#let him have his earring and his leather jacket and his PERSONALITY

[dollishmehrayan]

# “HOLD UP, POSE!” ── .✦ ( model!reader x batboys s/o kinda requested ˚⟡˖ )

a/n: so sorry for the break and how i traumatized half of you guys with my rant (if I suffer you gonna do too && let’s move on now ) and it’s lowkeyy funny ngl but omgg, I’m finally back though soo yeah but I’m finally taking requests again for a bit too so about that yeah and also make sure to go vote on the poll, we’re at 600+ votes already for my 1k event!! Tags: (batboys x model!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Your biggest fan, no contest. He has a folder on his phone labeled “My Gorgeous Girl” filled with all your magazine covers, runway shots, and candid photos he’s sneakily taken of you (even the ones where you’re eating pizza in sweats).

Loves to drop the fact that you’re a model into conversations. Someone says something even remotely related, and Dick is like, “Oh, that reminds me of the time yn walked for Valentino. She looked stunning. Anyway, how’s your dog?”

Flirty but lowkey jealous. He’s all smiles at your shoots, but if a photographer or fellow model gets a little too friendly, he’ll sidle up behind you, wrap an arm around your waist, and casually go, “Hey, babe, everything good here?”

Runs your fan page in secret. He denies it every time, but you know it’s him posting like archive photos of you? with captions like, “Truly the most breathtaking woman alive.”

Always hypes you up. You’re stressing before a runway show? He’s holding your hands, looking you dead in the eyes, and saying, “You’re going to kill it, just like always. They’re not ready for you.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Pretends not to care, but he’s secretly obsessed. You’ll catch him flipping through your magazines with a bored expression, but the dog-eared pages of all your spreads say otherwise.

Gets grumpy when he has to share you with the world. “Do you really have to fly to Milan again? Can’t they get someone else to wear the fancy coat?” But he’s the first one to text you after your show with a “You looked amazing. Miss you, though.”

Always lurking at your events. He doesn’t do red carpets, but you’ll spot him in the back of the after-party, leaning against a wall with a drink in hand, watching you like you’re the only person in the room.

Jealous but funny about it. If a male model gets paired with you for a shoot, Jason will grumble, “You know I could wear that suit better, right?”

Says he doesn’t care about fashion but definitely critiques it. “They put you in that? Really? That’s what they think is high fashion?” (Meanwhile, he still owns a leather jacket he’s had since he was 17.)

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The low-key proud boyfriend. Tim doesn’t brag about you… unless someone else brings it up. Then it’s a full PowerPoint presentation: “Oh, you didn’t know she walked the Paris Fashion Week finale? Let me show you.”, “it’s not that serious Tim.”

Forgets how famous you are sometimes. He’s so focused on his work that when he accompanies you to an event, he’s always surprised when people scream your name. “Wow, they’re… really excited to see you, huh?”

Pretends to be chill but panics at your shoots. If you’re wearing something too revealing, Tim’s sitting in the corner like, “Does she really need to wear that? I mean, it’s fashion, I guess, but still…”

Shows up to all your shows with coffee. He knows your schedule can be brutal, so he always has your favorite drink ready and a warm smile. “Long day, huh? Here, you’ve earned this.”

Accidentally goes viral as your boyfriend. Someone snaps a picture of him holding your bag while you’re doing a fitting, and now he’s trending as “hot model’s mystery man.” Or “Drake Spotted With L/N?”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Thinks modeling is beneath you. Not because he doesn’t support you, but because he genuinely thinks you’re too good for it. “Tt. Why waste your time parading around in someone else’s designs when you could rule the world instead?”

Still shows up to your shows like a proud dad. He won’t admit it, but he’s ridiculously proud of you. He’ll sit front row, arms crossed, looking annoyed until you walk out. Then his face softens, and he claps (but only once).

Hates everyone in the industry. Photographers, stylists, agents—he side-eyes them all. “Do they have to touch you so much?”

Quietly supportive in his own way. You come home exhausted, and he’s already brewed your favorite tea and laid out your comfiest pajamas. “You should rest. You’ve worked hard enough today.”

Keeps all your clippings. You find a scrapbook in his study filled with your covers, tear sheets, and event photos. When you ask him about it, he just mutters, “I didn’t want them getting lost.” And even keeps some fan letters that you keep or lost along the way.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Thinks it’s “adorable.” Bruce can’t help but chuckle whenever you mention your modeling career. “You really enjoy this, don’t you?” But he’s not teasing he genuinely admires how passionate you are.

Surprisingly knowledgeable about fashion. He knows every major designer, can spot couture from a mile away, and will occasionally surprise you by saying things like, “That’s Galliano, isn’t it? From the ‘06 collection?”

Makes every event feel like a power couple moment. When you walk a red carpet together, it’s like the world collectively gasps. He keeps his hand on your back, whispers sweet nothings, and makes sure you’re the center of attention.

Defends your career to anyone who dares question it. Someone makes a snide remark about modeling being “shallow,” and Bruce immediately shuts them down with, “Actually, it’s an incredibly demanding profession that requires both discipline and skill. You should try it sometime.”

Buys your agency. You’re stressed about a bad contract or a difficult agent? Suddenly, Wayne Enterprises owns the company, and Bruce is like, “Problem solved. You can thank me later.”

[thesulkycroissant]

My first ever experience with Kon was watching the Young Justice TV show, and when I started reading comics and I saw people talking about him in fandom spaces, I simply did not get it

But then

I opened the YJ comic from the 90s

And I was like

Oh

Anyway, the Young Justice cartoon did Kon SO DIRTY, that's it, that's the post

[dickgraysonsbitch]

shopping with the batboys ( + bruce )

to my pineapple pizza haters: know you are valid

warnings: none | divider by @cafekitsune | requests open!

With DICK GRAYSON, the most mundane of shopping trips turns into an expedition—leaving your heart rushing and blood pounding. He shoots you a flirty wink before steadying the grip on his shopping cart. “Ready, sweetheart? Because I don’t think you are. I’ve got the bread isle memorized like the back of my—”

“Go!” You exclaim, snorting when you see the shocked expression on his face, like he wasn’t expecting you to cheat to try to beat him. Hey, he was a super-fit vigilante, how else were you going to get a head start against Nightwing? Pushing off of a rack of magazines, you let out a shout of victory as you grab the milk from the fridge. One down, two to go. You quickly place the eggs into your cart, but not before you make eye contact with your menace of a boyfriend, who smirks at you before grabbing the last bag of whole wheat bread. Damn, he really did have the bread isle memorized like the back of his hand, didn’t he?

He bats his eyelashes at you innocently, but not before flashing you a crooked grin. “I think that’s three, sweetheart. 3-2, if you know what I mean, so…” he smiles, but there’s a glint of mirth in his eyes that absolutely melts your heart.

“I’m still calling a foul. It’s your walk-in pantry, and there’s no way that you didn’t have an advantage over me.” You huff, crossing your arms, trying to replicate the cute-but-hurt puppy dog eyes that Dick seemed to have mastered.

He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Sorry, but a deal’s a deal. I mean, I guess you could go back on it, but…” he looks up at you, with those eyes that could melt even the coldest of hearts, and probably a physical ice statue as well.

“Fine,” you grumble. “We can have pineapple on your stupid pizza. Do you want cereal for dessert?” The last question is supposed to be sarcastic, but the light in his eyes shifts from mischievous to downright carnal.

“Actually, I was thinking of having something else for dessert.”

Oh, boy.

You always knew that JASON TODD was going to spoil you rotten, and that was before you found out that he could cook. It wasn’t fair, actually, that he was probably the most gorgeous, intelligent, and caring person that you knew, all while being kick-ass and super talented at… basically everything. To some, God gave in abundance. Sighing dramatically, you propped yourself on his shoulder and leaned against him with your elbows.

His eyes twinkled at your new position. “What’s wrong, princess? Tacos not your scene anymore?” He was lying, obviously, because you demolished tacos like they were your last meal and you were on death row, but you still huffed and buried your face in his bicep.

“Jus’ thinking ‘bout how fuckin’ perfect you are, Jay,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the muscle that somehow managed to stay defined under a leather jacket. “You’re really awesome, you know that? I’ve never met someone as amazing as you. They should put a picture of you up at the Met—‘cause you’re a work of art, baby.”

It’s obvious that he’s holding back laughter, from the way that his broad shoulders are shaking, but something inspires him to keep entertaining this though. Probably your endless supply of charm. “Yeah, babe? I knew you wanted me just for my pretty face.” It’s interesting, honestly, how his relationship with you made him more comfortable with… all parts of himself.

You slap his chest, (not that it does anything), a s pout, your brows furrowed. “You’re not funny.” He send you a soft smile, something that should be uncharacteristic for a man of his size, but it works on you, like it usually does.

He presses his lips together before hoisting you up onto an empty display, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear and out of your face. “Well then, it’s a good thing I’m pretty.” Within a minute of staring at your unamused face, he’s howling in laughter, snickering to himself like he’s the comedian of the year.

And without a moment of warning, you’re sealing his lips with a kiss, sending a tingle all the way to the tips of your fingers, and he’s parting his lips to deepen it even further. His hands palm just above your ass, and you gaze at him with half-lidded eyes, softly running your thumb over his rough cheek, and it feels like paradise until—

“Hey! I thought this was a roommates only grocery trip?”

You and Jason both roll your eyes at the voice, and with varying levels of intensity, reply in unison.

“Shut up, Roy!”

Nothing made you shiver like the husky, low voice of BRUCE WAYNE whispering in your ear from behind you. It was an action that sent your poor heart into overdrive, but here, in this shop that was clearly out of your tax bracket (they had mannequins for diamond embellished puppy collars, for God’s sake) it was as if he was doing it just to show that you were at his mercy.

Not a bad place to be, if you thought about it.

“Try on the dress,” his voice is baritone, and he isn’t using his usual, suave business tone. No, this is the voice he uses when he wants something, and when he’s sure that he’s going to get it. It was like a spell was cast on you, and all you wanted to do was exactly what he said. You weren’t sure you really needed a spell for that anyway.

But still, you hesitated. The dress in question was an Oscar de la Renta mermaid cut gown, in pitch black, no doubt matching Bruce’s own personal aesthetic. The only hesitation? The price. You balked instantly when you glanced at the bill for the first time. Shit, you knew that a custom made dress that didn’t even have a tag on it would be more than your yearly rent. “It’s… 15,000 dollars! Bruce, I can’t accept this.”

He frowned, making you notice the soft wrinkles starting to appear on his face. God, that man took way too much stress for his own good. You’d tried warning against it, but when did he ever listen to anyone but himself (and Alfred)?

“Pocket change, darling. And it’s your first gala, I don’t want you to be wearing something you’ve worn before.” He lightly rubs his fingers against your waist, a promise of something else to come once you accept.

“It’s…” you look down. “It’s a lot. Are you sure?”

“Never been surer. Now, why don’t you look at matching jewelry?”

[lyonnerileyauthor]

the minotaur, the orc and the werewolf

you went to the punk show by yourself because your favorite band was playing, but none of your friends could go. you know you look out of place, but you couldn't care less what others think of you.

you dance alone, enjoying the pounding music as it washes over you. but soon you're dwarfed by a tall shadow: a minotaur with broad horns, dressed in a ripped jean jacket and leather pants. he joins you in your one-person mosh pit, and you dance together, or as "together" as you can while you're both going wild.

soon, the two of you are joined by a third—an orc in heavy black boots, with gold rings on his ears and tusks. his leather jacket does nothing to hide his bulk. he slams into you, making you giggle as you collide with the minotaur.

they pass you between them, their hands touching more and more of you as one song blends into the next. but the three of you haven't gone unnoticed. a werewolf watches from a few yards away, a thick spiked collar around his neck.

you wave him over. there's plenty of room in the pit, after all. with a fanged grin, he throws himself into the mix, nearly knocking you over—but the minotaur catches you. he doesn't let you go as he rubs his crotch against your ass, and you can feel his thick bull cock through your clothes.

it's not long before the orc is in front of you, running his big fingers down your body. the music throbs faster and faster, drawing them both in closer, pushing your bodies tighter together. but the werewolf lingers, unsure where he belongs now.

the orc grabs him by the arm and brings him into the fold. now you're surrounded, three monsters with their hands all over you, their breathing growing faster and heavier. they don't hide how much they want this one little human in their midst. you barely notice when the show ends.

come home with me, the minotaur whispers in your ear, and I'll show you a good time.

no, you should choose me, the orc says, pulling you away. the werewolf shyly steps back, unwilling to make his own case.

but you have a third proposal: that all four of you go back to your apartment together. the werewolf's eyes light up at the suggestion of including him.

with a huff, the minotaur agrees. the orc smirks, immensely pleased with your decision, and all four of you leave together.

pt 2

[chlorinecake]

I was thinking about illegalracer!jungwon as your bf. He takes you for late night rides on his motorcycle that finish with him fucking u on his place, it's like a normal routine now...

Imagine Illegal Racer Jungwon…

Who had a frisky side since the day you met him, living for the thrill of the night and earning himself a name of admiration and infamy on the streets as an underground racer…

Illegal racer Jungwon who turned every road into his personal racetrack, drowning out his thoughts with the roaring pulse of his motorbike engine.

Illegal racer Jungwon who never expected you to become a part of this side of his world, but enjoyed having you around regardless… internally smirking at the startled look on your face whenever his wheels took off in a race, or the labored breaths you’d let out once he returned to greet you with a victory kiss in front of every one watching.

Illegal racer Jungwon who made you sit on the back of his bike one day, inviting you to fully understand his love for the wild life, and you’ve been hooked ever since.

“If you hang on tight enough, I might reward you with something once we get to my place,” he’d say, revving the engine but refusing to take off until your arms were wrapped securely around his waist, nearby neon lights blurring into both your peripheral visions as the smoky wind whipped through your exposed hair.

Illegal Racer Jungwon whose eyes sparkled like onyx as these late night joy rides became a part of your normal routine, adoring how you learned to trust him when he’d speed down narrow alleyways, or come a mere centimeter from colliding into destruction.

You two had even been chased by the police before, but Jungwon always had a way of outrunning them, especially when he had a certain goal in mind to get you alone with him for the night…

Illegal racer Jungwon who with every harsh drift, loved it when you held onto him tighter, stealing kisses at red lights as silver rain painted the streets and your dewy leather jackets.

Illegal racer Jungwon who would park his motorbike under a tree, helping you take your helmet off with his protective hand at your hips, finger playfully linking in the hoops of your jeans as he buried his face in your neck, kissing you desperately in between whispering how badly he had missed you…

Illegal racer Jungwon who usually left the back door to your little secret place unlocked, mostly because it was reserved for one thing and one thing only.

Illegal racer Jungwon who always looked especially attractive in his damp biker suit, watching with lust-ridden eyes as you stripped him of his leather layers to grant you better access to his broad shoulders.

“Love it when I take you out just so I can fuck you, huh?,” he teased, almost cooing at the way you rushed to take off his belt.

Illegal racer Jungwon whose sultry voice tantalized your ears whenever he spoke dirty to you, taking your face in his free hand to force your glossy eyes back on him.

“That’s my good girl- shit… keep fucking yourself on my cock,” he’d grunt in between having you bounce in his lap, sounds of skin against skin filling the room, “does it feel good, baby?… hmm?”

“Feels s-so good, Wonie,” you hummed with a broken moan, throwing your head back as he continued guiding your hips, “gonna come… f-fuck- gonna come so hard for you, baby…”

Illegal racer Jungwon who let his eyes roll in the back of his head every time you clenched around him, his pouty mouth leaning forward to suck, bite, and lick on your skin anywhere he could.

Illegal racer Jungwon who would always finish on your stomach because he never remembered to bring a condom, once again, enjoying the subtle risk of potentially forgetting to pull out of you.

Illegal racer Jungwon whose soft “I love you’s” after a reckless night never failed to make your heart flutter, taking a short cut to bring you back home even if it was past two in the morning.

Illegal racer Jungwon who liked kissing you goodnight at your doorstep on nights like this, his hand playfully smacking your ass as he whispered in the cool air, “You better call me first thing in the morning, alright?”

Illegal racer Jungwon who chuckled to himself whenever you waved at him like he wasn’t the guy you fucked every night, driving off into the distance with his final thoughts being your pretty face, a flushed red hue from the love he made to you...

took me forever and a day to answer this ask (my sincerest apologies, anon), but hopefully you get to read it sometime soon !!

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 💌 ) @squoxle @wonbinisbabygurl @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @addictedtohobi @ot7sevenlvr + the link to my masterlist ~

[oatmilk-vampire]

Steve Harrington needed hearing aids.

He wasn't born needing them. In fact, he was just about as healthy as a young man in his social class could be. But numerous head injuries eventually led to gradually worsening hearing loss, leading him to needing mostly useless hearing aids.

His damage was so severe he actually needed cochlear implants but his parents kicked him out of their house and off of their insurance plan when he got caught kissing his teammate back in high school. With his minimum wage job and splitting rent with his roommate Robin, he currently did not make enough money for such a luxury.

So he did the next best thing: he learned ASL.

It was free, other than his time invested, and Robin was the one to suggest it. After all, she was already fluent in five languages and had been in band for twelve years. If anyone could teach herself and a hard of hearing person to sign, it was Robin Buckley.

The only bad part was, they were the only two who seemed to know the damn language, leaving Steve to strain to hear or read lips lest he get (mostly) silently yelled at by some deranged customer.

So when he spotted a guy around his age with long, dark curly hair and perfectly round black glasses with side shields, he knew he had to act.

He knew what it was like to have people gloss over the fact that you exist, or even berate you for it; so he took a page out of Robin's book.

He learned braille.

Sure, technically Steve could still speak to the boy, but wouldn't it be more special if he could read what Steve wanted to say?

So he practiced and practiced until he was happy, bringing the card to work where his crush appeared to be a regular.

As Steve sees him walk in, he knows today's the day.

⠓⠊ ⠊ ⠁⠍ ⠎⠞⠑⠧⠑ ⠎⠕⠗⠗⠽ ⠊⠋ ⠞⠓⠊⠎ ⠊⠎ ⠺⠑⠊⠗⠙ ⠃⠥⠞ ⠊ ⠚⠥⠎⠞ ⠺⠁⠝⠞⠑⠙ ⠞⠕ ⠎⠁⠽ ⠽⠕⠥ ⠁⠗⠑ ⠗⠑⠁⠇⠇⠽ ⠉⠥⠞⠑ ⠁⠝⠙ ⠊ ⠺⠕⠥⠇⠙ ⠇⠊⠅⠑ ⠞⠕ ⠁⠎⠅ ⠽⠕⠥ ⠕⠥⠞ ⠕⠝ ⠁ ⠙⠁⠞⠑

Hi I am Steve sorry if this is weird but I just wanted to say you are really cute and I would like to ask you out on a date

Steve is giddy when he wanders over to the boy in dark clothes. He had on black jeans that are ripped at the knees, a Metallica band tee, a leather jacket, and a denim battle vest. He's perfect. He's hot.

Steve's footsteps must be louder than he expects because the object of his affection immediately turns in his direction.

"Hi," Steve greets as he presses the thick stock paper into his hands.

The boy angles his head down with a frown as he traces an index finger over the raised dots, before looking right at Steve behind those dark frames.

He takes them off, and Steve learns after so long that his eyes are brown.

"I'm sorry," his crush says, Steve recognizing those syllables easy enough, "But I can't read this. What is it you're trying to say?"

But now that response is too much, Steve can't keep up. All he knows is the card he worked so carefully punching little holes in with a special tool he had to buy was now being pushed back into his hands.

Steve doesn't try to answer, he just wants to get the hell away before his tears spill over, but a hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks.

He tenses, squeezes his eyes shut and braces for impact, but when a familiar hit doesn't land on his face, he cautiously opens his teary eyes to find him staring right at Steve.

"Are you okay?" He asks, but Steve can't be quite sure if he's checking on him or asking if he's gay.

Steve's own frown appears on his face as he points to his ears.

"Can't hear too good."

His mouth drops open, rushing to spiel something Steve doesn't catch. He must realize this because he's taking Steve's card back from him now as he mimics writing something with raised eyebrows.

Steve nods his head, more confused that the guy he thought was blind seemed to be understanding him perfectly.

He fishes out the little pad of paper and pen he keeps with him for moments not quite like this, passing the two items over.

He scribbles for a moment before letting Steve read what he's written in big loopy letters.

Hi, I'm Eddie. Sorry, I can't read braille. What did you say?

Steve furrows his brows.

I thought you might know it. Aren't you blind?

Eddie shakes his head with a little smile.

The glasses? I have killer migraines. Never go anywhere without them.

Steve smacks himself in the face. He's been such a fool!

Eddie taps him to gain his attention once more before handing him the notepad and pen.

What did you say? I'd like to know :)

Steve worries his bottom lip.

Hi I'm Steve. Sorry if this is weird but I just wanted to say you're really cute and I would like to ask you out on a date

He's nervous as he hands it back, but Eddie's wide grin and eager nod does wonders to knock back those worries.

I thought you'd never ask, Steve.

[lovifie]

141 Task Force Men and what piece of clothing they would steal.

(No smutty, just these fine gentlemen being little rats that steal your clothes)

Price💸

First of all, he would steal everything.

Especially if you lived together.

"What do you mean I can't grab your jacket to go buy some bread? Bla, bla, bla. I'll be back before you miss it."

"Oh, these are your socks? I was wondering when I had bought such bright colour ones."

"Why are you wearing my raincoat, John?" "Excuse me? Is mine!" "No, it's not!!"

In his mind, if he is planning to share his life with you, it simply makes sense for him to share everything else.

But there is something he is stealing over everything else, and those are booty shorts.

My man is overheating in this global warmed world, and he is looking on his closest for some shorts when he stumbles upon your booty shorts.

They are ridiculously short, basically legalized underwear he can wear outside; but this is the coolest he has felt since summer started, so he isn't stopping.

After all, who is going to tell the military captain what to wear?

Plus, when you wake up in the morning you are greeted by him in the kitchen making coffee and booty shorts with "juicy" written on them.

Extra: The two of you have an extensive collection of hats, that he technically doesn't steal from because it's shared.

Extra x2: He owns the "Woman want me, Fish fear me."

Ghost 💀

Your sweaters

It all started the first night he went to your house.

He was wearing a leather jacket, and although he looked illegally hot; it was obvious it was not the comfiest jacket to be chilling ii.

So you offered him your fave sweater, a massive one that could almost work as a blanket.

At first, he rejects your offer, afraid that it will be itchy and he will offend you; but his complaints get shut when you ask him to please feel it.

Instantly tries it own, the massive sweater looking loose on his as well. The image of the behemoth of a man, all black, balaclava (no mask) still on... And the fluffiest sweater on melting your heart.

The next time he visited your house he didn't even wait for you to open the door before taking his jacket off: "....can I put on your sweater?"

They are kind of his guilty pleasure, he would never admit how much he likes them and even less to other person but you.

But you only need to see how he buries himself on the sweater when he sits down on the sofa.

If he was amazing to cuddle with before, now it's even better.

