#men in baseball pants | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nctsworld · 1 year ago

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fever pitch

✩‌ mark x reader | pro baseball player!mark | fluff | smut | 8.4k

SUMMARY | your world is shaken up (literally) when you meet the handsome man guilty of the accidental baseball smack to your head. after a comforting meet-cute and realization that he’s the city’s ace pitcher, you two go on a date. and by the end of the night, mark thinks he’s falling for you faster than any pitch he’s thrown before.

WARNINGS | sexual content (near the end), arm riding (iykyk), breast/nipple play, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, piv sex, some drinking // this is 80% fluff-20% smut (with lots of corny writing); there's actually not too much baseball mentioned, but i did a little research on it; however, inaccuracies may be inevitable!

RATING | mature

AUTHOR'S NOTE | i am sorry this is so late </3 i hope y'all enjoy! please also check out (and maybe send in some prompts to) @nctpromptmeme!

TAGLIST | @curieouscapt @dearlyminhyung @infnteen

Under the warm, summer sun, you beam as you walk towards your close friend, Chenle, and his dog, Daegal.

Shining back, he nods in hello to you with sunglasses pressed against his face. The teacup Bichon by his side wags its tail and pants happily at the sight of you, but is easily distracted the next second due to the park’s stimulating surroundings.

Dogs running amok, families having picnics, kids chasing each other in circles, friends playing baseball—

Specifically, a group of absolutely stunning men playing, as if a model catalogue exploded onto the field across from you.

But one in particular catches your eye.

Kind eyes shine behind wire-framed glasses, paired with a wide smile. His soft hair bounces with his light jog across the area.

In his fitted white tee, he ends up in one spot and continuously throws the ball into his mitt. The game seems to be on hold as he speaks to a teammate. Absentmindedly, he rolls his arm sleeves up, revealing lean, yet defined muscles.

You silently gasp, struck by the beautiful sight, then gulp at the flexing of his biceps when he continues tossing the ball. His teammate must’ve told him a joke since the attractive figure throws his head back in joy.

And this is the exact moment you go into cardiac arrest because his laugh is the last straw of what you can handle from this man.

Suddenly, the sound of your name shakes you out of your daze and reminds you to breathe.

“Okay, which one of these guys is the one who made you do a full stop in the middle of the grass?” Chenle asks, coming up beside you.

Daegal welcomes you with loving rubs against your leg. You squat to pet her, but your eyes are still honed in on the handsome stranger. The teams seems to be switching now when someone hands the bespectacled man a bat.

Your friend tracks your line of sight and nods, impressed. “Okay, he’s cute. Your distractedness will be excused this time.”

Scoffing, you shove his leg lightly and he giggles in return. After a few more moments of gawking, Chenle wonders, “Why do I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere?”

Standing up, you reply, “Probably comes here often with his friends when you walk Daegal?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I feel like I know him from somewhere else...”

Deciding you should probably drag your attention away and not be a blatant creep, you begin to walk away backwards, heading towards the ice cream cart before the line-up becomes as long as the field.

“Want your usual?”

“Yes, please!”

However, Chenle’s brightness fades instantly, jaw falling and eyes widening. You’re about to turn around to see what caused his change of expression when you hear a piercing—

“WATCH OUT!”

With a throbbing in your head, you wake up, squinting at the blinding rays. Coming into view, the cute guy from before replaces the sun’s spot, staring down at you with concern written all over his face.

“Oh, my God,” he pants. His hands shake in front of him. “I am so, so, so, so sorry.”

You roll your eyes a bit, trying to center your vision. Groaning, you ask, “What happened?”

“I, uh...” The individual’s mouth, slightly open with gritted teeth, pulls to one side as he runs a hand through his hair, “may have batted the ball and it coincidentally went straight for your head.”

Carefully, he helps lift your upper body off the ground. He asks if you’re okay, and you nod. But a grimace comes after, causing the stranger’s frown to deepen.

“Maybe we should get you to the hospital. You might have a concussion.”

All of a sudden, he inches closer and gingerly runs his thumb over the source of the throbbing. It’s likely all in your mind, but you swear the pain lessens from his touch. You tilt your head further, angling into his palm and embracing the comforting gesture.

“I’ll obviously cover all the bills—”

You cut him off with a slow lift of your hand. “No. I’m okay, I’m okay.”

You know you’ll definitely be more than okay if you can steal some more time with his magical touch.

Continuing, you say, “And that’s too much. If anything, you can buy some ice cream for me and my friend.”

Glancing around for Chenle, you find him, crouching like the stranger, but a few feet away. With a raised corner of his mouth, you deduce he’s deliberately giving space for you to interact with Mr. Handsome Baseball Hitter.

Said handsome baseball hitter chuckles. Hearing it tugs at your chest, even harder now that you can experience it up close.

“I’ll buy you a thousand ice creams to make it up to you.” He retreats his hand and you don't hold back pouting from the fleeting contact you already miss. “But seriously, if there’s any long-term side effects, please reach out to me and I’ll pay for any expenses that come your way.”

“How would I know how to reach out to you?”

He rambles the following matter-of-factly, “Well, you can find my manager’s information online, there’s the team’s Twitter account”—he looks up cutely in thought—“and I guess I’ve been kinda active on Instagram—”

You tilt your head in confusion. What is this guy going on about?

“Okay,” you interrupt, “but who are you?”

His face flips through a few emotions in the span of seconds, but they’re unreadable. Finally landing on a grin, he says, “I think what’s more important is: do you know who you are?”

“Yeah, I’m—” And you properly introduce yourself.

“Good,” he says, “so we’re not dealing with amnesia.”

Your cheeks rise at his humour. Saying your name warmly, he adds, “Nice to meet you, I’m Mark.”

He lends out a hand for you to shake and you do so. With help from his knees, he rises upward, aiding you to stand on your feet in the process.

“Mark,” you repeat his name aloud, locking eyes with him, “the baseball batter with the strength of a thousand suns.”

At the odd line, you catch yourself, thinking how the injury must’ve loosened your filter. He laughs at the lengthy label. “You should see me pitch.”

You shake your head. “Nu-uh, nope,” you playfully say. “I’m going to be safe and stay far, far away from that sexy arm.”

Both you and Mark’s eyebrows rise at the remark.

Yep, definitely a loose filter. Maybe you really do have a concussion.

While Mark breaks out into a pleased smile, you snap your eyes shut, wanting to run away. Or disappear, if at all possible. “Strong, strong. I meant strong...”

Avoiding eye contact, you hurry and make way to a now standing Chenle. Trying to leave the embarrassment behind, you grumble, “Chenle, let’s get going.”

Your friend smirks and whispers by your side, “You sure you don’t want to dig your grave even further?” You attempt to elbow him, but he’s too quick and avoids it.

“It was nice meeting you, Mark,” you call out over your shoulder as you walk away. “Thanks for looking out for... my head?”

Cringe falls over, making you pick up your pace. Time to officially stop talking.

Chenle turns away, his body shaking as he releases a snicker into his fist.

“Again, I’m really, really sorry!” Mark apologizes in a shout. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and also recognize his voice as the one who warned you to watch out before the incident occurred. “If you need to find me, I’ll be here over the next couple of weekends!”

When you’re far away enough from the scene of the crime, you smack Chenle in the arm. In response, Daegal chirps a bark at you. “You just had to watch me make a complete fool out of myself back there.”

He lovingly places an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into him. “I mean, Daegal’s great and all, but if anyone has any entertainment value out of the three of us here, it’s going to be you.”

You groan at his harsh, yet true, words.

“Your head good though?”

You note how the throbbing is barely there anymore. Touching the spot, you wince. At most, there’s likely just a bruise. “Yeah, it’s good.”

In a hopeful tone, Chenle sing-songs, “Think you wanna come to the park again with me next weekend?”

Reflecting on what Mark said, you ponder if he really meant it about coming to find him if anything was wrong. Even though everything would likely be fine, you’d love to see him again.

But how could you face him after the disaster of your mouth running free? You shake your head in defeat.

On Monday night, the next evening, your phone goes off right as you enter your apartment building. You drag your phone out, eyebrows furrowing at the notification that Chenle’s calling you. When was the last time he’s called you?

Actually, you’re fairly sure he’s never called you. Ever. You pick it up without hesitation.

“Hey, everything okay?”

“Find a TV playing the baseball game,” Chenle pants. “Right now.”

Out of all the things he could call you for, this is what he’s asking you to do? He’s not even into baseball; basketball is the sport he adores to death. “What?”

“Do it,” he orders. “Now!”

“Okay, okay.”

Thankful you haven’t gone up to your apartment yet, you stride over to the little in-house gym in your building near the front entrance. You haven’t used it much since you moved in, but you recall that the TVs usually play either sports or news.

And you remember right, except at the moment, the baseball game is the only event plastered on the screens. Most people in the room are fixated on the game while they’re doing their set or on their respective cardio machine.

“Okay...” you trail in uncertainty. A pitcher from your city’s team throws the ball and the batter misses. The camera cuts to the batter from the opposing team, shaking his head in disappointment. “Why must I need to watch the baseball game so ba—”

The camera’s now on Mark’s face.

The same Mark from the neighbourhood park yesterday, sans the glasses, and in proper baseball gear.

He’s on live, national television, playing baseball in front of the crowd of tens of thousands of people.

From a side angle, all eyes are on him as he tips his cap forward. His eyes mold into slits of concentration, his sharp jaw tightening after a lick of his lips. Sure, he’s different from yesterday’s care-free self, but you’d be lying if you said this serious side of him didn’t turn you on either.

Again, the camera cuts away, to the wide shot from behind him. Besides his great body (especially his gorgeous backside in those snug pants), you revel in the back of his white and dark green trimmed jersey, indicating his last name and his assigned number: Lee. 02.

