#i might make this into a real fic at some point

[jazziejax]

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐤 ‘𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐃𝐚𝐰𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Cowboy!Terry Richmond x Black!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - They had always had this lingering tensions between them. But not it seems that whatever feelings were there have now boiled over and at the Sweet Tooth Saloon, things get a little hot.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - 18+!, MINORS DNI, Heavy tension, sensual dancing, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), soft!Terry, mild dominance, tender aftercare, implied feelings

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - since yall only like me when I write about Aaron Pierre 🙄 I’m not good at wiring smut and I don’t even like doing it but this is something to hold yall over in case I drop off the fave if the earth soon. I have Finals next week :( UNEDITED, sorry for any spelling errors and grammar mistakes. There probably many because my laptop over heated…also, I can’t write a short fic to save my life.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭- 9,567+

The small bell above the door jingled as the large man stepped into the beauty salon, ducking slightly to avoid the low-hanging dried herbs strung up near the entrance. The scent of lavender and bergamot mixed with the faintest trace of hot iron and other chemicals, the kind used to curl or straighten a lady’s hair.

He had never set foot in a place like this before. Not because he didn’t believe in looking presentable—he just never trusted another person with a razor near his throat. And, to be honest, he didn't mind looking rough sometimes, but he was starting to become a little self-conscious whenever a woman looked at him for too long. Especially her. But the dust of the road clung to him, so his beard and his hair had grown past the point of comfort as he and his comrades spent more time than they thought in Sugar Cane Creek. Everything needed a trim. At least, the mirror at the bar last night told him as much, and Jim had made a comment about him “starting to look like a wild man”.

Terry didn’t care much what people thought, but he cared about feeling like himself.

A woman stood behind the counter, fingers-deep in a bowl of soapy water, scrubbing a comb. The early morning light that poured through the shop window was caught in her dark hair, making it shine like polished mahogany. She looked up, recognizing him instantly—because who in Sugar Cane Creek didn’t know who he rode with? But she didn’t stiffen or frown like some folk did when they saw a man from the Nat Love Gang.

Instead, she wiped her hands on a cloth, tilted her head, and smiled just enough to let him know she wasn’t afraid.

“Well, well." She mused, setting her rag aside. “Never thought I’d see the day you walked in here.” She said, a soft grin on her face. Her voice was as rich and smooth as honey fresh from the comb.

Terry removed his hat with a sigh, brushing a hand over his curls that had gotten a little thick on top of his head. “I think I'm in need of a trim.”

She raised a brow. “Hair or beard?”

“Both.”

Her gaze flickered over him, lingering on the rough edges of his beard. “I’ll say. Starting to look real close to a mountain man.” She quipped. Terry, however, didn’t smile, but something in his dark eyes did shift, a flicker of amusement that only she would catch. They had always danced around one another. Something they had been doing for a while now—exchanging looks in town while Terry earned his keep over at Cotton's and she began to start her work day at The Blush and Brush Parlor, brushing shoulders when they shared time at The Sweet Tooth Saloon. He was a quiet man, but she liked that about him. A man who didn’t talk just to fill space.

Her eyes flickered over his face, then lower to where his suede, dark brown, coat stretched broad across his shoulders. “Take your coat off." She said, already gathering her scissors. “You might be here a while.”

Terry hesitated, looking down at the shorter woman with a tired look. "Don't talk about me like I'm some sort of ruffian, now." He said, his voice deep and his country drawl thick. The brown skinned woman gave him a faux pout with a small laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry, bright eyes, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Now take a seat and let’s get you looking decent again, okay?" She grinned, playing coy with him. Terry didn't flinch at the name, but a small twitch was his lip was noticeable to her before he then shrugged out of his coat and laid it over the empty chair not far from him. He then sat down in the chair she stood in front of, allowing the woman to drape a sheet over his front, tying it at the back of his neck with nimble fingers before combing through his hair. She was gentle, but precise—no wasted movements, no hesitation.

"You know how to do men's hair?" He asked.

"Yup." She said. “Been cutting my daddy’s since I was eight. Used to say I was better than any barber in town.” He could hear the smile in her tone at the thought, though it veered off into something a little sad.

Terry hummed, the closest he’d come to laughter anyways, but he could also tell that the subject was a little sensitive to her. He let her work, let the soft snip of the scissors fill the quiet. Every so often, he felt the barest brush of her fingertips against his skin. He could also feel her large chest brush against the back of his neck every now and then, causing him to look up into the mirror in front of him, watching the woman work. He wasn’t a man who flinched easy, but something about that gentle touch made him tense in a way he couldn’t explain.

The shop was quiet except for the snip of her scissors. She worked with practiced ease, combing through his hair, trimming away the weight. Every so often, her fingers brushed the nape of his neck, light and deliberate. She felt the way he tensed, barely noticeable, but there.

“Relax, cowboy." She teased. “I ain’t gon' hurt you.” She said softly.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, settling into the chair.

She then suddenly grabbed the side of his head, straightening his head and looking at him though the mirror. He wasn't quite sure what she was doing, but he didn't question it as he watched her intensely though the mirror.

“Alright." She murmured after a while. “That’s the hair. Now the tricky part.”

She brush the excess hair from him before she turned to the washbasin, dipping a cloth into warm water before wringing it out. He expected her to hand it to him, but instead, she pressed it against his face herself. She held his head steady with her other hand, gripping his chin. And he couldn't help but wonder if she did the same procedures with all her clients, because even though his hair looked better than before, the way she was touching felt oddly intimate. The heat from her touch as well as the warm cloth sank into his skin, soothing the roughness of travel and the dry air. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that.

She worked carefully, rubbing a mixture of soap and oil into his beard before picking up the straight razor. She tested the blade against her thumb. She hummed before moving over to the leather strap against the wall to give it a quick sharpen. She tested it again, obviously to her liking since she walked back over and tipped his chin up with two fingers.

“You ever had a woman shave you before?” She asked, looking up from inspecting his unruly beard to lock eyes with his bright ones. It was a simple question, calling for a simple answer, but their gazes were intense. Terry shook his head, just barely, caught in her big eyes and soft touch as he licked his lips.

His response, or lack there of, caused her to grin. “Good. Means you’ll keep still.” She said, only leaning in briefly as she joked with him, but her sudden contact made allowed him to catch a whiff of sweet scent like, something like Ambrosia.

“Lean back,” She instructed, her foot hovering over the pump that allowed the chair to recline. Terry hesitated, blinking at her. It's not that he didn't trust her, he'd known her for quite some time now. He trusted her hands in his hair, but a blade near his throat? That was different. He never trusted anyone that much, not even his closest comrades. It's the reason why all his self-cut's were a little choppy. Something that wouldn't have mattered if he was still up to his outlaw duties and on the road. But now he was spending his time in saloon's and around beauties they didn't offer at home.

She caught the shift in his posture, her smirk turning knowing. “You scared?” She questioned.

Terry met her gaze, his own steady. “No.”

“Then sit still.” She said before she pushed down on the pump under the chair, allowing it to recline. And that he did, opening his growing facial hair to her, ample room left in case of his worst fear. But he had no reason to fear her and her intentions, because her blade was steady. Her hands were sure, and he trusted her, even though he had no reason to.

The razor glided slow, careful. She kept her grip steady, the blade sharp and sure as it skimmed along his jaw. The heat of the late afternoon pressed into the shop, thick and lazy, but it wasn’t what made her skin prickle. It wasn’t what sent that slow, creeping flush up her neck, settling warm in her cheeks.

No, that was him. It was his eyes that were watching her.

They were unblinking, steady, tracking her every move like a man who had nowhere else to be. He was always like this—silent, still, and always looking—but something about it felt different now. Maybe because they were closer than usual. Maybe because she could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the slow rise and fall of his chest under the weight of her touch.

She set her jaw, trying not to let on just how much she felt him. The every move he made under her touch.

Instead, she focused.

“Bet you’re the kind of man who don’t like feeling vulnerable." She murmured, trying to make small talk with staring man.

Terry’s eyes stayed on her. “You talk too much.” He said, quirking a brow at her. She chuckled, dragging the blade along his jawline. “Maybe. But you don’t talk enough, so it evens out.”

Her hand shifted, fingers pressing just beneath his chin as she tilted his head for a better angle. He was warm beneath her touch, his pulse steady, but she felt it jump when her nails scraped lightly against his throat. She tilted his chin just slightly, her fingers light under his jaw, and dragged the blade down his throat in a slow, deliberate motion. He let her, not moving, not even swallowing, though she could see the tight pull of his muscles beneath his skin, right at the peek of his shirt.

She shouldn’t be looking there, but how could she not? This hunk of a man was lying below her, almost open and willing as he gazed up her with a soft look in his eyes. The air between them was thick, something unspoken curling at the edges. Her grip on the razor tightened just a little as she worked, and his gaze burned hotter for it.

“You always watch this hard?” She asked finally, keeping her tone light as she wiped the hair she cut on a rag after shaking it off in the water basin and then wiping it away. She glanced up some, catching sight of his lips—pink, full, and slightly parted—tipped up at the corner. “Always.” That single word, rough and low, sent something straight to her stomach.

She swallowed as she continued working, trying her best to focus, steadying herself. She wasn’t about to let him get the better of her, no matter how much heat curled between them. But she also took her time finishing the shave, enjoying the rare sight of the outlaw that is Terry Richmond—silent, still, and at her mercy.

“You’re awful quiet for a man with so much to say in his eyes." She murmured, brushing away the lingering shaving foam with the pad of her thumb. Her hand lingered a second too long, caught in the shape of his jaw. Terry still didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched her.

“Didn’t know I needed to talk." He said, and she could’ve sworn she saw his blue eyes flicker to a sea green as the light hit them. The warmth in her cheeks…and else where, deepened. She pulled back, making quick work of the last stroke of hair she had to eliminate, but her hands weren’t as steady as before.

And he knew that.

By the time she was done, the shop felt too small, too warm, too much. She grabbed the cloth and wiped his face cleaning, looking at her finished product around his mouth. Her eyes met his briefly as she took in the goatee she set him up with, a small smile beginning to grace his feature as his eyes bounced across her face. She cleared her throat softly, wiping an imaginary spot of lather from his jaw and leaned back to admire her work. “There. You clean up nice, cowboy.” She said with a grin.

She turned, quickly wiping the blade clean, setting it aside, and moving a few steps away to compose herself as she gathered the material she sat out in front of the mirror.

But then she felt him stand up from the chair, taking the cape off. She felt the shift in the air when he got close—just behind her. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him at her back. She glanced up, watching as he inspected his face in the mirror from behind her. He rubbed his large hands across his face, taking in his fresh look. He only did that for a few seconds before his gazed dropped to the round woman below him. He her her eyes in the mirror, nothing but an exchange between their eyes. She was the only to look away first, cleaning the station.

Terry sat the hair cape he had in his hands in the chair, looking as himself one last time before he hummed in content. He place his hand on her shoulder, large over her breakers that was far from small. “Good job.” He said, voice low near her ear. He then stepped away, his hand dragging down and across the back of her waist as he moved over to shoulder on his coat. She froze at the feeling of him touching her, and then gulped at his fingers tracking off her body. She looked up, looking herself in the eye and blinking, making sure this was all real, before looking in the mirror to watch him put the coat over his large frame.

Terry ran a hand over his chin, feeling the smoothness. He met her gaze, something unspoken passing between them.

“How much?” He asked after putting on his hat, straightening his clothing, and she tried not to get distract by the way he grabbed his belt, using it to adjust his pants. She turns, tiring her head at him as she gave him a noticeable once over. “Hmm.” She stated with a hum, placing her hands on her hips as she stepped closer. “Well, if you were any other customer, I’d charge five cent. But for you, Terry Richmond, I’ll charge you three.” She smiled.

Terry’s lips twitched, his expression unreadable as he glanced off into the distance out side of the parlor’s windows. He adjusted his belt, the large buckle dinging softly while the leather shifted under his grip. His eyes, sharp and knowing, flicked back to her.

“Three cents, huh?” His voice was smooth, lazy, but there was an edge to it—like he was turning something over in his mind. “Mighty generous of you. Can’t help but to think I’m special.” He quipped, though his tone never really wavered from his deep baritone and his serious manner.

She lifted a brow, arms still crossed as she tilted her head at him. “Well, I’m feelin’ kind.” She smiled, playing along to the game she knew she started, all for the hell of it.

That little smirk of his deepened. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, closing some of the space she’d put between them. She felt it immediately—his warmth, his presence. It was impossible not to.

“You always this kind? Or only to me?” His voice had dropped, rough and low, like gravel dipped in honey.

Her pulse skipped. She held his gaze, not backing down, but he knew what he was doing. He knew the way his voice curled around her, the way his eyes made her skin prickle. Her breath caught, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she kept her expression even, playful, letting her smile linger as she tilted her chin up at him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She murmured, voice smooth as satin. “Mr. Special.” She finished, a certain glint in her eye as she tilted her chin just slightly—like she wasn’t the least bit affected. Like she wasn’t keenly aware of just how close he was now.

Terry huffed a quiet chuckle, but there was something else in his eyes—something sharp, knowing. His gaze flickered down, just briefly at the Lowe part of her face, before settling back on hers. His presence was suffocating in the best way, heavy and warm, filling up the little space between them.

“I would.” He admitted, voice slow and deliberate, like he was testing the weight of the words. “Got a feelin’ the answer might keep me up at night.” He said, crossing his arms.

She let out a soft laugh, looking away from his heavy stare as she shook her head. The heat curling in her stomach was unmistakable. He was good—too good. And she didn’t now how’s long she last in this little game they always played before she pounced on him.

“Don’t go losin’ sleep over me, Richmond.” She teased, even as her pulse thrummed in her ears. She breezed past him, making sure her side brushed against his as she moving over to the small counter on the left side of the door. His eyes trailed down her figure once her back was to him, taking in her round and voluptuous curves from behind. “Wouldn’t wanna be the cause of your troubles.” She finished as she turned to look at him from behind the counter. She leaned her weight in the counter, her hand clasped together with her forearms resting on cold wood. She watched as Terry stood there for a moment, the look in his eye darker than before as he stated at her. He then blinked before moving, not taking his eyes from her with his pace slow and deliberate before he stood on the other side of the counter, looking down at the woman.

Terry tilted his head slightly, studying her like he was seeing something no one else had the sense to look for.

“Too late for that.” He said. The words were quiet, but they landed heavy between them, sending a shiver straight down her spine. Before she could find something clever to throw back at him after gulping, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver dollar, and placed it on the counter in front of her hands. His fingers brushed hers, Cushing him to glance down at the small touch.

He then looked back up, his blue eyes staring into her brown ones. “That oughta cover the next few visits.” He said, voice even, but there was that flicker of something else in his eyes again—something smug, something dangerous.

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s too much.”

Terry simply shook his head, glancing away from her. “Nah.”

She narrowed her gaze at him, lips parting slightly, but he was already shrugging into his coat, the weight of his scent—tobacco and something deep, something him—lingering in the air. “And here I thought you didn’t like to talk.” She mused, watching him, arms placed on the counter as she thought over all their silent but pleasant times together in the Saloon while the rest of the gang chatted.

Terry confined to gaze at her, his eyes taking across her face. “I don’t.” He said, his smirk lazy, knowing. He paused, casting her a slow, lingering glance—one that made her stomach twist up in knots. He then turned to the door, but before pausing and casting one last glance over his shoulder. His gaze swept over her—slow, deliberate, enough to make the air feel thick with something unspoken. Then, after a beat—“But you make it worth it, Mrs.Special.” Then he tipped his hat and walked out.

And then, just like that, he was gone, leaving her standing there, staring after him, her heart racing, her face burning hotter than a summer’s day in Cane Creek, her fingers gripping the counter a little tighter than before and the lingering ghost of his eyes still burning against her skin.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The Sweet Tooth Saloon was alive tonight—thick with the scent of whiskey, tobacco, and the heat of too many bodies pressed close together. Laughter and conversation swirled beneath the hum of string instruments, boots tapping against the wooden floor. The music was thick, rolling through the air like smoke, wrapping around every body packed into the space. Heat clung to the walls, thick with whiskey, sweat, and the deep, throaty hum of anticipation.

But all of it quieted—just a little—when she stepped onto the stage. Her deep red dress hugging her curves, sinching in her waist and pushing up her breast.

The pianist struck a slow, rolling tune, and a hush fell over the crowd like a held breath. She let them wait, dragging her fingertips along the microphone stand, tilting her head slightly as she took in the sea of faces before her. Then, just when the tension thickened, she let her voice pour out, smooth and rich like warm molasses.

The song was sultry, the kind that curled its way around a man’s spine and made him lean in just a little closer, made him think about things he shouldn’t in a room full of people. And Lord, did they lean in. The entire saloon was hanging onto her voice, watching the way she swayed, the way her fingers trailed down her own arm, the way she made every lyric sound like a promise whispered against bare skin.

Men leaned closer, their drinks forgotten, their gazes fixed on the woman commanding the stage. Her voice was rich, full of promise, of something dark and sweet.

But there was only one pair of eyes she felt, steady and unwavering through the thick haze of smoke and lantern light. In the very back, where the light barely reached, where the smoke curled the thickest—she saw him.

Terry Richmond.

He was leaning against the bar, broad and still, his hat tilted low but not enough to hide the way his bright eyes. He was half-shrouded in shadow, his bright blue gaze cutting through the dim like a knife. He wasn’t drinking, wasn’t talking—just watching.

Her heart skipped a little.

Heat licked up her spine at the intensity of it, but she didn’t let it shake her. She didn’t falter under his gaze. Instead, she let it fuel her, let it shape the way she sang, the way her lips curved around the lyrics, the way she dragged her fingers over the curve of her own waist. If he wanted to look, she was gonna give him something worth looking at.

She kept singing, dragging out the final note, letting it settle over the room like the last flicker of a candle before it goes out. By the time the last note left her lips, the saloon erupted in cheers, men whistling, clapping, stomping their boots against the floor. She gave a slow, knowing smile, dipping into a slight bow before stepping down from the stage.

She didn’t make a show of looking for him, but she knew exactly where she was going.

The moment she reached the bar, a whiskey was already waiting for her—on the house, as always. She took a slow sip, letting the burn settle deep before finally turning, finally meeting his gaze up close. The bar was crowded, but somehow, the space next to Terry was clear. He didn’t look at her right away, just lifted a hand slightly to catch the bartender’s attention. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He just looked at her, that same unreadable expression on his face.

“Whiskey?” He asked, voice low, smooth like dark molasses as he gave a small gesture to the glass she already downed. She leaned against the counter, close enough that the edge of her skirt brushed his leg. “You know me too well.” She grinned, already feeling the buzz that the alcohol as giving her. At that, Terry slid a silver coin across the counter, and within seconds, a glass was in front of her. She looked away from him as she took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in her chest. She could feel him watching her, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. That was the thing about Terry—he could say more in a look than most men could in a thousand words.

“You always stare this hard, Richmond?” She asked, looking over at him with a tilt of her head once she had enough of the hard liquor, her voice still thick with the remnants of the song. His lips quirked, just barely, his eyes drifting over her figure. “Only when I like what I see.”

Her stomach flipped at his words, but she kept her expression even, playful. “That so?” She asked, a smirk in her lip and quirk of her brow. “That’s so.” He repeated in confirmation, then kicking his lips. Terry then leaned in just a fraction, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, close enough that she caught the scent of tobacco and cedarwood clinging to his coat.

“So much so.” He murmured, “That I might just have to get my hands on it.” Her breath caught, pulse quickening, but before she could say something sharp, something smart—before she could even decide if she wanted to—Terry’s head tilted slightly, his gaze flickering to the dance floor.

A new song had started.

Something slow. Something meant to be felt more than heard. She barely had time to set her glass down before Terry’s hand slid to her waist.

Without another word, without giving her the chance to refuse, his other hand reached for hers, his grip warm and sure as he led her away from the bar. Her breath hitched. Her heart pounded as she let him pull her into him, his palm settling low against her back. He didn’t ask. Didn’t say a damn word. Just pulled her onto the dance floor.

If he wanted to play with fire, she was more than happy to let him burn.

The moment they stepped into the space, bodies made room for them. Not out of fear, not tonight, but out of knowing. Because everyone in Sugar Cane Creek had eyes. And at that moment, everyone had seen the way Terry Richmond looked at her. The way she looked back.

The tension wrapped around them thick as smoke, curling in the air, pressing against their skin.

Terry moved slow, deliberate, his hand firm at the small of her back, the other clasping hers as he pulled her close—closer than what was proper, closer than what was wise. She let him, her breath shuddering as she settled into him, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. The saloon blurred around them, the lights dim, the chatter distant. None of it mattered. Not when his blue eyes were locked onto hers, not when she could feel the slow drag of his thumb against the back of her hand.

“You dance?” She murmured, her voice teasing, her lips dangerously close to his jaw. She felt him take in a breath with her chest against hers, and if she paused attention, she could’ve sworn she felt the way his heart was beating. “Only when I got reason to.” He answered, his voice a low rumble against her skin. “You given me plenty.” He said, his lips close to her ear as they danced.

She swallowed that his tone so close, heat curling in her belly. “Is that so?”

His fingers flexed against her back, pulling her that last inch closer. His breath, warm and slow, ghosted over her cheek. “Mmhmm.” He hummed with a lick of his lips, the sound causing his body to rumble against hers. She exhaled softly, turning her head just enough that their noses brushed, just enough that if either of them leaned in—just a little—they’d be past the point of no return.

The music swelled, the rhythm thick and slow, wrapping around them like a promise. The way they moved now—close, slow, like something dangerous just beneath the surface—only confirmed what they both had long suspected.

His hand was firm against the small of her back, his other clasping hers as he led her through the steps. It wasn’t a fast dance, nothing rowdy or wild, but it was just as electric. Every turn, every shift, had them pressing together. His breath skimmed the shell of her ear when he leaned in, his grip tightening just enough to let her feel the strength in his arms.

“You always hold a woman this close when you dance?” She whispered, looking up at him through her lashes. Terry’s lips barely curved, his smirk lazy, knowing. “Only when I don’t plan on lettin’ go.” He said, his eyes inspecting every crevice her face had to offer. He didn’t know if he’d bee be this close to her again, and he was taking advantage of the blessing he had to hold her in this way, and gaze at her face as he did.

Her breath hitched.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked.

Lord, the way he watched her. He looked at her as if she was the only thing in the room. Like he was memorizing her in real time. She met his gaze, bold as ever, and let her fingers trail slow up his shoulder, tracing the line of his coat until her nails met the hot skin of his neck. A muscle in his jaw ticked at that. His grip on her waist flexed. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

And then, just when she thought he might tip his head and close the space, just when she thought she might lose her damn mind waiting for it—

He pulled her into the next step of the dance, smooth as silk, a satisfied glint in those blue eyes of his. He was teasing her. Daring her.

If he wanted a game, she was more than happy to play.

“Oh, is that how you want to play?” She asked, feigning innocence while her pulse quickened with anticipation.

Terry’s smirk returned, a challenge wrapped in his expression. “You started it, darlin’.” He replied, stepping into her space that was no longer available due to him, their bodies flush against one another. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, lulling her in despite the playful facade they each wore. He controlled their movements with a firm yet gentle lead, the world around them fading as she lost herself in the intensity of his gaze and the cadence of their bodies moving in sync.

She narrowed her eyes, but her smirk was knowing. Two could play that game. She let her body press just a little closer, her curves molding against the hard lines of him, her breath a warm whisper against his cheek. He swallowed, his fingers tightening against her waist, a sharp inhale the only sign of restraint.

She felt it, that slip of control, and it sent something hot through her veins. "Careful, cowboy." She murmured, voice all honey and silk. "You might not want to let go, but I ain't so sure you can handle holdin’ on."

His eyes then darkened. His grip flexed, strong fingers digging into the curve of her waist, keeping her against him like he had no intention of letting her go. Not now. Not ever. Now, Terry didn’t scare easy. Didn’t flinch and didn’t fold to many.

But her?

She was dangerous in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Her voice, all thick honey and slow-drawn silk, wrapped around him, testing, teasing, tempting as it spilling through his ear and ran though his veins like it was his blood. Keeping his heart pumping. He could feel the shape of her, soft and warm against the hard planes of his body, the sway of their dance turning into something far more dangerous, far more intimate.

He leaned in, just enough that his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You think I can’t handle you?” He asked, his hands drifting lower as he practically engulfed her in his body. She let out a breathy little laugh, conveniently covering the way she took in a sudden breath at his touch, one that made his pulse jump, made his restraint strain at the edges. "Wouldn’t be the first man to try and fail, cowboy.” She whispered to him, her fingers brushing against the nape of his neck, feeling the freshly shaved haircut he had gotten only hours prior.

Terry exhaled through his nose, amused, darkly so.

She was pushing him, daring him. And he welcomed the challenge. So he let his hand slide lower, fingers grazing the base of her spine, just above the curve of her ass, applying the slightest pressure that had her breath catching. She was quick, though. Slipping her arms around his shoulders, she placed her hand on the back of his head, nails scratching ever so lightly. That same muscle in his jaw ticked again.

Her smirk widened.

That was it.

The last frayed thread of his patience snapped.

Without warning, Terry spun her, pressing her back against his front, effectively caging her in. The movement had her chest rising, her lips parting, and damn if that wasn’t the prettiest sight he’d ever seen as he looked down at her. His voice dropped, a low murmur only for her.

"Darlin'..." His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down the side of her neck, lingering at the base of her throat. He could feel her pulse hammering beneath his touch while his other hand rested low on her waist in the front, easing down to a place unimaginable in front of folks. “You’re playin’ with fire." He muttered.

She tilted her chin up, leaning her head back against his chest, gaze smoldering. "Good thing I ain't afraid to burn.” She whispered. And that was all he needed. He quickly spun her around and his mouth was on hers, rough and consuming, his kiss leaving no room for question, no space for anything but him—his hands, his body, the heat of him pressing against every part of her.

She met him with equal fervor, fingers fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth when he pressed himself fully against her. The saloon around them might as well have disappeared.

Nothing else existed in that moment. Just him and just her. That and the fire threatening to consume them both.

One moment, they were moving with the rhythm of the music, spinning slow in the dim glow of the saloon lights. The next, he was leading her off the floor, through the press of bodies, past the thick haze of cigar smoke and whiskey-scented air. The second the cool night air hit her skin, she was backed against the wooden frame of the saloon’s outer wall, the rough grain pressing into her spine, his body caging her in.

There was no more teasing, just as there was no more space between them. She barely had time to breathe before his lips found hers again. Slow, at first, like he was still savoring, still memorizing, but the second she sighed against his mouth, the second her fingers slid into his hair and pulled, something broke between them. The kiss turned hungry and deep.

Like he’d been starving for this—for her—for longer than he cared to admit.

She gasped when he gripped her thigh, hitching it up against his hip, pressing her flush against him, making her feel a bulge she that didn't know was his belt buckle, the crease of his jeans or his manhood. Heat coiled between them, urgent and burning, his mouth trailing from her lips to her jaw, down the curve of her neck. She tilted her head, giving him more, losing herself to the feel of him—the weight of his body, the heat of his breath, the quiet growl he let slip when she dragged her nails down his back. "Oh, Terry," She breathed, and damn if he didn’t shudder at the sound of it.

He lifted his head, his forehead pressing against hers, their breath mingling, their bodies still tangled together in the shadows. "I ain’t lettin’ go," He murmured, voice rough, edged with something dangerous. "Not tonight."

She grinned, breathless, running her fingers down the side of his face, feeling the slight roughness of his freshly shaven jaw. "Good." She said before grabbing him by the collar and pulling him to place her lips against her. The kiss lasted for mere seconds, a mash of panting breaths and slick tongues before Terry pulled away. He didn’t say a word before he took her hand, his fingers wrapping firm around hers, rough and warm. He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes, the quiet pull of his grip, said enough.

She followed him back through the saloon, past the clinking glasses and low murmur of conversation, past the haze of cigar smoke still hanging thick in the air. The wooden stairs creaked under their steps as he led her up, slow and steady, his thumb tracing slow circles against her palm like he was trying to keep himself anchored. Or like he was memorizing her touch.

She should’ve felt nervous. Should’ve felt some sense of hesitation as they moved further away from the music, from the people, from any excuse to slow this down.

But she didn’t. All she could focus on was him.

The broad stretch of his shoulders. The slow, deliberate pace of his steps. The way he glanced back at her over his shoulder, his blue eyes dark with something unreadable, something that made her stomach dip and heat coil between her ribs.

They reached his door.

And for a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stood there, facing the wood, his breath slow and measured like he was giving himself a second to think—to decide if this was a line he was ready to cross. Then, without a word, he pushed it open. The second they were inside, it changed.

The tension that had been simmering, stretching between them in the dance, in the way he watched her, in every unspoken moment leading up to this—it snapped.

She barely had time to take in the room before she was against the door, her back pressed against the worn wood, her breath stolen by the press of his body. Terry’s lips crashed against hers, no hesitation now, no teasing restraint. He kissed her like he’d been holding back for too damn long, like he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance again, and she felt it all. The hunger. The need. The slow, deep pull of something dangerously close to devotion.

She gasped when his hands—big, warm, calloused from work—spanned her waist, dragging her closer, molding her to him like he needed to feel every inch of her against him. His hands tacked down, bending slightly to gather the bunch of her skirt. He hiked it up, catching a feel of her warm thighs that molded under his grip. The feeling of her hands caused her to moan in his mouth, her hands moving over him feverishly as she was filled heat she was giving her. He didn’t hold back, moving his hands up for the back of her legs and gracing over the smooth skin of her ass. He tightened his grip, needing it and causing her to gasp into his mouth. He took his as an option to slip his tongue deeper, almost sucking on hers while he moved his hands to begin to untie the strings of her corset.

She didn’t hold back either. Her fingers found the buttons of his vest, fumbling with them, her hands eager and desperate to feel the heat of his skin. His breath hitched against her mouth when she dragged the fabric from his shoulders, then she felt the quiet rumble of a chuckle against her lips when she yanked his shirt free and ragged her hands down his ribbed abdomen, impatience getting the best of her.

"So eager.” He murmured against her lips, voice low and teasing.

She narrowed her eyes, nipping softly at his bottom lip with her teeth, her nails grazing down his chest, feeling the sharp inhale he took at the touch. "So are you." She purred.

And he didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he reached back down, cupped her though just under her ass, and lifted her, carrying her further into the room like she weighed nothing at all. She barely had time to register the shift before she felt the softness of the mattress beneath her, his weight pressing her down, his mouth trailing slow, lingering kisses down the column of her throat. His touch was slow and sensual, his hands finding any place to rub and caress. Like he was still memorizing, like he was savoring.

But the moment she whispered his name—breathy and wanting—something shifted again. His slow, deliberate control had snapped.

And neither of them held back anymore.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulled him closer as if she was trying to meld them into one. Terry's breath caught as his bulge hit her core, his hands gripped her tighter, holding her as if he were afraid she might slip away. The world outside faded -no clinking glasses, no murmurs, just the vibrant thud of their hearts battling for attention in the silence between their kisses. Their mouths slid together with a hunger that left her breathless. Every kiss deepened the fire sparking between them, waves of adrenaline crashing over her as she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him even closer as he dipped down to claim her throat once more. He kissed his way down, worshipping her skin with heated touches and soft bites, igniting every nerve ending in her body.

"Tell me what you want.” He murmured against her collarbone, his breath hot against the cool air of the room. “Come on, tell me baby. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” He breathed out. There was something dangerously tender in his rough but needy words, as if he genuinely wanted to know-not just in the heat of the moment, but in that space where everything was laid bare.

She didn't hesitate. "You. All of you. Right here, right now, baby. Give it to me." It was a wild and brisk admission, and a thrill shot through her at the honesty in her voice. She could feel Terry's pulse quicken at her words, a primal urge coursing through him. He raised his head, looking directly into her eyes, and in that moment, she understood. This was more than a fleeting encounter. This was a collision of desires that had been simmering for far too long.

With a sharp intake of breath, he dove back into her mouth, a feverish kiss that stole her thoughts and drowned her in pleasure. She felt the weight of him press into her, his body a delicious contradiction of strength and softness. He paused for the briefest moment to catch her gaze, the heat in his eyes burning deeper than before, and she sensed the shift—not just in the proximity of their bodies, but in the intensity of everything that hung between them.

"Are you sure?" He rasped, pulling back just enough for her to see the uncertainty mingled with desire in his eyes. She could sense it— the weight of the moment, the gravity of their choices. "Absolutely.” She replied, her heart racing with certainty. She reached for him again, pulling him closer, and felt a grin split his face as he dove into her once more, taking her breath and leaving nothing but a breathless gasp in its wake.

Their clothes were off in an instant.

Once her corset was off and the full expanse of her skin was showing, he sucked a nipple into his mouth, his tongue trace the outline of her areola to his heart's content before pulling away to show the other the same attention. He listened to her sigh and smiled. "I love the way you sound." He said before grumbling out her name.

"Yeah?" She sighed, eyes closed as she took in the feeling of his tongue as he licked up her sternum. "I love the way you say my name." She breathed.

"Yeah?" Terry releated as his hands drifted lower in her body. “ I love your body. Your perfect." He paused to place a kiss on her stomach. “Perfect.” Another kiss, this time below her belly button. “Perfect, body.” He finished, his warm breath blowing on her core. His hands moved from her waist, deriding lower to ease her legs apart as he took in the sigh before him. He audibly moaned at the sight, practically drooling as he looked at her. “So fucking pretty.” He whispered. He wanted to taste all she had to offer. Before she could sink in, She placed her hand on his head, pushing his head back. “Wait.” She said.

Terry looked up at her, his large blue eyes dark and blown with lust. “What is it baby?” He asked, licking his lips as his eyes trailed over her form laid out before him. Her eyes sifted away from his stare, biting at her bottom lip before she spoke. “I…I’ve never had a fella go down there before.” She said softly.

Terry’s smirk faded, his expression shifting into something softer, something reverent. He rested his hands on her hips, his thumbs stroking slow and reassuring circles against her skin, before he placed his head on her bender knee. “Ever?” He asked. His voice was quiet, almost disbelieving, but there was no judgment—just understanding, just care. And something a little more that neither of them knew.

She shook her head, eyes darting away, almost shy. “Ain’t never been with a man who wanted to.” She shrugged a bit, still biting at her lower lip.

Terry exhaled sharply, his brows pulling together for the briefest moment, like the thought alone frustrated him. He cupped the side of her thigh, grounding her, making sure she felt him, felt the sincerity in his touch.

“Well.” He said, voice warm and steady, “You got one now.”

Her eyes flickered back to his, searching, cautious. But all she found was certainty. His lips brushed against her skin, his breath warm as he murmured, “You just tell me what feels good, darlin’. I got you. I just want you to play back. You ain’t gotta worry no more.” He said, his voice going back into the deep ruble that set her ablaze. And the way he said it—so sure, so gentle—made something deep in her chest tighten. Because she believed him.

So that’s what she did, ladies back against the pillows and open her legs further, barring it all and offering it to him. And Terry took it with life, gratitude, as well as pure lust. Like a magnet, Terry's fingers found their way to her slick lips as he gathered wetness before dragging his skilled digits around her clit. Her breath audibly hitched from the contact, making him chuckle before he pressed his lips against her plump thigh, squeezing with the other hand. Slow circles, maddeningly slow and gentle enough to feel like nothing at all had her willing to agree to just about anything to get off.

He then lunged forward with hunger, letting his tongue do all the talking, slithering inside of her warm walls as his nose nudged her clit. She tensed up with every nudge, let out small pants at the unfamiliar yet raviging feeling that washed over her. He glanced down, watching as he freely put his face in her center. He made it messy enough to admire when he pulled his mouth off of her, her pussy glistening like he just doused her in oil.

"Ohh, look at you, baby.” The grumble that came deep from within his throat as he watched her cute clenched around nothing as she continued to whine from the loss of contact from above. And his green eyes on her most intimate parts made it so hard not to get hot and bothered even with him not doing anything. Her poor nub was jumping with excitement as he used his large fingers to spread her lips open. “Look who’s happy to see me." He said as he took in a sharp breath, feeling her slick coating his fingers, the sound of her wetness loud within the room. “You happy to see me, hun? Huh?“ He questioned, looking up at her.

She moan and nodded eagerly, bringing her hand to cover her mouth at the stimulation he was giving her down under. Terry smiled at that, sharp teeth flashing from under his lips. He tried to keep his eyes on hers, looking into her large orbs that were filled with pleasure and a slight sheen of tears at his touch, but her pussy that just kept sucking his fingers in had him in a trance as his sick standing at attention in his underwear. “Tell me you’re happy I’m down here. Making you feel so good.” He demanded. His tone didn’t leave anymore for defiance, which she took as she angered him. “I’m so happy you’re here, Terry. You feel so good, baby.” She whined out as best as she could, breaths short and rocked her hips into his fingers.

"Mmm, yeah, I know.” Terry grinned. “When the last time sometime touched you, huh?" He asked, but this time he got no response watching as she began to reach her high and feeling her clench around his finger. Tweeting pulled his hand back at that, causing the woman to whine at the loss of contact. “Tell me, hun, and we can continue.” He said.

"I-I don't remember.” She said, and she was telling the truth, she truly couldn't. It had to be nothing worth remembering, especially in comparison to what he was making her feel now.

"Well, I’m gon’ make sure you remember this, hear" He then bent down to deliver a bite to her plush thigh, almost as if he was warning her for what's to come before he dove his face back into her heat, slurping at her hard and soaked clit. Her belly was doing summersaults, she could barely contain her volume at the feeling of his long and warm muscle working a magic she’s never felt before. But her sounds were the last of his worries, they were actually only fuel to his already burning fire.

As he ate, he made noise. He moaned, grunted, groaned in her, letting he know and feel that he was having just as much fun as she was.

Her legs had began to shake the longer he was down there, her hands gripping onto the white sheets of the inn bed since that was all she had to hold on to after he practically ripped her’s and his clothes off beforehand.

"Yes! Yes, oh, yes! I'm so close, Terry baby.” She struggled to keep her eyes on him even with his staring back up at her over her pudge, his eyes low lidded and dark. They beckoned her to stay, to not go levee the edge just yet, but her pleasure had came rolling through like a monsoon and wiped all the thoughts from her brain. She was a shaking, blubbering mess under his weight as he continued to lick and eat at her juices. He moved his mouth away from her pussy only to replace it with his hand, rubbing her clit in tight circles as he subconsciously moved her hips.

"Just feel it, baby. Let it happen.” He cooed in that sexy country drawl. She tried to fight against his hand, her thighs subconsciously closing around his wrist. But he smacked his large hand into her juicy thighs and kept at it with his other hand until he felt like he was done. "Be still and met it happen, baby." He cooed, enticing another moan from the woman. She felt like she was literally about to float up into the heavens, her back arching up off of the couch just to get away from the overstimulation.

"Okay! Oh, Fuck!" She screamed. “Yes, Terry!” He moved his hand to allow her to go through the motions, watching as she twitched until that special feeling left her center. "Good job, baby.” He said, pressing a soft kiss on her thighs. “Good job, my pretty girl." Another kiss from him was placed beside her opened mouth as heavy breathing left as he moved up her body.

As the tremors faded from her body, she lay there, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim lights of the room. Her limbs felt weightless, boneless, as if she’d melted right into the bed.

Terry was still there, right where he had been, his hands firm on her thighs, holding her steady like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. He pressed slow, lingering kisses to the inside of her knee, then another, trailing up, as if savoring the aftermath.

When she finally opened her eyes, she found him watching her, his expression unreadable at first—like he was memorizing her in this moment, like he was trying to etch the sight of her pleasure into his bones. A slow, lazy smirk then tugged at his lips. “Ain’t never seen somethin’ so damn pretty.” His voice was rough, thick with satisfaction, but there was something else there too. Something deeper.

She let out a breathless laugh, her fingers finding their way into his hair, rubbing lightly. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special, cowboy.” She smirked. Terry hummed with chortle, leaning into her touch, his hands sliding up to rest at her waist as he crawled up beside her. “Ain’t about makin’ you feel special.” He murmured against her skin, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You already are.”

Her breath hitched, her heart fluttering in her chest at the way he said it—so simple, so certain. She turned her head to look at him, finding those piercing blue eyes already on her, unwavering. And for a moment, neither of them spoke. There was no need to.

Instead, she reached for him, guiding his face to hers, and kissed him slow—letting him feel exactly how much she believed him. She slowly came back to herself with her lips attached to his, still basking in the warmth of his touch. She let her fingers trail down his chest, her nails scraping lightly over the fabric of his briefs. She could feel the way his breath hitched, bus bulge rubbing against her. The tension still coiled tight in his body despite the easy way he lay beside her.

A slow smirk pulled at her lips as she traced top of his boxers, slipping her hand into them with practiced ease. “Reckon I should return the favor.” She murmured, her voice soft, teasing.

But before she could go any further, Terry’s hand caught hers—not rough, not forceful, just firm enough to stop her in place. She looked up, brows furrowing in confusion, but the look in his eyes made her pause. “Ain’t about that.” He said quietly, his voice still thick, still warm, but full of something deeper. He squeezed her fingers, rubbing slow circles into the back of her hand. “You just came down from somethin’ real intense, darlin’. I just wanna hold you right now.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard by his words, by the tenderness in them. “Terry, I—”

“I know.” He gave her a small, lazy smile, shifting so he could pull her closer against him. “We got time for all that. Just… let me have this. Let me have you right here in this exact moment. We might not ever get it again.”

And the way he said it, like holding her in his arms was just as much of a pleasure as anything else, sent something warm through her chest. They wet her already planned for this to be sitting more made her body flutter in a way only he can make happen. She sighed, settling against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. “That’s my good girl.” He said before placing a kiss on her warm skin.

And with that, they stayed there, tangled up in each other, letting the night stretch out slow and easy.

@kneelarmhstrung @winorlosetogether @joshuafatubaee

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@susanhill @sIvt4her @cryotrain @fakxmbj j

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[gothsuguru]

getting an iced pumpkin chai in the morning and then my personal goal is to spend the whole day writing and i hope i can come back to this post tomorrow and rb w how much progress i’ve made!!!

[luciality]

insane brain telling me to turn one of my oldest wip fics into an ask blog instead vs i dont wanna draw

[infizero]

grgrhgahahh i wanna read more pokespe but i cant do it on my phone and im not unpacking my stuff until the morning

[landofgodsxmonsters]

Perceus Jackson Percival Wilson

Perseus Jackson was born to Sally Jackson and Poseiden. He only knew their father for a few days before he left, Zeus forcing his father to leave or risk his wrath being turned on him and his mother. When he was 10 years old Poseidon was still on the search he was charged with by Amphitrite to find her sister, and he went to Nyx who directed him toward her daughters The Fates. When he reached them they told him in a much more roundabout way that he knew where Metis was, that he had met her and had a child with her.

The knowledge that Sally was in fact Metis having taken on a human form with Nyx's help was daunting when he remembered the prophecy of Metis birthing a son who would rival Zeus in strength. He knew that if Zeus found out 2 things were sure to happen, the first was him assuming that he had done this on purpose for leverage and the second was him trying to get rid of Percy well he wasn't a threat. He wanted neither thing to happen and so without consulting anyone else he made The Fates swear to keep this secret not a hard thing to do with how their mother favored Metis and made plans for faking Percy's death.

It wasn't until Percy was 12 that it happened, when he was on his quest and nearly died in the Underworld Poseidon appeared before he could break his pearl after the other 2 were gone. He asked Hades to unfreeze Sally and he spoke to her, Hades and Poseidon. He told Sally that he knew the truth about who she was and explained it to Hades, and that if he had managed to find out? It was only a matter of time before Zeus found out and turned his attention to Percy, more than it already was just being his son. Then he asked Hades for his help to fake Percy's death, and knowing the lengths he himself would go to in order to protect his children Hades agreed to avoid Poseidon taking more drastic measures.

It was easy enough to do seeing as Nyx appeared and agreed to take responsibility for hiding Percy if it came out, all of them swearing on the Styx to uphold their parts of the deal. It wasn't until Percy was 15 that he showed back up at camp, he had grown into himself enough and looking different enough and most didn't notice because of the small amount of time that he had spent at camp before his apparent death. The few that did notice were Grover and Annabeth, if Mr. D noticed then he didn't say anything. Chiron gave some suspicious looks when he showed up claiming to be a son of Amphitrite, but if he realized who he was he kept it to himself.

It wasn't until the The Battle in Manhatten happened that anyone realized he was actually Percy Jackson Son of Poseidon under an alias, Sally rushed to him at the end of the battle and was identified for who she was by Athena immediately. The question of "Mother?" was asked before she realized that this was Sally Jackson, night was falling by then though and Nyx appeared from the shadows and stood at Sally's shoulder where was holding onto Percy's arm and staring Zeus down from her spot. The threat was clear even if no one would speak it out loud, they had just finished one battle and no one was eager for another.

The tension was broken by Perci spoke, his words directed towards Zeus as he stated he had not reason or need to fight him and he wouldn't. He didn't want power, and unless he gave him a moral reason for it? He had no plan to fight the gods, he didn't want that power or responsibility. And so the agreement was made with the gods to build cabins for the minor gods and claim their children by a certain age, supporting the ones who needed it more than they currently were and being at least showing a sliver of care about their children's lives/

NOTE: After this yes, Heroes of Olympus happens. I shift it around a bit so that he's taken around 18 to give him and Annabeth time to actually bond and become a couple before he's taken but also bc god damn it these children need a break.

[simpurnatural]

“Our Little Secret” || Short-Fic

XO, Kitty - Min Ho Moon x Fem!Reader

Note from Nat: "Okay, but me coming back to Tumblr after binging xo kitty wasn't on my 2025 bingo card. We are so back babe! Enjoy these crumbs whilst I dust off my keyboard ToT"

Warning(s): Spoilers for "XO, Kitty" seasons 1 & 2, Smut, Language, Not Proofread

"I swear, if you get caught one of these days then you're on your own!" Q warned, Dae chuckling lightly as they watched Min Ho slipped on a pair of shoes.

"I won't get caught," Min Ho replied as he turned his head to face them. "When have I ever gotten caught?" he scoffed as he examined himself in the mirror.

"Uhm literally last week when you sprinted around campus in the early morning and only wearing underwear and socks," Q retorted from the couch before realizing, "That was a bit more of a close call if I'm being real here,".

"Exactly, never got caught and never will," Min Ho said with a sly smirk, "Plus, Y/n is in the solo unit dorms," he reminds before walking out the door.

