#move the pan and flip a couple times

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

Idk if you can do anything with this but Pom Pom uses the marshmallows in Lucky Charms like seasoning to everything she eats.

[wooyoungiewritings]

A Spoonful of Trouble - Wooyoung x Reader

Summary: Three years of living with your best friend Wooyoung, and it’s all been chill… until a run-in with your old coworker, who’s dating your ex, forces you to lie. You tell her you’re in a relationship with Wooyoung, and now you both have to fake a relationship at a couples’ dinner. Wooyoung’s plan? Make your ex jealous. What starts as a harmless game soon sparks something you didn’t see coming.

Word count: 17.4K

Genre: Best-friend/Roomie Wooyoung, fake dating, comedy (it’s wooyoung, ofc its fun), friends-to-lovers, oneshot, smut

Warnings: Jealous undertones, Wooyoung with reader (fem pronouns), dom Wooyoung, he’s a tease, fingering, oral (fem receiving), choking and hair pulling, ass slaps and pussy slaps (lmao sorry) dirtytalk, unprotected sex, lmk if I missed anything!

A/N: I was requested a Wooyoung fanfic (preferably friends to lovers) and your wish is my command. Also, I haven't read this through, so I excuse if there are any mistakes!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Wooyoung in any way.

You didn’t know Wooyoung before you moved in with him.

It wasn’t some childhood-friends-to-roommates situation. It was a Facebook listing, a desperate rent situation, and a quick video call where he grinned and said, “I’m clean, I cook, and I only walk around shirtless on laundry days, deal?”

Your boyfriend had just cheated on you and you were too broke to be picky.

You moved in two weeks later.

That was three years ago.

When you first moved in, things were simple. Polite nods in the hallway, careful division of chores, messages like “Can I use your oat milk?” and “Trash day’s Thursday.” You were strangers learning how to coexist. He was respectful, charming, funny in a careful kind of way.

But that changed. Slowly. Naturally.

There was the night he knocked on your door with two bowls of ramen after hearing you cry through the wall. The time he fell asleep on your shoulder during a movie, and you let him stay there. The mornings where he started making two cups of coffee without asking, and the way he never forgot which mug was your favorite.

Little things, at first. But they stacked up.

Now he knows your coffee order and your worst ex’s name. He doesn’t knock anymore when your door is open. And you don’t bother pretending to be annoyed when he drapes himself across the couch you’re already sitting on, like there’s not an entire empty seat next to you. You know his favorite hoodie and the playlist he only listens to when he’s feeling off.

You don’t even remember when it happened. When “roommate” became “friend,” and “friend” slowly became “best friend”.

He’s the first person you turn to when something happens, good or bad. You’ve become so used to him and his playful, flirtatious nature, that it’s just... normal now.

This morning, you wake up to the sound of a pan sizzling.

It’s not unusual. Wooyoung does most of the cooking in the apartment, partly because he’s better at it, mostly because he refuses to eat anything bland. You’ve learned not to interfere when he’s in his element, your only job is to show up and eat.

Still, it’s early, and he’s making a bit too much noise for someone who claims to love you “platonically.”

You shuffle out of your room, hair a mess, socks mismatched. The kitchen smells like garlic and eggs, and you see him standing at the stove, completely in his zone. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, spatula in hand, flipping something with a finesse that makes it obvious he knows he looks good doing it.

“You’re showing off,” you mutter, leaning against the doorframe.

He doesn’t look away from the pan. “You’re welcome.”

You make a beeline for your favorite mug, the one he always pretends to hate but still washes carefully every time you leave it in the sink.

“I figured you’d sleep in,” he says. “You stayed up late.”

“Yea, because someone wasn’t leaving my room.” you send him a glare.

“I like hanging out with you! and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the story about the geek and the popular girl from my old highschool. That story is cute as hell.” he points the spatula with you like it’s a weapon.

You smirk behind the mug. “Okay, that one was kinda good.”

He grins, plating scrambled eggs and what looks like roasted vegetables. He slides the plate toward your usual spot at the counter like he’s done it a hundred times, because he has.

“How was your date?” you ask, poking your fork into a roasted tomato.

Wooyoung groans. “Disaster.”

“That bad?”

“She asked if I was in love with her halfway through the appetizer.”

“Bold of her,” you say, chewing.

“And when I said no, she looked at me like I kicked her in the face. Then she told me I ‘give off commitment issues.’”

You grin. “You do give off commitment issues.”

He glares playfully. “Okay, rude. I’m extremely loyal.”

“To me.”

“Exactly. My loyalty quota is full. Sorry to the rest of the world.” he shoots you a wink, nothing dramatic, just one of those natural, easy gestures he does without thinking. You don’t blush. Not anymore.

You're used to it. In the beginning, back when you were still adjusting to living with someone who looks like that, who flirts with the air he breathes, who walks around shirtless and steals fries from your plate and calls you “babe” just to watch your reaction, it was different.

But now? Immunity.

Mostly.

It’s easy with him, always has been. Closeness that doesn’t need explanation. No boundaries, because you don’t need them. Not when you’ve seen each other through every version of a day.

He sits beside you at the counter instead of across, thigh brushing yours like it’s second nature.

Because it is.

***

“You know,” you say, pushing the cart down the cereal aisle, “you could just admit you have the taste buds of a hyperactive child.”

Wooyoung gasps, dramatically offended as he holds up a neon box of chocolate puffs. “This is not childish. This is elite. You wouldn’t understand the depth of this flavor profile.”

Grocery shopping with Wooyoung is basically a weekly ritual at this point. Not because you can’t go alone, but because he insists on it. Claims you’d forget half the list and come back with snacks and nothing else. Which, to be fair, is kind of true.

You’re halfway through the cereal aisle, walking behind the cart as Wooyoung wanders a few feet ahead, eyes locked on the shelf like he’s making a life-or-death decision between sugary clusters or chocolate swirls.

He’s in his element, mumbling ingredients under his breath, holding one box up to the light like he’s reading ancient scrolls. You smile to yourself, letting him do his thing as you slow down, scanning your phone for the rest of your shared grocery list.

And then, just your luck, you hear it.

“Oh my god, Y/N?”

You look up too slowly.

Hana.

You turn, putting on the most polite expression you can muster as she approaches, all bright eyes and perfect hair and the same aggressive enthusiasm she used to bring to Monday morning staff meetings.

“Hana,” you say, trying to sound surprised instead of resigned. “Wow. Hi.”

“I thought that was you! Oh my god, it’s been what, like, forever? You look so… Anyways, it’s so good to see you!” She eyes you, then glances down into your cart before you can respond. “Frozen dumplings, instant rice, oh my god I love those snacks, they’re so bad but soooo addictive, right? Wait-, this kimchi brand is the worst. You should try the one from Jihyun’s Market across town. It’s organic.”

You blink. “I... like this one.”

“Sure, sure. I mean, I just think it’s better to be picky with fermented stuff, you know? Especially when you’re eating it alone.”

You don’t answer right away. She doesn’t wait.

“Gosh, how are you? I remember how you were always the chill one at work. So responsible. So put together. Like, you were always the single one! We called you "The Independent Icon" behind your back. Not in a mean way!”

You hadn’t planned on staying single forever. But a few years ago, your boyfriend cheated on you while he was on vacation, called you from the airport like it was no big deal. After that, you decided you were done. No dating for a while, no more risks. It was easier to be alone than to be blindsided again. Eventually, people stopped asking. Then they started assuming.

Your stomach twists. You glance down the aisle. Wooyoung is still several feet away, crouched in front of a lower shelf now, examining cereal boxes like he’s an art critic. Totally out of earshot.

“Oh, I didn’t know people talked about that,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Hana waves a hand. “Only in admiration, really. I mean, you’ve never brought a guy to any of our dinners. I think Minji even thought you were secretly dating a girl for a while, totally cool if you are! No judgment! But I told her, no way. Y/N is just focused. Did I tell you I got married, by the way? I don’t think you ever met my husband. We got married last year, tiny ceremony, super last minute. Here-, he’s gonna kill me for showing this, but look how ridiculous he looks in this suit.”

She pulls out her phone, swipes once, then holds it up to you.

You freeze.

You know that face.

The sharp jawline. The dimple on his left cheek. The same stupid smile he had when he came back from that trip and told you, casually, like it was weather, that he’d slept with someone else. “It didn’t mean anything,” he said, “we were just having a rough patch, right?”

Your stomach drops.

“That’s him,” Hana says proudly. “Total goofball, but he’s the best. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d find someone like him. But don’t worry, you’ll find someone too some day!”

Hana is still talking but her words blur.

You could say nothing. You could just smile, nod, and escape with your overpriced kimchi and frozen dumplings. But you nod slowly, eyes darting to the end of the aisle again. Suddenly, you hear yourself say, voice too quick and too loud:

“Actually, I’m dating someone.”

Hana’s brows lift. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” You point down the aisle.

She turns.

Wooyoung, still crouched, is now reading the back of a cereal box, completely oblivious to your social spiral.

“Oh?” Hana’s eyes are practically sparkling now, thrilled by this newfound information. “Look at you! I know you had it in you!” she says, nudging your arm. “You have to bring him to dinner. We’re doing a little couples night this Friday. Just a few of us from work, old and new. Minji’s coming, and Jihyun, and my husband’s inviting one of his coworkers and their girlfriend. You two should come!”

You hesitate, already internally spiraling. “Oh, I don’t know-”

“Come on! It’ll be fun. I need someone there who doesn’t talk about babies every ten seconds. Please.”

She’s already taking your nod as confirmation before you’ve fully given it. “Perfect! I’ll text you the details, I still have your number. You better show up.”

Just as she’s about to walk away, Wooyoung returns, holding two cereal boxes and strolling up casually.

Hana’s face lights up again. “See you soon!” she says brightly to him, giving you both a final little wave before disappearing around the corner.

Wooyoung blinks after her, then looks at you, eyebrows raised. “...Why do I feel like I just missed something deeply important?”

You stare at him, trying to decide where to begin.

He holds up the cereal boxes, undeterred. “Okay. Fruity Loops or Cinnamon Sugar Swirls. One has slightly fewer chemicals. I won’t say which.”

You inhale slowly, exhale even slower. “So, remember when you left me alone for two minutes?”

“Tragically, yes.”

“Well… in those two minutes, I may have… sort of… told someone we’re dating.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Wooyoung blinks. “You what?”

You gesture weakly down the aisle. “That was Hana. Old coworker. She’s always been weirdly obsessed with the fact that I’m single. She was doing her usual thing, and I panicked, and I pointed at you, and now she thinks we’re together, and- surprise! We’re going to a couples dinner on Friday.”

Wooyoung looks at you. Then at the cereal. Then back at you.

And then he grins.

Like really grins.

“Oh my God,” he says, eyes wide with delight. “This is amazing.”

“Wooyoung.”

“We’re fake dating? We’re doing the thing? Like the romcoms?”

You press a hand to your face. “It gets worse.”

His grin somehow grows. “I’m listening.”

“She’s married to my ex.”

Wooyoung blinks. “The ex?”

You nod. “She showed me a wedding photo. It’s him. The one who cheated on me while he was on vacation. The reason I swore off dating for like, three years.”

Wooyoung’s jaw drops, then slowly morphs into something almost unhinged with glee.

“Oh my God,” he breathes. “This is so much better than I thought.”

“Why are you happy?”

“Because,” he says, absolutely glowing, “I get to sit across from the guy who cheated on my best friend and pretend to be the hot, attentive boyfriend who’s so in love with her he’d die for her. I’m going to be so annoying. I’m going to feed you food.”

“Wooyoung.”

“I’m going to wipe sauce off your mouth. I’m going to put my arm around your chair. I’m going to call you baby in front of him.”

You groan. “This is going to kill me.”

“This is going to heal you,” he says. “You know what, this counts for both of the cereals. Sweet childhood nostalgia and the one that turns milk radioactive pink.” He throws the cereals into the cart with dramatic flair. “This is the best grocery trip of my life.”

***

Friday morning

He’s already in the kitchen when you shuffle in, still half-asleep, arms wrapped around yourself. The smell of eggs and butter greets you first.

“Good morning, my beautiful fake girlfriend!” he beams.

You groan. “Please don’t start.”

“Too late,” he sings, doing a dramatic spin with the spatula. “Do you want toast with your lies or just plain guilt?”

You drop your head onto the counter with a sigh. “I’m not built for this level of energy before caffeine.”

He slides a mug your way, your mug, with your preferred coffee, made just right. “I knew you’d be a flight risk this morning.”

You mutter a thank-you and take a long sip. It helps. But not enough.

“I think I’m panicking,” you say into the mug.

He sets your breakfast in front of you and leans on the counter across from where you sit. “Hey. We’ve got this. All we have to do is show up, eat some overpriced cheese cubes, pretend we’re madly in love, make your ex suffer for being the biggest asshole known to man, and leave. Easy.”

“Madly in love,” you echo flatly.

“Yes, madly.” His smile grows. “Madly, stupidly in love. To the point where your ex is going to regret every single life choice he made after cheating on you. And enough to make Hana go, ‘oh wow, they’re so cute, maybe I am a terrible friend for shaming her for being single for the entire time I’ve known her.’”

You blink. “You really hate him, don’t you?”

“I’ve never even met him and I already hope he has the biggest receding hairline I’ve ever seen.”

You can’t help but laugh.

“And besides,” he adds, stealing a bite of your toast, “we got chemistry.”

You make a face.

“We do, though. We’re best friends. We’re comfortable. We finish each other’s-”

“Don’t.”

“-sentences.”

You hurl a piece of toast crust at him. He dodges it with a smirk.

But he’s right. You are comfortable. You already know what shirt he’s going to wear tonight and that he’s going to pretend he didn’t plan it. You know he’s going to be charming and make everyone laugh and completely forget he’s pretending.

And that’s the part that begins to make your stomach twist.

The day goes faster than you anticipated, and before you know it, you’re both getting ready for the dinner.

You’re halfway through checking your bag for the fourth time when he walks out of his room, and everything in you stills.

He’s adjusting the sleeves of his black button-down, casually rolling them up past his elbows. He tucks his phone into his back pocket, grabs a bottle of wine off the counter. He’s talking, saying something about the wine in his hands, but you don’t hear a word.

Because damn. He looks good.

His black hair is styled a little messier than usual, in that perfectly undone way that probably took way too much effort. He’s tucked his shirt into dark slacks that fit just right, and he’s wearing that silver chain he only brings out for “important” nights.

Like fake dates, apparently.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even look like he’s trying. He looks like this is just how he always looks. Like he doesn’t know that he’s the kind of guy women cross sidewalks for just to sneak a better glance.

And you should be used to that. You live with him. You see him fresh out of bed, half-asleep, shirtless and in the same ratty sweats every Sunday. But this is different.

You recover fast, mutter something closer to sounds than actual words and spin on your heel toward the bathroom.

You need a second. Maybe two.

You close the door behind you and lean against it, willing your heart to calm down. It's just Wooyoung. Your best friend. Your roommate. Your fake boyfriend for the night. Nothing to get flustered over.

You run a hand down your dress, fix your lipstick, try not to think about how the curve of his smile made your stomach flutter.

Then, without a sound, the door cracks open.

He leans casually against the doorframe, watching you through the reflection. “Hey.”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, and for a second, you forget what you’re doing, because his gaze isn’t neutral.

It drops. Lingers.

Slides down the line of your black dress, the way it hugs your hips, the bare skin of your shoulders. It’s not crude, not obvious, but you can feel it. Like a slow drag of heat over your body.

You blink. “You’re not allowed to just come in here.”

“I knocked.”

You glare.

He lifts his hands, innocent. “You just didn’t hear it. Selective hearing, maybe.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t move. Just stay there, eyes trailing from your hair to your lips to the way you’re fidgeting with your rings.

“What’s up?” you ask, voice soft.

He tilts his head slightly, smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Funny,” he deadpans. Then after a beat, “I was wondering how much of a boyfriend I’m allowed to be tonight.”

Your stomach tightens.

He says it lightly, but there’s something in his voice, something teasing, but slower. More deliberate.

You meet his gaze in the mirror again. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says, stepping a little further into the room, “can I hold your hand? Whisper something in your ear if it gets boring? Pull you in when he’s watching?”

You swallow. He’s close now, not too close, but close enough that the air feels warmer.

“Or maybe,” he continues, eyes flicking to your lips just for a second, “kiss your cheek. You know. If it feels natural. Just enough to make him wonder.” There’s something electric in his voice now, light, amused, but edged with something darker. He smiles, wider this time, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Actually… can I make your ex jealous as fuck? Is that allowed?”

“What do you want to do?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

“I mean… if you give me even a little room to play…” He leans in, just slightly, not touching. “I swear I’ll ruin his whole fucking night.”

You’re still staring when he backs away, grin wide, eyes too pleased.

“No pressure," he says, putting both of his hands up, he smiles again, but this time it’s softer. “I’ll do whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Your mouth is dry.

“Do whatever you want,” you manage. “Just… don’t be weird.”

He grins. “I make no promises”

You’re smiling, even as you turn away to grab your perfume, trying not to let him see how warm your cheeks are.

And as he walks out, he says it over his shoulder.

“You didn’t say no to the kiss.”

***

The knock sounds louder than you expect. You suddenly feel overdressed, underprepared, and painfully aware of the fact that your hand is linked with Wooyoung’s.

You didn’t mean to hold hands.

It just sort of… happened. One second you were adjusting your sleeve, the next his fingers found yours, no hesitation, like they’d done it a thousand times. And now it’s too late to pull away without it being weird.

“Y/N! Oh my god, finally! Come in!” Hana screams as she opens the door. You’re barely stepping inside when she notices the man next to you, her eyes widening. “And this is…?”

“Wooyoung,” he says smoothly, offering the wine bottle with both charm and ease. “Nice to meet you.”

Hana takes it with a delighted hum, already ushering you both inside. You barely get a foot in before her voice lifts again. “Babe, come meet my old co-worker!”

And there he is.

Standing a few steps inside the hallway, one hand curled loosely around a drink. He turns at the sound and freezes. Just for a second, quick enough to pass for nothing, but not to you. You see it. His eyes widen slightly, and something flickers across his face. Confusion. Surprise. Like he wasn’t told. Like he wasn’t ready.

But you smile, smooth and pleasant. Step forward, extend your hand like you’ve never seen him before in your life.

“Hi,” you say. “Nice to meet you.”

You smile like it’s nothing. Like you don’t know him. Like he’s just another name you’ll forget by morning. There’s the barest pause before he sets the glass down and shakes your hand. “Yeah,” he says, guarded, eyes flicking to Wooyoung. “You too.”

Before you can say anything, Wooyoung steps forward smoothly, hand outstretched, “Hi,” he says, voice warm and a little too cheerful. “I’m Wooyoung. Her boyfriend.”

There’s a pause. One breath too long. Your ex shifts, not quite hiding the way his eyes flick to your still-joined hands.

“…Right,” he says finally, taking Wooyoung’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Hana, being the overly-excited host that she is, smiles at the situation. “Everyone’s in the kitchen. Come on, we’re just doing drinks and snacks before dinner.”