He winds up for the pitch, raising his leg, and the ball is gone within a blink of an eye, landing directly into the catcher’s glove. The number 98 comes up near a rectangle on-screen, signifying the speed of his throw.

Mark wasn’t lying about his skills; he’s the pitcher with the strength of a thousand suns.

All the screens are filled with Player #02’s glimmer of a smirk, before he quickly stashes it away behind his cap. The camera lingers on him while the commentators in the background talk.

“A great put-out pitch for Lee,” one says. “His fastballs this season have been absolutely remarkable. Another great one from him.”

Cameras switch to another shot of Mark catching the ball, resetting once more for the next batter.

Another commentator supplements, “Aside from the slight hiccup earlier this season, he’s definitely on-track in making his mark on his debut in the league. A rookie ace indeed. It’s no wonder they’ve been calling him ‘The Tiger!’”

Understanding dawns upon you as to why he stated how easy it would be to contact him (and to be able to pay for any potential hospital bills). The city’s new star pitcher—how could you not know him?

“I knew he looked familiar!” Chenle pipes up from the other end, just as Mark’s nice figure takes up the screen once more. Awe and shock consume your voice, and you’re unable to create a coherent reply.

But you don’t need to, not when you have Chenle to talk your ear off about the game, but mostly Mark, for the rest of the night.

The week passes by, with you casually going through Mark’s Instagram (which, as he mentioned, he only occasionally posts on) and watching a few more of Mark’s games with Chenle in tow.

You fawn together over his plays (and his ass) and, despite not knowing much about the game, he must be having a great week from the commentators’ constant praises and the team’s overall wins.

Once Sunday finally arrives though, a wave of nervous anticipation rolls over you.

Because for you, it’s game time.

Sure, you may not have initially wanted to, but now that you know who Mark is, what is there to lose if you step up to the plate and see him again?

The scene of the park is quite similar to last week’s, except for the large presence of people staring at the men, many you recognize from the city’s team from all the games you’ve watched this week, playing baseball on the field. You wonder if you were too caught up with Mark last week because you didn’t notice how everyone else was this enraptured too.

As you stroll closer to the grassy area with Chenle and Daegal hovering behind, the players coincidentally take a breather. Some parents quickly take advantage of the break to bring their children up to receive autographs.

This is perfect timing for you too.

However, you stop in place, debating if this was a good idea to return. You’re surely going to make a fool out of yourself again (this time with no injury to blame) and Chenle, despite his promise of not interfering, will totally budge in and—

And it’s too late to backpedal, because Mark, although distracted by the little cluster of people surrounding him, lifts his head momentarily and his gaze lands directly on you.

Air seizes in your lungs when he flashes you a grin that could compete with the sun. He gives a small nod and wave. Like a star struck fangirl, you glance around to ensure he’s not gifting that nod and wave to anyone else.

But no, you’re not mistaken—his eyes are only on you.

Saying his thanks to his assumed fans, he jogs his way over to you, attired today in a fitted grey-mixed tee, ripped denim jeans, and thicker framed glasses compared to last time.

“Hey,” Mark says, still grinning beautifully. “How’s your head feeling?”

His smile is incredibly infectious. It’s a challenge not to do the same when you’re in the presence of this man. “Better. Had some bruising, but it’s all gone now.”

He nods in response, mumbling a “Good, good” under his breath. With his face turned away, he swipes some hair behind his ear and seems to be preparing himself to say something. But, you will yourself to address the elephant in the room first.

“So, why didn’t you tell me that you were in the major leagues?”

At the unexpected question, Mark darts his head up and draws it back in surprise, his lips pouting adorably. Your heart bursts.

Contrasting his cuteness, you notice the hint of stubble around his mouth. First the pout, now this. You’re captivated by it more than you should be.

He chuckles and lifts a shoulder. “Well, you didn’t ask.”

“I did,” you laugh. “I asked who you were!”

After looking up in thought for a moment, he concedes. “Okay, maybe you did.”

You two laugh in unison, and even when the moment is over, both of you stare into each other's eyes. Time’s filled with comfortable silence and equally comfortable smiles.

Mark breaks the silence, asking, “Are you still wanting to stay safe and far away from my sexy arm?”

“Oh, my God...” you groan, hating to hear the same words that left your mouth from last week.

“No,” he says through another burst of laughter, “it’s a genuine question.”

“I meant to say strong!” you argue petulantly. “I was just a little out of it from the hit, no thanks to you.”

“I know, I know,” he giggles. “I’m genuinely wondering though, cause...” Mark pauses and begins to fidget, this time rubbing the nape of his neck.

You tilt your head, intrigued. “Cause what?”

“Cause, I was, uh, wondering,” he says, eyes averting yours. “Since I owe you for your head injury—”

“You don’t owe me anything—”

“And I know it’s a long shot cause you’re absolutely gorgeous and you’re probably taken—”

This time, you draw your head back in surprise over the compliment and the grand assumption that you’re off the market.

“—but did you wanna go out with me sometime?” His hand moves through his hair before he shyly looks at you again. “Maybe?”

Before you can even process what's happening you hear a "Yes!" behind you, causing you to jolt upright. “Yes, she will absolutely go on a date with you!”

“Chenle!” you gasp, appalled but not surprised, in the direction of your close friend as he nears your side. You face Mark again and gesture in the direction of the incoming intruder. “Don’t mind him.”

As per his charming self, your friend holds out a hand. “Hi, I’m Chenle. Your newest number one fan. Great plays this week, by the way.”

“Mark.” He takes the hand to shake, giving him a small smile. “And thanks.”

Mark’s eyes wander down and notices the dog wagging its tail excitedly. His face lights up. “Aw, who’s this cute little guy?”

“Daegal,” Chenle answers. “She’s my little handful, besides this one.” he says, jerking his head in your direction. Mark's too focused on Daegal to see you slapping her owner in the arm.

Squatting down, he pets the lively dog. You follow suit and crouch down too, watching Daegal gift Mark tons of licks and enthusiastically rubs herself against his hands and arms. She’s never this delighted with strangers usually.

“What do you think, Daegal?” Mark asks, holding eye contact with her as if she could reply, then he glances over at you. “Do you think your friend should go out with me?”

Immediately, she barks happily, causing all three of you to laugh.

“Good girl,” Chenle whispers from above.

Although you pucker your lips playfully at Daegal’s betrayal, you reach out to pet her fondly along with Mark.

“But how will you guarantee my safety from your strong arm?” Your stare lingers on them. Not that he has to know, but you had to make a conscious effort to not say sexy once more.

“I promise I won’t be tossing any more of my balls in your direction,” Mark casually says.

After a pause, your eyebrows raise and his eyes widen.

“Wait, I mean—shit...” he hisses, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Your lips twitch, suppressing a laugh and finding him adorable.

“I know what you mean,” you quickly say, relieving him of his embarrassment.

He shyly glances up at you and you share a comforting look. Suddenly, someone from the field hollers his name. With a small frown, he begins to walk in reverse away from you.

“I probably should get back, but now that you know how to get in touch, message me on Instagram and we can figure out a time that works for our date?”

“Yes, definitely!”

Incredulously, you look up at Chenle for answering on your behalf.

“For sure, Mark,” you say. “Have a great game.” With the way he plays, you know he will.

Chenle and you wave your good-byes to him and watch him retreat to his friends.

“You do know that I'm the one he asked out, right?” you ask as the three of you begin to walk towards to the park's popular ice cream cart, except you're more vigilant this time.

Your friend grabs out cash, ready to pay for your order. Or at least you hope so, for all the trouble he caused.

“Yes, and that's why I will live vicariously through you!”

After messaging him over the last week (with Chenle hovering over your shoulder and backseat driving many of the messages), Thursday really couldn't come fast enough for your date with Mark.

As you step out of your apartment complex, your jaw drops and an impressed smile fills your face.

In a green bomber, black tee, and skinny jeans, Mark coolly pulls up on a red Ducati motorbike. You recall seeing a post or two on his Instagram with it, but it takes you by surprise to see it in-person.

He takes off his helmet and runs fingers through his hair, attempting to ruffle out the messiness. You're a little envious of how good he looks, even with messy hair.

Your date takes in your outfit—an off-the-shoulder floral dress that teeters the lines of being cute and sexy simultaneously—and beams.

“Wow,” he says, mouth agape. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” you say, then make an over-the-top attempt to check him out. “You don't look so bad yourself.”

After a moment of shared smiles, he tilts his head towards his mode of transportation. “Hope this isn't too daunting.”

You shake your head. “Not at all.”

As Mark helps you with your helmet, now that you're up-close, you notice he's clean-shaven, unlike the other times you've seen him, and you presume he opted for contacts for tonight.

You also can't help but relish in the proximity of his hands near your face, flashing previously to the first time you met only a couple of weeks ago.

Once he's done, you ready yourself for the ride by wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, holding onto him snugly.

He twists around with his visor open.

“Ready?”

You respond with a squeeze around his waist and a nod, so he closes his visor and you're off through the nightscape of the city.

Everything passes by in a blur, but when there are the occasional moments when he slows down or stops at the red lights, you drink in how beautiful your city is.

On the other hand, you're dying to know what Mark planned for tonight. He gave you a vague idea—dinner, a small post-dinner activity (no balls involved, Mark promised), and dessert—but that's all.

In a nicer part of the city, he stops and parks in front of a bumbling Italian restaurant.

Once inside, Mark gives his name to the greeter, stating how he has a reservation, and a sweet host immediately leads you to your table. As you walk through the restaurant, you admire its warm atmosphere with dim lights and candles spread everywhere, along with the many other couples eating their dinner.

The host stops in front of a secluded semi-circular plush booth. You shimmy in, and Mark follows. Both of you sit comfortably close near the middle of the booth.

Despite how much you have been talking through DMs over the last week, as first dates often go, conversation is awkward at first.

However, as dinner progresses and the extravagant wine (Mark insisted, “Only the best for my date, please.”) makes its way through your systems, it gets easier.

