nothing important. geez, can't have a single moment to myself.”

you were so close to orgasming and that's when gojo flips you over to face him—you're panting and he flashes you a soft smile, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “aw, waiting for me?” he whispers, bringing a gentle kiss towards the inner corner of your neck. his touch was immensely warm, something you just couldn't describe. “you wanna cum don't you, baby?

“m-mhmm.” was all you could manage out, wrapping your arms around him as he got right between you. gojo continues to trail kisses down your neck before chuckling. 

“use those words, c’mon. don't be shy. i wanna hear ya tell me what you want.”

the way he was such a tease, you couldn't stand him, then again you could. so annoying, gojo’s warmth of his performing outfit brushed against your skin. the perfectly knitted fabric of it dancing against your skin as he inched closer towards you. “tell me how much of a messy girl you wanna be.”

“i—” you started, and he took a moment to stare into your eyes. gojo looked so pretty, smug yes, but pretty. long lashes each time he blinked, fluttering against him. whenever he showcased that well-known cheeky smile of his, his dimples would poke right against his lips. “i-i wanna cum. please, lemme cum, ‘toru..”

“pretty girllll wants to cummmm,” he sings in a playful melodic tune. again, you couldn't stand him. singing right in the middle of something so intimate. gojo runs a hand down your buttoned-up shirt before chuckling. “hm, i suppose. go ahead, let go fʼr me.”

once you do, immediately your vision turns dizzy. all you saw was a few blotches of white, and it feels so good that the feelings have you biting down on your lip. gojo leans into your neck, whispering sweet nothings against you while giving your ass a soft caress.

“good girl, just let go…yeah,” he purrs, giving your collarbone a gentle suck. you taste so sweet to him. you're addicting, simple as that. like candy, he can't get enough of.

gojo satoru had a sweet tooth for you, there was no doubt about it. “fuck, i can just suck on you all day,” he utters in a low voice, and his warm hands part your thighs so he can get a bit more between you. “i need more…fuck the fans, i need you.”

“idiot, don’t say that..” you moan, and he's kissing all down the crevices of your neck again. gojo’s lips against your tender skin gave you chills. even still, you were so hot, from the neck down. it felt amazing, the feeling of him sucking and kissing against your skin to such a point that you're just throbbing. “t-they’re waiting for you.”

“they can keep waiting,” he smiles, leaning down to kiss near your chest, moving the exclusive backstage lanyard pass away with a slight grip. “damn, you don't know how hard i’ve been during rehearsal. i—i think about you, you know?”

you gawk up at him as his body towers over you, his costume glimmers in the light before he starts to peel it off carefully. you were taken by surprise so you mutter, “you…you do?”

“well yeah girl,” he rolls his eyes, such sass in his tone, following with the low rasp that hid underneath his voice. “you drive me crazy in the worst way.”

“the feeling’s mutual, popstar.” you utter, a glint in your eye.

“hmpf. now that i was nice enough to let you cum, you decide to be a brat, huh?” he raises a brow, using two fingers to brush his mic piece aside. 

a coyish grin goes against your lips. “sorry. are you gonna do anything about it?”

“…shut up..” he grumbles, and he does. 

pretty much, you then found yourself on your hands and knees on the couch, feeling gojo caress your ass briefly before meeting the mounds of your skin with a mean spank.

you suck in shortened breath. “ooh,” he says as you moan in unison with the light thwack. “you get off on spanks, huh?” he utters in a grouse, the feeling of his palm kissing against your skin making you continuously pulse. 

“n-no.” you spat. 

“liar,” he matches your snarky tone, and you let off a gasp once you feel him finally rub the tip of his dick against your folds. gojo grows abnormally quiet the minute your slick coats his length freely. “fuckkk,” he sighs, eyes closing for a short second. you teasingly wriggled your ass against him and he spanks you again. “you’re so impatient, wait.”

“do you even know how to fuck?” you slip out, and you held back a giggle. perhaps you shouldn't have said that, your thoughts did speak way more than they should anyway. 

gojo’s eyebrows curl into a furrow, and his voice genuinely sounds offended. “wha—?! of course i  do.”

“just asking.” you tease. 