You glance toward the kitchen, grateful for the distraction, but not before you feel Wooyoung’s hand press gently against your lower back, guiding you forward.

As if to say: I’ve got you.

But also…

Watch me work.

The house is warm and golden-lit, filled with soft music and the quiet sounds of people mingling. Laughter drifts from the back, layered over the clink of glasses and the sizzle of something on the stove.

The kitchen is full, couples leaning against counters, clustered near the island, perched on stools. Everyone looks up when you enter, and Hana claps her hands once. “Everyone, this is Y/N and her boyfriend, Wooyoung.”

You swear the word echoes for a second. Boyfriend.

Wooyoung just nods with a relaxed smile, greeting the group like he’s done this a hundred times. He’s introduced to a few of the guys first, and within a minute he’s already laughing at something, fully immersed in conversation.

You hang back, trying not to fidget, trying to ignore how good he looks tonight, sleeves rolled, watch glinting, hair pushed back perfectly like he didn’t even try. And then, as if on cue, Hana pipes up from across the room, tossing the words over her shoulder like they’re harmless.

“I still can’t believe Y/N’s in a relationship now,” she says brightly, like it’s a funny little update. “I didn’t believe it at first, Y/N in a relationship? We all thought she was allergic to commitment!”

There’s a few laughs, light, not cruel. The kind of laugh that happens when people think they’re in on something. The moment the words leave Hana’s mouth, your ex looks up. His expression flickers with a hint of surprise.

You open your mouth, unsure what to say. But before you can speak, Wooyoung cuts in. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t even look particularly bothered. He just glances over at Hana with an easy, almost lazy kind of smile.

“If loving her is a commitment, then it’s the easiest type of commitment I’ve ever made.”

You blink.

Your ex doesn’t say anything. His lips press into a tight line, but his eyes narrow further, jaw clenching slightly as he watches Wooyoung.

But Wooyoung’s gaze never shifts away from you, his hand finding yours again, linking your fingers effortlessly. His smile is small, but there’s a touch of pride behind it. He’s enjoying this.

The women smile. A couple guys glance over like damn. And Hana? She laughs, charmed. “Wow, okay. You’re already winning points.”

You try to smile like your heart didn’t just skip an entire beat.

Hana insists on giving you and Wooyoung a quick tour before dinner. “It’s not huge,” she says, with a laugh that’s anything but modest. “We just really wanted something simple but tasteful. Natural light was a must. You know how it is.”

Wooyoung nods beside you like he deeply, deeply understands the weight of natural light, and you catch the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“And this-” Hana gestures grandly as she opens a set of double doors. “This is my favorite room. The light in here at golden hour? Unreal. We had the cushions custom made to match the ceiling beams. And the books are mostly for decoration, but it kind of gives the right mood, don’t you think?”

You nod along politely, half-listening, while Wooyoung leans down slightly, his voice warm and low against your ear.

“Do you think if I mention natural light three more times, we unlock a secret level of the tour?”

Your breath hitches with a soft laugh, and before you can stop yourself, you tilt your head slightly toward him, shoulder brushing his chest. His smile lingers like he’s proud of himself, but there’s something else behind it too, something quieter. The way your face lights up when you laugh, how you don’t pull away. It flickers in his chest and sits there, unexpected.

His hand lingers a little longer at the small of your back as you follow Hana to the next room.

The dinner table is lively, plates are passed around, and glasses are filled as casual conversation flows. Across the table, your ex is quiet. He hasn’t said much all night, just observed. His smile is polite, his presence steady, but you can feel his gaze on you every now and then, especially when Wooyoung leans in to refill your glass or casually touches your wrist while talking.

The group is in a comfortable rhythm, and just as you're about to take a bite of your food, one of the guests leans back in their chair with a curious smile.

“So how did you two meet each other?”

You freeze, your mind racing. And across from you, you swear you see your ex stiffen slightly, eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit.

Wooyoung notices immediately.

He smiles at you, that teasing, mischievous look in his eyes as he leans forward, taking the cue. He opens his mouth, and suddenly, his voice fills the room. Smooth, charming, and effortlessly natural.

"Oh, this one’s my favorite story," he says, his voice warm and playful, his eyes lighting up as if he's about to tell the most incredible tale.

He pauses for dramatic effect, glancing at you, making sure you’re paying attention. You give him a quick nod, still unsure of where he’s going with this.

“It was one of those nights you’re not even supposed to go out, you know? I almost canceled.” He lets out a soft laugh, glancing at you. “But then she walked in.”

Everyone leans in slightly, curious.

“She wasn’t supposed to be there either, actually. Our friend had to convince her. She was tired, had a long week,” He looks at you briefly, as if asking permission with his eyes, but his smile says he already knows you’ll let him go on.

“She came in late, a little out of breath, tucking her hair behind her ear, apologizing even though no one noticed. And I swear-” He leans back, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “-the second I saw her, I forgot what I was saying mid-sentence. Just totally lost it. My friend thought I was choking on my drink.”

Soft laughter bubbles around the table. Your cheeks warm.

“She sat right across from me, and I swear I didn’t hear a single thing anyone else said the whole night. I spent the night trying to make her laugh.”

It’s smooth, too smooth, but his tone is light, playful, like he’s just telling a fond memory, not spinning an elaborate lie. He continues, eyes sparkling.

“I asked for her number before we left, and she said no.”

A small gasp comes from someone at the table, and Wooyoung grins like he’s telling a bedtime story.

“She said I seemed like the kind of guy who flirts with everyone.” More laughter. Wooyoung presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Which-, okay, fair. But I wasn't flirting with her… or maybe I was, but I just wanted to keep talking to her. So I said, ‘If she doesn’t want to give it to me, fine, I’ll earn it.’ And I kept showing up whenever our friend invited people out. I'd always make sure to sit next to her. Always brought something small. Coffee, gum, dumb stuff, just to have an excuse to talk.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you.

“And eventually… she let me walk her home.”

Someone lets out a little aww.

“I didn’t try anything,” he adds. “I just wanted to stretch out the moment as long as I could. I think we stood outside her door for half an hour just talking. I memorized the color of her front light. The chipped tile on her step. Her laugh.”

The table is completely silent.

“And the next time?” His smile curves wider. “She kissed me first. Which I will never let her forget.”

The table is enchanted.

For a moment after Wooyoung finishes, there’s a soft, stunned silence, like everyone’s holding their breath without realizing it. Then:

“Oh my God,” someone breathes.

The woman across from you nudges her partner. “You never chased me like that.”

“You didn’t run,” he deadpans.

“So you’re telling me you saw her once and just knew?” another friend adds, reaching for more wine.

“I told our mutual friend to introduce us, and he said ‘don’t bother.’” He stretches his arm along the back of your chair, fingers lightly brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. “So obviously I did the exact opposite.”

The table erupts with laughter. Real, full, warm.

“God, that sounds so like you,” Hana laughs, sending you a playful glance.

Laughter bubbles around the table, easy and entertained.

But not from everyone.

Across the table, your ex’s grip on his fork tightens, just for a moment. Not dramatic, not enough to draw attention from anyone else, but you see it. The twitch in his jaw. The way he shifts back in his chair like he needs space to breathe.

Wooyoung leans in slightly, hand still resting lightly behind your neck now, fingers brushing just enough to make it look natural. Intimate.

“And when she finally said yes,” he adds, voice lower now, more deliberate, “I knew I wasn’t gonna let her go.”

Your chest tightens.

The air feels heavier.

Meanwhile, you’re frozen in place, staring at your wine glass, heart racing as if you lived every second of that made-up story. You catch someone across the table watching you with a knowing smile, clearly convinced you're the luckiest girl alive.

And for a second, just one, you almost believe it too.

The rest of the dinner unfolds like a well-rehearsed play. Light laughter, wine refills, soft clinks of cutlery against porcelain. Conversation drifts easily between the couples, like they’ve all known each other forever, even if some only met tonight. And somehow, you and Wooyoung fall into it without trying.

After the dinner, the buzz of conversation in the living room fades as you step quietly down the hallway toward the bathroom. You need a second to breathe, just a minute alone after everything that’s happened tonight.

You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it for a moment, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Wooyoung’s charming story about how you met still lingers in your mind, and the way everyone seemed so enchanted by him... it felt like something out of a movie. It had been easy to get swept up in it all, even though it was completely fabricated.

After a few moments, you open the bathroom door and nearly jump out of your skin.

Wooyoung is standing right there in the hallway, hands in his pockets like he’s just been casually waiting. His gaze flicks up to meet yours immediately, and a slow, knowing smile pulls at his lips.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just leans his shoulder against the doorframe, arms now crossed, like he’s settling in.

You swallow hard. “You scared me.”

“Did I?” His voice is low, soft. Like a secret passed between friends. “Sorry. You just disappeared.”

“I needed a second. Too many couples,” you say, attempting a light laugh that comes out a bit thin. “Too much… love.”

“So?” he murmurs beside you. “How am I doing?”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised.

“The fake boyfriend thing,” he adds with a sly grin. “Convincing enough for you?”

You shrug, but your smile gives you away. “I’ve seen worse performances.”

“Cold,” he mutters, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Here I am, carrying the entire romance on my back.”

You laugh quietly, then shake your head, your voice dropping again. “Honestly, I think everyone at the table wants to date you now.”

“Jealous?” he says, all teeth and sparkle, but his voice is soft, teasing rather than cocky.

You roll your eyes, even as your stomach flips. “Please.”

Then he tilts his head, studying you. His tone shifts, still playful, but quieter. “You know, you’re still a little pink.”

You blink. “What?”

“Your cheeks,” he says, nodding toward them. “Blushing. Again.”

You cross your arms instinctively, heart picking up pace. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he whispers. He leans a little closer. “It’s kinda cute.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re insufferable,” you whisper, smiling despite yourself.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

The moment hangs, just a little too long. You’re standing in the dim hallway, lights soft, voices muffled behind walls, and he’s looking at you like this is his favorite part of the night.

You clear your throat, trying to reset something in the air. “We should go back.”

“Yeah,” he says, straightening slowly. “Before someone thinks we’re sneaking off to make out.”

Wooyoung straightens just a little, the moment sliding away like water off skin. He gives you one last glance, a wink for good measure, then turns and walks toward the others. That leaves you standing in the hallway, heart racing, wondering why his lazy confidence always makes it hard to tell when he’s joking and when he isn’t.

You follow behind, still feeling the blush he called out.

You offer to help Hana out in the kitchen. Wooyoung is busy winning everybody’s hearts with his charm, so you aren’t concerned about him.

You rinse off a plate, hands moving on autopilot as you stack it neatly on the drying rack. Hana leans against the counter beside you, sipping the last of her wine, her smile still painted on from dinner. “Seriously though,” she says, nudging your hip with hers, “I wasn’t expecting you to show up with someone like that.”

You huff a laugh. “Like what?”

“Like… funny. Hot. Charismatic. The way he talks about you?” She raises a brow. “Unreal.”

You smile, tight-lipped. “Yeah. He’s something.”

“I mean…” She grins. “You glow around him. It’s wild. Like, he looks at you like he’s already picking out your wedding venue.”

You laugh, quiet, awkward. “He’s just… sweet.”

Hana raises her brows. “He’s obsessed. In a good way.” She tilts her head toward the hallway. “I’m gonna go grab the wine opener. Don’t let me forget it again. Be back in a sec.”

The back door clicks shut behind her, and silence settles again. It’s nice for a moment, just you, the clink of cutlery, the steam from the sink. You keep washing dishes, grateful for the moment alone.

But it doesn’t last.

You hear movement behind you. Slow. Hesitant.

You turn your head and freeze.

It’s him.

Your ex.

He stands just past the threshold, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on you. He steps in without saying anything at first. Just lingers a little too close to the kitchen island, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure out what he’s seeing.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says.

You dry your hands on a towel, steadying yourself. “Clearly.”

He takes a step in. Not too close, but enough to unsettle you.

His eyes flick around the room, then land back on you. “You look good.”

You sigh quietly, turning back to the sink. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m just saying.”

Another beat.

You hear him shift again, leaning slightly against the island behind you. You can feel his eyes on your back.

“That guy,” he says finally. “The one who came with you. Wooyoung.”

You don’t look at him. “What about him?”

He hesitates. Then, carefully: “Are you two… serious?”

You pause, then shrug. “That’s none of your business.”

He lets out a low breath. “So that’s a yes.”

You turn slowly, facing him now. “Why are you here, really?”

“In my own house?”

“No,” you say. “Why are you in this kitchen, right now?”

He stares at you. Silent.

“I fucked up,” he blurts, “Okay? I know I did. I’ve been thinking about it since-”

“Don’t,” you snap, but still keeping your voice down so the rest of the party won't hear. “You don’t get to come here, pretend we’re still something, and then act surprised that I moved on. You’re married.”

His mouth opens, then closes. He looks at you like you’ve just hit him.

“You moved on?” he repeats, like the words are bitter on his tongue. “With him?”

You step back. “You don’t know him.”

He scoffs. “I might not, but I can still see how insufferable he is.”

You stare at him, lips parted in disbelief. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

He takes another step forward, eyes sharper now. “I just don’t get it. After everything-”

“No,” you say firmly, holding your hand up. “You don’t get anything. You lost the right to have an opinion the second you slept with someone else.”

There’s a beat of silence. Your heart pounds in your ears.

And then…

“Everything okay in here?” Wooyoung’s voice is cold. Threatening almost.

You don’t need to look. You feel it, the air shifting, the way the atmosphere bends around his presence. But you still turn your head. And it steadies you instantly.

He’s leaning in the doorway. One hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other hanging loose at his side. His posture is relaxed. His expression? Somewhere between nonchalance and interest.

But his eyes?

They’re fixed on your ex.

And they could kill.

Your ex straightens, caught off guard. “Uh-, yeah. We were just-”

Wooyoung steps fully into the room like he’s walking through water, unconcerned by the tension that’s thick enough to drown in. He nods once, a polite gesture with razor edges, then glances at you.

His voice lowers. Smooth, velvety. Unmistakably his.

“You okay, baby?”

The pet name slips out effortlessly. Like it belongs there. Like you belong to him. Then he closes the space between you and him, his hand brushing the small of your back with casual ownership.

Your breath stutters. “I’m fine.”

His gaze lingers on your ex, sharp enough to make the air hum.

“Then I’ll ask one more time,” he murmurs, voice dipped in steel, eyes locked on your ex. “Is there a problem?”

Your ex lets out a quiet scoff, trying to play it cool. “No problem at all.”

Wooyoung breathes in once, slow.

“Then I’ll make this simple,” he says, softly now. Dangerous soft. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.” He tilts his head, the barest shift of muscle. His smile is slight, almost gentle, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “If not…” His jaw tightens just once. “Walk away before you make me repeat myself.”

Your ex doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t look at you. Just leaves.

And Wooyoung watches every step. Tracks him with the kind of gaze that doesn’t flinch. It says everything he hasn’t:

Try it again. I dare you.

When it’s just the two of you again, Wooyoung’s fingers trace your spine once, barely there. A silent check-in.

Then, slowly, his focus shifts. Back to you.

His voice drops. Low. Controlled.

“You okay?”

You nod once, but it’s tight. Too tight. And he sees it.

His brows pinch just slightly. “Did he say something?”

“No,” you whisper, and it’s true, mostly. “He was just… being him.”

Wooyoung exhales slowly through his nose, jaw clenching. Like he’s trying not to say something that would ruin the whole night. But then he looks at you, really looks at you, and something in him softens. Just a little.

His hand slides from your back to your waist, anchoring you close. He studies your face for a moment, like he’s not fully convinced, but then he exhales and gives a small nod back.

“I didn’t want to step in too early,” he says, voice soft now. “You looked like you had it under control. You did.”

There’s something warm in your chest at that, that he trusted you to hold your own.

You meet his eyes.

He’s not angry.

He’s present.

“I know you don’t need anyone to defend you,” he says, quieter now. “But I’m here. If you ever want me to.”

That part lingers. A gentle offering.

You smile faintly. “Thanks.”

He leans just a little closer, his voice dipping like he doesn’t want to be overheard, even by the walls, and something wicked flickers at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’ll have to make it clearer you’re taken.”

Your heart skips a beat.

His hand gives your waist the faintest squeeze, not possessive, just sure. Then he straightens up, tone lighter, a glint in his eye as he teases, “You ready to go back out there, or should we hide out in here a little longer?”

You smile. “Let’s go.”

Wooyoung laces his fingers with yours as you step out of the kitchen. He doesn’t say much. Just keeps his hand on you, sometimes at your back, sometimes curled around your fingers, like he doesn’t trust the room not to try and touch you.

The energy around him simmers low. Controlled. Patient.

But it’s there.

You feel it in the way his gaze lingers a little too long when you make eye contact The way his thumb brushes your skin when you pass your ex. Like a fuse waiting for flame.

The evening moves on. Laughter. Drinks. Music humming low in the background. But that energy never leaves him.

Then, after another drink, his palm slides against your waist as he leans in, murmuring just low enough for only you to hear. “Come outside with me for a sec?”

You glance up, surprised by the quiet invitation, but nod. “Yeah. Okay."

He takes your hand and leads you through the back door, into the cool hush of the backyard. String lights sway gently above. A few scattered chairs dot the patio, mostly empty.

He pulls you just far enough into the yard that you’re framed under the golden light, a sight impossible to miss. Then he stops just enough to pull you in close, his hands resting firmly on your waist. His breath brushes your neck as he leans in, voice low and a little teasing.

“Do you trust me?”

You meet his gaze, smiling without hesitation, but a little confused. “Of course.”

But before you can say anything more, he leans in, no warning, no hesitation, and his mouth finds your neck.

Slow. Deliberate. Unapologetically possessive.

His grip on your waist tightens, firm and grounding, like he's anchoring himself to you, or maybe keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Your fingers twitch, aching to clutch at his shirt, his shoulders, anything. But he doesn’t stop. His mouth keeps moving, tongue flicking, lips parting as he sucks softly at the spot just above your collarbone, lazy, indulgent, filthy in how intimate it feels.

You gasp, hips tilting forward instinctively, heat already pooling low and heavy in your belly. He doesn’t miss it, he hums against your throat like he felt it happen.

Wooyoung pulls back just enough to murmur, voice thick and close to your ear, “You weren’t expecting that, huh?”

His tone is teasing, pleased, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Then he leans back in, grazing your neck again, his nose brushing over the same spot he just kissed.

“Fake boyfriend of the year, right?” he adds, a low smirk in his voice.

It pulls a laugh from you, too real, too soft, and he chuckles under his breath like he lives for the sound.

And then he looks up.

Over your shoulder.

Still smiling.

You don’t turn. You don’t even realize why his gaze has sharpened. But Wooyoung knows. He’s known from the moment he stepped outside.

“Oh, hey,” he says, just loud enough, like the thought only now occurred to him. “Didn’t see you there.”

You blink, startled, then turn.

And there he is.