"It'll only be a matter of time," Dae sighed, shaking his head at his best friend's recklessness.

You heard the sound of a knocks on your dorm room door, instantly recognizing the specific pattern to inform you that it was Min Ho waiting to be let in.

Hurriedly yet excitedly, you made your way to the door and swiftly opened it. Min Ho was taken aback by the clothes or rather the lack thereof it on your small frame.

"Why are you here so early?" you whispered, yanking him into the room before shutting the door behind you. "I haven't gotten my nightly dorm inspection yet,".

"Well, I couldn't wait to see you and who said we couldn't have some fun til’ they get here?" Min Ho replied in a hushed yet seductive tone, his eyes taking in the sight before him. "You wouldn't mind a little inspection of our own, would you?" he smirked as his has slithered their way around your waist.

You suddenly felt as though any clever retort you had bubbling in your system faded away. Min Ho pulled you in closely, allowing for you both to be basically sharing the same breath of air. He leaned in, catching your lips against his while tightening his hold on you.

With every kiss, the difficulty to pull away became more intense. You brushed your tongue against Min Ho’s lip as he backed you into the wall adjacent to the front door. His hands began to hike up your silk night gown.

“I could just take you right here,” Min Ho muttered under his breath, his cold hands making contact with your warm, soft skin.

The palm of his hand gently gave your breast a squeeze. You let out a whine as his icy cold touch messaged your chest. This only made the tent in Minh’s trousers tighter.

“But someone might hear us,” you say, an aching feeling beginning between your legs. “They could be here any minute,” you remind as Min Ho effortlessly lifted you off the ground.

“Then you better stay quiet,” he said without a hint of worry in his tone.

With one hand on your ass to keep you in place, he utilized the other to undo his belt and trousers. By this point, you were sure a whole waterfall had made its descent down your leg. Min Ho chuckled as he kicked his pants away from him after they pooled around his ankles.

He felt your clothed cunt throb, with only your panties and his boxers in the way. The notorious playboy has slept with countless girls but you were just so different. He had never been with someone who looked just as good on the outside as she felt when he’s inside

Wasting no time, Min Ho removed all remaining articles of clothing. The tip of his cock teased the lips of your pussy. He loved how your wetness basically coated his manhood like a glazed donut.

“M-Min Ho-“ you whimpered impatiently, just wanting to feel his dick be buried deep inside already. “Fuck,” you gasped as half his length pushed inside your walls.

“So tight for me,” Min Ho groaned before pulling out, just to thrust right back in.

His hips rhythmically jutted up against yours. Your body was in compete ecstasy as Min Ho’s breaths grew heavy. He yanked the thin straps of your night gown down just to watch your tits bounce with no restraint.

Min Ho loved getting you like this, so lost in how good he could take care of you. He smirked as he listened to your minimum efforts to conceal your moans. Your tightly sealed lips didn’t stop any NSWF noises.

Just a not began to form inside of you, a knock at the door and an unaware voice greeted you, “Y/n L/n! It’s time for your nightly dorm room inspection,”.

“Shit!” You mumbled as Min Ho gently placed you on the ground before scurrying off into your bedroom to find a hiding spot. “One moment please!” You replied, kicking your’s and Min Ho’s clothes under your couch.

Hurriedly, you grabbed one of your appropriately sized coats to conceal your naked body. You quickly yanked the door open which startled the more senior student who stood at your door.

“Hello,” you nodded as you raked a hand through your potentially messy hair. “Please come in, sorry about the mess,” you say with an embarrassed smile.

Whenever Min Ho was over while inspections took place, you always held your breath for the worst outcomes. Min Ho usually hid in your closet, behind your suitcases and other articles of clothing that could easily conceal his frame.

As the inspector searched the unit half interestedly, you acted as calm as possible. Your attention slightly wavered as you reminisced how Minho was fucking you just mere moment ago.

What caught your attention was the creaking of your closet door being opened. Your eyes widened as the student stepped inside and left your gaze for a moment just before stepping back out.

“Y/n,” they said, to which your ears perked up anxiously, “Make sure to have the light bulb in your closet changed, it seems to almost be out,” they explained.

“Of course,” you nodded assuringly, the breath you were holding in dissipate as they made their way to the front door.

“Thank you for your time,” they said politely as you unlocked and opened the door for them.

“Anytime,” you waved before the shutting the door again.

You shedded your coat and made your way back into the bedroom, were a naked Min Ho laid. He wordlessly motioned for you to join him.

Right as you crawled onto the bed, Min Ho immediately had you under him. Both of you wearing a smug grin on your lips.

“Where were we?” He said before leaning down to kiss you.

You ran your hands through his perfectly cut hair while his kisses began to trace your jaw, your neck, and started to leave love bites alone your collarbone. He pulled away and watched as your chest rose and fell exaggeratedly. Your completely naked body yearned for his touch.

With your eyes focused heavily on Min Ho, you watched as he stroked his cock. The groans that erupted from his lips were like music to your ears. As he climbed back on top of you, he lifted and spread your legs farther apart. His length inching closer and closer to your pussy.

Your breathing hitched as you felt him slide into your walls with full force, a loud moan escaping your mouth. Min Ho placed his mouth on yours as an attempt to stifle your noises.

But it became harder to remain silent as he continuously rammed his cock into your cunt. The wet sound of you taking his dick so good only made Min Ho fuck you rougher.

“You better stay quiet,” Min Ho muttered, “Or else everyone will find out how damn good I am at fucking you,” he smirked, watching your eyes roll back. “Taking it so easy, huh?”

You could only muster a groan as the pit in your stomach returned. Min Ho loved the feeling of your walls tightening as you got close to climaxing.

“Gonna cum for me?” he asked, knowing full well that any further response from you would be at max volume. “Come on my dick Y/n,” he ordered.

Min Ho spared no space between the two of you began slamming his dick so deep inside your pussy. Your back arched, allowing his dick to repeatedly hit your sweet spot.

“That’s it,” he said, as your body began to quiver and your warm cum covered his length. He slowed down momentarily, allowing you to feel the high. “Was that good?” he asked as you caught your breath.

“Yeah but what about you?” you questioned unknowingly.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with your pussy yet,” Min Ho huffed before meeting a proper pace.

You tiredly watched as he used your cunt, telling you how good are for him. He loves showering his affections towards you after making you come, knowing that only he gets you like that.

As the rhythm of his thrusts began to stutter, you felt his cock twitch slightly. Min Ho hesitantly gave a few more thrusts before quickly pulling out.

“Fuck,” he groaned as his cum covered your lower abdomen.

Grabbing a couple tissues from your nightstand, Min Ho gave you a proper wipe down before laying down beside you.

“Our little secret?” You asked, raising your pinky.

JAN 2025

[uwooyoungs]

//

[kitten4sannie]

ateez and corruption kinks… that’s it I just had to let that out into the void

communion

pairing: priest! yunho x nun! reader (fem)

summary: priest jeong wishes to share another communion with the most beloved member of the monastery.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: for the love of god (lol) if sacrilegious smut isn’t your thing do NOT read this,, however if it IS wellll i got something good for you <3, wine drinking, but like, in an unconventional way lmao, nasty perverted dom! yuyu, subby cock hungry! reader (can we blame her tho?), implied sex slave training, oral (giving/receiving), deepthroating, finger sucking, cum eating, implied toy usage (the toy is um….well…a religious object…)

a/n: oh nonnie idt you realize what you’ve unleashed with that ask ^^ there’s nothing i love more than corruption 🖤 physical, emotional, psychological ughhhh,,, anyways writers block and some shitty real life stuff have been taking turns beating me up the past couple months so i thought this might be a good escape for me :3 i hope you enjoy <33

p.s: i’ll be posting two more fics with a corruption theme very soonnn,, one features perverted bsf wooyoung and the other involves frat boy sannie 🫶🏼

song rec: take me to church - hozier (i mean come on….)

No matter how dark the communal church grew in the late hours of the night, the bright light of the moon still shone through the fragmented mosaic glass, now casting a myriad of gleaming crosses across your face and body as you sat on your knees upon the altar. You raised your hands up to begin worshipping your Lord in the way you were taught by Father Jeong, gingerly opening his robes to unveil the point of your focus.

Yunho lifted up a ceremonial bell and rung it once, his robes pooling around his feet, watching as your thighs squeezed tightly together underneath your heavy garments, your shaky exhale fanning over his exposed, twitching cock, finding the unyielding look of pure lust inside your eyes to be so beautiful he could shed a tear. Over the many, many communions you’ve shared together, it seemed that the bell reminded you of your loyalty to him and to your shared savior, of the pleasure you shared all in the name of God.

He pushed your veil off to expose your hair, before he placed his large hands on either side of your head, his long, slender fingers wrapping securely around it. “And, what do we say now, Sister L/N?” he asked softly, as though he were testing you, dragging his tongue over his top set of teeth, letting out a few heavy breaths.

“O’ Lord, for which I am about to receive, is truly your most precious Body and your life-giving blood, which, I pray, makes me worthy to receive for the remission of all my sins and for everlasting life,” you recited your prayer like many times before, the wetness between your thighs everlasting, watching Father Jeong let go of your head for a second to pick up a chalice of wine from the ceremony table behind him.

Yunho held the gold chalice just above his waist, growing that much harder as the dark liquid began to pour down his long, curved length, spilling off of his sticky tip and dripping into your open mouth. “The Blood of Christ…” He watched you swallow it all down, like the obedient servant you were. Something this sinful simply had to be holy, didn’t it? He swallowed down the abundant saliva that filled his mouth. “Ahh?” he voiced, like he was waiting for you to say something.

“Amen,” you sighed out, licking the remnants of wine and pre-cum from your lips, your trembling fingers clasping around his bare hips.

“Amen.”

Yunho then thrusted forward until he hit the back of your parched throat, eagerly dragging you back and forth along his sizable cock, using you like the faithful cocksleeve you were, the repetitive sounds of squelching, gagging, and muffled moaning sending delightful shivers down his spine, much like the sacred hymns did to him every morning during mass. “Sister L/N, your throat has molded to the shape of my cock, has it not? Bonding with me all these long nights, over and over, it’s like you were made for me, and only me. Tell me, Sister, does taking the Body of Christ down your throat make you feel closer to God?”

You let out a stunted, pleased moan, blinking a few tears out of your dazed, half closed eyes, watching as a blurry version of Father Jeong brought his rosary up to his lips to kiss it. Due to being trained so consistently, you knew to relax your jaw and throat in order to take all of him without fail, your gag reflex nonexistent, simply drooling all over his long, heavy cock instead, much to Yunho’s delight.

“Oh, God, let His will be done….” He hunched over slightly, in order to pound himself into the back of your throat over and over, thick strands of pre-cum and saliva dripping from your chin and landing onto your previously pristine garments, his fingers closing in around your bulging throat to feel himself moving inside it. It was simply too much for the priest to handle. “So…nnngh–sovereign, so pure, this divinity…” Yunho expressed between heavy pants, suddenly pulling out until his twitching cockhead rested against your splayed out tongue. “Sister L/N, you must show me something heavenly so that I may fill you with the Holy Spirit. Be quick, for I am at my limit…”

Licking the beads of pre-cum from his slit, you began to lift up the layers of your tunic until your bare cunt glistened underneath the moonlight that was casted over you like a spotlight, the edges of your skin glowing as though you were a real life angel, one that was sent down from above to tempt Yunho, especially now that he could see you in your most vulnerable state. “Father Jeong, please see what I’ve done for you. I’ve kept myself full…so that I may take you inside properly…”

It was then that Father Jeong fell to his knees before you, looking up at the slick heaven in between your thighs, before leaning in to lap up the abundant wetness from your lips, his hot tongue practically melting against your cunt as he ate you out like a starved man, spreading your open with his ringed thumbs. Maintaining steady eye contact with you, he slowly pulled the hood of your clit back to expose your weak point, wrapping his plush lips around it as he began to suck and lick until he had you trembling above him, your nails digging into the dense wood of the pews. “Cum before me,” he commanded, dragging his tongue along your fluttering slit up to your throbbing clit until you let out a beautifully broken cry.

You spread your trembling thighs open just enough to allow what was filling you up the entire time to slowly come sliding out, both you and the priest letting out a similar gasp once it did. A thick, slick-covered silver cross landed inside Yunho’s open palm. He watched diligently as you lifted it up to his mouth, not even having to say anything as he sucked it clean. Without exchanging words, Yunho stood back and squeezed his throbbing cock, just as you lowered yourself back down onto your knees with a loving smile, watching with pride as he began to shudder, long spurts of his hot cum landing onto your tongue and disappearing down your throat.

“What a thing of beauty….” The priest swallowed hard, letting out a shaky breath. “You never fail to bring me close to our Savior, my dear,” he praised, reaching down to rub the remaining remnants of his seed over your swollen lips and onto your tongue with his thumb, pulling it away from your mouth and licking the last of his saltiness off of his digit himself.

“It’s all for the greater good,” you softly replied, slowly standing up and hiking up your now soiled garments, so that you could bend over the pew, spreading yourself wide, opening the gates of your heaven and giving Yunho access like every blissful night before. “Now, please allow me to bring you even closer.”

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[smileysuh]

real talk

🌙 starring. Mark Lee x afab!Reader

🔮 preview.“You’re Jeno’s roommate, Jeno’s my friend- I know we’ve just met, but I know things about you.” Hyuck explains. “When you were with your last girl, Jeno used to come to the bar and bitch about you never coming out- he’s been wanting you to meet the rest of the boys for a while, but never wanted to invite us over cuz your last girlfriend had some supernatural cootchie-grip hold on you or something- point is, I know you’re a serial monogamist. Two long-term girlfriends. You like the domestic shit, and I get that- but if you want domestic, it’s not our little Miss Sunshine expo girl. She can’t even sleep next to guys she’s fucked- wakes up at five am, and dips out without a word. Trust me on this, dude, you wanna stay far away from that man-eater.”

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, reader has a hard time cumming, oral (f/m receiving), Mark is a MUNCH, deep throating, fingering, masturbation, use of toys/vibrator, dirty talk, praise, Mark is a simp, sex realism, overthinking during sex, mentions of sexual favours in return for affection, a string of bad ex-lovers, breast worship, creampies, aftercare, finger sucking, drunkenness, etc… I pet names: (hers) sunshine. (his) puppy boy.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 19.4k

🍭 aus. Restaurant au, line chef!Mark, slow burn, coworkers to lovers, fuck girl who looks like sunshine meets a serial monogamist who looks like a fuckboy, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I wanted to touch on some realism to kick off the year. Not everything is as easy during sex as it appears in fanfic/p*rn, so I wanted to make something that might be more true to the real experience of afabs who overthink and need extra help to cum- I hope maybe this fic can normalize girls who need some extra machine power to get off ;)

One:

Mark has only been working at his new restaurant for two weeks, but he’s already fallen in love with the place. Morning shifts have been good for him.  With the help of his favorite expo girl - who always takes the time to explain small details and things he’s been messing up on - he’s already gotten used to the menu. Every day feels better and better.

“This tuna is looking so good, Mark,” you grin, inspecting the plate. 

When he’d first been hired, the fish he’d cut had come out mangled, but after talking him through it, you’d both realized it had been a knife issue. Sharpening his blade had led to Mark perfecting his slices, and now, he eagerly awaits your praises when he puts his food up in the expo window. 

Mark’s eyes follow you as you dart off toward the bar, the plate of tuna balanced perfectly in your hand. The new chef can’t help the smile that works its way onto his lips, and he leans forward, hand flat on the cutting board station in front of him.

“This tuna is looking so good, Mark,” Hyuck’s annoying voice snaps him out of his trance, and Mark turns to look at the man next to him. “God, can you two make it any more obvious that you’re into each other?”

“She’s just doing her job,” Mark assures the other line chef, but he can feel his skin heating at the idea.

“Sure she is. But she doesn’t compliment my cooking as much as she does yours.” Hyuck crosses his arms over his chest, letting out a sigh as his gaze shifts to the view through the expo line. You’re at the bar now, chatting with the man who you’ve just served. However, you’re taking longer than normal, and you’re smiling a lot too.

“No fucking way,” Hyuck breathes, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes. “That guy is hitting on her.”

“Is he?” Mark also dips his head toward the expo window, eager for a look.

“Yeah, mans just slipped her his number,” Hyuck laughs. “That’s our little Sunshine though, isn’t it? This restaurant is her playground.”

“What do you mean?” Mark asks.

“Just that she’s quite popular,” Hyuck brushes it off as you approach the expo line again. “Did you get a number, sweet thing?”

“Why, you jealous?” You grin, holding up the slip of paper with digits on it. 

“You wish,” Hyuck scoffs, but Mark gets the feeling there’s something else going on between the two of you, something unspoken. He’s still getting used to the dynamic of the restaurant, and in work spaces like this, relationships aren’t uncommon. He wonders what history you have with Hyuck, wonders what chance he has with you- wonders if it’s even a good idea.

Two

“Luna never runs her own food,” Sumi notes, standing with you by the entrance to the restaurant while you watch the tall waitress lean against the expo window. “I know that our new chef is cute, but, damn.”

“She can do what she wants,” you laugh, wiping down menus. “Makes my job easier.”

“You know, it’s kind of felt like you and Mark have some sort of understanding,” Sumi grins, moving close enough that your hips touch by the host station. “He watches you a lot.”

“Does he?” Your gaze moves back to the expo line.

“Uh huh, almost as much as Hyuck does- which, by the way, you sure did a number on him.”

“Hyuck will get over it, he’s a fuck boy,” you wave your hand. “I’m great at attracting that kind of guy.”

“Do you get fuck boy vibes from Mark?” Sumi wonders, tapping her pen against the top of her Ipad thoughtfully.

“He’s definitely cute enough to be a womanizer, don’t you think?”

“Key word being cute,” Sumi points out. “I don’t know, he doesn't give me fuck boy vibes like the other line chefs do.”

“Well, he’s roommates with Jeno, isn’t he?” Your eyes move to the bar. Jeno’s a night bartender, but his close friend, Renjun is working today. “Jeno’s a fuck boy, he got Hyuck and Jaemin jobs here. They’re both fuck boys. It would make sense if Mark was that kind of guy too.”

“I’m still not convinced,” Sumi states, crossing an arm over her chest. “Speaking of men though- whatever happened to that guy who gave you his number the other day? Are you actually considering a date with him?”

“I already had a date with him,” you admit. 

“Yikes, from the way you haven’t mentioned it at all, I’d guess it didn’t go so well?”

“Meh,” you shrug your shoulders. “He won’t be getting a second date.”

“How many first dates have you been on this year?” Sumi asks. “Didn’t you say it was like… a lot?”

“Too many to count,” you giggle. 

“So what’s the deal with that? Like- what’s your type? I know you were seeing Hyuck for a little while, how come that didn’t work?”

“It just didn’t,” you say, looking down at the menus you’ve wiped clean. “I try not to think about my failures too much.”

“Really? But you could learn so much from them,” Sumi frowns. “I mean- look at me and Doyoung. I was never into the more serious types, always went for fuck boys and younger guys- but after some soul searching, I realized I needed someone older who had their shit together.”

“You also have a thing for guys in powerful positions, and Doyoung is literally one of our managers,” you point out.

“Well, I’m still a work in progress,” Sumi winks. “Anyways- think about it. If you look at your dating patterns, you might be surprised by what you find.”

Three

There’s nothing like the air outside after being in a hot kitchen for a few hours. The lunch rush is finally over, and after having a 20 top that ordered an insane amount of food with an even crazier amount of modifications and allergies, Mark is ready to take a massive puff from his vape pen.

He stands by the back exit to the restaurant, looking out at the cars on the street as he takes a long drag. As he inhales, the door behind Mark opens, and he turns to come face-to-face with you.

The shock of seeing you makes him choke a little, and he begins to cough out a large puff of smoke. Mark’s lungs burn, and his skin feels even hotter, enflamed by the embarrassment of you seeing him take a crappy hit when in reality, he’s a vaping veteran. 

“You good?” you ask, reaching out and gently rubbing his back as you step past him.

“Yeah, I, uh-” Mark’s entire body tingles at the physical contact. “Sorry, you just surprised me.”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” you grin, stopping in front of him. He notices the way your eyes go to his vape pen, and he immediately holds it out to you.

“Want some?”

“I mean, if you’re offering.” You reach out and accept the sleek black vape. “What’s the flavor?”

“Uh… cotton candy?” God, Mark feels like a fool, especially when you raise a brow at him. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

“Didn’t peg you as a sweet tooth type,” you grin, bringing the refillable device to your lips. Mark watches you take a drag, focusing on your mouth and the way you look sucking on something- he starts to imagine what you’d look like sucking on something else, something substantially bigger. 

As you exhale, you cough a little, and Mark wonders if you’re doing that to make him feel better about his screw-up a moment ago- or maybe you simply don’t vape often, he’s not too sure. 

“Thanks,” you say, still coughing as you hand the vape back to Mark. Your fingers brush gently as he accepts it from you, and as Mark brings the device to his mouth, he’s extremely aware of the fact that your lips had just been where his now are. 

He wonders if it means anything that you’d be so willing to swap spit like this, even on something as innocent as a vape pen. 

“How long are you here till?” you ask, breaking him from his daze. 

“Started at seven am, eight-hour shift, should be off around three when the night cross-over guys come in,” Mark explains. 

“Any fun plans for tonight?” you continue to press. “It is a Friday after all.”

“No plans, will probably just go home, make some food, and watch Netflix all night… what about you?”

You sigh. “No hot dates, unfortunately. Will probably do the same as you. Do you have any good show recommendations? I’ve been looking for something new.”

“I mean, it depends, what are you into?” Mark asks, eager to hear more about your tastes, your likes and dislikes- he knows so little about you, mostly things related to work. He’s curious about what you do in your downtime, and he’s grateful he has an opportunity like this to get to know you even a little bit better.

As you part your lips to respond, the back door swings open, and Hyuck steps out, already mid-puff of his neon orange vape. 

“Oh,” the line chef grins, exhaling through his nose and flashing a grin, “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” you respond quickly, and Mark notes the shift in your energy, “I was just leaving actually.”

“See you later,” Mark offers, watching you hurry off. 

“Classic her,” Hyuck sighs, coming to stand next to Mark.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a runner, that one,” Hyuck takes another puff from his vape.

“So you two definitely used to date,” Mark states. The interaction he’s just witnessed verifies his suspicion, and since they’re technically outside of work/the kitchen, Mark feels able to actually discuss this now.

“I don’t know if I’d call it dating,” Hyuck cocks his head to the side, eyes still fixed on you where you’re crossing the street a couple hundred feet away. “Look, do you want real talk? You wanna know about your favorite expo girl?”

“Yeah, I wanna know.” Mark lifts his vape to his lips, readying himself for whatever is about to come out of Hyuck’s mouth.

“I know she looks like sugar and sunshine, but I hate to burst your bubble Mark- she’s a bit of a fuck girl, that one.” 

“It takes one to know one,” Mark points out.

“Touche, but to be fair, I never claimed to be anything other than a guy who likes pussy, and little miss sunshine knew that when we started hooking up a few months ago.” Hyuck lets out another large puff of smoke into the air. “Look, I said I’d give you real talk so here it is. She’s got a lot of expectations. Girl reads those horny romance books-”

“Erotica.”

“Yeah, that’s it, erotica.” Hyuck nods to himself. “Well, she reads erotica, and her ideas about fucking are kind of hard to make real. She’s too in her head all of the time. Apparently - and don’t repeat this anywhere - but apparently no guy she’s fucked has ever made her actually cum. She has this thing where someone told her that if a guy doesn’t make you cum, he doesn’t add to your body count, so allegedly her body count is zero and she’s a virgin, but we both know it’s a lot higher than that.” 

“The whole body count thing doesn’t phase me,” Mark says quietly, although the wheels in his head are spinning.

“Sure it doesn’t,” Hyuck scoffs. “Just listen, if you’re into her, it’s not going to work out. She’s not for beginners like you.”

“Beginners like me?” Mark side eyes the line chef.

“You’re Jeno’s roommate, Jeno’s my friend- I know we’ve just met, but I know things about you.” Hyuck explains. “When you were with your last girl, Jeno used to come to the bar and bitch about you never coming out- he’s been wanting you to meet the rest of the boys for a while, but never wanted to invite us over cuz your last girlfriend had some supernatural cootchie-grip hold on you or something- point is, I know you’re a serial monogamist. Two long-term girlfriends. You like the domestic shit, and I get that- but if you want domestic, it’s not our little Miss Sunshine expo girl. She can’t even sleep next to guys she’s fucked- wakes up at five am, and dips out without a word. Trust me on this, dude, you wanna stay far away from that man-eater.”

Four

“Mark?” you ask, looking at the takeout bowl in front of you.

“Yeah?” he leans forward, lips parting as he waits for your judgment.

“Didn’t they order the spicy yogurt on the side?” You push the rice bowl forward, pointing at the lines of orange tinted cream that cover the veggies. 

“Shit,” Mark cusses, grabbing the chit-paper receipt and scanning it. “There were like, three other modifications, I didn’t even see the yogurt on the side.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “It’s takeout, and there’s pretty much no one in the restaurant, so you have time to make another… besides, I’ll just take this one as my lunch.”

One of the perks of the job is getting to take home the food that’s not correct. You’d been dreading going to the grocery store, your fridge empty of easy meals, but now you don’t have to make the trek, and you’re more than happy about it.

“You know, Mark, you’re my favorite new chef.” He’s also the only new chef, and you’ve been reaping the rewards of minor fuck ups the past two weeks. 

Mark, however, doesn’t seem to note your teasing, and he offers you a genuine smile. “You’re my favorite expo girl.”

“Yeah?” you grin. “And why’s that?”

“You’re really nice about things I mess up,” Mark’s eyes shift to the dragon bowl you’re packing up. “Like, you point things out, and you turn them good. As you said, it’s an easy fix, I have the time, and now you get to eat that.” 

“It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, that’s for sure,” you laugh. 

“You’re also pretty happy most days, always makes me happy to come in and see our Little Miss Sunshine.” 

“Jeeze, not you calling me that pet-name too,” you roll your eyes. Hyuck had taken to calling you that a few months ago, and somehow the title had stuck. Mark was the only chef using your real name, but it looks like those days might already be behind you.

“It fits,” Mark assures you. “I think it’s cute.”

“Does it fit because I’m cute?” 

You notice the way Mark immediately swallows thickly, his skin turning a pretty shade of pink. “Uh- I mean, yeah,” his voice cracks, and he fiddles with his sleeves, pushing them up to his elbows, “you’re cute-”

“Oh my God-” you stare at his forearms, which are usually covered by his chef coat. “Have you always had all those tattoos?!”

“Did you really never notice these?” Mark looks down at his arms, lifting them so you can see the details.

“I have never noticed them,” you confirm, leaning forward. “Damn, how many tattoos do you have?!”

“A lot?” Mark’s tattoos are patchwork style, all black. They litter his forearms, and you wonder how high up the markings go- you wonder if his chest is covered, or his back- what about his legs?

“I need a tattoo tour,” you insist.

“I mean… I can’t show you all of them-” Mark says sheepishly. 

“Start with that one,” you point at a tattoo of three letters near his inner elbow, “What’s SSG mean?”

“So uh- the first restaurant I worked in, a few of us dishwashers worked our way into the kitchen with no formal training or anything- just started at the bottom, and went up from there. One of us came up with the idea of being the Soapy Suds Gang, like- dishwashers to chefs. Was at that restaurant from the age of fifteen to twenty, and when it closed down cuz the owners just didn’t wanna be in the business anymore, me and all the others got the matching SSG tattoo.”

Mark is adorable. Like, shockingly so. It’s such a stupid yet endearing story- and for some reason, it feels so on-brand for Mark. 

He begins to tell you about a few other tattoos. There’s a shotgun to commemorate his years playing Call of Duty online with friends. A cartoon puppy because apparently his mom never let him get a dog - something about him not being able to handle it if the dog ever died - so when he turned eighteen, he got a dog that could never bite the bullet, etched into his skin with black ink. 

All the marks have meaning, stories that make up the groundwork of Mark’s life. 

“What about that one?” you ask, noting a King of Hearts tattoo that he’d skipped over.

“Oh, uh…” Mark rubs the back of his neck shyly. “My ex-girlfriend wanted a Queen of Hearts tattoo, so I got this one, and… I mean, I don’t regret it, I was with the girl for three years- but, it’s not a tattoo I talk about too often.”

“Three years?” you ask in shock. “You were with your last girlfriend for three years?”

“Why do you sound so shocked?”

“It’s just- I mean,” you lick your lips, leaning in so Mark’s the only one who can hear you, “I hate to say it, Mark, but you look like a total fuck boy.”

“I’m really not,” Mark admits. 

“Even before your last ex?”

“Even before,” the line chef confirms. “I’ve got two ex-girlfriends. The last one ended about a year ago, dated her from age twenty-two to twenty-five. Had a girlfriend from when I was sixteen to twenty-one-”

“So a three-year relationship and a five-year relationship?” 

This gossip keeps getting juicier and juicier. 

“Yeah. The first one moved to another country to teach English, and I’ve never been that into long distance. We tried to make it work, but we agreed the best thing was to let each other go. Then the last girl decided she wanted more from life than some line chef so…” Mark trails off and you feel your heart hurt for him. “Anyways, what about you? How many relationships have you had?”

“A lot more than you,” you answer quickly, although, that’s only if you count one-night stands, flings, and situationships, but you won’t go into those details with Mark right now. “I mean… are you looking for anything right now?”

“What do you mean?” Mark cocks his head to the side.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but… a few of the waitresses are into you,” you whisper.

“Really?” he looks past you at the restaurant, and you see him trail Luna with his eyes. “That’s nice and everything, but waitresses really aren’t my type.”

“Then what’s your type?”

“Expo girls.” 

His words hit you in your chest, and you can feel your pulse quicken immediately.

“I mean-” Mark’s skin has returned to that pretty pink colour. “My first girlfriend- the five-year one, she was the expo girl when I met her- we got close cuz we spent so much time together. I didn’t mean you- I wasn’t trying to hit on you or anything- not that I don’t think you’re cute, cuz you’re definitely cute- fuck.”

You watch him, smiling and completely amused. It appears you’d read the new line chef all wrong. He’s not a fuck boy, he’s a lover boy, and you kind of adore that about him.

“I should uh- I need to remake this dragon bowl-” Mark turns away from you, and you watch him scurry off to the fridge to grab vegetables. 

You’re kind of hoping to tease him so more when he returns, but before he does, Doyoung appears from the back, and he waves you over. “It’s been dead for half an hour,” your manager notes, “you’re cut. Head home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Five

Mark hasn’t been able to stop thinking about your conversation. All night, he’d had you on his mind- and he’d kind of been hoping to get to talk to you today, but you have the day shift and this is one of his first nights scheduled.

Even so, Mark arrives to work thirty minutes early just on the off chance he’ll catch you, and as he’s waiting outside the backdoor, hitting his vape, his hopes come true.

You step out of the back of the restaurant, looking down at your phone. The jacket you’re wearing today is vibrant in contrast to your all-black uniform, and the comfy sneakers you always put on after your shift in flats are beginning to look a little worn out now that winter is almost over. 

“Hi,” Mark says, drawing your attention.

“Oh,” you put your phone into your pocket, offering him a smile. “Hey- you just starting?”

“In ten minutes or so,” the line chef nods. “I uh- I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

“Apologize for what?” You cock your head to the side. 

“All of it?” Mark suggests.

You laugh, and the sound does things to Mark that he’ll never be able to express. “Seriously, we’re all good,” you assure him. “I think you’re pretty cute too, so, don’t worry about any of it.”

Mark’s mouth feels dry, and it’s not just from the vaping. He fiddles with the device in his hand, working up the courage to say what’s on his mind. “I was wondering- I mean, it sounds like you’re still on the market and all- so I was thinking, maybe, if you’d like- maybe we can go out sometime, or something- but no pressure.”

Your smile widens, and you step closer to him. “What would going out with you look like?”

“Honestly…” Mark swallows thickly, “it would look more like staying in. Since we both work in a restaurant- or maybe it’s just a ‘me thing’, but I’m not super into drinks as a first date, or even food- I’m a bit of a homebody. I’d love for you to just come over, watch some netflix, talk- that sort of shit.”

You look him up and down, and Mark’s body tenses as he waits for your response.

“That actually sounds pretty nice,” you admit. “Here, give me your hand.”

Mark holds out his palm, watching you pull out a Sharpie from your pocket. You write your phone number across his skin. “Careful,” you say, as you draw the last digit, “Don’t wash this off or anything.”

“I won’t,” he assures you, already planning on taking a picture of it with his phone just in case. 

“I should get going, but yeah- text me when your shift is over and we can figure something out.” 

“You got it,” Mark grins, unable to hold in his excitement any longer. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” 

With one final exchange of eye contact that makes Mark’s heart lurch in his chest, you walk off, the line chef’s eyes following you all the way out of sight. 

As he turns to head inside, Mark bumps into Hyuck. “Don’t go in just yet,” Hyuck insists, “stay out here and vape with me for a minute.”

It’s hard for Mark to focus on anything Hyuck is saying about the afternoon rush, but he manages to nod and make sounds of affirmation while his coworker rants about some party of fifteen that walked in and only ordered appetizers. 

“Mark, you’re not paying attention,” Hyuck sighs.

“Sorry, I’m just kind of-” Mark swallows the lump in his throat, “yeah, I’m distracted.”

“Got a hot date?”

“What?” Mark looks up.

“Someone wrote their digits on your hand,” Hyuck grabs at Mark’s wrist, “let’s see-”

Mark tries his best to pull away, but Hyuck’s already assessing the phone number. After a moment, the younger man lets go, his mouth forming a firm line. “I warned you about her.”

Mark’s surprised that Hyuck - who has the memory of a goldfish most days - clearly recognizes your phone number. 

“I told you she’s not for beginners.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t have to listen to you,” Mark insists. “And not everything is about fucking. She’s gonna come over, we’re gonna watch movies- nothing has to happen. I just want to know her better.”

“Lover boy,” Hyuck scoffs, “she’s going to eat you up, and spit you back out.”

“And if she does, then that’s my choice,” Mark says firmly. “I know she fucked you over or whatever, but that doesn’t mean anything to me, Hyuck. I’m sorry, but I really don’t care about what happened between the two of you.”

“Ouch, dude.”

“If she’s as bad as you say, then you can say you told me so when this is all over. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Six

“So this is Jeno’s famous fuck pad,” you tease, stepping into Mark’s apartment and looking around. 

“Uh, he doesn’t actually bring girls here that often,” Mark says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “He likes to go to their place, makes it easier to run than kicking a girl out the next morning, you know?”

“I suppose that makes sense,” you nod… you usually fuck guys in their homes for the same reason. “It’s a nice place.”

“Thanks, my ex had a lot to do with the decor and shit.” Now that Mark mentions it, the vibe definitely doesn’t scream ‘boy’, and it especially doesn't scream ‘home of a line chef and bartender.’ 

The cream-colored couch in the living room has pretty sage pillows, there’s a tasteful rug under a circular coffee table. On the table are three candles varying in size, as well as a design book that you’d bet has never been opened or looked at in detail by the men who live here.

It’s a comfortable home, but you wonder what it feels like for Mark to live in a space that constantly reminds him of an ex who ditched him for not having his own shit together.

“I didn’t realize Jeno was a tidy guy,” you note, thinking back to the line of dirty cups he always allows to build up in the bar dish area. 

“He’s not, but I am.” Mark enters the living room, and he takes a seat on the couch, kicking his legs up onto a small puff stool next to the coffee table. “I guess when you work on the line, you’re used to doing little clean-up jobs to keep everything smooth. I don’t mind moving two or three beer cans to the sink every day if it means there aren’t any piles building.” 

So he’s a sexy line chef, with tattoos, who likes long-term relationships, and also cleans up his home? Mark really is a catch amongst flounders.

“Are you going to come sit?” Mark asks, noting the way you stand at the edge of the room. “Or, shit, should I offer you a drink first? We’ve got beer, or I could make you a cocktail or something-”

“I’m good, just… getting used to this.” 

It feels kind of odd to be with Mark in a casual setting. You’ve only ever seen him in a professional manner, with an expo station between you both- now, Mark is right in front of you, and as you sit on the couch next to him, you’re hyper-aware of the way your thighs almost touch.

“So… Netflix?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Mark grabs the remote, the sleeve of his hoodie pushed up so you can see his forearms. 

“You still haven’t given me a full tattoo tour,” you tease, reaching out to gently trace the puppy etched against his skin.

“Maybe that’s a date number two sort of thing,” Mark suggests, tugging the fabric down to cover his skin.

Your grin widens. “Do I make you nervous, puppy boy?” 

“Definitely,” he lets out a shy laugh, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob with the effort of swallowing. “So uh… what do you wanna watch?”

You let out a sigh, relaxing back against the couch. “Surprise me.”

“Well, there’s this anime I’ve been wanting to get into-” Mark finds the show in his ‘to watch’ list.

“Let's do it.”

“Really? You’re down?”

“Uh huh, I’m not that picky,” you nod, offering him a smile.

“It can be…” he starts the first episode, “like- if you wanna keep doing this sort of thing, it could be our show.”

“That actually sounds nice,” you admit. You suppose it shouldn’t be a shock that Mark is thinking long term- you do work together after all, but when you’d been seeing Hyuck, every day was a question of longevity. Would he call? Would he not call?

Hyuck never talked in definitives. He never made promises. The only true thing you could count on was seeing him at work three of five days of the week when your schedules aligned, and he never locked himself in for any more than that. 

“Should I-” Mark licks his lips, “I mean, finding a show was way easier than I thought it would be. Do you want a drink? I’ve got chips?”

“I’m okay, but if you want something, you should grab it.”

“I’m good if you’re good,” Mark mutters, leaning back against the couch. Your shoulders are touching, and you’re already finding it difficult to focus on the tv screen as the anime begins to play.

You’re aware of each breath, each slight shift of Mark’s body. “Are you comfortable?” he asks after a short while.

“I mean, we could probably find a more comfortable position than this one,” you note. 

“Like… do you wanna cuddle?”

“If you want to, I’d be up for that.”

“Okay, one sec,” Mark turns, grabbing at the back cushion of the couch. He tosses it to the side. “I can big spoon you.”

In under a minute, Mark is settling behind you, pillows are adjusted, and a gentle hand finds your hip. You wiggle slightly, trying to get snug against the line chef’s chest. 

“Is this good?” he asks, his breath ghosting by your ear.

“It’s nice, but let me just…” you grab his hand, threading your fingers and bringing it up to your chest, so you’re truly wrapped in his embrace. You can feel his heart against your spine, and you can hear the way his breath catches. “That’s better,” you let out a sigh of relief. 

The anime is fun, but you’re much too focused on Mark. Something tells you he’s quite focused on you as well, and finally, your patience snaps. You roll onto your back, looking up at him.

“You good?” he prompts.

“Uh huh. Just thinking.”

“About?”

You shrug. “I guess maybe I’m just wondering what work is going to be like tomorrow.”

“Hopefully busy.”

You laugh at how innocent Mark can be. “I mean in terms of cuddling with you tonight, then working together in the morning.”

“I mean… how was it with Hyuck when you two were seeing each other?” 

Your heart clenches. “Oh… he uh… he told you about that, huh?”

“Mentioned it once or twice.”

“All good things, I hope?”

“For the most part,” Mark nods. “But just so you know- I don’t take everything Hyuck says seriously. You two had something going on, but every relationship is different. I’m sure you have your own side to the story. I know you’re a good person - that’s what my heart tells me at least - so that’s what I’m going off of.”

You stare up at the line chef. The man you’d pegged as a fuck boy, who is turning out to be the farthest thing from a womanizer that you’ve ever met.

You can’t help but reach up and cup his face. There aren’t words that come to mind, but you hope your expression shows your gratitude for his kindness.

Mark’s gaze dips to your mouth, and you watch the way he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing on his slightly. “So no pressure or anything,” he says, voice cracking, “but uh… can I kiss you?”

“You can kiss me,” you confirm, staying still and waiting for the precious man to make his move. Part of you is scared to take control- you’re worried about scaring Mark off, like you’d scare off a wild bird with one wrong muscle twitch. 

You’re still cupping his face, and Mark mirrors the act, gently cupping your cheek. He looks down at you, searching your eyes for a moment. You wonder if he’s looking for any hesitation, any sign that you regret your affirmative answer. Then he looks at your lips, and you can see some of the tension leave his body.

In fact, you see the exact moment Mark decides to give in to his desires. His lips part ever so slightly, his brown eyes shyly meeting your own as he begins to move in closer-

As his mouth presses to your own, you realize this might be the softest kiss a man has ever bestowed upon you. He’s not trying to shove his tongue down your throat- not biting at your lip and asking for entrance. It’s a simple brush of lips on lips, and it leaves you wanting more.

Your hand finds the back of his neck, and you drag him closer, letting out a small mewl. You capture his bottom lip between your own, suckling on it gently-

Mark pulls away, and your eyes open. You’re disappointed, but when you notice Mark breathing heavily, your annoyance dissipates.

“Was that okay?” you ask, worrying that maybe you’d been going too fast for the soft man.

“Yeah- better than okay,” he assures you. 

“Can we… can you kiss me again?”

“Uh huh,” he nods, leaning back down to press his lips against your own. His hand finds your hip, and you play with the hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss is just as gentle as the first, but the passion begins to burn brighter with each passing second.

No one has ever kissed you like this.

You can’t explain it- but in a matter of moments, your attraction to Mark has grown tenfold. 

When he breaks away from you for a second time, you’re both breathing heavily. You open your eyes to stare up at the pretty line chef, watching him swallow thickly.

 “Should we uh… should we keep paying attention to the show?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment’s hesitation. “Yeah, we should.” You roll onto your side again, and Mark settles against your back. He tucks you closer, his fingers threading through yours. 

It’s impossible to focus now, and you begin to wiggle slightly, pressing your ass back against the front of his jeans.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Mark asks, letting go of your hand to grab your hip, steadying you.

“I’m fine- I’m just…” - unbelievably horny - “you’re a good kisser.”

He lets out a small laugh. “Thanks. I liked kissing you too.”

“So…” you look over your shoulder at him, “wanna kiss me again?”

Mark grins, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

As with the first two times, Mark pulls away much too fast for your liking.

Your head is spinning. You’ve never experienced a situation like this. Mark is being respectful- he’s keeping his hands in PG locations, and the kisses have involved zero tongue- does he not like you as much as you like him?

How much do you like this line chef?

Do you like him because he’s not completely fawning over you like you’re used to?

What is going on?!

“I just want you to know,” Mark says, “it sounds like you’re used to fuck boys and shit, and I uh- well, I’m not like them. There’s no pressure to get naked or anything today-” his voice hitches, “in fact, Jeno will be home soonish so it’s better if we don’t-”

“You don’t want to fuck me?”

Mark tenses behind you. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“If we move to your room, Jeno won’t walk in on us.”

“It’s not about that,” Mark assures you. “Look, I want to take my time with you. This is our first date. I want things to feel right. I want to do this right. Can you understand that?”

You think maybe you’re too horny to want to understand it. 

You want to tear Mark’s clothes off. You want to push him down and ride him until he’s gasping your name and filling you with his cum. You want to feel him still dripping out of you when you go into work tomorrow morning- 

No one has ever made you wait. You’re much too impatient for playing around- and your past lovers have been the same way. 

Even so, you respect the boundary Mark has just expressed. “No fucking tonight,” you agree, “I get that. It’s for the better.”

However, it’s not for the better of your throbbing pussy. 

Seven

God, Mark can’t take his eyes off of you. It’s been two hours since you arrived on shift, and Mark has been distracted for all of it.

You look adorable today. Your black outfit hugs your body just right, and Mark’s mind is consistently wandering to last night, when his hands had traced your hips before lacing your fingers-

When you speak, he finds his focus shifting to your lips- those pretty lips he’d kissed. The lips that had left him wanting more- the lips he’d thought about for hours after you’d gone home. He’d dreamt of kissing you, but it had fallen quite short to the real thing.

You’d sounded hurt when Mark had said you shouldn’t fuck last night, and part of Mark regrets drawing the line in the sand. But on the other hand, Mark had meant it when he said it wasn’t the right time. 

He doesn’t want to bed you after watching a few episodes of anime. You deserve so much more than that. 

Besides, if he had fucked you last night, Mark might have needed to take a sick day just to calm down. Even now, knowing he’s tasted your lips has his skin heating every time he looks at you. 

God, you’ve got him practically bewitched.

As the lunch rush comes to an end, Mark finds time to go outside and vape. He watches the cars pass while he puffs on his device, closing his eyes and imagining your lips.

As his little break is coming to an end, the door hinges squeak behind him, and Mark turns to find you standing there. 

“Oh, hi,” you grin. 

“Hey.” He looks you up and down. “You leaving?”

“Doyoung cut me again, it’s been slow this week,” you nod. 

Mark swallows thickly. He can’t help the way his gaze dips to your lips again.

You step forward, smiling. “You wanna kiss me again, don’t cha, Mark?”

He doesn’t even bother responding. He slips his vape into his pocket, grabbing your hips to tug you closer. As he brings his mouth down to yours, he pauses for a second, meeting your gaze. If you want to pull away, he gives you ample time, but instead, you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, closing the distance between your lips.

You take more control today than last night. You lick at his lower lip, not doing too much tongue, but providing just enough that it has Mark’s skin tingling with need. His fingers dig against your hips, pulling you tighter. 

The kiss deepens, and Mark’s entire heart lurches in his chest when you let out a pleased mewling sound.

Fuck, he loves your sounds already- you sound so fucking pretty-

“Jesus.” Head Chef John’s voice makes Mark practically jump, and he tears his lips away from your own, eyes immediately finding his boss, who’s standing by the exit door. “Damn, newbie, you work fast, don’t you?”

Mark’s skin feels like it’s on fire, and he’s quick to let go of your hips, stepping away and running an awkward hand through his hair, “Chef-”

“Don’t tease him, Johnny,” you sigh. “You nearly gave Mark a heart attack sneaking up on us like that.”

“I’m shocked neither of you heard the door.”

“We were busy!” you insist, raising your voice in jest at the head chef.

Mark is shocked at the way you talk so easily with his boss. But he supposes you’ve been at the restaurant for over a year- maybe you’re closer with the tall head chef than Mark realized.

“Look, I’ll say what I said when Hyuck was trying to get with you, sunshine,” Johnny grins, reaching into his pocket to pull out a jacked-up vape pen. “As long as you use protection we’re good, I can’t have my line chefs becoming fathers and taking time off.”