Extra: I also like to think of him having a random ear piercing, and whenever he wears just the surgical mask or no mask in general; he would steal one of your dangling earrings to wear. Playing with it throughout the whole night out.

Soap 🧼

Baby tees

Every single one of them.

He keeps saying they make their muscles look amazing (they do)

He likes the ones with drawings or photos, but his favourites are the ones with texts.

Cue to him wearing tight ass shirts saying such as: "Small tits, big heart", "I got my clit pierced at Claire's" or "Don't bully me, I'll cum :("

You don't even remember why you bought them, mostly they are gifts from Secret Santa but you are so, so glad they found their way to your closet.

He wears them proudly, not even realising the stares.

When you go online shopping he's always cuddling on your side, leaving one of your arms useless with the way he cuddles it.

If he sees a tee he likes he just makes you stop scrolling and add it to the basket like: "It'll look good in you too."

There is also a small collection of them, the ones you genuinely like that don't let him wear. Not after he put one on, started flexing his arms and back and ripped it.

Just staring at you with guilt on his eyes and his tits out.

Gaz ⛽

Your shirts.

The ugliest, most colourful, eye-sore, extravagant shirt that you might own? He's taking them.

You are cleaning your closet one day and you pull out an offense to your eyes, mumbling about what where you thinking when you bought it and Gaz sees it and is like: °o°

He's taking it.

Getting ready for a costume party, you decide to dress up as Master Roshi from Dragon Ball (fake beard and everything) but you are missing the ugly shirt.

You remember seeing it not too long ago in your closet but you can't find it. So you ask your boyfriend.

And you find him wearing it, spraying cologne on telling you that he is also going out with his mates and asking how do you look.

Little shit does pull it off, so you don't lie when you tell him he looks fantastic.

You still have plenty of ugly shirts for your costume.

Extra: He would steal all your jewerly, rings, bracelets, necklaces, you name it. Just little bits all over his outfit; "It signs the deal, babe." They do.

Extra x2: He is always waiting for somebody to compliment any of your things he is wearing to have an excuse to talk about you, Soap is tired of hearing him mumble about you whenever he drinks.

[shotmrmiller]

Needs Must III

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

WC: 2.2k

TW: frottage into outercourse, unprotected p in v, squirting, creampie. explicit smut.

18+ MDNI

“Hey, John—” and choke back a yelp when you realize that the person standing in front of you isn’t Johnny, but the one man you haven’t seen in months.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Despite your shock, a sound of disgust escapes your lips involuntarily, causing him to chuckle. Ghost walks past you, brushing his bicep with your shoulder, and heads to the living room to take off his leather jacket, placing it on the backrest of your couch— and the gloves follow. You stood behind him, arms crossed, curling your socked toes nervously into the soft fibers of your carpet. 

He leisurely rolls up the silky satin dress shirt sleeves, exposing the intricate tattoos adorning his forearms. Without turning around, he softly says, “C’mere, pet.” His deep baritone voice pulls at your heartstrings because it’s been so long, you missed him more than you’d like to admit. With a deep breath, you attempt to steady your racing heart, your gaze fixed on the ground, and slowly approach him.

“Oh?” and he tips your chin up with his finger, demanding your attention, noticing his amused smile. “Johnny fuck you into submission, er somethin’?” Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you’re unsure if it’s out of embarrassment or anger.

“Don’t look surprised. He’s my best friend.” Spluttering, you heatedly ask, “And what? Y’all just gossip like old hens over ‘work’?” finger quoting the last word. With a cheeky grin, he casually shrugs his shoulders. “Somethin’ like tha’. If you worried, he gave you a glowin’ review,” the grin turns into a slight sneer, “bastard.” 

Ghost gives you a once-over, sweeping his eyes from your feet to your head, and holds your gaze for a second, then murmurs, “Come.” With a gentle yet commanding hold on your wrist, he pulls you towards the bedroom, and you’re reminded of the times he pinned both of your hands onto the bed with his large one— sending a very familiar ache between your legs. He sits you on the edge of the bed, toes his shoes off, and starts to undo the buttons on his shirt, exposing the strong muscles of his chest and his soft, slightly round stomach. He doesn’t even bother removing it fully, instead, he reaches for the waistband of your shorts. You extend your leg out, firmly pressing your dainty foot on his sternum, keeping him in place.

He stills, and you speak before he gets a chance to. “What’re you doing here, Ghost?” His heavy, dark gaze is unwavering, entrancing. “‘M here f’you. You didn’t honestly think tha’ I’d let you keep callin’ Johnny instead o’me?” He encircles your delicate ankle with his long fingers and pushes your leg to the side— the other hand taking the hem of your skirt, dragging it up until it bunches around your waist, and slots himself between your spread thighs. Lips brush against your cheek before moving up to your ear. “What is it? He treat you better than me?” His warm breath sends a shiver down your spine. Instead of waiting for a reply, he catches your earlobe with his teeth, nibbling on it. Your hands promptly fist the sides of his open shirt, mewling at the pinch of his bite. “Hm?” he questions as he grinds his clothed erection against your center. 

You’re lightheaded from the sound of his voice, the heat of his body seeping into your skin, the smell of his cologne— a woody aromatic fragrance, all of it so fucking intoxicating. He delivers a sharp, stinging slap to the side of your thigh, demanding your attention, and it sends a jolt straight to your dripping cunt— making it contract around nothing. “He fuck you better than I have?” You give him a vigorous shake of your head, and a needy moan spills from your mouth as he gives your core a particularly hard thrust, the hard metal of the zipper rubbing against your clit. You begin to grind your hips down onto him and move one hand from his now very crinkled shirt, to hold on to the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“You boutta come all over my trousers, baby?” 

And then his hands are on your waist, firmly keeping you in place. You whine loudly, you were so close— 

“Then why did you stop seeing me?” Your head is so heavily clouded with arousal, drunk off of him that the answers tumble out unwittingly— mind solely focused on getting the friction back where you need it most.

“I wanted you all f’me,” slurring your words, “Guess the hand y’always used to choke me with kept the blood from flowing t’my head—” your rambling is cut off by his mouth slanting over yours, tongues entangling. He swallows all of the salacious noises you let slip, drinks them in, makes them his— makes you his. When he pulls away, you find yourself gasping for air. With a raspy voice, you mumble, “I thought you—” and he silences you with another hungry kiss.

“I only kiss what’s mine.” He hooks his thumbs into the band of your knickers and pulls them off, throwing them somewhere behind his shoulder. He swiftly undoes his trousers and steps out of them along with his boxer shorts. “Let’s play a game of Simon says, pet.” He maneuvered your hands to grab under your thighs, keeping them spread for him. Leaning forward, he leans on one arm, using the other to press the head of his cock on your puffy lips, holding it in place with his thumb. He slowly thrusts up, making sure you feel every ridge and vein against your swollen clit, “And I say, you come f’me, just” thrust “like” thrust “this.” 

You push your hips down when he pulls back, up when he drags his thick cock up, delicious friction on your bundle of nerves. Every roll of his hips gets you closer to your climax, your pussy dripping slick down to your perineum. Your thighs start to tremble in your sweaty hands, body tense. “Oh my god. Ohmy—”  

He shifts his weight from his arm to lean on his elbow, heavy body flush against yours, pressing you into the bed—  fisting your hair and pulling it taut, tilting your face up to his. 

“It’s either my name or none at all.” He punctuates the syllables with his thrusts. “Si - mon.” 

Releasing your thighs, you dig your nails into the sides of his waist, grip tightening at your impending orgasm. Simon grunts a low, gravelly sound. “There they are. My kitten’s sharp claws,” one more thrust, then again, he moans, “Come f’me, baby.” And you tip over the edge. Anything he might’ve said after is completely muted either by the ringing in your ears or the wail that clawed out of your throat. Collapsing, you twitch and shake in Simon’s arms, taking in ragged breaths. 

“You with me?” giving him a weak nod. Slowly, he pulls away, and there’s clear, stringy liquid dripping from his tip connecting to the hood of your pussy. He moves you to lie in the middle of the bed gently, body completely limp, plain dead weight, then walks to your nightstand. “What’s with all the lambskin condoms?” 

A soft, relaxed sigh slips out of you. “Johnny’s allergic to latex, I had no idea. Had to go without one the first time.” Simon lets out a drawn-out hum, then drops the protection back into the drawer. He shrugs off his damp satin shirt, then gets on the bed, crawling over you— covering your body easily with his, and prods his bare cock at your entrance.

“But you’re mine now, aren’t you? Gonna let me take what’s mine?” Swallowing thickly, you look at him, and his eyes are dark, glittering— gaze intense. Maybe you took too long to answer because he starts to slowly push the tip in, and hisses, “You’re mine, only mine. Got it?” and your tight, rippling walls stretch around his invasion. Your breathy moan is cut off when he bottoms out, flared head firmly pressing into your cervix. He’s at a dead end, and he grinds down, almost like he’s trying to push it past that, feeling a deep pinch at the entrance of your womb. The pressure is punishing, incessant, you swear you can feel him in your throat. “Nod if you understand,” he snarls.

You do as he says, no commands, nodding with messy, jerky movements. “Good girl.” He relents, pulling back to sit on his haunches to press one leg into your bed and hook the other over his shoulder. Wordlessly, he sets a fast pace, but his thrusts are shallow, in a staccato rhythm—  and fuck him, because he knows precisely where to hit. Ruthless prodding against your sweet spot, over and over again. It feels like jabs to the underside of your bladder, and every tap makes that feeling sharper, acute. Oh no. Nono— 

You know exactly what’s going to happen. Your eyes glisten with tears, cascading down your cheeks, as the overwhelming sensation takes hold, and with every thrust, it only becomes more concentrated.

“Awh, my poor pet. Feels tha’ good, does it? Look at you, cryin’.” You can't find it in you to be even the slightest bit humiliated because you’re about to lose the last of your sanity, he’s about to break you. You can’t even control the shrill moans Simon all but punches out of you. 

“Oh, I’d recognize tha’ cross-eyed look anywhere.” He chuckles, “C’mon then. Make a mess f’me.” His thrusts are unyielding in his pursuit of what he’s about to make you do.  “Squirt f’me, pretty.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your body locks tight, and this time you scream. Liquid warmth floods in between your legs, drenching yourself, your bed, Simon— but you don’t care. There isn’t a single thought in that empty head of yours. 

Simon was languidly thrusting, fucking you through the aftershocks until a wavering breath escapes your lips, mirroring the shaky tremors that are currently rippling through your body. As he leans in, his lips softly caress your face, wiping away any stray tears that remain, and the spit that drooled out of your mouth. “You did so well f’me.” Your eyes widen at the feel of his solid, heavy cock still at full mast inside of you. 

He changes position, this time hooking the other leg over his shoulder, then gives you one soft thrust and you distinctly hiss, oversensitized. Simon presses your knees into you with his body weight, pinning you down fully, with no escape, and loops his arms underneath your torso to grab onto your shoulders— and starts snapping his hips viciously. A merciless pace, each slap of his hips against your ass making your pussy squelch obscenely, and there’s nothing you can do other than take his assault. It is unbelievable, how just seconds before were squirming away from him because of how tender you were, and here you are, about to fall over another mind-numbing edge.

“If you want me to come, then squeeze that tight cunt and wrench it out of me.” He pounded into you harder, the headboard of your bed furiously smacking against the wall that you know there’ll be cracks on it. Crying out, he continuously hits the deepest part of your pussy, and you come undone. Vision darkening, you’re slammed with wave after wave of pleasure, your walls squeezing him so tight, you’re strangling his cock and he makes a choked sound. 

“Oh-of, f-fu-” he lets out a low, drawn-out moan that lasts all four last thrusts— before his hips stutter, and finally still, spurting thick, sticky white ropes of cum into you.

—

The room was echoing with both of your heavy inhales, desperate to fill your lungs with air. It was humid, smelt of sex and body sweat. Simon grunts as he turns to his side, getting off of you, and the sharp gasp of air you intake is comical.

“Am I tha’ heavy, love?” 

You look like you’re tittering on the edge of consciousness, but snort and answer him. “Yes. Obviously. The only thing small about you is your humility.” He gives a belly laugh and leans in to give you one last sweet, tender kiss. 

“Go to sleep, love. I’ll take you out for breakfast tomorrow, maybe meet some of my friends.” 

“You mean Kyle and John? They’re very nice.” He falters because what? But you were already softly snoring. 

Stretching his arm across the nightstand, he swiftly retrieves his phone and a mischievous grin spreads across his face upon seeing a text from Johnny from hours ago.

Ya really answered her text on my phone pretending to be me. Pussywhipped.

You really told her you’re allergic to latex, when you use latex gloves to cook. 

Oof. Fair. 

And you’re gonna explain to me why she knows Gaz n Price.

Jus’ sharin the love, Simon. 

Sucking his teeth, he puts his phone underneath the pillow, and loops an arm around your waist, pulling you to him. With a tender kiss on your sweaty forehead, he drifts off into a peaceful sleep.

A/N: ngl i was fighting for my life? shit had me aroused. oof. im def writing price and kyle into this because 141 til i die. maybe a könig? unsure.

@rookiesbookies KYLE COMIN NEXT

[pretzel-box]

if you are still taking requests could you do the opposite spin off where we the experiment like Sebastian of having a shop as for Sebastian being a prisoner who enters the reader shop?

Payment recieved

Words: 1k

Tags: Reversed roles, inhuman reader, human!sebastian, slight fluff, sebastian is still grumpy

authors note: Wrote it on my phone! This was actually requested by two people so I finished it now.

"How much?" Sebastian glanced up at you, his face a mix of exhaustion and relief. Your eyes followed his gaze, realizing he was referring to the jacket you were wearing. It was a brown leather jacket lined with cozy alpaca fur, keeping you warm ever since your body had stopped producing its own heat. The jacket wasn’t particularly important, but you enjoyed the comfort it provided.

You had known Sebastian for a while; he always wore a grumpy expression and often greeted you with sarcasm when he entered your shop. "How much?" he repeated, this time with a hint of impatience.

You blinked, scratching behind your ear fins with a free hand, and smirked. "600 and a smile."

Sebastian hesitated, his brows furrowing as he processed your words. He was used to bartering, haggling, and the occasional hostile negotiation with you, but this was different. A smile? That was new.

“600 and a smile?” he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. His usual grumpy demeanor was momentarily replaced by confusion, as if trying to gauge whether you were joking or just odd. He looked at you closely, taking in your strange, inhuman features—the ear fins, the scaled texture of your skin, and the way your eyes seemed to shimmer in the dim light of the shop. Despite your otherworldly appearance, there was something oddly comforting about you, something that made him relax just a little in your presence.

You nodded, your smile widening just a bit. “That’s right. A fair trade, don’t you think?” Your voice was light, almost playful, as if challenging him to go along with your terms. You tilted your head, the movement causing the fins on the sides of your head to twitch slightly.

Sebastian frowned, glancing down at the jacket again. It wasn’t just that he needed it—the halls of this facility were unforgiving, and his own clothes were worn thin from constant wear. It was more than that, though. This jacket seemed different, not just because of its quality, but because it was yours. He knew you valued it, even if you pretended otherwise.

But a smile? It was a strange request, one that felt more personal than the usual business interactions he was accustomed to. Sebastian wasn’t exactly known for his cheerful disposition, and smiling wasn’t something that came naturally to him. He was a man of few words and fewer expressions, and the idea of smiling just to get a jacket felt… uncomfortable.

He sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” His tone was less accusatory and more resigned, as if he knew he was about to lose a game he never intended to play.

You simply shrugged, leaning casually against the counter, your eyes never leaving his. “Completely serious. You want the jacket, right? Well, I want to see that grumpy face of yours break into a smile. It’s not every day I get to see something so rare.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at you, but there was no real malice in his gaze. It was a challenge, one that poked at the walls he’d built around himself. He could just walk away, keep his pride intact, and find another way to stay warm. But something in your relaxed, confident demeanor made him hesitate.

Finally, he let out a low grunt, something halfway between annoyance and reluctant acceptance. “Fine. If it means getting this jacket, then fine.” He looked down, taking a deep breath as if preparing himself for an ordeal.

Then,slowly and awkwardly, he tried to smile, hoping it was enough.

It wasn’t much—more of a twitch at the corners of his mouth than an actual smile, and his eyes remained as stoic as ever. But there was an effort, a hint of something softer beneath the layers of his usual gruffness. It was brief, almost too brief to notice, but it was there.

You watched him with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, your own smile widening in response. You would never say it but his smile made your heart skip a beat. “Not bad, Sebastian. Not bad at all.”

Sebastian’s face quickly returned to its usual neutral expression, though a faint flush colored his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me the jacket.” He stretched out his hand, wanting you to hurry up already.

You chuckled softly, unzipping the jacket and sliding it off your shoulders. The cold immediately hit your skin, but you barely noticed, more focused on the small victory you’d just won. You handed the jacket to him, your hand brushing against his as he took it.

“Take care of it,” you said lightly, but there was a sincerity in your tone that made Sebastian pause. “It’s seen a lot, that jacket. It deserves someone who’ll appreciate it.” It was one of your last personal items you owned.

Sebastian nodded, slipping the jacket on. It fit him well, and the warmth was immediate, enveloping him in a sense of comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time. He looked at you, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t used to kindness, especially not in a place like this, and the way you treated him—like an old friend rather than just another customer—left him feeling off balance.

“Thanks,” he muttered, pulling the collar up to shield his neck from the chill.

“Anytime,” you replied, your smile still lingering as you watched him turn to leave. “And don’t be a stranger, Sebastian. My shop’s always open.”

As he walked out into the dimly lit corridor, the warmth of the jacket spreading through his body, Sebastian found himself thinking about that brief, awkward smile. In the end it was more than worth it because he was warm and he knew basked in the slight confort that it gave him. The smell of your scent going up his nose, making him feel grateful for your presence. With that, he crawled through the vent with your image in his mind.

“YOU FORGOT THE KEYCARD, SUNSHINE!”

[frudoo]

Slasher 141 again, how would they meet their wife? Victim turned pet? Or did she meet them 'normally', or heat me out! An online forum about killers, turned meeting to 'discuss favorites', turned demonstration? Of course, either way, she's theirs now.

I enjoy this au very much sorry 😅

A trivia date night with Johnny turns into something more ;)

Warnings: Dark stuff, obviously (murder, cold cases, etc). Food + alcohol consumption. Fem!Reader.

Sudsnblood: Here. WBU?

     You: I see a mohawk, that you?

     Sudsnblood: Aye.

     Excitedly, you smooth out your dress and make your way over to the man in the corner who’s giving you a little wave. Is it stupid, agreeing to meet with an odd stranger you’ve been bonding with on the internet over fictional killers and real, gruesome murders? Absolutely. Do you care? Absolutely not. After all, he is local, and the pub is having a trivia night with a category both of you are experts in: cold cases. Not to mention how much more handsome he is in person.

     “Hey,” you grin, reaching over the table to place your hand in his and shake it politely.

     Johnny returns your greeting with a charming smile and a confirmation of your name. He only lets go once you’ve nodded, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. 

     “Ah havenae ordered anythin’ yet,” he informs you, pushing a menu your way. “Figured ah’ll get wha’ ye do.” 

     “Mm, got a copycat on my hands, huh?” You tease, catching his eye contact momentarily before moving your gaze back to the list of appetizers. 

     “Ah’m no’ a copycat, ah assure ye,” he grabs the top of your menu and pushes it down to the table so you’ll look at him again. 

     His expression is so serious, leaving no room for confusion or doubt in your mind. You raise an eyebrow and nod slowly. 

     “Got it. What do you think about potato skins for an app?” 

     Trivia takes about two hours, and of course, the two of you won against six other tables who did not have quite the extensive knowledge you and Johnny share. You’re two beers deep and he’s got one more on you, tipsy and flirty.

     “Ah’m gonna call one o’me partners tae come get us,” Johnny explains, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you outside the front of the building to wait with him.

     You nod and he pulls a cigarette out of the carton in his pocket, lighting it up and handing it to you. You take a drag while he talks on the phone—to a Simon, you observe—exhaling slowly and watching as the smoke crystallizes in the cold winter air. He’s only on the phone for a few moments before he’s asking for his cig back, blowing the smoke away from you.

     “D’ye trust me?” He asks after a while of silence.

     You nod once again, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Johnny drops the butt of the cigarette on the ground and snuffs it out with the toe of his boot, leaning in until the warmth of his breath ghosts the shell of your ear. It sends goosebumps rising up all over your body, and you shiver, grabbing a hold of his firm biceps through his leather jacket.

     “Wha’ if ah told ye ah’m one o’the killers they were askin ‘bout?” He murmurs into your ear.

     You pull back with an amused grin, expecting him to have a matching expression, laugh and tell you he’s joking. But when you meet his eyes, he’s deadly serious. There’s no hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, just a deadpan gaze that scans along your face, watching for a reaction. Your smile drops and you swallow hard, your breathing rapidly speeding up.

     “I’d say that I believe you, and it doesn’t change my feelings towards you.”

     “Ye’re gonna get along jus’ fine,” Johnny finally smiles, wide enough for an average person to feel a sense of unease, but to you, it just adds to his charm. 

     By the time Simon arrives, Johnny’s got you pinned against the wall with his hands full of your soft tits and his tongue down your throat. Simon chuckles and honks the horn of his truck to alert you both of his presence, giving you a nod of acknowledgement as Johnny hustles you into the backseat with him. 

     “She know?”

     “Aye, she does.”

     Simon nods, adjusting the rear-view mirror so that he can see the two of you better.

     “Good.”

[hoshigray]

Having thoughts about Toji crushing on a cutie little cinnamon roll. Maybe they go on a few dates before he finally gets her home with him, and just as things are heating up he realizes oh, she’s a virgin. That doesn’t mean he’s not interested, but it changes how he wants to go about it.

Noonie, yeeeeeeeeessss!!! I had the dumbest grin while reading this in my inbox teheheee~ Longer than I intended but what the hell lol hope you like it!!

Cw: dom! Toji x fem!reader - age gap (the reader is at least in their 20s and in college; Toji is around mid-30s) -missionary position - unprotected sex (PSA: wrap it up, or get the fuck up) - ass grabbing - pussy eating - biting (Toji bites your ears) - edging (fem! receiving) - pet names (angel, baby, cutie, sweetheart, mama, princess) - clitoral play - light comedy bc I do[n't] think I'm funny. Wc: 2k

"Ready, baby?"

Your body goes rigid, fingers playing with the hem of your shirred frilled cami romper. A shaky sigh seethes from a wary smile. "Yes." The man in front of you grins before opening the door to his place, and you enter to your doom.

Toji has been courting you for quite some time. It started with small greetings when he visited the café where you work for his usual order of black coffee. Then those greetings slowly evolved into casual chit-chat, prompting Toji to ask you out because he couldn't resist your kindhearted aura.

How could he when his day instantly brightens when you flash your gorgeous smile every time you see him? Or when you always give him a call or text anytime you return to your dorm after hanging outside campus grounds. And when you're done with work, you let him drive and drop you off at your dorm. But that's because he always stays at the café until you get off: watching you welcome customers who enter the space, offering free treats to kids, or giving him a tiny smile from the other side of the shop whenever you catch him staring. Makes him snicker like an idiot.