Your ex is sitting in the far corner of the backyard, posture stiff, one hand loosely holding a glass of something amber that he’s no longer drinking. He’s been watching, long enough, clearly. His eyes flick from your face to where Wooyoung’s hand rests against your hip like it was made to be there. His mouth is drawn in a line so tight it might split.

He’d been watching.

Wooyoung's arm wraps a little tighter around your waist. Not possessive. Not aggressive. Just… secure. Like he has every right to hold you like this. Like he dares anyone to question it.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Wooyoung says, cool and lazy.

Your ex stares, jaw tight.

Wooyoung doesn’t wait. His posture is casual, but there’s a glint in his eye that betrays him, too amused, too at-ease.

“Nice night, isn’t it?” he adds, like it’s nothing. “Stars out. Music inside. My girl tastes like sangria. Hard to complain.”

You stiffen slightly, but Wooyoung doesn’t flinch. He’s still smiling faintly, watching you with that unbothered, pretty-boy charm that somehow makes everything worse.

Your ex lifts his drink and mutters, “Some of us came out here to be alone.”

Wooyoung cocks his head. “Oh, totally fair. Should’ve said something.”

There’s a beat of silence, sharp enough to cut through. But he doesn’t move. He stays planted right there beside you, hand still snug on your waist like it belongs there.

Then he blinks, as if struck by a thought.

“Oh-, wait,” he says, voice still sweet. “You want us back inside?” He huffs a quiet laugh, almost apologetic. “Damn. That’s on me.”

Your ex sets his glass down with a soft clink on the stone railing. “You always this annoying?”

Wooyoung grins. “Only when I’m in a good mood.”

“Y/N! Wooyoung!”

Hana bursts out, loud and glowing, wine glass in one hand, joy practically spilling out of her. Her eyes land on you both and she lights up like the fourth of July.

“Oh my God, there you are!” she grins. “I was about to come get you, everyone keeps asking where the hot couple went!”

You see your ex stiffen. Wooyoung’s smile stretches.

“Hot couple,” he echoes, biting back a laugh.

Hana gasps dramatically. “Don’t act shy now! You two are disgusting. I love it.”

“I'm not mad about it. She’s got great taste,” Wooyoung teases with a little shrug, for a second glancing over at your ex. “Eventually.”

Your ex’s jaw tightens. He looks like he might speak.

But Wooyoung leans in one last time, whispering low into your ear, voice soft enough to make your skin spark:

"Success, baby"

He smirks before sliding his hand into yours, pulling you gently toward the house where Hana is waiting, oblivious to the tension left behind.

The night has mellowed. The lights are dim, the wine is flowing, and laughter has started to echo easier around the table. Someone’s passed around dessert, tiramisu in glass jars, and Wooyoung’s excused himself to the bathroom with that lazy, effortless vibe only he can pull off without trying. You’d felt his hand brush your shoulder as he left, and it still lingers there somehow, phantom-warm.

Hana’s had just enough wine to get bold. She sits across from you, grinning over the rim of her glass.

“Okay,” she says, loudly enough to cut across the overlapping chatter. “New question for the couples.”

The table quiets, interest piqued.

Her eyes land on you like a spotlight. “What’s your favorite physical thing about your partner?”

A few groans. Someone throws a napkin in her direction.

“Don’t roll your eyes,” she warns, laughing. “And no safe answers either. I don’t want to hear about how they ‘have a nice smile’ or ‘beautiful eyes’, everyone says that. I want the thing. The detail. The part of them that does it for you when you’re not even trying to look. The one that makes your brain short-circuit a little.”

You laugh, swallowing a little too quickly. The wine burns, and suddenly the air feels too warm.

“I’ll go last,” Hana says, clearly loving this. “Y/N, go.”

You freeze. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Her smile is practically villainous. “He’s not even here. You can be honest.”

Everyone chuckles. The pressure thickens.

You hesitate, lips parting, unsure. Your eyes flick toward the hallway where Wooyoung disappeared. As if he might walk in just in time to save you.

But he doesn’t.

You clear your throat and say, maybe a little too honestly, “His hands.”

“Ooh,” someone says. “That’s a good one.”

You glance down at the table, fingers curling around your wine glass. “They’re just… nice,” you say, not looking up. “He moves them a lot when he talks. And they’re always doing something. Tapping, pulling at a sleeve, playing with his rings or-, whatever. Just always… moving.”

Your voice quiets as the room listens. You feel exposed, like you said something too intimate.

You don’t realize the room has fallen silent. Until it hits you that no one’s said anything back.

And then...

“I should leave more often if this is what I get to come back to.”

And Wooyoung is standing just behind you, leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised in interest.

Your breath halts.

There’s laughter again around the table, but your throat goes dry. Hana’s grinning at the perfect timing. “There he is,” she says, wiggling her brows. “Right on cue. We’re playing favorites.”

Wooyoung raises a brow. “Favorites?”

“Favorite physical thing about each other,” she explains, eyes sparkling. “And no cop-outs like smile or eyes. We’re talking the thing. The detail that ruins you. Your turn”

He chuckles under his breath, clearly amused. He doesn’t hesitate.

“Her neck.”

A beat of silence. His voice is smooth but deliberate, like the words were waiting in his mouth.

You feel your body go still.

Then he moves, slowly, stepping closer behind your chair, his hand brushing your shoulder as he comes to a stop. You’re suddenly very aware of how exposed your skin is where your top dips to your collarbone, of how warm the air feels even though he hasn’t touched you.

“She’s got this curve,” he says, quieter now, like he’s letting everyone else fade out. “Right here," His fingers trace the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, so lightly it barely counts as a touch. “Right where her hair rests.”

Then his tone shifts, warmer, quieter. Real.

“In the mornings,” he says, like he’s letting the rest of the room fall away, “when she’s still half-asleep and pulls her hair up without thinking. Stretching, yawning, no makeup, nothing, this part’s just exposed. The light hits it, and I swear to God-” He cuts himself off with a low exhale, shaking his head with a crooked smile. “It makes it really hard to be on time for anything.”

The silence that follows is a different kind of hush. Not teasing. Not performative.

It’s weighted. Personal.

Like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t making any of that up. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he pulls back, barely.

“Plus,” he adds, a lazy grin playing on his lips, “it’s really unfair that you smell the way you do.”

“Okay, damn,” someone says from across the table, but you can’t even register who.

Wooyoung finally moves, slipping back into the seat beside you. But he doesn’t lean back, doesn’t settle into comfort like before. He sits just a little closer than he needs to. His thigh brushes yours. Warm. Steady. You don’t move.

The game rolls on, Hana gesturing to the couple across from you with a flourish, their answer met with giggles and teasing. But the background fades, soft, foggy, because you feel it. The weight of Wooyoung’s stare.

When you finally turn your head, you find him already watching you.

And everything in his face is different.

Gone is the cocky smile, the playful glint in his eye. He’s quiet now. Studying you, like he’s not sure where the line is anymore. Like maybe he doesn’t want to know.

And then, another gaze.

You catch it from the corner of your eye: your ex, sitting stiff at the far end of the table, his expression unreadable. He’s watching Wooyoung like a hawk, jaw tight, mouth set in a firm line.

Wooyoung senses it. You can feel the shift in him, the small breath he takes. The flicker of heat in his chest, like he might respond, say something, smirk just to provoke.

But he doesn’t.

Because it’s not about him anymore.

After a few more rounds of the game, you step into the hallway and let your back hit the wall with a quiet sigh. The noise from the living room still hums faintly behind you, laughter, the clink of glasses, someone shuffling a deck of cards. It’s warm in there, but your skin feels too tight. You just need a minute.

You close your eyes.

Footsteps approach, soft, familiar.

Wooyoung slips into the hallway like he’s done it a hundred times, like he always knows when you need the space. He falls in beside you, close but not crowding, his shoulder hovering just shy of yours as he leans against the wall.

“You always vanish when it gets too loud,” he says, his voice low.

You keep your eyes forward, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t vanish. I relocate.”

He hums. “Right. Into hallways. Or kitchen corners. Or that one time it was behind the couch.”

“That was one time.”

“It was still dramatic,” he teases, nudging your arm lightly. Your breath catches, just a little. It’s playful. It’s Wooyoung. But something about the way he talks makes your stomach flip.

“You look really pretty tonight.”

The words land like a spark, and your breath catches before you can help it. You blink up at him, startled.

“I-, what?”

He grins, slow and lopsided. “Just saying. I don’t think I told you earlier.”

You feel your face flush, warmth blooming across your cheeks, down your neck. You look away instantly, trying to mask it with a half-laugh.

“I’m honest,” he counters, still looking at you. You can feel it, the weight of his gaze, the way it lingers. “I mean, you always look good, but tonight…” His voice dips, softer now. “It’s kind of unfair.”

You glance away, suddenly hyperaware of how close he’s standing. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” he asks, leaning just slightly toward you. “Is it that hard to believe? Do I need to be faking a relationship for you to believe it?”

You don’t answer. You’re not sure you can. Your heart’s already too loud in your ears.

He nudges your arm gently. “You know, for someone who lives with me, you’re really bad at accepting compliments.”

You try to play it off. “Maybe you just give too many.”

“Mm,” he muses. “Or maybe you’re just really easy to compliment.”

You let out a breathy sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, tucking your chin down in embarrassment. “Can you not?”

You finally glance at him, and he’s already watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable look, somewhere between playful and serious. Like he’s holding back.

He doesn’t say anything else for a second. He just looks at you.

And somehow, that says more than the rest.

You try not to smile. You fail.

Wooyoung pushes himself off the wall with a lazy stretch, then turns his body to face you, effectively placing his back toward the living room.

“Come back in when you’re ready,” he says softly, his voice carrying that usual teasing warmth. “You don’t have to rush. But I’ll be on my seat, being distractingly attractive… in case that helps.”

You almost laugh, but then your eyes drift past him.

Your stomach dips.

Your ex is standing just inside the living room, half-shadowed but unmistakably watching. His expression is unreadable, his eyes sharp and fixed directly on you.

“Wait,” you breathe, reaching out without thinking.

You grab Wooyoung’s shirt and pull him a little closer. He stumbles forward a step, surprised but not resisting. His brows furrow slightly in confusion as he looks down at you.

“Do you trust me?” you ask now, your voice quieter now. There’s a tremor in it, not fear, but urgency. Purpose.

Wooyoung’s expression shifts, softening. “Yes,” he says, instantly. “Of course.”

That’s all you need.

Your hands move quickly, one sliding up to the back of his neck, the other gripping the front of his shirt. You rise onto your toes and kiss him. Firm and deliberate. Lips meeting his in a way that leaves no room for questions. His mouth parts slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in.

When you break the kiss just slightly, you don’t step back. You stay close, close enough that your lips graze his as you whisper, “He’s watchi-,”

You don’t get to finish. Wooyoung’s lips are on yours again before you even register, like they need to be. Like he doesn’t care about why you kissed him, or for who, but because he can’t stop now that you’ve let it happen.

This time it’s deeper. Hungrier.

You can’t help but deepen the kiss when he slides his tongue slightly into your mouth, and one of his hands slips down to your lower back, guiding you closer. The other lifts to your jaw, gentle but sure. l

You feel your back press lightly into the wall behind you as he moves with you, not rough, but insistent. The kind of kiss that drowns everything else out, conversation, footsteps, your ex’s presence across the room.

His lips part yours, his breath hot and heavy against your cheek between kisses. His grip tightens at your waist, grounding you. You respond instinctively, hands curling into his shirt, lips moving with his, matching every shift and tilt of his head.

It’s a performance. That’s how it started.

But it doesn’t feel like one anymore.

It feels like heat, like want, like a spark that caught fire the second you gave it permission. And he’s kissing you like he’s not planning to stop anytime soon.

And for just a second, you let yourself melt into it. Into him.

But then… it passes.

The air changes again.

You blink and glance over to the living room. Your ex is gone. Vanished back into the room. Wooyoung slows, then stops. His hands remain on you, his breath still a little uneven.

You pull back first, just enough to look at him.

His eyes are already on you. There’s something different there now, an emotion you haven’t seen from him before. Not just playfulness, not just comfort. Something heavier. Hungrier.

You force a small, awkward smile and drop your hands from his neck, stepping back just slightly. “Okay,” you say, clearing your throat. “I think that worked.”

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything for a second. He just studies you like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. Then he nods, slow and unreadable, and finally, he smiles. But it’s not quite the same. Something about it is quieter. Almost reverent.

At the end of the night, shoes shuffle at the door. Coats rustle. The air is heavy with the kind of tired that follows too much wine and too much pretending.

“Get home safe, okay?” Hana says warmly, stepping toward you both as you’re about to leave. Her smile is soft, a little teasing. “You two are seriously adorable. Like… sickening. I love it.”

You laugh, a bit breathlessly, already halfway into your coat. But before you can say anything, Wooyoung’s arm snakes naturally around your waist, casual, confident. You feel his fingers press into your side, warm through the fabric.

“Thanks, Hana,” he says, flashing her a grin. “She keeps me in line.”

You roll your eyes and glance up at him, but the smile tugging at your lips is real, too real. “Barely,” you murmur, playing along.

His eyes flick to yours for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

Hana grins and gives you both a quick hug before stepping back into the house. “Bye, lovebirds.”

The door closes behind you.

The air outside bites cold against your skin.

And just like that, his arm drops from your waist. The performance ends.

Neither of you says a word as you walk to the curb. You don’t know if it’s the silence or the absence of his touch that makes the air feel heavier now, but it’s different.

The cab pulls up with a soft screech. He opens the door for you like always, waits for you to slide in, then follows without a word. The car is warm, too warm, and too quiet.

You're both staring straight ahead.

The streetlights flicker past, painting gold across his face. In the confined space, the silence between you buzzes, thick with something unspoken, something ignited hours ago that neither of you has dared to acknowledge.

The apartment door clicks shut behind you with a softness that feels far too loud in the quiet.

Coats are hung. Shoes are kicked off. The scent of his usual candle lingers in the air, citrus and something darker underneath. Normally comforting. Now it just makes your heart beat faster.

Wooyoung heads to the kitchen without a word. His shoulders are relaxed, but there’s something taut underneath it all. You hesitate in the hallway, watching him open the cabinet, sleeves pushed to his elbows, veins still prominent down his forearms from earlier, and you hate how you notice.

You drift into the kitchen slowly, lingering by the edge of the counter.

“So,” you offer, light and a little too bright, “that was fun, right? Peak acting performance. Someone give us Oscars.”

No answer. He fills the glass with water from the tap, moves with that same quiet ease, but doesn’t glance at you once.

You try again, a bit more playful. “Think we fooled them? I mean, your story about how we met really sold it. Ten out of ten commitment.”

He finally looks at you, just looks. And it’s a look that completely steals the breath from your chest. Calm, dark, unreadable. His eyes are locked on yours like he's waiting for you to crack first. And suddenly you're hyperaware of everything. How hot your cheeks feel, how your voice might've sounded too eager, how the silence seems to wrap around your body like a second skin.

You clear yours softly. “Anyway. Um. I’m gonna-, I think I’m just gonna head to bed.”

Still nothing from him.

You nod quickly. “Night.”

You turn, heart hammering now, and you’ve only made it a step or two down the hall when his voice floats to you, quiet, even.

“If you ever need a fake boyfriend again…”

You stop. Your fingers twitch at your side.

“…you know where to find me.”

You turn back toward him slowly. He’s still in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, glass in hand, eyes unreadable, but fixed on you like he’s daring you to say something. To ask him what he means. To call him out.

You don’t.

You meet his gaze, and it’s only for a second, but something heavy passes between you, something weighty and unspoken that neither of you wants to name.

Then you nod.

Not a joking nod. Not one meant to brush things off. Just… quiet acknowledgement. You walk off with your heartbeat pounding in your ears, like your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up with. You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes on you the whole way down the hall.

The door clicks softly shut behind you.

And for a long time, you just stand there in the silence of your room, pulse racing, breath held, trying to figure out what exactly that was.

You don’t even remember walking to your vanity. You’ve just been standing here, fingers curled loosely along the edge, eyes locked on your reflection like it might give you answers. But all it gives you is the echo of him. His words. His gaze. His lips on yours. The way your body reacted like it knew something you didn’t.

There’s a knock.

A soft one.

You straighten up fast, like you’re guilty of something. “Come in.”

The door creaks open behind you.

You meet his gaze through the mirror as he strolls in, easy and casual, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be here, in your space, late at night.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you.

You manage a breath. “Not tired?”

His shoulders lift in the faintest shrug. “Not really.”

Then silence again.

But it’s not awkward, it’s thick. Charged.

“I was thinking about something,” he finally says, his voice smooth, a little playful.

You glance at him in the mirror, trying not to let your pulse jump. “Yeah? About what?”

Wooyoung pushes off the frame, making his way toward you at an unhurried pace. “You’re better at this whole fake relationship thing than you give yourself credit for.”

You attempt a shrug. “Just playing along.”

A soft laugh leaves him. “Mm. Sure.”

He walks further into the room. Not quickly. Not even directly toward you. He slows as he passes by your bed, eyes roaming lazily over the space like he’s trying to memorize it. But you know that’s not what this is.

He’s letting the silence stretch.

He’s letting you squirm.

You glance at him through the mirror, just as he finally makes his way behind you.

You don’t move.

You can’t.

He stops right behind you, not touching, but close. You keep your eyes locked on the mirror, but it’s no use. He’s everywhere now. In your space. In your breath.

“And the things you said tonight,” he says, voice soft but pointed. “Those were part of the act too?”

You try to keep your tone even. “What things?”

He tilts his head. “The part where you said you like my hands. That you stare at them when I’m not looking.”

You freeze just slightly.

"I-, uhm... I dont-..." You glance down instinctively, suddenly very aware of your own hands fidgeting.

“Funny,” he says softly, “You think I haven’t noticed? When I’m cooking. When I’m fixing something around the apartment. You always get quiet.”

His hand lifts, fingertips brushing your hair gently off your shoulder. You shiver as he lowers his voice again.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” he says. “I do love your neck.”

You don’t answer, but he doesn’t need you to.

“In the mornings,” he murmurs. “When you’re in the kitchen, still half asleep, standing by the window. Your head tilts just a little. That soft little spot here,” he gestures near your collarbone, but still doesn’t touch. “barely covered.”

You’re not breathing properly now.

“And I try,” he continues, “I really try to keep it together, but you standing there like that…? That does something to me.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath, shoulders dropping ever so slightly.

His fingers trail lightly along the back of your neck, not quite touching skin yet, but enough to make you lean into it. He steps in fully now, his hands finding your waist, and you instinctively lean back into him.

And then, finally, his mouth brushes your neck. Gentle. Slow. A teasing press that turns into something deeper. You feel the smile against your skin as he kisses again, and again, lower this time, until your knees threaten to give.

You gasp, just a little, and he smiles against your throat.

“You know,” he starts, voice casual, “if this wasn’t fake…”

Your breath hitches.

“…I would’ve done a lot of things differently tonight.”