You learn more about his family, his team, and his love for reading. For him, he learns about your friends, your job vs. dreams constant conflict, and your love for music.

The easiness also goes beyond words. Underneath the table, your legs brush up against one another's. You throw your head back in laughter, and you bravely touch his forearm in response. Mark even leans in close to your body, sometimes the edge of your shoulders gently pressing into the other.

By the end of dinner, being the gentleman he is, Mark doesn't even let you glance at the check and pays it all without hesitation. Then, you're outside and on his motorbike again, off to the mysterious post-dinner activity.

When he reaches a particular end of town where there isn't much around except one place, you have an inkling where you're about to go.

Once you're there and parked, your hunch is answered correctly, but you realize something.

“Isn't the aquarium closed at this hour?”

He shrugs nonchalantly and begins to usher you forward with a hand lingering at your lower back. Whispering into your ear, he says, “I may have booked it privately for tonight.”

As you walk through, Mark and you stick to each other's side, shoulder to shoulder, and switch between revealing more about yourselves while reading and conversing about the informational signs on the aquatic creatures.

Both of you stop in front of the main showcase of the aquarium: the large tank that houses two beluga whales.

Mark leans in a bit closer to the tank, catches sight of one of them in a corner, and points it out to you. As he straightens, you feel the back of your hand brush up against his.

“You’re quite the romantic,” you state while glancing at the tank, almost as low as a whisper. Even with nobody around, there's something so serene about the aquarium that makes you want to be respectfully quiet. "Does everyone get this first-date, first-class experience from you?”

“Only the girls who get hit on the head by me,” he teases in a whisper, making you softly chuckle.

After a moment passes as you watch the tank, hoping and waiting for the beluga whales to move to where you're standing, Mark asks, “Would it be surprising to say I don’t go on dates as often as you think?”

Your eyes dart toward him, but you quickly keep your gaze fixated back on the tank. You nod. “A little.”

He hums, followed by a lengthy sigh. You can sense a shift in him. You hear how it's laced with sadness, maybe even a little regret.

“I’ve been working so hard to get to this point and of course being drafted’s been so worth it, but it also meant that I had to sacrifice some things along the way. But now that I’m finally here”—you feel his gaze now directed on you—“I definitely can rearrange my time for other things.”

Your breathing slows as you turn to face him.

Courageously, Mark intertwines his hand with yours and his free one raises, caressing the bare skin of your upper arm. The contact makes you gasp and hold your breath.

He drags himself forward, as do you, and his hand is about to cup your face...

Until the two belugas are now your front-row audience, glancing at you as if they were smiling.

You both chuckle softly and give them a wave, not wanting to lose this rare chance of seeing them this close.

And although the special moment has passed, you two finish off the marine life tour with your hand in his.

Once outside, Mark leads you somewhere nearby. After about ten minutes of walking, you're standing on a large cliff with a scenic view of the city. You've never seen the city from this height before, and all its twinkling lights and the starry sky beckon you.

An ice cream truck is also coincidentally there, and you assume Mark booked it for your date tonight.

You two grab your waffle cone orders and sit down on a wooden bench that overlooks the view.

“So,” you say, licking the cone on its side to avoid the ice cream from dripping down your hand, “does this go towards the debt of you hitting my head?”

“Of course,” he nods with his signature smile, doing the same as you and trying to avoid his sweet treat from melting. “It'll be one ice cream out of the many future thousands.”

The implication that there’ll be more than just this date hangs in the night air, almost as if it's a promise, and you really hope it'll be true.

At the very least, it feels true as you peer over your city, leaning your head onto Mark's shoulder while he casually drapes an arm around you.

Getting off the motorcycle, Mark walks you to the front door of your place and you don't even think twice about asking if he wants to come in. He says yes a little too enthusiastically, making you giggle, but it confirms that neither of you want the night to come to an end just yet.

Mark hangs his jacket as you grab beers from the fridge. Both of you make talk for some time on your couch, but the energy in the room is buzzing, especially since the almost-kiss.

The second you gravitate towards Mark, he rushes to wrap an arm around your waist and his free hand cups your face, dragging you in for the first kiss that's been itching to happen.

His lips are dangerously soft, addictive really. You swear he tastes like cherry (could be from the food earlier or maybe a lip balm flavour, you wonder).

It's a slow, yet deep, start. In the beginning, the kissing is with intent, wanting to know what each other tastes like. Naturally, the curiosity evolves into exploration, with Mark cautiously dipping his tongue into your mouth. You react with zeal, swiping your tongue against his and even experiment sucking on it. He shudders at the sensation.

Mark holds you close throughout, but your bodies move into a new position, letting you sink comfortably into your couch beneath him.

Here, passion rises. He grips your waist, whilst his body presses into yours, and he begins to trail down your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Although it's already off your shoulders, he drags a sleeve of your dress further down, hungry to kiss as much of your bare skin as he possibly can.

Your fingers tangle in his hair and you arch into him, embracing his clear desire against you. You're falling and falling and falling, becoming more drunk with every touch and kiss from Mark. Ever since the first day you met, you couldn't help but yearn for his touch. Now, having a taste of him like this, you're desperate to experience more.

Although you're underneath him, you decide to take hold of the kissing. When he takes a breather for an instant, you steal the chance and fervently kiss along his jaw and rugged neck. Mark moans, gripping your waist harder, and grinds into you, his hardness dying to be free.

Shockingly, he suddenly tears away, sitting up and panting. Confused, you mirror him.

“Should we stop?” he asks. “Like, I know I might be being presumptuous, but I don’t wanna ruin our potential next date if we rush too soon?”

It melts your heart that he retracted because he's concerned over your potential future. You delicately rearrange some of his loose hair stuck to his forehead. “If you want to stop, we can.”

He pouts, reminding you of him previously at the park, followed by a cute whimper.

“But I don’t want to stop...” he laugh-smiles, leaning into you, about to drive his mouth into yours again.

“Neither do I.”

And with that, Mark makes the split-second decision to continue this good thing and not look back. Once again, he's leaving love upon your shoulders, at a measured pace currently, and he carefully lowers your dress. Drooping off your shoulders, you let it drop and bunch around your stomach.

Surprise is written on his face, as you didn't wear a bra underneath your dress, but the surprise quickly dissipates into enthrallment over the beautiful sight.

He lowers himself, mouth traversing across your chest while his free hand gently massages one of your breasts. You succumb to the rising pleasure, curving into him again.

When he arrives at one tip of yours, he looks up and asks, his voice low and gravelly, “Can I...?”

You whimper-nod, already on the verge of begging him to take the next step.

It kills you that he teases first, merely pecking the surrounding area and your tip; his mouth leaving goosebumps in its wake. Your patience grows thin.

“Mark, please, just—”

Air is depleted as his tongue swipes against your nipple in a broad stroke. He then wraps his mouth around it, sucking firmly. The other hand that was kneading your other breast turns to focus on your nipple, pinching it between his index finger and thumb.

The more he sucks, the more you hear the wet puckering of his lips, the more it makes you clench tighter. Bliss begins to boil in your abdomen when he flicks his tongue and mimics the same on your other tit with the pad of his thumb.

Your breathing grows heavier, and you sense you're close, but Mark abruptly stops. You're about to speak up, believing he'd be the type to finish you off if you ask, until you realize he's kneeling on the floor in front of you and stripping off his t-shirt.

With your help, Mark eases your dress to the floor and places it safely on the coffee table. Focusing on you, his gaze is dripping of lust—so carnal, so different than his regular self.

As Mark advances to your heat, your palms graze over his defined shoulders and back. He parts your legs further with his hands wrapped around your inner thigh.

“Wearing panties?” he inquires, his finger pulling the fabric a bit to the side.

“Huh?”

“No bra, but panties?” he smirks, making you realize the joke.

You roll your eyes and relax momentarily, leaning your head back. “Are you into that? No panties underneath?”

“Could be hot,” he shrugs, tugging your underwear to your calves and tossing them off to the side.

“Maybe one date I can do th-ah—”

Without warning, he dives in, one his hands now grasping you by your lower back, and you lurch forward to get a good view of his head between your legs. You've got a grip on his shoulder, the other tugging at his hair.

His tongue laps at your folds with agility, figures out what you like or don't like. There isn't much you don't like, Mark deduces. Languid licks. Penetrating patterns. Fast flicks.

You respond eagerly to them all with harsh tugs to his hair, notably when he spreads your folds to devour you entirely. The hair pulling hurts a bit, but he doesn't mention anything; he likes it a little rough.

Despite the positive reactions, he can tell you've been at a simmer with his moves, not quite reaching close to a high. He withdraws his mouth, and, through your hazy vision, you catch sight of his honeyed lips.

But your eyes blow wide open and an acute moan dispels as your lover of the night fills you with his fingers, alongside his licking of your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Following a few more minutes of scissoring and a few sucks to your bundle of nerves, he asks, breathing into your inner thigh, “Does this feel good, gorgeous?”

Your lip is drawn between your teeth, digging so hard from the pleasure you wonder if it'll bleed soon. “Mm-hmm.”

“Good,” he says, kissing your thigh tenderly, “'cause I'm gonna need you to remember how good tonight is so you'll keep coming back for more.”

Not gonna be a problem, you think, but all you could muster is senseless panting.

“You close?”

You can barely release a whimper out to respond, and Mark orders you to tell him when you're near.

It doesn't take long to get there. The warmth in your abdomen encapsulates your body and your hips rut upward frantically, desiring your climax to take authority.

“Mark, Mark, Mark. Fuck, I'm close, I'm—”

Immediately, he stands up, fingers still inside you and somehow impaling you further and faster while his thumb lazily strokes at your clit when possible, and his ardent kiss is the needed catalyst to take you over the brink. Simultaneously, the kiss swallows your bountiful whines.