But his favorite moment with you was the first time you two kissed on your third date. Oh, Toji could replay the scene all fucking day. With your eyes lidded, lips quivering and gripping onto his leather jacket as the man peppered you in kisses, he adored your display of pleasure. And it was even more adorable when you nervously bid him goodnight before entering your dorm room.

It was entertaining how he was the only one that made you — his cute little darling — so shy whenever he came too close. So much so that it turned him on, his desire to have you under him waxing inside him day by day. Except he doesn't, choosing to wait for the perfect time.

And now, when he finally has you where he's been dying to have you, Toji's allowed to indulge in your charm personally. There are shudders of anticipation around him as he kisses you on the couch, his big hands roaming over your form. A deep chortle vibrates his throat when he bites your bottom lip, resulting in a shivering whimper from your swollen lips. Oh, he's going to enjoy every second of this.

But as someone on the other side of the makeout session, you found yourself in an unpleasant position. Not because you didn't want to be here smacking lips with Toji, oh no. He was a great kisser, taking your breath away simply by his lips. No, the real problem was more personal.

Something so personal that it has your brows trench as Toji's hands snake down to your butt, kneading it like putty. Wait a minute...

"Mmmm, Toji, please wa—"

"Shhhh," he hushes you with kisses down your neck. "Taste so good, angel."

Something very personal that your eyes are towed shut when he creeps a hand inside through the bottom of your romper, a warm palm groping the soft flesh of your ass. Wait, wait, wait!

Something extremely personal that you gasp sharply when you feel two fingers sneak past your panties. WAIT!!!

You push Toji off you in haste, and the older man stops with his hands up defensively. He looks at you with confusion, tilting his head to examine what's wrong. You squeak and throw apologies his way. "I'm so so sorry! I'm-I'm just...umm...."

It takes a few seconds for Toji to piece everything together, with the way you're talking in quiet mumbles, your hands fidgeting with your romper again, and your eyes downward to avoid his gaze. His head straightens with eyes slightly wide. Is...Is she a—

"Are you a virgin, sweetheart?" Another muffled squeak confirms his suspicions, and you nod with hesitance.

What were you thinking pushing him off!? If you're gonna have your first time with anyone, why not be the man you're attracted to? But then again, it is YOUR first time!! In humiliation, you cover your face with your hands, the phone call you had with your best friend earlier replaying in your head ("Get it, girl! You either die a virgin or live long enough to get some good dick in your life." "That's the worst way to reference that movie!" "What-the-fuck-ever, go get that dick!!")

You can hear a chuckle from the man, and your eyes shut as you descend further into embarrassment. Oh God, I should've taken my dumbass home so I didn't have to deal with this later and cry myself to—

Your train of thought grinds to a halt when Toji pulls you into his chest. "Oh c'mere, ya cutie." He rubs circles on your back. "Did my lil' angel save herself up fr' me to deflower?"

"No, you perv!" He barks out a laugh above you, not helping this situation. "I just...I-" You try to retort, but the way he looks at you with a sly look and playful grin has your stomach flip. Why's he so goddamn handsome!? "I was just....never ready."

He hums pensively, still rubbing your back. He stays quiet for a while, and you don't bother fixing that while resting on his chest. He doesn't say anything until a minute later. "Think yr' ready now?"

"I don't know? Kinda scared..." You're honest. "But I...I really wanna do it with you, Toji."

"Then, do ya trust me?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Well, in that case," Toji carefully pushes you off him before he hoists you up bridal style. The swift motion catching by surprise as you hurriedly wrap your arms around his neck before he starts walking. Amused, he kisses your cheek. "Don't worry a thing, princess. Gonna take care of ya real good."

You gulp as your face goes hot. Oh, I definitely should've stayed my ass home...

Yeah, you definitely should've.

Fifteen minutes in, your senses are already clouded by the lapping motions of Toji's tongue on your vulva. You're lying on his bed, your figure writhing and back arching from the commotion between your legs. You tried to contain yourself by concealing your moans, yet your lips let the pornographic noises fly.

The last fifteen minutes have been spent preparing you for the big event. Toji started by fingering your hole, making you adjust to having a foreign limb within you. When you were wet enough, one digit became two, and you grabbed ahold of his shirt as he did his expert work on your soaking chasm.

Now in your nude, you let the man continue to prep you, his hands holding onto your legs with your pussy out for him to see, for him to toy with his wet muscle between your folds and drinking your essence.

"Ahhhh-Haaaah! T-Tojiii," you look so out of it, your head squirming around the pillow beneath you and your words slurred. You've already come two times; what more does this man need for you to be ready? "Oh God, it's too much fer mee, 's too muuch!"

A sharp cry exits your mouth when the man licks your clitoris, his deep forest green eyes peer up to look at you. He snickers, "C'mon, mama, you know I gotta have my girl ready to take in all of me." He flicks his tongue on your bud, and another yelp escapes your lips. "Lemme finish up here, 'kay?"

And he goes back to finishing you up, his hands grabbing you by the hips to bring you closer to his ravenous mouth. You clutch tufts of his raven hair, and his name comes out in incoherent babbles.

Your eyes start to water as your head gets dizzy with the raunchy noises from down south. Your cold sweat contrasts with your hot bare form, and the throbbing sensation between your legs festers under your skin.

Beads of sweat scroll down your forehead. You're close to release. "Hngg! Toji, I'm gonna cu-cummm!"

Suddenly, Toji removes from your legs, leaving you and your pulsing slits to the substituted cold air. You whine for your neglected orgasm that withers away, propping yourself up to beg him to give you what you want. But your breath hitches before you can make a complaint.

Toji is off his bed, withdrawing his shirt and jeans, freeing his cock from his boxer briefs. You can't help but stare at the member before you. Following the trail of hair from his lower abdomen, his erection sprung up with precum oozing out. Compared to your fingers or toys, his dick is way beyond your comprehension in length and girth.

Oh, to die from the first dick you've ever taken. How poetic.

Toji notices you ogle at his shaft, sneering as he returns to the bed. "Like what ya see, cutie?" You chew on your lip when Toji props your legs around his waist, a hand used to position his shaft to your leaky entrance. "Gonna start real slow, so take some deep breaths fr' me, 'kay baby?" You nod, internally bracing yourself for what's about happen.

The head of his cock touches your slit, and you jolt. "Relax, baby. It's gonna hurt if you're tense like that." He coaxes, your breathing securing you from the intrusion. He watches you; with each exhale, he pushes himself. The unfamiliar limb prying in your vagina and the pain you're experiencing is like no other. But you bite down on your lip to push through.

When the tip makes it in, you gasp. Gradually, Toji pushes his member further into you, stretching your tight hole to accommodate his girth. You try to compose yourself with even breaths, but you shriek when you feel his length brush against your G-spot. When the base kisses your cunt, Toji gives you a few minutes to adapt to him. "How ya feelin'?"

"So full..." You look at him with brows scrunched, eyes hooded, and tears streaming down your pretty face.

"Hmm, I bet." He wipes your tears with the rough pads of his fingers before slowly thrusting into you. You grip his shoulders for support, your pussy tightening around his length while your legs cage him. "Oooooh, Christ, you're so tight, mama. Drivin' me fuckin' crazy."

And you're about to be driven crazier when his hips pick up the pace, his dick hitting your sweet spots with precision. It's so surreal finally experiencing your first time, especially with Toji. Maybe it's because he's older and more experienced, but whatever expectations you had up until this point have been blown out of the water. The slap of his pelvis on your slick-coated folds fills his room, his throaty groans sound way too good to the ears, and his hot kisses on your lips make you melt. It all feels so electrifying.

Just when you thought you were undergoing it all, Toji slithers a hand down to your clitoris and swipes up and down on the pearl with his thumb. A choked sob leaves puffy lips, "T-Toji, I'm so close. Please, please, please, let me—Oh God."

"Hnnmph, oh shit—" He's close, too. He bends down to nibble on your ear yet licks the pain away. "I know, sweetheart. Come on me." His thrusts then go faster, a merciless tempo you were unprepared for. Shrieks go higher as your orgasm climbs up, and it hits you hard when Toji's fingers play with your clit again. Your climax sends shivers up your spine, your tender walls pulsating on Toji's cock.

And the older man pulls his dick out of your sensitive cunt, letting his come spill onto your stomach. It looked so lewd yet deliciously attractive, especially with him heaving on top of you with his black bangs sticking to his forehead.

When you two calm down, Toji scans your disheveled appearance and chuckles. "Damn, yr' gonna have me addicted to ya, princess." Your stomach was wiped off with a towel that Toji had on hand as you giggled aimlessly.

"Wanna go again?"

"......yes?" You avoid eye contact and turn away bashfully. He chortles and kisses your cheek once more.

"So fuckin' cute."

[kurokawaia]

RIGHT HERE 彡 Izana Kurokawa

WC; 1.3k+ | !MDNI! 18+ | TW/CW :: tenjiku! izana, x fem! reader, afab, reader is wearing a skirt, club setting, alcohol, suggestive, izana is quite handsy, pet names 'mahal' 'princess' 'baby', voyeurism?? hickies, readers first time in receiving a hickey, reader is timid and shy, possessiveness mention + more

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 :: it's your first time relationship with Izana, you know that he's relatively experienced, and he knows that you are not. Despite Izana being quite the dominant person, he's taking it slow with you. However, you should've kept your mouth shut and waited until the two of you were home.

m.list | tokyo revengers m.list

You've been here for a couple hours and Izana hasn't pressured you to do a single thing in the club. He knows that it's a dangerous place to be in when you're a woman, and being as sweet and pretty as you, he is not going to leave your side.

Izana doesn't mind staying seated with you on the red velvet longue because your all tucked up against him, his arm over your shoulder while he holds a glass of whiskey on the other. It's not hot or stuffy in here, in fact, it's quite chilly due to the air-con blasting on full, so Izana as donned his leather jacket around your shoulders.

The other members of Tenjiku where everywhere, on the dance floor, directly at the bar or flirting with the waitresses. The only people who weren't, were you and Izana who were watching from the VIP floor upstairs, along with Kakucho who was sitting on the couch horizontal from us to the side.

Kakucho wasn't really paying attention, he was quite engrossed on his phone. You wondered how he even got into the club, due to how he was fourteen going on fifteen, but Izana is quite influential and he follows Izana around everywhere.

However, you weren't paying attention to anything apart from Izana and the sensual music being blasted through the speakers. Your right leg was placed over Izana's left while his arm tightens around your shoulder and you sigh in contentment.

You know that Izana is possessive of you and his actions show that, he makes sure everybody knows who you belong to, so you'll always be safe. Although, there's been a thought running through your head the entire night, you'll nibble on your glosses bottom lip while fiddling with the hem of your short skirt.

Of course, Izana noticed the moment you started doing it, but he didn't want to pry you too much, simply just engaging in normal conversation with you. But, now? he really wants to know, you've been like this for hours and it's really riling him up.

He's motived how your cheeks flushed whenever you looked up directly up at him while speaking and he knows you have something you want to say, something dirty.

"What's with you, mahal? You've been acting strange all night," Izana hums after drinking the last of the whiskey in the crystal glass before he places it down on the table, his head moving to face yours.

You shake your head quickly, placing a hand on his exposed chest as your curl over into him and you instantly regret doing that because his toned upper body looks really good. Especially in a button down black shirt which was buttoned down quite a bit.

"It’s nothing! I’m fine," you protest with a gentle smile.

Izana lets a smirk cross his lips as his hand squeezes your waist every now and then, his purple iris' glint in satisfaction when he sees you beginning to unravel. "You're a terrible liar, mahal. Spill it."

You take a deep breath while gazing down, looking away from him. "It’s just... there’s something I want to ask, but it’s kind of... embarrassing."

"Oh? Embarrassing?" he teases, lips grazing just below your ear and your heart begins to pound in your chest. "You've really got me curious now."

"It’s not a big deal or anything! I just thought... maybe you could—" you stop mid-sentence, you bury your face into the side of his chest. "Never mind, it’s stupid."

Izana leans back into the soft velvet, and he cups your chin, amusement is evident on his face, specifically his lips, he is enjoying this. "Don't do that, baby. Tell me. Whatever it is, I promise I won't laugh."

But the way he said he wouldn't laugh made you believe otherwise. "I was wondering if... if you could... give me a hickey."

Izana blinks in shock for a few moments, you've never been this forward with him, it's always Izana guessing what you want and 10 times out of 10 he is correct. However, this was a shock to him.

"A hickey, huh?" he replies, his voice low as he whispers sensually in your ear. "So... that's what's been going through that pretty head of yours."

"I just thought it might be... I mean, I trust you, and... I’ve never had one before," you stumble over your words, trying to keep your composure but the way you are pressed so tightly against him and how hot is breath is to your skin... "But if you think it’s dumb, I—"

Izana cuts you off with a soft chuckle, his hand tilting your chin up so you can meet his gaze. "You think I’d let you ask me something like that and call it dumb?" his voice still in that teasing tone. "If you want one, mahal, I’ll make sure you never forget it."

"R-Right here?" you ask in disbelief. "Maybe we should wait until we get-"

You cut yourself off when you see the look in Izana's eyes, primal and need. It makes sense, this will be the most he has ever done with you and he's going feral, he's going to mark you up, everyone will know who you belong to and that you're taken.

A shaky breath leaves your mouth while butterflies stir in your tummy and lower abdomen. He's sitting there studying every square inch of your body, purple eyes gazing over your neck, your flushed cheeks.

Izana's fingers lightly trace your jawline, sending shivers throughout your body. This did nothing to quench the arousal you felt pooling in your underwear.

"You're so nervous, mahal," he coos in a low voice, his thumb playing with your bottom lip. "You asked for this, didn't you?"

You nod, your breath hitching as he leans closer, his warm breath fanning against your neck. He chuckles softly, and the sound is smooth.

Izana's lips touch your below your ear trailing to the dip of your neck before slowly trailing back up and you knew he could feel your heart pounding beneath your flesh. And he could, he was resisting the urge to take you right there and then on the couch, but he couldn't, he's promised himself to take it slow, just for you.

"Relax," he hums. "I'll take care of you, mahal."

He presses his lips against the side of your neck, soft at first, leaving a trail of kisses as he searches for the perfect spot. When he finds it—you whimper—just below your ear—he smirks against your skin before pressing harder, his lips tugging gently as his teeth graze the surface.

The sensation makes you gasp, you breath so heavily in his ear, whimpers mingling in, your hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his shirt.

Izana’s grin widens, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That’s it. Just stay still for me, mahal."

He works slowly, almost lazily, his lips and tongue leaving warmth and a faint ache that makes your head spin. He pulls back briefly, his eyes flicking to the mark before he leans in kissing your neck around the red mark gently while squeezing your thigh.

Your cheeks are flushed red and your heart continues to beat fast, not slowing down. Izana cups your jaw, tilting your chin up so you meet his gaze.

"Perfect. Now you have something to show off that your mine" he murmurs before his eyes flutter shut and place a kiss to your lips, pulling away he smirks gently.

You can’t meet his gaze, your face burning, and he chuckles, pulling you closer so you’re tucked against his chest.

"You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?" Izana chuckles. A few moments pass before he begins to stroke your hair down and he leans his head down to your ear. "But don’t get shy now, mahal. I’m not done with you yet. I'm thinking about all the things I'm going to say to you, what I'm going to do to you when we get home."

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | tokyo revengers m.list

that last sentence was a chase atlantic reference to their song triggered, if any of you cared to know...

[er-osion]

Stumble In(to my life)

pairing: Jason Todd x gn!Reader

summary: You tend to Red Hood after he’s mildly injured on patrol, he then sticks around a little.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: none, fluff

author’s note: you can find part 2 here

∾∾∘⋅∗⋄⋆⋄∗⋅∘∾∾

You looked up from your books to the soft thump outside your window. A normal person wouldn’t have heard the noise at all, but your ears had become accustomed to listening for it. It was late, far later than you should be up, but tonight was a night filled with studying and anxiety, so sleep evaded you. You put a bookmark in your textbook and closed it, being careful of your notes, and got up from your couch. You just reached the window as a large armored figure clamored through. Backing up, you gave the beast of a man space to gracefully tumble through your window and into your apartment. The sound of sirens off in the distance became muffled once again when the man closed the window tightly behind him.

Red Hood never said much. A man of few words you supposed, at least when he was injured —which was the only time you saw him. You couldn’t recall when this little arrangement between the two of you began, maybe around a year ago. The Red Hood crashed and stumbled into your life one fateful night, and had been doing so ever since. But only when he needed a patch job, and he never took off his helmet. Even when you could tell he had a head injury that needed tending, he wouldn’t remove the red helmet. You knew he trusted you, clearly a lot more than he trusted others, but a part of you was still a little hurt. You'd known him for so long and still yet to see his real face or hear his real voice unmodulated. Oddly enough, you’d call Hood a friend. Even if you didn’t know his real name along with many other things about him, and even if he knew very little about you other than the basics, you’d consider him a good friend. And deep down you’re sure he thinks the same.

Hood slumps down on the couch, but you notice he’s careful to avoid being anywhere near your textbooks and notes. You silently appreciate the move, since last time he got blood on your papers and you had to come up with a believable story for your professor explaining why there were blood splatters on your homework.

“Rough night?” You ask jokingly as you get out the first aid kit. Hood gives a ‘Hmpf’ in response and rests his head against the back of the couch. You move your school stuff off the coffee table and set out the supplies from the first aid kit. You let your eyes roam his figure to try and find the injuries you’d be taking care of tonight. You slyly take in Hood’s toned muscles as you look for wounds, taking the action as a less obvious chance to check him out. However secretive he may be, you can’t deny the man looks good. Actually, “looks good” is an understatement, his abs could cut diamonds.

“How many bruises are you gonna have in the morning?” You ask as you help him take off his leather jacket which is crusted with dried blood here and there.

“Too many.” He’s short with his words but by now you can hear the underlying exhaustion in them. His voice sounds robotic from the mask, but it still brings you a wave of comfort to hear.

“Anything I can’t see?” This phrase has become your way of asking where his most concerning injuries are, and whether or not he’s comfortable with you dealing with them.

“No, tonight’s just the obvious stuff.”

“Not any less painful I presume.”

“And as usual, you’re right, angel.” Your lips quirk up in the ghost of a smile at the nickname. You’ve started cleaning the gashes on his arms and wrapping them with gauze and bandages. Hood relaxes a bit more into the couch, tensing only when you start cleaning wounds with the cold water and saline solution.

As you’re working your mind drifts into thinking about the nature of your relationship with this vigilante. Part of you is proud, honored even, that the elusive Red Hood trusts you enough to seek you out for medical care. But another part of you, the part you don’t really want to acknowledge, is angry he only ever visits when he needs fixing. He doesn’t tell you anything about himself, not even ice-breaker facts, and he doesn’t really ask about you. He doesn’t drop by anytime he’s not injured and he never tells you when he’s coming, he just shows up at your window injured without warning. Your heart stings when you think that you might be dead last on Red Hood’s priority list, especially considering he’s first on yours. Does he really only think of you as a patch job? Someone who will treat him without asking any questions? Does he even have any interest in your life at all? Does he ever think about you when he’s not around, like you think of him? By now, you’ve lost yourself in the spiral of your thoughts and are blankly working out of muscle memory. You don’t even notice, but Red Hood does.

Jason watches you work through the eyes of his helmet. He can see the distance in your eyes and can tell you’re thinking hard about something else. But even as your mind wanders, your hands do not. You work efficiently and effectively on cleaning and wrapping his wounds. You take care to check for broken bones and remove any debris you find in his skin. He appreciates you. He’s certain he appreciates you more than you’ll ever know. He didn’t realize how lucky he was when he stumbled through your window all those nights ago. He didn’t realize that night that he’d gain a safe haven. He’s never felt more secure than when he’s with you in your apartment. Jason’s never felt more comfortable than when in your presence. He thinks it’s a little odd. You don’t know what his face looks like, hell, you don’t even know his real name, but his trust in you is an ever flowing river. Jason trusts you more than he trusts himself sometimes. Jason blinks out of a trance he didn’t realize he was in and focuses back on you. The lamps in your apartment provide the only measly light for you to work with, but right now they aren’t crummy. No, the lamps have painted your figure in a warm glow that has Jason’s heart stuttering in an unusual way. The homey furniture melts into the dim background and you're the only thing in focus in Jason’s vision. It’s moments like these when Jason is hit with a flurry of emotions he doesn’t understand. You finish wrapping his last bandage and look up at him with the most gentle but curious eyes he’s ever seen and Red Hood suddenly feels like he’s about to choke. His chest swirls with feelings and he can’t even begin to grasp what they are or what they mean. He wants to say “thank you, thank you for always looking after me even when I don’t deserve it,” but the words get caught in his throat. There’s a tranquil silence that follows where you just look at each other, of course, you can’t tell exactly what Red Hood is looking at but you can feel his gaze on you. When a minute passes you get up slowly and start to put the first aid kit away. Jason watches you from behind the safety of his helmet and moves to help you package everything back up.

Hood’s gloved hand picks up a roll of gauze and brings it over to the kit, but you quickly —albeit gently— put your hand over his to stop him and take the gauze yourself. “You don’t have to do that. You’re injured, rest.” You say with quiet authority and go back to cleaning up the table. Hood doesn’t say anything but leans back into the couch and doesn’t continue to help, though deep down he wants to. He feels he owes you, he knows he owes you. He wants to do something, anything to pay back the kindness you’ve shown him but he can never think of the right thing to do.

“You’re welcome to sit here for a bit, regain some energy before you head to wherever it is you hide during the day. I’ve just got some notes to finish for class.” You provide as you sit down in the chair next to your sofa, repositioning all your textbooks and papers. Hood just nods in reply. “Oh, and you can turn on the tv if you’d like, I don’t mind.” There’s a pause before you see the vigilante move to grab the remote and turn on your tv. You smile a bit at your papers, finding a small happiness in the fact he’s able to settle into your home so well. You secretly wish he’d come and watch tv with you just for fun, not because he needs to recover from a stab wound.

Every once in a while, Jason’s eyes drift from the tv screen to where you’re seated taking notes for your class. Jason does his best to memorize this moment and neatly pack it away in a safe little box in his brain. He wants to remember this quiet moment of togetherness forever. He wants to say something, he wants your beautiful eyes back on him but he also doesn’t want to disrupt the pleasant quiet that swirls around your living room.

Red Hood clears his throat and shimmies into a straighter posture. “Thanks by the way.” You look up at the vigilante and tilt your head in confusion at his remark.

“For what?” You let out a small chuckle, the confusion is evident in your voice. Jason’s lips quirk up in a small smile under his helmet at your confusion at his thanks.

“For all this to start,” Hood motions to himself “and also just for letting me in here. For letting me into your home without fair warning. Your patience with my bullshit seems to know no bounds, you deserve an award merely for that. So… thanks.” Thank you for letting me into your life and making me feel cared for, Jason wants to add on, but that seems a little too open about his feelings for the moment. He hopes you’re able to pick up on the subtext of his words, he hopes you can put together the puzzle pieces of his words that form the colorful picture of his appreciation for you.