You swallow hard. “Like what?”

He trails one finger along your side, feather-light, just enough to make you squirm.

“If this wasn’t fake…” he begins, like it’s casual, like he’s not setting you on fire, “I wouldn’t have let you leave my side once tonight. I would’ve had my hand on you the whole dinner, your thigh, your back, the curve of your hip, just to remind you who you belong to.”

Your stomach tightens.

He brushes his fingers lightly along your sides, not quite ticklish, just maddeningly slow.

“I’d bring you home,” he continues, lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear, “take your hand, lead you to your room like I’ve been waiting to all night. And I wouldn’t rush it. No pretending, no performance. Just you. Me. And the dress I’ve been dying to take off you.”

He trails his knuckles lightly down your side, slow and reverent.

“I’d unzip it real slow…”

You hear the faintest shift of fabric.

“Let it slip off your shoulders while I kissed right here…” he presses a single, feather-light kiss to the side of your neck, “and here…” another just below your ear, “until you were shivering.”

Your eyes flutter closed, and he watches your reflection like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers just below your ear.

You’re at a loss for words but you’re hungry for more. You shake your head as you swallow, but realise how dry your mouth is. His hands slide up your sides, warm, sure, with a smile on his face.

“If it hadn't been fake, I’d press you against this vanity,” he goes on, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Make you watch as I touched every inch of your skin.”

You can’t look away from the mirror, from the image of his hands exploring you, slow and confident, like he’s known this body forever.

“I’d hold your hips right here.” His hands grip you firmly, positioning your body with ease. “And I’d make sure the only thing you remembered from tonight was how I made you feel.”

"Yeah?" you manage to say, too invested in everything he's saying.

“If this wasn’t fake…” he murmurs, his hands still on you, tracing the curve of your body as if he owns it. “I’d make you see stars. I’d fuck you right here, make you forget you were ever pretending.”

You let out a light gasp, feeling your heart in your throat.

He presses against you, his hand finding its way to your neck, just enough to make you tilt your head back, exposing more of that sensitive skin. He breathes softly against it.

“You’d be mine. I’d make sure you knew it, every fucking inch of you.”

You’re a breath away from crumbling, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession as you realize how much you want him, how easily you’re giving into the fantasy.

His lips are still close to your ear, breath warm, voice impossibly soft.

“But then again…” he murmurs, the barest smile in his tone, “this is all fake… isn’t it?”

You stiffen.

He lets out a low chuckle, his nose skimming the line of your jaw as he continues, casually cruel in the way only he can be. “None of this would actually happen. I mean, why would it?”

"Why not?" you barely let out a whisper.

His fingers drag slowly down your sides, feather-light, torturously teasing. He’s pretending to think, pretending to be thoughtful, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You and me, coming home after a night like that, all dressed up, all tense and wired… and me just…” His hand glides over your hips. “Peeling you out of this dress and fucking you over your vanity?”

He hums, tilting his head. “Seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

You inhale sharply, your body practically trembling from restraint.

He leans in again, lips just at your neck now. “You haven’t said much,” he whispers, his hand brushing lower, just enough to make you flinch. “Should I stop?” His fingers press gently into your thighs now, possessive even in their softness. “Because we’re faking it, right?” He lets out a slow, amused breath. “And I’d hate to make things confusing.”

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, your skin flushed everywhere.

“Unless you want me to keep going,” he murmurs, eyes locking with yours in the reflection, darker now, heavy with intent. “But you’d have to say it, sweetheart.”

His fingers trail between your legs, light as a threat.

You grip the edge of the vanity with white knuckles, heart pounding in your throat. “Wooyoung…”

His hand slides up, over your stomach, between your breasts, up to your throat, never squeezing, just there. Possessive. Protective. His lips trail along your shoulder, just above the strap of your dress, while the other hand finally finds the zipper.

“I’d take you like this,” he says lowly, kissing the back of your neck. “Make you look at yourself while I ruin you, slow… deep… mine.”

Your knees nearly give out.

He presses forward just a little more, breath ragged now against your skin. “But maybe we should stop.”

You whimper, actually whimper, and shake your head.

“No, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like the last wall crumbling. "Don't stop."

His hands freeze for just a moment, then he smirks, low and satisfied.

“There she is.”

His smirk deepens, wicked, triumphant. He doesn’t say a word.

Then, with deliberate force, he turns you.

Your back meets the cool edge of the vanity. Before you can fully catch your breath, his veiny hand is already on your throat, firm but careful, guiding your head back just enough to look up at him.

You gasp from the way it makes your knees go weak, the way it makes your heart stutter in your chest.

His gaze drops to your lips. Then slowly, almost torturously, he leans in, breath brushing your mouth, letting you feel the heat of it before he claims you.

The kiss is devastating. Nothing sweet. Nothing soft.

His mouth crashes into yours like he’s starved for it, tongue, teeth, everything. He takes and takes, groaning low in his throat the moment you moan against him. That tiny, helpless sound makes his fingers tighten slightly on your neck, his other hand sliding possessively down your side to your hip.

“God, you sound so pretty when you do that,” he breathes between kisses, voice wrecked.

You melt under him, into him, letting him press you back against the vanity like he wants to fuse you to it. He breaks the kiss with a growl, breath hot against your lips, then suddenly, he spins you again.

You can’t speak. You can’t think. All you can do is feel his hands on your hips, feel the way his body aligns with yours so perfectly it’s almost cruel.

“Still pretending?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Or can I finally touch you like I’ve wanted to all fucking night?”

You nod before he even finishes the sentence. "Yes-, yes please," you whimper, hips tilting back into his, head tipping to give him more of your neck.

He chuckles under his breath.

“Thought so.”

You don’t have a chance to respond before his hands are on you again, more urgent this time. His fingers find the zipper of your dress, and he pulls it down, letting you feel every inch of his focus on you.

The dress slides off your body, pooling at your feet, and he’s quick to step back just enough to take you in. His eyes rake over you like he’s starving. You stand there, vulnerable, under his gaze, and you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. The heat between your legs intensifies, the ache in your chest growing stronger.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes raking over you from behind. “You’re a goddamn dream.”

You gasp as he presses you into the vanity, your body trapped between the cool wood and the heat of him. His hands slide down to your thighs, pulling them apart slowly, giving him access, making sure you feel every moment of it. His voice drops to a velvet growl. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby. Right here.” His lips press behind your ear again, “Tell me you want it,” he demands.

And you can’t hold back anymore. The tension in your body snaps, and you nod, your breath quickening. “I want it.”

He smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His hand presses firmly between your thighs, rubbing you through the soaked fabric with just enough pressure to make your legs weaken beneath you.

He chuckles against your skin when he feels you tremble. “Already this wet for me, baby?”

You nod helplessly, and his free hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair, pulling your head to the side to expose more of your neck.

His teeth graze your pulse point, and you moan again, louder this time. "Look in the mirror as I touch you."

Your breath stutters, lashes fluttering as your gaze locks on the reflection. “Fuck, Wooyoung…” you whisper, already unsteady, your thighs trembling under his stare alone.

Then, with no warning, he hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them fall. Cool air brushes against your wetness, and your whole body jolts in response.

“Jesus-” you exhale, shivering.

His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, just enough pressure to make you twitch. You moan, sharp and helpless, eyes fluttering closed for a second until he tuts softly beside your ear.

“Eyes open, sweetheart. I said look.”

You obey, forcing your eyes to the mirror again, and the sight of you, glowing, needy, lips parted, legs trembling, draws a sound from deep in your throat.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing just below your ear. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, he pushes in, just one finger at first, thick and deliberate. He doesn’t rush. He presses in knuckle by knuckle, watching your face in the mirror as your lips part and your back arches. The way your body welcomes him makes his cock twitch under the fabrics.

“There we go,” he whispers, dark and pleased. “So fucking tight.”

He gives you a moment to adjust, curling that single finger just right, then pulls back, almost all the way, before pushing in again, deeper this time. You whimper, soft and broken.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw. “You let me in so easily.”

When he slides in a second finger, your knees nearly give out, but he catches you, pressing his chest to your back and flattening his palm over your belly.

You cry out, raw and desperate, body jerking in his arms.

“Right there,” you gasp. “Fuck, right there-, don’t stop, please don’t stop-”

His lips trace your jaw, voice molten.

“Good girl,” he whispers, moving his fingers just the way you need. “Let me hear you.”

And you do.

Loud, unfiltered, desperate for more.

Your hands grip the edge of the vanity. He watches in the mirror as your face twists in pleasure, breath shuddering every time he pumps into you. He doesn’t relent. His fingers are steady, coaxing, relentless, fucking you precisely, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands softly.

“So good,” you breathe. “It’s-, god, Wooyoung-”

“That’s right,” he cuts in, curling his fingers deeper. “Say my name like that.”

He shifts just slightly, just enough to hit the spot that sends stars bursting behind your eyes, and keeps that rhythm. Over and over.

“Come on,” he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

You nod, desperately, eyes fluttering shut.

But he doesn’t let you. His free hand curls around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, guiding you back to the mirror.

“No. Look,” he growls, his voice low and possessive. “I want you to see how good I make you feel. How pretty you look falling apart just for me.”

You force your eyes open, lips parted, eye makeup already smudged, breath shaking, and what you see unravels you: his body pressed to yours, his hand moving between your legs like he owns you, his gaze fixed entirely on your reflection.

The sight of it, the feeling of him everywhere, inside and around you, tips you over the edge.

You cry out, helpless and raw, as your body clenches hard around his fingers. He doesn’t slow. He works you through it, murmuring praise against your ear.

“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s my good girl. So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”

Your hips jerk, grinding into his palm as your orgasm pulses through you, long and overwhelming. When the waves finally ease, your body limp and trembling, he slowly withdraws his fingers, slick and shining.

You shiver, eyes fluttering shut as he presses his hips against you, the thick hardness of him pressing against your thighs.

He suddenly guides you forward, one hand on your back, he presses you down firmly, bending you over.

“Stay just like that,” he commands, stepping back slightly to admire the view, your ass pushed out, your eyes wide in the mirror, lips already parted. “Fuck. Look at you.”

Then you feel it, his hands on your thighs, spreading them, dragging his fingers slowly along your skin. His shirt hangs open, wrinkled and useless now, clinging to one shoulder, exposing his toned chest, flushed and rising with every harsh breath. His palm presses to the center of your back, bending you over the vanity with a firm, unyielding push.

“Stay like that,” he murmurs, voice low and dark. “I want you spread out. Pretty. Obedient.”

You obey without thinking, chest against the cool surface. Then, with excruciating slowness, he undoes his belt. The sound alone makes your breath hitch. He keeps his eyes locked on yours in the mirror as he pushes his pants down just enough and frees himself, fingers wrapping around his cock like he’s been aching for this.

And when you see him… you go still.

He’s thick, long, flushed and heavy in his hand, already glistening at the tip.

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it.

“Oh?” he smirks, stroking himself lazily, intentionally, letting your eyes drink in every inch. “Surprised?”

You hear the sound of him spitting in his hand, stroking himself once, twice, and then that thick, hard length is sliding between your folds, teasing your entrance.

His hand slides into your hair, not rough, but controlling, guiding your eyes back to the mirror.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he commands, hand fisting your hair just enough to lift your gaze. “You’re gonna watch what it looks like when your best friend finally fucks you.”

Then, with one slow, devastating thrust, he sinks into you.

Deep.

Possessive.

Claiming.

He groans behind you, head falling forward, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.

“God-, fuck, you’re big,” you gasp, hands scrambling to grip the edge of the vanity.

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in, hard enough to make the vanity rattle.

You gasp, fingers scrambling for the edge, and he laughs behind you, breathless.

“More,” you cry, pushing back into him, shaking. “Don’t stop-, fuck, please don’t stop.”

“You want more?” he hisses, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head up so you’re forced to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look at this mess. Look what I’m doing to you.”

He slams into you harder. Filthy. Relentless. His palm lands on your ass, then rubs over the sting like he owns every inch of your body.

Then he snaps, hips continually slamming into you with a rhythm that steals the breath from your lungs. Over and over again. The sound of skin against skin echoes, obscene and raw, as he pounds into you like he’s lost all restraint. He leans over you suddenly, chest pressing to your back. His breath fans hot across your skin as his lips find your shoulder.

He kisses it once. Then again, slower.

“You gonna come like this?” he demands, voice thick and breathless. “Bent over, ass red, stuffed full of me?”

“Yes-,”

But he doesn’t let you come.

Not yet.

Just when your body tenses, right on the edge, he pulls out halfway and stills.

You let out a sob, raw and desperate, collapsing onto your elbows against the vanity.

“No…” you whimper, voice trembling. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because I said so,” he growls behind you, breathing hard. “And if you’re mine now… you come when I let you.”

A sharp slap lands on your ass, the heat blooming instantly, making you cry out and he grins at the way your thighs twitch, how your body tries to grind back into him without thinking.

“Oh, you like that,” he mutters, dragging his palm over the curve of your ass, then gripping both cheeks hard, spreading you open as he groans. “Look at this view. Fucking perfect. So pretty and messy for me.”

His hand grabs your wrist, dragging you upright, spinning you to face him. His mouth crashes into yours in a messy, heated kiss, all teeth and tongue and breathless need. You barely have time to cling to him before he’s walking you backward toward the bed.

“You think I was gonna finish you over a vanity?” he growls against your lips. “Not a fucking chance.”

You fall back onto the mattress with a gasp, legs spread slightly, chest heaving, body already trembling from the way he’s used you, and he just stands there for a second, looking down at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect.

Then his eyes narrow.

“Spread your legs wider.”

You do, instantly.

His shirt is half off, a desperate tug of fabric, and as he pulls his pants fully down, he’s not wasting any time to let you get a full look at him. His cock stands heavy, dripping with need, leaking as he strokes himself with a low growl.

You open your mouth, but the words die as he moves closer, kneeling on the edge of the bed. His hand wraps around your ankle and drags you toward him, his grip firm, claiming. He leans over you, one hand planted beside your head, the other dragging slowly along your inner thigh.

“Tell me,” he demands, brushing his nose along your jaw. “Did it turn you on? Knowing he saw you with me? Knowing he saw how badly I wanted to rip that dress off you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, breath hitching.

Then he’s kissing you again, slower this time but just as possessive. His hand wraps behind your neck, holding you in place as he takes what he wants, savoring your reactions, feeding off every moan that escapes you.

“Look at this,” he mutters, gaze locked between your legs. “So swollen. So wet. All for me.”

His hand drags slowly down your stomach, the heat of his palm branding every inch of skin it touches. It’s not hurried, no, it’s maddeningly slow, his fingers grazing along the dip below your navel, making your muscles jump with anticipation.

Then his fingers reach your folds, gliding through your slickness, deliberately lazy. You twitch under his touch, hips tilting up instinctively.

And then-

He slaps your pussy. Open palm. Quick.

The sound cracks through the room, sharp and obscene. The sting hits you a second later, blooming heat across your center, and your whole body jolts, legs trembling.

“Fuck-!” you cry out, back arching off the bed. “Wooyoung-,”

He smirks down at you, all dark satisfaction. “Oh yeah,” he says, eyes heavy with lust. “You liked that.”

Before you can catch your breath, he does it again. A second slap, just as sharp. The impact makes your thighs jerk apart, a cry tearing from your throat.

He moans, actually moans at the sight of you coming undone. “God, you’re so fucking hot when you take it like that.”

Your body is pulsing, burning, begging.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, breath hot as he leans closer, dragging two fingers through your folds again. “Dripping. You get this wet from just my hand?”

He rubs your clit in tight, quick circles, pressure unforgiving but just right, sending sparks up your spine. The contrast of pain and pleasure makes your head spin.

Your hands grip the sheets hard enough to cramp. “Fuck, Wooyoung-, don’t stop-”

He chuckles low and hungry. “Didn’t plan on it.”

With one smooth motion, he shifts, settling between your thighs. His cock, thick, flushed, already leaking, presses against your entrance, the tip catching on your slick folds. He rubs himself through your arousal, slow and teasing, just enough to make your hips chase him.

You try to lift your hips, to take him in, but he pins you back down, eyes wild.

“No. I get to fuck you when I say so,” he growls, mouth crashing down onto yours, kissing you hard, deep, messy, like he’s starving. Like your mouth is the only thing that’s ever tasted good.

When he finally thrusts in, it’s a single, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt and knocking the air right out of your lungs.

“Fuck,-” you gasp, eyes rolling back.

He doesn’t give you a second to adjust before pulling back and slamming into you again, the force of it leaving you breathless.

He doesn’t stop. He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head, body caging you in like a predator. His mouth finds yours, kissing you like he’s drowning, messy and hot and desperate. Teeth, tongue, breathless moans between every clashing movement.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he growls against your lips. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

So you do.

His pupils are blown, his hair a mess, sweat on his brow, mouth parted. But it’s his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like you’re all he’s ever wanted, and that makes your heart slam against your ribs.

You’re gasping, crying out, and he swallows every sound, his kiss never softening, only growing more frenzied as his hips pound into you.

“You feel that?” he pants into your mouth. “That’s mine. This pussy’s mine.”

He lets go of your wrists just long enough to grab your thigh, throw your leg over his shoulder, driving deeper, angle harsher. His grip is punishing, like he needs to hold you down to keep from losing his mind.

“Shit-,” you sob, clinging to him now. “You’re so deep-, I can’t-,”

“You can,” he growls. “Oh, fuck, baby-, that’s it,” he smirks, sweat dripping down from his neck. “You feel so good-, so fucking tight, so wet, I could stay buried in this pussy forever.”

He drops his head to your neck, biting and sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his hands move constantly, palming your breast, gripping your hip, dragging across your thigh, he can’t stop touching you.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Let me make you feel so fucking good.”

You clench around him and he nearly loses it, thrusts getting sloppier, harder, messier. He grabs your jaw, forces your eyes to his.

“Please-, Wooyoung, I’m close-”

“Yeah? Let me hear you. Come for me. Come on my cock, baby, let me feel you.”

And it hits you, fast and deep, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes through you like a wave you couldn’t stop even if you tried.

Wooyoung watches it take you, and it wrecks him.

“God, baby,” he growls, suddenly losing all rhythm, all control. “You feel so-, fuck, I’m not gonna last-,”

You reach up, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you just like he did to you. “Don’t stop. Give it to me.”

That does it.

With a strangled moan of your name, he buries himself in you with a final, desperate thrust. His whole body tenses as he gives in, letting himself fall apart.

You can’t help but look at his face as that wave of pleasure overtakes him. His mouth is parted, lips trembling with the sounds he can’t hold back, brows drawn together in a tight knot like he’s fighting to stay grounded. The muscles in his jaw twitch, veins standing out along his neck and arms, his whole body straining as he spills everything into you.

When he finally exhales, it’s a ragged, shaky breath, and his body slowly relaxes, chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to come back down. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t say a word. He just lowers his weight over you gently, careful not to crush you, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.

You can still feel the warmth of him inside you, the lingering tension of release pulsing between your bodies.