When you finally come down from your high, you kiss him deeply and feel him through his jeans against you.

“Let's take this to the bedroom, I need to grab—”

“Should I run to the pharmacy to—?”

In tandem, you chuckle over how in sync you are, and tip your perspired foreheads against the other.

Holding his hand, you lead him to your bedroom. You turn on your bedside lamp and gesture to the tissues, so he can clean his hands. You then bound to your bedroom bathroom and fumble around to find your condom packs somewhere in a drawer.

Upon your return, you're graced with the sight of Mark sitting naked on the edge of your bed, stroking himself. You almost salivate.

God, he's bigger than you expected, and that's only one part of his magnificent body. You didn't have the opportunity before to admire his muscular abs, but you take every chance to do so now. The way his arm flexes with each stroke. And those thighs...

“Sorry,” he murmurs and shyly shrinks a bit, in contrast to his lewd action, “hope it's okay that I took my pants off already.”

He really is quite endearing. Maybe even a little perfect.

“There is absolutely nothing to apologize for, Mark.”

You place the condoms onto your bedside table, but are so absorbed with Mark's cock and existence. Entranced, it's your turn to drop to your knees.

Fingers wrap around his cock, and Mark's groans rise. You delve in your enthrallment for a bit, squeezing and stroking to your heart's content until you finally decide to ease him into your mouth.

Your tongue works wonders, tasting the underside of his length with every bob of your head. Meanwhile, his hands lazily thread through your hair and he watches attentively.

More saliva develops and drips, especially when you relax your mouth to let him hit the back of your throat. Obscene slurps accompany his delicate moans, both of which permeate the room in melodious unity.

As his threading develops into tight pulls of your hair, you detract yourself to avoid the night ending right then and there.

Since he's still sitting on the side of the bed, you sit onto his lap with a plan to abate and elongate the tension. You're back to kissing him, allowing both parties' hands to roam each other.

“I love your arms,” you mumble into his mouth as you reach for them.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “I know you love my sexy arms.” You punch him teasingly.

But an idea flickers in your head. You halt your actions.

“This might be weird to ask, but could I...” you trail off, picking at your hands, realizing maybe you shouldn't finish your question.

“Hey,” he whispers, holding your chin in his hand. “You can ask me anything, beautiful.”

You hesitate with closed eyes.

“Could I... ride your arm?”

Peeking a nervous eye open, an evidently puzzled Mark stares back at you.

“I—What? Sure?” His voice raises in octaves.

Embarrassed, you try to wave it off. “Never mind that I asked.”

“No, hey,” he says, his palm caressing the side of your face and angling it towards him. “I'm flattered and obviously, nobody has ever asked to ride my arm before. But if you want to give it a go, by all means, I'm open to it.”

“Yeah?”

Mark gives you the sweetest smile and a reassuring nod. “Yeah.”

Since you suggested it, you lead him to lay on the bed, more in the centre so there'd be enough room for you to sit. He watches you gingerly lift his hand near head-level, as if he's almost flexing to show-off or about to lay his head on his palm.

Carefully, you sit onto his left arm, facing the direction of his body. At the contact, you shudder. “Is this okay?”

He agrees, enticed by your ass near his face and the general exquisiteness of your being. “You can put more weight on it, it's okay.”

You comply, relishing in the pressure of his arm against you. After becoming more comfortable and placing most of your weight to an arm on the bed, you slowly rub yourself upon his arm.

Mark's fascinated by this foreign act, eyes watching your every move. With his free hand, he touches himself.

His favourite part about you riding his arm? The look on your face—fluttering eyes paired with your lip biting—and the fact that you find him this attractive, that using him this way can simply get you off.

“This okay still?” you breathe.

“Fuck yeah.” He squeezes himself harder. He knows the answer to the next question, but he wants to hear it from you directly. “Does it feel good for you?”

You assent with a sharp moan. Without notice, you lick your palm with the intent of reaching over to grab his cock. At first, he's confused when he notices your hand, but he happily lets you handle him.

“Oh, God,” Mark pants.

You fasten your pace on his arm, grinding greedily against him. As you do so, your arm attempts to match the pace for his desire.

“Fuck,” Mark twists his head to look at your hips, tries to focus on how wet you are amidst his own pleasure, “you really do love my arms...”

It's a sweet dream for you—no, sweeter than any dream or fantasy could ever be. This is real, this spectacular sensation spreading all over and it's all thanks to his arm. Your body winds up, tighter and tighter, and you eventually break, chasing your second orgasm of the night.

Cleaning your mess up, you wipe his arm fast, keen on what's about to happen next. You then draw him into your mouth a bit to get him up again before rolling the condom onto him.

Once the rubber is on, you tease him from above, sliding the tip of his cock against your pulsing centre.

Mark may be a gentleman, but a gentleman can only be patient for so long. He seizes his possession and you gasp as he holds you by your hip, forcing you to sit down onto him.

The feeling is heavenly, stretching you sweetly. You bounce on his cock, and the sounds from you two are louder than from before. There's a small voice inside your head, worried about a noise complaint from your neighbours, but future you could deal with that.

Right now, it's all about Mark. He plays with your breasts with every move you make, while you fondle his abs and arms. Both of you try your best to look at one another through the pleasure, but it's difficult when you're floating higher and higher.

He then clasps your lower back and skillfully rises upward with the help of his strong abs. This position provides an angle for him to do all the work to thrust into you, as well as continuing to rub your breasts and even suck on them again.

At this point, you're in absolute state of frenzy, drowning in all the stimulation. Mark's underwater, right there with you too.

He pulls away in the midst of licking your nipple, his eyes going round. Nevertheless, you lean into him, your breasts pressed into his face and your mouth hangs.

Together, you cry each other's names and swear in endless spirals and the bliss finally reaches its peak for the evening.

As Mark lays next to you in your bed, observing your peaceful sleeping state, he's obviously amazed by tonight's events, but he’s also unsure what’s in-store for either of you.

There are so many factors at play with his career, you're both essentially still strangers, the future is unknown...

And yet, despite these worries, the feeling blooming in his chest is more than a blossoming liking. It’s akin to the moment he steps up to plate, either ready to bat or pitch. Nervousness, determination, and...

It’s too early to call it, but when he’s around you, he swears it feels a lot like his love for the game.

He shakes his head, not wanting to jump into the deep end this fast. He doesn't want to ruin this good thing prematurely.

Nevertheless, he places one last kiss atop your forehead before he sleeps, praying you'll be a new constant in his life, at least in the near future.

EPILOGUE — FOUR MONTHS LATER

Today is game four of the World Series and your city has won the previous three. If they continue their streak, tonight will be the night where Mark and his teammates take home the championship.

Hours prior to the big game, the teams are having batting practice beforehand to warm-up.

With your chin perched in your palm, you watch Mark closely—of course, safely from a distance and from behind him—and nod with every ball he hits well at the mound. You're seated in the lower area of the stadium among many of the other team members' families and friends, including a gleeful Chenle.

“Stop checking out your boyfriend's ass,” he orders, nudging you with his shoulder as he tosses a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

“You stop checking out my boyfriend's ass,” you retort, nudging him back.

The two of you continue your little nudging contest until he says, “So when you guys get married—”

“Oh, my God, Chenle...”

“I'm just saying, we all know you two are going to have beautiful little baseball player babies! Anyway, as I was saying, when you guys get married, can Daegal be the ringbearer somehow? She's pretty much the reason why you guys got together in the first place.”

You shake your head, eyes still on your love. “Chenle, we'll have that conversation when and if we get there.”

“When we'll get there,” he states confidently, and you laugh, dismissing him.

Sure, it may have been a fresh relationship only four months in, but you couldn't deny that maybe the idea of marriage wiggled its way through your mind here and there. Despite your thoughts, it wasn't at the forefront; you were happy in love with Mark now, here in the present.

Player #02 hands his bat over to another player and jogs towards you. It makes you wonder why he hasn't done an advertisement with slo-mo running and wind blowing through his hair yet.

“How’d I do?” Mark asks, leaning onto the railing next to you. Chenle gives him two thumbs up with a large grin.

“Awesome," you agree. "Did you think about hitting my head with each ball?”

Mark chuckles and juts his tongue to a side of his mouth. “You’re never going to let me live that down, huh?”

“Never,” you quip, scrunching your nose. You reach out for him and hold the tips of his fingers in yours. “You nervous?”

“Yeah,” he exhales, closing his eyes. “More than usual.”

Your fingers progress forward and your thumbs rub the back of his hands lovingly. “You’ll do amazing, like always.”

“You’re too sweet, babe. But this might be the game and I might—”

You cut him off by cupping his cheek in your palms.

“And you are the Mark ‘The Tiger’ Lee”—you tenderly swipe some of his hair away from his face—“top contender for both the Rookie of the Year and CY Young Award. So no matter what happens, you will come out on top.”

In awe and in a little disbelief with how well-put that was, he stares at you with starry, doe-like eyes. He's so grateful to have met you, to have someone so supportive of him in his life.

After a few moments, he concedes. “I had a pretty great run this season, haven’t I?”

You admire how humble your boyfriend always is. It's one of his greatest traits.

“And you have me,” you add jokingly.

He tilts his head side to side. “I guess there’s that too...”

The two of you share a kiss, innocent at first, until he deepens it and you wrap your arms around his neck, which generates some of his teammates to holler and whistle. Likewise, you hear Chenle screech, "Save it for after the win!" and you swear you feel some popcorn being thrown at your back.

Finally, until you're content, you peel away and press your forehead against his.

“Go get ‘em, Tiger,” you whisper.

Mark nods, a little more confident than before. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“So much,” he punctuates it with a loving squeeze to your shoulder.

You don't think you'll see him before the game starts, so you grant him one last good luck kiss.

You wouldn't know it that night, but by the end of the season, Mark would indeed take home the Rookie of the Year and the CY Young Award, being the youngest recipient of both awards.