You smile lightly, “Of course, Hood. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy having your giant smartass around.” You took a deep breath and let loose a shot in the dark. “I just wish you’d stumble in here when you weren’t injured sometimes, just to hang around.” You awkwardly divert your eyes to the floor and take a major interest in the small stains in the wood. Hood is quiet and unmoving and you can’t tell if that’s good or bad, you can’t tell if you crossed an unspoken line. Jason’s mind is reeling, trying to catch up with the implications of your words. Do you mean you want him around more? Do you mean you want a deeper friendship with him? Do you mean you truly enjoy his presence so much you want more of it in your life? You risk a look back up at Red Hood and when Jason sees the genuine look in your eyes he hopes the modulator in his helmet doesn’t give away the deep breath he had to intake to try and calm his heart.

“Well, maybe I’ll have to drop by more often then, angel.” Hood tries to play off the deepness of the moment with suave teasing, he has to retain at least a little dignity in front of you.

You smirk at his clearly playful comeback, “Just make sure you show up with takeout or some groceries. I can’t be providing everything for you all of the time.” Hood huffs out a laugh.

“I think I can manage that.”

“Good.” You smile warmly at him and Jason mirrors you beneath his helmet. There’s a soft silence that follows where the two of you just look at each other. Then you go back to finishing your notes with the smile still plastered on your face. Jason is already planning out his schedule so he can drop in just for fun as soon as possible without seeming desperate to hang out.

“My cuts are pretty sore by the way and I’m quite fatigued so I might have to stay for a bit longer.”

“Hm, well if that’s what you need to do then I can’t deny you. I’m not going to kick Gotham's hero out of my apartment while he’s down.” You know he’s not really that sore or fatigued. You can tell by his body language or his tone of voice when he is. You know he’s just saying that to ask if it’s okay if he stays a bit longer than usual. Of course, you’d never say no. You’d offer him to stay the night but you don’t want him to get uncomfortable, though deep down, you’re desperate for his prolonged presence.

“Tch, that’s a relief. However, I’m afraid I might also need some moral support, as you can see, your poor hero of Gotham has had a rough night.”

You smirk and raise an eyebrow but don’t deny him. You get up from your seat and move to sit next to him on the couch. Your finished notes are left forgotten on your previous chair and you dial into the show Hood was watching on the tv. “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing my hero of Gotham and I have a similar taste in tv —it makes giving moral support easier.” You feel Hood’s quiet chuckle through the vibrations of the couch, a feeling you want again and again. Jason tries not to think too hard on your use of the word ‘my’ or how it’s echoing in his head like a tantalizing mantra.

“A good thing indeed.”

“I didn’t realize vigilantes had time to pick favorite tv shows.”

“How else do you think we pass the time waiting for a store to be robbed during patrol?”

“I figured you just brooded the entire time, seeing as you costumed weirdos can never get over anything in your entire lives.”

“How rude, us weirdos do get over things, like buildings or cars when chasing down our enemies.”

“Hardy har har, I bet you think you’re clever for that one.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think, I know I’m clever for that one.”

“So arrogant.”

“Not arrogant, confident.”

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure.” The lighthearted banter between the two of you fills the room with the warmth of familiarity. Neither of you seemed to notice how close you’d gotten to each other on instinct. Your shoulders are just brushing his and you can feel his body heat seeping into your skin. You’re fighting the urge to press closer and unbeknownst to you, Jason is doing the same. Your body and heart is begging you to rest your head against Hood’s leather-clad shoulder but you push the thoughts down in fear of making things awkward or scaring him off. Jason’s mind is running rampant with internal pleas for you to rest against him, he wants nothing more right now than to feel the comfortable weight of you against his side. But Jason doesn’t act or speak any of these thoughts into reality, worried he’ll cross a line or make you uncomfortable. So the two of you sit there on your couch for who knows how long. Mingling on the side of cuddling but not quite reaching the threshold. Both of you sit contented with the closeness and security of spending what had been a rough evening together, but silently desperate for more. But more is for a different evening, another night when Red Hood stumbles through your window.

[zablife]

hello, i have a request for benny where he introduces his girl to the vandals for the first time.

one of them is already a good friend of her, but he didn’t know the person she was seeing was benny (and maybe benny gets a bit possessive)

Ty for the request, lovely! It's my first for The Bikeriders so I couldn't wait to dive in. I used your idea plus the GIF above as inspo to create drama, plus a little heat with our fave man. I hope you enjoy it and let me know your thoughts!

Rumors

18+ MDNI

Warnings: language, possessiveness, semi public sex

A/N: If you haven't seen the film, it might help to know: 1-Johnny doesn't like to share Benny and 2-Cal's first language is French.

"Heard a little somethin' about your girl you might want to know," Johnny rasped, allowing his words to dissipate into the air on a lungful of smoke.

Benny signaled his interest by leaning forward slightly in his chair, brow furrowed as he thought of anything about you that would warrant a private conversation with the leader of the Vandals. All he could think of at that moment was how eager he'd been to show you off to the guys, an obvious note of pride swelling in his chest each time he uttered your name.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he finally asked, "Yeah, what's that?" Though he had tried to hide his concern behind a facade of cool detachment, the slight twitch of his hand when he raised his cigarette to his lips gave him away.

If it had been a game of poker, Johnny could have recognized the bluff from a mile away. He bit back a sly grin, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he chose his next words for maximum damage.

"Let's just say she ain't no stranger here," he hinted, eyeing Benny carefully to gauge the effect it had on the impulsive young man. Watching Benny's fists clench at his sides, he swiftly added, "Especially not to Cal."

As if on cue, Benny's blue eyes flashed with an ominous darkness. "What are you talkin' about?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

Hissing in Benny's ear like a venomous serpent, Johnny advised, "Don't let her make a fool out of ya. That's all I'm sayin."

Benny's shoulders began to stiffen tightly beneath his leather jacket and Johnny clapped him on the back before abandoning him to his rapidly spiraling jealousy.

You could practically feel the floor shake with the stomp of his boots before you heard the low rumble of his voice calling your name. The tenderness he'd affected an hour ago was gone, replaced by a gruffness which commanded you, "C'mon, baby."

You stared at him wild eyed, wondering what had gotten into him. "N-now? We just got here," you stuttered.

He nodded, taking you firmly by the hand and you decided not argue while his rings pressed into your flesh.

As his friends hooted and whistled, you exited the bar out into the warm summer night. The relative quiet of the street amplified Benny's voice as he asked, "When were you gonna tell me?"

Stumbling off the front step together, he brought you face to face with him, sapphire eyes gleaming with fire. However, you immediately sensed a note of hurt in his accusation.

"Tell you what?" you begged, still uncertain what had him so worked up.

"About you and Cal," he prodded, watching a flash of recognition pass over your face in damning confirmation.

"Don't try to deny it," he warned, dropping your arm to pace the darkened alley beside the bar. Running his hands through his hair in distress, he'd clearly begun thinking the worst when you remained silent.

You struggled to recall who else knew about your acquaintance with Cal, then suddenly you understood, a long sigh pushing from your lungs as you recalled what Kathy had told you about Johnny's dislike of girlfriends hanging around. He said nagging wives took the guys away from the club when the crack ups and late nights began to threaten their relationships. You closed your eyes and shook your head, realizing he’d probably been the one to upset Benny.

"Say somethin'...please," Benny begged, waiting for you to open your eyes to him.

You twisted your fingers in front of you as you finally confessed, "Yeah, I know Cal." Watching Benny hang his head at your admission, you clarified, "Well...I knew the scrawny kid who took English lessons with me a few years ago. I barely recognize him now with that wild hair and that earring." You huffed out a quiet laugh at the thought of it, stopping Benny's nervous movements as he listened to the angelic sound.

He splayed a palm against the cool brick, glancing over his shoulder at you hopefully.

You nodded at him confirming,"That's all it ever was, baby." His chest heaved a sigh of relief as you came to stand at his side. Ducking under his strong arm, you ran a hand down the side of his scruffy cheek and brought his gaze back to you. "I'm yours, Benny. Nobody else's, you understand?"

A low growl rumbled from his lips as he pressed you against the wall, lips seeking yours for the physical reassurance he so badly needed.

His mouth moved against yours insistently, desperate for more and your hands flew to his hair, tugging in wanton desire. As your breasts pushed against his chest, he couldn't help deepening the kiss with a swipe of his tongue and before either of you could contain it, passion overtook you.

Benny turned you to face the wall and raised your skirt over your ass, tugging your underwear aside eager to claim you. Your breath hitched as you heard the jingle of his belt and you quickly braced yourself against the wall for what was to come. Without a care for who might disturb you, he took you right there, hips pistoning into you with reckless abandon.

"Tell me one more time, sweetheart," he urged breathlessly, sucking a dark bruise into your neck that would become irrefutable proof.

"I'm-I'm yours...I belong...belong to you, Ben--," you panted through little shocks of pleasure, unable to continue as you came hard around him.

"S right," he agreed, biting down on your shoulder to stifle his own groans of pleasure. Giving into your vice like grip, he tumbled over the edge with you, heartbeat hammering against your back in exhaustion.

You reached for him in the darkness, clutching the back of his head to keep him close. He stayed inside you for a long, tender moment afterward, placing scattered kisses behind your ear. You might have stayed that way longer if not for your ticklishness and exposed location. So with a hiss, he begrudgingly withdrew from you and gently lowered your skirt.

In the afterglow, Benny smiled at you with a cockeyed grin, tucking himself inside his jeans. The dewy flush of your cheeks making his heart skip a beat, he leaned in for one last kiss as you heard the door to the bar open and release the sounds of boisterous laughter.

Several bikers emerged, Johnny leading the way to the row of choppers parked at the curb. As he strutted toward his bike, a haphazard glance was thrown your way before doing a double take.

You weren't sure if you should scream at him or thank him for the rumor he'd attempted to spread about you and Cal, seeing how it had actually brought you closer to Benny.

When your boyfriend wrapped an arm around your waist, placing a kiss to the top of your head, you decided it wasn't worth arguing about. With a smirk and a little wave, you forced Johnny to acknowledge you, making it clear you weren't leaving Benny's side anytime soon.

[the-little-ewok]

An Unorthodox Method

Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Rating : 18+/E

Word count : 7600 (ish)

Warnings : It's the one bed trope!, Lil mild angst, lots of teasing, Poe being an adorable little shit, mentions of Poe having hearing problems/being partially deaf in one ear, fluff, banter, SMUT, PIV, fingering, marking (love bites and nail marks), praise kink if you squint, illusions to cum eating, mentions of oral f- receiving, overstimulation if you blink, aftercare, very brief mention of casual sex/one night stands.

Summary : All you want is a hot shower, some clean dry clothes, and to crawl into bed. What you absolutely do not want is Poe Dameron in that bed with you.

@campingwiththecharmings thank you so much for this request! I'm so excited to finally do the one bed trope for Poe! I hope you like it.