“And I’ll say what I said last time you told me to wrap it: never gonna happen.” 

“IUD’s aren’t a hundred percent viable,” Johnny points out, making Mark nearly choke on air.

“Mine has been so far, so stick it old man.” You turn to Mark, “Don’t mind him, he’s protective.”

“I was protective with Hyuck, because he’s a douchebag, but Mark seems okay,” Johnny laughs. 

“Thanks?” Mark can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

“Listen, I’ll text you okay?” You grab the front of Mark’s apron, pulling him in so you can press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Have a good rest of your shift.”

Mark watches you dart off. He’s tongue-tied, skin still flaring, heart racing in his chest.

“She’s a good one,” Johnny muses. “Best expo girl we have. Don’t fuck it up, Mark, I’ll fire you before we get rid of her.”

“Trust me,” Mark coughs, “I wasn’t planning on fucking things up any time soon.”

Eight

In the year you’ve had your solo apartment, you’ve not had any guys over. Your MO is to go to the man’s place so you can dip out whenever you get anxious or tired. Inviting a man over to your safe space woman sanctuary is new. The nervousness is manifesting physically; you’re fussing over the overswept floor and the frill on your couch blanket when Mark texts you that he’s arrived. 

With one final breath, you head down to the lobby to let Mark in.

He’s in blue jeans and a black hoodie that sets off the blonde tone of his hair. You’ve been meaning to ask him about who does his bleach out, but you know men can be touchy about their physical appearance and certain body modifications, so you’ve been holding yourself back.

He looks good. That’s all that really matters. 

“Hey,” Mark grins as you open the door, pulling you into a hug. 

“Hey, yourself,” you smile back, pulling away from the embrace to lead Mark to the elevator. You can hear the line chef following you, and you suddenly feel self-conscious about your building. 

“It’s a nice place,” Mark notes, as if he can read your mind. “New build?”

“I think it’s been here like three or four years? I moved in last winter.”

“Right,” he nods, coming to a stop next to you as you hit the button to call the elevator. 

You can feel him staring at you, and it’s making you even more nervous. “What?” you ask, letting out a short laugh.

“Nothing, you just uh… you look cute.” 

“I’m literally in PJ’s.” Your gaze dips to your simple fuzzy purple shorts, and the tank top you’re wearing.

“But they’re nice. I’ve only ever seen you in work outfits, and when you came over last time you were in jeans. You look cute dressed down like this.”

You’d been worried about being so casual with Mark- dressing for comfort instead of the need to impress, but it seems you’ve succeeded in both comfortability and making a good impression. 

“Thank you,” you smile, your insides practically glowing from the compliment. No other man has seen you this way and called you cute- it’s one of the reasons you usually dip out from a man after sex. There’s no comfort or getting comfortable- your other relationships have always been rigid, a push pull and need to be perfect at all times in order to be deserving of attention.

You make it up to your floor, and another wave of anxiety washes over you as you let Mark into your small apartment. “It’s not much,” you sigh, “but it’s home.”

Mark slips off his sneakers by your door, looking around. “No, I like it,” he assures you. “No roommates kicking around- I bet living alone is pretty relaxing.”

“It can be, but it’s also lonely at times,” you admit.

“Well, if you get lonely here, you can always call me and I can come entertain you.”

Mark’s words give an air of longevity. He sounds certain about this, as if it’s a given that he’s part of your life now, as if he’s not going anywhere. 

You’re not sure what to make of Mark. You’ve never really had steady consistency from a man- but he seems so sincere, it makes you want to be hopeful, and hope can be a dangerous thing for a girl like you.

“So uh… can I get you something to drink?” you ask. “We’re just watching anime right?”

“I’m good. If I get thirsty, I’ll let you know,” Mark assures you, taking a seat on the couch in your living room. “Should we uh… should I move some of these pillows so we can cuddle again?”

You grin, pouring yourself a cup of water. “If you want to cuddle, we can cuddle.”

“I want to cuddle,” Mark states, immediately grabbing at the cushions and rearranging your space to allow for you both to lie down. 

He’s adorable. Laying down in front of him already feels kind of natural. The way he grabs your hip and tugs you close to his chest has your heart singing, and his breath against the back of your neck is as familiar as anything.

Not much needs to be said as you start your anime. You’re simply enjoying the comfortability of companionship- companionship lacking any pressures or timeframes. You’re two souls sharing your moments together.

It’s a different feeling for your mind to go blank while you’re with Mark. You’re shocked by how safe you feel in his embrace. 

You talk here and there, the two of you discussing moments in the anime, but conversation doesn’t get much deeper than that. You actually kind of enjoy not having to use your brain, and you’re definitely enjoying the warmth of the man behind you.

“I’m uh, gonna take my hoodie off,” Mark tells you, shifting slightly. 

“Okay.” You give him space, turning to look over your shoulder as he lifts the fabric off his body, revealing the white tshirt below. “Wait, can you give me a deeper tattoo tour now?”

“Uh…”

“You said you’d give me a proper tour on the second date,” you tease, hooking your finger in the neck of his shirt and gently pulling, giving yourself a tiny peak of marked skin along his collarbones.

“I guess I did say that, didn’t I?” Mark laughs sheepishly. “Okay,” he takes a deep breath, sitting up again and grabbing the hem of his shirt.

As Mark reveals his chest to you, you’re a little taken aback by what you see.

Generally, you’re pretty good at guessing a man’s build under his clothing, but Mark is much more toned than you thought he would be. It’s clear he works out, and the muscles you see are amplified by tasteful placement of tattoos littering his torso.

“Where do I even start?” Mark asks, looking down at himself.

“Wherever you want to.” You turn to face him, anime forgotten in the background.

He brushes his own fingers across one of the ferns decorating his collarbones. “These are my mom’s favourite plant.”

“Her favourite plant?” you grin.

“Yeah, I know, most moms have a favourite flower, but my mom kind of really likes ferns.”

“Sounds like you’re close with her,” you note.

“I’m a complete mama’s boy,” Mark admits with a laugh, which is when your gaze lands on a heart with the word ‘Mom’ tattooed on his ribs.

“I see that.” You reach out and gently brush the mark.

The line chef shivers under your touch, the muscles in his abdomen jumping deliciously. You wonder how ticklish he is. 

“Then this one,” Mark touches the moth blooming out from his sternum, “was just really cool and the artist needed someone to practice on, so I said, let’s do it, fuck me up.”

You grin at his choice of words. Mark can be kind of reserved at work, it’s interesting to hear his dirty mouth now that you’re alone. 

You kind of love listening to him as he continues with the tour, tracing the lined patch work. Each mark is another story or detail about the line chef you’re starting to fall for, and you commit his words to memory. 

He’s done the tour of his tattoos much too fast for your liking. You trace the last of the marks, a dagger on his bicep. 

Laying on your back with Mark on his side next to you, things feel very intimate, especially now that his focus has shifted away from his tattoos and is solidly fixed on you.

His hand finds your abdomen, and he gently lines the curve of your hip with his fingers.

Neither of you say anything, caught in the peaceful quiet and moments of mutual discovery. 

His fingers brush by your rib cage, and you’re struck by the need for more. Gently placing your hand over his, you prompt him up higher, until his palm is placed over your breast. You sneak a glance at Mark, noticing the way he swallows thickly.

“Are you a boobs man, Mark?”

“I mean… who isn’t?”

You grin at his answer. “Should I take my shirt off? It’s only fair, right? Yours is off.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he assures you.

“I want to take my shirt off.”

“Then take your shirt off,” he says quietly.

You sit up, quickly discarding the fabric before laying back down again. Now you’re just in a bra and PJ shorts. Mark sucks in a breath, his hand finding your bare hip. Once again, you have to guide his touch up to your breast. This time, when he squeezes you, his thumb rubs over the swell of plump flesh.

You can feel your nipple hardening with interest, pressing against the cup of your bra. “We should take this off next,” you suggest, grabbing at your strap.

“Yeah?” Mark’s eyes widen as he looks at you, his lips parting as he breathes heavier.

“I mean, unless you want me to keep it on?”

“Like I said,” the line chef brushes his thumb over your skin again, “do whatever makes you most comfortable.” 

You sit up again, reaching behind your back to undo the clasp. For a moment, you pause. This is a line you won't be able to uncross. You’re about to show your coworker your boobs. Your sweet, honest, adorable, line chef coworker, who gazes at you with stars in his eyes- your fuck boy look alike secret softie-

You undo your bra, throwing it off the couch before laying flat again. This time, you don’t have to prompt Mark’s hand, he gently traces his fingers up your ribs until he’s cupping your breast. He watches you tentatively, sucking his lower lip into his mouth as his thumb brushes over your hardened nipple.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” Mark says, firmly this time.

“Come here,” you reach up to cup the back of his neck, drawing his lips to yours. He kisses you like he’s afraid you might break, but when you whimper, he responds with a groan, deepening the passion as his tongue glides against your own.

His hand kneads your breast, making you moan again, pushing up toward his palm. You can feel the desire growing between your legs as he kisses you, and you reach out to trace his chest. Your touch begins to lower, fingers grazing over his abdomen-

Mark breaks the kiss, nuzzling against your jaw to prompt your face to the side so he can access your throat. He peppers your skin in soft kisses, slowly descending until he reaches your collar bones-

You realize what he’s about to do and tangle your fingers through his soft blonde hair, pushing your chest up in silent affirmation. “Mark-” you whimper, rewarded when his wet lips wrap around your nipple.

Fuck, he feels so good-

Has anyone ever felt this good?

Maybe it’s the waiting- the going slow, or maybe it’s just the fact that Mark makes you feel safe, but regardless, each touch, each brush of his lips and tongue, has you mewling. You’re pretty sure you’ve soaked through your panties at this point, your pussy practically throbbing with each flick of his wet muscle against your pebbled nipple.

“Mark?” you whisper, tightening your grip in his hair. “Are you…” you swallow thickly. “Are you going to fuck me?”

The line chef pulls away from your breast, looking up at you with dark chocolate eyes. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do-”

“What if I want this?”

“I usually don’t sleep with girls on the second date-”

“Make an exception?” you plead. 

You haven’t been fucked in a few weeks, and you’re feeling desperate. You want to connect with Mark on that physical level, and sex is always the way you do that with men. You want him to feel good, to give him a reason to stick around like he says he will.

“But wait-” you feel your skin heat, “I have something I should tell you first.”

Mark cocks his head to the side, waiting for you to continue.

“I uh… I’m going to be super real with you right now.” You take a deep breath. “Look, I read a lot of smut? That’s like- I read a lot of erotica, written porn, I guess- and, in smut, and porn especially, girls always just cum so easily- and I wish I was that type of person, but I’m not. No guy has ever… you know, gotten me there. What I’m trying to say is, I can have fun even without cumming. So if I can’t get there with you, it’s not you, it’s literally me-”

“Hey,” Mark reaches up to cup your cheek, cutting off your rambling. “Thanks for telling me, but there’s no pressure. Whatever happens, happens. For some girls, you have to get more comfortable. My first girlfriend was like that too, and there’s never any judgement from me. I’m willing to wait for you to feel safe enough that your body relaxes.”

“You are?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures you. “I mean, I can’t promise that I’ll be as good as the guys in your books or in porn. Dirty talk is something I have to get used to using too, but, if we give it time, I’m sure we’ll figure each other out.”

You search his eyes, processing what he’s just said. Then you give him a small nod. “That sounds good to me.”

“Good.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. “But, if we’re going to do this, I’d like for us to go to your bedroom, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course.” You sit up, getting off the couch quickly while Mark follows. As you get to the door of your bedroom, you look over your shoulder, snaking your fingers into your shorts and pulling them down.

“Fuck-” Mark groans, eyes taking in your body.

You can see a half chub pressing against the denim of his blue jeans, and your pussy throbs again. “Come on, puppy boy,” you tease. 

He’s quick to catch you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his chest to your back. His lips find your neck and you giggle, moving toward your bed while dragging the line chef with you.

“You’re so pretty,” Mark groans, tracing your curves with one hand while the other reaches to grab your breast.

Turning in his arms, you press your lips to his, enjoying the way each kiss gets deeper. He’s relaxing against you, his tongue exploring you more and more. 

When you make it to the bed, he gently prompts you to sit down. You look up at Mark, watching him take in your form. “How did I get this lucky?” he asks.

“You asked me out,” you remind him. “So you did this all yourself, Mark.”

“Did I?” he grins, sinking to the floor.

You’re surprised by the new position, surprised by the way he gently parts your knees, his gaze finding your hot core. 

“Can I take these off?” he questions, gently tugging at your panties.

“Yeah-” you whisper.

Most guys don’t eat you out as an appetizer. In fact, you have to ask most men to go down on you- but here’s Mark, doing it all of his own accord. And he looks so needy- in the best possible way.

Mark slips your panties down your legs, and then his lips find your calf. He begins kissing up your skin, spreading your thighs to accommodate him. 

“You don’t have to-” Your words are lost when he presses a kiss to your clit.

“Don’t have to what?” Mark asks, looking up at you.

“Don’t have to eat me out-”

“I want to eat you out,” he confirms. “I’ll eat you out for as long as you want me to- but, when you need more, just say something, and I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh,” Mark hums, immediately pressing his mouth against your core again. He licks a wet stripe of your pussy, and it makes your legs twitch on his shoulders.

You relax against the mattress, closing your eyes and focusing on the feeling of Mark pleasuring you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, keeping him where you need him. He focuses on your clit, circling it and toying with it.

It feels amazing- it does, but there’s some sort of mental block in your brain. You wish you could just cum from this, but the more you think about that, the more you distract yourself from Mark. God, you almost feel bad making him eat you out like this- he’s not getting anything-

The overthinking is something you’re used to, and try as you might to talk yourself down from the ledge of sexual issues, you can’t relax. You can’t focus on Mark, and it frustrates you to no end.

Finally, after what feels like hours of him eating you out - although it must only be a few minutes - you gently tug his hair. “Want your cock now,” you tell him.

“Yeah?” Mark wipes his hand across his mouth, looking up at you with pupils blown from lust.

“Please,” you nod. 

“Should I uh- should I grab a condom?”

You’re quick to shake your head. “We’re both clean right?”

“Yeah-”

“I have an IUD, remember? I want you to cum inside of me.”

Mark draws in a shaky breath. You watch him swallow thickly, then he stands up, undoing his blue jeans. When he pushes down his pants, he moves his underwear too, and just like that, your favourite line chef is standing naked in front of you.

He’s got a pretty cock. It’s girthy, cut, and must be around seven or so inches. The tip is curved slightly to his left, and it’s leaking precum even though you’ve hardly touched him.

Did Mark really get that turned on just from eating you out?

“Come here,” you offer him a small smile, shifting up your bed until your head reaches the pillows. You open your arms for Mark, watching him press a knee onto the mattress and approach you. Your legs wrap around his hips, and you drag him into a kiss.

The kiss is passionate, but there’s a tentative energy to it as Mark’s cock presses between your pussy lips, collecting the juice and saliva that’s congregated there. 

“Are you sure about this?” Mark asks, panting against your mouth. 

You open your eyes to look up at him, nodding.

“I uh… I need to hear you say yes.”

“Yes, Mark, I’m sure about this,” you say, trailing your fingers through his hair. “Please, I want you.”

He searches your eyes, then, with a final nod, he kisses you again. One of his hands slides between your bodies, and you feel him line his cock up with your core. Your legs tighten around his hips, and it’s something like a united effort when his length sinks into your pussy.

You both groan against each other’s lips. The kissing stops, but you remain close enough that your noses are touching. His breath is hot against your skin, and he begins to fuck you slowly, his cock filling you perfectly.

“You feel so good,” Mark groans. 

All you can do is moan in response, drawing his lips back to yours while he fucks you.

You get lost in the feeling of him, and the kissing does aid in calming down your tumultuous thoughts. You can focus on the pleasure that thrums through you with each thrust, the way his cock glides against your inner walls and stretches you out.

Mark grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers and pressing you against the bed, his hips working faster. His tongue is eager against your own, and he eats up your soft whimpers. His groans and grunts of effort make your soul sing, your heart beating quickly in your breast.

“Shit,” Mark pulls away from the kiss, looking down at you. “It’s been a minute since I’ve- since I’ve slept with anyone,” he admits. “I’m uh… pretty close.”

“Want you to cum,” you tell him.

“Yeah?”

“Please- want you to fill me up-”

Mark groans, pressing his lips against your own. You kiss him desperately, tightening your legs around his hips. He squeezes your hand, his groans muffled by your mouth.

His hips work faster and faster- then, all at once, he kind of just stops. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, and his grip on your hand is tight as he coats your insides with his cum.

You hold him through his high, your free hand petting his hair while he brings his lips to your neck, panting desperately and kissing your skin. 

He lets out a sigh of relief as he finishes. Mark pulls away from your throat, looking down at you. You can tell there’s something he wants to say, but it’s clear that he’s not able to find the right words. “I, uh…” he licks his lips. “Should I grab you a tissue or something?”

“Yes, please,” you laugh, letting go of him so he can get off the bed. You watch him look around your room, finding your tissues on the nightstand. 

His legs are as covered in patchwork tattoos as the rest of him, and you’re pleased that the tour will continue another day. He hands you the tissue. “Do you want to use the bathroom first?”

“You can go for it, I just need a second,” you tell him.

Mark nods, pressing one last kiss to your lips before he leaves your bedroom.

You lay there in bed, holding the tissue between your legs to capture any of the cum beginning to leak out of you. 

You’re glad Mark got to cum. You’re not surprised you hadn’t. You just hope maybe one day you will get there, and for some reason, you have a hunch Mark will be the one to achieve an orgasm for you. Or at least, you hope he will. 

Nine

“So did you do it?” 

“Hmm?” Mark looks up from the chicken he’s cutting.

“You had your second date with Sunshine last night, right?” Hyuck presses. “So…. did you do it? Did you make her cum, or what?”

“Why are you so obsessed with this?” Mark sighs, looking at the other side of the kitchen where John is working. “We shouldn’t be talking about this here.”

“Nah, this is the perfect place to talk about it,” Hyuck leans against the work station, his back to the head chef. “So I’m guessing you didn’t make her cum.”

“Is that all you were thinking about every time you fucked her?” Mark asks.

“Duh.”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe that’s the kind of mentality that would make a girl overthink the situation?” Mark shakes his head. “I bet you would watch her super intently and then just ask her to cum.”

“That’s a move, Mark, it’s called having rizz.”

“But it never worked, so was it really rizz, or were you just fucking yourself over?”

Hyuck narrows his eyes. “So now you’re the expert on making girls cum?”

Over Hyuck’s shoulder, John stops what he’s doing and turns to stare at the line chefs. Mark can feel his skin heating, and he opens his mouth to rectify the situation, but Hyuck’s already speaking again. 

“I bet you a hundred bucks you won’t be able to make her cum.”

“Fuck you, I’m not betting money on this shit,” Mark hisses. 

“Sounds like something a pussy would say.”

“A pussy with a knife in his hand,” the line chef notes, his grip tightening on the handle. “Look, when I do make her cum, you have to stop bashing her like it’s her fault that you wouldn’t take the time to make her comfortable.” 

“And when you don’t make her cum?”

“It’s not going to happen.” Mark’s not sure where his confidence is coming from, but something in his heart tells him to be firm about this. He’s going to get you there. It might take a few weeks, hell, it might take over a month- but he’s going to get you to the point where you relax enough to cum for him, or so help him God-

Ten

Mark had cum inside of you three times since arriving at seven, and at two am he had finally broached the idea of heading home. “I should probably go,” the line chef had sighed, holding you closer to his chest.

“I mean… you could always just stay over?” you’d suggested.

“Yeah?”

“It’s our third date, why not?” you’d shrugged, cuddling tighter against him. 

You hadn’t planned this, it had just sort of happened, and that’s how Mark had ended up sleeping at your place for the first time. 

He’d woken up half way through the night, voice raspy, hands grabby, moaning about how lucky he was to be here with you. Falling asleep again after he’d railed you had been as easy as breathing, and now, in the morning hours, you’re in the shower to wash off all the cum he’d left on and inside of you. 

Neither of you have to be at work till the afternoon, and you kind of like the idea of lazing around with Mark, who’s still passed out in your bed. 

You take your time with your skin care and hair, and when you finally enter your room, you’re intrigued to find the line chef still asleep. He’s quite handsome like this, all bundled up in your white duvet, blonde hair shining around him like a halo.

You try to be careful as you crawl onto the mattress next to him, but Mark immediately rolls over to pull you tight to his chest. He lets out a soft groan, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

God, why are things so domestic with this boy already?

His hands trail up and down your back, fingers stroking your skin. You’d put on his shirt, but other than that, you’re naked, and it doesn’t take long for Mark to realize that fact. His touch moves down to your hip, sliding under the shirt. His thumb draws circles against your bare skin, and he lets out another moan. 

“Morning, puppy boy,” you laugh.

“Hungry,” Mark whispers. 

“Hmm?”

“I said,” he leans down, pressing kisses to your throat, his lips brushing by your ear when he repeats himself; “Hungry.”

“I can make you breakfast,” you assure him.

“Don’t want food,” Mark says. “Want you.”

In one quick motion he pushes you onto your back, getting on top of you. His breath is hot against your neck, and he tugs on your shirt, pulling it up to reveal your breasts. His mouth wraps around your nipple, and he sucks on it gently, releasing sounds of pleasure. 

You thread your fingers through his hair, letting out a sigh of relief. “Feels good,” you tell him.

One of his hands slips between your legs, his digits teasing your slit. “Always so wet for me,” he groans, releasing your nipple with a pop. “Can I taste?”

Mark is definitely getting more bold with you, but that’s what happens when you’ve fucked a handful of times, had three dates, and one sleep over. 

“You can do anything you want to me,” you tell him.

The line chef kisses down your abdomen, pushing your legs open as he settles between them. You thread your fingers through his hair as he brings his mouth to your core, licking at your pussy lips. 

Mark is really good at oral. This is the fourth time he’s eaten you out. With each time he presses his mouth to your pussy, part of you gets more and more convinced that you’ll cum this way. When he adds two fingers into your aching core, you’re pretty much sure that it will happen-

It feels so good, and the moans that escape you reflect that. Your hips buck toward his face, prompting Mark to press a palm to your lower abdomen, keeping you pinned.

But every time you think you’re close - every time you’re about to announce it to him - the feeling dissipates. 

You can feel yourself getting more and more irritated with your body, and soon, you give up entirely. “Mark?”

“Hmm?” The vibrations against your clit have your thighs shaking.

“Can I just- can we just fuck? Please? I want you inside of me.”

Mark pulls away from your pussy, his fingers continuing in your hole. “Are you sure? You know I enjoy playing with you like this.”

“I know- but, I just- I’m in my head again. Want your cock in my pussy.”

Mark takes his fingers out of your core, bringing them to his lips to lick clean. Then he crawls up your body, kissing you so you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

“I’ll fuck you,” he says, “but don’t ever think I don’t enjoy being between your thighs like that, okay? You don’t have to cum, I know from the sounds that you make that you enjoy it, and that’s enough for me until you get there, yeah?”

You swallow thickly, nodding. “I’m still in my head.”

“I get that, Sunshine,” he kisses you gently, cupping your cheek as he lines his cock up with your wet hole. “If there’s anything I can do to stop the overthinking-”

“Just fuck me,” you insist, wrapping your legs around his hips.

Mark laughs. “You got it.”

Eleven

“Dude, is that a hickey on your neck?” Hyuck’s annoying voice makes Mark flinch, and his hand immediately flies to slap against the side of his throat.

“What? No.” 

“It totally is,” Hyuck laughs. “Damn, you two must really be going at it a lot.”

“We’re having fun.”

“Fun like two times? Three?”

“Fun like five times in the past twenty four hours.”

“Jesus Christ.” Hyuck’s eyes practically bulge out of his head. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t know what you were talking about with her not being able to sleep next to you. She passed out just fine with me last night.”

Hyuck lets out a deep breath. “Fucking Hell. Maybe I underestimated you. So… did she cum?” 

Mark sighs. He hates to be talking about this while at work. You’re running food, but you could be back at any second, and Mark doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea about all of this. Hyuck is the instigator of these sexual talks, and Mark doesn’t know how much to keep to himself.

“So that’s a no,” Hyuck deduces. “Big ouch.”

“I feel like we shouldn’t talk about this anymore,” Mark says finally.

“Why? Is your pride hurt?” 

Mark lets out another annoyed breath. “I just think it’s disrespectful. You’re an ex fling of hers, you don’t deserve to know everything about her personal life.”

“I don't want to know about her personal life,” Hyuck rolls his eyes. “I want to know about her sex life, there’s a difference.” 

“I’m done talking to you about this,” Mark insists.

“Damn, someone is starting to sound like a protective boyfriend. Jeeze, calm down.”

Mark hates that there’s some truth in what Hyuck is saying. He already feels quite protective of you. He’s got dates planned, things that can make you smile. He pays close attention to you when you speak, looking for your likes and dislikes. 

Mark is falling for you faster than he’d ever care to admit, especially not to Hyuck of all people. 

Twelve

“Who does a staff Christmas party in January?” Jungwoo asks as a bunch of you take the big table after the restaurant has closed.

“We were all too busy at Chirstmas time, remember?” Jaehyun says, looking at his waiter friend. “And then there was New Years, and we closed early.”

“I agree with you Woo, a mid January Christmas party feels weird,” you grin, leaning against your favourite server. 

In all honesty, it feels like your managers Taeil and Doyoung just wanted to give you all some time to relax and celebrate. January can be a slow month in the restaurant business, and you’d heard Jeno mention yesterday that there are four or five bottles of wine that no one has been ordering that have to be used up. 

As you begin to drink the wine, the mid January Christmas party makes more and more sense. The chefs have finished their closing tasks, with John joining you first, followed by Hyuck, and finally Mark.

With Jaehyun across from you, Jungwoo on one side, and John on the other, you’re surrounded. Mark sits at the other end of the table, offering you a small smile. You give him a gentle wave in response, giggling to yourself over the rim of your wine glass.

“Gosh, Sunshine,” Jungwoo slides closer to you. “Are you drunk already?”

“You’ve been refilling my glass,” you point out, pouting a little.

“Because you’re a cute drunk,” he grins. 

“A very cute drunk,” Jaehyun agrees, eyeing you from across the table. 

The thing about dating a coworker and it being new means you can’t talk about it. Until there’s a label with you and Mark, you’re keeping your lips shut. As far as Jungwoo or Jaehyun know, you’re single, and the latter of the two has been hitting on you for months.

It feels odd to have Jaehyun calling you cute while Mark is just a few seats down. Your stomach twists into drunken knots, and you wish you could move to be closer to your new secret Boo-

In the periphery of your vision, you note Mark stand up and begin to head to the bar. It feels like the perfect excuse to get some time alone with him, so you hop off of your chair. 

Mark’s grabbed a glass and is beginning to pour himself a beer from the tap by the time you reach him. “Hi, puppy boy,” you grin.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he laughs, looking you up and down. “Jungwoo’s been feeding you the wine, huh?”

“Just like… a normal amount.” God, you can’t help but smile constantly at the boy who has your heart twisting into love sick knots. 

“Are you tipsy?” Mark cocks his head to the side as he finishes pouring his drink.

“Maybe…”

“Can I get you some water?” he suggests.

You lean forward over the bar top, lowering your voice so only Mark can hear you. “I’m thirsty, but not for water or wine.”

It takes Mark a moment to read the innuendo of your words, but then he laughs. “I should get you some water.”

“What if I don’t drink it?”

“What if I ask you to please drink it?” he counters, already filling a cup for you. 

“Okay, fine. Just for you, though.” 

Mark grins as he hands you the glass.

“Why do you take care of me so much?” you ask, as the two of you head back to the table.

“Because,” Mark pulls your chair out for you, “you’re my favourite expo girl.”

“I better be,” you say, teasingly narrowing your eyes at Mark before he walks back to his own seat down the long table.

You begin to nurse your water. Mark’s right about you needing it. The tipsyness has somehow intensified- probably because Jungwoo had insisted you finish your wine glass. You feel blurry as you sit there and listen to your coworkers chat.

“I just don’t like saying chicken breast,” Jungwoo states.

“But that’s what they are!” Yuta, one of the night line chefs, insists. “They’re breasts!”

“I just tell customers that the alfredo comes with chicken, they don’t need to hear me say breast!” Jungwoo fights back. “Jaehyun agrees with me, right Jae?”

“Yeah, I just say chicken,” the man across from you nods.

“Taeyong also just says chicken,” Jungwoo continues. “So right now it’s three to one.”

“Hyuck,” Yuta calls across the table, gaining the attention of the men at the other end. “Do you call it chicken breast, or just chicken?”

“Neither,” Hyuck says confidently. “Thems some chicken boobies.”

You can’t believe the conversation you’re hearing. “I think it’s time for me to leave,” you decide. 

“What? Why?” Jungwoo whines.

“I can’t be here for a discussion about chicken.”

Jungwoo slams his hand on the table. “See, she said just chicken too!” 

Yuta points his finger at you like you’re on a game show. “Is that your final answer?” 

You lean forward, pretending his hand is a microphone. “Chicken titties.”

“Yeah, we’re cutting you off,” Jungwoo decides. “You need to go home and sleep.”

“Someone should make sure you get back to your place okay,” Jaehyun notes, standing from his chair.

“I’ll take care of her,” comes Mark’s voice from the other end of the table.

Jaehyun turns to stare at the line chef, who also stands up. 

John is next to you, and you watch a knowing expression appear on his features, grinning as he sips his beer. 

“You still have half your drink left,” Jaehyun insists, “And, I’ve known our little miss Sunshine for much longer than you have. I’m sure she’s probably more comfortable with me taking her home.”

A muscle in Mark’s jaw feathers. You watch him reach down and grab his beer, downing the whole thing in three large gulps before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

Fuck, the motion reminds you of what he does whenever he eats you out, and you feel almost dizzy thinking about it.

“Who’s it gonna be, Sunshine?” Hyuck grins. “Jaehyun, or Marky boy?”

“Let’s go, Mark,” you say, offering Jaehyun a small smile. “We’ll see all you guys tomorrow.”

Jaehyun looks pretty defeated, but you can’t even bring yourself to care as Mark comes around the table to offer you his arm. At first, you think you don’t his help, but when you stumble after one step, you latch onto his bicep.

“I was hoping you’d go home with me tonight,” you whisper as the two of you exit to the parking lot, where Mark’s truck is waiting. He helps you climb inside, smiling and shaking his head.

“Sunshine, if you ever want me to go home with you, you don’t have to get drunk, just ask.”

Thirteen

“I’m really not that drunk,” you insist, making your way over to the liquor cabinet again.

Mark sighs. You’re a grown adult, he can’t keep directing you away from the booze. “Okay, I believe you. What do you want? Let me make it for you.”

“I want…” you think about it for a moment. “An espresso martini.”

“It’s late, won’t the espresso make it hard for you to sleep?” You’re definitely drunk and you both know it.

“I don’t care. Want espresso martini.”

“Okay, Sunshine, you got it.” Mark moves through your kitchen, finding the espresso machine there. He slips a pod into the device, setting up a cup. 

“Can you add honey?” you ask, already moving to the cabinet to grab a bottle. Mark takes it from you, squeezing some of the honey into the bottom of the cup as hot coffee begins to pour over it. “I also want Baileys.”

Mark laughs a little, shaking his head as you stumble to grab the large Irish Cream bottle from your cupboard.

“And also ice,” you declare. “Frothed.”

“This is a whole thing, huh?” Mark watches you fill the frother with Baileys. 

“I like what I like,” you insist. “We’re gonna triple froth this.”

“You’re the boss.” Mark reaches into his pocket, pulling out his vape. You’ve been letting him smoke in here, and he appreciates the reprieve as the two of you make this very complicated espresso martini. 

By the time you’re done with it, Mark’s not even sure you could call it an espresso martini. With the amount of frothed foam on top, this drink is something else entirely. 

He watches you lift the cup to your lips, immediately getting foam on your face. You simply giggle and wipe it off, licking your finger clean. Then you dip your digit into the froth, scooping it up and popping it in your mouth.

Mark swallows thickly while watching you do this.

“Puppy,” you groan, “this is so good.” You offer him your finger. “Try it.”

Mark can’t say no to you, so he allows you to dip your finger into his mouth. He licks you clean, watching the way your breath catches. You bite on your bottom lip, swaying a little on your feet.

“Your turn,” you say quietly, holding out the cup.

“My turn?”

“I wanna suck on your fingers.”

Mark knows you're drunk. He knows this probably isn’t the best idea for either of you, but he simply can’t say no to you. Not now, not ever. 

He dips his pointer into the foam, then presents it to you. 

You grab his wrist, keeping him still while you move forward to suck on his finger, releasing a small groan. Mark can already feel the blood rushing to his cock, but he ignores it as he goes for another scoop of froth. 

“Tastes better on you,” you tell him, licking his digit clean again. “More. Please.” 

The way you look at him each time you suck his finger tells Mark that you’re as horny as he is. When he scoops with two digits, you practically mewl as you lick.

“I wanna suck on something bigger,” you state.

“Sunshine,” Mark sighs, “I really don’t want to take advantage-” 

“You’re not. Mark, you’ve eaten me out so many times, please let me return the favour?” You’re already sinking to your knees on the kitchen floor, and the sight of you makes Mark’s cock throb in his jeans. “Please, I just wanna suck you off.”

“You know I can never say no to you.”

As the words leave him your hands find his belt. In moments, you’re pushing his pants down, your grip wrapping around the base of his cock. He watches you lick your lips, your gaze meeting his as you lean forward to take him into your mouth.

Mark immediately lets out a groan. “You feel so good, sunshine.”

You whimper around his length, and the vibration has Mark’s fingers twitching. He reaches for your head, cupping your face while you suck him off. His other hand places your drink on the kitchen counter before falling to his side. The line chef’s head falls back, his eyes closing as he eats up the feeling of you.

“That’s it,” he sighs, loving the way you twirl your tongue around his shaft.

You take as much of him past your lips as possible, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag around him, causing Mark’s eyes to fly open. He looks down at you with concern, but you keep sucking him.

“You don’t have to deep throat me,” Mark assures you, pushing some hair away from your face.

You let out a whine, sinking onto him again, only for your throat to constrict tight around his tip. 

Mark groans. “Fuck, Sunshine, I’m serious.”

The line chef could never do what you’re doing right now. Not because he’s not into cock, but because he has the worst gag reflex ever. He knows what it’s like to choke, and he doesn’t want you sputtering on his cock in the name of pleasuring him. 

When you try to deep throat him a third time, Mark simply pulls you off of him. He’s struck by the view of a string of saliva keeping you connected to his cock, and the way you look up at him in a confused daze has his heart thundering in his chest.

“Enough of that,” Mark says softly. “Let me take care of you.”

He reaches down, gently taking your hands so he can help you to your feet. 

“Bedroom?” he suggests.

You nod, swallowing thickly and wiping at your mouth, then you dart off. You’re awfully agile for a drunk girl, and Mark smiles to himself before following you. By the time he’s made it to the bedroom, you’ve already stripped.

You’re sitting on the bed, grinning at him with a hint of mischief in your eye.

“Take advantage of me, Mark,” you say as he pulls off his shirt.

“Jesus,” Mark whispers. “I hate to say it, but that line is not enticing at all.”

He’s still kind of questioning if this is a good idea, but at the same time, you’ve already fucked on multiple occasions. He knows you want him sober, and especially - it appears - while drunk. 

“Come on, please?” You pout out your lower lip.

Mark slips out of his jeans, joining you on the bed. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss while your legs encircle his hips.

As his cock slips past your core, Mark is shocked at how wet you already are. Booze has really done a number on you, but neither of you are complaining.

“You sure you want this?” he asks.

“Don’t make me beg,” you laugh, “Cuz I will.”

“No, it’s okay,” Mark swallows the lump in his throat. “Just checking.”

Before he can reach for his cock, you beat him to it, grabbing the base and lining his tip up with your entrance. “Fuck me, Mark, I’m begging for it.”

He presses his lips hard against your own as he pushes into your wet hole, both of you groaning loudly at the feeling. 

“Shit,” you whimper, breaking the kiss to look up at him, “I’m so sensitive today-”

“Alcohol does that sometimes,” Mark notes, bringing up a hand to cup your breast. When his fingers pinch your nipple, you let out a high pitched squeal, pushing your chest up toward his palm. 

“Fuck, Mark-” Your pussy clenches tight around him, and the feeling makes Mark dizzy. 

“You sound so good, Sunshine, and you’re gripping me so fucking hard-” Mark begins to fuck into you. Your nails claw at his arms, your head thrown back, eyes closed.

Mark reaches down to rub your clit. You shudder below him, legs tightening around his hips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-” you moan loudly. “Just like that-”

He applies more pressure to your sensitive bud, making your hips buck toward him, your core clenching him in a death grip. 

“If you keep squeezing me like this, I’m not going to last long-” he warns you, tension building in the base of his cock.

“I want you to cum,” you insist, opening your eyes to look at him.

“Don’t you want to try and get there too?” he asks. 

“I don’t-” you swallow thickly, “I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

“Let me fuck you a little longer, yeah?” Mark prompts. “I can wait a bit. Actually, we should switch positions.”

“To what?”

“Can you get on your knees for me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod quickly. As soon as Mark pulls away, you’re flipping over, pushing your ass into the air for him.

“Fuck, what a view,” he breathes, hands smoothing across your bum. 

You whimper, and the sound encourages Mark to slip himself into you again. The sigh of relief that leaves you has Mark’s skin tingling, his grip finding your hips. 

“It’s so deep,” you groan, tangling your fingers in the sheets.

You’re right about that- your wet pussy is taking every inch Mark has, and each smack of his hips against your ass has you getting even wetter. He’s pretty sure you’re dripping down your thighs at this point, and his fingers dig into your skin even harder.

The sounds you’re making are like music to his ears. Your grip on his cock is insane. Mark’s pretty sure tonight is going to be the night that you cum- but as he continues fucking you, it becomes more and more clear that only one of you is going to get there- and fast. 

“Fuck,” Mark grunts, his heart racing in his chest as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. 

“Cum in me,” you insist, reaching behind yourself.

Mark grabs your hand, lacing your fingers and holding you against the small of your back.

“You really want me to cum?” he asks, breathless.

“Please,” you nod, squeezing his hand. “Wanna be full.”

Again, Mark can’t say no to you.

“Okay, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he whispers, fucking you even harder. “Shit-” 

His orgasm hits straight on, tingling through his entire body like an electric jolt. He pushes his cock into you as deep as it can go, feeling it throb as he coats your walls in cum. Mark throws his head back, eyes closed, overcome by the pleasure that courses through him.

He’s not the type that can fuck someone through his high. When he cums, he has to stop, has to experience the feeling in full. His mind goes completely blank…

But his first thought when the words come back is that he should tell you he loves you.

Fuck. This is becoming a problem. 

Every time he cums deep inside of you, his feelings grow. He’s overwhelmed with this sense that you’re meant to be, that he should just lock you down and let you know how much you mean to him.

But as always, that logical side rears its head, reminding Mark that it’s only been a few weeks of seeing each other. He needs to take things slow- for your sake. He doesn’t want to scare you away. Being a safe space for you includes watching his tongue, it means not putting pressure on you like this- 

If there’s one thing that will pressure you, it’s the admittance that he’s kind of in love with you.

Instead of saying what’s on the tip of his tongue, Mark pulls out of you. He gets you a tissue for the cum that begins to drip out of your pussy, and a cup of water to make sure you’re hydrated. Once you’ve both cleaned up in the bathroom, he cuddles you close to his chest, stroking your back and listening to you breathe.

To Mark’s complete shock, you fall asleep on him within minutes. 

It’s a sign that you’re truly feeling safe with him, and Mark thinks he must be going in the right direction. He’s careful not to wake you up, he simply enjoys the feeling of holding you close while you rest.

Fourteen

You wake up slowly, cuddling closer to the warmth next to you. It takes you a moment to realize that the heat is coming from Mark, and you open your eyes to stare at him.

“Morning,” Mark grins, putting down his phone to watch you. “Sleep well?”

“Shockingly well,” you grin, snuggling closer. “You?”

“I like sleeping next to you,” Mark muses, wrapping his arms around you. “You know, I was thinking I could make you breakfast or something. Neither of us have work today.”

“Breakfast?” You perk up.

“Yeah, I can cook most breakfast or brunch foods, but uh… don’t ask me to make eggs.”

“Eggs?” You raise your brows, looking at him with a laugh.

“I know, it’s stupid cuz I’m literally a line chef, but I never went to school for it, remember?” Mark grins, stroking your skin. “John tried to teach me during brunch last week but I just- don’t have the patience for eggs.”

“Poor John, hired a chef who can’t cook eggs,” you tease. “Are you sure you don’t want something else for breakfast?”

“Like what?”

“Like… me?” 

Mark laughs. “As much as I’d love to fuck you today, I feel like- maybe it would be nice to not sleep together this morning... You know this isn’t just sex for me, right?”

“Yeah, but… sex is nice, isn’t it?”

Mark strokes your cheek, meeting your eyes. “Sex with you is always nice, but I think I kind of want to be domestic with you today instead, if that’s okay.”

Your heart clenches in your chest at his words. You can’t help but lean forward and kiss him gently. “That’s okay with me.”

“Good,” Mark grins. “Let's cuddle some more, and when you get hungry, I’ll take care of the food.”

As you slowly wake up next to Mark, you’re struck by how comfortable you are. Being with him like this feels natural. There’s no pressure to fuck, no need to suck dick in order to earn affection- Mark simply cares about you, and it’s clear in the way he holds you.

If you’re not careful, you could get used to this.

Fifteen

Since the ‘Christmas’ party, Mark’s been wanting to broach the subject of Jaehyun with you, but in the handful of times he’s slept over with you since then, it’s just never come up.

Today, watching Jaehyun talk with you by the bar, the question is fresh on Mark’s mind, and he only has one person he can justifiably ask about it.

“So… how close are Jae and y/n?”

“Hmm?” Hyuck looks up from the burger he’s stacking. “Oh, those two? Pretty close.”

Mark groans at the lack of detail. “Did they ever date?”

“I think she’s definitely his work crush. Pretty sure he’s asked her out a few times, but I don’t know if she realized it was a date sort of thing.” Hyuck laughs to himself. “I actually walked in on him asking her out around Halloween, but I think she thought it was a group idea. She rejected him though.”

“Looks like he hasn’t taken the hint,” Mark says, mouth forming a firm line.

“Nah, Jae has a pretty big ego. I mean, you’ve seen his face. He’s not used to rejection, it doesn’t compute for him.”

Mark doesn’t say anything, he simply goes back to the alfredo he’s cooking. But it becomes clear that Hyuck doesn’t want to let this go.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you, Marky boy?”

“No.”

“Yes, you totally are,” Hyuck grins. “How long have you and Sunshine been seeing each other now?”

“Like… three weeks? A month almost?”

“Have you talked about being exclusive or anything?”

“Not really.”

Hyuck rolls his eyes. “It’s a yes or a no, Mark. There’s no ‘not really,’ when it comes to ‘the talk.’”

“No, we haven’t talked about it,” Mark admits with a sigh.

“Sounds like something you want though, right?” Hyuck presses.

“I thought I said I wasn’t going to talk to you about this anymore.”

“You’re the one who brought up Jae,” Hyuck points out, raising his hands in mock defense. 

Mark supposes Hyuck is right about that. He’s been considering defining the relationship recently- thinking about how a label could offer you safety, stability, things that are needed to help you relax. 

But now, the label transcends the use for comfortability and cumming, it almost feels needed.

You’re hot. Mark knows that. He sees the way people hit on you every day while you’re working. At first, he’d been okay with it- but now, he thinks maybe he needs something more. Maybe he needs the comfort of knowing that you’re taken, by him. 

He’s not the type to feel insecure, and he’s not even sure that insecurity is the right word for what he’s feeling.

All Mark knows, is that he wants to get to the next level with you, and he’s going to pull up his big boy pants to finally do it.

Sixteen

You’ve been at home for a few hours, having been cut from work early since it was a slow day, and you’re a little surprised when Mark calls you around dinner time.

“Hey you,” you grin, collapsing onto your bed to give Mark your full focus.

“Whatcha doin?” he asks.

“Just sitting here, was thinking of watching a movie. How about you? Just got off work?”

“Yeah, in a minute, just taking a vape break first. I was thinking maybe you’d let me see you when I’m off?”

“Definitely, you know my door is always open for you. But I should warn you, I have literally nothing in my fridge.”

“That’s okay, I’ll make your favourite and bring takeout,” Mark assures you. “See you in like… half an hour?”

That’s how Mark shows up on your home a short while later. You look him up and down, taking in his work outfit. “Didn’t wanna change after shift?” you grin, holding your door open for him.

“I uh, wanted to see you. Need a shower, so I figured I’d put on my fresh clothes after that.”

“Sounds good, you know that my home is your home. Go shower, I’ll put our food in bowls.” You accept the takeout from Mark, intent on turning to head to the kitchen- only for him to pull you back into an embrace.

“Hi,” he mumbles, kissing the side of your head and nuzzling against your hair.

“Hi,” you grin, turning in his arms to press your lips to his. “Go shower.”

“You got it.”

Mark goes into your bathroom, and a moment later you hear the water begin to run. You take your time in the kitchen. Mark has made himself alfredo, and he’s cooked your favourite rice bowl for you. You smile to yourself while plating the food, loving how domestic things have gotten with Mark.

Part of you is tempted to join Mark in the shower, but you’re not sure if you’re there yet, so you wait patiently for him to finish. This isn’t the first time he’s showered at your place, and you trust he’ll see his designated towel hanging on the hook behind your door. 

You kind of enjoy that he’s gotten so comfortable at your home. You’ve been spending so much time with him here and at work that it feels kind of odd when he’s not around. 

Soon, Mark is coming out of the bathroom. He’s in sweatpants and a tank top that shows off his tattoos. You have to actively stop yourself from drooling as you move to sit at the dinner table.

“So… did you need to talk to me about something?”

“Hmm?” Mark sits across from you.

“We didn’t have plans, you called and wanted to come over, I guess I’m just wondering if you had a specific reason.”

“Can’t I just miss you?” he grins.

Despite his words, it’s clear that there’s more to it, however you drop the issue. When Mark is ready to be real with you, he will be. You have time until then.

Mark begins to talk about work, how it had gotten busy after you’d left. You listen, happy to chat with him while you eat. 

After food, the two of you move to the couch, cuddling up while Netflix starts.