“just asking,” he mocks your tone, completely butchering it purposely and gojo slowly starts to make his way inside of your tight pussy. he's gradually moving himself in, and you let off a moan before he continues, “yeah. shut the f-fuck up.”

a small grin stretches against your lips because you hear how gojo stutters whilst sinking inches into you. even while trying to be mean and degrading, he was so close to moaning himself. it was simply adorable. you maintained a mere pristine arch while biting the inside of your cheek once more. 

“you're s-so wet ‘n sloppy,” he huffs out a groan, and the squelches your pussy made against him were simply enticing. for a second, you grew mute once you gave your own body a listen. just the faint sounds of gojo’s jagged breathing, “f-fuck, ‘s good. keep facing that way, just like that. good.”

gojo’s touch against your spine was purely gossamer. 

he was soft, gentle, delicate.

yet the minute he started to create a pace with his rollicked hips, he couldn't contain himself. the way his dick probed throughout your walls, you kissed your teeth in longing—just for him to just hurry.

gojo was always such a tease, the fat plump head of his cock dabbing against your pussy. 

“s-stop playing and just put it in.” you moaned, growing impatient by the mile. 

“heh, you know what they say,” he mumbles, you pulse even more once you feel him slide in about a single inch or two…only to then go right back out. “patience is a virgin.”

“…it’s virtue.”

“that’s what i sai—”

“just fuck me.” you whined. 

gojo giggles, and finally, he starts up his slovenly pace again. he grips your hips before sighing. he takes note of the way you progressively suck him in.

you linger over the couch, the fabric of your pencil skirt just hovering over your waist before gojo starts to sway his hips. 

you had to stop yourself from being so noisy, executives were probably in the other room.

some kind of meeting perhaps occurring, yet here you were, happily entangled with your client. such thick inches he was dumping into you had nearly drooling. gojo’s base was rotund and fat, thwacking and thwacking against you to where you were so dizzy. 

“f-fuck, ‘toru.. ‘s good,” you whined, every few seconds he’d smack your ass to watch your ass jiggle with such recoil. it was one of his favorite moments to witness. as your lips stuck together, your thighs already felt weak and tremulous. 

“damn girl…didn't expect you to s-start throwin’ yourself back again me,” he sibilates, and for a concise moment, his head goes back. a groan flies past his glossed pink lips as your ass continued to thrash against him. “you're such a needy girl. tryna…f-fuck me back..”

the way his voice unintentionally got low whenever he was in such a trance had you throbbing, such convulses making you nearly weak in the knees.

to you, the feeling was indescribable. such pools of heat ran between your legs the more his thrusts picked up.

his dick reached every spot, so much so being precise—you felt the curve of his length analyze throughout your inner walls. it didn't miss a spot, he reached deep and you let off the cutest whimper. “god, r-right there. please, ‘toru. y-your curve, ‘s reaching me deep.”

“you f-flatter me,” he pants, trying to ignore his flusteredness. gojo’s right hand, the hand that had a half-cut open glitter glove that coordinated alongside his outfit ghosts against your ass. his lip quivers from his pace, and the way your pussy just sucks him dry, a few splotches of pre-cum cutely coated against the outer part of your ass. “fuck, dunno how much i can take with you movin’ your ass against me like that…shit, shit.”

“…s-satoru,” you breathed, biting down on your arm to suppress your moans a bit. not before long, he deepens the angle and you feel his sharped hips piston in utter contentment. “fuck, f-fuck. ‘s deep.”

gojo groans, swallowing the nonexistent lump in his throat before he feels himself coming close.

“think you’re gonna m-milk me dry,” he gasps, jerk after jerk his hips go against you at full throttle. the base of his dick, you hear the pap pap pap noises commence, and it’s so obscene. “shit, think ‘m in love,” and then you grow hot. it’s a long inelegant pause before he adds to his words, “…i-in love with your pussy.”

you were gonna comment on something, but you were too fucked dumb to comprehend anything. you’re being fucked stupid into the cushioned sofa. the cottony bristles of the fabric went against your skin as your body lurched forward each time. 

splaying at an almost animalistic pace, gojo’s ears, the very tips of them at least grow incredibly hot, you’re making his body heat up, scorching. the way your pussy tightly hugged around him like a vice, he was obsessed.

he just couldn’t get enough. to think this was the first time he’s been this intimate with you—oh, how he could only imagine what it’d be like for a second time, or a third time, or a…

“s-satoru, your phone’s ringing..”

he grunts, glancing down to see the bright-lit screen display, and this time it’s geto. with an eye roll, he ignores it, still gripping your hips, he’s attaining his peak before he lets off a husky groan. “f-fuck, ‘m gonna cum.. can i—?”