That evening though, your city's team works in unbelievable harmony (or maybe the opposing team is having its worst day) because the game is a perfect one. Mark shuts out the other team, not allowing them to have any runs whatsoever...

Thus, sealing his first title of being a World Series champion.

But certainly not without his beloved running out into the field to give him a congratulatory hug and kiss among the sea of people.

And at the end of that night in the confines of your bedroom (after earth-shattering celebratory sex), you would find out that Chenle was right (and later, that he was in on it) when Mark, merely in his boxers, gets on one knee with a little opened box in front of you.

He's visibly shaking, and not because he's half-naked. You've never seen him so unnerved. Your love spills the following in almost one breath:

“I know we just started dating, and we can be engaged for, like, ten years or whatever. I just know that, deep down, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I may have felt this way since our first date. I really, really, really hope you feel the same, even if just a little bit."

Mark takes a deep breath, trying to regain composure for the important question he exhales.

Tears rise in your eyes as an ocean of feelings hit you, but within that ocean, no doubts rise to the surface whatsoever.

All you think about is how you will be forever grateful for the baseball that hit your head on that life-changing day.

You immediately say yes.

#mark lee x reader #mark lee smut #mark lee fluff #mark lee scenarios #mark lee imagines #mark lee fanfic #nct smut #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct 127 smut #nct 127 fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream smut #yn brainrot

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captainsamuelmorrigan · 19 days ago

Text

Spank Bank

Steddie! NSFW! TW: Porn, Body Dysmorphia

Steve has a huge problem. He's obsessed with this magazine he found at Eddie's house. Well, one photo specifically.

He found it in Eddie's copy of Dungeons & Dragons Players Handbook that he had been trying to use to create his first character. The book was so well-loved that for a moment, Steve had thought part of the book itself had fallen out, before looking down and seeing the cover of a gay porn magazine. His entire face turning red, thinking he hadn't been meant to see this, he quickly stuck it back into the back of the book and back onto his nightstand. Falling onto his back, staring up at his popcorn ceiling, trying to get the shirtless man from burning into the back of his eyelids.

He made it 36 hours before tentatively pulling the magazine back out of the book again. There wasn't any shame in knowing what a friend was into. Right? He's one of Eddie's best friends! They can laugh about it later! 'Haha, you left your dirty magazine in the book you lent me. You pervert!'

Steve looks at the front, a lithe and handsome young guy staring straight into the camera, holding up a football. The only indication that this magazine was dirty at all was the text advertising "HOT Young Jocks, Otters, and Daddies!!" Steve shakes his head and puts the magazine face down on the bed. He feels insane. This is way over the line.

Grabbing the magazine once again, he leafs through the pages, seeing all manner of muscular young men in a variety of sporty attire. Some in baseball outfits that were a size too small, legs spread on a bench to see his package straining against his pants, next to a picture of the same guy from the behind, the same pants making his rather round butt look almost like a girl's. Turning further past a few guys making out in camo gear, Steve comes across a dog-eared page.

For a moment, Steve remembers whose porn this is. Eddie had dog-eared this page to return to. The page that was folded for easy access was a muscular, sweaty guy in a basketball uniform. The uniform was a costumey shade of red that seemed that it was made for this shoot in particular, with the top cropped right below this guy's chest, the basketball shorts hanging low on this guy's hips, showing the waistband of his underwear, and a neatly manscaped happy trail. His hair was tossed around sexily. No, teased. It was kind of like Steve's, a warm, natural brown. This guy also had a few moles like Steve. Plus, the basketball outfit is almost a little too on the nose.

The page next to it made Steve's mouth go dry. This Not-Steve was below the camera now, mouth open for someone's hand to be pressing their thumb down onto his tongue. Looking through his long brown lashes like he was receiving sacrament, a silent prayer of reception in his soft eyes.

Steve hastily shoves the magazine in his bedside drawer. He struggles to sleep with so much blood southbound.

It's two days after that that he has to meet Eddie's eyes.

He's over to watch Rocky Horror again, nothing new. But this time, he sits an extra few inches away from Eddie. He isn't worried about Eddie making a pass at him, but he is worried he'll be weird if he thinks about Eddie thinking about sporty boys, his face getting all flushed and sweaty and- Quit it, Steven.

He stuffs pizza into his mouth, willing the cheesy bread to blanket his busy mind.

"Dost the King wish to share his royal thoughts?" Eddie quips.

"Shush, Freak." Steve flicks a piece of stale couch popcorn at Eddie.

Eddie cluches his chest, leaning back dramatically. "Oh! I'm wounded, Steve! How could you bring up my troubled past?"

"Sorry, just distracted tonight."

"Anything I can help with?"

Steve sighs. "Nah, just one of those nights."

They nodded at each other. They had seen enough of vines, girls with superpowers, and demobats to fill a million nights. They looked back towards the TV to watch the glittery outfits of the Transylvanians.

Steve felt a twist of guilt deep in his stomach at the small lie.

"Mm." Eddie said, knowingly.

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for quite a while, the campy sparkly show tunes bursting forth from the wood-paneled television enough to keep the quiet from becoming too awkward.

Janet breaks the silence with her iconic line, "I don't like men with too many muscles."

"I didn't make him FOR YOU!" Eddie shouts back along with Frank, laughing.

Steve takes a breath to gather his courage. "Do you like guys with muscles?"

Eddie's fingers drum on his thigh, looking away from Steve, pulling his hair to cover his face. "Whaat? Steve, do you really want to know my taste in guys? Isn't that like... weird to you?"

"Robin and I talk about our taste in girls all the time."

"Yeah, but that's different. You both like girls." Eddie's fingers pick up their rhythm, speadily pressing out a few chords into his thigh of choice. "You don't like guys."

"I don't, but Nancy does. I've talked with her, El, Max, even Argyle about the guys they like."

Eddie is quiet for a moment. "How about we talk about this another time. I'm kind of floaty on my painkillers right now."

They turn back towards the movie.

...

"Do you think Rocky or Frank-N-Furter is hotter?"

Eddie sighs, folding his hands in his lap. "Rocky. I think I'm too much like Frank. Plus, any gay guy can't resist those smooth muscles." Eddie laughs. "Not my usual type, though."

They part ways an hour later after the movie. Eddie's eyelids had started to droop during "I'm Going Home," and Steve knew he had about 20 minutes before he had to drag Eddie's spidery form to bed.

Once he was home, he grabbed the magazine and turned to the folded page. He stared down at Mr. Basketball, or "Rory," as the mag had dubbed him. He seemed slimmer than Steve, definitely less hairy.

Eddie's line from earlier chimed in Steve's head. "Any gay guy can't resist those smooth muscles." Well, Eddie liked smooth. Steve wasn't smooth. Eddie liked slim. Maybe that's what 'wasn't Eddie's type' about Rocky. This guy in the magazine was everything Eddie wanted. All the things Steve was, and the things he wasn't.

Steve pulled up his shirt, revealing his muscular stomach. It wasn't as toned as his high school days, but he would say he was muscular. His thick brunet curls, spreading up his stomach to his chest, and swirling down towards his cock.

As he pulls his shirt up further, more to the length of the boy's in the picture, he noticed the slight tenting of his pants.

Was this guy in the picture getting him hard? He looked between his junk and the mag a few times, noticing the tenting of Rory's own shorts in the second photo. It seemed that Rory was also a little more well-endowed than Steve. Steve had plenty, sure, but this guy? Steve clenched a little at the thought of staring down the barrel of that thing.

Eddie liked big-dicked, hairless, skinny jocks. Steve was maybe one out of three.

His hand drifted from playing with his stomach hair, following the swirls lower, into his pants. His dick twitching at the notion of use. Twirling the hair around his fingers, watching the front of his pants move, giving slight bits of friction to his quickly responsive dick. He groaned softly. Was he really about to jerk it to Eddie's porn?

He slowly wrapped his fingers around his cock, tugging lightly. He thought about Eddie there. What would Eddie think of Steve like this? Maybe he'd pull out the theatrics, like he used to in high school.

He imagined Eddie looking down at him. "You really think I'd want you, Harrington? With all that beastly hair? You look like a werewolf, man."

His dick twitched at the thought of Eddie looking at him with disgust. His eyes were getting misty.

"I don't even know how I'd get to that tiny cock through that thick jungle anyways. Truly a needle in a hairy haystack. The only thing you're good for is taking my load on those muscles."

That did it. Steve came with a weak cry, tears streaming down his face, thinking about Eddie's glistening cum on his stomach, soaking his belly fur.

The shower after was full of pitiful sniffles and more shame than Steve was used to. He felt empty.

The next week was full of more shame-wanks than Steve had ever done before. Night after night, Steve opening the magazine, finding more of his shortcomings, all ending in his hand around his dick and a pitiful cry in the shower. The nights following are full of fitful tossing and turning. He barely had the energy to do his hair in the morning.

By the 8th day of this Robin had rebooted the 'You Suck' counter. Steve couldn't really blame her. He had dropped VHSs, forgotten to tidy the break room, and worst of all, had snapped at Robin. He had gotten 3 strikes for that one.

"What's your damage, Steve? You're not being a real girl's girl right now. Plus you look like shit." Robin crossed her arms for emphasis.

"It's nothing."

"Truth, now." Robin leaned in. "Or I'm assuming you have brain cancer or something! You could even be a government replacement or something! What's my middle name? Wait... that's something the government would know. Where did I tell you I was a lesbian?"

"You're a lesbian?"

Robin's eyes widen in horror.

"The Starcourt bathroom, after the Russians. I'm me, I'm just distracted." Steve looks away from her. "I found a magazine in one of Eddie's books and it's freaking me out."

Robin scoots to be next to Steve. "Is it like... a porn magazine?"

Steve nods.