You’re two seasons into your anime already, it’s funny how time flies. You can turn your brain off when Mark spoons you, his lips pressing soft kisses to your shoulder every now and again.

One episode in, Mark reaches over you for the remote, pausing your show. 

“I guess there is a reason I wanted to come over,” he admits finally.

“Yeah?” You turn onto your back, looking up at him. 

“I hate to say that I’ve been jealous, but uh… since the Christmas party, I’ve been a little jealous about you and Jaehyun.” Mark won’t meet your eyes, and you give him the space to continue. “I just… people are always hitting on you, and I don’t know, I think… I mean, I’m a serial monogamist according to Hyuck, and I know we haven’t been seeing each other for that long, but I only see you, in all ways, and I just… I don’t want to lock you down if you’re not looking for something serious, but I guess I wanted to know how you feel about exclusivity and that sort of thing.”

“With you? Mark… I’d love to be exclusive.” You let out a small laugh. “Don’t you realize that I have to watch girls flirt with you too? Maybe we’ve both been jealous.  I think… locking each other down would be good for us.”

“Yeah?” Mark’s beaming now.

“You’re special,” you confess. “I’ve never been able to sleep next to a guy I’ve slept with, which feels like such a contradiction- but sleep has always come easy with you. I’ve never felt such a lack of pressure- such acceptance, for all of me, the good and the bad. I like you a lot Mark, and I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear.”

“It’s not that it wasn’t clear,” Mark assures you, cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. “I just… I know you have that wild side, which is totally valid, I just wasn’t sure you were a settling down type.”

“I wasn’t so sure I was either, and then I met you.”

Mark kisses you instead of responding, but you can feel the emotion in the press of his lips against yours. He’s elated by what you’ve just said, and you’re close to floating to cloud nine too. 

Even so, there’s something else. You can feel it in the slight tension of his shoulders when your fingers brush over his skin.

“Mark?” you break the kiss, blinking at him. “Is there something else on your mind?”

“It’s just… I know I said there’s no pressure, but I really wanna help you cum. And I’ve been thinking maybe… maybe we could use some of your toys.”

“My toys?”

“Like… some girls cum better with a vibrator, and if you have one, I’d love to use it on you.”

“Really?” You’re shocked. Lots of men think their dick is good enough, they feel emasculated to bring sex toys into the mix- but here’s Mark, being as contrarian as ever. 

“Even if it doesn’t help you cum, I still think it would be fun. I’m not trying to pressure you-”

“We can use my vibrator,” you assure him, heart thundering in your rib cage at the mere thought of it. 

No man has ever used a sex toy on you- it’s probably one of the reasons you’ve never cum with a lover before.

“Come on,” you sit up, heading to your bedroom while Mark follows. “I keep my toys in the closet,” you explain, bending down to find the shoe box that stores your vibrator. You pull the device out, showing it to Mark. “Is this going to work?”

“Yeah, it will work.” Mark watches you stand up, and he holds out his hand for you to pass the toy to him. “I’m uh… I’m gonna put this down so I can get you naked.”

“Okay,” you grin.

He sets the vibrator on your bed gently, turning to you. Mark grabs your face first, pulling you in for a kiss. He’s gentler than you thought he would be, but you don’t mind it. You like getting lost in the feeling of Mark, allowing him to guide you toward the bed.

When you reach your mattress, his hands slip down to the hem of your shirt. He carefully removes it, and you lift your arms to help him with the task. Mark doesn’t immediately go for your pants next, he kisses you again instead, cupping your cheek with one hand while the other grabs the small of your back.

His touch is so gentle, smoothing across your skin. It’s making you even more eager, and you find yourself removing his shirt before he begins to work on your sleep shorts. Soon, you’re just in a bra and panties, but even those get taken off. 

When you’re completely bare, Mark gently pushes you down onto your bed, eyes taking in your body.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he muses.

Your skin heats at the praise, and you begin to close your thighs, only for Mark to gently prompt them open. 

“Don’t hide from me, please,” Mark says softly, getting onto his knees at the foot of your bed. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your clit before he pushes his tongue into your wet hole.

You breathe a sigh of relief, threading your fingers through his hair. You adjust your thighs on his shoulders, trailing your toes against his well-defined back. 

He eats you out for a little while, groaning as he goes. It’s clear to you now that Mark enjoys getting his fill of you, and it makes the experience ten times more enjoyable for you. You’ve been getting better at slowing your mind while Mark licks at your clit, better at focusing on him and not all the worrying thoughts that generally buzz around you.

You feel the bed shift, and you open your eyes to see Mark has reached for the vibrator. He turns it on, assessing the way the toy shakes on the lowest setting. “Do you wanna show me where to use this, sunshine?” he asks, holding it out to you.

With a deep breath, you nod, accepting the toy and bringing it to your clit. “I like… a good amount of pressure,” you tell him, showing him exactly where you like the vibrator to be held.

It feels kind of odd to be pleasuring yourself like this in front of Mark, but from the way his pupils are blown, eyes fixed completely on your core, you can tell that he’s enjoying the view. It makes you feel more confident, as you begin to drag the vibrator side to side, teasing yourself. 

“This sort of movement is good too,” you tell him.

“Can I take over now?” he asks.

You nod, allowing him to grab the handle of the toy. 

Now that you’re not the one holding it, you can focus completely on the feeling of your clit being vibrated. It feels amazing, your toes curling at the stimulus.

Mark’s free hand is on your inner thigh, smoothing against your skin, but soon, it joins the vibrator. He teases two fingers along your folds before pushing them into you, crooking them up to find the spongey spot that has you crying out.

“You make such pretty sounds,” Mark tells you, applying more pressure to your clit with the vibe. “Fuck, I could watch you like this all night.”

“Puppy-” you whimper, skin tingling at his words.

“You have no idea how good you look,” he continues. “I swear- I want you to cum, but even if you don’t, I’m not going to be able to forget about this. This view is- fuck, it’s the best view in the world. We’re going to be at work and this is all I’ll be thinking about. I won’t be able to get you out of my head.”

With each admittance, each uttered word of praise, you can feel the tension building in the pit of your stomach.

“Can you grind on this a little, sunshine? Grind on my fingers and your toy?”

“Yeah-” you whimper, hips moving as you try to follow with his prompt. 

“That’s it-” Mark groans. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

His fingers work harder inside of you, and the added pressure makes you squeal. You can’t help the way one of your arms comes up to cover your face, muffling your sounds as your body moves on it’s own accord now. You’re grinding against his hand, grinding against the vibrator that sends tremors of pleasure through your entire form.

“I’m so fucking lucky,” Mark tells you. “So lucky that you’re mine- I could watch you like this for hours and not get bored.”

“Mark-” you groan. Usually, when you acknowledge an orgasm building, it dissipates, like some cruel trick of fate, a complete defiance of the laws of physics- but this time, when you whimper “I’m close” the feeling doesn't fade, it only builds.

“Yeah?” Mark sounds shocked. “All it took was a vibe, huh?”

“And… and your praise-”

“You like when I talk dirty to you, sunshine?” Mark asks. “Like it when I tell you how perfect and pretty you are?”

“Yes-”

“Are you going to be a good girl and cum for me? Or should I finger fuck this cute little pussy even harder?”

“Oh my God-” you whimper. Mark has truly gotten comfortable with you now- he’s not holding back with his sinful words, and they make your stomach pull into a tight knot. “Please, harder-”

Mark presses the vibrator against your clit, turning up the vibration with his thumb while his fingers continue their brutal pace inside your core.

You find yourself gasping, unable to speak as he works you closer and closer-

“Cumming-” you whisper, your orgasm slamming into you like a train. 

Your breath catches, waves of pleasure surging through you. Your fists grip the sheets, your back arches, your thighs quaking around Mark. Whimpers and moans fill the room, your core pulsating around Mark’s fingers while he works you through your high.

“That’s it,” Mark groans. “That’s my good girl.”

“Puppy-” you breathe, the feeling almost becoming too much for you.

“What do you need, sunshine?”

“Your cock,” you blurt out. 

“Yeah?” Mark’s fingers slow inside your pussy. 

“Please, wanna cum on your cock-”

Mark lets out a breath. “Holy fuck.” He turns the vibrator off, taking his digits from your core. Mark licks them clean before he stands up, pushing down his sweatpants. “Move up the bed for me?” he suggests.

You wiggle up to the pillows, watching Mark get onto the mattress. He allows you to lock your legs around his hips, pulling him close while he crashes his lips to yours.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, kissing him deeply. He ruts his hips, allowing you to feel his cock dragging against your core.

Patience is a virtue, but you don’t have any left. You reach between your bodies, grabbing his hard length to line it up with your pussy. 

Mark slides into you, and you let out an immediate sigh of relief. His fingers had been nice, but his cock is even better. It stretches you open, you can feel him deeper than ever. You gasp against his mouth, dragging him closer as he begins to thrust into you. 

“You feel so good, sunshine,” Mark groans, breaking the kiss so he can press his lips to your throat. 

“Puppy-” you whimper, arching your neck so he has better access to find your sweet spot.

Mark captures your hands, lacing your fingers and pressing you into the bed while he fucks you. 

You can feel him everywhere. You’re completely bewitched by Mark Lee. Your core is practically dripping, each thrust made easy by the wet that exudes out of you. 

Then Mark is reaching for your vibrator. He sits up slightly, looking down at you. “Missionary? Or maybe doggy would be better?”

“I wanna see you when I cum again,” you tell him, accepting the vibrator he holds out to you. “Want you to see me cum with your cock in my pussy.”

Mark lets out a low groan, pressing his lips to yours as you turn on the toy, adjusting it onto your clit.

“If you can’t cum, that’s okay-”

“I think I’ll cum,” you assure him. “Just fuck me hard, and I’ll get there.”

“I can do that,” Mark grins, immediately picking up his pace and adding more power to his thrusts.

“And… tell me I’m pretty again?”

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Mark groans. “I’m so fucking lucky- how did I ever get this lucky?”

“Puppy-”

“You have no idea how into you I am- I love your sounds, love your voice- love the face you make when you feel good- love your smile-”

Each admittance has your heart buzzing in your chest. It’s crazy how easy it is for him to praise you- it almost feels like all these things were built up inside, like he’s a dam that’s just been released, and God, you love the flood.

You press the vibrator harder against your clit, entire body surging with energy. 

“You’re squeezing me so well, baby,” Mark groans, and the sound has your pussy throbbing. “Want you to cum with me so bad, do you think you can cum with me?”

“Yeah, just- kiss me?” you suggest.

Mark presses his lips to yours immediately, cupping your face with one hand. His tongue glides against your own. You eat up each other's sounds, getting completely lost in each other.

In no time at all, another orgasm is building in the pit of your stomach. 

“I’m gonna-” you whimper against his lips.

Mark fucks you even harder in response, and the motion is dizzying. 

“Please, sunshine, cum with me- fuck, I can’t hold it, cum with me-”

His words are your last straw as you explode on his cock. Your core clamps down hard, gasps of extacy escaping you.

To Mark’s credit, he holds off his own high long enough to fuck you through yours, and the moment you begin to be oversitmulated, he cums too. You can feel his cock throbbing in your pussy, his load spilling along your insides and coating your walls.

You kiss him deeply, enjoying his whimpers of pleasure.

You’ve never cum with someone balls deep inside of you before, and there’s a voice in the back of your mind itching for you to tell Mark that you love him- but you bite your tongue. You simply kiss him, holding him close while he finishes.

Finally, Mark lets out a small gasp, pulling away from your lips. His forehead presses against yours, and you’re both breathing heavily.

You’ve never felt this connected to someone in your entire life.

“Are you going to get us tissues?” you ask after a moment, letting out a small laugh.

Mark chuckles, pressing his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “I just wanna enjoy you a second longer.”

“Puppy, you have literally all the time in the world.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I really wanted to kick the year off with something more realistic. I wanted to write about a reader who over thinks, who doesn’t cum super easily like we usually see in fanfic. I wanted to touch on the realism of relationships, the use of sex toys, things discussed in the bonus like whiskey dick, domestic showers together and troubles sleeping next to someone new- I really hope you guys liked this even though it’s not as classic fanfic as I usually write :) 

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. “I drank too much,” Mark admits. “Hyuck kept egging me on- I’m pretty sure he wanted to get me blackout so I couldn’t fuck you tonight- But I swear- whisky dick won’t last all night,” Mark tells you. “And, I mean, you know I love using your toys so it doesn’t even matter.” He’s adorable. Of course Hyuck wouldn’t take into account that sometimes Mark is perfectly happy making you cum with your toys and not fucking you at all. Mark truly is a man built for your pleasure, and you’re not surprised that ‘whiskey dick’ hasn’t phased him.

cw/ tw. drunk!Mark, shower shenanigans, fingering, pussy eating, use of toys/g spot stimulator, Mark has ‘whiskey dick’ and can’t get hard at first, unprotected sex, praise, dirty talk, munch!Mark, creampie/fullness kink, etc…  I petnames. (hers) sunshine. (his) puppy.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 250

🌙 starring. Mark x afab!Reader

bonus

“Puppy?” You sit up in bed, holding your phone close. Mark’s at some boys night thing, and you really hadn’t expected to hear from him, but here he is, calling you at midnight.

“Hi, Sunshine.” 

“Hi Sunshine!” Someone else screams in the background.

“Oh my god, fuck off, Hyuck!” Mark yells back. “Not you, baby, I’m talking to Hyuck.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, “I gathered that.”

You’ve also gathered that your boyfriend is drunk. You can hear it in his voice, and when he begins to hiccup, it’s even more evident.

“So uh, I wanna see you.”

“You can see me tomorrow, we have dinner plans, right?”

“No, I wanna see you tonight and tomorrow,” Mark insists. 

“You do, huh?” God, he’s adorable.

“Yes, please.”

“Don’t you want to finish boys night?” you prompt, not wanting to get in the way of his time with friends. You know Jeno would get mad about Mark spending time with his ex instead of his boys, and you don’t want to be that girlfriend who restricts her lover from his bros.

“Nah, fuck this,” Mark says. “Jeno went home with a girl, it’s just me and Hyuck and Renjun and Chenle and Jaemin and Jisung-” Sweet Jesus, he’s listing half of your work staff. “But I wanna be with you. I can call a cab and be at your place in like, fifteen minutes?”

“Whatever you want, puppy,” you grin. “I’ll be here.”

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[jedi-starbird]

Time Travel is my favourite trope and I think we need more fics where both Obi-Wan AND Qui-Gon time travel together because no matter when they get sent it's chaos. They're saving the galaxy and being physic flash-bangs to everyone around them.

like before Bandomeer?

The entire council is baffled to watch as Qui-Gon 'never taking a padawan again' Jinn has suddenly cut off his post-Xanatos depression tour to return to the temple and beeline to the creche with a frantic energy. His wild eyes immediately single out a fluffy, red-haired initiate.

"You." he exhales with a pointed finger, slightly ominous as he towers over the child. Said child starts vibrating with delight. "Me." he agrees, launching himself at the man. Qui-Gon drops to his knees with a thud that cannot be healthy. Obi-Wan's attempts to clamber into Qui-Gon's robes and maybe onto his shoulders is thwarted by the fact that Qui-Gon's massive hands are cupping Obi-Wan's tiny squishy cheeks. He stares at the initiate for a few minutes with an intensity that is starting to worry people.

Finally, "You're so small." Qui-Gon sounds like he might cry.

'What the fuck?' Plo Koon projects at Mace.

"I'm 9! That tends to be the case!" the child chirps back.

"You're nine." Oh. Ah. Qui-Gon's eyes are distinctively misty. He squishes the boy in a hug so hard he squeaks. Mace makes a series of gestures that imply the need for a head-scan. Depa obligingly drifts off towards the halls. Qui-Gon scoops the child up onto his hip and claims him as his padawan on the spot. The assorted council members and creche-masters burst into noise. Mace tells Depa to bring some space ibuprofen as well.

after Naboo?

Anakin is a little apprehensive of his place in both the order and Obi-Wan's life, but then one day Obi-Wan wakes up and is suddenly a lot less sad in the force?? In fact, if Anakin didn't know better he'd say he was almost giddy, but he's watched Obi-Wan try to pretend his world hasn't fallen apart for the past few months so it can't be that, right? And um, Miss Bant? He knows grief is a funny thing that affects people differently but he's pretty sure 'massive mood swing' and 'having full conversations with invisible people' is not...great? and you said to tell you if Obi-Wan got really weird in any way.

Anyway after a lot of medical exams, intense consultation with the archives, and a couple exorcisms, Anakin ends up being raised by his 'real' master and his ghost master. He is far more well adjusted emotionally and far less well adjusted for what counts as normal people behavior(not talking to thin air). When questioned on this, all he ever says is that he's talking to Qui-Gon. Isn't he...dead? Well, yes. Wait, he's a ghost? Ghosts are real? ...Well this ghost is real.

This starts a great number of existential crises among non-force sensitives and incredibly heated theological arguments amongst the Jedi. Whenever Obi-Wan is questioned on this, all he ever says is some variation of "the force got to know him for 5 seconds and kicked him back out." Mace backs him up on this even though that reasoning is technically blasphemous. Qui-Gon is having the time of his un-life. He's ascended to his final form, his sheer existence is a heresy, this is truly all he has ever aspired towards.

the Clone Wars?

The minute they get dropped back Qui-Gon immediately goes and haunts the shit out of Dooku. They have a signed terms of surrender and promise of info on the Sith Lord within the year. Only half of it is because Qui-Gon's giving Dooku complexes that are only perceptible to shrimp, the other half is because they now have a ghost spy that is not bound by the laws of physics nor spacetime.

Obi-Wan only nominally pays attention to this as he immediately goes and implements his 19 step seduction plan with Cody (he had to focus on something on Tatooine to pass the time). It fails. Spectacularly. Publicly. Ah right. Tatooine was not exactly the height of his sanity. Everyone in the GAR and temple is now riveted by High General and Councilor Obi-Wan Kenobi's attempts to go on a date with his Commander, who bats him away him like a particularly annoying stray and seems one bouquet of cactus away from committing mutiny. Anakin is worrying if it means his master knows about his secret marriage and this is some sort of really weird power play. (It is, but not in the way he thinks)

The next time Dooku goes after Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon spends a good few months appearing tear-stained at the edge of Dooku's perception and only communicating in terrible wails and discordant mutterings of 'padawan. my padawan. my little one.' 24/7.

"Wait, you're annoying Dooku into surrendering?"

"Oh no Anakin, we're crushing his psyche like a bug. :)"

[nichuuu]

Paper Houses

Cho Miyeon x M reader

(1st instalment of The View Between Villages)

Word Count: 18k+ Special thanks to @defmaybe for helping to draw out the best version of this fic.

(All the details? Really? Oh wow. Okay…)

(I’m gonna dissociate myself from this so… “you” is gonna appear a lot. Don’t sweat it cupcake—you’re not actually the one in this mess. 

It’s just a bad habit of mine, that’s all.)

--

(You’re lucky. You get the sweet start to it all. For what it’s worth: sweetness is a fucking deceiving concept when you have rose-tinted lenses.)

“You know: out of all the men I’ve dated, you cook the best.”

You raise an eyebrow as you flip the grilled cheese in your skillet. Frankly, there’s nothing to be impressed about over grilled cheese and tomato soup. Cheese sandwiched between two evenly buttered slices of bread, grilled till golden brown and served with a side of hot tomato juice in a bowl. Literally everything has been prepared for you and packed neatly into some package in a grocery store. All you did was heat it up and add a few of your own ingredients.

“Is that a compliment or a flex?” you ask, turning your gaze away from your skillet momentarily to look at Miyeon as she replies. Her face isn’t gonna add value to her answer, but you just like looking at her. She is hot after all. 

She scoffs and takes a sip of her coffee. “Jeez… Can’t a woman compliment her boyfriend in peace?”

You’ve had this conversation before, but you like to entertain her.

“This woman can’t,” you tell her, making sure she can see the smirk on your face as you turn back to the sandwich. You wave your spatula in the air as you speak, almost like you’re referring to PowerPoint slides. “She’s too weird about everything. Never take her seriously.”

“Oh, so we’re just gonna call me weird and neglect the fact you keep your butter in that?” she exclaims, pointing at the butter bell on top of your fridge. It was a Christmas gift from your mom last year, and even though you did think it was weird at first, you have not gone back to keeping your butter in blocks. 

“You keep my fucking butter bell out of this,” you warn, and it’s half joking and half serious. 

(No one fucks with your butter bell.)

Miyeon chortles. You don’t need to look at her to know that she’s raising her hands in the air when she says, “jeez man. Didn’t know you guys were tight like that…”

And it’s stupid exchanges like this that make you appreciate her company by bounds. It’s lonely in the apartment when she’s out being famous; really nice to have her around for the holidays, albeit for a short time. It’s been a while since she’s been back. There’s much to catch up on over an 11 am brunch. You don’t know why she’s up so damn early today, cause normally you guys sleep till the late afternoon, then go figure out what to eat for dinner before lazing around in the apartment.

So with cheese falling from the corner of her lip, she gives you the latest developments in her life. Then it’s your turn, and you're glad to say that nothing’s really of interest in either of your updates. That’s usually for the better: sometimes the news you give each other can be a little heart-attack-inducing, so it’s better that your lives are pretty bland.

“You know,” she says as she wipes her mouth. “I might just keep dating you for your food,” she tosses her tissue onto the dining table and lets out a sigh. “Fucking delicious.”

You scoff and sip on your coffee. “Bet you told that to all the guys,” you reply wryly. “Probably gets them real excited, huh?”

She grins. It’s cheeky, mischievous, maybe even a little naughty. “Not telling.”

“You don’t tell me a lot of things,” you chuckle, and you’re low-key unsurprised to hear a little bit of unintended bitterness in your voice. “Not that it matters or anything… I just value communication.”

Oh, you’re petty. So fucking petty that it makes your skin crawl a little.

Miyeon’s unfazed. 

“Don’t get your tits in a tussle, pretty boy,” she muses. She folds her arms and leans into the table. “You’ll know more when I trust you more. For now: I’ll give you information as I please.”

And you kick yourself because you forget she can be a bit of a handful herself.

“Ugh, what will I ever do with this mysterious woman?” you smirk, resting your elbow against the table as you lean in as well. To be perfectly clear: you’re not mad at her. Her secrecy just bugs you out a little, and she knows it. “Such little knowledge on such a hardened beauty… must be tough to really crack her open and figure her out.”

You love her eyes, and you love to make them roll (in multiple contexts). They kinda gleam as she tilts her head. “Fine… I’ll give you something since you’re so damn desperate,” she drums her fingers against her cheek while her chin nestles itself into her palm. “What I’m about to give you is gonna change your life in so many ways. It’ll probably redefine your whole damn existence.”

You express your interest by leaning in a little more. Miyeon checks her six—like she isn’t in the comfort of her own home—before leaning in. She’s all clandestine. You have no idea what for. 

“You ready?” she checks. And you know she isn’t expecting an answer, but you nod nonetheless. She checks her left and right for good measure. You never know: maybe your lamp is listening.

“I’m aching for cock right now.”

And you guys don’t even make it to the couch.

It’s on the floor next to your table where she has your face in her hands, and she’s kissing you aggressively. She’s properly kissing you, and it makes you knock the back of your head against the floor a little, but it’s really not too big of a deal. 

She lifts her lips off yours and smirks. “For the record: it’s your fault that we aren’t fucking on the couch.”

“Yeah, and I actually paid rent early for once,” you shoot back sarcastically. “And would you mind helping me clean the yacht I most definitely own on my luxurious salary? Thanks a bunch, honey.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. She knows you’re full of shit, but she’s full of the same shit as you. Form a shit pile or something, maybe even a shit mountain if you feel like it. You could really go on for a while about how you two can talk for hours, but that’s not the main event.

The real deal comes when she has her hand beneath the waistband of your pants, slithering down to the very thing she aches for. She has that smile on her face, the one that kinda says “Oh I’m gonna love this” or “you’re gonna love this” or maybe even both. There are ways to distinguish the messages by looking at her eyes, but you’re a little too lazy to go figure it out right now. And before someone calls you a bum, you can’t help it: she has her hand on your cock and a piercing gaze trained on you. How about you try and focus on discerning implicit messages when there's a hot woman touching you in the right places?

“How are you hard already?” she asks, a hint of a giggle in her tone as she presses your shaft against your body. There’s barely any space down there, yet she makes it work so easily. “I didn’t even, like, do anything yet.”

“Well,” you hum, just as she starts to squeeze your member, appling that toe-curling pressure to your tip and smiling as you strain a little. “I can kinda see your tits through your shirt.”

Miyeon raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t even look at her shirt. “Oh?” and she starts to pump. “I didn’t notice that…”

“Totally,” you grunt. “Like how you don’t notice that your shorts are barely shorts?” you continue, but there’s something more bugging you. “And at least pull my pants down if you’re gonna jack me off, would you?”

Miyeon snorts, but compiles nonetheless. She gets your pants and boxers off with ease. It’s one swift motion (it’s practiced grace really), and she gets back to the task at hand before she was so rudely interrupted. 

“What does seeing my tits have anything to do with you?” Her motions are languid and fluid, steady and flowing like a stream. She doesn’t need to look. She doesn't need to guess. She knows you like the back of her hand. “Does it turn you on? Excite you?”

You have it in you to roll your eyes before they shut. “Stop asking these fucking ridiculous questions.”

“It's a basic inquiry.” She laughs in this aloof tone that you know is paired with the most devious of smiles. “So you won’t let me compliment you and you won’t let me ask questions? Tsk. Chivalry is dead.”

Miyeon goes a little faster, adds a twist of her wrist. This is just her hand, mind you, and it’s already ruining you in a way that only she is capable of. The tender touch of Cho Miyeon is something no woman you’ve met could ever replicate, and it takes you to places that you can only visit with her. Those fingers are magic, that mouth is magic—hell, everything about her is magic. 

“Please,” you manage to quip past the jolts of magic being sent through your system. “We both know that you have the answers to all the questions you just asked.”

She giggles—playfully, you might add. This is all a part of the game you play with her; this is the way Miyeon’s cookie crumbles. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Who cares?”

You care: not a lot, but enough to make this as humorous as you want it to be. You kinda only give two shits because it lets you be kinda petty with her, but not that you externalise it or anything. You just have it pent up in you for the fun of it.

“Anyway,” she muses, halting the strokes of her hand to your cock. “Have I told you about how much I wanted you to fill me while I was filming?”

You take a moment to breathe. “No… But do tell.”

And gets to that, but not before ridding herself of her shirt first. By technicality, it’s your shirt, but it shrunk in the dryer at some point, so it just became hers. She gets into the details, the nitty gritty; tells you exactly what she’s imagining during the filming of her Music Video all while you kind just sit there and ogle at her chest. She takes her time, covers the stuff that you don’t really need to know but it’s kinda hot to know — things like “ugh, I needed you to bend me over the hood of that car and just fuck me at that point…” — because you admittedly get off knowing that she ever thinks about you that way and… God, you’re rambling aren’t you? Still pretty fitting though: it’s the way Miyeon talks when she’s thinking nonsense.

“Ugh. Now I’m wet,” she mutters. She speaks as if it’s your fault that she went on rambling about her fantasies with you. “You know you make me like, really horny right?”

“Oh no… Whatever will I do?” you’re really just rolling with it. Not because you want to, but because you want to get this bit where you tease each other over and done with. It’s kinda like marinating meat in the way it makes the sex a little hotter. Truthfully: you’re aching for her. Really: you want nothing more than to just get her pinned beneath you and writhing on your wooden floor. 

And frankly? You could do all of that right now.

So it’s with a bit of grace (and some dexterity) that you flip the positions: now you’re kneeling over her while she is the one that lies on the floor, if that makes any sense. Miyeon isn’t shocked by your sudden movements, more so delighted by the fact that you finally gave in to your carnal urges and just went for it. She smiles, knowing full well that she’s done something that's gonna give her that fuel she needs for the week. You know: sex that’s the opposite of soft; some shit that fulfills some wild thoughts. 

“Gotta say, you’re quicker than usual,” she has that cocky smirk on her face. You wanna wipe it right off her face, and you know just how. “Normally you’re all talk, no– Oh…”

You like that it really only takes a finger pressed against her panties to shut her up. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make her shut her eyes and shut up for a moment. The spot you press on is damp, soaked in that sweet slick. Gently, you trace the outline of those swollen folds. “You were saying?”

She has it in her to laugh—a breathy chortle. “Fuck you.”

“I’m working on that,” you fire back. Your cock twitches a little when you see her jolt in response to your touch. Your finger pressed down on that one spot that makes her weak, and it really works wonders: an airy gasp slips past those thin, luscious lips. The number of times you’ve kissed those lips swollen is not a number countable with 10 fingers.

Miyeon sighs, and it’s a mix of pleasure and frustration in her breath that humors you. She relaxes into the floorboards, her hips rock, her cunt rubs against your fingers. She's searching for some friction — sweet release in lewd movements. You let her move for a bit, watch her shake like the bough of a willow tree as she pleases herself against your fingers. 

“Enjoying yourself?” you quip. 

“Yeah..” she hums. “Passing time while you’re still not taking these shorts off me.”

Of course… How could you be so forgetful?

You stop for a moment to help her wriggle out of her clothing. It isn’t one of her most graceful moments, but it quickly passes. The shorts join your pants on the floor. Her panties are pink — not that subtle shade of pink or even like a darker version of pink. It’s Barbie fucking Pink.

“So we’re feeling loud today, huh?” you ask, letting your finger trail the lacy parts of the fabric. Miyeon smiles.

“Sana gave them to me,” she explains, not the least bit sheepish that her damp spot is visibly darker than the rest of her underwear. “Hope this doesn’t affect you in your work or anything…”

You feel the corner of your lip turn up. “No, no… Of course not,” you assure her, all while you let your hand slip between the fabric and her skin. You can feel her shudder, then you feel the heat of her cunt at the tip of your fingers. “You caught me on the right day actually… Pink’s in my rotation of favourite colours this fine morning.”

“Right,” her voice has a lilt. It’s shuddering a little too. “I knew that… Definitely had that in mind.”

You laugh. Your index fingers slip between her folds. She moans. 

You lower yourself, capture a swollen, taut nipple in your mouth. The sweet suction you deliver makes her gasp. Her hand finds itself in your head.

It’s all quite rhythmical, almost like a routine for the two of you. The way your bodies react to each other feels so natural that you think it might just be second nature at this point. You know her body: you’ve memorised the dips and curves and tender spots; the hot spots, the warm parts and the best parts. She knows you—the way you think, the way you talk; the way you play with her and the things you want to do with her. It would be safe to say that you guys practically have PhDs in the subject of each other, but that’s not a fair statement because you’re both a little more complicated than you let on. That keeps the sex exciting; it makes you crave each other a little more than last time. 

“One or two?” you whisper, letting your finger dip in and out of her lips and getting it all wet in her slickness. She takes a moment to think, or maybe she’s taking a moment to really soak in the teasing. Either way: she takes some time to reply. 

“Two,” she shifts herself a little lower, her clit pressing into the base of your middle finger. It makes her sigh — a low, kinda sonorous escape of air through her lips. “I hope you trimmed your nails this time.”

“That last time was a minor mishap,” you admit. You kinda want to pull your hands out to double-check, but you’re too mired in the moment to assuage your worries. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it all under control.”

She beams like the damn sun. “Good. I like it when you’ve got the reins.”

And that makes you suck in some air through your teeth. 

(God, does she know how to try you on.)

Your digits push themselves inside of her. They’re wrapped in her tight warmth, snug as a bug in a rug or whatever. You love the way her abs kinda flex as your fingers introduce themselves to her insides. It makes the best parts of her pop. Her chest rises a little more than the last time, her breaths becoming a little longer and more drawn out as your fingers explore her like always. The way she jolts when you get to that one spot at the roof of her pussy tells you that she has been primed and ready for this moment, loaded up like a shotgun and the trigger is really just any part of you that makes her cum. It could be your fingers, your tongue, your dick, your thigh—any part of you that can get her to that sweet high. Of course: you’re more than happy to assist. And so your mouth latches itself back onto her breast, tongue licking and swishing and flicking the swollen nipple atop her small yet generously sized breast. You relish the way it feels in your hand as you cup it—not too firmly and not too gently—and give it a squeeze, enjoying how the flesh spills out a little between your fingers but still fits in the palm of your hand.

“How do you only get better at this?” she hisses through her teeth. “I mean, I just saw you last week but… Oh god…”

You remove her nipple from your mouth. “Art is honed. This is art.”

She laughs, then throws her head back to let out a moan. “Well I’ll be damned,” her eyes close as she speaks, resting themselves for a bit so that she can enjoy the feel of your fingers in the best part of her slick. “Paint me like one of your French girls then.”

And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now.

You can’t track the exact moments where she starts to blue screen on you, but you can guess it's somewhere between you pinching her nipple and when you slide a third finger into her. The pressure, the stretching—it’s, like, everything she wants as of right now. She lets out this choked-up cry that you like to hear, the supple curve of her back growing more defined as she arches just a little more. She doesn't hold back, she never does. When you’re making her feel good, you can bet some good money that she’ll let you know. She’ll find her own way to express herself, be it through sound or action or words—sometimes a combination of all three. 

The way she feels around your fingers—delicate squeezing and sweet pressure around your digits as they stretch her to new lengths—is nothing short of enthralling. You can feel her pulse around you, the dull throb of her heartbeat as it beats for the sole purpose of getting all that blood rushing into the right areas. Your hand is kinda messy, fingers coated down to your knuckles in the sweet substance from her heat. Miyeon starts to writhe, squirm. A whine leaves her mouth. It’s followed by another, and another, and another—keeps going till the whiny stream ends with a guttural moan. 

Her legs close around your wrist. Her throat bobs.

“Mmph… baby…” her hand flails a bit as she tries to search for you. She catches your shoulder and her nails dig in. “Your mouth… I want your mouth on me.”

You always loved how forthcoming she is. 

“Miyeon…” you drawl, and this next bit is really just for the fun of it. “What’s the magic word?”

She laughs softly through the pleasure, lets a smile grace your eyes. She doesn’t fight it; she wants it—wants you. She just wants you in any shape or form. Any version of you will do; she’ll take all the different sides of you in a heartbeat. All she needs is you. “Please.”

You’ve never found so much delight in hearing that word. Kinda makes you want to hear it again.

“I can’t hear you,” your thumb presses down onto her clit. Her thighs start to twitch. 

“Please!” she yells that magic word in the form of a shout this time. Your cheeks hurt from how widely you’re beaming.

You retract your fingers. They come up to your mouth so you can taste her off of them. She’s nothing short of delicious, and you can kinda tell that she knows it because she’s smirking as she watches you clean off yourself.

“How are we feeling about the samples?” she has that proud gleam in her eye. “Pineapple’s been in my diet as of late… Just wondering if anything’s different.”

You smack your lips. “Picking up on a little tang here… Can’t be sure though.”

Her hands slide down to her hips, thumbs hooking into the band of her panties and pulling them down her thighs. “No worries. There’s more where it came from.”

The gall of this girl is insane, you’re thinking, smirking as you assist the journey of her underwear down her slim, milky legs. Like all your other clothing, it’s tossed aside. 

Miyeon spreads thighs, bends her knees so that her feet are flat on the floor.  You get in position, let your palms slide down her body with careful consideration: run your hands over the sensitive parts of the stomach, skim that one portion of her inner thigh that makes her shiver. She watches—waiting and anticipating while failing to keep her excitement off her face. 

She is glistening, swollen and plump to your eyes, kinda far ahead considering that you just used your fingers. She’s eager, unashamed and more proud than embarrassed about her arousal. Her legs shift a bit. She looks at you, a fingernail between her teeth as she exhales sharply when your thumb traces the outline of her pussy, careful in its endeavor as you feel the muscles around her slick tense up in response. Oh she’s so damn impatient right now, but she lets you get away with all of this because it gets her off a little harder; the teasing is just part of the show and the climax will probably follow pretty soon, fast and hard

“You’ve been looking forward to this, huh?” you remark, watching as her eyelids flutter when you put a little pressure with the pad of your thumb. 

“Mhm…” she replies. It’s a low hum, one that resonates in her throat rather pleasantly. “You have no idea…”

You laugh. Your eyes roll towards the ceiling then set themselves back on her. “Please… We both know I have some idea,” you stop your thumb on her clit, and you begin to draw small circles around it. “You did tell me” —and you have to pause for a bit to use your other hand to press down on her pelvic area, stopping her from jolting her hips up to get that sweet sensation of your thumb rubbing her swollen nub. She whines a little, a soft plea following suit— “about all the things you wanted to do with me.”

She desperately tries to shift herself, press herself a little more against you. The smooth wooden floor hinders her, the lack of friction failing to aid her. Her brows furrow. She’s frustrated. “Yeah, well, if you know what I want so much, why aren’t you fucking getting to it?”

You wink. “Relax. I’m just letting the meat tenderise.”

“Oh shut it you fucking—  Mmmph!”

And the way you part her with your tongue, it’s like she’s butter and you’re a hot knife slicing her open. You're slow with it, and you don’t stop when Miyeon’s thigh stiffens against your palm, or when she squirms a little and almost got your tongue derailed from its track. You know what makes her tick, what makes her hit the octave and gets her nice and messy for you. If anything gets Miyeon going more than actually fucking—it’s definitely gotta be when you get your tongue on her folds. 

“You’re never gonna let me finish my sentences, are you?” she laughs breathily. You watch her abdomen as it rises and falls together with the quick breaths she takes.

“Dunno…” you nuzzle your face in her folds for a little, giving her time to say whatever she wants for a bit. “You did say that chivalry is dead.”

From your bottom up view of her, you can tell that she just rolled her eyes. “No comment. You won’t let my finish it any— oh my fucking god.”

Now it’s the flat of your tongue against her clit that stops her dead in her tracks. Her juices have begun to lather your tongue in their addictive taste, drawing you into her just a little more with each lap of your tongue. You suck on one of her folds, then your tongue is inside her, and she moans, her hand finding a spot on the back of your head that she can grip on to. She calls you crazy, calls you baby, runs her fingers through your hair. Your tongue dips in, circles, laps; your nose brushes against all the right spots of her skin and it draws out these almost sob-like, quiet sounds from her chest and she’s… Fuck, she’s amazing.

“I might take a while,” she whispers to you. You call malarkey, but play along nonetheless.

“Fuck yes,” your tongue swipes the entirety of her in a long, broad stroke. “Please, by all means princess. Take your time,” you don’t think you could ever sound as enthusiastic as you did right now. She pushes you down a little harder onto her slit, and you delight in how she squirms when you push your tongue a little deeper between her folds.

Her nails start to dig into your scalp a bit, and she starts pushing you down onto her cunt a little more.

“You know,” she speaks with this half-whisper-half-gasp, the type of tone that tells you that she’s fighting to stay in control of her own body. “I— mmph… Sometimes I lock myself in the changing room and just get off to the thought of you eating me.”

You suck on the other fold that you neglected earlier. “Oh yeah?” and you get a finger inside of her. She cries out, abdomen flexing deliciously as she turns pliant under the pressure of your finger getting a hold of that sweet spot. You can feel the heat—it feels like your skin is gonna melt. “Bet you get off real hard to it, maybe even harder than you will in like, two minutes.”

“Two?” she tries to sound a little defiant, but her voice is cracking and it’s really not working out in her favour. Your finger is barely pushing up by the way, yet it seems like she’s got thousands of pascals of pleasure weighing down on every part of her being. “Don’t put yourself on a fucking pedestal… I am nowhere close.”

You hum in reply, saving your energy to suck on her clit. And it’s almost like she’s spring-loaded in the way her thighs clamp around your ears immediately after. Her fingers eat into your scalp, a light, searing pain growing across your head as you kiss her right fold, then her left. You can tell that there’s liquid burning heat running through her body, spilling all over her. Miyeon tries to hold on, tries to prolong this for a little more by getting her nails deep in your scalp. But she’s falling apart, coming undone with each second.

“Baby.”

“One minute left,” you put your lips back around her clit. Her head thumps against the floorboards.

“I—can’t.”

“Ugh. Hate it when you lie.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Just fucking cum.”

And she ruins herself. She loses sense of the world for a bit—convulsing and twitching on the floor while you continue to lick her. No cry leaves her mouth; a strained, choked up phonic gets caught in her throat and refuses to dislodge. Her back arches, her thighs flex. Her world fades for a bit. 

Give or take: she takes a minute or so. When she gasps for air, you know she’s come back down to earth. You welcome her with a kiss to her abdomen as you rise up. Her cheeks are rubicund—flushed and making her glow as she smiles at you. She softly captures your cheeks in her hands.

“Okay,” she huffs, taking deep breaths as she strokes your face with her thumb. “Out of all the men I’ve dated: you can cook and eat the best.”

“Twenty dollars says that you’ve said that to at least four guys,” you muse. “Maybe five if I’m generous.”

She closes her eyes for a moment. Inhales. Exhales.

“Hand on my heart,” she uses one hand to push some hair out of her face. “I’ve only said this to you.”

Ignorance is bliss. Believing her is a sort of ignorance.

You willfully let yourself be blissful because you can.

--

(Then fast forward a little. Maybe like, three hours? Or however long it takes for you to have a nap and a shower to get ready to go out.)

“Are you seriously going out in that?”

And you have to stop at the door. You know that tone all too well.

“What is it this time?” you grumble, turning around to face the bed so that she can get a full biopsy of your outfit. It isn’t a bad outfit in your honest opinion, and you’re no stranger to horrible (unintentional) attempts at making fashion statements. Colour-blindness is a hereditary curse; it’s not your fault that you can’t tell that this shade of blue doesn’t work with that shade of grey and whatnot. “I swear I wore this a week ago and you said nothing.”

Miyeon slips out from under the covers. In your T-shirt, she saunters with purpose and urgency as she makes her way over. She stops in front of you and takes your tie into her hands. “It’s either you lose this tie or do something else to this already god-forsaken outfit.”

You consider the options for a hot minute. You’re kinda proud of this outfit—it took a lot of time and vetting through Miyeon to get it planned out and everything. The tie was kind of a staple piece—as important as the shirt or trousers. To hear that (in essence) you looked like shit admittedly dealt a blow to your ego, but why be petty when you can be cavalier?

“Whatever,” you reply, making no effort to stop her from trailing a nail up your shirt. “I couldn’t really care less about how this woman perceives me tonight. Not even into her anyway.”

Miyeon chuckles. The finger on your chest wraps itself around the top of your tie. “That’s an option as well,” she adjusts the knot, though it doesn’t look like she’s doing it to make you look better. “But can I give you one more alternative?”

“By all means, princess.”

She tugs on your tie, pulls you close. Your lips are just centimetres away from hers. You get a whiff of her scent. She’s using the shampoo you bought her. 

“Stay home,” she makes sure that her voice is kinda breathy, tickles your face as she lets the phonics dissipate into warm air. “Skip the date. You have a smoking hot girlfriend to fuck anyway.”

Oh and it takes you just about everything to stop you from grabbing her by the face and just kissing her. It's so easy: reach forward, get her face (or waist) in your hands and just smash her lips against yours. You know she’s thinking the same thing; but she’s waiting on you, anticipating what you’re going to do next. It’s a sick little game the two of you play, but it’s fun as hell and really doesn’t get boring in the near future.

“You know what my mom would say…” you begin, and you know she’s gonna stop you.

“Say you're sick”—bingo motherfuckers. She owes you five bucks—“tell her that you got the cold and so you can’t show up.”

“Expended on that one… And the work emergency one too,” you regretfully inform her. “And no: I will not be telling them that we’re actually a thing—“

“Cause you want to protect me and blah blah…” she interjects yet again, her fingers moving up and down, closing against her thumb in mimicry of a mouth moving. It’s petty, kinda frustrating—but it’s Miyeon. She’s a handful to deal with at times, but at least she’s your handful to deal with. “Been running the same jig for a little too long, tiger. I know your game.”

“I know,” you admit. “I’m a one-trick Pony and my carrot is you. What’s new?”

She chortles at that, and you take that moment to really get a good look at her because by god is she beautiful. Head-turner, eye-widener, heart-racer — not to be a bore, but again: it’s Miyeon. There’s a lot more about her that you could synthesize into words, but you won’t (not because you don’t want to or anything; but it’s more about the fact that you probably don’t have enough time to get someone to understand her.)

Cause here’s the thing (about her, you and both of you): she’s just as human as anyone, and that means she’s just about as complicated as anyone. You’ve got a story, she’s got her’s, and the two cross somewhere to form a midpoint before they start running parallel to each other before meeting again and running together and… You get it, don’t you?

No? Fuck. 

Okay. She may or may not be able to hold down a relationship; and you may or may not have been able to secure a relationship. You kinda get drunk with her over this revelation one night and you may or may not have joked over the fact that maybe you should get together. And then you may or may not have had the hottest sex you’ve had in years before you may or may not have realised that she’s the best thing to happen to you. It’s all kinda hypothetical to you cause you’re still processing the fact that this is all real. Still wondering if it’s a fling cause it’s only been about 3 months since this started.

(Calm down cupcake, no one likes a party pooper who prods on details in the midst of a story. It’s just… Ugh. The story behind how the two of you know each other is so boring and complicated—full of unnecessary exposition like this whole bit really. It hurts to retell it, so here’s a summary: she used to date your roommate, roommate moved out after they broke up, she stayed and hanged around you, here you are now. Fuck the details, there’s no room for it really. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.)

“Save the charisma,” she tells you, really putting on some breath behind her words. “I prefer it when you use it in bed.”

And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now.

The kiss kinda blurs the line between passionate and sweet (if there even was a line to begin with). It’s quite aggressive, a little tender but also a wee bit emotional. It makes you a little bitter, but don’t get it twisted: you love this girl with all your heart and you’d do anything to stay with her. It’s just that you’d love—more than anything—to lose the shirt and pants you’re wearing to make out with her, and then let things flow as they do. Unfortunately, your parents really want you to meet this girl, and you have to get going or you’ll probably get cut from the will or something.

She tries again. “Stay…”

“Miyeon—”

“I fucking need you… Please.”

It’s just so fucking tempting…. But there are only so many lines you can cross before you find yourself in trouble with border patrol. And if there's anything you hate more than lectures, it’s lectures from your mother.  

Her lips graze yours, hovering just millimeters away. She wants to kiss you—bite your lower lip and pull you into an undoubtedly sloppy lip lock. That will end with your hand somewhere on her body that gets the ball rolling (and we all know where that ball goes). She has it in her to do it; she has the right, the means and the fucking autonomy (and audacity). She’s just waiting on you, seeing what happens when she plants the seed of an idea in your head and waters it a little. 