Special thank you to @mandinlore for the beta 😘

~~~~~~~~~

The rain hammers a steady ping ping ping on the window as you and Poe stand in the doorway to the room, your clothes soaked and sticking uncomfortably to your skin, your shoes leaving puddles of water.

"You have got to be kidding me!" You groan as Poe laughs.

You had been looking forward to a hot shower, a nice warm bed, and at least a good few hours of peace and quiet. The last part had already been thwarted by the fact some error in the hotel booking meant you only had one room with no others available, and now to add insult to injury there was only one damn bed.

"Well, this is going to be fun!" The pilot chirps happily from beside you, walking in to dump his bag on the chair and leaving wet boot prints in his wake.

Climbing into bed with the resistance's best looking pilot, who you were, if you were honest, a little bit in love with, did not constitute as fun. In fact, after the day you had spent with him, it was the very last thing you wanted to do.

Poe was always, and had always, been chatty, but today he seemed to have turned all his dials up to maximum. He'd talked non stop, made unfunny jokes, inappropriate innuendos that with anyone else you suspect he wouldn't have gotten away with, and done just about anything he could to make himself the most annoying person this side of the galaxy.

For what reason, you had no idea. You had started to suspect perhaps he had realised your warm feelings towards him, and maybe this was his way of making you hate him so he didn't have to let you down, and honestly, you might think it was starting to work.

Trudging into the room, your boots squelching with each step, you place your bags down, resigned to your probably sleepless fate.

"You want the bathroom first?" The pilot offers, despite the fact he's worse off than you, having given you his jacket to hold above your head the moment the downpour started. It hadn't helped much after the first few minutes, but you had been grateful for the shelter anyway.

You don't really register his question, your thoughts lost as you finger the worn leather coat remembering the way his scent clung to it, invading your senses as you splashed through the flooded streets.

"Hey," you look up to find the pilot watching you, his brow furrowed. "You okay?"

You drop the jacket onto the dresser, giving him a smile and a nod.

"Just sick of listening to you."

Poe snorts with laughter, grabbing the hem of his shirt and peeling it up over his head. You purposely busy yourself pulling out some dry clothes from your pack , not allowing yourself to peek, although it's a difficult battle.

"There's nobody you love listening to more than me," Poe states, thankfully not seeming to notice your internal fight of keeping your eyes off him.

You sigh, somewhat thankful his annoying cockyness is a distraction from his semi-nakedness. Picking up your sleepwear and wash bag you head towards the bathroom, trying to ignore him. Poe however gives you no quarter, trailing along behind you.

"So what exactly are the sleeping arrangements going to be?" He asks.

Frowning you turn around, your eyes deciding to flicker over his bared torso before meeting his gaze. Even the smallest glance is enough to get blood rushing through your veins, and you can feel heat blossoming across your cheeks.

Ignoring the feeling you gesture to the bed with a raise of your eyebrow.

"But what if you snore?" The pilot asks, clearly not noticing your desire to leave the room until he's decided to put some clothes on.

You pull a face, not quite understanding his issue when he's half deaf from the war anyway. The explosion that had damaged most of the resistance ships had permanently damaged his eardrums, which Poe liked to use to his advantage when he decided he wasn't going to listen to someone, although you think he hears far more than he lets on.

"Poe, you can hardly hear out of one ear as it is! Just sleep on your good ear and you probably won't hear a thing out of the other one."

He folds his arms stubbornly. "I'll hear if you're right next to my head."

"Then you are more than welcome to sleep in the bathroom once I'm done," you offer, stepping into the tiny fresher.

"Nah, I'd rather sleep in the bed. But what if you steal the covers?"

"Then you can take them back."

"What if you cuddle me in your sleep?" He fires quickly.

You give him a withering look, trying not to think about pressing your body against his, keeping your eyes trained on his face.

"Oh trust me Poe, I won't." In fact you will do everything possible not to touch him, just for your own sanity.

"But you might. I'm very into consent and if I'm asleep-" he pauses mid sentence, opening his mouth and then closing it again before leaning against the door frame. "Actually scratch all of that. I absolutely give you consent to do whatever you like to me."

The pilot grins at you and you feel a familiar surge of heat through your body, collecting and coiling in your abdomen. Combined with your patience finally snapping, it's the last straw. You slam the bathroom door in his handsome smug face.

The lukewarm shower really tops off the day.

~

"I've been thinking" Poe starts the moment he exits the bathroom, after loudly complaining through the door about you using up all the hot water.

You pinch the bridge of your nose with a sigh, the hope that he would have calmed down and go straight to sleep evaporating. You are grateful however that he's at least finally put a shirt on.

"That must hurt."

"Oi!" He protests with a shocked expression, that at least brings a little smile to your lips. He grins at you, letting you know he took no offence at your words.

"As I was saying," he continues while you lay out his clothes to dry, the ones he dumped in a wet pile in the middle of the floor. "I've been thinking, and I know what's wrong with you. I want you to know it's okay."

The way his voice suddenly goes so gentle makes you look around. The pilot holds out his hand, wrapping his fingers around yours as he pulls you closer, holding your gaze steadily. You hope he doesn't notice the way your breath catches, or the heat blazing through you that makes your hands clammy.

"It's okay to be nervous," he continues, while your mouth goes dry. "I know spending the night with me is a lot, and it's going to be so difficult for you to keep your hands to yourself, but we are going to get through this together, and you'll be able to tell everyone about it when we get home."

You snatch your hand angrily out of his while the pilot bursts into laughter.

"Grow up and get in the damn bed!" You growl, climbing into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin and turning over away from him, your heart thundering in your chest. How, even when he was joking, did he manage to get so damn close to the truth?

"Why do you want me in bed so badly, huh? Thinking about late night cuddles?" You hear the pilot ask, feeling the mattress sink with his weight.

"No. When you're asleep, you're not talking," you bite out, still stinging from the embarrassment of your reaction when he was just being his usual annoying self.

Poe ignores your hostility and you feel him shrug.

"Listen, all I'm trying to do is tell you that we could eliminate some of this sexual tension. Well, if you wanted to."

Sexual tension wasn't exactly what you would say was between you, but there was always certainly something, although with Poe you imagine he had that with everyone. With you though, your feelings for the pilot ran a little deeper, not that you'd ever dare speak those aloud. The last thing you needed was the "it's not you, it's me" speech, especially if his behaviour was to drive you away. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

You run a hand down your face with an exasperated sigh. "There is absolutely no sexual tension, Poe. What there is, is murderous tension."

Poe lets out an exclamation of excitement.

"Oh my favourite kind!"

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop a smile, lest you encourage him to continue.

"Please Poe, go to damn sleep," you whine, pulling the pillow from under your head and pressing it against your ear, trying to block out his incessant rambling.

"I will if you admit it."

"Admit what?" You groan, frustrated. Why can't he just shut the hell up and let you get through this?

"That you've thought about us."

"Poe I swear-" you take a deep breath, grabbing the cushion with one hand, rolling over with the intent on smothering him into silence. You're surprised to find the pilot on his side, almost nose to nose with you in the small bed.

"You've seriously never thought about us kissing?" Poe interrupts.

"I…I…" you’re thrown by his closeness, by his long lashes and soft smile, by the damn doe eyed look he's giving you.

You know there's no shutting him up until you tell him what he wants to hear so you take a breath. It wouldn't exactly be news to him, Poe knew just about everyone had considered kissing him at some point or another. The man did come with a reputation for having a rather skillful mouth after all.

"Fine! Maybe once or twice. Now go to damn sleep!" You growl, annoyed at him, and yourself.

The shit eating grin he gives you is enough to make you turn back over, tucking the pillow under your head and shutting your eyes tightly, as though that alone might drown him out.

"I knew it," he gloats with a happy sigh, clicking off the bedside lamp.

You grip the pillow, considering the option you still have of smothering him.

Thankfully he's quiet from that point and infuriatingly asleep in less than five minutes. You can feel the mattress move with his slow steady breaths.

Glancing over your shoulder he's laid out on his back, one arm tucked under his head, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he dreams, his full lips open with a soft sigh.

Turning around again you punch the lumpy pillow, trying to get more comfortable.

You will not think about kissing him. That was a one time thing. Okay, maybe three or four. Well maybe more… a lot more. You're determined tonight for once, you will not fall asleep thinking about his mouth on yours, you will absolutely not think about his lips on your skin, or his fingers caressing your breasts…

Someone suddenly shakes you and you open your eyes groggily, the room swimming and blurred as you blink sleep from your vision.

"What the hell?" You grumble, looking up at the pilot with his sleep tousled curls, still half asleep himself, one eye still shut and the other half open, bathed in the soft moonlight glow that sneaks through the blinds.

"You said my name," he mumbles, voice still sleep gravelled. "You alright?"

Flashes of his mouth sealed over your nipple, his tongue darting out to lick a path down to your navel, your hand gripping his hair, his mouth between your thighs.

Oh no. You absolutely did not have a sex dream about him. Not now, not here. Please no!

"You must have dreamt it," you swallow, desperately trying to play it cool. If Poe heard you while he was dead asleep, then you must have been loud. You feel the heat prickling the back of your neck.

"No, I definitely heard you say Poe," he insists.

"Well even if I did I'm fine so you can go back to sleep," you insist, shifting your legs restlessly. You're too warm. Well not just warm, burning hot, sweat cooling on your skin, an uncomfortable ache between your legs that screams of unsatisfied desire.

"You sure? You sounded a bit…breathless?" The pilot asks again, genuine concern in his tone. Although you can barely see him in the dim lighting you can still see the frown pulling his brows together, both eyes now open and studying you. You really don't want him to press any further. Even his voice brings back flashes of the dream, sultry whispers in your ear, his tongue lapping at your folds, the cry of his name from your mouth.

You swallow again, pushing the thoughts away.

"Really, I'm fine. Must have been a nightmare if it involved you anyway."

"Ouch." He holds his hands over his chest, collapsing back onto the mattress as though you wounded him, giving a long drawn out dramatic death rattle.

Pulling up the covers you throw them over his head with a laugh.

"Go back to sleep, Flyboy."

Laying back you shuffle as close to the edge as you can, putting as much distance as possible between you and the pilot. You wonder if it would be better for you to stay awake, just in case your dreams come back to haunt you. You absolutely wouldn't get away with saying his name a second time.

"It's okay you know," Poe speaks suddenly into the darkness as you lay rigid beside him. "If you were dreaming about me. I wouldn't mind."

You can't help but snort with laughter at that.

"You wouldn't mind if anyone dreams about you."

"True," Poe admits. You feel him shift and even though you can't see him, your eyes staring up at the ceiling, his gaze burns you.

"Let me rephrase. I'd like it if you dreamt about me." He continues.

When you don't turn to face him or grace him with an answer, you feel the shift of the mattress again as he lays back.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, and for once it sounds genuine, not a hint of playfulness in his tone. "I thought this would cheer you up. It's been a long week and you've just seemed so… I don't know. Not yourself, like you're bottling everything up. I figured maybe if you were thinking about how annoying I was, or making you laugh and fight with me, it would give you a bit of a distraction and an outlet, but I get it, maybe I took it too far, even if it is the truth."

It had been a long week, the longest in fact. While the mission itself had been a success, you had seen a lot of the First Order's destruction in the process, and it was worse than either of you had realised. You'd felt melancholy for days, the sights you've witnessed replaying in your mind. You hadn't noticed it much at the time, too lost in your own thoughts and angry that he was so loud that it was impossible to hear yourself think, but the more you think about it, the more you realise what he's been doing — trying to make you smile, keeping you distracted, making you focus on anything but what's happened. All you've done is complain to him about it.

Guilt twists hard in your stomach.

How typical of Poe to try and be helpful in the most unconventional way.

Part of you wants to reach for him, to cuddle him tight against you and thank him, to tell him you're here for him too if he needs someone. The other part keeps you rigidly pinned to the mattress, afraid to move in case so much as a finger brushes up against him, unsure if you can hold yourself back with the lingering memory of the dream.

"You mean the truth is that you really are worried I snore?" You ask, trying to break the unbearable tension.

His answer is the most serious he's sounded all day. There isn't a trace of humour, of teasing, just a tiredness, the kind that comes from pretending to smile all day, the kind that signals a surrender.

"No, I could live with that. I mean the dreaming part. I'd like it if you dreamt about me."

"Oh." You can't find anything else to say to that, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest you're sure even through his damaged ear he can hear it.

The ongoing silence suddenly feels heavy, like a crushing weight on your chest, the truth feels like lead in your belly. Poe hasn't made a single noise in a while but you get the distinct feeling he isn't asleep. You wonder if he's laying still too, muddling through his thoughts.

You can't take back your behaviour towards him but you can at least give him something in return.

"Poe?"

The response is instant, "Yeah?"

You take a breath, swallowing hard, your fingers twisting into the sheet at the edge of the bed, nervously gripping them.

"Every day," you whisper quietly.

"Huh?"

You feel a slight shift as he must turn to look at you.

You clear your throat, staring hard enough at the ceiling that your eyes start to burn, repeating yourself louder.

"I said every day. I lied earlier. It's not once or twice. I think about kissing you every day. I have for a while," you admit.

A sudden blinding light obscures your vision, making you cry out in surprise and squeeze your eyes shut against the sudden intrusion. Coloured lights flash behind your eyelids and you have to blink a few times in order to see anything.

When the room comes back into focus Poe is sitting bolt upright in the bed, staring down at you, the bedside lamp illuminating his head like a synthetic halo.

"You were dreaming about me!"

With a groan you grab the pillow and hold it over your own face, deciding if you can't smother him you could just smother yourself instead, which seems like the better option than actually having this conversation.

You feel the pillow tug back gently, but you hold fast, refusing to give it up.

"Come on, let go and talk to me. You've said it now." A grunt of effort and a hard tug on the pillow before Poe sighs. "I'm not going away so you're either going to suffocate or talk."

"Then I'll suffocate," you mumble into the pillow, already regretting saying anything.

"You know I can't hear you right? Come on." This time he tucks his fingers under yours and peels them off the pillow cover until it falls halfway off your face.

"Better," he smiles, letting go of your hands to remove it entirely. "Why are you hiding from me?"

"I don't want to see your smug smile about how right you are," you glare, trying to hide your embarrassment that you've blurted out exactly what you've been trying to conceal from him. Once more, Poe takes your attitude in his stride.

"I've thought about kissing you too, you know? In fact I've thought about kissing you at least four times since you woke me up." He gives a shrug, like you should know that, like it's completely utterly normal for someone to think about kissing you that many times in the space of ten minutes.

You bite your lip, familiar tendrils of desire reigniting in your belly. Your body, still clearly on edge from your illicit dream, thrums with tension.

"So why haven't you done it yet?"

Poe rolls his eyes, as though the answer is obvious. "Clearly I'm building up the sexual tension for it!"

You're done letting him have the upper hand in this. In a surge of confidence, and to stop the smug look on his face, you wrap your hand around the back of the pilot's neck, before you pull his lips to yours. You feel Poe's brief smile, probably of victory, against your mouth before he kisses you back.

It's soft at first, almost sweet tender kisses, short and playful, getting to know each other. He kisses your top and bottom lip, he gives you tiny pecks of affection, he licks playfully at your bottom lip.

Effortlessly he shifts his weight over you, slotting himself between your thighs as though you were made to fit together. His tongue licks into your mouth, slick and hot, sliding against your own as he presses his body against yours, your kisses descending into something much more passionate.

Maker, the rumours weren't wrong. He is good at this, better than good actually, infuriatingly good. You can't even find any fault to tease him about.

You tangle your fingers in his curls, tugging gently and causing the pilot to moan into your mouth. You give a shiver of desire at the sound, your mind filled with thoughts of how you can draw it from him in other ways. Poe's mind seems to be on a similar track, his hips grinding against yours, pressing himself against your core and causing you to let out a gasp of surprise at the jolt of pleasure.

Perhaps there was a little sexual tension after all.

The pilot pulls away, his chest heaving, eyes dark and lips kiss swollen, his curls messy and tousled from your fingers.

"Fuck, sorry. I didn't mean to get carried away so quickly," he apologises, swallowing hard as he clearly tries to get a handle on himself, holding his body off yours, allowing a brief respite for you both to collect yourselves.

"I don't mind getting carried away," you admit, still feeling feverish with his closeness, your mind filled with the fantasy of your dreams. You raise your hips, pressing up against his clothed length, making the pilot let out a choked moan of surprise before his eyes darken.

"Well in that case," he grins, recovering all too quickly. Desire coils in your belly and before you can drag his mouth back to yours, in true Poe fashion, he continues talking. "Why don't you tell me what I was doing in this dream of yours?"

You give him a coy smile. As if he's going to get it out of you that easily.

"Fulfilling my deepest fantasy," you answer as Poe licks his lips, eagerly leaning forward to listen.

"Oh yeah? What fantasy might that be?"

"You were quiet for a whole five minutes," you sigh dreamily. It takes a second to register with him before he leans back bursting out laughing. You can't help but start to giggle yourself.

"Okay, I deserved that!" He laughs. "My methods may be unorthodox, but they work!"

He was entirely correct in that him being his usual annoying self was exactly what you had needed as a distraction, although you're sure there were less annoying ways to achieve the same means.

"I don't know. I actually considered murdering you at least a few times. Maybe I still will, when you're fast asleep and least expecting it," you warn, running a finger along your throat in a playful threat.

Poe hums, leaning back down over you, caging you to the bed with his arms.

"What exactly makes you think either of us will be going back to sleep?"

Oh.

There's another rush of heat that tingles against your skin, shooting straight down to your aching core. It's not at all helped by the fact Poe leans down to capture your lips, his tongue slipping between your teeth as he moves one hand to grip your hip, sliding it slowly up your body and under your shirt to trail his fingers across your breast.

You moan into his mouth as he rolls your peaked nipple between his fingers, grinding yourself up against him, uncaring of whatever commentary he wants to make as long as you can deal with this rapidly intensifying desire.

When he finally pulls away once more it's hard to get your breath, especially as he continues to steal little kisses from you, his fingers still resting against your skin.

Bracing himself on one arm above you, the other slides down to tiptoe over your hip.

"Do I have your consent to remove these ugly pants?" He grins teasingly, pulling at the waistband of your shorts. They had seen better days in all fairness but you hadn't really considered anyone else seeing them.

"Hey, they aren't that bad! Not like you're the pinnacle of fashion." In retaliation you poke your finger through a hole in the leg of his threadbare sleep pants, making the pilot laugh.

"These are my lucky pants."

You can't help but snort with a roll of your eyes. "That's the stupidest thing I've heard."

Poe raises one eyebrow, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

"They got you into my bed didn't they?"

You scoff, "The hotel management got me into this bed."

"You know what, you're right. Maybe I should go thank them now," Poe muses, his grin turning into a laugh as you wrap your arms around him, preventing him from leaving.

"Will you please just stop talking?" You laugh, wondering how much of the night is even left. You swear if the sun rises and you haven't resolved this, you will combust of need, and you will take the pilot out with you.

Poe raises his eyebrows.

"Well, I would, but you still haven't answered my original question."

You stare at him, trying to figure out what exactly he's talking about before you realise.

"For the love of… Yes Poe, I give you consent to do whatever you want to me as long as you stop dragging this out like a massive tease!"

The pilot lets out a soft chuckle, leaning down to brush his nose against yours, a soft gesture in a stark contrast to what leaves his mouth, "dangerous words, sweetheart."

You almost shudder with the flash of desire that bolts through you, making sharp heat rush across your skin and your pussy clench.

"I need you to make me a promise first though," his fingers slip across your abdomen, resting just above the waistband of your pants. The feverish desire at his touch is overshadowed by annoyance that he's still talking. Maker, you swear he won't survive till sunrise.

"Po-

"I'm going to need you to be loud," he purrs in your ear, cutting you off as his hand slips under your waistband. "I don't want to miss a single noise you make."

Even if you wanted to be quiet, the pad of his finger slipping across your clit causes your body to react in a primal way, letting out an embarrassing loud moan for such a little touch.

Poe chuckles.

"Just like that." He praises, sliding his finger down further to dip into your entrance, letting out a soft groan of his own at how wet you are, before he drags it back up, spreading your slick over your aching clit and making you whine again. "Can you do that for me? Can you be loud enough?"

The best you can muster is a whimper as he slowly thrusts his finger knuckle deep into you.

"Nu-huh," Poe chides, "loud."

A second finger quickly joins the first, stretching your walls and filling you more than your own ever could. This time you arch your back off the bed, chasing the blissful feeling as a much louder groan tears itself from your throat.

"Better," Poe grins. "I heard that one."

You want to smother him, you want to kiss him, but most of all, despite his annoying little smug smile, you still desperately want to fuck him.

You decide on option two, at least for the moment, pulling his lips down to yours.

His tongue licks into your mouth as he thrusts his fingers inside you at a leisurely pace, swallowing each whine and moan you give at the pleasure skittering and coiling in you.

Poe curls his fingers, pressing up against that spot inside you, making you pull away from his kiss to throw your head back in pleasure, a loud groan of his name escaping. You're half expecting him to make some sort of cocky comment, but Poe seems as lost in this as you are. He drops his head to press open mouthed kisses across your neck, biting and sucking, marking and claiming you as his.

When he works a third finger into you, his thumb brushing against your clit, you come undone. Normally you would feel embarrassed about how loud you are, the way your body shudders and heaves, your pussy clenching hard around his fingers, but the shaky little fuck Poe groans in your ear, obliterates any notion of embarrassment.

As you come down from your high, your body still trembling from the aftershock, whining as he slips his fingers from you, you realise he's breathing almost as heavily as you are, his breath coming out in short pants as he looks you over.

"I need to fuck you," he growls, clearly struggling with his own needs.

You're already nodding before he gets halfway through his request. Whatever he needs, whatever he wants, you'll give it to him without hesitation.

He all but tears your pyjamas from you, making short work of removing them and throwing them across the room, before his join the unceremonious pile on the floor.

This time you allow yourself to look, you allow yourself to take in his broad chest, the little scars crisscrossed with a larger one, old and new, your gaze trailing down across his abdomen to the line of hair that guides your eyes down to -

"Are you done admiring?" Poe's amused tone makes your eyes snap back up to his, your face growing warm with embarrassment that you've been caught staring, although you know he has probably done exactly the same to you.

"I don't know about admiring," you shrug as though your pussy isn't pulsing at the thought of him burying his cock deep inside you. "Think the resistance needs to re-evaluate their best looking pilot status."

Poe simply grins at you, seeing through your nonchalance all too clearly.

"Good to know you like what you see. Tell me, how wet did it make you to see me earlier, all soaked and shirtless?"

"Didn't," is all you are able to punch out as he leans down, pressing his body against yours, rolling his hips just slightly so his hard cock brushes against your slick folds, holding himself at your entrance like the tease he is.

"Really?" He smirks, "Somehow I think you are lying. But alright, I'll get the truth out of you, one way or another." The threat gives you a rush of excitement, wondering exactly how he's going to do that. Not that you're going to let him know that so easily.

"Are you going to keep talking or are we going to-" your question cuts off into a gasp of pleasure as he presses himself inside you, slowly, so you can feel every vein and ridge as he stretches your walls.

"Are we going to what?" He grins.

You slap his arm in reply but there's no power behind it, you're too busy concentrating on the wet noise as he pulls out of you before slowly pressing back in, making you whimper in need. The first time your pussy clenches around him it's involuntary, the second time it's just to enjoy the little groan the action draws from the pilot.

"Stop," he warns, his head dropping to your shoulder, clearly trying to steady his breathing as you clench around him a third time, just for fun. "Taking it slow."

"You don't have to take it slow," you assure him. For a moment you think it's sweet he's considering your comfort but you're more than ready for this.

"I want to," he grits as you clench around him again. The tone of his voice lets you know he's digging his stubborn heels in and nothing will change his mind. Even so you need more than he's offering. This has gone on too long, the tension is too much, the need drumming through your veins screams to be sated.

You whine, you beg, you plead, you drag your nails along his back and arch your hips against him, but he doesn't give. He rocks into you slowly, achingly slowly, maddeningly slowly, and for all your initial protests you enjoy every second of it.

The pleasure builds just as slow, each roll of his hips winding the cord tighter and tighter until you're sure you can't take any more, and then it pulls further. You can't do anything but surrender to the bliss it offers, raising your hips to meet his in the hopes his resolve will eventually break.

"You're incredible you know?" He pants against your mouth, sweat beading at his hairline, his curls sticking to his forehead, his eyes hooded and glazed. "Not just at this, but this too."

All you can do is stare at him, somewhat dazed, wondering how he's even thinking in coherent sentences right now, let alone speaking them. Somewhere your subconscious registers his words and it accompanies a host of butterflies in your belly.

"Just you, exactly as you are. You are incredible," he repeats, only this time it comes with a much harder thrust. You arch against him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your head drops back against the pillows.

"Poe, please," you beg, unsure if you are able to take much more. Clearly neither can he, his name on your lips undoing his patience. He wraps his fingers around your thigh, hoisting your leg up over his hip as he sinks deeper into you, picking up the pace.

His hips slam into yours, filling the room with the sound of flesh on flesh, accompanied only by his curses and praises that fall freely and loudly. For all his requests for you to be loud the pilot's own moans are enough to drown yours out.

Working a hand between your bodies you press a finger to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the hardened nub as Poe angles his hips, pressing up against the blissful spot inside you. Your whole body almost arches up off the bed with the combined pleasure catapulting through you, an almost screamed curse fighting its way out of your throat.

Poe groans low and shakily, barely holding his own climax back, his thrusts becoming messy and mistimed.

"That's it baby. Fuck wanna feel you cum, wanna hear you," he groans, completely wrecked.

That's all it takes. Your orgasm hits suddenly and brightly, your whole body writhing and stiffening as the pleasure overtakes you, coursing through your veins like lava, making your vision go white as you tremble through it. Poe had wanted to hear you, but the purely feral noise you let out, you wouldn't be surprised if the whole damn hotel heard you. You're sure Poe would probably enjoy it if they did.