“y-yes, jus’ do it, ‘toru,” you spoke, not even letting him finish his sentence—you knew what he was gonna ask though if he could shoot inside. you were so drunk from his dick, thoughts on your mind were straight mush. 

“okay, okay,” he breathes, and even his moans were pretty. figures, gojo was a soprano, so he was bound to sound angelic, even while moaning his head off. it had the perfect pitch to it, such rasp in it, almost breathy. 

you feel gojo’s pelvic bone thrust a bit more at a quickened pace, accelerating just a bit more and his nerves were just going wild. “fuck, f-fuck..” he grunts, and he starts to grow a bit whiney, his sloppy hits against your rear made out to be a tad bit voluntary, rhythm a bit more expedite, and he clenched his jaw. 

once gojo came, it's so much.

thick ropes that seeped right into you. you moan, and he pauses his hips just to watch, feeling himself pouring all inside. velvety ropes of the popstar’s cum fills you up to the brim. you're panting, he's panting, and gojo was in love.

was it love? he didn't know, but his pupils were dilated for sure. 

his breath hitches once he pulls out, watching his cum slowly spill out between your folds and he lets off a moan. “made me fuck such a mess into you,” he spouts, running a thumb down your slit to watch you cutely jounce against his touch. 

“you ruined my panties,” you whined, turning over to face him—gojo leaned in for a kiss, and you returned the favor, tasting yourself once more on his lips. the sweetened taste of your slick that remained all over his tongue. 

“baby, it's not like you need them,” he rasps, grabbing ahold of you, and he positions you to get on his lap. “besides, i was gonna ask to keep them.”

“why?” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his neck, slipping off a moan at his already sensitive tip hovering against your entrance as you realigned yourself. 

timidly, he runs a hand down his neck. “y’know. for uh…good luck? was gonna keep them in my pocket or something.”

“you're so—”

“shhh.” he hums, interrupting your words for another tender kiss. your tongue slides against his, and he tastes minty.

as his breath collides against yours, you playfully bite down on his lip. gojo grunts, and he’s making your way inside again. gingerly, you sink against his thick base and he gives your ass a mean squeeze before spanking it once you start to move. 

“oh f-fuck…fuck, forgot how sensitive-” he hiccups, watching with half-lidded eyes at your hips rotating against him in an orderly fashion. you moan from his pleasure, taking a second to swallow before whimpering—softly, you kiss against his neck and he grunts. “you-you make me feel so good, baby.”

gojo’s almost at a loss for words, he’s had his fair share of women, but none could make him feel like this.

besides, he's never had the time. touring day in and day out was a hassle, and intimacy was a straight no due to his overly busy schedule. 

although, whilst the two of you were screwing around, making out and you're riding him, cowgirl, that’s right when the wooden creaky door bursts open.

not to anyone’s surprise, it's no one other than gojo’s best friend and bassist, suguru geto.

“you've got to be joking,” he utters with crossed arms, immediately darting his eyes away. “everyone’s been calling you, there's a search party, and—”

geto pauses, tilting his head. “…is that my clothes you're wearing, satoru?”

“suguru…hey man,” gojo gasps, nervous laughter following his tone—you jump in surprise, and he wraps an arm around your waist. “i’m… kinda busy here.”

“i don't give a fuck,” he grumbles. “by the way. your mic was on the entire time. you moan like a girl more than her.”

gojo’s eyes widen, reaching for the tiny button near the edge of his mic.

indeed, the switch was turned on and he awkwardly laughed, bringing the speaking part up to his lips.

“eheh…hey mic check?” and he could hear himself echo through the earpiece. embarrassing.

despite you still being inside, you just sat there—geto staring away, not even trying to comprehend what was happening before gojo coos out a subtle cheeky, “uh…i didn't know my mic was on. my bad.”

“you're so stupid...” you run a hand against your forehead in disbelief. an entire stadium practically heard the both of you. 

the heels of geto turned before gojo brought a finger against your lips to shush, and he pouts. “sugu wait,”

“what.” he mutters, turning back around. 

“wanna join…? don't think a few more minutes wouldn't hurt…r-right?”

“…….”