Unfortunately for her, you’re too damn terrified of your parents to let that seed grow.

“I‘ll see you later,” you whisper, albeit a little reluctantly. “Call me if anything comes up.”

She understands that she’s lost. Doesn’t stop her from giving you that kiss though. “Don’t keep me waiting tonight… I love you.”

Ugh. She’s one hell of a woman, isn’t she?

--

So get this: this woman that your mother found for you is possibly the most boring person you’ll ever meet. She’s beautiful and all, but she has the personality that has just about the same amount of flavour as food in the west before spices.

She spends the meal talking about her job, and you kinda just fix her with a hundred yard stare and tune out. You couldn’t give a shit about computer security really—never was and never will be into that shit. It doesn’t help that your phone is kinda blowing up at the moment. It’s buzzing all over your thigh in your pocket. Pretty trippy, kinda makes you wonder if Miyeon had just slipped one of her vibrators into your pocket.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom at some point. You’re not sure how long she’s been yapping your ear off for, but it kinda doesn’t matter. All you’ve gotten from this meal is really just a handful of nonsense and a migraine. 

Anyway: it’s in the confines of the bathroom store that you check on the ruckus in your pocket. The screen lights up and you find that the spasming of your phone was caused by a combination of posts from a news outlet and from Miyeon. She takes precedence over the news.

Miyeon//8:01 pm: I swear to you I have no idea what’s going on 

Miyeon//8:01 pm: I’m getting this at the same time as you

Miyeon//8:02 pm: I don’t know what’s happening. Please come home.

And the way you open your news app almost instantly makes you feel like you’re all too familiar with this. It’s not a headline, but it might as well be from the way it makes your eyes widen and your breath stop for a second. 

You blink. You blink again. 

The words don’t change. 

Suddenly, you have a valid reason to get out of this dinner.

(How you get home is a little fuzzy, but that’s not really the important part. 

What? The headline? Oh you know it, don’t you cupcake? It was literally the only thing on people’s minds for some reason, as if an idol dating an actor is something unheard of.)

“What the fuck?” you ask when you step through your apartment door.

She sighs as you remove your coat and hang it behind your door. “Look… I’m just as confused as you are—”

“An actor?” you interject. You’ll admit that it’s a little rude, but you’re really just trying to make sense of this as fast as possible. “How long have you known this guy?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t,” she huffs. “I swear to you, hand on my heart and the other on the bible, I am not in love with that man.” She says. “I barely even know the fucker, never talked to him in my life.”

It’s a little hard to look at her right now. You have lots of things to say; lots of feelings and lots of thoughts. If you’re really gonna be honest with yourself: you’re scared, hurt and a little confused. Miyeon’s good at lying—a little too good for your liking. Pair that knowledge with your insecurities, and congrats: you’ve just given birth to multiple insecurities. They’re like little demons running amok in your chest. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.

You can’t do this with her now. Not when all this is all so fresh and new. 

But she catches your arm as you try to walk past her. Her grip is firm, pleading. 

“Please,” she utters, letting her hand slide down your arm to let her fingers wrap around your hand. “Trust me on this.”

You want to. You really want to. And so it hurts you to ask, “Am I just another fling?”

You can see it in her eyes when she realises the motivation behind the question. She doesn’t take long to come to the epiphany—just a little less than a second before her eyes soften and her lips part a little. Her expression scares you. You want to run from this all together and leave it to another day, but God knows that you won’t be getting any sleep with this weight in your head. It’s comical, almost hilarious if it weren’t for the fact that it’s your relationship with her on the line.

You like to think that she can’t express her answer into words, so she kisses you instead. You’ll never know why she chose to kiss you, but it's sweet and so powerful that you can kinda live with that gap in your knowledge. You may or may not have teared a little, and you may or may not have melted into her lips a little too quickly. What you can say for certain: when you find yourself back in those eyes, panting with your face between her hands—the words ‘I love you’ escape your mouth faster than you can think. You don’t say it for the sake of it; you say it cause you mean it. You want her to know that you’ll fight for this relationship, that you’ll fight for her.

And it makes her smile. 

“I’m like, in love with your goofy ass,” she mutters, thumb tracing a path along your cheek. “So don’t you ever think that I’d drop you for some slick-back fuck face.”

That’s more than enough for you. Her smile is contagious as you hold her waist. “Crude. I love you, Miyeon.”

“Yeah. I heard you the first tim—”

Of course: you don’t wait for a finished reply to kiss her. It’s a practice, almost a common tongue at this point.

Miyeon lets her hands fall, gets her arms around your neck while you reacquaint your lips with hers. She’s lovely, fucking divine and maybe even a little addictive—straight up dangerous if you’re to sum it up. You wonder, for a second, if you’re being manipulated, and it’s really only for a second because she’s got her teeth in your bottom lip and she’s dragging them towards her. She wants more—more of you and less of this need to prove her love. She touches your chest, palm flat against your flesh as she deepens the kiss. Ignorance is bliss. Believing her is a sort of ignorance. Kissing her deepens that ignorance, makes you all the more blissful.

“I need you,” you breathe, unashamed by your blatant desire to have her right now. Really: you can’t get enough of her smell right now. “Please Miyeon… Let me be the only one.”

She smiles softly. She runs her fingers through your hair. “Baby, you already are.”

You press your forehead against hers. “I know. But can we just…”

You can’t really verbalise what you want out of this. You want Miyeon, but you don’t just want the idea and concept of her. You long for that connection with her, that union and that closure, not just some fleeting, superficial feelings. This woman is quite literally one of your dreams. It’s selfish to say this, but you want that security—something tangible to know that you’re really hers and she’s really yours, a piece of her that you can hold on to that helps rid your heart of those little demons. You hope she can understand this through your closed eyes.

And something about the way she fixes your hair tells you that she does.

“It’s okay,” she assures you, her other hand finding that one spot on your chest. It feels like it’s touching your heart directly, calming it. “I get it,” her fingers wrap around the knot of your tie, loosening it till it unravels completely. “You’re hurt and scared. Frankly, so am I.”

Miyeon wraps the tie up neatly in her fist. Her hands cross over each other as she reaches down to grab the hems of her shirt. It slips off her, a layer peeled away. Then the tie rolls down from her hand. 

“I want you to know”—she drapes the tie around her shoulders, the thin portion ever so slightly shorter than the broader portion as they hang on either side of those perky mounds—“I will do everything I can to protect you and us.”

She tosses the smaller end across her body, cloth flying over her left shoulder and dangling behind her arm. The broader end is wrapped around her neck—once, twice. 

Miyeon steps closer and takes your hand. The broad end of the tie gets slotted into your palm. 

“And even though I might have to be seen with him,” she coos, and she’s a little clumsy as she reaches for the thin end behind her, but she gets it on her second or third try. “Even though I might have to hold his hand in public,” she slips it between her skin and the loop she’s made, ties it off. “You should know: I am yours.”

She shocks you into silence as always. You know what she’s insinuating. You know that she knows what she’s insinuating. Your eyes search her for consent, and you find that it’s the only thing you can make out behind the veneer of a tender gaze. She checks the makeshift leash she’s made. It’s not coming off anytime soon.

You wrap some of the tie around your hand. Your fingers close around the silky fabric. 

(Just so we’re clear: the tie may look horrible on you, but she looks amazing in it.)

You pull.

And it’s just that. 

Clothes come off, lips meet, sighs fly through the room. Her hands explore you, grab you, pump you; your kisses find the best parts of her, the parts you love the most and the parts she loves attention at. The tie never leaves your hand, and you give it a tug or two when you get your digits in her on the couch. You’ll never forget the way she looks when her head is forced up just after it whips back, the glassy look in her eye as she begs for you, keens for you. Never in your life has anything this debauched been so intimate. You’ve never heard sighs out of you and her so luscious. 

“Princess,” you quite literally growl as you address her. It’s not necessary, but the squelching of your fingers in her slick brings out something in you—a part of you that’s wild and somewhat untamed. “I fucking love the way you moan.”

Miyeon bites down on her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. “Yeah? She husks, her eyes going half-lidded in pleasure when you get your fingers in the same, soft, tender spot on the roof of her pussy. “It’s all for you. Ngh— A-All yours…”

And you don’t know how you can not believe her at this point.

You pull at the tie. She almost straightens completely. You kiss her. Her moans send pleasant vibrations down your windpipe.

It’s all so perfect. And it somehow gets even more perfect when she cums—waves of heat burning through her system; eyes shut and mouth agape; hands around your neck and your name spilling from her lips in a mix of curses (that mostly contain the word ‘fuck’); body convulsing and twitching in ways that make a low grunt emerge from the depths of your chest as you watch her. She’s beautiful—your beautiful princess.

When it’s over, you let the tie go slack. She crashes against the couch, forcing air back into her lungs with deep breaths. There’s sweat on her face, her body. Your hand finds its place on her tummy as you place small kisses on the corner of her lip, her jaw. Her skin is moist and sticky.

“Have me,” and it’s more so of a demand than a request. “Take me. However you want, wherever you want,” she runs her hands through your hair, “You’re the only one I want.”

You let out a low hum. It lightly vibrates at the base of your throat as you catch her earlobe between your lips. 

“Has anyone told you how fucking beautiful you are?” you can’t help but ask. She searches your face or a minute, then she chortles.

“About half the world,” she replies. “But it means the most coming from you.”

(Oh… That line really means the fucking world to you.)

You kiss her, hard. It’s messy, sloppy, and at some point you guys are scrambling to get on top of each other. She wins at one point, and so she rides you—dropping and rising hard and fast on your cock like a lewd merry-go-round carriage. She’s relentless, letting your cock fill her while she blanks out and just lets herself cry and moan like you don’t have thin walls in your apartment. You let her please herself, throw herself down onto your cock again and again till you decide that it’s your turn to have some fun. The tie is your friend, and you use it to pull her real close to not too kindly hiss your instructions into her ear. 

You’d kill to see the look in her eyes again.

And so you have her against the nearest wall in less than a minute, her back flushed against it and one of her legs bent in the crook of your arm. She reaches between your bodies, grabs your throbbing shaft and rubs your tip against her slit. You feel the heat of her pussy—the desire and depravity that burn in her core. You can’t believe she’s yours.

“I’m gonna put this in me,” she narrates her course of action, all breathy and silky. “It’s gonna fill me, fuck me… Maybe even cum in me.”

“I wouldn’t get ahead of ourselves here,” you whisper, your hand wrapping itself back in the fabric of the tie. “That last part? I dunno… Seems a little optimistic, don’t you think?”

She pushes your head in between her folds—not all the way, but enough to part them. “And why is that?”

You pop your hips, push yourself in a little more. She inhales sharply. 

“I only cum inside good girls.”

The smile that creeps its way onto her face is wicked.

“Trust me,” her hand finds purchase on your shoulder, pads of her fingers digging into the muscle. “I’ll be the best you ever get.”

She puts her weight onto the leg in your arm. You slide into her.

And you both take a moment to enjoy the unity—the feeling of the two of you being joined as one; your out of sync heartbeats that feel like pattering raindrops around your shaft. You want to say something witty, a quip that will get a nice chuckle out of her.

All you can really manage is, “Fuck.”

And in response: “Talk less. Fuck more.”

You draw back, push in. There’s the sopping sound of your shaft going in and out of her, wet pushing into warm flesh. You groan. She sighs. 

Tight, hot, wet, divine.

And it goes without saying: when you pick up the pace, she lets you know that she loves the feeling—the stretching, the filling, the push and pull. It comes to you in the form of pure filth: words that have very little consideration for propriety and no room for decency, something along the lines of “I can’t believe you feel this good. I can’t believe this cock is mine” or “That’s it. Keep filling me. Keep fucking— Oh” or maybe even a mix of both. You can’t be certain, because between you and her, you both know that the undulating of your cock into her tight, creamy heat and the almost torturous pressure around your dick is taking you under by the second. It’s not hard to lose yourself in her when she’s basically a little piece of you. 

Like always, she let her pleasure be known through desperate noises and choked up words. “Keep going, please, fuck—don't stop,” and it sounds like it hurts but you know it’s the other way around. Her pleasure coated tongue makes the lust in her words undeniable, her half-lidded eyes ruining the argument that she’s in any pain whatsoever. You yank on her tie, her body curves closer. You need a better look at that face.

(Trust me, it’s a face you don’t want to forget. 

For lack of a better word: it’s porny as fuck.)

It's a blissful dance – the rhythmic, almost metronomical give of her thighs as you slide yourself home again and again steadily and firmly. The smacking of sweaty and sticky skins colliding is almost evenly paced, sighs and grunts filling the spaces between slaps. She follows your lead, rocks her hips accordingly, angles herself and adjusts so that she can feel you in the deepest parts of her cunt. You lift her leg a little higher, spear yourself a little deeper. You listen to your body, she listens to hers. You give in to your desires.

You don’t mean to blurt it. You don’t mean to make the sex more complicated than it already is. But it happens—it fucking happens and you can’t stop it. 

“I love you,” your voice is nothing more than a rasp. She feels so fucking good around you — squeezing, pulsing and doing every little thing that makes your jaw tighten and you legs tense. “I fucking love you, Miyeon.”

She holds your gaze, then smiles, then nods. She nods vigorously, enthusiastically. “I know… It’s all I’ve ever known.”

Your hand on the tie releases it from your grasp. You catch a bouncing breast in your hand, squeeze the tight and taut nipple with your fingers. The tie shakes violently like a snake writhing, bouncing and swaying with each firm impact against Miyeon’s skin. She mewls, pulls you in, kisses you. She lets herself come undone with her chest flushed against you and your hearts aligned as she lets the cries transfer from your mouth to hers. You pump yourself faster, harder, faster, harder. Your finger digs into the flash near her knee. Your blood is boiling, molten metal spilling over and washing over you—gold rush, acid flux, saturating you in this bliss that numbs you out. You can’t tell where your thrusts start and end. They’re blurred by the heat washing over your eyes. You can’t get enough. The way you fuck her—it feels relentless, merciless, a fire that only burns brighter and can’t be put out, fuelled by the heat of Cho Miyeon flushed against you and the sublime squeeze of her slick heat. Everything about this is hot; everything about her is hot. 

“Don’t you ever let me go,” she hisses. “Fuck— don’t ever leave. This cock is mine. You are mine.”

“Princess, I’d never,” you nuzzle yourself into the crook of her neck, pepper her nicely with kisses. “You. Only you.”

“Yeah,” and her breath is hot on the nape of your neck. “Cause I can’t ever fucking imagine anyone else filling me this fucking good. No one has ever filled me this good.”

And her fricatives feel like acid: Aqua Regia—melting straight through solid gold just to get to you. It makes you burn a little hotter, fuck her a little harder. Your heart burns at the thought of her; your brain melts at the sight of her—glassy-eyed and mouth agape while cock pumps her full of pleasure and want. She finds a spot on your shoulder, whispers her proclamation of love— “I love you I love you I love you— Fuck—”—before she buries her face into your shoulder blade. Her love is an animal call, cutting through the darkness and bouncing off the walls, reaching a soft spot in your heart that you hold for her. Nothing in this world is gonna stop you from turning her into a messy little fucktoy. 

It’s hard to think. It’s hard to breathe. She’s become your world, the only thing you ever want to think about. Anything that isn’t her tight little pussy is irrelevant; what isn’t her thin lips pressed against your shoulder is invalid; no pair of eyes will ever match the glassy, lust-fogged ones that Cho Miyeon possesses. Your pulse is rushing, your head is reeling, your face is flushing. You want her—all of her. You suck hard on the milky skin you’ve caught between your lips, marking her, claiming her. She has no qualms nor worries; she tilts her neck to give you better access to that lovely patch of skin that becomes your canvas. She mewls, presses her forehead harder into your body, grounding herself in the sensation of her skin on yours. 

“I’m gonna fucking fill you, Miyeon,” you drawl. “I’m gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy and make a mess out of you,”

“Yeah, yes,” she’s barely holding it together at this point. “Please. Oh god please.”

Your hips move on their own now, taking liberties without signals from your fried brain as you pump yourself into Miyeon with the sole goal of piping her full of your hot seed. For long, wordless minutes, you're thrusting into her in a mindless, fervent fashion, giving in to your desires and your depravity and fucking her like she’s a doll. You relish the feel of her skin in your palms; the feel of her hands pressed against your chest; the sheer, strained phonetic atrocities that rise from the depths of her throat. Your shaft glistens in the light of the room, slick with her sweet juices as it slips in and out of her hot cunt, spearing into her with depth, making her legs weaker by the second. Miyeon cups your cheek, moans your name. You bury your nose deep in those silky locks of jet black hair. You need every last part of her to be close to you.

She's whimpering, eyes squeezed shut, toes clenching; she’s a coiled up spring, a bundle of nerves waiting to be released. Her bottom lip is between her teeth, her throat bobs. She's coming undone, breaking a little more with each thrust of your cock. You know that she’s cumming before she announces it, and when you fuck her over the point of no return, it’s bliss.

Miyeon melts, head whips back and thumps against the wall, positively combusts on the spot and ceases to hold on to the last bits of herself. She lets herself fall through the pleasure, orgasm almost ripping through her system as she shakes in your grasp. She’s such a precious thing, yet she can look like lust itself when she’s busy cumming all over your cock and whining like her life depends on it. She’s tighter, wetter, even better to fuck. 

She really is the best you’ll ever have.

“Miyeon–”

“Just fucking cum.”

Your line; same effect. You fill her, make a creamy mess of her cunt because you can. You fuck her through it, push your load deeper with each thrust. Your cock pulses, spasms, shoots load after load after load into her pussy till you can’t take it anymore and jitter to a halt, and there’s nothing left but a filthy mess flowing out at the base of your cock where her lips are splayed the widest. It’s a sight for sure. 

(And there really isn’t a word for the moment that the two of you share in that wrinkle in time, that moment where it’s just all warm and fuzzy and you have your forehead pressed against hers.)

You cradle her in your arms, kiss her chest, her jaw, her lips. It’s tender, it’s gentle.

“We’ll figure this out,” she pants through closed eyes. “I promise you: you and me, we’re gonna figure this all out.”

Somehow, you don’t doubt it.

--

(Still here? Great. We’re getting to the good part. Get your special sock out or something.)

So the newest rage of the K-pop scene is the photo of Miyeon kissing him in a car.

It's a publicity stunt—the whole damn relationship. They are supposed to appear in love according to Miyeon, and it was his idea to kiss her. She never consented and he just did it. It’s a pretty lewd photo: up close and personal and all. You can see his lips on hers, his hand on her breast and they’re like, clearly getting it on in three. Pretty steamy if you do say so yourself,

(...)

Oh fucking hell. Who are you kidding describing this photo like you’re just viewing an artwork. It makes your blood boil, and speaking to her after seeing this photo feels like dancing to alarm bells when you feign ignorance and just talk with her like it’s a normal Wednesday. You’re gonna hurt yourself at this rate, but she really means too much.  

She told you that he forced his lips on hers, you believe her to the best of your ability. You kiss her, tell her it’s okay, that she’s doing what she has to do to protect the two of you. She says she’s sorry, that she feels like she’s failed you. You kiss her again—albeit a little half-hearted—and assure her once more that it’s okay. You want to nurse her pain, but you also have your own problems to deal with.

And as if this fucking actor hasn’t interfered enough with your relationship, he has the audacity to call during the make up sex.

Her phone starts to ring when she’s on her hands and knees on your bed, and you’re fucking her into the mattress like she’s some pliant plaything. There's a rage inside you that hasn’t been quenched, and you don’t realise that it’s bringing out that dark side of you till you spank her ass a little harder than you intended to. It doesn’t help that you kinda twitch when you hear her yelp, and it really doesn’t help when she tightens after the second spank. The phone only continues to vibrate next to her head.

“Baby,” she rasps. “My phone…”

“Pick it up,” you hiss. “Pick it up and let whoever the fuck it is hear how you’re being fucked like a slut.”

Degradation has never really been a kink of yours, but you know she’s kinda into it. Even so, you’re not calling her a slut because you consciously want to. You feel like an asshole for being angry, kinda hate yourself a little for not being able to accept that she’s doing what she needs to do. And then you kinda hate her for making you hate yourself and— Ugh. It just gets more complicated the more you try and rationalise it. You can’t stop the hot blood from coursing through your system, fuelling your firm strokes into her tight heat like you’re trying to inject all the hate in your body into her. 

Her hand that was once clawing at the sheets now reaches for her phone. You keep thrusting as she flips it over, keep thrusting as she shows you the caller ID, keep thrusting as she looks back at you with a gaze that says “are you sure?”. You hope she isn’t met by that dark look you often see when you look at yourself in the mirror after a new headline about them hits your screen. It’s funny how one person can flip the idea of make-up sex on its head—turn it from something so tender and beautiful to a spite-fuelled fuck fest that’s gonna make things more complicated. She hasn’t even picked up the fucking phone, but you can hear his sick voice in your head as you drive yourself deeper into her cunt, fuck her harder and faster than you knew you could. She’s in no state to answer the phone, yet her finger taps on the ‘accept call’ button. 

(She would’ve rejected it if she could, but she got into some deep shit the last time that happened. Must’ve been threatened or something for her to pick up the phone while she’s getting fucked.)

“Hello?” she does her best to steady her voice, and she’s doing pretty well considering how loud the smacking of skin against skin is. She presses the phone a little tighter against her left ear. You don’t intend on stopping. Let him hear her being owned by you for all you care. “T-This is a bad… a bad time.”

Damn straight it is. 

Your hand caresses the curve of her ass. You spank her again, making sure that it’s loud and it leaves a red patch on her smooth, creamy skin. She contacts around you, gasps a little as you bend down and pin her down with your weight on her back.

“W-What?”—and it feels like she’s talking to both of you. You hiss into her other ear. “I’m going to fuck you like this,” your voice is actually a snarl, a dark one. Your body is energized by the promise of taking and ravaging the helpless, prone woman beneath you, your words dripping with loathing and your thrusts brimming with spite. “I’m going to fuck you hard and rough, and you’re gonna keep him on the fucking line so he can hear it.”—“No I’m… Jogging.”

She’s terrible at lying. You let her know through each thrust—hard and deep, uncaring for her pleasure or her comfort or anything other than your need to bury yourself again and again inside her body. There’s the need to dominate her, the need to make her yours. You hope this guy can act like he doesn’t care that his supposed girlfriend is being prone-boned by another guy, act like he isn’t totally aware of the fact that Cho Miyeon’s body is never gonna belong to him at any point as long as you’re alive. 

(Keep this between us: but with the way you're going down on her, it feels like the message is being transferred to her and not him.)

You hear indistinct chatter. Miyeon bites down on her lower lip, undoubtedly holding back the stream of cries and sighs and lyrical monstrosities that threaten to burst forth. With her eyes she begs, challenges you to do more. You could be reading her wrong by like, a hundred percent. Doesn't matter, not when you can take every liberty with her body because you couldn’t give more of a shit. There’s more indistinct chatter on the other end of the phone; Miyeon says something along the lines of “no. Don’t buy the choker for me”. You give her a choker—raise yourself up and reach around her to wrap your fingers around her throat. Her whole body tenses when you apply pressure around her windpipe. In no universe does this guy not know what’s going on right now.

Cause she’s there—right there, all choked up and struggling to breathe while the fucker keeps yap-yap-yapping away like he’s some fucking guard dog. It irritates the hell out of you. At some point, he kinda has to hear a squelch or smack or two, maybe even a moan or a cry as well. But he stays on the phone, and not once does Miyeon ever have to address the question of whether she’s being fucked on the other end of the call or not. You thought you were ignorant, but this guy is a whole new fucking level of blissfully ignorant. It feels like his sole purpose is to drive a wedge between the two of you, to make you hate her because you hate him. Again: it’s kinda complicated to say exactly what it feels like to be in this situation. 

And you can imagine the moans she wants to let out. They’ll tumble out of her lips like water down a waterfall, and they’ll mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you lean back down to kiss her neck, stopping at one spot that you know will be good to mark her and sucking hard. It feels like getting back at her—doing all the things you want to do while she can't speak her mind freely (and you know how tortuous it is for her when she can’t moan while she’s being railed like this). You’re not sure why you would ever need to get back at her when she’s done nothing wrong, but I guess it helps to synthesise and dumb down the emotions you’re feeling at the moment.

“Tonight?” she asks. Then she buries her head into the sheets because she can’t hold back this moan that almost explodes from her chest. You’re not squeezing really hard around her throat, mind you—only enough to make her a little uncomfortable, like a tie has been wrapped around her neck. She's getting off on it though: her walls squeeze you a little tighter; her breaths become more ragged and short. Honestly, she's taking your cock so well, and you communicate this to her with a growl. It makes her shudder a hell lot. 

Her other hand clutches the sheets, spasms. She’s pliant, she always is, but it feels like you can wrack her tiny body with so much more pleasure as you keep a hand around her throat and keep your dick pumping in and out of her. You wish you had a mirror to see that pretty face warping under the heat of her lust. You kinda forget that she’s still calling him when she speaks again, cause she follows up with, “I can’t— I can’t believe…”

And if that damn phone call wasn’t happening, she’d be saying something along the lines of “I can’t believe that you’re fucking me this good”.

“Sorry. I got cut off,” she pants. “Yeah… It’s harder to hear me when I’m running.”

Now she's talking to you. The reply is to him, but she’s addressing you. You take her up on it, and the slapping and squelching start to ricochet off the walls and ceiling. What you’re doing should be considered as a whole sin in itself. Technically, it’s adultery, but you’re not too sure if you can even classify this as something that simple. This is jealousy, hate and love mashed into one—a mix of things that kinda shouldn’t go together when you have a woman who’s quite literally like putty beneath you. It doesn’t help that she's this hot, this tight, this wet. She’s straining her moans, and it’s so cute that you want to choke her a little harder. You don’t do it (just clarifying some doubts here), but you almost do. 

“R-Really?”—you’re almost certain that what comes next is gonna be addressed to you. You can imagine her signing your name off on it—”wow… That must be so fucking good.”

Bingo. Gotta say: she’s kinda smooth with it.

“I’m fine. Out… Out of breath” you don’t know how she manages to keep her voice steady. “Y-yeah… I’m gonna come… Don’t worry.”

You hope that she can hold on.

You don’t know how long more you fuck her for while she’s on the phone. It’s a blur; you kinda only see red and you’re still choking her out even after she hangs up. It’s only when she goes, “Oh, fuck, daddy—!” with this breathless, perverse, pleading tone and a voice that’s so loud; her body unable to do anything other than gasp and moan and urge you to really give it to her, and when she says “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” like you’re not doing just that (and only that) at the moment that she’s hung up on him. Now she has every facility available to focus on the rock hard meat she’s receiving. You feel filthy, like you’re doing something wrong.

But hey: the sex is hot and Miyeon’s kinda into it, so you keep going. You keep fucking her into the bed—the same way you would if you were fucking her against the wall or in the shower or against any flat surface, really. It’s twisted, it’s dark, it’s hot; the angle her body is at lets you drive yourself deeper and faster and harder into her wet, tight and hot pussy like you never have before. You’re experiencing a novelty, a new chapter.

(Caveat: is it kinda messed up that you call her a cocksleeve? Not really? Huh.)

“God Miyeon…” you feel like the voice that comes from your throat is not your own. “You’re such a good fucking cocksleeve for me,” and you may or may not be tightening the grip around her throat as you speak. “So tight and wet for me. You’re such a good fuck.”

“Oh daddy, fuck you’re so big and deep in me,” she gasps. She has lots to say, even though air is like a fucking luxury for her. She rarely calls you Daddy, yet she’s using her precious air to do so now. “Fuck, fuck me as hard as you can, daddy! Do whatever you want with me! Own me! Take me!”

You barely recognise the woman she’s become: depraved, sordid and one hell of a hot mess. You love it. It’s fantastic. Fucking fantastic.

And she falls apart under you not long after, writhing and moaning and twitching as this beautiful mess of a woman you’ve made out of her. You want to cum in her, really own her; but your thoughts are fueled too much by the hate in your heart that they're wilder than anything she can ever imagine. 

You pull out of Miyeon, your shaft glistening in the dim light. You get off the bed, pull her away with you. Her mouth opens to say something. You kiss her—shut her up. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention.

“You’ve gotten enough loads inside your pussy,” you husk. “Get on your knees. I want your mouth.”

She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You push down firmly on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Miyeon on her knees with her pretty little princess face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you paint her face in a messy spray of cum. 

And you know what? You’ll do just that.

Of course, Miyeon perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth, grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other. The pace she launches into is hard and fast; blurring her chocolate hair and your vision—taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with rapid urgency while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, the seal sublime; and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. She’s gorgeous, even more so when she’s got cock in her mouth.

Your hand finds a clump of her black, sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. You push her head down onto your cock, pop your hips and start thrusting with firm, slow strokes. She exceeds every expectation you ever had, adapting to you, changing to please you. Your eyes shut involuntarily. Your brain blocks out all sensations that aren’t the wet, hot cavern of Miyeon’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. The backstroke is somehow even better, that pretty little mouth endeavoring to suck you right back in when you draw yourself back out. It feels like time stands still, but Miyeon’s still in motion, and she’s the one making you feel like all the natural laws in the world are being defied.

A small part of you knows that you have to see it happening in order to truly believe it’s all real, so you force your eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Smoky eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you, watering, projecting perverse pleasure with a gaze; hollow cheeks and a seemingly unhinged jaw to accommodate your length; spit leaking from the corners of her mouth, dribbling down her chin.

“Fuck I—” is all you manage to say (or maybe ‘grunt’ is a better word) before your orgasm takes the reins to your body. It overwhelms your senses, but you force your eyes open to watch as you pull Miyeon off your dick just in time. Thick, glistening cum erupts from your tip to land on Miyeon’s face, on her cheeks and nose, painting her smoky features with pearlescent, warm ropes. You paint her face with your hot white seed, and it’s far from an elegant piece of art. She doesn’t look anything like one of the French girls she wanted to be painted like, but the look of utter lust on her needy features is still breathtaking—mouth open, tongue out, eyes closed in delight and bliss.

Ugh, she's one hell of a woman, isn’t she?

And when it’s all over, she takes your cock in her hand and licks off the drops that she’d been deprived of. 

“If you ever do that again.” you love the raspy touch to her voice. The lilt in it is doing wonders too. “I’m gonna make sure that you’ll be calling your mom the next time I blow you.”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “Whatever you say, princess…”

The hate seems to fade. Your heartbeat slows.

Maybe this relationship is salvageable. Maybe you guys can last.

You talk to her about it afterwards and apologise sincerely. She says that she didn’t think much of it when it was happening. Then you guys are at peace again.

(What do you think? How long does the honeymoon last? A month more? 

Two?

Generous.

Try one. Fucking. Week.)

--

“Okay. Hands down: this is the best Jjamppong I’ve eaten.”

The growing pile of clam shells beside her bowl tells you that you did something right. It’s the first time you've made this dish, and there’s always that lingering worry that you fucked up somewhere along the way when you eat it for the first time. The soup seasoning is a little off in some places (you don’t know where exactly), but it’s nothing a dash of fish sauce and some chilli flakes can’t fix.

“I mean,” Miyeon continues, speaking between small yet generous mouthfuls of noodles. “You only get better and better at cooking. I don't know how you do it.”

You give a half-hearted smile. Your noodles have kinda gone cold by now: you’ve been stirring them around with your chopsticks for the past five minutes or so. Appetite has become a luxury for you these days, and it’s one of those days where a new article about him and her comes out, one of those days where you both agreed to put a pin on it and just enjoy life. “Well… It’s a lot of love and care, I guess.”

“You can say that again,” she smiles. “Thank you for making dinner. No one cooks like you.”

“Thank you for cutting scallions,” you say. “No one cuts them like you do.”

She laughs and waves it off, then takes another slurp of her noodles. “I honestly don’t know if I like your tomato soup over this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My tomato soups have always been the peak of my cooking prowess.”

“I really don’t know!” she tells you, grabbing another clam from the centre of the table. “This stuff is all smoky and tasty… It just feels like home and I—”

You drop your chopsticks into your bowl. Soup splashes onto the table.

“How do I keep living like this, Miyeon?” you ask. There are only so many pins in your possession and you feel like you’ve used all of them. “I’d love to sit here and talk to you about how I made this meal like everything’s okay, and this is just Thursday and maybe we’ll get ice cream later… But it’s not like that right now.”

Miyeon takes your hand in hers. 

“I can’t pretend like things are the same when everything’s… different,” you close your eyes, take a breath. “I love you, Miyeon. You’re like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me and… I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

You can hear her take a breath to start speaking. You really want to let her, but there’s too much on your chest. 

“I know you’re doing what you have to, for me, for us,” you want—oh so badly––to just bury your face in your hands right now. But once you do that, the tears will inevitably come and your ability to speak your mind will disappear faster than you can regain yourself. “But it hurts. It hurts to see you holding his hand, walking around and… and kissing him.”

Your heart stings when you see the tears welling in her eyes when you find it in you to look at her. The last thing you want is to see her in pain. This next bit hurts you even more to say, but you know that it’s better to tell her how you feel.

“I feel like I’m an open wound… and you're just pouring salt on me,” and you start to choke up a little. “I’m sorry to put it that way but—”

“No,” she interjects. “No. I get it… I-I understand.”

And for a moment, it feels like everything's okay for a bit.

Then she comes around the table to kiss you, and hell’s bells start ringing all over again. It hurts to kiss her, but it feels so right.

Miyeon leans into you. She kisses you. She pulls you close. She lets you run your hands across her body, down her back. You stand. Your tongue pokes into her mouth. One of you says I need you and you don’t know who it is.

And like when things were okay: you guys don’t make it to the couch.

You get naked. She gets naked. The sex isn’t about pleasure or thrill. It’s the aching within the both of you that drives your shaft into her cunt, rocks her hips as you fuck her. You quite literally make love with her, your strokes passionate and fervent; her cries are earnest and wanton, full of longing. For long moments when her chest is against yours, your hearts are aligned. You wish that you could fuse them together, take away the pain by making the two of you one singular person there on the floor. It feels possible when your dick is throbbing inside of her, pumping her slick with rock hard meat again and again and again.

But the thing that sucks the most is that you can’t do that. You’re two separate people with two separate problems that kinda overlap at the same point.

You have her bent over the counter, propped up on the kitchen sink—anywhere you could reach was a surface for you and her. And normally you’d be a bit of a party pooper about fucking on these surfaces, but today you really can’t give more of a shit. You want to feel like everything’s okay again, like you’re not fighting for your life to hold on to this relationship that’s being torn apart day by day, night by night.

And you may have pieces of each other deep within your souls, but they don’t seem to fit anymore.

When it’s all over and you’re panting against the dishwasher, reality hasn’t changed and you’re still torn. You have a wound that only you can heal through acceptance, yet you can’t find it in you to accept that this is the life you have to lead. You want to love her. You want it so bad. But you can’t find the will in you to love her when there’s another man in the picture, albeit that her love for him isn’t even minimally a concept. You can’t nurse her injuries either, and it hurts to know that as her delicate hands cradle your cheeks. Her touch is perfect, her breaths are soft on your skin. The two of you have tried so hard to make it work, yet you’ve only come so far. The solution to this problem is like thousands of hot fire pokers stabbing you simultaneously, and it only hurts because it’s the only way forward for the both of you. 

“Miyeon,” you can’t quite believe what you’re about to say. The tears streaming down your  cheeks aren’t making anything easier. “Let’s break up.”

(And this isn’t for pity: but you cry yourself to sleep after she leaves that night. Ain’t it fun being heartbroken? You would know how it feels, right cupcake?)

--

Three months, two weeks and one day (about 105 days if you really want to be fully accurate. Go write that down somewhere) pass uneventfully—and by that you mean, you never picked up any of the 138 calls that came from Miyeon. It would have been 140 calls if you hadn’t picked up two of them when you were drunk. But hey, she was drunk too. So it kinda cancels out… at least you like to think that it does. It does, doesn't it? Two negatives make a positive? 

(No?)

Ah well. Anyway,

(Okay, caveat, again: you’re thankful that she hadn’t showed up to the apartment once throughout this period. You’ve been stuck between your anger and a blame that you can’t face because you don’t know if you blame yourself or her or him. Drinking doesn’t help to lighten the ache in your chest, so you tried exercising: running, swimming, even pilates; you tried to pick up music—bought a guitar and everything. Your fingers still hurt when you play chords, and you’re considering giving up at some point; you tried to learn how to make those pain in the ass French desserts, and now you have a fire extinguisher permanently installed in your kitchen because you somehow managed to set fire to macarons; and you tried to write. That didn’t go well. 5 Wattpad users politely asked you to kill yourself. Not fun.

One way or another, your thoughts would end up drifting back to Miyeon, and you’d have to sit in place and kinda stare into the distance for a little. And yes, you did question your choice to end things with her many times if anyone is asking. You kinda hate yourself a little for not trying to make things work, and you also kinda hate her for not insisting on staying to make things work. 

It took two of the three months for you to realise that you were both kinda in the wrong. But it’s already too late by then.

You couldn’t get a grip of yourself and fight off your internal demons; she couldn’t stop doing what she thought was right to protect the two of you. Net-net: it’s a loss for the both of you in the business of love. Now you have to look for a way forward through this grey-area mess that you’ve made, learn to live with the fact that maybe you guys just weren't meant to be in the grand scheme of things.

The updates on Miyeon’s relationship with that damned actor kept coming, but it stopped as of late. But for a while, they were all the rage for gossip blogs. Every now and then, a shitty title like “Cho Miyeon stuns with her visuals on her date” would pop up, and you have to swipe away quickly before you accidentally tap on the notification and see her holding hands with him. You’ll admit that you opened some of the articles just to get a look at her face, then smile to yourself for a bit before you fight the urge to punch the spot next to her where Squid Game wannabe is smiling. You’ve succeeded so far.

You kept away from Jjampong and tomato soup with grilled cheese too. It’s hard to take your butter bell down from the fridge without tearing a little, and the fish sauce and chilli flake panacea for food doesn't apply to a broken heart by the way (it’s just really salty and spicy. You don’t know what you were thinking. Probably drunk. 0/10, please, please, please do not try). The two dishes are too homely; their tastes remind you of her.

Okay. Let’s ‘anyway’ for real this time.)

Yeah, so uh, remember how you said that sometimes the news you give each other can be a little heart-attack-inducing, so it’s better that your loves are pretty bland? Yep… Sad to say that the same confirmed hypothesis still stands, even when you guys are on day 106 of your break up.

This time the news comes in another headline—and you mean like front page, breaking news headline—on Tuesday night. Wonderwall isn’t treating you too well. You’re pretty sure that your finger tips might be turning purple. Your phone buzzes next to you like crazy, just like it did that night, and it’s like having an iPhone seizure. You don’t think too much when you put down the guitar and pick up your device. 

And you only read the first six words to give yourself a valid reason to reset your miscall streak with Miyeon.

Idol Cho Miyeon Slapped In Public…

(The title was a lot longer than that. You should know it since you’re here in the first place.)

It’s in moments like this when you kinda wish that speed dial was still a thing. (I mean there's siri and all, but do you really have time for that right now?) In a blur of great clumsiness, you open your contacts and experience no difficulty in locating her number again. She’s on the top of your miscall list, so it really takes no wizard to figure this out.

You hate that she’s letting it ring for so long. Every brr brr makes you tremble a little more in your seat. If your mum could see you now, you’d probably get an earful for your bad habit of biting your nails.

She finally picks up the phone. It’s good to hear her voice. “Hey…”

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Now you realise that in your hurry to check on her, you’ve yet to rehearse what to say to her. The debate between your head and gut almost tears you in two. 

“You okay?” you finally manage to blurt after some struggle. “I saw the news… Just wanted to check if, you know, you’re still up and kicking…”

You hear that familiar scoff from the other side of the phone. “Please. You know that it takes more than that to take me down.”

If your ears don't deceive you, you can hear a bit of a strain in her voice. She hates it when you jump to conclusions though, so you leave it as it is for now. “That’s… That’s great.”

And it’s silent again. If you were in the business of losing her interest, you’d be making crazy profits right now. Okay, better end this fast.

“Well uh,” you begin, stopping for a second to swallow some saliva to soothe your semi parched throat. “I guess—”

“Can I come over?” 

Like she always does, she shocks you into silence. Your throat dries up. Your mouth is the Sahara. 

“I… I miss you… if my miss-calls weren't clear enough about that,” she chuckles. You swear you hear a sniffle. “I’d like to see you again,” and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears, “for closure of course… and maybe tomato soup?”

Your heart joins the debate between your head and gut. It wins.

Minutes later, your butter bell is open, a knife scraping out the last bits of creamy butter out of it so that it can be used to evenly butter the other side of your bread. You’re moving on instinct, with glee and excitement. You’re not sure why you’re happy. You’re just happy—happy that you’re gonna see her; happy that you can prepare this dish again without the knowledge that you’re not gonna see her when you turn. It isn’t till the doorbell rings that the joy fades, and in its place comes that familiar tension of a two tonne weight wrapped around your chest. 

You aren’t sure why she rings the door when you haven’t changed the passcode to the lock. If she’s trying to be polite? You appreciate it. If she just forgot the pin? Well… you wouldn’t put that past her either, really. Your gut, head and heart agree you that it’s most likely the latter, and you kinda have to remind yourself as you open the door that she's just as forgetful as anyone else.

“Hi,” you catch yourself staring at her. You don’t mean to look at her dress first, but it’s the first thing your eyes are drawn to; it's been a while since you’ve seen her in anything other than a t-shirt and shorts. The white dress she’s wearing is bedazzled out, the light that’s reflected off of it catching you and making you a deer in headlights for a bit. Then you snap out of it. Your gaze travels up to her face and… “You look… Fucking terrible.”

You love her eyes and you love to watch them roll. “Thanks. You look not bad yourself. Gained some weight?”

You try not to stare. You fail—horribly you might add. 

But in your defence, it’s hard not to look at the purple spot on her milky skin. 

Miyeon covers her cheek. She looks down at your feet like there's something really interesting about them. “Are you, you know, letting me in? Or are we just gonna keep standing here?”

You blink. “R-Right.”

And soon she’s settled into her usual seat, nibbling on some grilled cheese while you ladle out her tomato soup into a bowl. It feels like nothing has changed, but you know that’s not true. Both of you know that everything’s different, that you can’t just give her tomato soup and peck her on the cheek.

“So you play guitar now?” she catches you off guard as the bowl makes a small thunk against the table. It’s in the same spot she always places it, and you know because a woodring has formed in that area. You follow her gaze and see that she’s spotted your Fender on the couch. 

“Sort of?” you reply, a little uncertain in how to rate your abilities. “Just basic stuff, you know?”

She smirks and picks up her spoon, starts chipping away at her soup “So you’re finally digging up the singer-songwriter in you… Good on you, man.”

Again, you find yourself staring at the bruise. It’s a deep shade of purple, splotchy and a sight for sore eyes. From the looks of it, he hit her hard. There’s a burning in your chest—a mix of grief, pity and anger as you watch her eat her food. You wish that you could’ve been there to stop it. You wished that you could’ve just dated her under different circumstances so that maybe, just maybe, you could’ve gotten that ending you wanted. You don’t know how she’s ever gonna cover that up when—

“If you’re gonna get something for this thing, go do it,” she mutters. “Chivalry hasn’t died completely, right?”

You nod and scuttle off. It’s easy to lose track of how long you’ve been staring when you’re lost in your thoughts. Is it scary how this feels like just another conversation between you two? 

The ice pack from when she bought that ice cream cake was still in the freezer, and it’s chilly in your hands as you grab it and return to the table. She has finished her soup—not a single scrap left inside the bowl. She must be starving.

Her grilled cheese is half eaten in her hand; she stares into the distance as she chews. 

(And she’s as beautiful as she can ever be, by the way. A lot of people haven’t seen her the way you see her, and you’re kinda glad that you get to witness that tender part of her that she rarely shows to cameras. It’s… It’s hard to describe what it means to know that someone like her finds it this easy to be herself around you, but you know it’s an honour and a blessing.

But when you're looking at her with your rose-tinted lenses stripped away from you, the notions you hold towards vulnerability become contradictory, because on one hand you know that she’ll never hurt you the way she did, but on the other you know that she’s not the same person when she’s not around you. So at the end of the day, you’re just kinda left figuring out which side of her is the real her. Do you believe what the Cho Miyeon you know tells you? Or do you believe what the Cho Miyeon the world knows? It gets confusing, makes you wonder why she ever has to put up two fronts in the first place. 

Then again, it’s not exactly her fault: she does what she has to so she can stay afloat. No industry is free from dirt. Some are just filthier than others.

I guess what I’m getting at is that… she’s this contradiction in my mind. I want to believe her, but I can’t, yet I still love her like she’s just a regular human and our lives are just a little messy. I know there's this whole argument about the fact that idols are humans too and all, but I guess it’s kinda… undermined? Yeah—undermined by the fact that they can’t exactly lead ‘normal’ lives once they’re famous. Look at me, using these big words.

So I guess… I guess dating her was like the worst of all blessings and the best of all curses. Does that make sense?

…

Ugh. I’m blabbering. 

Sorry cupcake, I’ll get back to it.)

And maybe you forget that she isn’t your girlfriend anymore, or maybe you just kinda blank out in the moment, or maybe you just wanted to do it. For whatever reason: you call her name, and when she turns, the ice pack in your hand is gently applied against her face. You don’t think much of it for like, three or four seconds. But when her wide eyes finally register in your head, there’s a moment where your breath is caught in your throat. 

This is important, so you should know: the silence is fucking deafening. 

She swallows the bit of sandwich in her mouth. “I refused to sleep with him, and he hit me like a girl. Fucking embarrassing on his part,” and there’s that smile on her face as she speaks, the same one that she loves to flash your way when she told you that she loved you. “Barely felt it. Light work.”

You can’t resist—your other hand cradles her unblemished cheek. “Miyeon…”

She closes her eyes. She knows that tone you’re using, the one that’s like ‘don’t lie to me’ or ‘it’s okay, you can tell me’. “Look: when the man that loved you the way no one else loved you breaks up with you, nothing can be more painful than that,” she whispers. Her throat bobs a little. She furrows her brows as her eyes squeezed themselves shut themselves a little tighter. “And that man is you by the way…” her voice cracks, her eyes open, “don’t know if I was clear enough.”

And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now. She always is.