Robin cringes. "Are you freaked out in a 'this sex stuff is too weird' way, or in a 'this is gay and I don't like it way'?" She looks softly into Steve's eyes, obviously trying to be delicate with him.

"One of the guys looks like me, but he's like... not me? Maybe I'm making too big of a deal out of it." He starts to turn away from her.

"No! I'm sure it's weird to see that in a magazine, but it's just one picture, right? Could be a total coincidence."

"The page was marked. He'd definitely meant to come back to it."

She covers her mouth, eyes wide. "Oh that's..." She searches for the right thing to say before speaking. "Still, could be a coincidence! There are lots of guys with brown hair."

Later, at Steve's house, Robin stares at the page, mouth agape. "Steve this is... this guy looks A LOT like you. He's got your little chin moles and the basketball uniform, and the styled hair? I get why this squicked you."

"Squicked?"

"Made you feel gross. This is kind of shocking."

Steve pulls the magazine back to himself. "Well- I- I don't care if he's doing that to me." He's shaking a bit as he tries to collect his thoughts.

"You don't?" She raises an eyebrow, reaching towards Steve. "I don't think I understand."

"This guy isn't me! He's smaller, and better looking. Plus, he's like, HAIRLESS! Obviously Eddie would never want me if he likes this guy." Steve flops back, leaning limply against the wall.

"Woah woah woah!" Robin puts a hand on Steve's arm, rubbing soothingly. "Steve pause the negative self-talk for a second. Do you WANT Eddie to want you like that?"

Steve ceases for a moment. "I don't- It's not-"

Robin pats his arm. "It's okay if you do."

"No! It's not!" Steve sits up quickly, Robin having to jump out of the way. He hides his head in his hands, stressfully rubbing his face as his voice grows small. "It's not. He wouldn't-" His voice trembles. "He wouldn't want a guy like me. He wants a guy like that."

Robin reaches over to rub his back. "Steve, I know you're sleep deprived, and it seems like you're suffering through your first gay crush, but I promise you that you and that guy are much more similar than you are different. Even though I think it's really gross that Eddie is doing things while thinking about you, you seem to want that! And that's totally and completely okay."

Steve peeks out from behind his hands. "What if Eddie doesn't want me, though?"

"Stephen Maurice Harrington, you are the biggest idiot in the entire world if you think that Edward Munson is not" she takes a breath, cringing "crazy horny for you if he was willing to find a sporty soft-core porn magazine with a guy who looks so much like you that it grossed me out to see him in the position he's in." She folds her arms again, looking down her nose at him. She raises an eyebrow expectantly.

"Do you think I should talk to him?"

"Steve, I say this as your best friend. Go do him."

Hours later, Steve is on Eddie's doorstep. The newer, nicer, double-wide trailer in front of him suddenly much more imposing than it was last week. He brings his hand to the door, lowering it and turning around before hearing it open behind him.

"Steve? Robin said you were coming. What's going on?"

Dammit, Robin. There was no way to escape now. He plastered his trademark King Steve smile on before spinning around. "Hey! Yeah, I remembered I forgot to return your book." He offers Eddie back his book, knuckles white with stress. "I didn't get around to completing the character, but maybe we can hang out next week, and you can help? Unless you're busy or something. It's totally up to you, man." He crosses his arms to put something between him and Eddie, stepping back.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "Steve, you know I'm not doing anything. Is this about Rocky? I told you that this was going to make things weird." He hugs his book to his chest, using his other hand to lean on his cane. "If you're going to be homophobic about it, can we just forget about it?"

"I can't forget about it, Eds." Steve shakes his head.

Eddie cringes, starting to lean back to close the door, losing his balance a bit. The book slips from his grasp, falling in slow motion as Steve grabs after it. It slips through his fingers, the pages fanning open enough to allow the magazine to slip to the ground first. The book thudding to the concrete next to it. They both stare, at a loss for words.

Eddie covers his face defensively with his arm. "Steve I- I can explain. I'm so sorry that was in there. I totally forgot about it and- and- I would NEVER make a pass at you. You have to understand! I'm not like- like THAT!" Eddie looks like he wishes he could disappear into oblivion. If he still had the running power, Steve was sure he'd be down the block by now.

"You wouldn't?" Steve deflates. Of course he wouldn't.

Eddie's arm drops. "What?"

Steve bends down, stacking the mag on top of the book. "Robin said, she said the guy in the magazine looked exactly like me. That you... you probably liked me. I knew that I wasn't your type. It's okay." He offers Eddie a weak smile, he tries and fails to stop his chin from trembling. This hurt more than Nancy, more than anything.

Eddie pushes the book out of the way. "Steve." He takes a deep breath, his shaking calming down a bit. "Do you want it to be you?"

"He's thinner than me, though. I mean, I get it if that's your thing. He's thinner, way less hairy, his dick is- Well, you know, not a lot of guys are that big." Steve looks at the little bundle of dandelions in one of Wayne's mugs on the table by the door. Anything to avoid Eddie's eyes.

Eddie lets out a nervous laugh. "Steve. Steve. Look at me." He waves his hand in front of Steve's face, trying to get him to disengage from his self-hatred fixation. "I don't care about that stuff."

Steve looks into the curly-haired boy's eyes. "You don't?"

"Nah, I mean, not as much as some other people might. I like muscley guys as much as the next homo, but beggars can't be choosers in small towns."

"So you're settling for me?"

"Jesus, Harrington. Who pissed in your cheerios? No. I'm saying you're super fucking hot, like, way hotter than some guy in a magazine." He fidgets with his cane, tapping it on the floor, laughing nervously. "I've had that magazine since, like junior year. I forgot it was in that book."

"Did you have that page marked that whole time?" Steve holds his breath, his eyes sparkling as he looks at Eddie.

"Y-yeah? It's really embarrassing. I used to have this weird fantasy where you'd like, be one of those homophobic bullies who turned out to be gay and you'd do a bunch of nasty stuff with me. Again, it's very super embarrassing, actually. You totally don't have to do any of it with me if you don't want to." He tucks a curl behind his ear, looking at Steve sheepishly.

Steve laughs, leaning in to kiss Eddie. It's just an innocent peck, their lips meeting as their eyes close. Eddie's lips are softer than Steve expected. "I want to hear about it. We might try some of it out."

"Careful there, Stevie, you're gonna get my hopes up."

"And about the dick thing?"

"Steve, trust me, I am totally fine handling average."

"What about like, slightly above average?"

Eddie stumbles for a second time. "So the legends are true!!" He laughs.

(Edit: For those asking, the fic that inspired this is "Driving with the Devil" by objectlesson on AO3.)

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #bi steve harrington #inspired by that one doc hudson x lightning mcqueen fic

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imaginal-ai · 11 months ago

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"Taking a Break"

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wannaeatramyeon · 1 month ago

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DG x Reader: Bodyguard

G/N. Cracky. You, the bodyguard. DG, the 'helpless' idol. Masterlists

When the rest of DG's senior team insisted he get a bodyguard, he thought it was a joke.

What sort of idiot would attack James Lee.

Then he remembered he's not James Lee, at least not to the general public. He's Diego Kang, CEO of PTJ Entertainment, an idol with amazing moves and an ass that won't quit but no fighting experience.

Right. Right.

He supposes that makes sense. It would've been suspicious to say no, especially with his legions of stans and stalker, and his prior history.

You're not exactly who he would have picked.

Bodyguards are usually monstrous, huge, intimidating men. You're not really any of the above.

In fact, you're kinda cute. And apparently your resume is also impressive enough too.

"Perfect candidate."

"Extensive training."

"Unmatched awareness."

-were chirped into his ear before he gave you his nod of approval.

Besides, DG thinks it might work to his advantage to employ someone so unassuming.

"No upskirt pictures!" You yell at the paparazzi, parting them to make way for the pink-haired idol, and pointing accusingly.

DG, in a moment of complete confusion, peers down to his own legs in case he really did wear a skirt.

No. He's in his pants, of course he is. His clothing is supplied as part of his sponsorship deal. Why would he be wearing a skirt?

"What was that?" He asks, when you're piled into his minivan. Brows knitted together instead of his usual cold, impassive expression.

You give him a shrug, "Just in case."

"In case of?"

"Just in case," you repeat, tapping your nose and nodding knowingly at him.

Now, he remembers.

During one of his many many boring meetings, when you were officially under his employment and before you started, he had been warned you might be like this.

“No pictures today!” you holler and the paparazzi groan.

Someone brave enough shouts back why.

“DG lost all five MAMA noms and he’s in a terrible mood. He might ask me to kill you if you take any pictures,” you say back solemnly and without humour.

DG feels bitter but not that bitter. Upon hearing your words, he stifles a laugh into his sleeve and disguises it as a cough.

To sum it up, you're an oddball.

Still, DG tolerates you because of your flashes of brilliance and your brutal honesty.

"Here, sir." You offer up a steaming hot drink and DG raises an eyebrow. "Honey and lemon. For your throat."

When DG doesn't take it, you finally explain. "Your singing sounded awful, sir. Thought you might need it."

Ah.

He did think he sounded off but the yes-men at the studio told him otherwise. He should have trusted his own instincts and makes a mental note to replace them.

DG chuckles to himself before taking the first sip.

"No touching please," you jump in just as a fan is starting to get handsy.

"Excuse me?!"

You turn away from them, letting their indignant outrage slide off you and usher DG on to the next group to interact with.

DG gives you a nod of thanks and you give him a subtle wink back.

"You best not be zooming in on his tits," you snarl at another paparazzi. "No under boob, side boobs, any boobs!"

DG glances down at his chest. Fully concealed in a mock neck jumper. There's no bare skin on show at all.

"Can you explain?" He asks, once you climb in the minivan after him and slide the door close.

"You know." You say, handing over another honey and lemon drink.

"I don't, actually."

"You know," you repeat, eyes signalling towards his chest area and hand gesticulating at your own. "And, y'know."