Then he lifts his head, just barely, and looks down at you, really looks. His gaze roams over your flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips, the way you’re still dazed and boneless beneath him.

And then he grins. Slow, smug, wicked.

“God,” he says, voice low and pleased.

You blink up at him, heart stuttering. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just lets his eyes drag over you like he’s memorizing everything. The mess he’s made of you. The way you still haven’t caught your breath.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says simply, but it lands heavy in your chest. “Like… stupid beautiful.”

Heat rushes to your face. You instinctively turn your head, trying to hide the way your lips curl, the way you can’t even look at him right now.

But that just makes him laugh, low and breathless.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, fingers catching your chin, turning your face back to his. “don’t get all shy on me now. Not after the things I just did to you.”

“Wooyoung-“ you try to protest, flustered, but it’s useless.

He shifts suddenly, his hand pinning your wrist to the bed as he leans in, eyes blazing. “Nope,” he growls playfully.

When his mouth crashes into yours, it’s not sweet or teasing, it’s intense. Deep and all-consuming, like he’s starving for you. His tongue claims yours, every movement deliberate, dominant.

When he finally pulls back, barely an inch, his lips are swollen and his voice is wrecked.

“I’m never gonna get enough of you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Never.”

***

You wake up slowly, the soft light of the morning creeping into the room, bathing everything in a warm glow. His arm is still draped over you, his breath steady and calm. You shift gently, trying not to wake him, but you can’t help but linger for a moment, watching his peaceful expression. He looks so content, so relaxed, last night still feels like a dream.

Carefully, you lift his arm from your waist and slip out of bed. As you stand, you glance back at him. His face is soft, his black hair a little messy, and the sight of him, even in his sleep, makes your heart flutter. You try to suppress the smile that tugs at your lips, but you can’t help it.

Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen. The cool air of the morning greets you as you open the cabinet and pull out his cereal box.

You’re perched on the kitchen counter, bare legs dangling, quietly munching on a bowl of Wooyoung’s ridiculous neon-colored cereal. The box sits beside you, obnoxiously bright. You’d teased him for years about how awful it looked, and secretly craved it every time.

You hear the soft shuffle of feet before you see him.

Wooyoung emerges from the hallway, shirtless, his hair a messy halo of waves, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looks like a dream and somehow worse for your heart in the morning light. A familiar ache stirs in your chest. This is your best friend. Your roommate. The same guy who left his laundry in the hallway and screamed at horror games.

The same guy who had his hands all over you last night and made you come like no one else.

“Morning, roomie,” he mutters, voice low and rough, smirking when his eyes catch yours. They linger. “Is that my cereal?”

You nod, trying not to choke on it now that your mouth’s gone dry. “It was calling to me.”

He walks right up to you, stepping between your legs like he’s done it a thousand times. Only now, there’s nothing innocent about the way he crowds your space.

You glance down, gripping the bowl a little tighter. Your voice comes out quieter than you meant. “You, uh… want some?”

He doesn’t answer.

Just takes the spoon from your hand, still warm from your touch, and scoops up a bite like it’s nothing. His other hand settles on your thigh, casual but firm. You forget how to breathe.

He hums like it’s gourmet. “God, I love this shit.”

You try to roll your eyes, but it’s weak. He’s too close. Too warm. Too real.

And then, without warning, he leans in close, mouth brushing your ear.

“Good morning, beautiful,”

Before you can say anything else, before your heart can fully flip in your chest, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, but then it deepens, and the world around you fades. There’s no rush, no frantic need, just the slow, steady push and pull of lips, the quiet hum of connection between you two, something that’s always been there but is only now being acknowledged.

His lips linger just long enough to make your stomach twist in the best way before he pulls back, barely.

You stare at him, still a little dazed. He smirks.

“What?” he says, all fake innocence. “You gonna yell at me for stealing your cereal or for kissing you?”

You eye him, lips twitching. “Still weighing my options.”

He shrugs, hands still warm where they’re resting on your thighs. “Take your time. I’ve got all morning.”

“You’re literally the most impatient person I know,” you mutter.

“Mm,” he hums, brushing his thumb just under the hem of your shorts, right where it makes your breath catch. “Not when it comes to you. I like watching you squirm too much.”

You exhale a laugh, trying not to give him the satisfaction. He just grins wider, enjoying seeing you like this.

It’s completely unfair, the way he looks so relaxed. Like this, you and him and whatever happened last night, isn’t a big deal. Like waking up tangled together, touching each other like that, was just the natural next step.

And maybe… maybe it was.

“You know,” he adds after a beat, glancing at your bowl again, “I thought about that last night.”

“What, the cereal?” you ask, trying to level your voice.

He nods, all faux-innocent. “Had this whole internal debate. Go finish the box or save you some.”

You squint at him. “You didn’t even eat any.”

“Exactly.” He grins. “Fell asleep. Dreamt about it. Woke up, and there you were. Stealing the first bowl like some greedy little gremlin.”

You scoff. “Wow. Rude.”

“And hungry,” he adds, stealing your spoon without looking. He takes another bite, still watching you, chewing like he’s thinking about sin. “Might be craving something a little messier, though.”

You scoff, but your thighs tense around his hips, pulling him in closer. He feels it. Of course he does.

You think that’s the end of it, but then he tilts his head a little, voice dropping. “Also, you were real cute sneaking around out here like I couldn’t hear you. Hair all messy. Wearing nothing but your-”

“Stop,” you cut in, already feeling the heat crawl up your neck.

He just laughs, clearly enjoying this way too much. “I’m just saying. Round two almost happened right then and there.”

You shoot him a look. “I was literally getting cereal.”

He leans in, lips brushing your cheek again before he murmurs, “Yeah, and you still looked hot.”

You go quiet, too aware of his mouth near yours and the fact that he’s still standing between your knees like he belongs there.

You open your mouth, no idea what you’re even going to say, but he’s already leaning in.

And then he kisses you again, easy, unhurried, like it’s just what he does now. Like kissing you is second nature.

And god, maybe it is.

TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx @lveegsoi @vixensss @yizhou-time @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @hwaskookies @vent-stink @desanslogique @taestrwbrry @hannahstacos @tinyteezer @gold--gucciempress @zhangyi-johee @sunnysidesins @spenceatiny18 @yunhoswrldddd @beljakovina @soso59love-blog @trivia-134340 @skzfangirl143 @spicxbnny @h0rnyp0t @mingimangomu @no-nottoday @roguesthetic @hwas-star @tsuukamori @londonbridges01 @nayutalvr @purplelady85 @lover-ofallthingspretty @awkward-fucking-thing @luvbgy @thuyting @p1ecetinyzen @eumpappasmom @marsofeight @maidens-world @girlblogger-04 @renapersa @lol-imtrash2000 @melitadala @yoonglesbae @bby-boo4u @babymbbatinygirl @dalsuwaha @diekleinesuesse @beccaskz @les4heeseung @oddin4ry @manu2004 @mingimangomu @intowxnderland @chaotic-floral @toxicstrawberries @musicconversedance @insanityz @therealcuppicake @darkdayelixer @soobieboobiebaby @thevintagefangirl @​​fireseo @smileyishere92 @faerouzia @zerefdragn33l @lover-ofallthingspretty @yup-thats-me @trivia-134340 @mochi13

[maneskinwh0re]

modern!sevika x housewife!reader // clueless couple

cw: fluff, loser butch sevy, age gap (if you squint), more fluff

i saw a post that said “holding back the urge to say ‘must’ve been ur other girlfriend’ to my bf” and it gave me the idea to write about saying it to our sev

i imagine modern!sevika is a loser lesbian but also a clueless millennial who thinks she knows everything and then proceeds to get extremely humbled. she’s adorable, your honor.

༺♡༻❀༺♡༻ ༺♡༻❀༺♡༻ ༺♡༻❀༺♡༻

༺♡༻❀༺♡༻ ༺♡༻❀༺♡༻ ༺♡༻❀༺♡༻

slow mornings are your favorite. the windows to your kitchen are swung open, allowing in thin beams of sunlight and fresh air, while the smell of brewed coffee swirls through the room.

standing at the stove, you make breakfast for you and your wife, flipping a second omelette for sevika because she has already finished the first, now nibbling on a banana slice while she waits.

she leans against the counter next to you, eyes squinting at her phone as she tries to scroll through her photos. she moves the device further away, then brings it closer, inches from her face, the brightness of the screen surely not helping her aging eyesight.

“can never figure out this damn thing,” she says with an agitated huff before you look at her stance and giggle. she’s hunched over in a grey tank top and black boxers, large veined hands cradling her cracked phone. her hair is pulled back into a stubby ponytail while small wisps of framed bangs fall against her cheekbones.

“you can’t figure it out because y’ can’t see, mama,” you chuckle as you take the thin glasses atop her head and set them nicely on the bridge of her nose. “that better?”

“oh,” the difference is night and day, you practically see her big eyes refocus with a dumbfounded blink. “yes, much better, hon’.”

and with that, she’s right back to pure eagerness as she tells a story of how she and ran beat the boys over a few poker games, elaborating on how she brought home lots of extra cash last night. while she scrolls to find a specific picture of her winning hand, she pauses for a moment to question her own memory and turns to you.

“wait- have i told y’ this already?”

“hm, no,” you reply, shaking your head as you toss the omelette onto a plate. “must’ve been your other wife.”

your side comment totally sweeps over your butch’s head at first. you give her a moment to nod and continue searching through her phone before she completes a double take — no. a quadruple take with a confused followed by a truly bewildered expression.

“what?” sevika’s head snaps to you for the fourth time, brows furrowed clearly in offense. (reference pic at the top :))

you only hum up at her with expectancy, playing the act of clueless defiance.

“what’d you just say?” she repeats with a ghost of a smile, setting her phone on the counter.

“i didn’t- what?” you dismiss, gripping the handle of the empty pan and moving past sevika to set it in the sink. although she doesn’t let you get away so easily. “nothin’! i don’t know what you’re talking ab-”

with a tight grip on your waist, she yanks you backwards, erupting a squeal from your throat followed by a fit of laughter as you fall against her. her breath tickles your skin as she peppers kisses up and down the side of your neck and shoulder.

“what the hell are y’ on about? my ‘other wife’? you’re insane.”

“oh, so now i’m insane to you? i imagine more insane than your side bride. got it,” you banter as you grip her forearm that holds you close. one of her hands then turns your face up towards her lips. “i guess you’ll just have to tell her that i-”

your words are cut off with a gentle kiss. sevika tastes a mix of morning breath and black coffee, her disheveled self looks and smells in desperate need of a warm shower. but when your wife pulls away with admiration in those big grey eyes, you wouldn’t give any of it up for the world.

not the good, not the bad. for better for worse, in sickness and in health. to love and to cherish.

“shush. i’m yours.”

༺♡༻❀༺♡༻ ༺♡༻❀༺♡༻ ༺♡༻❀༺♡༻

ignore grammar/spelling mistakes 😜 dropping another random fluff bomb then locking back in to my bum ass math classes 🐑💣

also i’m absolutely LOVING all the asks that’s been sent to my inbox, TRUST i see them and will get to them all eventually!! again just super busy with school/family/friend drama recently, all is good tho and always feel free to send requests or just spam meee

stay safe out there divas 💜

-🐝

taglist: @cdbabymp3 @mirconreadzztuff22 @wizard-pdf @archangeldyke-all @nhaaauyen @inthebrainofalamb

[httpuckdrop]

PANCAKES – QH43

pairing: quinn hughes x reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

warnings: mentions of sexual activities

author's note: tried something new here with the style aaaaa i think i might be growing out of the lower caps and tiny letters vibe! not sure! either way, hope you enjoy this :)

Last night was… definitely something.

It usually did end up like this, to be fair. Whenever Quinn had been away for too long on a road trip, with only pictures and videos of you to satisfy his needs, it was common for him to get like this. Needing to take his time, savoring every moment, feeling every inch of your skin under his palms before he got anywhere close to content.

Not that you minded; you would do anything and everything for him to feel good, especially after such a long period of work. You assumed he would be worn out and sore from all of the games, and yet, surprisingly enough, he had all the stamina and strength to go the whole night if that had been what he wanted.

However, he enjoyed it just as much when he got to pull you up to his chest, nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck and cuddle you close for hours.

The following morning, apparently you were the sore and tired one, seeing as you were the only one left in Quinn's big bed at 10am. You didn't want to properly wake up, but you also wanted to spend every second of the day with your boyfriend before he was swept up by his work again. Therefore, you pushed yourself out of bed, tiptoeing over to the drawer by the wall and picking out a pair of boxers to step into. Then, you slipped on the black Canucks shirt Quinn had worn the day before, the fabric covering every love bite he'd scattered from your chest to the insides of your thighs, before making your way through the apartment.

You found your lover in the kitchen, his lean back muscles twitching with his every move. Your nose filled with the aroma of those vanilla protein pancakes he insisted on making instead of regular pancakes – even on his off days, he was so insistent on keeping up his dietary goals – and hunger rumbled in your stomach instantly.

You made your way over to his side in just a few quick strides. "Good morning," you hummed, smiling up at him.

"Morning, sleepyhead." One of Quinn's hands reached for your side as he leaned down to capture your lips in a lazy kiss. Maybe he was just as tired as you, after all. "You slept like a rock," he commented once you parted.

You chuckled, leaning into his side. "Well, what can I say? You wore me out."

"Don't say it like it's a bad thing," he said with a shake of his head. "You enjoyed it."

"Confident, are we now?"

Quinn merely shrugged, flipping the pancakes in the pan before answering. "You sure sounded like you enjoyed it. Think the whole neighborhood can attest to that."

Your cheeks grew so hot they were practically burning, and you turned your face to hide it in his bare chest. "That was foul," you mumbled, letting out a groan against his skin when your boyfriend chuckled. "I don't want your neighbors to know that kind of stuff about me."

You felt a pair of lips against the top of your head and an arm drape around your waist, holding you close. "At least they know you're well taken care of."

After a few moments of comfortable silence, with only the crackling of the pancakes filling the room, you parted from him and instead turned your back to the counter next to the stove. After hoisting yourself up on top of it, Quinn didn't waste any time before stepping between your legs, one calloused palm finding your knee. The other hand reached for a can of whipped cream by the bowl of pancake batter.

"Have you tried this one before? I've never seen it before," he said, popping the lid off and shaking it a couple of times. Then, he tapped your lips with the nozzle. "Open up."

Your lips began curving up in a grin, yet you leaned back slightly and shook your head. "You’re too cheesy, I swear to god," you mumbled back, but Quinn wasn't giving up.

"Come on, just play along with me." He sprayed a little bit of cream on his index finger, quickly spreading it down your nose. You were just about to complain when he added: "It's not usually this difficult to get you to open your mouth for me…"

You gasped. "Quinn!"

"It most certainly wasn't this hard last night." He chuckled at the sight of you wiping your nose clean, reaching forward to give him some payback, but he reacted quickly, grabbing your wrist in his hand and holding it still. "In fact, you were quite eager to get your mouth on me, if I remember correctly."

Your cheeks were tinged with a deep red color now, either from frustration or embarrassment. "I swear, I'm going to kill you if you don't-"

You weren't even allowed to finish the sentence before your boyfriend had leaned down to crash his lips against yours. You sighed involuntarily against his lips, feeling some of the tension leaving your body already. You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height as you kissed him back.

The kiss was sweet and slow, a complete contrast from the heated way you'd kissed just a few hours ago. He tasted like mint from his toothpaste and his mouth was warm, just like his bare shoulders when you brushed your hands along them. He ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, his hands reaching for your hips to pull them up against his, and a small moan escaped from your lips as a result – a sound that went straight down to his core. He nipped at your bottom lip before gently sliding his tongue into your mouth, humming contently when your tongue battled with his.

"Wait, no, don't tempt me," he mumbled eventually, pulling away ever so slightly to instead trail his kisses down your jaw. "You're making me want to go back to the bedroom and..."

You chuckled, hooking your legs over his hips and caging him in. "Doesn't sound too bad," you answered, head tilting back slightly to give him better access. "Think we might need to fuel up, though."

His answer came in the form of a groan, your words making him suddenly remember the pancakes he had been focused on before you arrived. "You know you're eating yours without whipped cream, though. Just because you acted like an ass."

"Hey!"

[ericscroptop]

Kitchen

✧ pairing: bf! san x mid or plus-size/clubby gf! reader

✦ genre: smut

✧ warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), smut, p!rn without plot, unprotected sex (it’s inevitable atp), doggy style, creampie, size kink, body worship, cursing, praising, pet names, kissing, san is down right bad for you

✦ word count: 3.0k words

✧ synopsis: scrambled eggs? what about fertilized eggs, instead?

.ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･

Bacon sizzled as it cooked over the stove, emitting a salivating, savory-smoky aroma into the air.

You cooked it cautiously, maintaining a friendly distance away from the pan as the bacon grease was so volatile with the popping. A sour expression filled your face, fearful and anxious that the grease would splatter across you.

Whoever coined the phrase ‘women belong in the kitchen,’ is seriously wrong as hell.

An unease sat with you while you finished up, wanting to avoid burning yourself or getting attacked by the grease. You yelped as you flipped the strips, your hesitant hands using tongs to do so. Hopefully it’ll get as crispy as you liked within the next minute or so.

As if on cue, when you decide to plate your bacon and turn off the stove, San walks into the kitchen, making his presence known with a whistle and pleased hum.

“You making breakfast?” he folds his arms, idly standing a couple feet away from you like he’s observing the view you grace him with.

“I made breakfast. Come get it while it’s hot.” you took a quick glance at him, causing a flutter in your chest (and possibly even your lower region) when you see how he looks.

He decided to have an early morning workout instead of his usual nightly one, following it up with a shower. In the mean time, the motivation he had inspired you to get up and cook a nice breakfast instead of staying dozed off and drooling in bed.

The drooling might not be able to be prevented though, as you’re trying to keep your mouth from gaping at the sight of San’s Godly-being.

Although you’ve seen him shirtless countless of times— to the point where you don’t even think he’s aware that he owns clothes, it still makes you grow warm in the cheeks, mind threatening to have you replay memories with him that couldn’t possibly be shared with anyone else.

His broad shoulders stood out immensely, chest puffed out proud and muscles extra swole and prominent. The dampness of his hair post-shower further elevated his look, appearing straight out of a shampoo commercial.

San’s attractiveness overwhelmed your senses, short circuiting your focus. You had to snap yourself out of the fuzzy feelings he gave you just from a simple glance and from the sight of his toned, ripped body. Especially when that body had you caged under the covers just last night.

You quickly switched your attention back to arranging the bacon with the scrambled eggs, toast, and various berries you already platted.

“How was your work out and shower?” you cleared your throat, moving on from your gawking and dizzying thoughts.

San shuffled closer to you, leaning his lips over to press against your cheek while simultaneously sneaking a strip of bacon from one of the plates.

“Good.” he mumbles while chewing, humming and savoring the flavor of the pork before continuing on. “I hit chest today. Can you tell?” both of his arms are lifted out and upwards, flexing his biceps tightly.