The familiarity of her lips against yours almost makes you melt. The ice pack drops from your hand, your palm taking its place on her face. You kiss her like you used to. You kiss her like you want nothing else but her. You kiss her like you want nothing else but her because you want nothing else but her. She’s home – Jjamppong and Grilled Cheese with Tomato soup — and you don’t ever want her to leave again.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks, and you wipe the tear trailing down her cheek. “I should have never… We should have never—”

You shush her with your lips. She lets herself melt into you, her hands running through your hair the way she would sometimes when she called you crazy or baby. You don’t realise how much you’ve missed her touch till now.

“We were both wrong,” you tell her once you break away (rather reluctantly). “So how about we just call it a truce?”

She nods, and she does it enthusiastically. “If it’s cool with you…”

You scoff. “Why would it not be?” and your thumb gently caresses her bruise gently. You want to kill him, but you’ll save that for another time. “I’m the one who suggested it… Guess Chivalry is not all dead, huh?”

And it’s good to hear her laugh again.

“Come here you big idiot,” she giggles, and she kisses you again. 

Then you dive down to her collarbone when you can’t take it anymore. And the rest is history repeating itself.

You know: it feels like you’ve been picked up from the ground. Miyeon has come to get you… she's come to get you.

Maybe everything’s okay after all.

--

(And uh… The media covers the rest. What was it? Like, two weeks later? 

Ah whatever. You know what happens, don’t you? It’s pretty crazy, made headlines and all.

CUBE has some really good lawyers… And liars. Almost the same thing.)

--

“So that’s the story?” 

Nursing your third bottle of cider, you chuckle. You’d thought by fleshing out whole smuts in verbal form would have chased her away by now, yet here she is. Then again: she is an old friend of yours, so you guessed that she’d be rather adjusted to your bullshit. “Are you sure you’re an investigative journalist?” you question her, “I thought you’d ask something more along the lines of ‘what happens after?’.”

From across the booth seat, Chou Tzuyu shoots you a smirk. 

“The news covered it. Why should I pour salt into old wounds?” she admits. Her glass of wine swirls, manipulated expertly by her delicate fingers. “Anyway, I think I got… The main gist of it. Unless you have more information regarding the restraining order filed against you by CUBE, I have no further questions.”

You roll your eyes. No, you do not have any new information about why CUBE decided that you were a danger to Cho Miyeon, and you’ll never know if Miyeon knows either. She was out of town when it happened, and all she knows is what the news reported: you’re allegedly a stalker and hence a threat. You only know that she called and texted you frantically after, but…

You know what? Maybe you’ll think about this another time.

“You do know that, like, you're kinda bad at this right?” and you set your cider bottle aside, letting it join the almost empty whiskey bottle you bought yourself. You fold your hands and lean into the table. The world spins a little. “I don’t know why you’re prying, but I’m guessing that you heard something from the grapevine that you were itching to hear more about. Either that or you’re just… Could it be that you’re desperate to get something fresh, Miss Chou?”

She sips on her wine, leaves the question hanging in the air for a little as she swallows. 

“Keep this between us: I can’t trust Shuhua sometimes,” she muses. “If I’m gonna write about this, I’m gonna have to make sure that all the information I’ve gotten from her can be corroborated,” she pushes a wisp of hair behind her ear. “And for the record: I am not bad. I do my research as thoroughly as anyone else would—enough to know that you are someone who tells the truth.”

“So you’re saying that you trust me as a source?” you can’t help but scoff. “Me, the very guy that got fucked over by CUBE? I could be bigoted and biased for all you know. Or even worse: I’m lying.”

She smiles knowingly. “Respectfully, you have too much… personal voice in this recount that I might as well write an autobiography on your behalf.”

And she stuns you into silence. It occurs to you that you're a little drunk, and you’re pretty sure that you called this woman ‘cupcake’ multiple times. You’re not too sure; you don’t even have half a mind to know what you’re doing or saying.

Tzuyu gulps down the rest of her wine before she rises from her seat. 

“I best be going,” she opens her purse and fishes something out of it. She hands you a card, an address and a phone number handwritten onto it in what looks like a felt pen. “If you want your story to be heard, give me a call… Or a text. Whatever strikes your fancy. I’ll need a version of this that doesn’t include all the fucking and your drunk blabbering,” she shoulders her purse and smiles. “Can’t promise that I’ll buy you a drink to make you talk again, but I can treat you to some really good Chinese dumplings. Maybe we can catch up a little too. It’s been a while.”

You stare at the card, tracing the hooks and curves that form numbers and letters. Your eyes fix back on her. “Why are you doing this?”

She shrugs, and it’s not a “I dunno” type of shrug, but more like a “the proof’s in the pudding, open your fucking eyes” type of shrug. 

“I want to report the truth, and I know you well enough to know that you want that too.”

That's right. Another series. I know I'm doing everything but finishing up Beats Me, and you can go cry a river in my asks if you want. Just kidding, I love all of you, but I want to write what I want to write. Let me have my fun, would you? Also, for the record: I did not finish this 5 days after Beats Me 7. Beats Me 7 was finished before I vanished from tumblr for a bit. This has been brewing since December. You can thank long drives and Noah Kahnan for this.

Anyway, another big thank you to @defmaybe for being such a great sport and reading through the 39 page document that showed up in their discord DMs one fine day. This fic would have been full of typos and horrible grammatical errors if it weren't for them.

Stay safe, Nichu

[crheativity]

Mc/Yuu that when given genuine affection from their friends such as a small gift or just being told that they enjoy being around them, they just get really quiet and look at their friend with shock and disbelief, tearing up a little bit and just going "...oh..." in a real small voice.

Bonus points if they're not usually emotional like this.

It would be fun if it was the overblot gang since they just got some gifts themselves, or maybe ADeuce duo...idk man, I just want some wholesome friendship, I feel like there aren't enough fics like that in this fandom-

WARNINGS: Can be read as platonic or romantic, some of these might be longer/shorter than others, all of them care about you but (almost) all of them are bad with Emotions. also there are slight references to book 6 in Idia’s section if you squint

COMMENTS: AWH this is such a cute idea! And yes, there should definitely be more wholesome, platonic fics! Also, sorry these are short D:

Wait, crap, you’re tearing up? He just got you a present- are you okay?? He’s low key worried about you, unsure if this is just you being extremely excited about his (amazing) gift or if there’s something else going on. Either way, he’s quick to figure it out and reassure you as best he can. He’s torn between feeling bad about making you cry and being happy you liked his present so much. Either way, he pulls you into a hug and rubs patterns into your back until you feel better.

You’re crying?! Ohhhh crap oh crap oh crap- he doesn’t know what to do! Was his present that bad-? Once you reassure him and tell him you love it, he relaxes a little bit but is still clearly distressed. He isn’t very good at figuring out why you’re reacting this way, but his genuine care for you shines through and helps you feel a little more comfortable in his own way.

Wh-what?? Did he do something wrong-? He did a bunch of research, so he had assumed that this gift would be something you’d appreciate, not tear up over! Riddle is. Confused. And scared. He’s new to this whole “having friends” thing, and he thinks very highly of you, so the thought of messing up is pretty scary. He’s at quite a loss of what to do. When you reassure him and tell him you’re okay, he’s very relieved. He makes a note of how much you appreciated the gift and is determined to do more for you. If he has to get used to having friends, he wants you to get used to receiving the affection you deserve, too.

Awh, come on. You’re seriously tearing up over this? He ruffles your hair affectionately, giving you space to process your emotions while staying nearby. He doesn’t quite get what all the fuss is about - all he knows is he got you something and then you “exploded into tears” (you did not, he’s exaggerating). He sits with you until you feel better and tries to think of ways he could give you stuff without you “freaking out” like this. Maybe some money left in your pockets would be a good idea…

As soon as you tear up, he wants to go hide in his octo-pot. He knew it, it was a stupid idea. He should’ve gone with the other present idea, maybe then you’d be less disappointed. If you even still want to be friends with him after this. The moment you explain that you’re really happy, however, his mood does a complete 180, attempting to both comfort you and gloat a little at the same time. He would pat you a little awkwardly on the shoulder, wanting to express he appreciated your vulnerability. He’s definitely making notes on things he could spoil you with.

He freezes. Dang, he thought it was something you’d like. If not, that’s okay, he did keep the receipt. You can take it back to the store and get a refund if you’d- oh? You liked it? He’s another one that would try to comfort you and feel smug at the same time. The thought of making anyone but particularly you so happy is a little jarring to him, and your way of expressing emotions is definitely unexpected, but he’s glad he got you this. Maybe he’ll get you something better next time.

For once, Vil is speechless. For a moment he just kinda stands there in surprise, before sweeping you into his arms for a hug - completely ignoring how his clothes might crinkle. He didn’t think you would react that way, and - although he’s pretty sure you’re happy - he wants to comfort you anyway. Once you confirm you’re actually happy, he thinks your reaction is sweet and endearing and pure. He’s definitely buying you more things if this is your reaction to it,

The moment you say “oh” and start to tear up he’s internally going say sike rn. Bro was not prepared for Emotions. He can hardly handle his own feelings, why’d fate dump him with someone else’s?! Especially since they belong to someone he cares about. He’s not real good with other people, let alone taking care of them. He wishes Ortho was here - he could google Top 10 Ways To Comfort A Friend Who Randomly Starts Crying. Idia kinda just ends up patting your entire head awkwardly and saying “there there” through his tablet. He knows it’s pathetic, okay?

He’s utterly confused. He followed the Human Customs of buying a gift for someone you care about, why are you displaying a negative reaction? Was the gift not satisfactory? Lilia said this would be enough, although perhaps he should’ve gone with his original plan and bought you significantly more. Were you perhaps disappointed? Once you reassure him, he almost laughs. He thinks your reaction was very cute, he will be buying you significantly more things. Prepare yourself.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

[aajjks]

The Boy (I)

synopsis. All he ever wanted was someone to love.

pairing: yandere!brahms doll jungkook x fem!nanny reader. ft. Cha eunwoo.

genre: 18+ horror, smut, angst and yandere.

warnings. 18+ YÁNDÈRÈ, dàrk thèmès, dïstúrbíng thèmès, mèntïóns ôf à míscárrïàgè, yn ïs brókè & hórny, dóll, erríe thèmès, únsèttlíng thèmès.

wc: almost 3000.

fic note. Please keep in mind that this fanfiction is the exact copy of the movie from the same name “the boy” (2016) so if you find any similarities, that’s on purpose. Also viewer discretion is highly advised.

note. OH MY GOD, HE’S HERE.. this is everything and I have worked really hard on this so don’t let this flop and I’m really nervous… BUT if you want to be tagged, please reply under this post only. PLEASE ENJOY AND SHARE YOUR FEEDBACK. OH MY GOD OK??? 

•••

You’re scrolling through job listings on your phone, your eyes glazing over the endless options. 

Babysitting, waitressing, house cleaning..

none of it seems even remotely appealing, and none of it pays nearly enough to escape your mess of a life.

Why the fuck does your life have to suck so much?

As you keep looking, you almost roll your eyes at the ridiculous job offers, but then, your eyes flicker when you see this one.

This is the most weirdest thing you’ve ever seen on the Internet so far.

But you find yourself intrigued so you click on it. 

Live-in nanny position. High pay. In Busan.

You blink, not quite believing it. Busan? That’s hours away from Seoul. 

You could use the distance. You could definitely use the money.

But a nanny job? You squint at the screen, a laugh escaping your lips. A nanny? To take care of some kid in a big house somewhere far from your current mess? 

It sounds too good to be true. 

And it sounds hilarious.

You tap on the message from Alina. 

Allie:

I found something for you. Live-in nanny job. High pay. Busan.

This is weird because you’re looking at the same mall for it’s like the universe wants you to have this one.

You laugh out loud. 

you:

Are they serious? Who needs a nanny for a kid that badly?

Alina texts back almost immediately. 

Allie:

Trust me, Yn. It pays enough to start fresh. You need this. And yeah, they’re serious.

You shake your head. A nanny job. You don’t even like kids. But the thought of getting away from everything..

the mess of your relationship, the toxic memories of Min Jae, the grief from losing your child—

it’s tempting. Hell, you need it.

you text back before you can second-guess yourself.

You:

Fine, I’m in.

The money is too good to turn down. You don’t have a real family to keep you tied down. Alina’s your best friend, but she’s too busy with her own life.

And the salary? You look it over again.

5 million Korean won per month. 

Five million. For what? Looking after a kid? The job sounds too good to be true. And you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it all is.

You really hope this isn’t some scam. But the thought of the money, of freedom… it makes you push past the doubt.

You need to take this.

•••

You honestly don’t know what you’re doing but the next day you find yourself driving.

You might regret this, but what’s the point in looking back now you’ve been through a lot of shit anyways?

You drive down to Busan, with your luggage and it feels like an eternity. But you’re not complaining. 

The farther you get, the more you feel like you’re shedding the weight of your past life. like you’re heading toward something that doesn’t have Min Jae’s name written all over it.

When the massive house finally comes into view, you stop dead. 

You’ve heard of the Jeon family, everyone in Seoul has, but you didn’t expect a mansion that large. 

The house looks like something straight out of a gothic horror movie. 

Cold, imposing, almost too perfect.

You ring the doorbell, echoing through the hallway like it belongs to another century. It takes a few seconds for someone to answer, and when the door finally opens, you’re greeted by a woman in her early fifties.

“You must be Yn,” she says in a voice that’s a little too calm for your liking. “I’m Jeon Ji-seon.”

“Umm yeah, HI! I’m… yn. Kang Yn..”

You smile, trying to keep your composure.

“I’ll show you inside,” she continues, stepping aside. “Please, come in.”

You walk through the door, and as soon as you step into the house, the silence hits you. 

The place is huge, far too big for just a couple of people. And it’s cold, like the air here has been frozen for years.

Ji-seon leads you down a hall that feels way too quiet. You don’t even know why, but your skin prickles as you walk behind her.

“Come, this is the boy,” she says, opening a door to a sitting room.

You glance around, expecting to see some child, maybe a little too spoiled, maybe a bit over the top. 

but what you find is… not that.

It’s a doll. A life-sized doll sitting on the couch, its eyes too wide and too real. It’s sitting there like a person, and you can’t help the chuckle that slips from your mouth.

“This is JK,” Ji-seon says, her voice soft, almost motherly. 

“The boy you’ll be looking after.”

You blink, unsure whether you’ve heard her right.

“Wait, this is… this is the kid?” You can’t help yourself. The laughter bubbles up again, louder this time. “A fucking doll? You want me to look after this?”

This is not even a kid, but this is a doll..

Ji-seon’s smile doesn’t falter, but you can see a flicker of something in her eyes.

“Yes, JK needs care. He’s like a child, in many ways.”

You laugh again. 

The idea of it is absurd. Who would hire a nanny for a doll? And who would pay five million won a month to do it?

You can’t resist a glance back at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” Ji-seon says, her voice unflappable. “He requires attention. He’s very… sensitive.”

A sharp chill runs through you, but it only lasts a second before you shake it off.

“Uh-huh. Sure,” you mutter under your breath. “Okay, I’ll take care of the… kid. Whatever.”

Ji-seon doesn’t seem bothered by your sarcasm. She just nods, smiling softly.

“You’ll be well compensated, yn” she adds. “And Eunwoo will be overseeing everything. He’ll make sure you’re doing it right.”

You don’t like the way she says your name like she’s already familiar with you.

“Eunwoo?”

“His name is Eunwoo. He checks on JK. He’ll be checking on you as well,” she explains, her gaze a little too intense.

You try to stifle a yawn. This whole thing is weird. And for the amount of money they’re offering, 

it’s almost too weird.

And then, as if on cue, a man enters the room. He’s tall, dressed in a sleek black suit, his eyes cold and assessing.

“I’m Eunwoo,” he says in a deep voice that sends a shiver down your spine.

You blink. For a second, you think you’ve seen him somewhere before, but you push the thought away.

“I’ll be overseeing things here,” he continues, not bothering with pleasantries. “Make sure you’re following the rules.”

You squint at him. “Rules for taking care of a doll?”

Eunwoo’s smile is sharp, almost predatory. “You’ll learn soon enough.”

You’re about to ask more questions when Ji-seon interrupts.

“Remember the doll can actually speak a few words so don’t be freaked out about that, JK is capable of crying and sometimes even complimenting.”

What the fuck?

“Eunwoo will show you around. He’ll tell you what’s expected of you.”

You glance at Eunwoo, who watches you closely, as if evaluating every inch of you.

“I’ll be back later,” he says, before turning and walking toward JK, adjusting the doll in a way that makes you shiver.

You feel like you’ve stepped into some strange, twisted world. But you try not to let it show. 

You need this job.

After all, you’ve got five million won to make.

The house feels too quiet as you stand there, trying to process everything. 

You walk around, pretending to look busy while your eyes are fixated on the doll, JK, sitting perfectly still on the couch. 

You can’t help but feel like you’re under some kind of microscope.

How could anyone need a nanny for a doll? 

you think, your thoughts dripping with sarcasm. But then you remind yourself that you’re here for the money.

Five million won. 

That’s what you keep telling yourself to push down the absurdity of the situation.

Eunwoo’s movements seem calculated as he adjusts JK’s position on the couch. 

You don’t know why, but his actions feel almost… gentle, like he’s handling something fragile. 

It’s unsettling. 

You swallow, trying to mask the unease creeping into your stomach.

“Right,” you say, trying to force a grin as you break the silence. “So, what exactly am I supposed to do with… him? Do I play with him, or is he more of a… I don’t know, a silent companion?” Your tone is light, as if you’re joking, but it feels strangely hollow.

But he doesn’t seem to find your joke funny.

What a weirdo but at least he’s got a pretty face.

Although he looks very familiar… you just can’t put your finger on why you have probably seen him somewhere but you’re not sure at this point.

Eunwoo doesn’t respond at first, his gaze locked on the doll, then finally, he mutters, “You’ll interact with him when it’s required. He has specific needs. You’ll figure it out.” 

His voice is colder than you expected, but it’s a different kind of cold— more like a warning than a suggestion.

You shift uncomfortably, looking over at JK.

. The doll’s porcelain eyes are wide open, locked onto you in an unnerving way, and you fight the urge to laugh at how absurd the whole situation is. 

How could anyone possibly think this thing is alive?

“Got it,” you say, forcing a smile, trying to make light of the situation. “I’ll treat him like a… like a kid, right?”

Eunwoo’s eyes snap to yours, a brief flicker of something unspoken passing between you two. 

“You’ll take care of him,” 

he says, and you can feel the weight of his words sink in, much heavier than you expected. 

His gaze lingers on you for a beat too long before he nods, as if ensuring you understand.

Ji-seon reappears, smiling pleasantly, and her presence brings a sense of eerie calm to the air.

 “You’ll be fine here, yn. Eunwoo will help you get settled. We just need you to follow the routine.”

You nod, trying to sound agreeable. “Of course. No problem.”

She leads you down a hallway, her heels clicking on the polished floor as she motions toward a door. 

“This will be your room while you’re here. Make yourself at home.”

You step inside, and your breath catches. It’s bigger than any space you’ve ever lived in before. bigger than your tiny apartment in Seoul, bigger than anything you’ve ever imagined. 

The room is sleek, minimalist, and pristine, with soft, neutral colors that almost feel too perfect. 

Rich people are ridiculous but at least you get to live in a really nice room and a literal man just to take care of a fucking doll.  life is being nice to you at least.

At the far end of the room, there’s a large window with a view of the sprawling estate grounds, but it’s not the view that catches your eye.

It’s the family photos.

They’re everywhere— on the walls, on tables, in frames. 

At first, it seems normal, just a rich, respectful family showing off their prized memories. 

But then you start noticing things. In one picture, there’s a child, a little boy who could be no more than five or six. His features are strikingly similar to JK’s. 

sharp Bambi eyes, a mole under his lower lip, and a smile that mirrors JKS. 

It’s unsettling, the way the child looks so much like the doll, so much like… him.

In one photo, the child is sitting on a chair beside a younger version of the doll, his tiny hand placed possessively on the doll’s shoulder. 

The similarities between them are too eerie to ignore.

You feel a slight shiver creep up your spine. What the hell is going on here?

you want to ask about this but you decide to let it go.

“How strange,” you murmur under your breath, though you’re not sure if you’re speaking to the doll or to yourself. 

You force yourself to look away from the photos, but it feels like they’re following you.

You walk over to the desk, where another photo sits—this one of the couple holding hands with the child, all three of them beaming at the camera. 

And again, the resemblance between the child and JK is too uncanny. It’s like they’re trying to prove something, some perfect image of family that feels staged, artificial.

A sudden knock on the door interrupts your thoughts, and before you can answer, 

Eunwoo enters. 

He doesn’t wait for permission, just steps inside, his eyes immediately scanning the room before they rest on you. 

“Get settled. We’ll talk later,” he says, his tone clipped and direct.

You give him a forced smile, trying to keep your nerves in check. “Of course. Thanks, Eunwoo.”

“But where are Mr. and Mrs. Jeon?”

He nods, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than comfortable. 

There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, but then he turns and walks out without another word.

“Didn’t you read in the advertisement? They have to go on a business trip to the states and they need you to take care of…. JK.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

The air in the room feels dense, thick with unspoken things. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched, monitored, like a subject in some twisted experiment.

You move to the bed, setting your bag down, and glance back at the photos. 

The resemblance between the doll and the child is enough to make your stomach turn. 

You try to push the thought out of your mind, but it sticks with you. What kind of family is this?

You pull out the piece of paper Eunwoo gave you earlier.

The list of instructions. It’s simple, even ridiculous at times. But the last line sticks out to you, making your heart skip a beat:

1. Do not leave him alone for extended periods.

• JK requires constant companionship. Never leave him for more than an hour at a time. If he is left alone for too long, you may hear him calling out for attention, sometimes saying things like “stay” or “hello.”

2. Talk to him regularly.

• Speak to JK as if he were a real child. He understands more than you think and benefits from daily conversation. You may hear him respond in his own way, even if it’s just a faint whisper of words like “pretty” or “hello” that seem to come from nowhere.

3. Do not ignore him.

• If JK’s eyes are on you, he is expecting attention. Never leave him in a room alone without acknowledging him. If you do, you might hear him softly say “stay” or something equally unsettling when you’re out of sight.

4. Maintain his appearance.

• Clean JK daily, especially his clothes. Ensure his hair is brushed and neat, and that he is positioned properly. If you don’t care for him properly, you may hear him complain.

5. Do not place him out of sight.

• Always keep JK within your line of sight. If you leave the room, take him with you, or he will become distressed. If left alone for too long, you may hear him calling out, perhaps asking for you in a low, soft voice.

6. Respect his space.

• Do not move JK without carefully considering his position. He prefers to be seated in his chair or on the couch—never leave him lying down for long. You may notice him suddenly changing positions on his own if you don’t follow these guidelines.

7. Follow the daily routine.

• A structured schedule is important for JK’s well-being. The routine is as follows:

• Morning: Greet JK. Talk to him about your day.

• Afternoon: Engage in activities with him (reading, conversation, or watching TV together). He might ask you things like “pretty” or “play” when he wants to interact.

• Evening: Ensure he is settled before you sleep. You may hear him say “stay” if you don’t give him a kiss goodnight.

8. Do not let him become distressed.

• If JK begins to look upset or agitated, stop what you’re doing immediately and comfort him. You’ll know he’s upset if his eyes seem unfocused or if he “stares off” for too long. At these times, you may hear him say things like “hello,” reaching out for attention.

9. No visitors unless approved by us.

• Do not invite anyone into the house unless we have specifically authorized them. This includes friends, family, or strangers. JK may also react to unapproved visitors by whispering, “go away,” or “stay,” in a chilling voice that’s hard to ignore.

10. Follow all of JK’s instructions as they are given.

• While he cannot speak in the traditional sense, his needs will make themselves known. You must be attuned to his behavior and respond accordingly. This includes listening for his soft, eerie phrases like “stay” or “pretty” when you least expect it.

11. Always keep his room organized.

• JK’s environment must remain tidy. His room should be cleaned and arranged according to how you find it each day. If you don’t, expect to hear him muttering things like “stay,” as if reminding you of your duties.

12. Never speak ill of him or treat him disrespectfully.

• JK is a special member of the family. Disrespect or neglect will not be tolerated. You may hear him call out to you in a hurt tone, saying “why” or “pretty,” if he feels abandoned.

13. If you feel discomfort or fear, contact Eunwoo immediately.

• Eunwoo is to be your point of contact should you feel overwhelmed or need assistance. He is also here to make sure everything is running smoothly. He may even contact you if he notices JK has been more vocal than usual, or if things seem off.

14. In case of an emergency, stay calm and follow the procedure.

• If anything unusual happens, contact us immediately. Keep calm and ensure JK is safe. During these moments, JK might cry out, or ask you “why” or “stay” in a soft voice, leaving you with an eerie feeling of being watched.

15. Do not attempt to move or alter JK’s appearance without prior approval.

• His positioning, attire, and overall state must remain as it is unless told otherwise. This is crucial for his well-being. If you disobey, JK might say things like “don’t” or “stop” under his breath, which you’ll hear clearly when the house is quiet.

16. If you need to leave the house, make sure JK is placed safely in a position to rest.

• Ensure he is seated comfortably before leaving. If you are gone for more than an hour, contact Eunwoo to check on him. You might also hear him call out faintly, “stay,” as if trying to hold you back.

17. Keep your emotions in check around him.

• JK can sense emotional changes. If you are feeling upset or disturbed, try to manage it before interacting with him. He may respond with a quiet “pretty” or “hello,” as if trying to comfort you, or, more chillingly, he might ask you, “stay.”

18. Remember: JK is not a doll.

• Treat him as you would any living child. He may not look alive, but his needs are very real. If you treat him like an inanimate object, you may hear him cry softly, pleading for attention, and saying “stay.”

19. Always give him a goodnight kiss.

• Before you sleep, you must give JK a kiss on the forehead. It’s a requirement for his comfort and peace of mind. If you forget, he will become unsettled, and you might hear him whisper, “stay” or “please” in a voice that feels too real for comf

You look over at JK. The doll’s unblinking eyes stare back at you, and for a moment, you almost think it’s smiling.

The money is still the only thing keeping you here. Five million won. But the unease crawling under your skin refuses to let go.

“Umm well these instructions are quite… haha… ummm… thorough…”

Eunwoo looks at you and he almost looks annoyed by you. 

“Obviously. People like you need thorough instructions. You have to make sure that you follow each and every one of them or we will deduct your salary.”

What a little bitch he is.

“Yn you can go to your room now I can take care of him right now and keep the set of instructions with you and read them over again and again until you can remember them. Good night. The dinner will be on the dining table so eat whenever you want.”

•••

The next morning when you wake up, you realize that you didn’t really get much sleep last night because your head is pulsing, but you barely have time to breathe when you hear the older woman call out your name and there is a knock on your door.

When you finally compose yourself and dress up, you rush downstairs and you see the couple with the brooding, butler guy.

“Ummm good morning.”

Ji-seon and Jeong-hwan sit you down in the grand living room, the air thick with a seriousness that immediately puts you on edge. 

You’re seated across from them, the doll, JK, still in his usual spot on the couch, eerily quiet as always. 

The room feels colder now, as if the warmth has been sucked out of the house overnight.

“We have to leave for an extended period,” Ji-seon says, her voice smooth but with an undertone of finality. 

She’s holding her hands in front of her, fingers laced together, her perfectly manicured nails catching the light. 

She’s dressed as if she’s about to attend a gala, the elegance radiating off her like a fine perfume.

Jeong-hwan nods beside her, his expression unreadable, his posture stiff. 

“We’ll be in Europe for business,” he says, his voice calm but firm, 

“and we won’t be back for a few months. Maybe longer, depending on how things go. But we need you here, yn. You’re crucial to this arrangement.”

You blink, not sure what to make of the sudden reveal. You were told they were going away for a short time, but this? This feels different. 

You glance at Eunwoo, who’s standing by the door, arms crossed, looking like he’s barely keeping his composure. 

He’s so serious you almost want to fuck him.

His eyes are intense, unwavering, but there’s something else there too. something you can’t quite put your finger on.

Ji-seon leans forward, her eyes locking onto yours. 

“The job isn’t just to care for the house, or to clean up after us. It’s to take care of JK while we’re gone,” 

she says, her voice unwavering, almost as if she’s testing you. “

“We’re trusting you with a very special task. We have rejected 25 Nannie’s before you but something about you stood out.”

You feel a strange knot tighten in your stomach. “Right. I understand,” you say, 

Though you can’t help but question how anyone could need someone to look after a doll like that.

Eunwoo’s gaze flicks to you briefly, a warning lingering in the way his lips press together. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

Jeong-hwan speaks up again, his tone cold, almost stern. 

“You’re to follow the rules exactly as they’re written, and there will be no exceptions. JK needs consistency. He’s… special,” he adds, his words leaving a strange, unsettling weight in the air.

Why the fuck does everyone keep on saying that it’s almost starting to piss you off and you’ve been here for a day?

You frown, your mind reeling from the bizarre nature of their instructions. 

“Special?” you ask, glancing nervously at JK, who’s still as ever on the couch, eyes wide and staring. 

“What do you mean by that?”

Ji-seon’s expression softens slightly, but there’s a sharpness behind her gaze that makes you hesitate. 

“What we mean,” she begins, her voice careful but insistent.

“is that JK, has particular needs. He requires attention, affection… care. You’ll need to spend time with him, talk to him. Don’t leave him alone for too long. You understand?”

You nod, unsure of what to say. You can feel the tension rising in the room, the weight of their expectations pressing on your chest.

Eunwoo shifts, stepping further into the room as if to emphasize his role.

“And I’ll be visiting, here to make sure everything goes smoothly,” he adds, his voice is smooth, almost too calm. 

“If you ever have any issues or doubts, I’ll be here to help. Just… keep him company. That’s all we ask.”

You bite your lip, your thoughts racing. You never imagined this job would be anything like this. 

The money was appealing, but now, the reality of it is setting in— and it’s starting to feel far too strange, 

too unnerving.

“You’ll be fine,” Ji-seon says, offering you a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“We’ll be back when we’re done with business, but until then, please make sure JK is well taken care of. He’s very important to us.”

Jeong-hwan stands, his suit sharply pressed, and gives you a small bow of his head. 

“Take care of everything. Follow the rules, and everything will go smoothly.”

You nod, trying to remain composed, even though everything inside of you is screaming for a way out.

 The money. 

That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’ll stick it out.

But as you glance over at Eunwoo, his unblinking stare fixated on you, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being drawn into something far deeper and more dangerous than you ever imagined.

The door closes softly behind Ji-seon and Jeong-hwan as they leave, and you’re left standing in the silent house with JK and Eunwoo.

And as soon as the door closes, there is a mechanical sound leaving the doll.

“pretty, pretty, stay… stay.”

And for the first time ever, you got serious shivers down your spine.

“Nice.. JK seems to like you a lot.”

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

•••

I watch you, every move you make, every breath you take. 

Your body, so unaware, so oblivious to the presence of the one who truly owns you.

 You laugh, that soft sound echoing through the room, and I can’t help but let my eyes linger on the curve of your neck, the way your lips part when you exhale.

You’re beautiful. 

But it’s not just your beauty that calls to me. It’s the way you touch the doll. Your fingers graze his face, your movements slow, almost hesitant. 

You don’t even realize it, do you?

You’re already giving him a piece of yourself, even if it’s just a touch. But it’s not for him, is it? 

No, it’s for me.

You think you’re in control, that you’re simply playing a role, but I can see the way your body betrays you. 

The way your hands shake just a little when you adjust him, how your breath hitches when you think no one’s watching. You want him, want me, more than you’re willing to admit.

I can feel the heat radiating from you, the tension in the air thickening with every second you linger in that room. 

You don’t know it yet, but every time you speak to him, every time your skin brushes against his, you’re inviting me in. You want to be touched, you crave it. 

Your body, so starved for affection, desperate for someone to care, to see you.

I see you. And soon, you’ll feel me.

You’re not just taking care of a doll. You’re taking care of me. 

The doll is just a way to keep you close, to watch you, to savor every second of your vulnerability. 

You don’t realize how deep you’re sinking into this. 

Every time you move, every time you shift, it’s like you’re drawing me in closer, pulling me into your world.

Your eyes flicker toward the doll again, and I can almost hear your thoughts, wondering why you’re drawn to him so much. 

You want to feel him. You want to touch him.

But what you don’t know is that the only thing you’ll feel is me. The only thing you’ll touch is me.

I let out a quiet breath, my fingers curling into a fist as I watch you through the shadows. You’re perfect for this. You’re perfect for me

And the longer you stay here, the closer you’ll get to me, to the things I want from you.

You’ll beg for it soon enough.

[harksness]

Or also milf Agatha who’s just recently divorced ( from a man ) and kind of always had to be the “ perfect submissive wife “ so when she meets you at a bar when Wanda had dragged her to go out, all changes.

Agatha slowly learning she likes to be more in control and being such a good domme to you like AHHHHHHHHH I NEED HER TO BE MY MOMMY AGATHA SAUR BAD

PLLLSSS YOURE MAKING ME GO ABSOLUTELY UNHINGED SDJNIAGFLDJFG MOMMY AGATHA IS EXACTLY WHAT I NEED IN MY LIFE

I WENT WAAY TOO OVERBOARD W THIS ONE OOPS MY HAND SLIPPED AND I WROTE A WHOLE FIC WHEN I SAW THIS AT 2AM ?? i didnt know i had this in me atm but the horny brainrot for mommy agatha was just too real it's like that + the sleep deprivation possessed me

mommy agatha would fix all my problems in life rn i need her so bad auughghghghghghg

"I'm sure it's been a long time since you've had some fun. We need to find you some action."

Wanda winks at Agatha and the older woman rolls her eyes with a soft scoff as she raises her drink to her lips.

"Oh please, nothing with Ralph was ever fun. It was just... Sex."

Agatha sighs, a crushing feeling weighing down on her when she realizes just how miserable her life with that man was. How.. Unfulfilling.

You're told as a woman to marry a good man, be a good, submissive wife, make sure to make him happy. A few months ago Agatha came to the crashing realization that maybe what she wanted wasn't what she had been told to want her whole life.

Then she realized just how bad the sex actually was.

And she promptly filed for a divorce not long after. There wasn't much love lost on her end, the years had worn on her and she was ready for this a while ago. The only thing lost on her end was time. And she doesn't want to waste any more of it.

After confiding all of these heavy feelings to her dear friend Wanda, this was the idea she came up with to help. A popular bar in Westview.

"Okay, so.. It's your first night of freedom, of being able to decide exactly what you want for yourself and from sex. What's the first thing that pops into your head?"

Wanda smiles at her, resting her elbow on the table in front of her and plopping her head into the palm of her hand. Agatha pauses for a moment in thought.

What does she want?

Her bright blue eyes scan over the crowd of people in the dimly lit bar, hoping for the realization to smack her in the face.

"Honestly? A young, pretty girl that can help me learn a thing or two about myself.."

Agatha says plainly, and Wanda hums out in thought, eyes scanning over the crowd.

"Oh! What about her?"

Wanda points across the room, and Agatha's eyes catch on you. Her eyes widen as she takes you in. You're standing with your friends, pretty smile on your face, a tight dress hugging the curves of your body. She's eagerly drinking you in, eyes dragging over every little detail on your figure.

"You think she's cute."

Wanda giggles, and Agatha can tell that her friend is a bit tipsy.

"Oh she's more than cute."

Agatha admits, and Wanda's pushing herself out of her seat. The older woman looks up at her curiously.

"What are you doing?"

Wanda winks.

"Helping you get some fun."

"No, Wanda, not like this-"

All hope is lost. Wanda is already walking across the room towards you, navigating through the thin sea of people to reach you over at the bar. Agatha fights the urge to slump down in her seat and hide from embarrassment. If Wanda's going to be going about it like this, though, she might as well commit to the bit.

So, she pets her hair into place and straightens her posture as Wanda approaches you. She watches in horror as the two of you seem to quickly strike up a friendly conversation.

When Wanda gestures back towards where she's sitting and sipping on her drink and your eyes flicker over and land on her, Agatha's brain short circuits. You smile brightly and wave shyly over at her, and she thinks it's the cutest thing she's ever seen. Agatha leans forward and waves back.

Your friends are playfully pushing you towards the table, your features flushed red as you begin making your way towards her. When you reach the table, Agatha quirks a curious brow at you.

"Agatha, I'm guessing?"

You ask with a sheepish smile. The older woman nods her head.

"That's me, I assume my drunk friend said some very embarrassing things about me that somehow charmed you into coming over here?"

You laugh softly at her words, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Agatha feels her throat go dry, and she's raising her glass to her lips.

"Oh, yes, definitely. But I was more charmed when I looked over here at you."

Agatha grins up at you, butterflies making a fuss in her stomach.

"Do you want to sit with me?"

Eagerly you nod your head, and Agatha scoots over, wanting you to sit close to her. She gestures at the space she just made, hoping you'll slide in right next to her. And you do.

You tell her your name, what college you go to and what you're studying. You make fun, light small talk for a bit, enjoying getting to know each other. You share all of the embarassing things Wanda shared about her with a cute giggle, and Agatha can't even be mad because it got you to come over and sit with her.

Agatha insists on buying you a drink, and you're being so polite and insisting it's okay, you don't want her spending money on expensive cocktails for some girl she's only known for a few minutes. You keep trying to pull out your wallet when she quirks a brow at your politeness.

"Sweetheart, you're a college student. I'm assuming you don't have a ton of money lying around. Now, I do, so be a good girl and let me treat the sweet, cute little thing I'm growing rather fond of to something nice, hm?"

You freeze at her words, eyes wide, and Agatha's worried she screwed up with her forwardness. But a bright smile crosses your features, cheeks flushing as you fold your hands in your lap and nod your head.

"Y-yeah, I mean, if you insist.. Thank you very much."

You stumble through your words, and she notices how you cross your legs. Agatha feels something swirling in her chest, a bit of an ache growing between her legs at your shy compliance. A smile grows on her lips as she orders your favorite cocktail for you.

Agatha decides to be a little more bold.

"Oh, anything for you, honey.."

She coos, breath hot against your neck as she leans in and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. A smirk grows on her lips at the way you squirm, her eyes glancing down towards your chest as you heave in a deep breath.

"Is there anything else you'd like me to do for you, hm?"

Agatha asks sweetly, one of her hands landing on your exposed thigh, squeezing the soft skin gently, giving you a chance to tell her to back off if you wanted to. She watches you hopefully.

You laugh shyly, nervously meeting her gaze. You part your lips to speak when the waiter sets your drink down in front of you, severing the tension like a knife. Agatha goes to pull her hand away, disappointment weighing heavy in her gut when your hand darts out to grab hers.

"W-wait.."

You mumble and Agatha's grinning excitedly.

"I mean.. You're just- like, really hot.. It's flustering me a bit.."

Your face is flushed deep red, your gaze avoiding hers.

"So you're okay with this?"

She asks, and you nod your head. She tsk's at you, raising a hand and hooking her finger under your chin as she guides you to look at her.

"Use your words, baby."

Your pupils blow wide at her words, gaze heavy with lust as your eyes flicker down to her lips.

"Yes. Yeah, I'm really okay with this.."

You mutter out softly and Agatha smiles.

"Good girl."

She melts at the way you gasp when her lips connect with yours. It's soft and sweet, and immediately you're returning her kiss, lips moving eagerly against one another. Agatha already feels addicted to your soft, sweet mouth.

You pull back first, and she's disappointed.

"Do you want to leave?"

The disappointment is quickly replaced with excitement.

"I'd love to. Would you be alright going to my place?"

You nod your head and quickly the two of you are out of there, abandoning your untouched drink on the table. Agatha is holding your hand, guiding you through and out the back of the building as you go to the back parking lot.

It's dark out, the cool night air chilling you skin as you wind between the parked cars, the lights of Agatha's car flickering as she unlocks it.

You tug softly on her hand and she turns to look at you.

"Please, kiss me again.."

You beg so sweetly for her, she's giving you what you want before she even realizes it. Agatha grabs you by the hips, fingers biting softly into your plush skin as she presses you against the side of the car. You gasp at the force, moaning softly as she presses her lips firmly into yours.

She's eager to tear more desperate words out of your mouth. It's the only thing on her mind as she nips at your bottom lip, you snaking your arms up and around her neck to pull her closer into you.

You're letting out little muffled noises into her mouth and she's in heaven, dropping her head to pepper lingering wet kisses against the column of your throat. You let out a sharp sigh.

"Fuck, you're so hot.."

Agatha groans against your skin and you let out a pathetic whimper. She raises her knee between your legs, pressing up and against your center. A moan tears out of your throat as your hands scramble to dig into her back, and Agatha feels dizzy at the look on your face. Your pretty plush lips parted so sweetly, bright eyes lidded over with desire just for her.

Oh, Agatha very quickly figured out what she wants.

She wants you, whimpering and begging and falling apart for her.

You can't control yourself as you start to softly grind against her thigh, rocking your hips back and forth as your teeth dig into your bottom lip. Agatha laughs softly as she leans down to pepper more kisses across your neck.

"Oh? Did I really work you up in the bar?"

She asks, a taunting edge to her voice. You nod your head.

"Use your words, pretty girl.."

Agatha coos, chest swelling at how eager you are to obey her.

"Fuck, yes.. I don't want to wait.."

You whimper out pathetically as you squirm against her thigh, moonlight highlighting your desperate features so beautifully for Agatha. She smirks down at you, raising a hand to cup your cheek.

Her thumb traces over your bottom lip, softly tugging it down and pressing on it before she releases it. Agatha wants to bite your bottom lip, dig her teeth in and have you gasping in pain and pleasure into her mouth so she can swallow every sweet noise you make and have it be part of her forever.

When she raises the digit once again you eagerly part your lips for her. Her smile widens as she traces the outline of your lips with her thumb before pushing it past your lips and into your mouth.

Agatha lets out a hard, controlled breath at the feeling of your hot, wet mouth wrapped around her thumb. Sucking her, pulling her in as your cheeks cave in but you hold her gaze. She leans further into you, grinding her thigh up into your wet cunt. You whimper around her thumb.

Agatha drags the digit out of your mouth, smearing your spit across your bottom lip.

"What do you want?"

She asks lowly, and you moan.

"Fuck, please, please just fuck me in your car. I don't wanna wait."

The teasing has reached its breaking point, you throw your head back and it softly thumps against the car. Agatha grins down at you, cooing softly as she affectionately runs her fingers over your cheek.

"Of course, sweet pea.."

Dropping her leg from between your thighs, the two of you take a step back so she can open the back door. Agatha gestures you in first, and you crawl over the smooth leather seats to the other side in order to make room for her.

She's following close behind, the car swaying a bit with how forcefully she slams the door shut. With a soft click, Agatha ensures the doors are locked and the two of you are secure inside.

You're laying back on the seats, propped up on your elbows as Agatha climbs over you, hungrily drinking you in.

"Fuck, what do you want me to do for you?"

Agatha breathes the words against your neck, her hands desperately roaming over your body, feeling electric with her need to touch you.

"I want you to do whatever you want to me.. Please.."

You beg and her brain short circuits. She can do whatever she wants to you? Her mind starts flying through the endless possibilities, eyes flickering over your body in hungry passes as she tries to make up her mind.

"First, lets take this off.."

Agatha tugs on your dress and you're eager to comply, she helps you pull down the zipper and your lift your hips up off the seat as the two of you get it over your head, leaving you in your underwear before her, laying on the cold leather seats.

She kneels between your spread legs, ghosting her hands over your soft thighs as she admires you spread out before her, your perfect, beautiful body lay ready for her to use however she pleases.

Agatha licks her lips before she leans down, leaving kisses all up your neck before moving down to your collarbone, littering it with more kisses that have you rubbing your thighs together before she moves downwards.

She eyes your breasts hungrily. Pushing the bra straps from your shoulders, she pulls the cups down and frees your chest, an excited sigh dropping past her lips as she dives in for them.

You immediately begin to whimper and squirm under her treatment, one hand eagerly pawing at your right breast while she runs her tongue all over your left, desperate to taste every inch of your skin.

Eventually she moves to your nipple, taking it into her mouth and eagerly sucking. You arch your back, a sharp gasp escaping your lips at the action. With a soft pop she releases the bud, running the tip of her tongue along it in apologetic passes.

She spends so long worshipping your breasts that your voice grows hoarse, eventually you're pawing and clawing at her desperately.

"Hm?"

Agatha asks, licking her lips as she raises her head from your chest, brown curls wild with how they're falling in disarray from her bun. You're shaking, whimpering pathetically.

"Please, please.. Touch me, Agatha..."

You hadn't noticed the tears that had welled in your eyes and she coos softly down at you, running her fingers along your cheek.

"I'm so sorry sweet girl.. I promise I'll take good care of you.."

She whispers the words apologetically against your cheek, leaving soft kisses on your skin. You nod your head before she continues downward, licking a stripe down your sternum before planting kisses on the soft skin of your tummy, dragging her lips over each of your hips as she hungrily kneads at your thighs.

The woman is crawling back on the seats, lowering herself so that she's between your thighs, licking her lips hungrily as she pulls your underwear to the side. You can't help but feel a bit flushed and embarrassed under her intense gaze, all while loving every second her adoring blue eyes are focused on you.

Immediately when her mouth latches onto your center, your eyes roll into the back of your head, your hands scrambling for purchase on the door behind you as you let out a loud, desperate moan.

"Shit.. Feels so good.."

You whimper, her mouth hot between your legs, messily running her tongue between your wet folds as she groans into you. It already feels so intense, and you know you won't last long as she begins to sloppily assault your clit.

The woman quickly figured out the question she had at the beginning of the night. This is exactly what she wants. A pretty little thing like you, so eager and pliant and willing to take whatever she gives.

It makes her shift, clenching her thighs at just how fucking turned on she is seeing you fall apart beneath her, for her. Every little moan, every word, every tremble and gasp and every bit of sweetness that spills between your thighs is all just for her in this moment, and she's hooked. She can't get enough

Agatha moves her hands to paw at the plush of your thighs, an ache growing between her legs she's never experienced before as she watches you whimper and moan out desperately for her.

Your features scrunch up, mouth hung open in pleasure as she alternates between sloppily sucking and running the flat of her tongue along the little bud.

She grins against you as she feels your thighs begin to tremble against the sides of her head, desperate, breathy noises spilling past your pretty lips as you scramble for purchase, your back arching with every jolt of pleasure that shoots through you.

She groans into you, thinking that she would be happy to suffocate between your soft thighs. As she digs her fingers into your hips and pulls you against her eager mouth, a gasp escaping your lips as the sound of your soft curses reach her ears.