You nod at his hot drink and pull a face, indicating that he was pitchy as hell in the last rehearsal.

DG shakes his head at your antics but takes a sip regardless.

"For you, sir." You hold out a brand new baseball cap with both hands and head bowed respectfully.

"I don't want this."

"Yes but you need it."

"..."

"For your bad hair day."

"What?"

"Trust me, sir."

DG narrows his eyes at you. You're rude as hell, no tact at all. He’s not sure if you even have a filter, or you just say whatever thought pops into your mind.

However.

Somewhere along the way, he finds that you're the only person that tells him the truth.

He takes the cap and thrusts it on his head.

"Much better!" You pipe up with an oblivious grin, adding insult to injury.

"What are you doing?" DG pulls a face as you wrap your arm around his waist and hurry him on.

"There's someone tailing you," you murmur, "I've been watching them for the last five minutes."

There is? How on earth did this person get past his radar?

As if answering his thoughts, you tell him, "They look like a normal ajumma. No-one would have suspected her if I wasn't watching."

You pick up the pace and DG matches you stride for stride.

"Your manager is waiting just up ahead with the car. I'll take care of them." You give DG a salute and a toothy smile as he looks at you in alarm.

In all honesty, you look a bit helpless. Yes, your resume looks great and yes, your recommendations are glowing but DG hasn't actually seen you in action yet. He can't help the way his stomach lurches thinking about you in danger.

And what if this isn’t an untrained, rabid stan, but someone who knows about his other life and is after James Lee?

"I'll be fine, sir!" You turn quickly and sprint off in the opposite direction at breakneck speed.

A couple hours later, after DG has paced endlessly back and forth, you show up at his office.

Your hair is a little out of place, and your regulation suit is a little dusty but you're otherwise untouched.

"Are you ok?" his eyes snap to yours.

"Of course, sir!" Your beam is as bright as ever.

DG exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, relief overwhelming him and he desperately wills his pulse to return to normal.

"Call me James," he sighs when he realises it's not working and his heart seems to beat quicker and louder now you're in sight.

You don't ask any questions like why James, why not Diego. You accept it at face value, no doubt having some secrets of your own.

Your smile is unfaltering as you respond, "Sure thing, James, sir!"

#lookism #lookism x reader #lookism fics #lookism manhwa #lookism webtoon #diego kang #lookism james lee #dg x reader #diego kang x reader #james lee x reader #lookism dg #wannaeatramyeon

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everyonewooeverywhere · 3 months ago

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NSFW BLOG | MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

COMING SOON: FRIDAY, OCTOBER 11th

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: smut (not in teaser) | non-idol au | strangers to lovers

rating: 18+ (no smut in teaser)

word count: 1.1k in teaser (full fic will be ~8k)

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll), strangers to lovers

notes: this is in the same universe of assert your dominance! and you might even find the mc in that fic here 🤭 i'm really excited about this one! so i hope you like it 💗

and if you want to join the taglist you can do so here or you can let me know in my inbox!

Where the fuck was this place? You took another turn down another shaded alley. It was weirdly dark for being two in the afternoon.

The tapping of your fingers on the steering wheel was the only music because the stereo had gone out months ago and no one was able to get it fixed. Until now apparently.

Because after six wrong turns you finally pulled into the parking lot. Your friend had recommended it when you’d told her this car had been having all sorts of issues, and she told you this was the place to go. And then she pulled up the instagram of one of the mechanics and went on for several minutes about how hot he was. That may have been the only reason she requested this place.

It looked official enough. The brick building was large enough to house the two large garage doors that left the shop open. Peering inside you could see a mechanic checking the taillights of an old Chevy, before venturing back to his toolbox. There weren’t many people inside. From what you could see, there were only two mechanics in the garage, and you didn’t see any customers or other employees. Maybe they’re understaffed.

You shrugged before swinging the car door open and grabbing your purse out of the passenger’s seat, brushing off your pants before you made your way in. There wasn’t a front desk or a receptionist to talk to, and you got the feeling that this shop was solely run and staffed by the men inside.

No one noticed you for several seconds. Both men seemed entirely too caught up in their current tasks. You shuffled your feet a couple of times and tried to catch the eye of one of them, but no one seemed to notice your presence. They must not get very busy.

“Um…hello?” You spoke, trying not to startle either of them.

They both turned to you, and the man closest to you opened his mouth to speak. But he was cut off when the other man behind him jogged over, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and muttering a quick, “I’ve got her, Min.”

“Min” chuckled and rolled his eyes, returning to his work.

Oh god. You felt a pit form in your gut at the prospect of him flirting with you.

“Hey doll, what can I do for ya?” Something about the way he sauntered up to you and smiled so gently immediately filled your stomach with butterflies, but ignored them for the sake of your own sanity.

Doll. That was a new one, and you felt deep in your soul that it would have disgusted you from anyone else. But something about this stranger was strangely comforting. Maybe it was the way he tilted his head as he waited for you to speak. Maybe it was the baseball cap strewn backwards on his head. Or maybe it was the strands of his taupe hair that fell in front of his face. Strands you imagined yourself brushing up into his hat.

Your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your purse, “I’m, uh, having some car issues.”

The laugh he let out, and the curve of his lips that accompanied it, made the tips of your ears burn, “Of course you are, sweetheart. Anything in particular, though?”

“Oh,” you chuckled softly along with him, “Well, he mentioned that the acceleration has been kinda weird, and I thought the engine was kinda loud when I drove it here today. Sorry, I don’t really know a ton about cars.”

He hummed and tapped his foot a couple of times, “Which one is it?”

You pointed across the lot.

“Alright, let me pull it into the garage,” he put his hand out in your direction.

You stared at it, confused, and when you looked back up at his face he was smiling at you again. Stupid smile. He made your heart flutter more than you would’ve liked to admit.

“Keys, sweetheart. Your keys.”

“Oh,” you scrambled around in your purse before handing him the keys, embarrassed.

Took them from you and pulled the car through the big garage doors. When he stepped out of the car he looked at you curiously, “This your car?”

You shook your head, “No it’s my boyfriend’s. He’s been…busy…lately, so he hasn’t been able to bring it in. He keeps complaining about it, though, so I just decided to do it for him, I guess.”

He raised his eyebrow at you and nodded slowly.

“What?” you asked, moderately offended.

Shaking his head, he waved a dismissive hand, “Nothing. Sorry. You just seemed a little unsure is all.”

“Yeah…I don’t know. I honestly think he just kept complaining so that I would get tired of his whining and just get it fixed,” You chuckled awkwardly. Why the fuck were you telling him this? You started to feel a little embarrassed.

And that feeling only got worse when you saw the mildly horrified look on his face.

You shook your head and ran a frustrated hand through your hair, “Can you just fix it?”

That pretty fucking smile came back. “Of course I can. Glad you brought this in when you did, honestly. Seems like your boy toy’s got a bit of an exhaust leak. Could be pretty dangerous, so it's good to get it off the road.”

“Ah, perfect.” You shifted on your feet, “How long will it take, do you think?”

He lifted his hat and ruffled his messy hair before readjusting it on his head. Why did every little movement he made drive you crazy? “Unfortunately, issues like this take a couple days. I can probably finish her up tomorrow, but I don’t think I can finish it up today.”

You nodded, “Okay. I’ll try to get a ride home.”

“Alright, doll. Let me write down your number real quick so I…so we can call ya when she’s ready.”

You wrote down your name and number for him on a pink sticky note that he stuck to the dash.

“Perfect!” He smiled at you, “We’ll call ya tomorrow, okay?”

You couldn’t help but smile back, “Awesome! Thank you…Oh. I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Yunho. My name is Yunho, sweetheart. It’s nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand for you to shake it.

And you couldn’t help the ramming of your heart in your chest when he took your hand into his own.

#yunho smut #yunho x reader smut #yunho x reader #jeong yunho x reader #jeong yunho smut #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez x reader smut #kpop smut #kpop x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #yunho imagines #yunho scenarios #*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dj's work #*ੈ✩‧₊˚ smut #*ੈ✩‧₊˚ yunho

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yuuuuuuslazy · 16 days ago

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「Bad Luck」

Inspired by "Yellowstone", the scene where Beth smashed the store.

Mafia!Cheol x wife!reader ft. Secretary Shua

Warnings : mentions of insecurity, blood and violence, punching (?), explicit language, very fluffy at the end, wonwoo and hao has wives, pet names

Genre : fluff

Everything below is pure fiction made for entertainment purposes. Do not copy any of the actions below.

"If my husband came in here, he'd kill somebody"

You hopped out of the car after saying goodbye and thanks to one of cheol's men. He'd taken his day off just to drop you off at the street where all the designer stores are. With no special day yet your husband insisted that you should go shopping while he dealt with meetings. Your husband? Mafia boss of the underground world. They're all wary of him while he fears none except you - his precious wife. The way he'd get on his knees to apologise so quickly if he were to be the reason you're upset.

You grabbed yourself a latte while looking for a store to walk into. Deciding to look for a necklace you slipped into the store with a pretty lilac stone on display. Immediately you realise the gaze of the shopkeeper on you, eyeing you up and down. After looking around and having enough of her glares, you approached her to ask for the necklace you saw by the window.

"I've seen enough of your type of people. You can't afford this unless you sell a kidney why don't you get your ass over the store down the street where poor people are supposed to be?"

Before you could respond, " You stole something didn't you, I'd like to check your bag missy." spat the shopkeeper.

"Get a warrant"

"I don't need one. Lock the doors and call the cops" she ordered the guy standing by the door.

Infront of her face you threw your bag on the counter while fishing out your phone to call Joshua.

"(Y/n)? Something wrong?" He questioned immediately since you rarely call him

"I need help. A store by main street with police cars outside. You'll see it." You can already hear the sound of key hitting against each other in the background before he spoke again.

"Why did you call me? Why didn't you call cheol?"