He stands proudly, those damn biceps bulging out from his honey skin, proving that all of that time he spends with the gym equipment paid off.

His wide shoulders contrasted from his small waist, upper body deliciously intimidating yet comforting. His toned and muscular physique gave you a sense of tranquility knowing that he could protect you, but it also reminded you of the great stamina he possessed, especially during intimate hours.

And the fact that he had the power to manhandle you, having the backbone and robustness to handle the weight you carried. He always did it so effortlessly. Even with the excess fat you carried, he always made you feel so petite and delicate. It turned you on to the max and had you fuzzy all over at his ability to make you seem so small and like putty within his hold.

Naturally, you scoffed at him showing off. While your body screamed for him otherwise, you playfully shoved one of his flexing arms down, pushing past the mountain of a man as you ignore his efforts.

“What do you want to drink?” you asked casually, opening your refrigerator and scanning through the options.

“Chocolate milk.” he smiles through his words, tickled grin plastered over him as he watches you prepare the drink for him, grabbing the jug of milk from the fridge and getting a glass from the respective cabinet.

It’s always funny seeing you attempt at brushing off his flirting. Whether it be for not wanting to inflate his ego or merely because you didn’t know how to react out of timidness. It just charmed him even more, drawing him to get under your skin until you fully acknowledge him.

By now you’ve already started a completely new conversation, something casual that consisted of nothing too interesting. San mindlessly responded to you and offered words, but he really was only paying full attention towards your figure as you moved in the kitchen.

A flimsy pajama set clothed your body— well… at least tried to.

Despite the cutesy pattern that decorated the fabric of the sleepwear, it still managed to look sexy over your body. It was anything but innocent.

Such lightweight material was so skimpy on you. And because of your curves and body type, the clothing seemed to be extra small and barely doing anything to hide your full-figured frame.

Your bottoms consisted of shorts. Shorts that would hike up occasionally from your movements, your ass cheeks peeking out as a result.

The tank top you’re wearing also provoked him. It was one of those tops that had your mounds slipping out during your slumber and feeling a breeze once you awakened. The type of top that would end up bunched under your boobs, the material too lightweight and breasts too fleshy to stay put.

They bounced with every movement you made, as if trying to call to him. Like they’re begging to bust out the lousy, thin fabric, tantalizing him through your cleavage, hanging the way that they do and with the way you’d constantly adjust your top so they’d stay in place.

Your body moved gorgeously as you roamed the kitchen. The motion of your flesh and skin stole his attention, compelled to rake over your form while his mind drives through thoughts filled with perverted, pornographic images of things he’d like to do with you.

That sleepwear left plenty of room for imagination with how little it covered. His horny thoughts persisted even though he hummed and nodded along to words you were saying.

He was so good at multi tasking. Listening to you ramble about how cooking was not your forte with how the grease and pan came close to burning your delicate skin a handful of times.

As he cooed at you and offered you a look of pity, his hands were suddenly wrapped around your figure. His front was pressed up firmly against your backside, hugging your figure with so much greed and need.

Always so touchy, you think to yourself.

A smile stretches your lips, unable to contain the giddiness you feel when San holds you. His clingy behavior for being a grown man is amusing to watch, swelling your pride.

“Go sit down— i’ll be over there in a sec.” you giggled, trying to clean up the counter a bit before sitting down to finally enjoy your morning meal.

Your boyfriend chooses to not listen however, his chin lowered and planted into one of your shoulders, as if he’s trying to get comfortable and bury his face into your neck.

Simultaneously, his hands decide to search for warmth underneath your flowy tank, massaging the fat of your tummy. You quake from his sneaky touches, unable to fight off his hold.

“Babe!” you nagged, groaning when he playfully pinches at your love handles, almost in a possessive way.

“Why are so obsessed in doing that?” you sighed, letting his hands roam all over and paw at your belly.

You’ve grown accustomed to San playing with your excess skin and showing your body love through his sweet rubs and grabs. At first it felt embarrassing, but you eventually accepted that you were like a stress ball of some sort to him. This was not only his way of gaining comfort, but to also appreciate your ample body.

“‘Cause you’re so soft and tempting.” he breathes out before pressing his lips into the skin of your neck.

The compliment and plushy pecks spark warmth down south. Ultimately, the feeling of his soft lips caressing a sensitive spot and his strong embrace gave you no urgency or strength to fight.

“My girl is so beautiful. You know that? Hm.” he mumbles in between kisses and becomes extra playful with that mouth, fine bites felt in the midst of it all, making you airily moan at the feeling of his teeth mixed in.

“Mhm, you get me so horny, princess.” suddenly, his thumbs have found their way sneakily under your shorts and panties, playing with the waistband of them. That pulls more needy sounds out from you, along with subtle but noticeable buttings of your ass back into his crotch, turned on the more he continues with his antics.

“Sannie…” you squeaked, voice high and airy, sweetened with need for him to plunge your swelling hole.

He knows just by the way you call his name cutely and desperately that you’re begging for him to take you right here with no more delay.

It’s incredible how fast he can flip the switch in your brain, especially this early in the morning. But honestly, you were just as big of a feen for him as he was for you.

Breakfast was now the last thing on your minds right now. San directed his focus to pulling down your sleep shorts. You allow him to do so, body burning with desire as you step out of them and he flings them to the side.

The fat of your ass cheeks is exposed, the tiny thong you wear sucked in by your lady bits.

A low grown rumbles from your boyfriend when you tantalizingly throw your ass back at him, jiggling cheeks butting repeatedly at his growing bulge, far from innocent giggles leaving your mouth while you move.

Your behavior evokes him to give a good slap to your ass, making you gasp and cease your movements immediately.

“Baby wants to be fucked, hm?” he sneers, palms circling where he just smacked you soothingly, then working to remove your panties.

In a jiffy he removes that drenched thong of yours, flinging it lazily to the side with his foot once you’ve stepped out of it.

He finally pulls off his own bottoms with swift movement. Unable to resist going a second without touching you in doing so, he manages to press kisses into your lower back, savoring how your bare body stands graciously in his presence.

With his cock gripped in his dominant hand, his breath is already shaky just by going in and manhandling you to spread your legs. Once apart, he guides his cock over your sex, tickling your tensed hole by wagging his cock upwards and slapping it against you a few times.

The sensation makes you shudder, needy as ever and clenching over nothing, his cock so close to your spot but clearly not in yet. He’s teasing you back, your pussy painfully pulsing as he rubs his length against your moist folds.

“Sannie, please…” you’re desperate, gnawing on your lower lip and gripping the counter while he does a few more agonizing drags over your entire sex.

With a chuckle and hefty sigh, he listens to your begging and slots his leaking tip up your hole, him grunting and you yelping at the feeling. It never got old.

“Mhm… That’s it, princess. Shhh, take it all.” he cooed, eventually stuffing his entire length into your fluttering hole that gripped all of him ardently. He licks his lips and softly groans at that, in disbelief that no matter how many times he fucked you, you still remained as tight as the first time he was let in.

His hands attached to your hips, holding you tight as he begins to plow his manhood in and out of your hungry hole.

All you can do is try to catch your breath once he begins a steady pace. You quickly become struck and stupefied by his cock stroking your hot, gummy walls, palms sweaty as you do your best in holding onto the counter through every thrust.

Your body moves like water thanks to his insatiable efforts. The fat on your body jiggles like crazy, from your breasts, to your thighs, to your stomach. San’s grip on your hips loosens as he travels his hands to your love handles, kneading them with so much admiration, practically growling at how sexy your naked body feels.

He even ensures to make his rounds on your tummy, using a hand to hold onto your stomach pudge, keeping you closely against him while he fucks into you.

His cock caresses your walls, mingling with and lathering in your wetness that sops out your cunt during his out strokes, creating sounds that only quench his thirst for more.

One of his hands lands on your lower back, pressing gently for you to get the hint to lean forward. You comply, resting your upper body over the tabletop, ass more up in the air.

After a couple plunges into you like this, a sudden lusty, long moan spurts from you, an indicator that he’s located your sweet spot. He laughs airily knowing that he’s found your prized point.

“Fuckkkk, yes Sannie!” your throat rumbled, breath and any articulacy knocked right out of you.

The new angle allowed his cock to hit you deeper, your pussy eating up his meat and soaking every inch of it, hugging his length as he grants you divine sensations.

“So good for me.” he rasps, hitting your swollen cunt repeatedly, his fingertips sinking into the flesh of your hips as he chases for more feelings of ecstasy.

The indescribable pleasure lingers, growing gradually and never faltering. The moment is such a rush; Your back is arched like a cat, nails scratching the countertop while you’re trying to ground yourself from the feeling of your pussy getting stretched and the dizzying, addictive feeling as a result.

It’s disgustingly irresistible. His velvety, firm cock knocks your spongey spot, hitting you over and over again. Taking you in the kitchen isn’t anything new, as you two have practically christened ever inch of your home.

In the midst of being wound up like crazy, you turn your head back, mouth open as you pant heavily from getting your back blown out. San’s frenzied rams into you have slicked his skin with sweat, the exertion present on his face.

Through gritted teeth as he continues abusing your hole, you each lock eyes for a couple seconds.

Your face was wrecked with wide, heavy eyes full of lust, weak cries leaving your parted lips. He groans darkly when you look at him all disheveled and like you’re struggling to keep up, but still longing for more.

His soul feels captured and snatched by your eyes while you stare at him. You consume his entire being, craving you even though he’s already buried deep inside your pussy.

“So fucking pretty, God.” he utters breathlessly, bewitched by everything you possess. He’s the one working on tirelessly ramming into you until climax, but you’re the one who’s really doing all the work, your silky sex and body pulling the strings on him like a marionette.

Whipping your head back around, a hand of yours slides down towards your brutally-aching clit, beginning to rub yourself lazily.

Your jaw is slack, mouth wide and dry from how everything is hitting you all at once: San’s bulky body fucks you with all the stamina in the world on this kitchen counter. Grunts and sinful moans from each other joining in chorus. Naked bodies pressed together and moving in vulgarity. And touching your puffy bud in the midst of getting stretched by his golden manhood.

And then, you spill. You spill all over his cock, fluids and cum smothering his entire length while your whole body convulses, sweet pleasure hitting you like a truck.

You cry out as your orgasm crashes your body, mind, nerves, and limbs, falling apart from the overwhelming but joyous burst. All while San is still pushing into you, lowly moaning and coaxing you through his ragged breaths.

Your release pushes him to drive his cock harder, sweating profusely as he does so, your juices eventually being enough to form a white ring around his length, making him throb inside of you at the sight.

Weak whimpers and squeaks leave your mouth from the growing overstimulation, pussy so sore from the friction and your break. You push through while seeing stars, biting down on your lowed lip with dazed eyes drawn shut.

San allows himself to drape himself onto your back, his toned, broad body burning hot against your own soft, plush one. Pants and deep groans of his resonate by your ear, hearing him start to come undone.

You swear you expel more fluids as his hips are stuttering and jerking into you, his animalistic noises and mumbles of breathy words striking straight to your core, squeezing his cock dry.

Spurts of his cum fill you up. His body spasms over yours as he lets go, mind and body blissed-out as he lazily kisses your bare shoulder.

“So good. So perfect, princess.” he utters dreamily, reaching a hand up to stroke your hair, time feeling frozen as your eyes struggle to stay open. You can barely even sense the dripping of cum out your sex, dopey and drowsy— especially with San’s warm body against yours.

You can’t say the same for the breakfast you made though, now past cold. Forgotten, but your appetites have been satisfied nonetheless.

At least until San’s cock starts hardening again.

Or until someone’s belly starts to growl.

.ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･

[simpurnatural]

"Feelings" || Requested Oneshot

XO, Kitty - Min Ho Moon x Fem!Reader

Note from Nat: "I received this oneshot request from @plutoOooO! And this is also how I'm announcing that requests are finally open again! *fireworks and confetti* Enjoy loves <3"

Warning(s): Cussing, Smut, Overstimulation,

Kitty plays Matchmaker once again while everyone's preparing for Chuseok at KISS. This leads to both yours's and Min Ho's untold feelings to step into the spotlight once and for all. Feelings quite stronger than just a crush

"I've brought the shopping!" you called out as you stepped into the boys' dorm room. "Q? Kitty?" you say, kicking off your sneakers and heading into the kitchen.

"Hey Y/n!" Kitty greeted after stepping out of her bedroom. "Thanks so much for wanting to help with Chuseok." she smiled as she gave you a hug.

"Of course! I had no idea that so many of us were staying in town for the holiday," you replied, pulling away from the hug. "So, what exactly are we making? Because all I did was follow the list," you said with a little laugh.

"It isn't exactly me and you cooking but rather you and Min Ho," Kitty explained with a knowing grin, which made you heartbeat quicken.

"Me and-"

"-Yep," she nodded, "You guys will be able to spend proper one on one time, totally undisturbed,".

Your lips formed a thin line as you turned to the kitchen sink, “I think I’m going to be sick,” you coughed.

“You’ll be fine, and plus-this is the perfect time to clear the air,” Kitty reminded, patting your back gently.

You and Min Ho had been friends for years. And for half that time, you’ve had feelings for the playboy. And what came with being a playboy? Countless girls, random or never seen again after a few days spent with the friend group.

You always felt as if Min Ho would never want something serious, let alone possible ruin such a good friendship with you. So, for such a long time, you pushed your thoughts and feelings for him away.

No one realized how deep your feelings for Min Ho were til Kitty showed up. She made it her mission as a self-proclaimed Matchmaker to get you two together. She says that “There is definitely some chemistry between you guys.”

“Hey Y/n,” a voice said cheerfully, that voice belonged to Min Ho. “Thanks for getting the shopping,” he beamed as he walked towards you.

“Okay I gotta get going,” Kitty said quickly, dismissing herself from the conversation and the front door shut behind her.

“Hi,” you said with a tight smile, awkwardly moving to grab a couple pans and pots. “What’s on the menu today?” you ask, trying your best to not act weird.

“Well, I do have a method, so I’ll just need you either chop or stir stuff,” Min Ho said as he got closer and placed an arm around your shoulders. “I deem you, my sous chef,” he joked but you couldn’t even find anything he said humorous.

Your stomach felt as if it was flipped upside down. And maybe you were sweating? Maybe you were turning pale? Who knows. But all you knew was that you had no escape and no backup.

“Y/n?”

You snapped out of your nervous daze and looked back up at Min Ho. His face flashed with concern, catching on to your lack of attentiveness.

"Ah yes, I'll just be stirring and chopping away," you say, hands motioning both actions before you quickly dropping them-feeling like a proper idiot.

"Right, let's get to it." Min Ho says, migrating all the veggies and herbs on the counter to the sink. "How come you didn't go visit family Chuseok?" he asks.

"It's quite the journey just to be there for 48 hours or less," you shrugged, clearing the counter of any shopping bags and trash. "What about you?" you questioned.

"As you know, my mom and I usually celebrate Chuseok together, but she couldn't this year. So, she sent me a basket." Min Ho explains, pointing to the gift basket that sat on one of the bar stools.

"That's sweet of her," you commented, glancing over at the present.

Yeah, but my dad? Not so much," he chuckled, drying all the veggies and placing them next to the cutting board. "Can you get started on these?" he requested with a smile.

"Of course," you nodded, absent-mindedly reaching for the onion that was still in Min Ho's hands. "Oh-I"m sorry," you said quickly; after watching it drop to the ground.

"Are you alright Y/n? If you're not up to it, I can get figure this out on my own," he said as he plucked the onion from the floor, wiping it down with a paper towel.

"I'm okay, it's just-" you paused.

"It's what exactly?" Min Ho asks curiously, looking deep into your eyes with his coal black ones.

You took a deep breath before saying, "Okay, Kitty left me here with you so that I could confess my feelings for you". Minho merely blinked so you continued to ramble on. "But clearly, the pressure of me explaining how I fell in love you but also don't want to risk our friendship literally eats my alive!"

"-And I totally understand that you don't feel the same way about me because of that blank look on your face. I just don't know how to stop feeling the way I do about you. I've tried talking to other people and even going on dates but always realized it's you who I wanted to be with." you sigh, and Min Ho squinted slightly with his head tilted to the side.

"-Don't even get me started on the total tens you bring to our hangouts," you add, referring to the girls he brings around. "You're out of my league and such a catch. So honestly, I seem pretty stupid for thinking you might even as much as like me back." you groan as you stormed out of the kitchen and began putting your shoes back on.

"-I just can't do this. I'll just leave." you say, your face feeling hot as you reached for the door.

"Do I not get a say in this?" Min Ho asked, grab hold of your wrist gently.

"I don't feel like hearing you shut me down right now," you grumbled as you turned back to face him.

"Y/n, I'm not going to," he replied with a smile, making your eyes widen.

"What?" you said quickly.

"Why would I? I've fallen for you so hard; a lot, not a little bit." he confessed. "I always thought you were too good for me," he said, now taking proper hold of your hand in his. "You are just so perfect and I'm just me," he shrugged.

You stood in the entryway in disbelief. Min Ho had felt the same way this whole time and you had not a single clue about it.

"If I had known sooner, I would've already done something about it," he said with a smile as he stepped forward and cupped your cheek.

"L-like what exactly?" you stuttered, your breathing hitched as your nose brushed against each other.

"This." Min Ho muttered, pulling you in for a kiss.

Min Ho's soft lips pressed gently against yours and it felt as if they moved in sink. Your arms were slung around his neck as his found their place at the small of your back.

The world felt still but also as if it were spinning, with your eyes shut-all you could focus on was on close Min Ho had pulled you in. It was like he didn't want to ever let you go or move on from this moment. Perhaps you both became the center of gravity, and everything was being put into place.

Both of you pulled away instinctively for some air and your eyes fluttered open, settling on Min Ho's gaze. Your faces remained merely a few centimeters apart, sharing the same breath before leaning once again.

This time, there was a certain kind of passion in the way your kiss felt. Your heart was pounding as your hands ran through Min Ho's well-kept hair. His lips left yours's and began a trail to your jawline, down to your neck.

A gasp escaped your lips as he began suckling on your skin. Quickly being able to identify your sweet spots. Your knees felt as if they were going to give out as he pulled your blouse down for more access. His lips felt like a heaven, you could only imagine how the rest of him was going to feel.

"Oh my-" you moaned as Min Ho worked his way around, leaving marks wherever possible.

"Yes?" he mumbled against your skin, watching how your thighs shifted against each other. "Tell me what you want," he said as he pulled away from your neck.

"You, I want you," you sighed as your chest rose and fell heavily.

Min Ho's hands drifted to the hem of your trousers, his fingers pulling the zipper down. You held breath as he pulled them down nice and slow.

“Is this, okay?” he questioned, his hand hovering over your clothed pussy. “Y/n?” He said as he looked up and into your eyes.

“Y-yes,” you nodded as he also pulled down your underwear, helping you take completely remove any clothing from your lower half.

Min Ho then stood up and led you around the kitchen and motioned for you to sit at one of the barstools. You wordlessly complied, getting comfortable in your seat just for Min Ho to pull you in. Both literally and mentally, you were on the edge of your seat.