The older woman leans back, and you nearly die at the sight of her pushing her wild brown hair out of her face with the back of her hand as she licks you off of her lips, humming at the taste.

She leans forward, pressing her cheek against your knee as she looks down at you with adoring blue eyes.

"Fuck, you're so pretty, baby.."

Agatha coos down at you, soft smile on her lips as she raises her fingers up to the wet mess between your thighs. You let out a desperate, wanton noise, scrambling to grab at her forearm as she drags her fingers through your folds, taking her sweet time to feel you and toy with you. Her eyes flicker over your glistening center to your pretty face, distorted with pleasure as you thrash against the seats.

"Are you doing okay, sweet girl?"

She asks mockingly, loving the feeling of your nails biting into her forearm. You twist beneath her, writhing in pleasure as you press the side of your face against the leather seat, hair spread in disarray like a halo around your head.

"Yes! Yes, please don't stop.. So good, Mommy.."

You sound so pathetic as the words escape your lips in a broken wheeze, and something snaps in Agatha when you call her that. She thought she couldn't get any more worked up and desperately horny then she already is but fuck, you keep surprising her.

"Call me that again.."

She demands, high on her power over you as she drags her soaked fingers back, carefully easing them into you. You groan out at the stretch, at the intrusion of her long, slender fingers easing you open and sliding deep inside of you.

"Mommy.. Please fuck me.. You're so good to me, Mommy, I need more.."

You didn't even hesitate to obey her, turning to look up at her with your wide, pretty eyes drunk on pleasure.

Your desperate, broken voice has her responding automatically to your pleas for her, carefully curling her long, slender finger as she fucks her hand into your sopping pussy. You're so wet and messy, there's a soft squelching noise with every thrust.

Agatha loves it. You whimper, embarrassed.

"M' sorry.. A-ah.."

You try to apologize, finding yourself unable as you throw your head back in pleasure, so sensitive under her calculated movements. She's smirking down at you, leaning forward and over you with her fingers still buried in your wet cunt.

"Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for, angel.. You're absolutely perfect.."

She sighs against your neck, running her tongue along the column of your throat, enjoying the taste of your salty sweat on her tongue as she carefully slips a second finger into you. You let out a loud noise, hand flying to pull at the shirt on her back as she stretches you out, curling her fingers up to hit that sweet spot inside of you with every careful thrust.

"You got such a perfect pussy.. Mommy can't get enough.."

Agatha breathes the words hotly against your neck, her palm soaked with your arousal as she grinds it up against your clit, harshly rubbing against the little nub.

"O-oh! Shit! Fuck!"

You curse, the sensitivity getting to you. You curl your legs up and over her hips, pulling her down into you, as close as you can possibly get her and Agatha moans, her hand trapped inside of you between your two bodies as she grinds her palm against your sensitive clit.

She laughs breathily down at you before leaning down to pepper kisses up your jaw and across your pretty face.

"C'mon baby.. Be a good girl and cum for Mommy.."

The way she speaks those words so hotly against your ear, her warm breath fanning over your skin and words dripping with want and arousal, it's what tips you over the edge.

You let out a loud, broken moan as you wrap your arms around her back, pulling her tightly against you.

You throw your head back as the words burst past your lips in a desperate shout, your mind barely coherent as everything around you goes static and you seize up around the older woman.

"Oh! Mommy, cumming!"

Agatha groans at the sight of you, how you squeeze and drip around her fingers that are buried all the way to the last knuckle inside of your pussy, the heaving of your chest and how your pretty features contort in pleasure, mind numb and lost under the onslaught of pleasure that she gave you.. That she's responsible for.

Pride swells in her chest as she guides you through it, whispering soft little praises into your skin as you tremble and slowly come down from your high. With a deep gasp for air your legs fall numbly from around her waist, and Agatha leans back slightly to look at you as she carefully pulls her hand from you.

You laugh breathily, heaving for air as a wide smile crosses your features. Agatha smiles down at you as you raise your hand, pushing your messy hair from your features.

"Holy shit.. You're- wow."

You breathe out, dropping your hand to look up at her. She purses her lips proudly.

"Mmm.. I could say the same thing about you."

The older woman winks down at you, hair messy and sticking out at odd angles. Her stunning blue eyes are pinned right on you, and you don't think you could ever get enough of her gaze lingering on you.

"I barely did anything!"

You laugh and Agatha shakes her head.

"You were perfect."

Your heart swells at her words, and Agatha raises her hand. You flush at how soaked her fingers are, your arousal dripping down her palm and to her wrist. She raises it to her mouth, holding your gaze as she licks you off of her hand, dragging her tongue from her wrist, up her palm and to the tip of her fingers. Your chest heaves at the sight.

"You taste absolutely amazing."

She smirks down at you, and you smile sheepishly, pushing yourself up onto your forearms.

"Well.. Is there anything I can do to say thank you, Mommy?"

You bat your eyelashes at her sweetly, and her gaze flickers to your soft mouth, her mind running so far ahead of her with everything she wants to do with you that she can't keep up.

[atlabeth]

geyser

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: percy learns about the first girl luke castellan ever loved.

a/n: this is a lil sad. sorry about that. but i really like it and it came out of nowhere in like 2 days so i hope you enjoy despite the sadness. title from the mitski song

wc: 6.5k

warning(s): major character death; not shown but hangs over the whole fic. angst made angstier by fluffy flashbacks. mostly told through percy’s pov but includes luke, annabeth, and reader povs

also if you saw this before on another account DONT WORRY... that account was also me. im just doing some stuff behind the scenes right now as i figure stuff out lol i promise no plagiarism is going on

Percy thought that his head might explode. 

He didn’t know how he was still walking, honestly. His mom died, he killed a— no, the— Minotaur, all the Greek myths were real and his dad was one of them, and now he had to deal with that freak accident with Clarisse and the toilets. 

At least he would be ready next time she tried to beat him up. Percy had been the new kid enough to know there would be a next time.

All he could do was stare at the Minotaur horn in his hands, the only sign that what happened outside the border was real. The horn in his hands and the hole in his heart. 

Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d been thrown into the deep end, and the only thing on his mind was when he would start to drown. 

“Hey.” Percy looked up to see the counselor he’d met earlier with Annabeth—Luke. He tossed a ziploc bag at him and he caught it, taking a moment to look at what was in it. 

“I stole you some toiletries from the camp store,” he explained. “Thought it might make you feel more at home.” 

“…Thanks.” He didn’t know if Luke was joking, but the damage had already been done. And it was the nicest thing someone had done for him so far. He set it down next to his Minotaur shoebox. “Is this the best that it gets?” 

Luke’s lips quirked up in a slight smile. “For now. We’re a little crowded, if you couldn’t tell.” 

“Just a little bit.” Percy stood up from his sleeping bag and worked out the knot in his shoulder. “Where’s your bed? Assuming you have one.” 

“I couldn’t wrangle all these cats without some back support,” he said, and he pointed to a bed in the corner. It was the only one on its own without a bunk, and he had a fair amount of decorations. Counselor privileges, he figured. Percy walked over, Luke trailing behind him. 

“Nice place,” he said. Percy picked up the Yankee’s cap on his bedside table and nodded as he looked back at him. “Nice taste.” 

“It’s for Annabeth,” Luke said. “She wanted us to match.” 

Percy nodded again in approval. “Good taste for both of you.”

Luke had various other things around — an alarm clock knocked over next to the baseball cap, a huskie sticker on the wall half-scraped off, a poster for an album he didn’t recognize. 

But the thing that caught his eye was a polaroid hanging on the wall, surrounded by a smattering of others varying in size. 

The first one had to be an old picture—Luke didn’t have his scar, and the biggest smile stretched across his face. He had a girl close with an arm slung around her waist, and she might’ve been smiling even more than Luke. A bright energy emanated around her, something that must have transferred through the picture, because Percy found himself feeling a little better just looking at her. He wondered if she was a camper. 

His eyes flicked to the next picture, which was another one of Luke and that girl. They were both laughing as she tried to put a blue hat on Luke’s head, and he protested with a hand on her wrist. They were in the forefront of a baseball game, Percy noticed.

There were other pictures, too—Luke, a girl dressed all punk, and what looked like a young version of Annabeth, most notably—but a majority of them were either Luke and that girl, or the girl all on her own. In every single one, she beamed brighter than the sun. 

Percy pointed at the picture of Luke and the girl at the baseball game, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Who’s that?”

That seemed to catch Luke off-guard, his lips parting for a moment as if he wanted to say something. It barely took him any time to get back on track, but Percy found himself frowning. 

“That’s…” Luke cleared his throat, wet his lips, shook his head. “A friend. A very good friend.”

“Does she go here?” Percy asked. 

“She did.” 

He frowned. “Where is she, then?” 

“Percy—” Luke’s voice was strained, but he didn’t really notice as he went on. 

“I didn’t see her around,” he continued, “and you look pretty close.” 

Luke blinked a couple times, and Percy swore he could see the telltale glimmer of tears starting in his eyes. A muscle worked in his jaw, and suddenly Percy was worried that he’d said something horribly wrong. He had a talent for that, it seemed. 

Fortunately, he was saved by the bell—conch shell?—and something like relief flooded through Luke’s expression. Tension still coiled in his body. 

“Come on,” he said, that camp counselor smile coming back as he put his hand on Percy’s shoulder and guided him away from the enclave. “That means dinner’s about to start.”

Percy’s frown deepened as curiosity won out again. “Was she your—”

“You don’t wanna be late,” Luke continued, ignoring his attempt. “I assume you’re pretty hungry after two days spent out?”

Well, that only made him want to push harder. But Percy figured he wouldn’t get anything out of him—especially not now. 

“…Yeah,” Percy said. “Starving.”

An odd look flickered across his face, but again, it only lasted for a second before he was back to normal. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Eleven! Fall in!” 

Percy was at the back of the line by virtue of him being the new kid, and he found himself looking back at that picture of Luke and the girl. He didn’t know why, but something drew him to her. Before Percy could think about it more, the line was moving and his growling stomach drew his attention away. 

He would have plenty of time to ask Luke about it later. 

Or rather, ask him and piss off the only person who’d tried to be his friend so far. 

…Gods. 

Maybe he was going to drown sooner than he thought. 

-

“Luke—” 

“No!” 

“Luke, please!” 

“Annabeth will kill me if she knows—” 

“She won’t know!” 

“Alright, alright— stay still, you two!” 

Your mother laughed from behind the camera as you and Luke fought with each other, you trying your damnedest to get your Red Sox cap on his head as he tried his damnedest to stop you. The frantic laughter on both sides made it a little difficult for either of you to succeed in your quest, but eventually, you got the rock up the hill and the hat on his head. 

“Take the picture, Mom!” you exclaimed, pulling Luke even closer by his arms so he couldn’t get it off. “I need the proof!” 

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Luke groaned, staring at the camera as you wrapped your arm around his side and leaned into him. He could already imagine your victorious smile, brighter than the sun beating down on them in the stadium, and just the thought of it made one of his own flit across his lips. 

“Oh, shut up, Castellan,” you said. “You chose to come to this game. Everyone’s gonna know you’re a Red Sox fan now.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell her!” Luke defended, wrenching his arms free of your control to take the hat off his head. “I don’t even care about baseball!” 

“You care so much about it,” you said cloyingly, “and you’re ride or die for the Boston Red Sox.” 

“If you say a single word—” 

“Okay, kids!” Your mother pointed at the seats next to her. “The game’s about to start—you can keep arguing, but only if you sit down so I can see.” 

“Sorry, Mom.” You grinned at her as you pulled Luke over to your seats—they were a step up from nosebleeds, but they were the ones closest to the balcony so you could at least peer over the railing down to the diamond.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” She glanced at Luke with a smile, and he could really see where you got it from. “We’ve gotta make him a fan somehow.” 

“I guess I can live with the brand.” Luke set the cap back on your head once you were seated, purposefully pulling the brim a little over your eyes, and he smiled at you. “Even though it looks better on you, anyways.” 

“You just don’t have what it takes to be a Red Sox fan in the heart of Yank territory,” you mused, pushing the hat back up so you could see. “It’s fine.” 

Luke rolled his eyes, but he could hardly bite back his smile. 

“I am glad you came, though,” you said, glancing back at him. “I’m glad you came with me in the first place. This is gonna be the best semester.”

“Thanks for having me,” Luke said. “It’s… it’s been a while since I’ve left camp.” 

“Fingers crossed for no monster attacks, eh?” You held up your hand. “At least, not during the game. I could live with it happening any other time.” 

“Don’t speak it into existence,” your mom said. “We’re going to have a monster-free school year.” 

To humor her, you made a claw over your heart and pushed out. She hummed in satisfaction, and you looked over at Luke. “It’s gonna be fine.” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Because two kids like us aren’t gonna draw any attention.” 

“Oh, I know we will,” you said. “But I know it’ll be fine.” 

Luke frowned. “How can you be so sure?” 

You shrugged with a smile. “I’ve got you.”

And in that moment, he was thankful for the freakish heat that honestly made no sense in the spring—at least it covered up any sign of what your words did to him. 

Luke thought you were joking when you asked him if he wanted to come back home with you for the school year. He didn’t know why you wanted to go back in the first place, being a Big Three kid that apparently had a death wish, but the thought of him leaving camp was almost inconceivable. 

Even after you assured him you weren’t joking, he still wasn’t sure. He was on the run with you for three years, then… 

Well, he couldn’t think about it for too long. But Luke had been on the outskirts of regular society for so long, doing nothing but fighting for his life, that he didn’t know if he could actually function at a normal school.

But it felt right for you two to get some normal time together after you were separated for so long. It took him a semester to decide, but one day during your usual Iris message conversations, he told you he’d love to spend the rest of the year in Boston with you. Luke still remembered the grin you wore, your disbelieving but victorious cheers, the apology you yelled back at your mother for your noise. 

Luke watched you as you talked with your mom, discussing Boston’s chances and player statistics and baseball jargon he didn’t think he’d ever understand, and he knew he would sit through a thousand Red Sox games if it meant he would get to keep seeing your smile.

You must have felt his eyes on you, because you glanced over at him. “Are you okay?” 

Luke smiled. Gods, he was so glad you were here. 

“Never better.” 

-

“That one nearly got me,” Luke said. 

Percy huffed as he picked up his sword from the ground—he was pretty sure he would officially lose his mind if Luke disarmed him with that stupid move one more time. One benefit to the Hermes cabin being too scared to associate with him after getting claimed was that he wasn’t making a fool out of himself in front of other people. 

“Maybe I can only beat you when I pour water on myself,” he said. 

Luke chuckled as he took a bottle from the cooler on the side and held it up. “Wanna try?” 

He shook his head. “I think my arms will fall off if I keep going with you.” 

He tipped his shoulder. “Fair.” 

Percy stared at the ground as Luke gathered himself, trying to put the free range thoughts roaming around his head in order. It didn’t help that he’d gained a million questions after Poseidon claimed him, and it didn’t help that there’s been a newest addition to his dream last night. 

He still felt strange asking Luke about it, but he had to know more about her. Percy didn’t know why it felt like his mission to find out who this mysterious girl was, or why he felt that strange connection to her. Maybe it was the way Luke acted whenever he brought her up, maybe it was that she’d popped up in his dream next to him at the very end, maybe it was just plain old curiosity. 

“I’m not supposed to be alive,” Percy said, breaking the silence. “I could die at any time in a bunch of different horrible ways. So will you tell me more about that girl on your wall?”  

Again, Luke seemed to be caught off guard by it. Percy heard the crunch of plastic as his hand clenched ever so slightly around the bottle, and he tried to cover it up with an arched eyebrow. “Why do you want to know so badly?” 

He shrugged. What was he supposed to say? 

“I’m curious,” he decided. 

Luke huffed a dry laugh before he took a sip of water, and he stared off into the distance for a while. He did a lot of staring whenever this girl was brought up. They looked like they were best friends in those pictures, but maybe whatever they had ended badly. And if she was a demigod too…

Well, it would make sense why he didn’t want to talk about her. 

“You know that phrase about curiosity?” Luke asked. 

“And how it killed the cat?” 

He nodded, drinking some more. “It goes double for demigods.” 

“Everything else wants to kill me,” Percy said. “So curiosity’s gonna have to get in line.” 

Luke’s laugh was a little more genuine this time, and he shook his head. “I guess I can tell you a little about her. You actually probably have a right to know.” 

“Is she a half-blood?” Percy asked immediately. 

He nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Who’s her parent?” 

Luke capped his water bottle and looked at Percy for a good, long moment. His face glowed in the warm afternoon sun, his scar cast in a softer light than usual. The scar used to unnerve him, but he’d gotten used to it after weeks staring at it during sword fighting. 

“She was a child of Poseidon, Percy,” he said. “Just like you.” 

Percy felt short of breath, like Luke had just knocked his sword out of his hand and shoved him to the ground. But he stood on his own two legs that somehow still worked, and Luke hadn’t moved. 

He had a sister? 

“I have a sister?” 

“…Had,” Luke corrected. “She… she died a few years back.” 

A vice latched onto Percy’s heart. He was still having a hard time breathing. No wonder Luke always used past tense when he was talking about her. 

He had a sister, he wasn’t alone, but he was because she was dead. And if Luke was one of her friends, that meant she died young. 

Gods. 

“What about their oath?” Percy asked, trying to ignore the aching in his chest. “I’m already on thin ice for my whole existing thing. How did Poseidon get away with two kids so close to each other?” 

Luke shrugged. “I’ve never known why gods do things. Her mother was a great woman, though—I could see what drew Poseidon to her against the oath.” 

One half of Percy wanted to ask every question that kept popping into his head. The other side of him wanted to break down and cry. 

“How did you meet her?” 

“We ran into each other when we were both young,” he said. “Both child runaways, both demigods, both New Englanders—we decided to rough it out on the road together. Couldn’t be any worse than doing it on our own.”

Percy tried to imagine it. A young Luke and a younger version of that girl—maybe Percy’s age—living together in the wilderness and fighting monsters. Surviving off of nothing but their wit and skill, facing death each day before they’d even reached middle school. 

“It… it didn’t happen then, did it?” he asked hesitantly. 

Luke shook his head. “Couple years later. All we did was watch each other’s backs out there.” 

Percy couldn’t help himself. “What happened to her?”  

“The same thing that happens to everyone,” Luke said flatly. “There’s a reason I’m the oldest one here.” 

“That doesn’t make it better,” Percy insisted. “It— it makes it worse, Luke. You see that, right?”  

Luke stared at his empty water bottle then tossed it back into the cooler. When his gaze met Percy’s, he was shocked by how… tired he looked. Beyond exhausted—bone-weary. Percy wanted to say more, but he didn’t get the chance. 

“This isn’t good conversation,” Luke said, “and it’s getting late. You should hit the showers before dinner.” 

The sun still beat down on them, bright and angry in the sky, but Percy provided no argument. He had a lot to think about. 

Before they went their separate ways, Percy stopped and looked back at him. “I’m sorry she’s gone, Luke.” 

Luke’s gaze went unfocused for a moment, his eyes growing glossy. “So am I.” 

-

Percy sat on the floor of the Hermes cabin in the corner that used to be his, staring at his meager belongings. He had to decide what to take on his quest, which was made easier by the fact that he hardly had anything to his name. Things could always be worse, though. At least he would have a change of clothes. 

He should’ve been doing this in his own cabin, but it felt too empty, too suffocating in its silence. Eleven was still more familiar. He heard the door open and saw Luke walk in, and his eyes lit up when he saw Percy. 

“Hey,” he said. “I wanted to see you before you left. How’re you feeling pre-quest?” 

“Like the world’s about to end,” he said. 

Luke’s lips twitched into a smile as he sat on the bed across from Percy. “Understandable. It kinda is.” 

“It’s just overwhelming.” Percy shoved the unfolded clothes into his backpack. “I have to clear mine and my dad’s names and get Zeus’s bolt back, or else war will start. No pressure at all.” 

“You were chosen for a reason,” Luke said. “You may not see it, Percy, but you’ve improved a lot since you got here. If anyone can do this, I think it’s you.” 

Percy looked up at him, and he was reminded of the way their last conversation went. He was asking before he could really stop himself. 

“I could die on this quest and never see you again,” Percy said. “So could you tell me more about my sister before I go?”  

Luke smiled wistfully and sighed. “You really won’t let this go, will you?” 

“It’s not really something you just let go,” he said. “Besides, I… I saw her in my dream last night.” 

Luke’s smile faded. “You did?”  

Percy nodded. “For a split second, but I know it was her. I felt the same way I did whenever I looked at her pictures. And… it’s the second time she’s shown up.” 

He let out a long sigh and shook his head, his gaze trailing off to the wall. He always looked so much older when he talked about this girl, like he was a war veteran reminiscing on his lost love. And from what he’d gathered, it might not have been too far off. 

“I told you we ran together when we were young,” he said, and Percy nodded. “We were both nine, and it should’ve been terrible, but she had a way of making everything better. Always found the bright side of things, was always able to make me laugh.” 

“She was from Massachusetts—right in the middle of Boston.” Luke chuckled as he looked at Percy. “Huge Red Sox fan.” 

Percy grimaced. “We all make mistakes.” 

Luke smiled, though it faded a bit. “We got separated for a while, but we found each other again when I got to camp. Things were more peaceful than they are now, so she’d been claimed at camp pretty quickly. I figure Poseidon wanted her to have the protection of him openly standing behind her after what happened.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘what happened’?” 

Luke shook his head. “That would be an awful story to send you off on.” 

Percy wanted to protest, but he didn’t. Luke was probably right—Percy didn’t want to make him relive it and then have to go on a death quest right after.

“A happier part, then,” he suggested.

“She ran away from home as a kid to protect her mom, but now that she had an idea of what she was doing, she started going back to school. She invited me to stay with her during the school year one year, and I accepted. That—” Luke’s throat bobbed, and the other hand clenched into a fist— “that was when she died.” 

In his stunned silence, Luke got up and went over to his alcove. He pulled the drawer open on his bedside table and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. It must’ve been folded and crumpled a million other times in messier ways by all the creases he could see, but when Luke opened it, he could see handwriting all over the front. 

A letter. 

“We Iris messaged each other constantly while she was at school,” he said, “and we wrote back and forth when we couldn’t. This was the last letter she sent me.” 

Percy’s first instinct was to say he wouldn’t be able to read it, but he realized that he didn’t really care. These were words that his sister wrote—he would sit here the rest of the day forcing sentences to make sense if that was what it took. 

So he took the letter when Luke offered it. 

To the one and only Luke Castellan, 

My mom said yes! After a very long interrogation (she now knows basically everything about you) and a million promises that you would be as careful as possible and that you were good enough at sword fighting to take down anything that could come after us, she said you can spend the year here. We spent a couple hours every day making my mom’s study into a guest room, so you have a place to stay.

I’m an idiot that didn’t bring enough drachmas so that’s why I have to send this letter—hopefully it gets to you soon enough, because we’re gonna come get you a week before my winter break is over. Mom is letting me drive down because she says I have to get my permit soon. It makes sense that my first big test is getting to you. If we don’t make it, it’s because we died in a fiery crash. 

Just kidding. I’m a great driver. But tell me some of your favorite songs when you reply and I’ll burn a CD for the ride—I figured out how to use LimeWire. Oh, and throw in a couple drachmas with the envelope so I can Iris message you next time. I miss your face and your voice, and my hand is cramping up writing all of this. 

But this is so exciting! I can’t wait to introduce you to all my friends at school, and show you my favorite places in the city, and make you into a Red Sox fan. And you can come to my soccer games— I’m the greatest forward there is. 

Jokes aside, I’m going to make sure you have the best time. We’ll spend every second together, Luke. We’re gonna make up for the time we lost. 

I can’t wait to see you again.

Your hurricane.  

It took Percy a long time to get through it with the words swimming all over, and it didn’t help that his vision had grown blurry. 

Tears, he realized as he blinked, and he did it again to make sure they wouldn’t fall. He couldn’t cry in front of Luke, not over a girl he didn’t even know—even if she was his sister. But maybe he was grieving that—the fact that he would never get to know her. 

“God, man. I— I’m sorry.” Percy couldn’t think of anything else to say. “She sounds like she was great.” 

Luke couldn’t even manage a smile this time as he stared at the wall. Percy was surprised he could even talk to him about it. 

“She was,” he murmured. “You would’ve liked her. And gods,” this time, a bit of a smile broke through despite it all, “she would have loved a little brother.” 

“I’m gonna make her proud on this quest,” Percy vowed. “I’m gonna clear our dad’s name for her.”

Something in Luke’s gaze had changed—sadness, almost regret. “You’re a good kid, Percy. I hope your quest doesn’t change that.” 

I hope I come back alive, he wanted to say. But given the topic matter, he didn’t. Percy carefully folded the letter back up and handed it to Luke. 

“Thank you for telling me about her, man,” Percy said. “I… I know it can’t be easy.”

Luke let out a shuddering breath as he stared at the closed letter—Percy wondered how many times he must have sat in this same position, reading her words. “No better way to honor her memory than helping her brother.” He glanced at Percy. “I see a lot of her in you.” 

He’d been wondering if he had anything in common with her. Percy felt a sudden flare of anger shoot through him—it wasn’t fair that she was dead. Poseidon was a god, and she was a teenager. He should have saved her. 

Percy’s mouth was drier than a desert. A part of him wanted to curl up in a ball and sob over the sister he never got the chance to know, but the other part of him knew—from what little Luke had told him about her—that she wouldn’t want him to. 

“I should get going,” Percy said, standing up from the floor. “We have to leave for the quest soon, and Annabeth and Grover are probably wondering where I am, and…” 

Percy trailed off, and Luke nodded in understanding. He turned around and took one of the photos off the wall—one of you alone in the middle of a park, wearing a bucket hat and absolutely beaming. 

“You deserve to have a part of her with you,” he said. “For good luck.” 

He felt himself choking up, and he pushed it down as he accepted the photo. “Thanks, man. It means a lot.”

“Good luck, Percy,” Luke said. “You’ve got a lot of people rooting for you.”

Percy found himself studying the picture of you once he made it outside, trying to memorize your face. With your wide, infectious smile that emanated pure sunlight, he could have mistaken you for an Apollo kid. But when he looked at you, he got that same warmth that he felt every time he imagined his father. 

“I won’t let you down,” he murmured. “I promise.” 

-

After sleeping in his train seat for half the day, Percy vowed to never complain about his bed in Cabin Three again. He was gonna be going down to the Underworld with permanent cricks in his neck. 

Grover was still sound asleep—Percy envied him for how easily it came to him in the worst conditions—but thankfully, Annabeth wasn’t. Her gaze was focused on the view as their train chugged along. 

Percy cleared his throat in a flawless attempt at getting her attention, and it worked. 

“You’re awake,” she said. 

“Unfortunately.” Percy sighed. “How much longer do you think it’ll be?” 

“Another day, at least,” she said. “And we’ve got a layover in St. Louis.” 

“St. Louis,” he hummed. “Nice.” 

They sat in silence for a while—there wasn’t much to talk about when they were coming off of two— or was it three, now?—near-death experiences. But eventually, Annabeth cleared her throat, taking a page from his book, and it worked again. 

“There— there’s probably something you should know,” Annabeth said, and that worked even better than clearing her throat. “You’re not the only Big Three kid to come through Camp Half-blood lately.” 

“I know,” he said. “Grover and Luke explained it.” 

Her eyes widened slightly and she leaned forward in her seat. “Luke did?” 

“…Yeah. You all already told me about Thalia.” Percy glanced away, suddenly feeling a chill in the train car. “Luke told me about my sister.” 

Annabeth went silent. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “I kind of annoyed Luke until he told me. Doesn’t really seem like a subject people at camp like to talk about.” 

“I’m just surprised he did,” she murmured. “They were… they were close, Percy. Her death destroyed him—Thalia and your sister. All of it’s complicated.”  

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I got some of that.” 

“I only knew her for a year at camp, but everyone loved her,” she said. “She was nice. Popular. Always helped when she could, always had the biggest, most infectious smile on her face.” Annabeth looked down at her hands. “She didn’t deserve the fate she got.” 

Percy didn’t think he’d ever grieved so much for someone he never knew. “But her and Luke—were they…?” 

“Yeah,” Annabeth said, “they were a thing, later on.” 

That seemed to be all she wanted to say on the matter. Percy decided not to push. 

“How did you meet her?” he asked. 

Annabeth’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I met her on the day I thought I would die.”

-

For the first time in her life, Annabeth Chase couldn’t think. 

It had all happened so fast. One second she was running with Luke and Thalia and Grover, praying to her mother and any other gods that would listen to make the horde of monsters let up even a centimeter.

The next, she’d collapsed on the ground, never so grateful to have grass and dirt and dust in her face. But she could hear Luke yelling, barely able to make it out in her delirious state—she didn’t know when she’d last had a sip of water, and they’d been running for at least three miles—but he sounded hysterical. 

She remembered her last clear thought: they weren’t going to make it. 

But they had. They had, so why was Luke losing his mind? 

Annabeth pulled herself up from the ground—how long had she been bleeding out of those slashes on her arm?—and looked for the rest of her friends. Luke wasn’t yelling anymore, instead arguing with someone she didn’t recognize in a bright orange shirt. Grover’s furry legs trembled as he stared down the hill they’d just gotten up, completely silent, and Thalia— 

Where was Thalia? 

Annabeth tried to get up but her legs gave out almost immediately, and steady arms caught her before she could fall to the ground again. Kind eyes served to ease some of her panic—she was older than Annabeth, maybe around Luke or Thalia’s age. 

Thalia— 

“Hey, you’re okay,” the voice said, and Annabeth’s attention was drawn back to you. “I’ve got you.” 

“Where’s Thalia?” she blurted out, because now she couldn’t think of anything else. 

Your brows creased and you glanced back down the hill—Annabeth did too, and she saw Grover and Luke arguing with each other. Or rather, Luke was yelling at him as Grover anxiously hooked his hands through his hair. 

“I don’t know,” you said, “but right now, I need to make sure you’re okay. Are you hurt?” 

Annabeth absentmindedly held up her arm, but she was only focused on her friends. Why wasn’t Thalia with them? Why was Luke so upset?

You cursed under your breath in Ancient Greek as you cradled her arm, and you looked back down the hill. Annabeth could see at least half a dozen other kids. 

“We’ve got two half-bloods and a satyr, one injured!” you yelled back. “Get Molly and Brayden!” 

“Three,” Annabeth found herself saying. “There’s three half-bloods—” 

“Annabeth!” 

Her head shot up at the sound of Luke calling her name as he bounded over, and her eyes widened at the blood steadily spidering across the fabric of his shirt. 

“Luke, you’re hurt—” 

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “It’s fine.” 

“We have Apollo kids coming,” you said, looking up at him, still cradling Annabeth’s arm. “We’ll get y—” 

Your sentence stuck in your throat, and Annabeth could see tears welling in your eyes as your brows furrowed. She thought Luke’s eyes might burst out of his skull as he stared at you, his lips parted but nothing coming out. Neither of you were able to form words. 

When he finally did get something out, it was a single name. One Annabeth knew by heart, one that he’d mourned for years. 

“Luke?” you whispered. 

Before he had the chance to do anything, two teenagers got over the hill and called out your name, the same one Luke used. He always said you were dead, but you clearly weren’t dead, because you were here and you had her arm in your grasp and while your hands were cold, they weren’t cold enough to be dead— 

“Molly’s gonna take care of you,” you said, looking back at Annabeth and cutting off her inner dialogue. “She’ll get you to the infirmary and heal you up, okay?” 

“My friends—” 

“They’re gonna be okay too,” you said. “I promise.” 

Annabeth looked up at Luke, and he nodded. “We’ll be with you soon, Annabeth. We— we have to talk about some things.” 

So she went with Molly down the hill, and Annabeth put pressure on her bleeding wound when she told her to—it had started to sting like hell now that her adrenaline was fading. 

She looked back just in time to see you and Luke share the tightest hug ever. 

The hug of two people who realized they weren’t seeing ghosts, Annabeth thought. 

-

You bolted up in bed, eyes wide and your chest heaving as you rapidly sucked in air. Your fingers found purchase in your bedsheets, desperate for something familiar—it took a second for you to recognize your surroundings, that you weren’t in an endless void, but your childhood bedroom offered little comfort.  

You ran a hand over your forehead, damp with sweat, as you tried to calm down. Your breathing slowed, but you couldn’t shake that awful feeling that hung over you in your sleep. 

Your nightmares were getting worse, you knew that much. That raspy, demented voice used to be a rarity, and now it appeared every night. You could usually deal with your nightmares, but the sense of absolute dread that voice and the pit fostered in you was too much. You hadn’t managed to sleep through the night once since you came home for the school year.

You could deal with the monsters—to you, this was the worst part of your godly blood.

A knock rattled on the door out of nowhere, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. The only thing that calmed you down was the thought that monsters didn’t knock. 

“Come in,” you croaked, your throat drier than a desert. 

Thankfully, a monster hadn’t come to make your night even more miserable. Luke stood in the doorway, his eyebrows creased in concern, messy curls hanging just above his eyes. He wore the Red Sox t-shirt you’d bought for him at the game you dragged him to, and in your addled state, you didn’t even think to tease him about it. 

“Are you okay?” He should’ve been as disoriented as you, but his alerted eyes told a different story. 

You could only think of one thing. “How did you know?” 

Luke’s lips parted for a moment, as if he hadn’t even considered it. “I could just feel it.”

You managed a smile despite every atom in your body screaming at you. “I think that means you can come in.” 

He closed the door behind him, and you shifted over in your bed to make room for him. There wasn’t much in a twin, but you made it work. Luke’s weight pressed into the mattress, making you adjust your position, and it was more comforting than any amount of blankets. 

“You’re so cold,” he murmured, laying the back of his hand against your arm. “How do you live like that?” 

“Blame my dad,” you said. “I’ve got water in my blood.” 

“I think that’s probably a bad thing,” Luke said, and you knocked your shoulder into his with a huff. 

“You know what I mean.” 

Luke let his hand fall back in his lap, and as you brought your knees up to your chest, you pulled the covers with them. 

“So,” Luke said, glancing at you, “what’s got you awake at the witching hour?” 

“The usual,” you mumbled. 

“Nightmares that might be prophetic?” he asked. 

You made a lazy gesture with your hand. “Bingo.” 

“The worst sense of dread imaginable?” 

“Bullseye.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

You shrugged. “It’s nothing I can’t deal with.” 

“You don’t always have to put on a front, y’know,” Luke said. You felt his eyes on you. “You don’t always have to be strong.” 

“I’m naturally strong,” you said with mock austerity. “Comes with the god for a dad.” 

Luke chuckled and shook his head. “You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah,” you murmured. 

You leaned into his side, fitting your head into the crook of his neck. Luke wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, and you let out a contented sigh. 

That voice in your nightmares seemed so small when you had Luke. 

“Can you stay?” you asked softly. 

He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.” 

“Just like old times,” you whispered. 

“Just like old times,” he agreed. 

Luke ran hot, and you’d never been more thankful for it as you fully settled into his side. Icy blood ran through your veins, and you let out a shaky sigh. You could hear his steady breathing, feel his heartbeat through his chest, and the anxiety from earlier began to steadily fade. You never felt safer than when you were with Luke. 

There was something between you—you weren’t that stupid—but you hadn’t talked about it. With you and Luke, it was just… you and Luke. You didn’t have to put a label to it. 

How could you put a label to your relationship, when you’d spent your first few years together fighting for each day, and then the next few thinking the other was dead? 

Maybe someday, you would talk about it. But for now, this was more than enough. 

“Don’t worry,” Luke murmured in your ear as your eyes began to droop. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” 

And by the gods, you believed him. 

[neocitylights]

SUMMARY: Giving in to your boss relentless matchmaking attempts, you’re not sure what to expect upon agreeing to finally meet her son, Donghyuck, at the company’s upcoming Halloween party. Unsure if you’re even ready for a relationship, you also might still be a little too caught up by Haechan, an insufferable but charming one-night fling that keeps asking you out despite your refusals. There’s one thing you’re sure about—life is a funny thing, but yours definitely feels like a cosmic joke sometimes. GENRE: Romance, fluff, non-idol au, one night stand au, strangers to lovers WORD COUNT: 12k WARNINGS: Cursing, suggestive themes, implied sexual content

NOTES: Omg hi neocitylights second fic!! Please let me know what you think!! It’s gonna make my day!!

At first, it reads off as a simple, innocent email from your boss.

As you’d volunteered to help Mrs. Lee organize the company’s annual Halloween party, the first few paragraphs seem harmless enough—reading through the details of potential venues, catering options and decoration palettes selected by her, it truly is a simple, innocent email from your boss… until it isn’t. 

Scanning the words for one last time, a sigh escapes from your lips as you hit her last lines.

Also, don’t forget that I can’t wait for you to finally meet my son at the party! I’m sure that he’ll be delighted to meet you.  

You’ve been working for Mrs. Lee for a little over a year by now and for the best part of it, her persistent matchmaking attempts for her son, Donghyuck, have been targeting you. It’s become a running joke around the small office, especially since every other week Mrs. Lee makes it a point to note how ‘absolutely perfect’ her son would be for you, and how he ‘knows all about you already’. 

Though you’ve always taken it with stride, laughing it off whenever she mentions him, Mrs. Lee never wavered from her scheme.

Besides the fact that Donghyuck is absolutely adored by his mother, you don’t know much about him other than his name and a few bits and pieces of information very purposefully provided by your boss. 

Oh, he’s a very smart boy. Yes, Donghyuck is a little ambitious, you know. He’s been single for a while.

Admittedly, the idea of dating your boss’ son seems like a ticking bomb waiting to explode, but since Mrs. Lee is one of the sweetest people you’ve met in life, it’s only fair to at least assume that she’s raised a decent guy.

Now that the party’s coming up, there’s no real way out of it. 

If you’re being honest, your love life has been a little lacking lately. Given work and your busy routine, there hasn’t been much time to think about anything but crossing off the next item of your daily to-do list. Apart from the monthly team meeting with your co-workers and an occasional dinner out with your roommate or uni friends, the most action you’ve gotten recently is Haechan’s casual, annoyingly charming texts.

It’s funny to think about it now—the guy was supposed to be a one-time thing, just a night to blow off some steam after a long week. 

In a way, he still is. 

You hadn’t expected much after exchanging numbers at the doorstep of his apartment the next morning. 

Not being a stranger as to how one night stands work, you couldn’t help the surprise when his first text came through just a few hours later. Haechan still is a one-time thing, but he’d somehow turned out to be funny and entertaining enough to convince you to stay in touch with him despite the casualness of your encounter.

Toying with each other in a flirty, playful game, sometimes Haechan leaves you a little intrigued and maybe too willing for a second round… if only you didn’t have your work life to worry about, that is.

So for now, your work and love life are on completely separate tracks, even if Mrs. Lee’s been working a little too hard to blur the lines in between.

As you get home a few hours later than usual, brain scrambled in a mess of food menus and guest names, you give in to collapsing on the couch with Alia, who’s already halfway through a pint of ice cream and an episode of Sex Lives of College Girls.

“How was work?” Alia asks, a smirk creeping onto her face. “No offense, but you kinda look… rough.”

“No more than usual, I guess,” you sigh, side-eyeing your roommate for a second as you kick your heels off. “I mean, other than Mrs. Lee being over the moon that her son’s finally meeting me, it was just another day.”

Alia raises her eyebrows, a spoonful of ice cream hovering midway through her mouth. “Wait, is this really a thing? I thought you were joking whenever you mentioned her hyping up her son for you.”

“Donghyuck is very real, very single and apparently the perfect match for me.” You roll your eyes, a chuckle escaping from your lips. “He’s going to the party and she’s been mentioning it every single time she spots me around the office.”

“Damn,” Alia snorts, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she playfully nudges you. “Who would’ve thought you’d be your own boss’ daughter-in-law, huh?”

“Shut up,” you groan, cheeks instantly warming up at your roommate’s laugh. “I love Mrs. Lee to bits but I don’t even know the guy.”

“But you will,” Alia says, giving you a knowing look. “It could be fun, you know? Maybe he is all she’s made him up to be and he’ll be your soulmate or something.” 

You sigh, offering a pat to your friend’s thigh with an amused smile growing on your lips. “You’ve been reading too much booktok literature, Alia.”

As she grins in return, little did you know how stupidly right your roommate’s next words were.

“And you’ll live one, trust me.” 

The following weeks flew by, keeping you busy enough with last minute plan changes and impromptu hunts for a work function appropriate Halloween costume. Much to your concern and Alia’s amusement, Mrs. Lee’s enthusiasm over your potential meeting with her son didn’t falter, instead leaving all of your co-workers in a similar buzz as the party approached.

Now, as you adjust the pink vest of your Barbie costume under the orange lights currently decorating the venue, you can’t help but feel a little antsy. 

Especially after Mrs. Lee’s voice cuts through the crowd when calling your name.

Bracing yourself, you turn to find your boss striding towards you with a very familiar, eager gleam in her eyes. “Oh, there you are! Come on, I want to introduce you to someone!”

Mrs. Lee—who’s adorably dressed as Princess Leia—takes your arm, walking you through the crowd with such firm steps that you’d think that she’s waited her entire life for this exact moment. As fast as she guides you, your boss quickly comes to a stop by a group of her personal guests, who greet both of you with amused smiles. 

“Darling, he’s just over there speaking with a few family friends,” Mrs. Lee murmurs, her arm still intertwined with yours. “Go grab yourself a drink and I’ll bring him over in a moment, hm?”

“Sure thing,” you say, trying to sound casual enough to mask how dazed you are watching her disappear into the crowd again. 

A glass of wine later, the knot of expectation still sits in your stomach as you wait for them at the bar. Your eyes have been discreetly drifting over the room, anxiously anticipating the whirlwind that your boss will probably create for Donghyuck as soon as you’re within their sight. 

On top of the bar’s counter, your phone buzzes.

Haechan 9:34PM Tonight is the naughtiest night of the year Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to see me today

Reading the texts, you couldn’t help laughing at his cheekiness. Sometimes it feels like Haechan has a knack for knowing the exact, most inappropriate moment to make himself known. Being as insufferable as he is, it’s truly a wonder how the guy still manages to be so attractive even through texts that can rival a frat boy.

Momentarily ignoring your nerves, you start typing a quick response. 

As you’re about to hit send, Mrs. Lee laugh hits your ears and you look up—

You blink, fingers hovering over the screen of your phone.

He’s standing right next to your boss, who has her arm around his and a smile as big as the sun on her face, clearly introducing him with an adoration you could feel from across the room. 

He as in freaking Haechan, the guy you were just about to text and the guy you have been texting ever since a one-night at his place months ago. Haechan as in Mrs. Lee’s infamous, perfect for you, son. 

Mrs. Lee finally catches your eyes, her face lighting up as she excitedly waves you over, the thrill of the moment thankfully leaving her oblivious to any signs of distress on your face. Heart drumming against your ears, you walk towards them with hesitant steps, still in disbelief over how absurd the entire situation is. 

With a hand on your back, Mrs. Lee pulls you closer with an expression that can only be described as triumphant. “Oh darling, I’d like you to meet my son, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck finally turns to you, his eyes immediately flickering in recognition as he takes in your entire figure, from the stupid white cowboy hat on your head to the high-heeled pointed boots. 

His face shifts, the brief flicker of surprise quickly getting replaced with amusement as he steps to stand by his mother’s side. 

“So this is my Donghyuck, like I told you all about,” your boss continues, a hand on his shoulder as she tells him your name, positively beaming. “You two will get along wonderfully, I just know it.”

Unbeknownst to Mrs. Lee, Donghyuck is clearly suppressing his own reaction as extends a hand out, lips twitching and eyes alight with mischief upon you. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he starts smoothly. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Mrs. Lee here.”

“Oh, likewise,” you respond, gaze narrowed as you take his hand in a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, Donghyuck.”

Despite the clear amusement on his face as you discreetly stress his apparent real name, Haechan still doesn’t seem to give any other reaction away to your boss. It’s infuriating how good he seems to be at… whatever ridiculous situation this is. Poor Mrs. Lee, still riding on the high of her most awaited matchmaking accomplishment, stays unaware of the simmering tension between you and her son. 

“I’ll leave you two to know each other, then,” she says, offering a cute wink before swiftly disappearing into the crowd as she’s done all night. 

As soon as his mother is out of earshot, Haechan drops the act, his face instantly breaking into a slow grin as he steps closer. “So my mom was right about knowing a girl who’s just perfect for me.”

“And of course that out of billions of people on this Earth, you’d be my boss’ son.” You roll your eyes, arms crossing over your chest as a scoff escapes from your lips. “Because this is exactly how insane my life actually is.”

Donghyuck just laughs, clearly enjoying the situation despite your indignation. “Well, this isn’t exactly how I pictured seeing you again but you don’t see me complaining, do you?”

At the implication of your first and last meeting, you can’t help taking a second to actually see him. 

It actually hasn’t been long, so Haechan still looks pretty much the same… and maybe that’s the problem. The racer jacket he’s wearing as costume makes him look so effortlessly cool, suiting him in a way that feels almost too fitting. From the black hair, now purple tipped and perfectly styled, to the tan skin and endearing moles on his cheeks, you realize that you might’ve daydreamed about him more than you’d like to admit.

It’s only when Haechan clears his throat, looking nothing but pleased, that you snap out of your trance.

You feel warmth creeping up on your neck but refuse to give him the satisfaction, frowning at his smug expression. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’re still just a random guy who’s been obnoxiously texting me weird stuff.”

“That’s mean, Barbie,” he teases, voice lowering just enough that only you can hear. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who gave me your number.”

“Because you asked,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t exactly plan on seeing you again.”

“Are you sure about that?” Haechan leans closer, the playful glint in his eyes growing stronger as he clicks his tongue. “Ah, it didn’t seem like it when you were begging—”

As your pulse quickens, body growing even warmer, you don’t think twice before impulsively covering his mouth with your hand. “I’m technically at work and your mother is my boss, so please shut your mouth.”

Haechan smiles against your palm, pressing his lips to your hand before you pull it away in panic, dreadfully searching the room for Mrs. Lee’s potential prying eyes. If you know your boss as well as you think, then you’d bet that she’s been watching every second of your interaction with her son with laser focus attention. 

Quick to catch you, his grin only widens. “If you don’t want her to see then let’s get out of here.”

If you were to suddenly disappear with her son, Mrs. Lee sure wouldn’t mind. 

Truthfully, you are ridiculously taken by the guy. After all, you have slept with him and it was one of the best nights you’d had in a long while. Haechan is witty, fun to talk to, and he doesn’t seem to hide who he really is. Unfortunately, he just also happens to be your boss’ son.