It's almost too much for your oversensitive body to feel Poe thrusting into you faster and harder, chasing his own end, babbled curses and praises falling from his lips. You shake with overstimulation when his hips stutter, emptying himself deep inside you, your nails leaving crescent moons on his shoulders as you cling desperately to him, your thighs trembling, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Poe half collapses on you, letting your leg down slowly as he presses soft kisses to your neck, against every love bite he's given you in the heat of the moment. You suspect there may be quite a few questions when you get back to the base tomorrow. Turning your head you press a soft kiss to his cheek, making him lean up to look at you.

"Better than you dreamt?" He grins, still flushed and panting.

"I didn't dream about that," you giggle breathlessly, shaking limbs melting into the mattress, sated and tired. Poe raises his eyebrows, letting out a thoughtful hum before he suddenly pulls out of you, making you whimper and immediately miss the feeling of him inside you.

Shuffling down your body he presses a soft kiss between your breasts. You frown at him, confused by his sudden movement and how he still has so much energy. How is it you're a wrecked mess and he's still acting like he can go another ten rounds? Why can't he just be still for one second?

Another kiss to your ribs, first the right side, then the left, moving slowly down, before he pauses, looking up through his lashes at you.

"You didn't dream about us making love?"

You go to make fun of his choice of language but before you have a chance he licks a hot stripe down to your naval, making your breath catch with the sudden rush of pleasure. You're starting to question if he's able to read your thoughts, if he knows the truth of your dream already. Perhaps you had said more than just his name in your sleep?

"Nope, not about us," you breathe unsteadily, trying to hold yourself back from begging anything from him again. You suspect you know what's coming next and honestly, you're not sure if your body is able to handle it, barely over your first two climaxes. Still you weren't about to give in to his questions, he'd never shut up if you admit it. "Told you, I wasn't dreaming about you."

"You are a terrible liar," Poe states, his hands gripping your thighs, pushing them apart. The rush of cold air against your heated flesh makes you gasp and the pilot smirks, his eyes flickering down to your swollen cunt, leaking with your combined climax before coming back to you, a devilish grin taking over his face.

"'Whatever I want to do to you' still stand?" He asks.

All you can do is nod mutely, a fresh wave of need building despite your exhaustion.

"Good," Poe grins, pinning your thighs to the mattress, preventing you from moving. "Because I'm going to get the truth out of you my way."

He does exactly that. He drags the truth out of you to every question he wants answered and more, twice with his mouth, then again with his cock, reducing you to a babbling trembling mess, willing to tell him whatever he wanted to know, and he's infuriatingly smug about it.

~

Poe had been surprisingly tender afterwards. He'd carefully cleaned you up, brought you a glass of water, massaged your sore muscles, before he'd finally pulled you into his arms, holding you close against him.

Of course you had known Poe was kind, of course you knew he took care of the people he was close to, even those who only spent the night with him. There were enough stories around the base to give you a general idea of that, but for some reason you can't place this felt different, it felt intimate.

What surprised you more than anything was how quiet he was now. Appart from a few murmured words about how good you had been for him, and to check you were alright, he hadn't said much at all. It was almost unnerving after his behaviour all day. Really if you had known this would have shut him up you might have jumped on him hours ago. But now, the silence seems worrying.

"You okay?" You ask, your head still against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as his fingers draw mindless patterns against your back.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I was just thinking…maybe we can do this again? Sometime soon? Be in the same bed I mean." The pilot asks. He doesn't sound like the cocky confident Flyboy you're expecting. If anything he sounds a little unsure of his own question.

You won't give him the satisfaction of the enthusiastic yes that tries to escape. The last thing you want out of this night is to become some regular casual hook-up. Poe wasn't exactly known for keeping long term relationships, citing the fact it was too difficult during the middle of a war, which you suppose you could understand. He was at least always very clear about that with whoever he got involved with.

Equally you don't want to say no. You want this, him. You want the moments of passion and quiet, you want the teasing and fights, you want more in whatever way you can.

In the end you go for the middle ground, giving him an option of more, while closely guarding yourself against this being a casual fuck.

"Hmm, suppose if you buy me dinner first then I might consider it. I don't make a habit of sleeping with people without dates."

It's disarmingly sweet when he presses a soft kiss to your head, tightening his arm around you. Your chest aches all the more for moments like this.

"Alright. A date it is." You can hear the smile in his voice, sleepy and happy.

You didn't exactly expect him to agree to that so easily, and while it gives you a flutter of hope, you don't quite trust he catches your meaning.

"I said I'd consider, I didn't say I'd agree. I might have other options," you warn, trying to get him to consider what he wants you to be to him.

Poe lets out a soft chuckle.

"You say that like your pretending it wasn't the best fuck of your life, and you're desperate to do it again."

You lean up on your arm to look at him, raising an eyebrow and fixing him with an unimpressed look at his cockyness.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenges confidently, "because if I am, then I'm just going to have to keep trying. The aim is to make you fall hopelessly in love with me eventually."

"Through sex?" You laugh, ignoring the now familiar butterflies that tell you he might be closer to his aim than he knows.

Poe shrugs, "through whatever necessary means, as long as I get to keep you as mine."

It's almost a knee jerk reaction to open your mouth and tell him you aren't a pet or property to be owned, but as you meet his gaze you realise you are once more judging him a little too quickly and all too harshly. It's clear he means more than that, his gaze open and vulnerable.

A warm feeling of familiarity, of safety, of something bigger, spreads through your very bones, something that shows there is much more than lust and affection, perhaps for both of you.

Your response is much softer than your initial reaction might have been, had you not taken a moment.

"Take me to dinner tomorrow then?"

"I think tomorrow might be today," Poe smiles, nodding towards the window where the faint pink light of dawn is starting to peek through the drawn blinds. You groan knowing sunrise both means you really should untangle yourself from the pilot and head back to base.

"Well honestly I think I've had enough of you for one day." You tease, pushing yourself off him and sitting up, debating if you can handle another cold shower. In all honesty a cold shower is probably exactly what you need after you make the mistake of glancing down at Poe, still naked, the sheet barely covering his more private parts, his curls messy from your fingers, peering up at you with a half smile.

"We both know you can never get enough of me," Poe states, before he wraps his arms around you and drags you back down onto the bed. He throws one leg over yours, effectively trapping you next to him as he snuggles up close to you.

You don't bother fighting, too tired from the night's activity to argue your way out of his grip. Sighing you sink into the bed, allowing your eyes to flutter closed.

"I knew this would work," Poe hums happily in your ear. You mumble enough of a sound to make him realise you're asking what he means.

"Getting you in a hotel room with me would make you admit you wanted me."

You give another tired hum in acknowledgement before his words finally hit you, and you sit up to stare at him, suddenly wide awake. Poe grins back at you, knowing exactly what you are thinking.

"Tell me this was not some plan to get me into bed!"

Poe feigns a comedic shocked expression, holding one hand to his chest as he stares open mouthed at you.

"Of course not! What do you think of me? Why is your opinion of me is so low that you think I'd go as far to break the ship engine, so we'd be stuck here alone, find the busiest hotel on this planet, specifically book one room knowing the others would be booked already by the time we got here, ask for the smallest bed-"

He doesn't get to continue. Picking up the pillow you repeatedly hit him hard with it while Poe laughs, holding his hands up in surrender.

"I'm joking. I'm joking, I swear," he laughs, grabbing his own pillow and hitting you back. "I'd never purposely break a ship."

"You manipulative little shit,"

Neither of you surrender until the bed is covered with feathers, the pillowcases empty and discarded, your limbs tangled together, lips pressed against sweat salted skin. This time it's you who pries the truth from him, your way.

"My methods may be unorthodox but -" he gets no further before you smack him in the face with your pillow, causing him to dissolve into laughter once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[nevernonline]

✧.* the pages of us; jww

synopsis: Wonwoo, a quiet and introspective writer, stumbles upon The Reading Nook, a small, tucked-away bookstore owned by Y/N, a passionate book lover. their shared love for literature draws them together, but the secrets hidden within the bookstore’s collection may hold the key to both their futures.

paring: wonwoo x fem! reader. 

genre:strangers2whatever  

warning/s:mentions of substances (alcohol), death of a parent.

word count: 15k

content: . non-idol idolings

note: non rlly edited prob weird typos, xo. 

The autumn wind tugged at Wonwoo’s jacket as he walked aimlessly through unfamiliar streets. The world around him buzzed—cars honking, people chattering—but his mind was elsewhere, tangled in unwritten sentences and half-formed ideas. When he saw it, he stopped.  

Nestled between a bakery and a flower shop was a small bookstore, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze: The Reading Nook. The warm glow spilling through the windows beckoned him, promising sanctuary. Without hesitation, he stepped inside.  

A bell jingled as the door closed behind him, and the city’s noise melted away, replaced by the soft hum of jazz. The scent of aged paper and faintly spiced tea wrapped around him like a blanket. The space was a labyrinth of towering shelves, cozy armchairs, and scattered stacks of books.  

Behind the counter, a young woman sat perched on a stool, engrossed in a book. Her oversized sweater hung loosely around her frame, and a pencil peeked out from behind her ear. A steaming mug sat within arm’s reach. At the sound of the bell, she looked up, her eyes meeting Wonwoo’s.  

“Lost?” she asked, a hint of teasing in her tone.  

He hesitated. “Uh, No. Not really. I just needed a change of scenery.”  

Her smile widened. “Well, welcome to The Nook. Are you looking for something specific, or do you prefer letting the books choose you?”  

He shrugged, glancing around. “I’m not sure. Inspiration, maybe. I’m a writer. Or trying to be.”  

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “A creative soul, then. I love to see it.” She closed her book with a soft thud and hopped off the stool. “Lucky for you, this place has a knack for unsticking writers. Come on.”  

She led him past rows of novels and poetry collections to a corner that seemed quieter, almost sacred. Pulling a worn book from the shelf, she handed it to him. “This one’s a personal favorite. It might be just what you need.”  

Wonwoo flipped through the pages, his fingers brushing the edges of faded paper. “Thanks,” he murmured, though something on a lower shelf caught his eye.  

“What’s that section?” he asked, pointing to a small, tucked-away shelf labeled Oddities & Curiosities.  

Her laugh was soft and warm. “Oh, that’s the fun shelf. A collection of random finds—some rare, some downright strange. Wait here.”  

She crouched down and pulled out a slim, weathered journal bound in dark leather. She placed it in his hands, her expression thoughtful. “This is special. It’s been here forever. People call it the Muse’s Journal. Writers seem to like it. It’s basically a sacred text.”  

The leather was cracked with age, the pages filled with scribbled notes, odd sketches, and cryptic messages in faded ink. One phrase in particular caught his eye:  

“Every ending is a beginning in disguise.”  

He ran his fingers over the words, as if they might dissolve. “This almost feels like it’s meant for me.”  

She watched him, her gaze softening. “It tends to have that effect.”  

Their eyes met for a brief moment, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Then she broke the spell, gesturing toward the counter.  

“Let me ring those up for you.”  

At the counter, she slipped a hand-drawn bookmark into the journal before sliding it toward him. “Consider this a welcome gift,” she said with a smile. “Don’t be a stranger—I want to hear how it goes.”  

He nodded, tucking the journal and bookmark into his bag. “Thanks... Y/N,” he said, glancing at the nameplate on the counter.  

The bell jingled as he stepped out into the crisp autumn air. Inside, Y/N lingered by the counter, her fingers brushing the edge of her mug. She found herself wondering about the quiet writer who had wandered in, carrying stories he wasn’t ready to tell.  

Wonwoo’s apartment was small and spare, its corners cluttered with books and scattered drafts of his unfinished manuscript. The city hummed outside, but within the four walls, it was quiet—too quiet. He dropped his bag onto the table and pulled out the journal Y/N had given him, the leather cover cool under his fingertips.

He opened it carefully, the faint scent of old paper filling the room. The handwriting inside was uneven, a mix of bold, confident strokes and faint, hurried scrawls. Sketches of stars and swirling patterns filled the margins, and snippets of phrases seemed to leap from the pages:

To find the ending, look within.

Time folds like pages.

You already know the answer.

Near the middle, he found a folded scrap of paper tucked between the pages. Carefully, he opened it. Written in the same hurried scrawl were the words:

The key lies where the light breaks.

Wonwoo tilted his head, puzzled. It felt like a puzzle piece, disconnected but tantalizing. He sat down at his desk, pulled out his laptop, and opened the document containing his manuscript. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

For weeks, he’d stared at this screen, unable to write. But now, the words in the journal buzzed in his mind, stirring something deep within. He scrolled to the last paragraph of his story and began to type. Slowly at first, then faster.

The narrative began to flow, his characters moving through the scenes as if they’d been waiting for him to find his way back. The world outside faded as Wonwoo lost himself in the story.

The bell above the door jingled softly as Wonwoo stepped into The Reading Nook for the second time. It was raining outside, the kind of steady drizzle that dampened everything except his resolve to return. He shook off his umbrella by the door and glanced toward the counter, where Y/N was scribbling something in a notebook.

She looked up at the sound of the bell, her expression shifting from focus to a faint smile. “Back already?”

Wonwoo shrugged, setting his messenger bag on the counter. “The journal,” he said simply, pulling it out and sliding it toward her. “It’s... strange, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like it knows what I need to hear before I do.”

Y/N’s fingers brushed the journal as she picked it up, her movements slow, almost reverent. “That’s what people say about it,” she replied, her tone measured. “It has a way of finding the right person.”

Wonwoo tilted his head, catching the flicker of something in her voice—hesitation, or maybe unease. “You’ve had it for a long time, haven’t you?”

She nodded, her gaze lowering to the journal. “It was one of my mother’s finds. She used to say every book had a soul, but this one...” She trailed off, her expression softening as if caught in a memory. “This one feels alive.”

Wonwoo hesitated before asking, “And the notes inside? Like this one.” He unfolded the small slip of paper he’d found tucked in the pages. “What’s ‘where the light breaks’ supposed to mean?”

For a moment, Y/N’s guard slipped, her brows knitting together in a way that told him she knew more than she was letting on. Then, just as quickly, she recovered, flashing him an enigmatic smile. “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it’s a metaphor. Writers love their metaphors, don’t they?”

Wonwoo gave a small laugh, though her deflection left him unconvinced. He decided not to press further, sensing that whatever secrets she was guarding weren’t ready to be shared.

“Mind if I stick around for a while?” he asked, changing the subject.

Y/N gestured toward the back of the store. “Go ahead. There’s some nice spots in the back corner by the staircase.”

Wonwoo found his favorite armchair nestled in the back corner of the store, near a shelf overflowing with worn poetry collections and dog-eared philosophy books. He placed the journal on the small table beside him and opened his laptop.

As the hours slipped by, the steady rhythm of rain against the windows created the perfect backdrop for writing. Y/N occasionally passed by, carrying stacks of books to reshelve or pausing to check in on him.

“How’s it going?” she asked during one of her rounds.

He glanced up, smiling faintly. “Better. The words are coming easier today. It’s strange—I haven’t felt this focused in weeks.”

Y/N arched a brow, setting a mug of tea on the table beside him. “Maybe it’s the bookstore’s magic,” she said lightly, though there was a touch of sincerity in her voice.

“Maybe,” he agreed, taking a sip of the tea. It was spiced and warm, the perfect antidote to the cold rain outside.

Y/N leaned against the edge of the shelf, her arms crossed. “What’s the problem anyway? Plot? Characters? Dialogue?”

“All of it,” he replied, gesturing helplessly at the screen. “It’s like I’ve forgotten how to write.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Want to try an exercise? Something I do when I’m in a creative rut?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “You write?”

“I dabble,” she said with a shrug, though a faint blush crept up her cheeks. “Mostly for myself. But the exercise works. Close your laptop.”

He hesitated but followed her instruction, snapping the laptop shut.

“Now,” she continued, “pick a random object in the room. Anything.”

Wonwoo glanced around, his gaze landing on an antique globe sitting on a nearby shelf. “That.”

“Perfect,” Y/N said, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. “Tell me about the person who owns it. What do they do? Where have they been? What’s their story?”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the prompt. Slowly, he began to speak. “They’re... an explorer. Someone who’s seen the world but is always looking for something they can’t quite find. Maybe it’s a place, or a feeling, or—”

“A person,” Y/N interjected softly, her eyes meeting his.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice quieter. “A person.”

They shared a small smile before Y/N stood, brushing her hands on her sweater. “See? You’re not blocked—you’re just overthinking. Write like that, without the pressure.”

Their conversations began to spill beyond writing. That evening, after the store had emptied out, Y/N brought over not two mugs of tea this time, but two glasses of whiskey chilled with a thick cut ball of ice and sat beside him in his corner.

“What’s your story, Wonwoo?” she asked, breaking the companionable silence.

“My story?” he repeated, taking a sip of the drink to buy time.

“Yeah,” she said, tucking her legs beneath her. “You know all these characters and worlds, but what about you? What made you want to write in the first place?”

He hesitated, her question striking a chord. “I think It’s the only way I know how to make sense of things. Of people. Writing lets me put the world into words, even when it doesn’t make sense in real life.”

“That’s beautiful,” she said softly.

He gave her a shy smile, unused to such direct praise. “What about you? Why books?”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the shelves around them. “Books were my escape growing up. My mom used to say a good story could take you anywhere, even if you couldn’t leave where you were. She started this place so people could find those stories.”

“Did you always know you’d take over?” Wonwoo asked.

“Not at first,” she admitted, tracing the rim of her mug. “I thought I’d do something else, but when she passed, I realized how much of her was here. Keeping the store alive felt like keeping her alive, too.”

Her voice wavered slightly, and Wonwoo reached out instinctively, his hand brushing hers. “She’d be proud of you,” he said gently.

Y/N looked at him, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thanks, Wonwoo. That means a lot. To creative breakthroughs,” she said, raising her glass.

“And to mysterious journals,” Wonwoo added with a smirk, clinking his glass against hers.

The whiskey was smooth, warming him from the inside out. He leaned back in his chair, feeling the tension of the day melt away.

“Once,” Y/N said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, “a guy came in asking if we sold books printed on edible paper. Said he wanted to consume knowledge literally.”

Wonwoo laughed, nearly spilling his drink. “Did you find him anything?”

“I tried to sell him a cookbook. He wasn’t amused.”

He shook his head, still grinning. “This place must be full of stories.”

“It is,” she said, her voice softer now. “But not just the ones on the shelves.”

“What do you mean? 

Y/n smiled, shaking her head slightly. “I feel like all of my core memories were here. WIth my mom. With customers just like you, I read about sex for the first time here with my friends just spending our day giggling at the words, I had my birthday parties here, all of that. When I was younger I thought there was something hiding beneath the walls of the bookshelves like a treasure hunt. I even drew my own map, all of it. It’s just something special.” 

Wonwoo’s grin softened as he leaned back in his chair, his glass of whiskey resting loosely in his hand. He took in Y/N’s wistful expression, the way her eyes shimmered with nostalgia. “That’s really beautiful,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It sounds like this place has always been more than just a bookstore for you.”  

Y/N laughed softly, a touch of self-consciousness in her tone. “Yeah, it’s kind of silly, isn’t it? Most people probably see it as just another store, but to me…” She gestured around them, her hand sweeping across the shelves and corners bathed in golden light. “It’s everything. A home, a memory box, a time machine, even.”  

“You made a treasure map?” he asked, his lips twitching into an amused smile.  

“Oh, yeah,” Y/N said, her cheeks flushing. She sat up straighter, miming the act of unrolling a scroll. “I was convinced there were secret passages hidden in the walls or, like, a chest buried under the floorboards. I even roped my friends into searching for hours. We’d sneak around with flashlights after the store closed, trying not to get caught.”  

“Did you ever find anything?” Wonwoo asked, playing along.  

She smiled mischievously. “Well, I did find an old tin box stuffed behind a loose board in the back. Turned out to be a stash of my mom’s notes and doodles from when she was designing the store. She’d drawn all these little floor plans and written these whimsical ideas for themed sections. It was like finding a treasure, but instead of gold, it was her imagination.”  

Wonwoo’s brows lifted in surprise. “That sounds even better than gold.”  

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, her voice softer now. “It was.”  

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The store felt alive around them, the silence filled with the weight of its stories. Wonwoo glanced toward the rows of shelves, his gaze lingering on their uneven, timeworn edges.  

“You’ve spent your whole life here,” he said finally, his tone contemplative. “It’s like you and this place are woven together.”  

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”  

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his dark eyes meeting hers. “You’ve built something that carries so much meaning—not just for you, but for everyone who steps through that door. I mean, look at me. I was completely lost, and this place pulled me in. It’s rare.”  

Her smile returned, small but genuine. “You really think so?”  

He nodded without hesitation. “I do. And I think your mom would be proud of what you’ve done with it.”  

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her glass for a moment, her gaze dropping to the amber liquid inside. “That means a lot.”  

She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “What about you, though? What’s your version of a treasure map? Did you ever have a place like this growing up?”  

Wonwoo paused, considering the question. “Not really. My family moved around a lot, so I never had the chance to get attached to any one place. But I guess that’s why books became so important to me. They were the only constant.”  

“Did you have a favorite?”  

He chuckled, the sound soft and low. “I had a beat-up copy of The Little Prince. I carried it everywhere. The pages were falling out by the time I hit high school, but I couldn’t let it go. It felt like it understood me in a way nothing else did.”  

Y/N smiled, her eyes lighting up. “That’s one of my favorites too. It’s so simple, but it stays with you.”  

“Yeah,” he said, his expression turning thoughtful. “I think that’s what I want my writing to do. I want someone to pick up my book and feel the way I felt holding that one—like it’s speaking directly to them.”  

“That’s a pretty amazing goal,” Y/N said. “And if your manuscript is anything like the pieces I’ve seen you scribble on napkins around here, you’re on your way.”  

Wonwoo laughed, feeling his cheeks heat under her praise. “Well, that’s high praise coming from the owner of the coziest, most magical bookstore in the city.”  

“Oh, we’re the only magical bookstore in the city,” Y/N quipped, raising her glass in mock toast.  

“Fair enough,” Wonwoo said, clinking his glass against hers again.  

The night deepened, the whiskey bottle slowly emptying as their conversation wandered from books to music, from childhood memories to dreams they hadn’t dared to share before. The air between them grew warmer, the initial reserve giving way to an easy intimacy.  

By the time the clock struck midnight, Y/N found herself leaning against the arm of her chair, her head resting on her hand as she watched Wonwoo animatedly describe a scene from his favorite film. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so at ease with someone.  

Wonwoo caught her gaze and paused mid-sentence, his smile softening. “What?”  

“Nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Just you talk about stories like they’re alive. It’s nice.”  

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a quiet sincerity, he said, “I think it’s because they are. And you—you’re part of why I’m starting to believe in them again.”  

Her breath caught, the weight of his words settling in her chest. For once, she didn’t know what to say, so she simply smiled, the corners of her lips curving upward as warmth spread through her.  

Outside, the rain began again, tapping lightly against the windows, as if the universe itself were trying to write the next chapter of their story.  

The clock on the wall chimed softly, breaking the stillness. Y/N glanced at it and sighed. “We should probably call it a night. I have to open up in the morning.”

“Right,” Wonwoo said, though he was reluctant to leave.

As he gathered his things, Y/N walked him to the door, her steps slow.

“Thanks for staying,” she said as he shrugged on his coat.

“Thanks for the whiskey,” he replied with a smile. “And for letting me hijack your bookstore every day.”

“You’re not hijacking it,” she said, her tone warm. “You’re just  adding to its story.”

He paused, her words settling in his chest like a quiet truth. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Wonwoo.”

As he stepped out into the cool night, he couldn’t help but glance back at the softly glowing windows of The Reading Nook, already looking forward to returning to its quiet magic—and to her—tomorrow.

The morning at the store was unusually busy, with regulars and passersby drifting in and out. The faint hum of chatter and the occasional scrape of chairs filled the air, blending with the soft jazz playing from the speakers. Y/N moved easily between the shelves, offering recommendations and ringing up purchases with her usual calm efficiency.

Wonwoo arrived just past noon, carrying the journal tucked under his arm. He pushed the door open and was greeted by the cheerful jingle of the entry bell. Y/N, stationed behind the counter, looked up and gave him a warm smile.

“Back so soon?” she teased.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he replied, returning her smile as he made his way to his usual spot in the back corner.

But today, instead of pulling out his laptop, Wonwoo placed the journal on the table and opened it. His fingers traced the faint ink of the unfamiliar handwriting as he flipped through the pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.

After the rush died down, Y/N joined him, carrying two steaming cups of coffee. She placed one beside him and leaned against the edge of the table. “You’ve been staring at that thing all week,” she said, nodding at the journal. “What the hell is so fascinating about it?”

Wonwoo looked up, his expression thoughtful. “It’s strange. The more I read it, the more it feels like the writer was leaving clues for someone, almost like they wanted to be found.”

Y/N’s curiosity piqued. She pulled up a chair, sitting across from him. “What kind of clues?”

He turned the journal toward her, pointing to a section where a paragraph had been underlined. “Here, for example. The writer talks about a ‘hidden heart’ beneath the shelves, something meant to outlast them. And here—” He flipped a few pages, showing her a sketch of what looked like a rough map. “This is a drawing of something, but I can’t figure out what. It’s like they were mapping out a part of the store.”

Y/N leaned closer, her brow furrowing. “Let me see that.” She studied the map, her fingers brushing the edges of the page. The sketch showed a series of lines and rectangles, vaguely resembling the layout of the bookstore, with an X marked near the back wall.

“That’s... odd,” she murmured. “It does look like the store, but this corner doesn’t exist anymore. My mom remodeled years ago to add the café section.”

“Could there be something behind the wall?” Wonwoo asked, his voice low with intrigue.

Y/N bit her lip, considering the possibility. “Maybe. But I don’t remember her ever mentioning anything like that.”

They spent the next hour poring over the journal together, comparing the map to the store’s current layout and trying to piece together the cryptic notes scribbled in the margins. Phrases like “For the dreamers who wander” and “Seek, and you will find” were scattered throughout, written in a looping, elegant script.

“This feels like something out of one of your novels,” Y/N said, glancing at Wonwoo with a small smile.

“I know,” he replied, his excitement evident. “It’s almost too perfect.”