He then placed himself between your legs, his face directly in front of your dripping cunt and your legs over his shoulder. Min began kissing your inner thighs, teasingly getting a bit closer every time.

“I wish I knew sooner how wet I get you,” he smirked before brushing his fingers against your fold. “How badly you wanted me,” he says, beginning to rub your clit gently.

In a repetitive circular motion, his finger worked your pussy. His eyes darkened with lust, watched as your chest rose and shuddered with every breath. Your head thrown back, but he could still hear you heavy breathing and soft moans.

He then pushed a finger through your fold and slowly. You gasped as you felt him slid into your pussy with ease. Min Ho chuckled due to the noises that escaped your lips, provoking him to insert a second finger.

Curving his finger slightly against your walls, your own hands were holding your position steady on the stool. Just then your phone rang, you and Min Ho both froze for a second.

“I think that might be Kitty,” you sighed as Min Ho pulled from you. “Hey,” you say after grabbing your phone and answering the call.

“How’s everything going?” She asks excitedly, unaware of the literal position you were in.

“Everything’s going just fine,” you reply as Min Ho pulled you away from the counter, guiding you to the couch. “What’s up Kitty?” you question.

“Well, I just wanted to know what the status was on the food,” she replied as you watched Min Ho take off his pants and boxers. “We are just setting up a couple more decorations,” she adds, while you both sat down.

It was difficult to focus on the call when the guy who just fingered was stripping down. His toned abs were where your attention was at. Your eyes noticeably widened and focused down south.

“Yeah, we’re a little behind but can definitely get things done in 20-30 minutes?” you guesstimated. “I sort of did forget a few things, so we ordered for them to be delivered,” you lied, Min Ho moving you into a laying down position and your legs in the air.

“Are you okay?” Kitty questioned with worry in her tone, “Your breathing is a little heavy,” she reasons while Min Ho took his position on top of you.

“I’m f-fine,” you tried to assure as he caressed the tip of cock against your folds. “Just a bit peckish,” you add.

“Well did you guys talk it out yet?” She asks, you could visualize the giddy smile on her face.

“Yeah, and you know-“ you began before the phone was taken out of your grasp.

“Now’s not a good time Covey,” Min Ho huffed, tossing his head back to remove his sweat gelled hair back. “I need Y/n-“ he blanked, “-For pot stirring.” He blabbered quickly before hanging up.

“Pot stirring?” You snorted as Min Ho placed your phone on the coffee table.

“What? Did you want me to tell her what were really up?” He asked with a brow lifted.

“No,” you replied, your face turning bright red.

“Better be quick,” he sighed, “Hope you can take it,” he smirked as he finally pushed his cock deep inside your cunt.

With one of your legs over his shoulder, Min Ho began slamming his hips against yours. A rush of cold air hit your chest as Min Ho lifted up your top along with your bra.

You were a moaning mess as Min Ho continuously drilled into your walls. Every thrust becoming rougher and quicker than the previous one.

“So bloody wet for me,” Min Ho smiled smugly, “You can’t even say anything back-too busy taking this dick?” He wondered before slowing down.

“Why’d you stop?” You muttered almost incoherently, being able to lay still.

“Turn around,” he instructed, and you did as you were told. “I just wanna feel you come for me,” he grunted, shoving his cock back in your cunt.

Min ho propped you up against his chest. His hands greedily squeezing your tits. Your hands found their way reaching and gliding through his hair.

“You are so sexy,” Min Ho whispered in your ear. “Your pussy feels so good around me,” he says, placing kisses along your neck.

“Fuck,” you gasp, feeling a knot begin to form in your stomach.

“You’re close huh?” He muttered as you feel his hand trail down to your clit.

Min Ho started rubbing your clit and the blissful feeling that overcame you sent you into overdrive. You moans became increasingly pornographic as he hastened the speed of his hips.

“F-feels too good,” you slurred, “Min Ho-fuck it’s too good,” you said again.

“Well, I’m not gonna stop,” he murmured, looking down and watching your ass bounce on his dick. “Not til you cum,” he huffs.

“Stop,” you moaned, your cunt squeezing around his length, “Oh God,”

“Cum for me,” he said, the speed of his hand and his hips not wavering.

Your body shivered as a wave of ecstasy hit you, but Min Ho didn’t stop. This time, he bent you over and got his dick slamming into your sweet spot.

“Cum with me,” Min Ho huffed, his hands pulling you in repeatedly by the waste

“I c-can’t,” you whined, your vision becoming blurry.

“You pussy squeezing around my cock shows otherwise,” he moans, the clapping sound of your hips echoing through the dorm.

You felt like you were gonna pass out, everything felt too good. The way he kept fucking into you made you begin to shake.

“That’s it,” you hear Min Ho say, your cunt tightly entrapping his length again. “Don’t let me leave this pussy til you cum,”

As if on que, you came once more right as Min Ho pulled out and covered your back in his hot seed. You finally slumped onto the couch, eyes shut and breathing hot.

“I don’t think we’ll never not do that’s,” he chuckled, going to grab a towel.

Gently, Min Ho wiped you down and due to you lack leg function, he helped you put your clothes back on.

He also quickly threw a meal together, enough to cater for everyone meeting for Chuseok. You admired him from the couch, since he insisted you rest while he cooked.

Still shirtless, he prepared everything for the trek back to main campus. Since you were going to have to walk, Min Ho decided to carry everything.

“Where have you guys been?” Q questioned; everyone was already finding their seats.

“Busy whipping up a good meal,” Min Ho replied as he handed off the food to Kitty. “Sit with me?” He asked as he turned to you.

“Of course,” you smiled as you both went to sit with your group of friends.

When everyone was finally seated and Kitty gave a little speech, Min Ho held your hand. Looking over at him, he gave a cheeky grin.

“I’m glad to have spent it with you,” he smiled.

“So sappy,” you joked as Kitty sat across from you before eating the dinner on your plate.

“You guys look like you did more than talked,” she whispered, and your eyes widened.

“And what exactly did they do Ms. Covey?” Lee questioned between bites.

“Made-uh such a delicious meal,” Kitty said quickly. “Chuseok really brings people together,” she laughed forcefully.

“Right,” Professor Lee muttered.

JAN 2025

[solifloris]

≡;-꒰ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈

╰┈➤ ❝ caleb x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (with plot (?) this is more fluff-centric with a lil smut towards the end <3), lighthearted, comfort, dancing in the kitchen, teasing, slight bickering, kissing, couch cuddling, sort of a netflix-and-chill moment?, heavy petting, fingering, riding, vaginal sex, creampie, praise, dirty talk, use of pet names "pipsqueak" "baby" "princess". lmk if i missed any tags ! ((unedited))

wc : 3.8k

an : *roxie on the dash* zayne comfort !!! *roxie in the drafts* :D caleb comfort !!!! WHFKJSHDGKJH it's not sunday but i've been writing this through the week between work because i miss him ... and i figured screw it. there are rumors going around. so. if they turn out to be not real. I'LL CONSOLE MYSELF WITH THE FACT THAT HE ISN'T HERE (yet)

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

Sometimes, slow days with him are all you need to feel a little better.

The fact of the matter was this:

Blankets were comfortable.

Your hands and legs stretched out as you turned, the warmth of the sunlight falling upon your face. You were delighted at the colder sensation on the side of the pillow you hadn't been lying on until now, and a smile spread across your lips—this was nice. Your fingers curled around the duvet, bringing it back up to your neck, and your eyes blinked slowly open. Your position allowed you to glance at the clock on the wall. And though you had fully expected it to be noon, you were pleasantly surprised to find that it was not quite as late as you'd assumed.

You had been known to sleep in a little.

Work was demanding; sleep was as much comfort as you could find in your spare time. Weekends, on the other hand, were heavenly for it. So it wasn't a surprise to you that you'd woken up this time with the entire bed to yourself, all warm and comfy in your blankets…

♪ Sunday morning, rain is falling… ♪

Your eyebrows raised as the tune filled your head, wafting into the bedroom along with a more-than-welcome scent of… something.

You couldn't quite make out what it was.

But you were very aware of who was singing, and the smile on your face grew significantly.

This time you sat up and stretched, before swinging your legs off the bed and finding the soft fluff of your bedroom carpet. Your hands moved to rub the lingering sleep from your eyes as you stood up—soft trudges into your slippers, a hand on your doorknob, and the muffled voice became clearer to you.

♪ Clouds are shroudin' us in moments unforgettable~ ♪

It was so silly.

You had to keep yourself from laughing as you peeked around the corner and into the kitchen, and there he was.

The original track was playing lightly in the background, likely to keep him company, but the whole scene was just so typically Caleb. To throw out a couple of tunes without a care in the world, lazily flipping the piece of toast he was frying in such a smooth motion that you almost thought your eyes were playing tricks on you... He had his back turned to you, focused on the stove, but his head moved casually to the rhythm of the song. And it wasn't that you'd say he was bad; in fact, quite the opposite, more like. Not stellar, definitely, but there was a little roughness to his tone that made it feel endearing to listen to. You were grateful for the fact—his voice was much louder than the actual song, and if you weren't enjoying yourself, you might as well have thrown something right at him.

But this time the giggle that was fighting its way out of you felt harder to suppress, and you stepped into the kitchen. Your back leaned against the entrance. "So, it's not Sunday, first of all," you grinned.

He turned at the sound of your voice and threw you a wink. "Ha ha, maybe not, but it sure feels just like it with ya~"

It was swift, the way he pulled at the pan and with a flick of his wrist, and the plates he'd set out a few feet away from him flew perfectly into his waiting hand. The toasts slid right onto them, contents of the pan rather quickly replaced with a set of freshly-cracked eggs.

Impeccable control as always.

Setting the stove back on low heat, he neatly placed the plates back onto the table, and offered a bow. "Mornin', sleepyhead!"

"Show-off," you rolled your eyes playfully.

Yet as he held out his arms for a hug, you were quick to approach. Arms wrapped snugly around his waist as you fell against his chest, a familiar warmth and a familiar feeling of… home.

"Mm…" you sighed. "Yeah, g'morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Mhm! Warm and comfy!" You pulled back a little bit to look up at him, and sighed contentedly. "I mean, partly thanks to you, no less. I didn't have this on last night before we went to bed… You put your sweater on me before you went out. Thanks, Caleb."

"Oh, so we're gonna talk about last night… now?"

A smirk began to form on his face—the teasing lilt in his voice was back, and you shoved him away with a huff.

"No way! I was just thanking you for—"

He promptly scooped you right back into his arms before you could finish your sentence, twirling you around before planting a quick little kiss over your lips.

"Only kiddin'," he whispered.

You could have melted.

Your feet touched the ground once more as he gently set you down, hand sliding away from your waist to go back to the eggs in the pan—you wouldn't have known if it was intentional; you found that you'd learned many new things about him over the past couple of months you'd started a relationship of a more romantic nature. Yet he'd do these things, be all cute and soft with you, and you'd almost feel as if you were in a daze.

You watched, quiet, listening to the music, and his humming… no different from before. He moved around the kitchen, grabbing a couple of things from the side: the onions, some garlic, some tomatoes… You hadn't had omelettes from him in a while, but you already found yourself anticipating how it would taste. After all, he knew exactly how to cook all your favorite dishes. Even the simplest of them.

And the reality that you were always so well-cared-for with him settled in.

It made you smile a little more.

The comfortable silence between you broke as you walked over, peeking from behind him and resting your head against his shoulder. "Sooo… You didn't think to ask me how I like my eggs in the morning?" you teased.

A laugh; another kiss into your hair.

"Me? Nah, don't need to, baby. Already know just how you like them."

With the omelettes settled perfectly in the next minute, he offered a bite for you to try. "Here. Wanna try?" He had his head tilted to the side, almost as if surveying your reaction, but the twinkle in his eyes told you he was confident you'd like it anyway.

He would be right, of course.

You happily obliged as you wrapped your lips around the spoon, and you knew he had to laugh at the way your eyes lit up.

"See?" he poked your forehead with a playful roll of his eyes. "Don't you doubt me!"

"Oh, no no no, I win this. You totally fell for my ploy to sneak an early bite," you grinned. "I didn't doubt you at all!"

"Whatever you say, pipsqueak."

The food found its home on the two plates he'd previously placed the buttered toast on, and this time, it was you who leaned in to steal a kiss.

Soft and quick, not unlike the kiss he'd given you just earlier—

And then another.

And another.

And then within seconds he was laughing, pulling you against him with his hands resting at your waist, your own hands placed upon his shoulders. Your foreheads rest together as he sways you gently to the music—another more of those older tunes he seemed to be fond of these days, a little smooth, jazzy melody to them that surely did have you moving your feet to it.

Not that you looked away from him.

His hair fell over his face, a little bit longer than you were used to—it had been a while since he'd trimmed it, and you had half a mind to think that maybe he'd been a little bit too preoccupied with you to notice.

But it did little to distract you from the pull that his eyes had always had on you.

Still that beautiful, beautiful hue of sunset purple and tangerine skies… You had to let out a soft sigh—

At least, one that nearly turned to a squeak as he took your hand to spin you around. Having caught you off-guard, you could see him nearly double over in laughter at the few missteps in your movements, but he was quick to catch you in a little dip before you could really trip over yourself.

"Heyyyy!" You whined a little, reaching up to flick at his forehead, but he only winked.

The audacity.

His eyes were narrowed playfully, a glimmer of amusement clear on his face. "Sorry," he chuckled, "but don't you wanna tell me what's brought this on, at least?"

The song still continued to play through the little speaker, enough to spur him to lead you through to finish it—but his eyebrow remained raised.

"Nothing!" you laughed honestly as he spun you around a second time, successfully this time, before catching your waist and guiding you to glide across the kitchen tiles. "I was just thinking that it's pretty neat to have such a nice, caring boyfriend around…"

"Just pretty neat?"

"Yeah! Just pretty neat."

The last couple notes filled the air as he pulled you back against him, settling into the position you'd started in moments ago.

His forehead pressed against yours.

"I was hopin' I'd get something a little more, I dunno… starts with an I, ends with a you, maybe some four-letter-word in the middle…"

You scoffed, and he nuzzled your nose affectionately.

"What? I'm waiting!"

"You silly goose."

You clicked your tongue, feigning annoyance, but you closed the distance for another quick kiss.

Your expression softened. "I love you."

"There we go. I love you too, princess."

Another little kiss, this time to your forehead, before he pushed you back and gestured towards the table with his eyebrows raised. "So I promise it'll just be a lazy day with the both of us, so you can think up whatever more of those silly antics that I'm totally gonna be on-board with, but eat. It's nearly just noontime, pipsqueak, and I worked on the food, y'know!"

Once again a laugh fell from your lips, and you promptly sat down on the seat he'd pulled for you. But a bite on your spoon reached out towards him; "Okay, but. The chef gets first honors. Say aah~"

And, breakfast—brunch, rather—aside… Caleb kept his promise well.

He knew you usually only had today, and tomorrow, to relax in ways you wouldn't have been able to for the rest of the week. And for the rest of the day, he had simply been adamant on ensuring that you did.

It most definitely was a lazy Saturday.

And now, you had yourself snuggled comfortably on the couch, legs resting over his lap as he surfed through the list of movies on the screen.

"Geez, there's been nothin' interesting out in the past couple months…" He was mumbling under his breath, a tiny furrow of his brows evident to the mix of concentration and frustration.

Yet his free hand had time to run over your exposed thighs, lazily drawing shapes into your skin—so much so that you had nothing left in you to care about anything else he was saying.

"So let's just re-watch something!" you huffed a little, trying to make it seem as if you were keen on making conversation.

"You really wanna?"

A mistake.

He turned from the screen to your face, conveniently catching the way your eyes had been watching the way he caressed your skin, almost subconsciously gliding higher up your legs without really noticing what he'd been doing.

Until now, that is.

"Baby, the screen is here, not there," he teased with a squeeze to your thigh. The action made you gasp, but if you thought he'd tease you further, you were surprised by the gentle tone his voice took on next. "Don't wanna watch a movie anymore, or somethin'?"

Your eyes flitted back up to him. The answer you wanted to speak didn't come out immediately.

"Hey, this day's about you, alright?" He shifted closer this time, one hand reaching out to poke at your forehead. "We don't have to watch. I mean, if you'd rather do somethin' else…"

This time he wiggled his eyebrows a little, daring to slide his hand up a little higher—

You squeaked, clearly the desired effect, as he let out a laugh immediately after.

"Your call, princess."

Swallow your pride, was a phrase you'd often have to repeat to yourself when you were with him.

He used to be a little more lenient with you, but these days he seemed almost insistent to hear the words out of your mouth instead—for good reason, you figured. You knew that he knew you well enough, but you couldn't blame him for wanting you to speak.

So you shifted your position to settle over him, noting the curious gaze in his eyes as you snuggled against his chest.

"Baby?"

"Don't really wanna do much," you mumbled. "But… I want to be close to you. I mean… We can watch something if you want to, but, mmh…. I'm okay with just this. With you."

"Yeah?"

"…Yeah."

He rubbed soothingly into your back. "Alright, alright, I can work with that... But, hm. 1-10 on the cozy scale?"

You lifted your head, resting your chin on his chest to look at him with a little pout. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you looked pretty riled up a second ago, princess, so you tell me if you want me to do anything, right?"

Another glimmer of amusement.

Part of it was frustrating—but, again. Swallow your pride. You were sure that as much as he adored pushing your buttons, he wasn't quite doing this on purpose.

So a soft laugh through your nose.

"Okay, not the level of rough from last night, if anything," you joked. "But… Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'd… like it if you touch me."

Nothing quite changed in the way his hands were moving over your back in the same consistent, soothing motions, but he smiled—satisfied with your honesty, and more than willing to oblige.

"God, I love it when you're honest," he chuckled. He deftly slipped his hands beneath your sweater—his sweater—and sighed.

And perhaps it was this moment of intimacy, but you felt yourself leaning up, hands cupping his face, pressing your lips against his.

It wasn't rushed, nor heated.

He smiled into the kiss, and your lips moved almost lazily against each other. Eyes closed, enjoying the casual comfort of the moment, your thumb gently rubbing over his cheek as his hands explored every dip and curve of your skin.

Blankets were comfortable, and dancing in the kitchen was fun, but, this—this was really all that you needed.

"Mmmh…"

You sighed as you pulled back for air, but quite frankly, neither of you very much wanted to part.

It only took a few moments before he was kissing you, and you were kissing him, and your fingers had nestled into his hair as his trailed down to slip beneath the band of your underwear.

"So wet, baby," he murmured against your lips, a trace of a laugh in the way he spoke.

You smiled, and tilted your head, allowing the kiss to grow from soft, and lazy, to a little bit deeper.

"Mhm. S'for you," you whispered.

And a low groan tore from your throat as his fingers sunk into your heat, the feeling oh-so-familiar, and oh-so-welcome. And with how many times you'd done this, the stretch felt nothing more than you were used to—but it was delicious.