No matter how attractive and good at sex Haechan might be, you’re most definitely staying away from the ticking bomb. 

You must stay away from the ticking bomb.

“Only in your dreams,” you finally retort, hoping that your face doesn’t expose your agitation as you finally turn around to leave.

Just as you move past him, Haechan leans over your shoulder, the whisper as loud as a scream to your ears.

“That’s exactly where I’ve been seeing you.”

You’d spent the rest of the party in a daze.

Trying your best to steer clear of both Mrs. Lee and her beloved son, you thoroughly focused on supervising every little corner of the venue. Maneuvering your way through the guests, you’d quietly made your escape a few hours later so nobody would notice your sudden absence. 

If only Mrs. Lee hadn’t texted about your whereabouts halfway through your Uber ride, it’d have been a win. 

Now finally at home, you barely step through the door before Alia appears from the kitchen, a mug in her hands as she snickers at your frazzled expression.

“I can’t tell if the party was a bust or not,” she says, taking a sip from her tea as she raises a curious eyebrow. “I’m scared of your answer but how was Mrs. Lee’s long-awaited party?” 

Taking a few steps to slump onto the couch, you drop the cowboy hat and your bag to the floor, pressing a hand to your aching forehead as a sigh escapes from your mouth. 

“The party itself was great, everything went according to the plan,” you start, pausing for a moment to brace yourself. “I also finally met Donghyuck.”

Alia’s eyes immediately light up with interest, fully invested in your ongoing drama. “The Donghyuck? Mrs. Lee’s son Donghyuck?”

You hum. As the exhaustion catches on, you can’t help a deadpan summary of your night. “You can also call him Haechan, I guess.”

Alia almost chokes on her tea, scrambling to put the mug down before she spills it rushing to sit beside you on the couch. “You’ve got to be shitting me!” she exclaims, eyes wide with disbelief. “Haechan as in that cute little guy you’ve been texting since that rooftop bar?”

“The one and only.” You sigh in exasperation, glaring at your friend as she suddenly bursts into a laugh. “I can’t believe you’re laughing. The universe is playing a cosmic sick joke on me and you’re laughing.”

“This is totally your booktok plot!” she beams, voice laced with amusement. “Turns out Mrs. Lee was right about you being perfect for her son.”

“Oh my God, don’t even start,” you groan, feeling your cheeks warm up for the millionth time of the day. “It was embarrassing. I had to pretend that we didn’t know each other while he was looking at me like this is the funniest thing in the world.”

“Are you for real?” Alia scoffs, frowning as if you’d grown two heads. “You were so into him that night. The fact that he has your number right now gives you away, girl.”

“I didn’t think I’d see him again,” you protest, still timid over the memory of your first meeting. “Besides, he’s my boss’ son, and—”

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, Haechan’s name bright and clear on the screen. 

You hate his impeccable timing. You hate it so much.

Before you can even think, Alia quickly grabs the phone instead, mischief all over her face as she stands up to keep it away from you. 

“I’m on my knees, Barbie—” She starts reading, comically pausing as she shoots you a wide-eyed look. “Oh my God, what the fuck—”

You sink further into the couch, feeling as if your body is ready to combust. “Stop it!”

“I’m on my knees, Barbie,” Alia repeats, purposefully highlighting every word as she continues with a grin curling on her lips. “Where am I taking you for our date? I’m free when you’re free.”

As your roommate drops the phone on your lap, you block the screen with a glare at her. “Don’t say a word.”

“I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours but this guy is down bad for you,” she points out, her face softening before she sits by your side again. “And you like him, so what’s up with the long face?”

There’s a brief pause in the conversation before you sigh, firmly shaking your head. “It’s too complicated,” you say, offering a meek shrug under Alia’s knowing eyes. “Plus, I really like my job. If anything happens, it might fuck things up, you know.”

Alia watches you for a second that feels way too long, then only nods in response with a quiet chuckle. “Alright. If you’re convinced.”

The thing is, you’re not convinced.

Something tells you that your friend knows that too.

It starts on a Monday after the fateful Halloween party.

Arriving at the office in the aftermath of your meeting with Haechan—or Donghyuck, as you know now—had your nerves hyping up the most dreadful scenarios that played in your head during the weekend.

While it’s true that Mrs. Lee is one of the kindest humans you’ve met, you’d be lying if her reaction to your interaction with her son didn’t worry you a little. Though she was none the wiser back at the party, you did wonder if Haechan actually told her anything or even if she noticed how absurd the conversation played out to be after the very polite introduction.

On top of that, you… kinda also left Haechan on read. 

After an internal battle on whether you should simply reply and decline his invitation or downright just ignore him, you’d postponed an answer long enough to make it useless by now. 

So it’s no wonder that you’re at the edge of your seat now, annoyingly aware of every person that passes by your little corner office, even after a few of your nosy co-workers stop by to ask if you really did meet Mrs. Lee’s handsome and smart son, Donghyuck.

Still, nothing could’ve prepared you to see Haechan in your office, leather jacket, black thick-rimmed glasses and a coffee tray in hand, entering the place as if he’s always been around. 

“Good morning, Barbie,” he greets, flashing a cheeky smile at the apparent surprise on your face. “Don’t look so shocked. I’m just passing by to drop a little pick-me-up.”

Haechan hands one of the coffee cups and you cautiously accept with a sheepish nod, clearly taken aback by the gesture. “Thank you?” 

As quick as he gets in, he’s immediately turning around to leave. You’re taking it as a secret to your grave, but you can’t help but feel a tip of disappointment as he walks to exit your office, though not without a last lingering glance over his shoulder.

You silently pray to every deity existent that Haechan doesn’t realize how feverish you suddenly feel.

Just before he leaves, a small laugh escapes from his lips as he shakes his head, an expression you can’t quite read on his face. “You’re really fucking cute, Barbie.”

On Wednesday, he does it again. 

You’re conveniently on your way to drop a few documents for Mrs. Lee to sign when you catch sight of Haechan in the hallway, chatting animatedly with his mom as she’s returning from a business lunch with a few investors. It takes you a second to swiftly turn around, ready to rush back into your office when he spots you, calling out your name loud enough that half of the office must’ve heard. 

“Finally a familiar face around here, huh?” He smiles, subtly taunting you despite the friendly facade. “You’ve got the best people working here, don’t you, Mrs. Lee?”

Mrs. Lee’s eyes immediately sparkled, glancing between the both of you with interest. “Oh, I certainly do.”

The interaction feels awfully similar to your meeting at the party. Standing beside your boss with the same mischievous gaze, Haechan’s eyes run through every little detail of your figure, visibly pleased with the turn of events. 

“It's nice to see you again, Donghyuck,” you start, politely nodding at them as you hesitantly approach. “I’ve got some papers for you to sign, Mrs. Lee. I'll leave them on your desk, if you want?”

“No need, darling! Hand it over to Donghyuck, please,” your boss says, oblivious to your confusion if her grin is anything to go by.

Once with the folder in hands, Haechan flashes you a quick wink. “Thank you.”

You’re already racking your brain for a getaway excuse when Mrs. Lee huffs, playfully slapping her son’s arm. “You’re going to scare her away,” she chides, turning her attention to you as she sighs. “I know you’re always busy, darling, so we’ll let you go.”

“Right.” You smile tentatively, briefly clearing your throat. “Let me know if you need anything else, Mrs. Lee.”

Feeling his eyes on your back as you hurry back to the safety of your office, you secretly battle against a sudden need to reciprocate his attitude.

By Thursday, you’re kind of already expecting him.

Since his excuses have been a little too convenient to be coincidences, it doesn’t really surprise you to spot Haechan lingering around the office again, especially as he casually happens to bump into you at your lunchtime. 

He manages to follow right behind you on the elevator, his cordial demeanor visibly shifting to the usual sassy one as soon as the doors close. With the thick-rimmed glasses and messy hair adding a nerdy touch to his confidence, you might have watched him a little more attentively today—at least, enough to notice that he’s wearing the same denim jacket from the night you met.

As he steps by your side, shoulders brushing against yours, Haechan sighs. “You haven’t told me where we’re going yet, Barbie,” he starts, a touch dramatic. “I’m in the mood for some sushi but I’ll go wherever you wanna go.”

You glance up at him, eyebrows raised in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Our date,” Haechan argues, clearly holding back a grin despite the deadpan tone lacing his voice. “You can pick the restaurant, I don’t mind.”

Feeling the proximity a little too much, his words send your brain into haywire. You’re still… very much aware of the unanswered texts on your phone, especially the most recent one sent just the night before. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here again,” you lie, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible by rolling your eyes. “What brings you around this time?”

“I may or may not have left my laptop in Mrs. Lee’s office.” He shrugs, face breaking to a smirk. “Can you believe it? Good thing that I remembered about it.”

Taken by his casualness, you can’t hold back a chuckle. “Very convenient, if you ask me.”

“Are you implying something here, Barbie?” Haechan gasps, giving you a wide-eyed look as he leans over you. “I’m offended, you know. You make it sound like I’m taking advantage of the situation just to see you.”

You scoff, giving in to his attitude as a small smile breaks into your face. “That sounds unlikely.”

“Why didn’t you answer me last night, hm?” he mumbles, close enough that you can clearly see the little dots on his neck. 

Your brain takes a turn at the sight, immediately betraying you with very vivid memories of your lips trailing through Haechan’s moles, all the way down to his chest—

The elevator’s chime saves you from a spiral.

As the smallest sigh leaves your mouth, Haechan’s question hangs in the air as you take a step back from him, now ready to hurry out of the cubicle. There’s a satisfied glint in his eyes, almost as if he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you, most definitely aware that he’s probably wearing you down. 

Once the doors slide open, you’re quick to rush ahead of him, completely missing the weight of his gaze following you. 

Almost as if to trick you, he makes a rather late appearance on Friday.

You spent most of the day sneaking glances around the office, frustration growing in your chest by each passing hour. 

In a brief lapse of your sanity, you almost texted him during your lunch break, having briefly convinced yourself that it’d be mostly out of worry than anything else. Then, as Mrs. Lee bid you an early goodbye before leaving for one of her high-end club reunions, you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking about him.

Too focused on giving Yangyang a detailed explanation of his next errand, you don’t even notice when Haechan finally stops by your office, an entire box of your favorite bakery in hands as he waits for your attention. 

As your intern recognizes him first, he briefly glances between you and Haechan with a knowing look before hurriedly making an escape with a lousy excuse. 

“I think he knows something I don’t,” Haechan teases, casually taking your co-worker’s seat with a feigned innocent smile. “What’s up with the face, Barbie? Did you miss me?”

“You’re late,” you huff, a tip of irritation lacing your voice. “I thought you weren’t coming today.”

Faltering for a second as he processes your words, Haechan blinks in surprise. “Oh, you did miss me,” he says amusedly, leaning forward as his typical grin returns. “I bet you were waiting for me all day, weren’t you?”

Curiously pointing at the box to avoid the question, a smile slips through despite your efforts to keep it cool. “If this is not for me then you can leave right now.”

“I’m hurt you think I’d do this for anyone else but you.” He frowns, glaring at you in feigned offense. “You’re the only one for me, Barbie, you know that.”

You give him a playful eye roll, finally opening the lid to find an array of cupcakes that conveniently also happen to be your favorite flavors. “Who told you I liked these?” you ask, picking one up in delight. “I don’t think anyone here would know my usual bakery order.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Haechan scoffs, watching a little too attentively as you take a bite of a chocolate fudge cupcake. “I just happened to pass by this place and thought I could bring you a treat after a busy week.”

Raising an eyebrow, you pause in between a second bite. “The bakery is all the way across town.” 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” he argues, a smirk soon growing on his face again. “We have more important things to discuss right now. How does tomorrow night sound for our date?”

“Tomorrow’s good,” you answer promptly, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible waiting for his reaction. 

With his usual confidence flickering to genuine surprise, Haechan stares at you for a moment, looking so stunned that you can’t help but find pleasure in finally catching him off guard. Reaching out for another cupcake, you swipe a finger at the strawberry frosting, bringing it to your mouth with a knowing smile at him. 

Haechan just laughs, a hint of disbelief in his eyes as he closes them in feigned agony. “You’re really driving me crazy, Barbie.”

“If that’s all you came here for, you can go now.” You gesture towards the door, avoiding his gaze as you mindlessly shuffle through some papers on your desk. “I still have work to do and you already scared my intern away.”

“I love it when you’re mean to me,” he sighs, grinning at your exasperated scoff with a hand over his heart. “I’ll only leave because you can’t seem to concentrate if I’m around.”

Sneaking a glance at him as he stands up, you can’t suppress a small smile. “Thank you for the cupcakes.”

“Promise me you’ll reply when I text you later,” Haechan presses, his playful demeanor sobering just enough to feel distinctively stubborn. “If you don’t, I’ll keep calling you until you pick up.”

You feign a tired sigh, trying to play off your amusement. “I promise, Donghyuck.” 

For a second, Haechan doesn’t move, still standing in front of your desk—and over you—as the cheeky glint returns to his eyes. “I love it when you say my name.”

The remark makes your chest tighten, heart speeding up because you know exactly what he means with that. Shaking your head, you shoo him away with a frown. “Just go already!”

Walking backwards towards the exit of your office, Haechan laughs, pausing just at the doorway to shoot you one last wink. “See you tomorrow, Barbie.”

Once he’s gone, you take a breath and reach out for another cupcake. 

Yeah, apparently staying away from the ticking bomb doesn’t seem like a solid plan anymore, you guess.

Haechan’s restaurant choice isn’t what you expect for a first date. 

Tucked deep into a quiet street, the hole-in-the-wall place is cozy and small enough to feel oddly intimate. There’s a nice handful of people around and as soon as you step in, a grandma quickly ushers you to a corner table, a glimmer of recognition taking over her eyes when Haechan greets her with a warm smile. 

Wearing a black shirt that fits him ridiculously nice, you can’t help your gaze from lingering on his frame for a little longer than usual today. 

As Haechan talks animatedly with the restaurant’s grandma, the only thing you can seem to focus on is the three little open buttons over his chest—

The click of his tongue calls your attention, your eyes finally meeting as Haechan leans closer to your ear, a cheeky grin tugging at his mouth. “I said you should introduce yourself, Barbie.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you apologize, offering the grandma a regretful look before you bow politely, giving her your name. “I’m… Donghyuck’s date. It’s nice to meet you, grandma.”

The older woman hums, a hand reaching for your chin while thoroughly regarding you with curious eyes. “She’s really pretty, oh my,” she mutters after a second, soon offering Haechan a pointed look with a smile on her face. “Alright, I believe you now, Haechannie.”

Confused by their interaction as she leaves, you can only obey her orders to sit down. When Haechan picks up the worn-out menu, you blink. “What… was that?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he says smoothly, shaking his head as he winks. “I’ve been here a lot, do you trust me to order for you?”

At your agreement, Haechan waves for a waiter, smartly starting to list a rather hefty order while you take a second look around the place.

Aesthetically speaking, the restaurant doesn’t feel very promising. Despite being obviously family-owned with a very homey vibe to it, it does look a little run down with the faded pictures on the walls, peeled painting and worn-out, outdated furniture. Still, given its location and appearance, it’s surprisingly pretty packed with all kinds of people—and you do spot a few couples here and there too.

Choosing to trust Haechan either way, you’re still intrigued about how he’s become a regular in a place so off-the-grid.

“You just listed half of the menu without a single look,” you start, staring at him with a funny look once the waiter leaves. “You really must come here a lot.”

“I’d say at least a couple of times a month,” he answers, resting his forearms on the small table as he leans forward. “This grandma’s kimchi stew really changed my life.”

Amused by the sincerity of his voice, you chuckle. “Is that why she seems to love you so much? She was so happy to see you.”

Haechan grins, shrugging casually. “I used to work around this neighborhood, so she’s known me for a long time,” he explains, eyes narrowing playfully as he notes the sudden change on your face. “What’s with the look, Barbie?”

You shake your head, resting your chin on a hand as you study him with newfound attentiveness. “I’m just realizing that I’ve heard a lot about you, but I don’t know what you do for a living.”

“Wow, I thought Mrs. Lee did a better job pitching me to you,” he says, feigning indignation as you roll your eyes. “I own a record label with my friends. It’s an independent thing and not super big but we’re really good, so…”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, most definitely not expecting such an unusual answer. “Oh, that’s… actually very cool,” you admit, leaning just a tiny bit forward with a curious smile at him. “Any artist that I might know?”

As a dramatic sigh escapes from his mouth, Haechan locks a steady gaze on you, his voice genuine despite a playful touch. “I sincerely hope not because if you know him then I don’t stand a single chance with you.”

You can’t help bursting into a laugh at how serious he looks, leaning back against your seat as you shoot him a look. “Aren’t we on a date?”

“We are.” He nods, a soft but unmistakable intensity flickering on his face. “This is probably a good time to let you know that I’m not giving up on this, alright? Now that you’re in, you can’t get out.”

Your lips twitch, a smirk soon tugging at the corner of your mouth. “That sounds terrifying,” you tease, amused. “I think I’ll take my chances this time, though.”

The food arrives just in time to interrupt him, though the smirk that grows on his face is enough of an answer to you. 

As the waiter unloads a loaded tray onto your table, dishes looking as delicious as it smells, your excitement grows with the warmth that fills the space between you. Haechan is quick to reach around the plates once the waiter’s gone, relying on your vote of confidence as he places a few dishes for you. 

“Alright,” he says, seemingly satisfied with the full table. “We’ve got this, Barbie.” 

“I don’t think we do,” you counter, eyes taking one last curious glance around before focusing on him. “Which one should I go for first?”

“Is that even a question?” Haechan clicks his tongue, offering you a bowl of rice before pointing to the biggest pot on the table. “The kimchi stew, baby. Go ahead and take a few bites with the rice.”

Following his instructions, you don’t know if the heat spreading through your body is solely from the food’s spiciness, the casualness of his new nickname for you or the deliberate, effortless confidence laced to his rather gentle command. 

With his expectant eyes watching for a reaction, you pause in between a second bite, grinning fondly at him. “Don’t look so worried, it’s really good.”

“You’re really a woman after my own heart,” he says, sounding as if he’d just had an epiphany. “Oh, my mom really knew what she was doing…”

“Considering we already knew each other, I think we can take the credit for this.” You shrug, feeling suddenly shy over the whole ordeal with Mrs. Lee. “Have you ever told her? That we’ve met before the party?”

“No, but I have a feeling that she knows. My mom always knows everything.” Haechan chuckles, eyes shining with mischief as he raises an eyebrow, leaning back on his seat. “Have you told her?”

“Are you kidding me?” you ask, voice dropping into a whisper as if the entire restaurant might overhear. “How am I supposed to tell my boss that I had a one night stand with her son without knowing it was actually her son?”

Giving a full laugh, there’s a hint of delight on his face as he smirks. “I mean, it was only a one night stand because you wanted it to be,” Haechan argues, a little too smug. “I have been trying, you know.”

“Let’s just not talk about that,” you cut off, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a flustered reaction as you chuckle nervously. “Since you already know what I do, you should tell me more about your label, please.”

Despite Haechan’s playful glare, making sure you know that he’s aware of your not-so-subtle deflection, the conversation quickly shifts to his job. Much like the night you first met at the bar, you’re completely entertained by his little anecdotes, taken by the humorous way he recounts his friendship stories and work mishaps with Mark, Johnny and Jaehyun. 

It almost feels like he’s cracking the edges of your hesitance, his personality disarming you so easily that you can’t help but wonder why you’ve spent so much time keeping him at arm’s length—or if you ever did in the first place.

As the evening flies by, only leftovers forgotten around the table now, silence lulls between you for a moment. 

Maybe you’re a little too aware of him, but noticing the sleeves of Haechan’s shirt starting to slide down his arms as he piles up a few empty bowls, you act before your brain can stop you.

“Wait,” you call softly, reaching out to hold his forearm. “Hold still for me?”

Haechan freezes mid-reach, something you can’t quite read in his eyes as he watches you push one sleeve back up, your fingers brushing against his skin by folding the fabric neatly into place. He willingly extends his arm when you move to the other sleeve, straightening it with the same care as you try to disregard his steady gaze locked on your figure.

When you let him go, Haechan slumps into his seat with a bemused chuckle. “You’re really making things harder for me, Barbie.”

As grandma’s loud and cheerful voice suddenly cuts through the restaurant, you’re saved by the bell seeing her approach your table, her face shifting to a frown as she looks between both of you. “Why did you eat so little?” 

Though she doesn’t seem to notice the weirdly tense mood, your cheeks are still burning over his words as Haechan silently nods at you to lead the conversation.

“I ate quite a lot, grandma,” you start, reassuring her with a timid smile. “It was really, really delicious. The best food I’ve ever had.”

She coos at you for a second, quickly moving on to playfully swat Haechan’s shoulder with a glare. “Why did you take so long to bring your girlfriend here? That’s not something a nice boy like you should do.”

A grin takes over his face, Haechan giving you a knowing look before he nods eagerly at the older woman. “I promise to bring my girlfriend more often now, grandma.”

“You should leave if you’re done already,” she reprimands lightly, starting to set the empty dishes on a tray with a click of her tongue. “Don’t keep hogging my table like you always do with those friends of yours.”

After resisting your several attempts of help, the restaurant’s grandma soon walks you to the door, bidding goodbye with a kiss to both yours and Haechan’s cheeks as she makes him promise to come back soon again. 

Stepping outside, the silence between you is filled with a strange mix of both ease and anticipation. 

Save from a few partygoers coming and going, the street is mostly quiet, lights casting a warm glow around you despite the evening’s chill. With the realization that the night’s finally over, you aren’t quite sure what to expect of Haechan now—given that most of your interactions were built through a game of push-and-pull, it almost feels like you’ve reached the climax of a story that’s just started.

Completely unaware of your skepticism, he falls into step beside you with a dramatic sigh. “I think you should let me take you home.” 

“You’re walking me to my car right now,” you say, rolling your eyes as an amused smile grows on your face. “I already told you a million times that I drove here.”

Haechan sighs again, his shoulders slumping for added effect. “Actually, I think you should take me to your home.”

You give him a look, ignoring the warmth spreading through your neck by feigning exasperation. “You also drove here, Donghyuck.”

“You’re really missing the big picture here, Barbie,” he groans, throwing his head back in feigned frustration. “Are you really going to reject me again? When are you going to stop pretending you don’t like me?”

As you shake your head, a smirk threatens to break your facade. “You said you like it when I’m mean to you.”

“I do,” Haechan says without missing a beat, sobering up to a serious expression despite the mischievous glint in his eyes. “I like it so much you can be the mean one this time.”

The implication behind his words make you pause for a second, feeling a little flustered despite the scoff that escapes from your mouth. “You’re unbelievable.” 

Approaching your car soon enough, Haechan just watches as you unlock the doors and slide into the driver’s seat, quickly stepping forward to block you from closing yet. Looking up at him, you hope that the dim lights of the parking spot are enough to disguise your agitation.

With a hand on the roof of the car, he leans down just enough to meet your eyes. “Remember you promised to reply to my texts now,” Haechan insists, a smug smile growing on his face. “What’s gonna happen if you don’t reply?”

You give him a small, challenging grin. “You’re going to keep calling me until I pick up.”

“That’s right.” He nods, giving a satisfied chuckle. “You’ll let me know when you get home safe, won’t you?”

With a half-hearted snort, you nod back. “Yes, Donghyuck.”

Instead of answering, Haechan regards you for a second before extending a hand out, pushing the fallen strap of your top back in place with a feather-like touch to your upper arm. 

As quick as it happens, he taps the roof of the car and closes the door for you, offering one last grin. “I’ll talk to you later, Barbie.”

Well, he did try to—which didn’t mean you let him.

At home, you reveled in watching Haechan’s name blowing up your phone, just for the sake of keeping him on his toes.

Barbie 10:44AM If you’re in a meeting then STOP texting me

Haechan grins at your message, his attention completely absorbed by his phone while Johnny and Mark debate something about winter releases in the back of his mind. 

Gathered in Johnny’s office for a monthly meeting, the scene was familiar enough to allow him to zone out in your favor—while Mark was running his mouth away about a few potential songs, Johnny occasionally interjecting every now and then, Haechan quietly focused on pestering a few texts out of you. 

In the following days of your date, he couldn’t seem to get enough of the familiar sharp, flirty back-and-forth between you, especially now knowing that you secretly enjoy it. So much that he takes a backseat in his friends’ conversation, unaware of his oldest friend’s reprimand until Mark waves a hand to his face, snapping his fingers as to pull him back to reality.

Haechan looks around Johnny’s office for a second, putting his phone down with a dismayed sigh. “I already said I’ll agree with whatever you guys decide.”

Mark and Johnny exchange amused looks, the latter raising an eyebrow at his friend with a mischievous chuckle. “Sure, so you do agree to leaving the higher percentage to Mark and I, right?”

At the youngest’s guilty grimace, Mark bursts a laugh before swatting his shoulder. “Dude, you’ve been grinning at your phone like an idiot for like, 30 minutes now,” he teases, a hint of confusion laced to his humorous tone. “You never shut up during our meetings, what’s going on?”

With a dramatic pause, Haechan looks between his two friends, a smirk soon growing on his face. “Alright, if you guys want to know so badly—”

Johnny snorts, immediately cutting him off with a playful look. “I didn’t ask anything.”

“If you guys want to know so badly,” he repeats pointedly, rolling his eyes at Johnny’s laugh. “You know that girl from the bar I’ve been talking to? Well, she’s the girl my mom tried to set me up with at the Halloween party.”

Haechan can’t help laughing at his friends’ reactions, both of them visibly puzzled by the half-assed burst of information. Johnny’s the one to break the silence first, an amused scoff escaping from his mouth.

“One of these days your mouth’s gonna get you in trouble,” he says, seemingly processing his friend’s words before leaning forward on his desk. “Let me see if I got this right—the girl from the bar is your mother’s employee… is that it?”

Mark raises an eyebrow, pausing for a second before his jaw drops. “Wait—what?”

“Ding ding ding! Points for Johnny!” Haechan jokes, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. “Turns out she works for my mom all this time and I just didn’t know.”

Johnny chuckles, shaking his head at the youngest’s antics. “You know what? That does sound like something that would only happen to you.” 

“So basically, you’re telling us you hooked up with your mom’s employee?” Mark insists, a mix of amazement and shock on his face as Haechan proudly grins in response. “Man, that’s crazy. What are the odds?”

“How did she take it?” Johnny asks, narrowing his eyes. “Knowing you, I bet you were insufferable and freaked her out.”

Trying to play it cool with a nonchalant shrug, a very clear image of your Barbie dressed self pops in his mind as he chuckles. “I mean, she did pretend to not know me, but it was fun.”

The oldest hums, his curiosity peaked despite the careful approach. “So… what now? You guys are dating or what?” 

Haechan falters, the smile on his face slipping for a second before catching himself. “We’re not dating… yet,” he admits, dragging out the words as if to make them believable. “We went on a date a few days ago but she’s still… a little skeptical, you know.”

Mark snorts, rolling his eyes. “Skeptical of you? What a surprise.”

“Shut up, she’s just figuring out if I’m serious or just messing around,” Haechan groans, shooting his friend a peeved look. “I mean, I’m obviously serious but she might think I’m just playing games or something.”

“She’s not wrong, though,” Johnny points, a teasing smirk on his face. “Again, if I know you, you are probably playing games.”

“Yeah, but not like that!” he whines, huffing loudly as he slumps against the chair. “This is just me being charming. There’s a difference.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, grimacing. “Is there, though?”

Haechan pauses, opening his mouth to reply but quickly closing it again as a comeback escapes him. For a brief moment, he feels and looks genuinely dumbfounded, which is definitely a rare and mildly entertaining sight for his two older friends. Though he’d never admit it, there’s no denying that Mark and Johnny planted a little seed of uncertainty in his head.

Crossing his arms, Johnny can’t help but laugh at his sullen expression. “Have we finally broken you?”

“No, you haven’t,” he fires back, voice remarkably resembling a bratty child. “I’m just… plotting.”

“Can I give you one last word of advice?” Johnny asks, toning the conversation down to a more serious note with a knowing glance at the youngest. “You should probably put yourself in her shoes. I know it must’ve been fun for you to find out who she is, but she does work for your mom. Do you get it?”

After a brief moment of silence between them, Mark lets out a low whistle, visibly impressed at the words. “Damn, that was a good thought.”

“Ugh, alright, I get it,” Haechan concedes, the corner of his mouth threatening a grin. “I’ll try to play it cool… for her.”

The conversation is cut short by the buzz of his phone against the desk, drawing everyone’s attention as it lights up with a familiar nickname. 

Barbie 10:56AM I can’t believe you actually listened to what I said

Mark and Johnny exchange a second look watching Haechan’s grin widen, a look on his face that’s enough to tell them that he’s far from playing it cool like promised.

It just happens to be one of those weeks.

As you walk through the lobby, leaving the office much later than usual for a Friday, you feel your shoulders heavy with exhaustion. After days of nonstop meetings, tight deadlines and constant phone calls due to an unexpected slip of your co-workers, all you want is to go home, kick your heels off and forget about the existence of numbers and currencies for a while.

Still, despite how worn-out you feel, the sight of Haechan standing by his car just outside the building rises a hint of excitement in your chest. 

With your surprise taken by anticipation—especially after the few days where your interaction had been limited to his insufferable messages—you can’t help but feel relieved to see him. Though there hadn’t been time for much else, you’d still caught yourself thinking about him more often than you cared to admit. 

You’re also not admitting any time soon that Haechan’s the easiest, most fun part of your routine too. 

In the stupor of your fatigue, you take in his fluffy brown jacket and the squared glasses on his face, making him look so warm and cuddly that you don’t even think twice before throwing your arms around his shoulders in a hug.

Feeling Haechan’s confusion through his hesitation to hold you back, a sigh escapes from your mouth as you tighten the hold and bury your face against his neck, seemingly enough to tell him something. 

“You’re being too nice to me, I’m worried,” he jokes lightheartedly, a contrast to his frown as he attempts a look at your face. “Come look at me, please?”

His hands are still running up and down your back in the gentle embrace as you glance up, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Haechan greets, his usual teasing tone softened with concern. “What’s wrong? I was expecting a long face and maybe an insult, not the best hug I’ve had in my entire life.”

“I’m just… really tired.” You chuckle humorlessly, too quiet. “This week was hell and my brain’s completely fried, I’m sorry.”

As his face shifts to something you can’t read, Haechan hums. “I was thinking about putting some food in you,” he starts, his hands moving to your arms almost soothingly. “But if you’re too tired, then I can take you ho—”

“No,” you interrupt right away, shaking your head as a familiar warmth heats your cheeks. “I’m starving and… I wanted to see you.”

He blinks, a slow grin growing on his face as he clutches his chest in the usual dramatic fashion. “The things I’d do for you, Barbie…” Haechan groans, back to his playful nature. “I know just the place. Do you trust me?”

You watch as he extends a hand, huffing a laugh before taking his hold. “Yeah.”

There’s something unexpectedly tender in the way Haechan takes the lead then, effortlessly building the conversation with a touch of softness you hadn’t witnessed before with him. Though the drive is fairly quick, his smart quips slipping every now and then to still tease you, the feeling that maybe this moment holds a whole different meaning to your heart doesn’t escape you.

The ramen stand is nestled just by the river, people scattered around under the yellow lights as the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses mingles with the faint rush of water nearby. 

As both of you weave through the crowd, Haechan still holding tight to your hand as he leads the way, the air gets warmer enough to make you salivate at the lingering aroma of broth and grilled meat. With a perfect view of the river, he’s quick to spot an empty table, moving around before gesturing for you to take the stool first. 

Eyeing the table for a second, you hesitate for a second before speaking up. “Can’t I sit beside you?”

Haechan pauses, still holding the stool as he glances up at you, his furrowed eyebrows instantly melting to a knowing smile. “You love me, don’t you?”

You scoff, brushing past him to take the seat with a grin betraying you. “Don’t bother, then.”

“No, no, no,” he counters, quickly sliding his own stool next to yours before dropping into the seat with a chuckle. “Are you kidding? Who am I to deny you something?”

As you pretend to ignore him, focusing on the vendor for the moment, Haechan doesn’t seem phased by it as he leans closer, sneaking glances at you while casually placing the order under another vote of confidence.

Once you’re alone again, he sighs with a feigned glare at your direction. “So… do I have to talk with Mrs. Lee for overworking you?”

You laugh, the sound coming off a little worn out despite your amusement. “It’s not your mother’s fault,” you reply, shaking your head with a deep breath. “I don’t think she even knows what happened. If she did, she’d definitely scold me for working so late.”

“As she should,” Haechan argues, eyes suddenly turning a little too serious. “If whatever’s happening is giving you too much trouble, you should tell her.”

Tilting your head as you lean forward, a smile tugs at your mouth. “Are you worried about me?”

“Yeah, actually,” he admits, grinning mischievously unlike his deadpan tone. “I am obsessed with you for a reason, after all.”

“You really are crazy,” you joke, not resisting a laugh as you quickly place a finger over his mouth just as he’s about to speak. “Please, don’t say you’re crazy for me.”

With a dramatic sigh, Haechan pulls back from you with a dirty look. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“I know you’re not.” You smile, faltering for a second as the moment seems to suddenly shift with the softness laced to your voice. “I mean, I’m starting to believe you’re not. I… hope you’re not, so…”

A mix of emotions seem to flicker through his face at your words, enough to visibly leave Haechan a little floored while the vendor approaches with the food, the timing for an answer lost as the man places the steaming bowls of ramen and grilled skewers between you. 

He clears his throat as the vendor leaves, shifting his attention to the food for a second. “Let’s make a bet,” Haechan suddenly starts, resting his elbows on the table as he leans forward. “This is going to be the best ramen you’ve ever had so you’ll let me take you as my plus one to my mom’s Holiday dinner.”

You frown confusedly at his impromptu offer, unsure if he’s actually serious about it. “What?”

“You heard me,” he counters, sounding firmer now as a mischievous smile brightens his face. “If this is the best ramen you’ve ever had, we’ll go to Mrs. Lee’s Holiday dinner together.”

If Mrs. Lee’s annual Halloween party is already highly anticipated by her employees and associates alike, you can safely say that Mrs. Lee’s annual Holiday dinner is an experience of its own. Having attended your first one the year before, just a few months after you’d been hired, it made you wonder if you’d actually last in the job. 

First, because it officially marked the start of your boss’ matchmaking attempts—specifically after Haechan bailed on her at the last minute—and second, because it’s kind of… a big deal.

The Holiday dinner is quite fancy, packed with the corporate A-list Mrs. Lee works with.

So you can’t help but hesitate, raising a doubtful eyebrow at him. “That’s silly! Aren’t you going either way?”

Haechan clicks his tongue, voice flat as if he’s stating the obvious. “If it’s not with you, not really.”

“Well, considering you bailed last year, you should probably attend this one,” you argue, pursing your lips to hold back a smile. “Besides, what makes you think I wouldn’t lie just to get out of this?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Haechan grins, leaning closer with a challenging look at your direction. “If you truly want me at this boring dinner, you won’t lie.”

As you shake your head, a laugh escapes before you can stop it. “Are you really placing your cards on a bowl of ramen right now?”

“This is not just a bowl of ramen, Barbie,” he says, gesturing dramatically at the bowl. “It’s the bowl of ramen. You should’ve learned by now that I don’t mess around with good food.”

You pick up the chopsticks, the corner of your mouth twitching from holding back your amusement. “I’ll try it with one condition,” you offer, narrowing your eyes. “If I don’t like it, you owe me something.”

Haechan snorts, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Just name it and I’ll do it even if you like it.”

“I’ll tell you later,” you reply, pausing before you take a first bite, dragging the moment out just to spite him. 

Even if you were a good liar, it most definitely wouldn’t be worth it—it almost feels like the taste explodes in your mouth and if Haechan’s reaction says anything, a smirk slowly growing on his face by each second, your expression is probably gives you away. 

As he chuckles to himself, Haechan looks nothing but satisfied while stirring his own bowl. “I told you so, baby.”

The river’s gentle waves sound like background music as the conversation eases between you, the meal wrapping up in no time with Haechan feeding a few remaining pieces of meat to a curious kitty that sneaks around your feet under the table.

Taken by the warmth of a full stomach and the exhaustion of your hellish week, you scoot closer to him, enough to lean against Haechan’s side as your head falls on his shoulder. 

Quick to welcome you, he wraps an arm around your back before pulling you even closer. “Tired?”

“A little,” you mumble, closing your eyes for a second before chuckling. “Can I ask you a stupid question?”

He nods, hands running up and down your back now. “Yeah, baby.”

“How come you’ve got two names?” you ask, giving him a funny look as he laughs. “I mean, if your real name is Donghyuck, where did Haechan come from?”

“When we started the label, I used to sing some of the guide tracks of our projects,” Haechan explains, smiling at the surprise on your face. “I didn’t want to use my real name if someone ended up using it, so I made one up.”

“It fits you,” you say, sighing as you close your eyes again. “I love your real name, too.”

Despite the small grin curling his lips, there’s a flicker of something more serious in Haechan’s eyes. “You love me too?”

Instead of indulging his teasing, you glance up at him with a knowing smile. “Thank you for tonight, Donghyuck,” you start, using his real name with a touch of softness that feels a little different. “I really needed this.”

Haechan regards you for a second, quietly watching for a second before he chuckles fondly. “Anytime, Barbie,” he murmurs, squeezing you against his side with a hum. “You know that, don’t you?”

As you look out at the river, cozy and warm in his hold as the yellow lights shimmer against the water, the answer comes as quickly as the waves crashing nearby. 

You know now.

Barbie 9:26PM Are you busy?

9:26PM Look who it is Never busy for you What do I owe the pleasure baby

Barbie 9:27PM Hi Hyuck I hope I’m not interrupting anything

9:27PM I’m Hyuck now??? 😀

Barbie 9:27PM Don’t be insufferable about it I was just wondering if you’re free tomorrow night?

9:29PM Are you asking me on a date? Am I dreaming right now??

Barbie 9:29PM You should probably pinch yourself then Maybe you could come over for dinner? I’ll even cook for you this time

9:30PM You’re so lucky my schedule is clear baby I’m all yours if you want it

Barbie 9:30PM I do want it

9:30PM You do??

9:31PM I’ll call until you pick up Barbie

9:35PM You want me???

Outside your apartment, Haechan doesn’t realize how antsy he feels until the bottle of wine nearly slips from his fingers, fidgeting impatiently while waiting for you to open the door. With the faint sound of music slipping through, a song he doesn’t really recognize playing inside, the entire situation feels like a ridiculous, senseless fever dream. 

At this point, he doesn’t know what to expect. 

Thinking back from the first night you’d spent together to the absurd twist of events that followed at his mother’s Halloween party, he’s strangely unsure of… well, whatever today can possibly mean. 

So much that Haechan swears his brain short-circuits as soon as the door opens—wearing a dress he’s very much familiar with, looking like the perfect picture of his wildest, most vivid memories, you smile knowingly at him, taking the surprise on his face with a hint of satisfaction.

“You must take pleasure in my suffering,” he starts solemnly, his dramatic sigh earning a laugh from you. “I’m having full flashbacks right now.”

Rolling your eyes, you step aside to let him in. “Good evening, Donghyuck.”

A few steps into your apartment, he looks over his shoulder as you follow him to the living room. “Are you trying to tell me something?” Haechan pauses, the question soon followed by a coy smile. “Baby, all you need to do is ask. I’ve told you—”

“Get your mind off the gutter,” you cut off, attempting to hide your amusement with a scoff. “I invited you for dinner, didn’t I?”

He chuckles, setting the wine bottle on the coffee table with a quick glance around your place. “You didn’t specify what kind of dinner, though.”

At the subtle suggestion in his voice, you shoot him a withering look. “The kind that involves food, Donghyuck,” you argue, a snicker escaping from your lips. “Unless you want to starve tonight, then I can—”

“Alright, alright,” Haechan interrupts, holding his hands up in surrender with a smirk. “I promise to behave from now on.”

You huff, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

While you head into the kitchen, Haechan lingers around your living room for a moment, taking in the little details of your apartment. From a collection of candles by the TV, packed bookshelves to an array of pictures on the walls, the small place feels very cozy, somehow so unmistakably you.

It’s only when he follows you into the kitchen, leaning against the counter, that Haechan remembers your roommate—eyes immediately spotting a polaroid glued to the fridge, the image showing you in a birthday hat, squeezed in a hug between the girl and a lanky, tall guy. 

He chuckles at the picture, your name paired with a + Alia & Jungwoo on the bottom. “Where’s your roommate, by the way?”

“She’s in Vegas with her boyfriend,” you explain, glancing over your shoulder with an amused laugh. “Apparently they got married by Elvis last night? They sent me pictures and everything.”

Haechan gapes for a second, a playful whistle following. “Damn, we’ll have to step up the game in our wedding, then.”

“I’d have to accept it first, which I’m not planning to do,” you snort, giving him a look. “Set the table for me, would you? The plates are in the cabinet on your right.”

As you finally sit down to eat, settled at the coffee table instead in a similar set-up to your ramen date, Haechan can’t help stealing a few glances at you. There’s something about the moment that feels too natural, an ease between you that sends his mind to places he still isn’t sure you’re at. 

Watching you take a sip of the wine a little too attentively, a hum pleased hum escaping from your lips, the words slip before Haechan can stop them. “I told my mom that we already knew each other before the Halloween party.”

You choke with the wine, falling into a coughing fit as your eyes widen at him. “What? Why would you do that?”

“She’s known for a while,” Haechan continues, smiling lightly at your reaction. “Remember the day I started visiting the office to see you?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you scoff, somehow looking caught between confusion and shock. “It’s been like… almost a month by now. Are you telling me she’s known this entire time?”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his own glass. “You’re so clueless, Barbie,” Haechan teases, bumping his shoulder against yours. “I thought you’d notice the day you met both of us at the office. She wasn’t being very subtle about it.”

With a defeated groan, you shoot him a timid glance. “How much does she know?”

“Who do you think I am? I’m not disclosing my sex life to my mother,” he protests, frowning dreadfully as you burst into a laugh. “I only told her we met at a bar, exchanged numbers, and that we talked every once in a while.”

“She didn’t mention anything,” you start, looking a little apprehensive. “Like, she tried to set me up with you for so long. I would’ve thought she’d say something about it knowing that we… you know.”

“That might have been on me? I asked her to not say anything,” Haechan answers hesitantly, a half apologetic smile curling on his lips. “I didn’t want to put you in trouble at work because we had something going on—and I know you were a little hesitant because of it, so…”

You watch him for a brief second, long enough for his mind to overdrive. “We should eat before the food gets cold.”

Despite feeling completely enamored by your sudden little spiel, Haechan swallows a groan of frustration when you start listing the impromptu menu, the moment now broken as the conversation takes another route.

The food’s cleared when the mood subtly shifts again, half of the wine bottle gone while your playlist comes down to softer, slower songs. 

As you shift closer to him, both still sitting on the floor of your living room, he can’t help but savor how shy you look. “So… how did you like it?”

Haechan tilts his head to take a better look at your face, his grin widening at your eye roll at his antics. “I was wondering if you’re open for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“It depends,” you answer, voice a tone cheekier despite how quiet it sounds. “I’ve got tomorrow off. Are you staying or leaving after breakfast?”

He exhales a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re driving me crazy for real, Barbie.” 

On your knees, you move closer just enough to cup Haechan’s face, pressing a tentative, soft kiss to his lips. Taken by surprise, it takes a second for the pin to drop in his brain, warmth spreading through his body like wildfire as soon his arms close around your waist, pulling you closer until you’re settled on his lap. 

As he leans into your touch, breaking the kiss with a sigh from you, Haechan can’t help a grin. Catching your breath with your forehead resting against his, you laugh at his dazed expression, pressing a smooch to his cheek. 

With a blink, he groans playfully. “Oh, I’m definitely staying for breakfast now.”

You smile softly, shaking your head but not pulling away from him. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” Haechan murmurs, hands brushing down your back as he tilts his head up, lips just barely touching yours. “Another one, please?”

Giving him another quick kiss, you smile against his mouth, lingering closer for a second. “I think Jungwoo’s got a few t-shirts here that should fit you.”

“You have another man’s clothes in your home?” he asks, feigning an irked frown as his head falls back in a dramatic fashion. “Oh, I’m going to be sick.”

Though the smile on your face gives you away, you still don’t resist rolling your eyes at his antics. “Are you done?”

Shaking his head, Haechan offers you his habitual grin. “I’m never done.”

When you don’t immediately respond, the silence shifts the atmosphere for a bit. Watching as your gaze softens, you take him by surprise brushing your fingers against his cheek, purposefully over the moles on his face.

Your voice is quieter now, almost warm with sincerity as you speak up. “Thank you for coming over, Hyuck.”

Trying to play it off as best as he can, heart pounding against his chest, Haechan chuckles fondly. “I guess that means you’re stuck with me now.” 

“I guess so.” You laugh, eyes sparkling at the unspoken promise. “You don’t seem too upset about it, though.” 

As he tightens the hold around your frame, bringing you closer again, Haechan feels you relax into his embrace. The agreement settles between you as easily as the evening ends, his lips pressing a final kiss to your forehead without much words—just your shared understanding and quiet certainty. 

“Can’t be upset when I’m exactly where I want to be, Barbie.”

The car rolls to a stop outside the beautifully decorated venue, Christmas lights casting a soft glow at the grand entrance of Mrs. Lee’s lavish Holiday dinner.

As he turns off the engine, Hyuck still seems a little taken by the vibrant pink of your gown, glancing over at you with a very familiar look. 

“Once we walk through that door, it’s over for you,” he jokes, though a hint of something else betrays the playfulness of his voice. “Are you sure about this?”

Leaning over the console, you kiss him a little too forcefully, a sound of protest escaping from Haechan’s lips when you pull back. “I’m sure, Hyuckie,” you answer, giggling at the look on his face. “We should go before someone thinks we’re doing something in here.”

A grin takes over his face, looking a little too invested in your scenario. “Baby, that’s the greatest idea you’ve had—” Haechan stops himself at the slap on his arm, laughing as he unlocks the doors. “Alright, I got it, I’m sorry.”

Outside, he helps you adjust the straps at the back of your dress, pressing a last kiss to your shoulder before sliding his hand into yours. “Let’s go, Barbie.”

Together, you head towards whatever surprises the night might hold.

EXTRA: SCREENTIME

MASTERLIST