“But if there’s something hidden, why hasn’t anyone found it before?”

“That’s what we need to figure out,” he said, standing abruptly. “Where’s that back corner? The one your mom remodeled?”

Y/N hesitated but stood as well, leading him toward the café section. They stopped in front of the wall that now housed shelves of cookbooks and travel guides.

“This is where the X would be,” she said, gesturing toward space. “But if there’s anything back there, it’s been sealed up for years.”

Wonwoo ran his hand along the wooden paneling, his expression thoughtful. “It wouldn’t hurt to check, right?”

Y/N disappeared into the back room and returned with a small step ladder and a flashlight. Together, they began carefully inspecting the wall, knocking on the panels and listening for any hollow sounds.

“Here,” Wonwoo said after a few minutes, tapping on a spot near the floor. The sound was noticeably different, dull and hollow compared to the rest.

Y/N crouched beside him, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “You think that’s it?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

They worked together to carefully remove the lower panel, revealing a small recess hidden behind it. Inside was an old, dust-covered wooden box, no bigger than a shoebox.

Y/N’s breath hitched. “Oh my God.”

Wonwoo reached in and gently pulled the box out, placing it on the floor between them. It was heavy, the wood worn and etched with faint carvings of stars and vines. A small latch held it shut.

“Do we open it?” he asked, looking at Y/N.

She nodded, her hands trembling slightly. “We have to.”

As Y/N stared at the box and its mysterious contents, a nagging thought began to creep into her mind. She looked at the map again, then at the journal, then at Wonwoo. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Wait a second,” she said, her tone suddenly sharp. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“This.” she gestured at the journal and the box, her voice rising slightly. “This whole... treasure hunt. It’s because I told you about my stupid childhood treasure map last night, isn’t it?”

“What? No fucking way.” Wonwoo said, his brows knitting together in confusion.

Y/N stood and crossed her arms, glaring down at him. “It’s just too convenient, okay? You show up here with this mystical, cryptic journal I gave you, right after I tell you how I used to dream about finding treasure in this store. And now, look. We’ve ‘found’ a hidden box in the wall? What are the odds of that, Wonwoo?”

Her words hit him like a slap, and he rose to his feet, looking genuinely hurt. “Y/N, I’m not making this up,” he said, his voice steady but defensive. “Why would I even go through all this trouble just to mess with you?”

“I don’t know.” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re a writer. Maybe you thought it’d be funny, or it’d give you material for your next book?”

“Seriously?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You really think I’d fake something like this? For what? A laugh?”

Y/N hesitated, suddenly unsure. Her anger fizzled as quickly as it had flared, leaving behind an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and guilt. She bit her lip and glanced at the box again, its contents undeniably real.

“Well,” she muttered, her voice quieter now. “It just seems too perfect. Like something out of one of your stories.”

Wonwoo sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his expression softening. “I get it. It does feel like something out of a book. But that’s what makes it so amazing, Y/N. It’s real.”

She looked at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all she saw was sincerity—the kind that made her chest tighten.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice small. “It’s just…this place means a lot to me, and I guess I got defensive.”

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “I get why you’d be suspicious. But I promise, this journal, this box—it’s as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath and sat back down, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders. “I guess I owe you the benefit of the doubt,” she said with a sheepish smile. “You’re not exactly the pranking type.”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo replied, his lips quivering into a small smile. “Although now I kind of wish I had thought of this. It’s a pretty great story.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Don’t push it.”

Inside the box, they found an assortment of items: a stack of faded letters tied with a silk ribbon, a small leather pouch filled with pressed flowers, and a single gold key. At the very bottom was a handwritten note on yellowed paper.

Y/N picked it up and unfolded it carefully, her eyes scanning the elegant script.

“For those who cherish stories: The heart of the dreamer lies not in the treasure itself, but in the act of seeking. May you find what you didn’t know you were looking for.”

The note was signed with her mother’s name.

Y/N stared at the signature, her throat tightening. “She left this here,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Wonwoo placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “She wanted you to find it.”

Y/N blinked back tears and looked at him. “But what does it mean? The key, the letters... What was she trying to tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo said softly, “but I think we’re only just beginning to understand the story.”

They sat there in the quiet of the bookstore, the mystery unfolding around them like the opening pages of a long-lost novel. The key glinted in the soft light, a silent invitation to continue the journey.

After a moment of silence, she reached for the journal again, turning it over in her hands. “So... if you’re not messing with me, what do you think this all means? The key, the letters, the note...”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo admitted, crouching beside the box once more. “But I think your mom was trying to leave you something—not just in the literal sense, but maybe a piece of herself. Maybe she wanted you to find it when you were ready.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, her fingers brushing over the note. “She always did love a good mystery.”

“Well, lucky for you, you’ve got a mystery writer here to help,” Wonwoo said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “All right, detective. Where do we start?”

Wonwoo held up the gold key, letting it catch the light. “With this,” he said simply.

The gold key gleamed under the soft light of the bookstore, its intricate details catching Y/N’s eye. It was old, heavy in Wonwoo’s hand as he turned it over thoughtfully.

“So,” he began, “any idea what this might go to?”

Y/N shook her head, her brow furrowing as she stared at the key. “Not really. It’s not from the register, or the front door, and it doesn’t look like any of the locks I’ve seen around here. It’s  too decorative.”

Wonwoo placed the key on the table, its metallic clink filling the quiet space. “Could it belong to something in the back room? Maybe there’s an old chest or cabinet hidden back there.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “There is an old storage cabinet in the back, but it’s just filled with leftover inventory and random junk. I don’t think it even has a lock anymore.”

“Well,” Wonwoo said, standing up and grabbing the key, “let’s find out.”

The two of them moved through the store, weaving between shelves and heading toward the back room. Y/N flipped on the overhead light, revealing a space cluttered with boxes, stacks of old books, and various odds and ends that had accumulated over the years.

“There,” she said, pointing toward a tall wooden cabinet tucked against the far wall. It was scratched and weathered, its once-polished surface dulled by time.

Wonwoo approached it, crouching to examine the hardware. “Looks like it used to have a keyhole, but it’s been replaced with this newer latch.” He stood and glanced around the room. “What else could it fit?”

Y/N frowned, scanning the room. Then her gaze landed on an old wooden chest half-buried beneath a pile of dusty books. Her heart skipped a beat. “That,” she said, gesturing toward it. “It used to belong to my mom. I haven’t opened it in years.”

Wonwoo crossed to the chest and carefully cleared the books away, revealing its ornate design. It was carved with swirling patterns and faint images of stars and moons—details that mirrored the etchings on the box they’d found.

“This has to be it,” he said, his voice low with anticipation.

Y/N knelt beside him, her hands trembling slightly as she handed him the key. “Go ahead,” she said.

Wonwoo hesitated for a moment, then slid the key into the lock. It fit perfectly, turning with a satisfying click. The lid creaked as he lifted it, revealing the chest’s contents:

Inside was a collection of items that seemed to have been frozen in time. There were stacks of faded photographs, a leather-bound notebook, and a small music box. Among them was a sealed envelope with Y/N’s name written in her mother’s handwriting.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She reached for the envelope, her fingers brushing the paper lightly before pulling it free.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asked gently.

She nodded, though her hands were shaking as she opened the letter.

The letter was written in the same elegant script as the note they’d found earlier. Y/N’s eyes scanned the words, her voice barely above a whisper as she read aloud:

"My dearest Y/N, If you’re reading this, it means you’ve found the box and followed the clues. I always knew you would—your curiosity has always been your greatest strength. This store is more than a place for books; it’s a sanctuary for dreamers, just like you.

The chest holds pieces of my story, but it’s also a reminder to create your own. The key isn’t just for unlocking the past—it’s for opening doors to the future. Keep seeking, keep dreaming, and never stop believing in the magic of stories.

With all my love, Mom.”

Y/N’s voice broke as she finished the letter, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wiped at her eyes, laughing softly. “She always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

Wonwoo smiled, his own eyes glassy. “She sounds like an incredible woman.”

“She was,” Y/N said, clutching the letter to her chest. “And somehow, she still is.”

They spent the next hour carefully going through the chest. The photographs captured moments from her mother’s life: her standing in front of the bookstore on opening day, laughing with friends at a party, and sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by books, her smile bright and full of life.

The notebook turned out to be her mother’s journal, filled with musings about the store, her dreams for its future, and even sketches of book displays.

But it was the music box that brought the most unexpected surprise. When Y/N wound it up and opened it, a soft, haunting melody filled the room. Beneath the mechanism was a small, folded piece of paper.

Wonwoo picked it up and unfolded it, his brow furrowing. “It’s another map,” he said, holding it up for Y/N to see.

This one was simpler than the first, but it clearly pointed to a specific section of the bookstore: the poetry aisle.

“Of course,” Y/N said, shaking her head with a teary laugh. “That was her favorite section.”

“Looks like the treasure hunt isn’t over,” Wonwoo said, his smile growing.

Y/N glanced at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. “You really are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Are you kidding?” he said, standing and offering her his hand. “This is the best story I’ve been part of in years.”

Y/N took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. “Then let’s go see what else she left behind.”

The poetry section was nestled in one of the coziest corners of The Reading Nook, lit by warm, golden light from an antique floor lamp. The shelves were crammed with well-loved volumes, their spines a kaleidoscope of faded colors. Y/N and Wonwoo crouched together, studying the map they’d found in the music box.

“It’s pointing right here,” Wonwoo said, tapping a spot on the map that corresponded to a low shelf at the far end of the aisle. “You think there’s something hidden behind the books?”

“Only one way to find out,” Y/N murmured, already reaching for a stack of slim poetry collections. She began pulling them off the shelf, careful not to damage the fragile covers.

Wonwoo joined in, working methodically as the gap widened. Behind the books, they found an old wooden panel, its edges rough and worn. A faint carving was etched into the wood—a heart with an arrow through it.

Y/N ran her fingers over the carving, her pulse quickening. “This has to be it,” she whispered. “It matches the note in the journal about the ‘hidden heart.’”

“Is it loose?” Wonwoo asked, leaning in closer.

Y/N pushed gently on the panel, and it gave way with a soft creak, revealing a small compartment. Inside was a folded piece of parchment and a brass locket.

She carefully picked up the parchment and unfolded it, her eyes scanning the page. Before she could fully process what it said, the jingle of the front doorbell shattered the quiet.

“Y/N?”

The voice was sharp, authoritative, and instantly recognizable. Y/N froze, her blood running cold. She turned slowly to see her estranged aunt, Evelyn, standing at the entrance to the poetry aisle. Evelyn was tall and impeccably dressed, her tailored coat and polished heels making her look as though she belonged in a boardroom rather than a cozy bookstore.

“Who’s that?” Wonwoo asked softly, sensing her sudden tension.  

“My aunt,” Y/N muttered, her voice tight. “And she doesn’t visit for small talk.”  

Footsteps echoed down the aisle before Evelyn appeared, impeccably dressed in a dark tailored coat and stilettos that clicked sharply against the hardwood. Behind her trailed a man in a crisp gray suit, carrying a leather briefcase. His expression was unreadable but efficient, like a man who had won many battles in court.  

Evelyn’s sharp gaze fell immediately on Y/N, then flicked to Wonwoo and the cleared shelf. Her lips twisted into a thin, mirthless smile. “Well, this is quite the scene,” she said. “Still playing your little bookstore games, I see.”  

“What do you want, Evelyn?” Y/N asked, her tone defensive as she stood, tucking the parchment behind her back. Wonwoo quickly picked up the locket and slipped it into his pocket, his movements discreet.  

Evelyn gestured to the man beside her. “This is Mr. Calloway, my attorney. I brought him here to settle some legal matters concerning this store.”  

“Legal matters?” Y/N repeated, her stomach knotting.  

“Correct,” Calloway said, his voice as polished as his appearance. He opened his briefcase and produced a stack of papers, handing them to Evelyn.  

Evelyn stepped closer, holding the documents out to Y/N. “This property is not yours outright, dear. It belongs to the family, and I’m here to claim my share. Effective immediately, I’ll be taking ownership and moving forward with plans to redevelop this space into something profitable. The bookstore has had its time.”  

Y/N’s jaw tightened as she refused to take the papers. “You can’t just walk in here and take the store. My mother left it to me.”  

Evelyn gave a small, cold laugh. “Your mother left behind a mess. Do you have any idea how much debt this place is in? How much is it bleeding every month? I’m doing you a favor, Y/N. You can’t save this place—it’s a relic.”  

Wonwoo stepped forward, his expression calm but his voice firm. “With all due respect, ma’am, this place is more than just a business. It’s a community hub, a home for people who need it.”  

Evelyn’s eyes flicked to him, her disdain palpable. “And who, exactly, are you?”  

“Wonwoo,” he said, offering a polite nod. “I’m a writer, and I’ve been spending a lot of time here. Enough to know how much this store means—not just to Y/N, but to the people who come here.”  

“Another dreamer,” Evelyn muttered, shaking her head. She turned back to Y/N, her expression hardening. “You can surround yourself with all the idealists you want, but it won’t change the facts. I’ve already spoken to the developers, and they’re eager to get started. Your little bookstore is standing in the way of progress.”  

“I won’t let you do this,” Y/N said, her voice trembling but resolute. “This place isn’t just mine—it’s my mother’s legacy. You have no right to take it away.”  

Calloway cleared his throat, his tone measured. “Legally speaking, your aunt does have a valid claim. Without a specific stipulation in the will granting you sole ownership, the property reverts to shared family rights. Evelyn has chosen to exercise her claim.”  

Y/N’s heart sank, but before she could respond, Wonwoo stepped in again. “That’s interesting,” he said, his voice smooth. “Because we just found something that might make things a bit more complicated.”  

Evelyn’s sharp gaze locked onto him. “What do you mean?”  

Wonwoo shot Y/N a subtle glance, silently urging her to trust him. “I mean, Y/N’s mom left behind a lot of things in this store. Memories, letters, documents. Who’s to say there isn’t something legally binding among them?”  

Y/N caught on quickly, her hand tightening around the parchment. “That’s right. My mom was meticulous—she wouldn’t leave this place unprotected.”  

Evelyn’s confident facade faltered for a split second, but she quickly recovered. “If you have something concrete, I suggest you present it to a lawyer,” she said coolly. “Until then, this store is mine to do with as I please.”  

Wonwoo moved to stand between Y/N and Evelyn, his posture calm but firm. “You’re not taking anything today. Not until we’ve had a chance to go through everything and get legal advice of our own.”  

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can stall me?”  

“Not stall,” he said, his voice steady. “Protect what’s rightfully hers until the truth comes out.”  

There was a tense silence before Evelyn sighed dramatically, turning on her heel. “You have 48 hours to present proof. After that, I’m filing the necessary paperwork to take control.” She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze icy. “Don’t waste my time.”  

She strode out of the store, Calloway following closely behind. The doorbell jingled sharply as it shut behind them.  

Y/N slumped against the shelf, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “She’s serious,” she whispered. “She’s really going to try to take this place.”  

“She won’t,” Wonwoo said firmly, pulling the locket from his pocket. “Because we’re going to find out exactly what your mom left behind. And if there’s even the slightest chance this parchment can stop her, we’re using it.”  

Y/N straightened, her resolve hardening. “She’s not taking this store, Wonwoo. I don’t care what it takes.”  

He smiled faintly. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s figure out what else your mom wanted you to find.”  

Together, they returned to the hidden compartment, determined to uncover the secrets that would save the bookstore.

The tension from Evelyn’s visit still lingered as Y/N and Wonwoo returned to the poetry aisle. Y/N’s hands shook slightly as she gently unfolded the parchment again, staring at her mother’s handwriting. Wonwoo sat beside her, leaning closer to read over her shoulder.  

The note was more cryptic than her mother’s previous messages, written in elegant script:  

"Look for the words that open doors.  

Find the book where the stars meet the sea,  

And inside, you’ll discover the key to everything."

Y/N exhaled sharply, brushing her hair out of her face. “What does that even mean? ‘The stars meet the sea’? It sounds like a riddle.”  

“It is a riddle,” Wonwoo said thoughtfully, his brows furrowing as he studied the note. “But it’s also specific. Think about your mom—did she ever talk about a particular book that had something to do with stars or the sea?”  

Y/N hesitated, her eyes scanning the shelves around them. “She loved poetry. And she had a way of finding meaning in everything. If this is a reference to a book, it’s probably one she treasured.”  

Wonwoo stood and began browsing the nearby shelves, running his fingers along the spines. “What about the ones she kept separate from the main inventory? Rare or personal copies?”  

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “The display case in the main room. She kept her favorite editions there.”  

The two of them hurried to the display case, a vintage piece with glass panels that housed a carefully curated selection of books. Y/N unlocked it with a small key she kept on her necklace, the faint scent of old paper wafting out as she opened it.  

“‘Stars meet the sea,’” Wonwoo murmured, scanning the titles. His gaze stopped on a slim, navy-blue book with a constellation design embossed on the cover. Where the Stars Meet the Sea, it read.  

“This has to be it,” Y/N said, reaching for the book. She opened it slowly, her breath catching as something fluttered out from between the pages and landed on the glass.  

It was a folded piece of parchment, similar to the others, but heavier this time. Wonwoo picked it up carefully, unfolding it to reveal a sketched blueprint.  

“This... is a layout of the store,” Y/N said, her eyes widening as she recognized the familiar shape of the rooms and shelves.  

Wonwoo pointed to a section marked with an X near the back of the building. “What’s here?”  

“That’s the storage closet,” Y/N said, frowning. “I’ve been there a million times. There’s nothing special about it.”  

“Maybe there is,” Wonwoo said, already heading toward the back. “Your mom clearly wanted you to find something, and I don’t think she’d send you on a wild goose chase.”  

The storage closet was cramped and cluttered, packed with old boxes and supplies. Y/N and Wonwoo worked side by side to clear the space, uncovering the back wall. That’s when Y/N noticed something strange: a faint seam in the wood paneling.  

“There’s something behind this,” she said, brushing dust off the edges.  

Wonwoo grabbed a nearby screwdriver and began prying the panel loose. It took some effort, but eventually, the panel gave way, revealing a hidden compartment built into the wall.  

Inside was a small wooden box, secured with a delicate latch. Y/N’s hands trembled as she unfastened it, revealing a stack of letters tied with a ribbon, along with an aged leather journal.  

“These are my mom’s,” Y/N said, her voice breaking. She picked up the journal, flipping through the pages filled with her mother’s familiar handwriting. “It’s... it’s like she’s talking to me again.”  

Wonwoo watched her quietly for a moment before speaking. “I think we should take a break. You’ve been through a lot today.”  

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “But there’s so much to—”  

“Later,” Wonwoo interrupted gently. “Let’s take a minute to breathe. You’re not alone in this, Y/N. We’ll figure it out together.”  

She hesitated but eventually nodded. “Okay. You’re right.”  

Back in the main room, Wonwoo took it upon himself to lighten the mood. While Y/N sat curled up in one of the armchairs, he went to the small kitchenette in the back of the store. A few minutes later, he returned with two glasses of wine and a plate of crackers and cheese he had found in the pantry.  

“Wine and snacks,” he said with a soft smile, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “It’s not much, but I figured you could use something to take the edge off.”  

Y/N laughed softly, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “You really didn’t have to do this.”  

“I wanted to,” he said simply, handing her a glass.  

They sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping their wine. The quiet hum of the store enveloped them, warm and comforting.  

“This place really is magic,” Wonwoo said eventually, his voice soft.  

Y/N glanced at him, her heart tugging at the sincerity in his expression. “You think so?”  

He nodded, meeting her gaze. “It’s not just the books or the memories. It’s you. The way you talk about this place, the way you care about it... it’s inspiring.”  

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, her fingers tightening around her glass. “You’re just saying that.”  

“I’m not,” he said firmly. “You make this place what it is, Y/N. Your mom might have started it, but you’ve kept its heart alive. And I think that’s worth fighting for.”  

Her throat tightened at his words, and she managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Wonwoo. For everything.”  

“Always,” he said, his voice low and steady.  

For the first time that day, Y/N felt a flicker of hope. Whatever secrets her mother had left behind—and whatever battles lay ahead—she wasn’t facing them alone. And that made all the difference.  

Y/N leaned back in the armchair, swirling the last sip of wine in her glass. The dim light of the bookstore wrapped around them like a cocoon, soft and intimate. But the weight of the day still clung to her like a second skin—her aunt’s cruel words, the lawyer’s smug expression, the constant fear of losing everything.  

She sighed, staring into her glass. “I don’t get it. How can someone like Evelyn have the same blood as my mom? They’re polar opposites. My mom gave her life to this place, and Evelyn just... wants to turn it into concrete and drywall.”  

Wonwoo, who had been sitting cross-legged on the floor near the armchair, tilted his head thoughtfully. “Your aunt is  something else, huh?” he said carefully, a hint of amusement in his voice.  

Y/N let out a sharp laugh, startled by his tone. “That’s putting it lightly.”  

“No, seriously,” he said, leaning forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. “She stormed in here like a villain from some soap opera. All she was missing was a dramatic evil laugh and a pet cat to stroke menacingly.”  

Y/N snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. “Stop it. She’s bad, but she’s not a cartoon character.”  

“Are you sure?” Wonwoo countered, his grin widening. “She walked in here with her heels clicking like a countdown to doom and a lawyer who looked like he was ready to auction off your soul. I half-expected her to twirl her hair and say, ‘You’ll rue the day you crossed Evelyn!’”  

That did it. Y/N burst out laughing, the tension in her chest loosening with every chuckle. She doubled over slightly, her glass wobbling in her hand.  

Wonwoo sat back, clearly pleased with himself. “See? Laughter’s good for stress. And let’s face it, your aunt is absurd enough to be a villain in one of those cheesy romance novels you keep tucked in the corner.”  

Y/N wiped at her eyes, still giggling. “You’re not wrong. She’s dramatic enough to fit right in.”  

“And her lawyer?” Wonwoo continued, warming to the subject. “He had the personality of an empty notebook. No offense to him, but I’ve seen potted plants with more charisma.”  

She laughed harder, almost spilling her wine this time. “Okay, okay, now you’re being mean!”  

“It’s not mean it's true,” he teased. “Seriously, though, who shows up with a lawyer for a family dispute? It’s like she planned this whole takeover with a PowerPoint presentation and a laser pointer.”  

Y/N leaned back into her chair, her laughter quieting to a soft, lingering smile. For the first time all day, she felt like she could breathe. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.  

“But I’m helping,” he said, a boyish grin lighting up his face.  

She nodded, warmth blooming in her chest. “You are. More than you know.”  

There was a brief pause as they locked eyes, the humor fading into something quieter, more intimate. Wonwoo’s expression softened, his voice dropping to a gentle tone.  

“Your aunt might be a lot to handle, but she doesn’t define you, Y/N. Or this store. You’re stronger than she is, and you have something she’ll never understand—passion. You care about this place. That’s why you’ll win.”  

Y/N’s smile wavered, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “Thank you, Wonwoo. I don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”  

He reached over and gently plucked the glass from her hand, setting it aside. “You’d figure it out. You’re pretty incredible, Y/N. I’m just here to remind you of that.”  

She felt her cheeks flush, her heart thudding in her chest. “You’re really good at this whole pep talk thing.”  

“Years of practice,” he said lightly, leaning back with a small smile. “But honestly, it’s easy when it’s you. You make it worth it.”  

The warmth in his words settled over her like a comforting blanket, and for the first time in days, she felt the storm inside her quiet.

Y/N grabbed the wine bottle from the kitchenette, glancing over her shoulder at Wonwoo, who was sprawled lazily on the floor with his glass in hand. “Alright, Mr. Mysterious Writer. If we’re going to drink more wine, you’re spilling some juicy secrets.”  

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Secrets? What makes you think I have any?”  

“Oh, please,” she said, settling down across from him with a grin. “You’ve got that whole brooding, quiet thing going on. There’s definitely something juicy under there.”  

He chuckled, shaking his head as she refilled their glasses. “I think you’re overestimating how interesting I am.”  

Y/N leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. “Try me. What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”  

“Embarrassing?” he echoed, groaning dramatically. “You’re really starting with the hard-hitting questions.”  

“Absolutely,” she said with a smirk. “This wine isn’t free, you know. Payment in absolutely cringe-worthy stories, please.”  

Wonwoo took a sip of his wine, stalling as his ears turned faintly pink. “Fine. When I was in college, I joined a karaoke contest because my friends dared me. I thought I was nailing it—singing my heart out to some cheesy pop song. Turns out, the mic was off the whole time, and everyone was just laughing at me lip-syncing like a maniac.”  

Y/N burst out laughing, nearly spilling her wine. “No way. What song was it?”  

He winced, looking away. “...‘Call Me Maybe.’”  

Her laughter doubled, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Stop. Stop it right now. I’m picturing you doing those little hand motions for the chorus.”  

He groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Why did I agree to this?”  

“Because you secretly love making me laugh,” she teased, nudging his knee with her foot. “Okay, next question. What’s the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done? Please tell me it’s not sneaking a library book home after hours.”  

Wonwoo smirked, tilting his head. “First of all, that’s a perfectly respectable crime. Second, I did once skip a whole semester of lectures to follow a girl I liked to a different city.”  

Y/N’s mouth dropped open. “Wait—seriously? You followed her?”  

He shrugged, his grin turning a little sheepish. “It wasn’t as creepy as it sounds. We were kind of seeing each other, and she was moving away for an internship. I thought it was romantic at the time.”  

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” Y/N said, laughing as she set her glass down. “What happened?”  

“She broke up with me two weeks later,” he admitted, his tone dry.  

She gasped, clutching her chest like it physically hurt. “No! That’s awful.”  

“It was definitely character building,” he said with a dramatic sigh, earning another laugh from her.  

“Okay, last one,” she said, leaning closer with a sly smile. “Do you have any current crushes? Like, hypothetically, someone who owns a charming little bookstore and drinks wine with you at two in the morning?”  

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Hypothetically? Are we talking about Evelyn?”  

Y/N smacked his shoulder lightly, her laugh bubbling over. “Oh we’re definitely talking about Evelyn. I feel like you have a thing for terribly evil women who’d be mean to you, like a kink or something.”  

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling as he leaned toward her slightly. “I usually do. But, I don’t know, Y/N. Shouldn’t the question be... do you have a current crush? Someone who maybe sings ‘Call Me Maybe’ like their life depends on it?”  