"If my husband came in here, he'd kill somebody" you answered.

You eyed the shopkeeper's name tag that said "Veronica". Ooh it's the one that's gotten a few complaints about being rude to customers. When the cops arrived so did Joshua. Upon seeing him the cops....squirmed away back in their car...?

"Sorry Mr.Hong we're closing now as we are having some issues with this...thief here. She probably shoved it in her bra or pants. I'll have the cops search her right away if you must shop today!"

"No need." said Joshua as he gave her a side eye.

Upon seeing Joshua's attitude, the air got awkward and scary at the same time whilst you could only hide behind him hoping he would just slap her and take you home. You'd deal with her after asking cheol to buy the store or something...maybe get someone to run her car over. Does she even have a car?

The bell hung above the door gave out a soft ring, signalling that someone had just entered. Before you could register who in the hell enters a store with police cars parked outside and before Veronica could tell the person that they're closed, a baseball bat flew straight into her face so quickly it cracked one of her teeth! You quickly turned fearing the worst for Veronica. The police cars are long gone now replaced with a black Roll's Royce and...your husband who's walking through the entrance. Oh no. Rip Veronica.

You hear cheol ask Joshua to go back and finish off his work before he goes home. Joshua approaches him and hands him a recording pen before nodding and leaving in his BMW.

So.... everything was recorded...of course Joshua told him...now Veronica's fucked...like fucked.

"Mr.Choi-!" Slap. Ooh her mouth started bleeding. If she knows about your husband...and your husband's secretary how come they don't know you? Wierd. Everyone in dirty work or involved in underground stuff knew who you were.

"Mr.Choi? What's wrong you're our most precious custo-"

"You messed with the wrong girl, Veronica."

"This girl? She's a thief!! She tried to steal our jewels and stones!!" She quickly answered while holding her cheek. Slapped yet so respectful because she knew what would happen if she weren't. "Here it comes" you thought to yourself.

"This girl you claim to be a "thief" is my wife."

You've never seen colour drain from a person face this quickly as she realised she messed up big time. Accusing the wife of the man who makes even the police run away? It's better if she just shut up and get lost but cheol would never let that slide. As he went towards the door to lock it, Veronica dropped to her knees to apologise saying things along the lines of "spare me", "I have children to feed" and "I can't die". Seungcheol picked up the baseball bat that was forgotten on the ground since earlier while telling her that she should have been polite to just show you the necklace instead of judging just because you didn't dress up. Following the end of his sentence he hits the nearest piece of glass with the bat, resulting in a loud shattering noise and silence so thick it could be cut with a knife after the shards have settled.

"Cheol that's enough let's go-" you tried to grab him but he took your hand in his to kiss your knuckles instead.

"Oh babygirl we have all night. The sun is setting, why don't you try on the jewelry you came here to look for. Let me guess, that big one by the window? I'll fetch it for you." He pecks you and grabbed a high stool for you to sit on. Seungcheol puts on the necklace with big lilac diamond around your neck and steps away to admire you.

"Love, how about this one?" He said as he smashed yet another glass covered shelve. For the next ten minutes, he chose some nice rings and necklaces for you to put on and "take home" as well as stepping on the gems that weren't polished or looked ugly. You protested, insisting on going home many times but he would silence you with a kiss on the lips. Everything unfolded infront of Veronica as she could only stare in horror. When he reached the last piece of intact glass in the store, Seungcheol pointed the bat against it as he turned to her to speak.

"You bring your sorry ass on your knees before my wife and apologize for judging her for how she dressed, and for treating a fellow customer rudely."

Losing her cocky exterior, she crawled towards you on her knees to apologise word for word while asking you to ask Seungcheol so he would spare their last piece of unshattered glass as well as the accessories inside.

"Much better. Here love, have a bag." He handed you a medium sized box and a bag to store all the things he'd put on your lap or around your neck and fingers before turning to Veronica again.

"You're lucky my wife was here or you'd be painting those pretty tiles with red right now. Regardless you'll be losing your job and your boss will be losing this shop lot. Enlighten me, what will you tell your boss?"

"A runaway criminal came in and attempted to steal....Mr.Choi had driven him away...so I gave his wife our jewels." She managed to stutter out while still trembling.

"Good." he said. He walked towards you to help you off the high stool and into his Roll's Royce. You tried to look back, catching Veronica phoning her boss and telling him exactly what she said she would. Wow. It's honestly the first time seeing your husband in action. You'd heard from the fellow wives of your husband's peers, namely Wonwoo and Minghao's wives that he can be impulsive but it's the first time you've ever been on the scene of his anger. Well the ladies were serious when they said he's the scariest.

You set the box of jewellery next to your feet while turning to look at your husband. His scary facade was over, now smiling about the scene he caused back there and happy that he brought you justice.

"Someone is happy~" you cooed. "Are you proud of me sweetheart?" He asked while he stopped at a red light.

"Shua told you didn't he..." You questioned, admiring the way he drives the car with only one hand, the other on your lap.

"Of course he did, you were in danger. You accused that I would kill someone but cmon baby I'm not that bad...I fight but nothing illegal! Ever!!" He said while pouting. Nobody dares to challenge him. His company and family controls 70% of the economy and his underground dealings that involve weapons and solutions used to make medicine that are somehow legal every time it is checked bring In lots too. You somehow managed to marry this guy and not find out about his whole identity until you were so inlove you're ready to be the evil man's wife that fights with him to death in those movies.

You once questioned him, and he allowed you to go through this stuff. He sells the solutions and medicine at a cheaper price in big batches to hospitals and labs because the government is using it for money but he actually wants to help, that's why the government is always looking for something to get him in trouble but they end up shining the lights on their own dirty work. You can't help but want to give yourself a pat on the back everytime you see or hear of his deeds that aren't posted all over the media. He knew you liked cats, so adopted two for you and donated a few millions to cat shelters overseas. You loved this man. Even when he gets sick and almost puked on the ground you'd still love him.

The ride back home was comfortable with soft tunes playing in the background. He'd take peeks at you and you'll both giggle. Three years into your marriage, the love never faded. Most say that marriage is the grave for love yet everyday spent with Seungcheol felt... genuine and happy. You help him by diving Joshua's workload, mostly organising stuff about his company or his personal schedules. Before starting work you'd make him a lunchbox, write a cute note on it and pack it up. Afternoons were spent with your cats by your side or playing with each other as you typed away on your computer. At night, he'd come home around 8. He never postpones coming home because of work. Usually it's traffic or he got something on the way back for him to be late as he likes to say that the important stuff should be finished at the office, the rest can be put off until tomorrow and he will leave at 7:30 sharp to go home and see his beautiful wife.

He usually comes home to a purring engine on the cabinet of the mansion's door and another furball on the floor with the smell of dinner going into his nose. He always greets you with a kiss or hug when he comes home. During dinner, he either pouts and complains about work or shares the interesting things that happen today. Does he let you do the dishes on your own? Hell no. He can and he will help you no matter what. If you scrub the plates, he will rinse and try them ; if he mops the floor then you clean the counter tops and dinner table. That's just how fantastic of a husband he is. The man that people fear most will wear a pink apron with cats on it and mop the floor even if you asked him to rest.

His car gently rolls into the porch of your marble white mansion. You both enter the door and your cats immediately run to greet you. He once said that the cats lift his mood, but you do wonders on him. You tossed the food into the steamer and quickly joined him in the bathtub. You like to take baths together by cleaning each other. You wash his back while he washes and dries your hair for you. You always feed the cats first before taking a bath together. Although it is mostly relaxing and warm to bathe with your husband, yet things can get freaky when he's moody or horny. You once fucked so hard the both of you collapsed and fell asleep until the next day waking up to very grumpy cats as they didn't have their dinner. Oops. Today was one of those relaxing warm bath days.

After you both finished dinner, you cuddled on the couch with dimly lit warm lights around the huge living room equipped with floor-to-celling glass windows facing the sea for a spectacular view. Your cats, hanging by the cat tree sharpening their claws and running around playing. You enjoyed "us" time the most. Before bed, after dinner or when you wake up in the morning. He holds you close against his bare chest as he has a habit of walking around the house shirtless almost all the time. You set your head on his muscular chest and he buries his head in the crook of your neck your your hair. Then, you talk about random things or just simply enjoy the embrace of each other.

You've thought about having kids but...your cats and your husband are enough now. You want to have peace and quiet, not quite ready to give up what you have right now. Seungcheol is totally fine with it as he says that it's your choice. He's happy as long as you're with him.

Seungcheol is the type of man to choose you before his baby because "we can always try again for another baby, but I can never find another you. I don't want a family or anything if you're not my wife♡"

Suddenly he spoke up. "Love?"

"Yeah?" You answered with eyes closed and your hand reaching down to pat your cat who has decided to loaf Infront of the couch.

"Would you rather choose a hero or a villain?" He asked. You scooted up a bit to look at him, acting like you're actually thinking when you already know the answer.

"The villain." You stated

"Why?"

"Because the hero would give me up to save the world, but the villain would give up the world to save me." You answered knowing that the world sees him as a bad guy who pursues violence and force to get his way as well as trades stuff behind doors to earn money.

Your hands intertwined, wedding rings on both of your fingers gently hitting against each other as he kissed you ; soft giggles and meows filled the room when you chat into the night.

"Sweetheart, i'd burn the world to ashes if it meant that there will always be a you and me."

A/N : hope you enjoyed and thanks for all the likes and reblogs on my previous story "Christmas, Airports and Coffee". I appreciate every single one of them. Feel free to request for cheol if anyone is interested~ (only cheol because I've tried writing for other members and discovered I could only come up with ridiculous ideas for my bias while the others sounded so dry and uninteresting I just deleted everything. Like seriously.)

#seventeen x reader #seventeen #scoups oneshot #scoups x reader #scoups #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol #seventeen seungcheol #seventeen oneshot

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