Her cheeks flushed, but she kept her grin. “I don’t know, Woo. That doesn’t really sound like my type.”  

“Oh, really?” he said, his tone playful. “What’s your type, then?”  

She pretended to think, tapping her chin. “Hmm... someone who doesn’t follow girls to other cities or embarrass themselves at karaoke contests.”  

“God the pain,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest like she’d wounded him. “Guess I’m out of the running.”  

She smiled, her gaze softening just a bit. “Not necessarily. You’ve got other redeeming qualities. Like pouring wine which is an important one. At least to me.”  

His grin widened, and he lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Well, I’ll take that as a win.”  

Their glasses clinked together, and as they drank, the teasing energy between them lingered, warm and electric, filling the quiet bookstore with something that felt a lot like possibility.  

Y/N grabbed the wine bottle, a mischievous glint in her eye as she refilled their glasses. Wonwoo watched her curiously, his grin still lingering from their back-and-forth.  

“Alright, my turn,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever done in this bookstore when no one was around?”  

Y/N froze mid-pour, her face immediately turning red. “Oh no. Nope. No way in hell. Not telling you.”  

Wonwoo straightened, his smirk growing as he caught the look of panic on her face. “Oh, come on. You can’t not tell me after that reaction.”  

“It’s not even that bad,” she tried to brush it off, waving a hand as if swatting his question away.  

“That means it’s terrible, and now I have to know,” he teased, his eyes narrowing playfully. “What did you do, Y/N? Did you accidentally set a book on fire? Did you steal candy from a kid? Spill it.”  

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Ugh, fine! But you can’t laugh.”  

“No promises,” he said immediately, leaning forward with interest.  

She peeked out from between her fingers, sighing dramatically before finally admitting, “Okay. When I was like thirteen, I... I used to practice kissing on the spines of the books.”  

Wonwoo blinked. “What?”  

Her face turned crimson. “You heard me.”  

It took a second for it to register, but then Wonwoo doubled over laughing, his shoulders shaking as he nearly spilled his wine. “The spines? You made out with the books?”  

“I was thirteen!” she squealed, trying and failing to stop herself from laughing too. “And my friends had all kissed someone, so I panicked! I thought—‘I need to practice!’ And the books were there. Don’t judge me.”  

Wonwoo fell back against the floor, wheezing between bursts of laughter. “Oh my god—what books? Please tell me it was like an encyclopedia.”  

She shot him a glare, though she was laughing too hard to look serious. “No. It was whatever I could reach. Mostly YA romances, okay? I thought maybe the romance would transfer through the spine or something.”  

“You were out here trying to absorb love through osmosis?” he gasped, holding his stomach as he laughed.  

“Yes.” she said, her voice high-pitched from embarrassment. “I don’t know how I thought it worked.”  

Wonwoo sat up, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Y/N, that’s—that’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m never going to be able to look at these books the same way again. Like how can I pick one up without wondering if your lips touched it.”  

“I hate you,” she said, burying her face in her hands again. “I should’ve taken that secret to the grave.”  

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said, grinning. “This is prime blackmail material. Just wait until you’re being all serious about the store one day, and I remind you of your spine-kissing phase.”  

She peeked up at him, her lips quaking into a smile despite herself. “You wouldn’t dare.”  

“Try me,” he said smugly, raising his wine glass like a toast. “To Y/N, the Bookstore Casanova.”  

“I’m never telling you anything ever again,” she muttered, shaking her head as she took a sip of her wine.  

“Too late. I’m already your confidant,” he teased, leaning closer with a smirk. “But for the record, I think as a teenager you were pretty resourceful. I mean, who needs practice with people when you have books?”  

“Exactly.” she said, pointing at him with mock seriousness. “See? You get it.”  

“I don’t,” he admitted, laughing again. “But it’s endlessly entertaining.”  

Y/N groaned, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re the worst.”  

“And yet, here you are—drinking wine with me. But, tell me, do you think the kissing books hacked helped?” he shot back, his eyes twinkling.  

“I don’t know? I’ve never kissed myself? Honestly I haven’t kissed someone since my last relationship which was..” Y/n pretended to flip through her imaginary calendar. “Two years ago?” 

“Interesting no one ever confirmed it.” 

She shook her head, muttering, “Regretting this more by the second.” But her grin gave her away, and the lighthearted energy between them filled the quiet bookstore with warmth—like something rare and perfectly imperfect, just like their ridiculous conversation.  

Wonwoo’s teasing grin softened slightly as he tilted his head, watching her with a flicker of something warmer in his gaze. “Two years, huh?” he said, his tone quieter now, though the playful glint in his eyes lingered.  

Y/N shrugged, trying to brush it off. “What can I say? I’ve been busy running a bookstore and, you know, kissing spines.”  

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “That’s a real tragedy, though. All that practice, and no one’s benefited from it?”  

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she said, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the heat creeping up her neck. She raised her glass to her lips again, trying to hide behind it.  

Wonwoo set his own glass down on the table beside them, leaning forward slightly. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make her pulse quicken, “I could help with that.”  

Her breath hitched, and she lowered her glass, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Help with what?”  

He shrugged one shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching into that faint, irresistible smirk. “You know. Test out whether all that spine-kissing really paid off.”  

Her laugh came out more like a nervous squeak, and she immediately covered it with a cough. “You’re insufferable, Jeon Wonwoo.”  

“And yet, you’re still here,” he echoed his earlier words, his gaze holding hers now with a steady intensity that made her heart thud painfully against her ribs.  

For a moment, the world outside the bookstore seemed to vanish, leaving only the golden glow of the little lamp, the lingering scent of old paper and wine, and the space between them that suddenly felt charged.�� 

“You’re not serious,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.  

“Maybe I am,” he said simply, his smirk softening into a small, almost shy smile.  

Before she could overthink it—or talk herself out of it—he leaned closer, his eyes flickering down to her lips and then back up to meet her gaze. He paused there, just inches away, waiting.  

Her breath caught, and something about the way he was so close, so patient, made her feel brave. “Wonwoo,” she murmured, a smile tugging at her lips. “Are you trying to be smooth?”  

“Is it working?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing, but his gaze was sincere.  

She didn’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, she closed the gap, brushing her lips against his in a tentative, featherlight kiss.  

It was gentle at first—soft and unhurried, like they were both figuring out how this was supposed to feel. But when he cupped her cheek with his hand, tilting her face slightly, the kiss deepened, and Y/N felt her heart flutter in a way it hadn’t in a long time.  

When they finally pulled back, just enough to catch their breath, he was smiling, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek.  

“So,” he said, his voice still low and warm, “was it worth the two-year wait?”  

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head as she rested her forehead against his. “I don’t know yet,” she teased. “Might need more data to be sure.”  

His grin widened, his eyes crinkling in that way that always made her stomach flip. “I think that can be arranged.”  

And in the quiet, cozy little bookstore, with books watching silently from their shelves, Y/N had the distinct feeling she’d just uncovered the most unexpected treasure of all.  

The next few days passed in a blur of wine, laughter, and quiet moments shared between Y/N and Wonwoo. The chemistry between them seemed to grow with every secret they uncovered in the bookstore, every old clue leading them deeper into the mystery of the hidden treasure. But there was something else too—a shift, a quiet understanding that their connection had changed from something purely fun and teasing to something more real, more complicated.

The bookstore had become their shared sanctuary—where clues were scattered in dusty corners, and where they spent hours combing through old journals and books in search of the final pieces of the puzzle. Every clue brought them closer to something monumental, but with each step forward, Y/N’s estranged aunt Evelyn seemed to grow bolder, more determined to shut the whole thing down.

On one particular evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the bookstore was bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, Y/N and Wonwoo found themselves in a small, cluttered storage room hidden at the back of the shop, sifting through yet another pile of old papers. The room was quiet, save for the sound of rustling pages, the occasional clink of glasses, and the low hum of conversation between them.

Y/N paused, eyes scanning a faded letter that had caught her attention. "Wait, this is it," she said, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and smoothing it on the table. "This has to be the deed."  

Wonwoo looked over her shoulder, his hand instinctively resting on her back. "Are you sure?"  

"I’m pretty sure," she muttered, tracing the yellowing edges of the paper. "It’s an old deed, but it looks like it’s in my name—well, my family's name, technically. It’s the bookstore's legal deed."  

Wonwoo leaned closer, studying the document with a frown. “This is the real thing,” he said, his voice almost reverent. “This could be the key to everything.”  

Y/N smiled, but her heart was still heavy with worry. "Yeah, but Evelyn’s not going to give up. She’s already trying to pressure me into selling. And she has a lawyer with her now. They’ve already threatened to drag me to court."  

Wonwoo straightened, his gaze sharpening. “Then we need to make sure she doesn’t get her hands on this.” He grabbed the deed and tucked it carefully into his jacket pocket.  

Y/N stared at him. "You’re not seriously thinking of hiding it, are you?"  

“Not just hiding it,” he said with a smirk. “I’m going to make sure it’s safe. If she’s going to play dirty, then so are we.”  

With that, he walked over to a small cupboard, pulling out a set of old, heavy keys. "I know a place. You trust me, right?"  

Y/N hesitated but then nodded. "I do.”  

Their hands brushed as he passed her the keys, and Y/N couldn’t help the way her heart skipped a beat. Wonwoo had been a constant presence since they’d started this treasure hunt, a calm and steady anchor in the chaos of relentless threats. And as much as they were both focused on the task at hand, Y/N couldn’t ignore the way their connection had deepened—the way her heart beat faster every time he was near, the way his presence made everything feel safer.  

As Wonwoo led her out of the room, they were interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming open, followed by the sharp click of heels on the hardwood floors. Evelyn’s voice rang out, cold and sharp.  

“Y/N, I know you’re here. We need to talk."  

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and she exchanged a brief, tense glance with Wonwoo before they both hurried to the back, hiding the deed for the time being.  

“I’m not letting you get away with this.” Evelyn continued, her voice laced with venom. “I will take everything from you if I have to, including this bookstore. Your parents’ legacy won’t mean anything if you don’t sell to me.”  

Y/N’s jaw tightened. “Evelyn, you don’t own this store. You never will.”  

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” Evelyn’s laugh was cruel, echoing through the empty aisles.  

The tension in the air thickened, and Wonwoo placed a reassuring hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, I promise,” he whispered, his voice low and steady.  

Y/N nodded, taking a deep breath. “You’re right. We’ll figure this out.”  

But in the back of her mind, she knew that Evelyn wasn’t going to stop. The woman was determined, and Y/N needed to be just as determined to protect what was hers. She wasn’t going to let the bookstore go without a fight—not when it had meant everything to her growing up.  

Later that evening, as the bookstore quieted down and Y/N sat at the small table in the back corner, sipping on a glass of wine, she looked up at Wonwoo, who had been quietly scribbling in his notebook for the past hour.  

He looked up from his writing and caught her gaze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m almost finished with my book, you know,” he said, his tone casual but laced with something deeper.  

Y/N raised an eyebrow, setting her glass down. “No way? About what?”  

“About a treasure hunt,” he replied, eyes glinting with mischief. “About two people who find something they didn’t expect—something more valuable than they could have imagined.”  

She grinned, leaning forward with curiosity. “And what do they find?”  

“The treasure,” he said, his voice quieter now, “isn’t what they thought it would be. It’s the connection they have with each other. The way they work together to uncover something bigger than themselves.”  

Y/N felt her heart flutter at his words, the weight of his gaze making her pulse quicken. “That’s really sweet.  

“Well,” he said, his lips curving into a teasing grin, “it’s inspired by real life, isn’t it?”  

She laughed, her cheeks warming as she glanced down at her wine glass. “I guess it is.”  

Wonwoo’s tone turned more serious, though the playful edge never quite left his voice. “I think we make a pretty good team, Y/N. And I’m not just talking about the treasure hunt.”  

Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down around them. “Yeah,” she murmured, a soft smile crossing her lips. “We do, don’t we?”  

Their eyes met, and in that moment, Y/N couldn’t help but feel the connection between them deepen. Everything they had uncovered—the clues, the threats, the mystery of the bookstore��had brought them to this place, to this unexpected, complicated bond that was far more precious than any treasure they might find hidden in the walls.  

And as the night grew deeper, and they prepared to face whatever Evelyn threw their way next, Y/N knew one thing for certain: no matter what happened, she wasn’t going to face it alone.

The next morning, the sun had barely risen, casting soft beams of light through the dust-covered windows of the bookstore. Y/N had barely slept the night before, her mind whirling with thoughts of Evelyn’s threats and the looming confrontation that awaited her. But she had a plan now, one that gave her a sense of clarity and strength. She wasn’t going to let her aunt take what was hers.  

With the deed securely tucked in her bag and the letter from her mother—a last message of trust and love—Y/N stood at the edge of the bookstore, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she had to confront Evelyn’s lawyer head-on, to show them that she wasn’t just some helpless niece who could be pushed around. The store was hers, and now, she had the legal proof to back it up.  

It was a short walk to the lawyer’s office, but it felt like the longest journey of her life. As Y/N entered the glass-fronted building, she was greeted by a stern receptionist, who asked for her name.  

“I’m here to see Mr. Calloway,” Y/N said firmly, her voice steady despite the nerves bubbling just beneath the surface. “Tell him it’s regarding the deed for the bookstore.”  

The receptionist glanced at her curiously but nodded, picking up the phone to make the call. A few moments later, Y/N was ushered into a sleek office, the kind of place that smelled faintly of expensive cologne and old leather-bound books. Mr. Calloway, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a stern expression, stood behind his desk. He motioned for her to take a seat.  

“Ms. Y/N, I presume?” Mr. Calloway’s voice was smooth, but there was a certain edge to it. “I’m afraid you’ve come here for nothing. The property’s ownership is already in question. Your aunt is prepared to take this to court.”  

Y/N didn’t flinch. “That’s not necessary,” she said, her voice unwavering. “I have the deed to the bookstore.”  

She slid the crinkled paper across the desk, and Mr. Calloway eyed it with some skepticism. “And where did you come from?”  

“This is the deed my mother left for me,” Y/N replied, her fingers curling around the letter she’d brought with it. “And along with that, she left me the money to renovate and make this store my own. She made it clear in writing that this place was meant to be mine. I’ve spent my life here, and I’m not going to let anyone take it away from me.”  

For a moment, the lawyer was silent, his gaze flicking back and forth between the deed and Y/N’s determined face. He finally sighed, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. “Well, it’s clear you have some legal standing here,” he said slowly. “I’ll need to make sure everything is in order, but I’d advise you to be prepared for further legal action. Your aunt is not someone who backs down easily.”  

“I’m not backing down either,” Y/N said, standing up and grabbing the deed from the desk. “I’ll be taking the store back, starting now.”  

Mr. Calloway looked surprised but didn’t protest. “Very well. I’ll have this taken into consideration.”  

Y/N left the office with the deed still clutched tightly in her hand, feeling a surge of relief and adrenaline. Her heart was racing, but now, she knew she had the power to protect the place she loved. The fight wasn’t over, but she had just won the first round.  

With the victory still buzzing in her chest, Y/N made her way straight to the bookstore, her thoughts already turning to the next steps. She needed to tell Wonwoo. He’d been by her side through all of this, and now that she had the deed, they could finally take the fight to Evelyn and her lawyer together.  

When she arrived at the bookstore, it was nearly empty except for a few early morning customers, browsing the shelves. The usual quiet was soothing, but Y/N couldn’t help the wide smile spreading across her face as she spotted Wonwoo, hunched over in a corner with his notebook, scribbling away.  

She couldn’t contain herself anymore. She rushed over to him, feeling lighter than she had in days. "Wonwoo!" she said, practically bursting with excitement.  

He looked up, his eyes softening as he noticed the huge grin on her face. "What’s all this about?"  

“I did it,” she said, breathless, her chest heaving as she held up the deed. “I went to Evelyn’s lawyer, and I staked my claim. I have the deed, the money my mom left me for renovations, and now—” She paused for effect. “Now, the bookstore is mine.”  

Wonwoo’s face broke into a grin so wide it almost seemed unreal. He immediately stood, his arms open as if to embrace the whole victory. “Y/N, that’s amazing!”  

Without saying another word, he pulled her into a tight hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around once, before gently setting her back down. Y/N laughed, the joy bubbling up inside her in a way she hadn’t felt in weeks.  

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, stepping back and looking at him with gratitude. “You helped me every step of the way.”  

Wonwoo smiled softly, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “That’s what partners do.” His tone was lighter now, teasing. “Although, I think we should celebrate this properly.”  

Y/N raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Oh? How do you plan to do that?”  

Wonwoo leaned in just slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well,” he said, his voice lower now, “I’m thinking of wine... and maybe even a celebratory kiss?”  

Y/N laughed again, her heart racing in her chest. "You’re lucky I like you, because you’re so corny, Jeon Wonwoo."  

“Lucky?” he repeated, leaning back, mock offense in his voice. “I’m not just lucky, I’m deserving.”  

“Alright, alright,” she said, pulling a bottle of wine from the shelf. “You’ve earned it. But just so you know, this is just the beginning. We still have a lot of work to do.”  

“I know,” he said, pouring them each a glass, “but I think we deserve a break, don’t you?”  

They clinked glasses, and for a moment, the world outside the bookstore seemed to fade away. They had won today, but they both knew that this was just the start of a much larger fight. 

As they stood there, the glasses of wine in their hands, the air between them still crackling with the energy of the moment, Wonwoo’s smile faded slightly. He took a deep breath, setting his glass down on the nearby table. There was something different in his eyes now—something deeper, something more vulnerable. Y/N noticed it immediately, her smile faltering slightly as she watched him.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice softer now, the excitement of the day momentarily giving way to a more serious tone. “You’ve gone quiet all of a sudden.”

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking to the floor for a moment before meeting her eyes again. He hesitated for a second longer, as if weighing his words carefully. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he began, his voice steady but laced with an earnestness that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “And I guess now is as good a time as any.”

Y/N set her glass down too, her attention fully on him now. She could feel her pulse quicken as the tension in the room shifted, her curiosity growing.

“When I first started coming here, I didn’t expect much. I was just looking for a quiet place to escape and get away from the chaos of the world, y’know?” he continued, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he spoke, as if grounding himself. “But then, I started coming more often. And eventually, it wasn’t just the books that kept bringing me back. It was... you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him, but this... this wasn’t what she’d anticipated. She searched his eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. “Wonwoo, I—”

“Just let me finish,” he said, cutting her off gently, but there was a softness in his voice that she couldn’t ignore. “At first, I thought I was just drawn to this place because it was peaceful. But then I realized it was you—your passion, the way you cared about this bookstore, the way you lit up when you talked about your mom, the way you had this fire in you that I couldn’t stop noticing.” He took a small step closer, his voice growing more sincere with each word. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Y/N. Not in the way you see the world, not in the way you’ve brought me into this... this little adventure of ours.”

Y/N’s heart was racing now, her chest tight as she absorbed his words. There was no mistaking the sincerity in his eyes, no doubt in her mind that what he was saying wasn’t just a passing thought.

“I used to think I knew what I wanted,” Wonwoo went on, his voice barely above a whisper now, “but you’ve changed that for me. This place... you... have made me see that there’s more to life than just work, than just existing. You’ve given me a reason to want more, to want... us.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hand instinctively reaching out to grasp his, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. “Wonwoo...” she whispered, her voice soft but full of emotion. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

His thumb gently brushed over the back of her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. “I do. I care about you, Y/N. More than I thought I could care about anyone. You’ve completely turned my world upside down, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

For a long moment, they stood there, the quiet in the room wrapping around them like a cocoon. Y/N could hear the steady beat of her own heart in her ears, the weight of his words settling deep within her chest.

“I don’t know what to say,” she finally whispered, her voice unsteady. “This is... I didn’t expect this.”

Wonwoo smiled softly, a hint of nervousness breaking through his usual cool demeanor. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. I don’t want to hide how I feel anymore.”

Y/N felt something shift inside her, the words she had been holding back finally finding their way to her lips. “Wonwoo, you’ve changed my life too. I’ve never met anyone who just, I don’t know, gets it the way you do. You make me feel like I’m not crazy for wanting this place to mean something more. You’ve made me feel seen. I care about you too, so much more than I ever expected.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, his eyes lighting up in that familiar mischievous way. “Well, I guess that’s a good thing, considering we’ve already been on a treasure hunt together.”

Y/N laughed, but it was different this time. It wasn’t just a response to his teasing—it was a laugh filled with something deeper, something more real. “You’re right,” she said, her voice more certain now. “I guess it is.”

Wonwoo stepped closer, his hand finding hers, fingers intertwining. “So, what do you say? Want to keep going on this treasure hunt—with me?”

As Y/N held Wonwoo’s hand, her heart raced with a mixture of excitement and a little bit of disbelief. She hadn’t expected any of this—the bookstore, the adventure, and most certainly not the way he was looking at her right now, like he’d just found the last piece of the puzzle he didn’t even know he was searching for.

“You really know how to throw someone off balance, Jeon,” she teased, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I thought we were just celebrating the deed and now you’re confessing your feelings. Seriously, could you not make it so dramatic?”

He chuckled, leaning closer, the mischief still dancing in his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for drama.” 

She rolled her eyes, but her smile never left. “Well, I’ll give you this—you’re a much better treasure than I ever thought you’d be.”

“Aw, look at that,” Wonwoo teased, raising an eyebrow. “I’m your treasure now?”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “I guess. I mean, who else would tolerate my crazyness?” she said with a wink.

His response was to step even closer, giving her a sly grin. “Someone who’d do anything to stick around,” he said softly, before dipping his head and placing a quick kiss on her forehead. “You’re stuck with me now.”

She grinned up at him, her heart light. “That’s just fine by me.”

The days that followed felt like a whirlwind of excitement and resolution. With the deed officially in her hands, Y/N returned to the bookstore, determined to move forward. Evelyn’s lawyer had called to warn her that her aunt wouldn’t give up easily, but once the truth came out—that her mother had left the store specifically for Y/N to own, with funds to renovate and keep it alive—there was nothing Evelyn could do. She tried to fight, of course, but without any legal grounds or the right to contest the inheritance, it was a battle she couldn’t win.

Y/N’s lawyer had done the heavy lifting, and with everything in order, Evelyn was forced to concede defeat. The store officially belonged to Y/N—her mother’s legacy was hers to continue. But Y/N made one last effort to seal the deal. She sent Evelyn a letter, with a cheeky twist of her own: “Thanks for the help, but I think I’ve got it from here.”

It was a small victory, but it felt sweet, and Y/N couldn’t stop grinning as she turned back to the shelves, breathing in the familiar scent of old pages and dust. The Nook was officially hers.

The real fun began after that.

Weeks later, the bookstore was buzzing with activity—not from the usual morning crowd, but something much more exciting. Y/N had spent countless hours refurbishing the place, brightening the atmosphere with new coats of paint, adding cozy reading nooks, and ensuring every corner reflected her personality. But there was one thing she couldn’t do without him. Wonwoo had been her right-hand man through every part of it, turning the back office into a cozy writers’ retreat and organizing all of the books so that they not only looked great but also told a story of their own.

And now, the biggest thing was happening: the bookstore was hosting Wonwoo’s book signing. He’d completed his manuscript, inspired by all their adventures, their treasure hunts, and the mysterious secrets of The Nook. His book was a hit, and now, with the launch underway, Y/N was standing beside him in the middle of their bookstore—the place that had started it all.

She caught sight of him as he set up for the signing, adjusting the small display table with the first copies of his book. His smile was wide, and he looked so comfortable in his own skin now—more at home than she’d ever seen him before. He caught her eye, and for a moment, everything else faded away. 

“You did it,” she said, walking up to him with a grin. “You’re officially a second time sexy best selling author.”

He grinned back, his eyes twinkling. “And I couldn’t have done it without a treasure hunt partner like you. Where would I be without my muse?”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, giving him a playful shove. “Yeah, yeah. Just sign my copy, won’t you?”

He laughed, taking the book from her hands and scribbling a dedication. “To Y/N, the true treasure of The Nook.”

She raised an eyebrow, feeling a familiar warmth spread across her chest. “You’re really laying it on thick now.”

“I’m just being honest,” he teased, handing her the signed copy. “You changed my life, remember?”

Before Y/N could reply, the first customer walked in—an eager reader looking for a signed copy of his book. The rest of the day was a whirlwind of introductions, book signings, and laughter, the bookstore alive with the kind of energy Y/N had only dreamed of before.

As the event wound down, with the last few customers having left, Wonwoo and Y/N were left standing behind the counter, both a little tired but still glowing from the success.

“So,” Wonwoo said, his voice low as he leaned on the counter next to her, “what do we do now?”

Y/N looked around, taking in the bustling bookstore, the little crowd of people chatting about his book, the laughter, and the life in the space. She felt a contented sigh escape her lips.

“We keep going,” she said with a grin, her eyes meeting his. “We keep making this place even more ours.”

Wonwoo leaned in, his face softening. “And how do we do that?”

Y/N leaned back against the counter, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “We keep finding treasures, Together.”

The following months were filled with more than just book signings. With the store officially thriving under their shared ownership, Y/N and Wonwoo were building a life together, discovering new mysteries, laughing over silly inside jokes, and creating their own stories within the walls of The Nook. Whether it was fixing up a new corner for readers, writing new books, or simply sitting together and reminiscing about their treasure hunt, they had found something real—something both fun and serious in its own way.

As for Evelyn, she had finally backed off, realizing she had no place left in Y/N’s world. Y/N had reclaimed her space—not just in the bookstore, but in her life. And with Wonwoo by her side, they were ready for whatever came next.

And so, The Nook became more than just a bookstore—it became their home, their story, and their future.