Your legs spread in an immediate response to the intrusion, allowing him to move a little easier. Separating from the kiss for a mere moment, your head turned back, just in time to see him pull out and discard your panties completely, just in time to watch the way he thrust back slowly into your walls, the squelch of your wetness so deafening in your ears.

"Holy shit," you whispered—and it was almost ridiculous how you sounded, you'd think, so much so that you had to let out a breathless laugh as you turned back to him.

He raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Yeah? Feels good, huh?"

"Real fucking good."

It was his turn to laugh a little. "Yep. I totally love when you're honest."

Before you could lean back in to kiss him, however, he helped you sit up with him, moving both his hands back over your waist to grab a handful of the flesh of your ass.

"Easier this way," he murmured.

And he kept a hand behind you while the other moved to your front, resuming steady thrusts that had you slowly grinding into his palm.

"Nnnh.. If you keep teasing me like that, m'not going to wait any longer for more than just your fingers," you rolled your eyes.

But he was right; it was easier like this. He had his other hand running up and over your entire body, slipping back beneath the sweater before dipping down over your ass—it was easier for you, too, finding the momentum to guide the movements of his fingers in your cunt, urging him to rub against your sweet spot.

Even as your lips found each other within moments yet again, busy with all these sensations and the wet noises that you felt were echoing in the living room, your hips continued to move—a little up-and-down motions, riding his fingers, very evidently craving more.

"Thaaaat's it," he groaned against your lips, finding time to speak praises of approval in-between kisses and gasps for air. "Get off on my fingers, baby. Feel good? Hm?"

You no longer had the mind to reply to him.

Kisses turned to whispers of dirty words into your hair, your face buried into the crook of your shoulder. Muffled moans, movements more frantic…

And then you said it.

"Need you," you gasped, feeling him hit that spongy spot once more. "Need—hngh—need you, Caleb, need more—"

Another kiss over your head. "Shh, shhh. I'll give it to you, baby. Just a little more…"

"Mnh, but! I don't— don't want to—haah—like this—"

"Relaaxx, princess. Breathe, alright?"

He was so deep. So good. So—

"Not this, I wanna cum on your cock…"

You felt him smirk.

It was almost as if he'd been waiting, again, to hear it—to push you enough to have you snap, have you disregard that little tiny bit of pride you still have left.

"Yeah?" he grinned, and he pulled his fingers out of you with a little schlick.

You nearly whined at the sudden emptiness, so much so that even without his fingers to ride, you couldn't help but grind over his bulge.

"Baby," he laughed. "Are you that excited?"

Your movements made it difficult for him to deal with the tie of his sweatpants.

"Just… just hurryyyy!"

"Geez. I've spoiled you, huh, princess? Got you craving my dick this much?"

With a huff from you, he lifted you up just enough to push down his pants and take out his cock. A couple of pumps over his length and you sat yourself down, taking him in with a long, drawn-out moan.

"Oh, fuck, baby."

He was no different.

"Who's—haah—who's the cocky one now, huh?" You managed to smirk at him, despite the way you were panting, despite the way you could feel him, warm and pulsing, reaching deep into your pussy.

You were so full.

"Shit, baby, just move—" He choked on a moan, almost instinctively thrusting up into you.

You fell forward into his chest with a startled cry, but it was enough.

The feeling was not one you were keen on letting fade, and your hips began to move. Slowly, at first, almost as if getting a feel for it again, before moving faster. And he was groaning, and hissing, cursing into your ear, trying to keep his voice down, restlessly roaming his hands over your body. It didn't take long before he was pressing you tightly against him, your bodies moving in a synchronized push-and-pull.

Your hips moved up and down, hands gripping his arms to steady yourself. "Caleb—!" Your moans mixed with broken words, broken syllables of his name, higher-pitched than usual as you worked yourself over his cock.

You could see another one of those shit-eating grins making its way to his face, all flushed and heedy with lust, but you couldn't be bothered to care about it anymore.

"You should see yourself, princess," he panted, moving his hands to grip your cheeks tightly and earning a delicious gasp from your lips. "Shit—fuck—can't ever get enough of you, baby, you're so fucking perfect f'me."

"Mhm? Feels good? Feels… Feels…! Nngh—Caleb! F-feels so good—"

Your movements began to turn frantic.

Grunts and groans mixed in with the slap of skin against skin as you bounced yourself over him, his own thrusts meeting yours with a fervor. There was the heady scent of sex in the air, and you could barely even remember what you'd planned to do here in the first place.

"M-mmhn—! G-gonna cum!" you whined, breathless.

You were panting, steadying yourself with your hands on his shoulders, trying with every ounce of your strength to keep yourself consistent despite the building tingling in your stomach, despite the tensing in your limbs.

"Cum for me, baby."

He leaned in to nip at your earlobe before trailing his lips over to yours, swallowing that loud cry of his name into a deep, filling kiss.

It was messy.

Your body slumped against his as the pleasure crashed over you in waves, body trembling almost helplessly in his arms. Your chest heaved; you could feel the warmth spreading inside you as he spilled his cum inside within seconds of your orgasm, and you whimpered—you felt so sensitive.

"Shit… Fuck… I know, baby, I know, I know, you did so well…" He cradled you in his arms, voice low and hoarse. In that same comforting manner, he had himself rubbing your back soothingly, giving you a little bit of a squeeze. "Shh, it's okay. Breathe, princess, breathe."

And it would be like this.

You stayed still in that same position for a moment, Caleb whispering soft little words of reassurance, sweet words of praise as he peppered kisses all over your face.

"Satisfied, on a scale of 1-10?" he chuckled a little, stealing a kiss from your lips as you looked back up at him.

Your eyes softened.

"You're kidding, right?" you murmured. "A 10. With you? Always a 10."

"I mean, yeah, I'll bet. You were practically crying about how good my—"

"Caleb!"

You'd reached to grab a nearby pillow and promptly shove it at his face, but it did little to stop the laughter from bubbling from his throat.

"Okay, okay! But! C'mon. Nice start to your weekend, right?"

And this time, you grinned.

"…You know what? Yeah, you're right. Always feels like a Sunday with you."

taglist!!  @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @cordidy @raiyuxa @xai-mery @pikachuzhc @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association

© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[dark-corner-cunning]

Transmutation Warding: Feeding Off The Haters

• Welcome Back, Seekers! Within my local coven, we’ve turned our focus to warding and protection magick as we prepare for the year ahead. I adore transmutation magick for warding! It’s one of my favorite ways to craft shields for myself, my work, my growth, and my success. Instead of constantly bracing for every hex, evil eye, or ill wish, this approach flips the narrative. Transmutation wards work proactively, taking any negativity sent your way and alchemizing it into fuel for your growth and power. Why waste energy defending against haters or uncovering their identities when you can let their spite feed your fire? Let them send their malice—it’ll only make you more powerful.

As always, take what resonates with your spirit and weave it into your own unique magick! My spells and workings are here to spark your creativity and inspire your craft. ✨

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Tools & Ingredients:

1 black candle (to absorb negativity)

1 purple candle (for transmutation and spiritual power)

Thread or Cord (any color)

A mirror (to summon your Fetch Spirit or reflect your essence)

1 clear quartz crystal or any charm you’re called to that can be left on your altar or within your space -  As a subtle sentinel of the ward’s power, clear quartz is a cherished ally in magick. Its ability to be easily programmed makes it a perfect vessel for your intention, while its amplifying nature ensures the energy of your working radiates far and wide. To the untrained eye, it appears as nothing more than a beautiful crystal resting upon your altar or within your sacred space—a discreet guardian cloaked in plain sight, silently weaving its protective spell.

Optional: Chalk or something to draw a circle (for creating a sacred boundary to hold the enchantment of your crystal or charm. If chalk is unavailable, let your finger become the wand. You can also use salt or any symbols you would like to use to draw out a circle.

--------

Preparation:

Cleanse your workspace and tools with smoke, salt water, or another method of your choosing.

Candle preparation, take your black candle and anoint it with a neutral oil, something simple like canola oil—or any oil you feel connected to for protection. Once it’s dressed in oil, sprinkle it with herbs known for protection, such as basil, bay, black pepper, cinnamon, or clove—or any protection herbs that resonate with your magick. For the purple candle, I like to use a neutral oil as well, then dress it with herbs that are perfect for transmutation, like lady’s mantle and yucca. Along with those, I often add a pinch of herbs that represent success and abundance—and don’t forget to include a bit of your hair, fingernail clippings, or something from your person to taglock the magick, connecting the work directly to your energy. Then bind the candles together with some thread or cord.

Binding the Candles:

Take the black and purple candles and begin winding the thread around them, chanting this, or create your own:

"I bind these flames, black and purple entwined,

Protection and transmutation, powers combined.

Through thread and flame, my will takes hold,

To guard my essence, fierce and bold."

You don't have to go all out like I did with those massive candles. Honestly, a couple of chime candles will do the trick if you're short on time.

3. Place your mirror above the center of your altar or working space, positioning it to reflect either yourself or the flickering flames of your candles (refer to the caption below the next picture for more context). Let it serve as a portal, amplifying the energy of your work. Arrange your candles in a fire-safe dish at the center—I often favor a trusty aluminum pie pan for this purpose.

4. Hold your crystal or charm in your hands, letting your energy flow into it. Visualize your purpose, your will, and your desire imprinting itself upon the object. Once your intention feels vibrant and alive within the crystal or charm, move it in a clockwise circle around the candles, envisioning it connecting to the fiery energy of your working—like a thread weaving them together.

5. When the circuit feels complete, place the charged crystal or charm before the candles. Now, cast a circle around the entire space, sealing in the energy. You can do this energetically, feeling the boundary forming with your will, or use chalk, salt, or symbols drawn ahead of time to anchor the space. This sacred boundary holds the power of your work, ensuring that your charm becomes fully and beautifully enchanted. And now, it's time to spark the flame on them candles.

I used a selenite tower in this picture as a stand-in to show where your crystal or charm should be placed. This isn’t the actual charm I used, but it gives you an idea of the setup. You’ll also notice my altar mirror hanging just above the space, perfectly positioned for the energy work. If hanging a mirror isn’t an option for you, no worries—simply place one in front of your working area instead. The reflection is what matters most!

--------

Casting The Ward:

Lighting the Candles:

With the bound candles before the mirror. Light them, starting with the black candle, then the purple, and then chant this, or create your own:

"Black flame of shadow, guard and protect,

Purple flame of spirit, energy redirect.

Before this mirror, realms align,

My (Fetch Spirit/Reflection) carries this spell through time."

Incantation of The Ward:

Face the mirror and focus on your reflection, summoning your Fetch Spirit or the reflection of your empowered self. Chant this incantation, or create your own:

"Anyone who cannot honor my essence,

Respect my growth, or stand in my presence,

Be it through disdain, envy, or intent,

Their fate is sealed, their malice spent.

Their energy flows to me, transformed,

Into strength, abundance, success reborn.

As I feed upon their misguided spite,

They are drained by their own blight.

Across all realms, my shield is spun,

Now and forever, this spell is done."

Seal the Energy:

Visualize the mirror reflecting the power of your spell into the cosmos, spreading the ward across all realms. Allow the candles to burn fully if possible, or snuff them out respectfully.

I love this picture! The flames intertwine perfectly, mirroring the energy I was aiming for in this ward of protective transmutation.

--------

Aftercare:

Charging your crystal or charm: Leave your charm on your altar or in your space as a representation of the ward. Each full moon, place it under the moonlight to recharge its energy, visualizing the ward growing stronger with every cycle.

Mirror Care: Cleanse the mirror after the spellwork with smoke or moon water to ensure it remains a neutral tool for future workings.

Final Words:

Maintain your crystal or charm as a talisman of your protective transmutation ward and remember that this ward will work continuously as long as you charge it and feed it with belief and intention.

Stay Wild, Stay Magickal, & Keep Seeking, Seekers!

[amorchai]

𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐌!𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑.

this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 788 notes.

pairing(s): tasm!peter parker x reader

words: 698

warnings/tags: friends to lovers, mentions of food, mentions of the future.

“we need a sickening amount of frosting, no?” peter asks with a small hum to the music from the tiny pale green radio by the windowsill. the small kitchen filled with the sound of that added with stirring whisks and the air fogged with flour from his mistake only moments before.

you roll your eyes endearingly, facing your spider-boy who grins wholeheartedly, splotches of white dust on his cheeks and the tips of his hair while stirring the now contained cake mixture. “no we don’t.”

like you’ve committed a crime, peter looks offended with his response following, “uh, why would we not?”. you had always wanted to bake with peter, him finding some spare time through the autumn. varied shifts for patrol to spend some more quality time with you, the person he was horrendously infatuated with. yet, you had no idea.

however, the utter mess his large hands and instinctive nature can cause, you’re nearly regretting your wishes. if only he wasn’t so cute with how he displayed himself.

“it’s just a cinnamon roll recipe, why would we put proper frosting on top?” you ask him while glazing the tray where the dough will soon be placed into, you hope delicately. peter huffs, only teasingly and glaring at you with a hidden amusement while he moves to stand beside you, hip nudging yours when he responds.

“because it’s our recipe! why can’t we? we can come up with our own version of cinnamon rolls and have everyone swooning over them—” peter turns to your expression when you watch him with knowing eyes, he’s on a tangent which he usually does.

“—no, listen, baby. everyone will be like ‘where did you get these amazing, life altering cinnamon rolls with frosting?’ and our friends and aunt may will say, ‘the parkers made them, the best in new york’ and it’ll be our own little recipe.”

however, while peter is focused on your idea of being renowned for your couple baking, you can’t help but blur over everything else and focus on the idea of what he had said during it. you take the pan you tilted on your hip to place on the counter, then taking the messy bowl from peter’s flour-covered hands before leaning against him.

peter cuts himself off when he was ready to go onto his next ramble, but as you look up at him so lovingly, with your hands atop his collarbones, he cuts himself off to await your explanation for your sudden physical affection.

you move an arm to slide your thumb across his cheeks, clearing some flour from his face while you smile, “the parkers?”. peter’s lips form a small ‘o’ shape while he tries his best to replay what he said, arms tugging your waist closer and you’re leaning on your toes ever so slightly while he does so.

“yeah? do you… like that idea?” peter asks cautiously, but you are only smiling so brightly at your goofy friend with whom you’ve loved, of course you liked the idea, how could you not? “you think about that stuff?” you just ask instead, nose bumping his as your lips ghost his briefly. peter leans further into you.

“course i do, no one else for me, baby.”

your heart skips, stomach flips, and you feel you may cry at how sweet your terrible-baker crush is. cinnamon roll enthusiast or not, you loved him for who he was and the thought of spending your life with him only filled you an overwhelming warmth.

yet, while overwhelming, increasingly irretrievably inviting. just like peter himself.

“me too.” you peck peter’s lips, so softly that before he can react, you’re pulling away to turn to the baking bowl again. he’s a little flustered, red showing through the prior pale-dusted cheeks and unable to move at first from the effect you have on him.

“we could open our own bakery, spider-man themed cinnamon rolls?” you enquire teasingly, and he wraps himself around you from behind, cosy and as warm as the cinnamon rolls will be later on. “webbed frosting on pumpkin flavoured cookies,” peter murmurs while kissing your neck.

“sounds perfect.” “we could name it ‘parker’s pastries’.”

amorchai masterlist . taglist form

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[riecoeur]

luch break.

pairing — husband!sungchan x fem!reader

summary — you and your husband sungchan have been navigating married life alongside his whirlwind idol career with riize. when a mix-up in his schedule leads you to drop off a homemade lunch during a live practice session, fans catch a glimpse of the mysterious "mrs. jung," sparking chaos online.

warnings — none, just pure fluff and a tiny bit of embarrassment for sungchan!

📌 any feedback are appreciated, i’d love to know what you think of my first mini-series, request open or send ask → 💌🦕🩵 !

🏷️ taglist ; @strawbrryvyy

your apartment smells like soy sauce and sesame oil, a faint hint of the kimbap you’d spent the morning rolling. you glance at the clock.

11:47 a.m.

and figure you’ve got just enough time to swing by the company before sungchan’s practice break. he’d texted you last night, voice groggy from a late rehearsal, promising he’d be free around noon.

“bring me something good, please.”

he’d teased, and you’d laughed, already planning the little lunchbox in your head.

you slip on a hoodie, grab the bento bag, and head out, the spring air are cool. it’s a short walk to the building, and the security guard gives you a familiar nod as you flash your visitor pass, perks of being jung sungchan’s wife, even if you still feel a little shy about it. you’re used to sneaking in and out quietly, keeping things low-key. sungchan’s fans know he’s married, but you’ve both been careful about keeping your face off the radar.

the practice room’s just down the hall, and you can already hear the thump of music through the walls.

you pull out your phone to text him.

y/n:

here with food, you on break soon?

but before you can hit send, the door swings open, and sohee’s grinning face pops out.

“y/n! perfect timing… wait, you’re here now?”

he blinks, then waves you in. “come on, sungchan hyung’s gonna flip.”

“is he not on break?”

you hesitate, clutching the bag tighter. the music’s still going, a steady beat you vaguely recognize as one of their new tracks.

“uh, not exactly,” sohee says, scratching his neck.

“we’re live. like, right now. but it’s fine, he’s starving anyway.”

your stomach drops.

“live? as in… camera?”

“yep! don’t worry, you’ll be quick.”

he’s already tugging you inside before you can protest, and the room hits you all at once, bright lights, a couple of staff adjusting equipment, and the boys mid-choreography.

sungchan’s in the center, sweat glistening on his forehead, his tank top clinging to his broad frame as he hits a sharp turn. he spots you mid-move, and you swear you see his foot catch for a split second. his eyes widen, and then he’s grinning, that big, boyish smile that still makes your heart skip.

“y/n?”

he calls, voice cutting through the music. the others falter too, turning to look, and you feel your face heat up as wonbin smirks and eunseok raises an eyebrow.

“uh, hi,”

you manage, holding up the bag like it’s a shield.

“i brought lunch?”

the staff don’t miss a beat, one of them pans the camera slightly, catching your awkward wave before sungchan jogs over, waving them off.

“cut it, cut it,” he laughs, though his cheeks are pink.

“this wasn’t part of the plan.”

“jagi, what plan?” you mutter, handing him the bento.

“you said noon.”

“i meant i’d call you at noon,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“we got held up. this is… uh… live on youtube right now.”

you freeze. “wait, what?”

“yeah, like, twelve thousand people watching,”

sohee chimes in, peeking over sungchan’s shoulder.

“hi, y/n-noona! the chat’s going crazy.”

“oh my god,” you whisper, stepping back, but sungchan grabs your wrist gently, pulling you closer.

“it’s fine, they didn’t see much,” he says, voice low and reassuring.

“just… stay here a sec, okay? i’m dying for this.”

he opens the bag, peering inside, and his whole face lights up.

“kimbap? you’re the best.”

“you’re welcome,”

you mumble, still mortified. the others are already crowding around, anton snagging a piece before sungchan can swat his hand away.

“dude, she made it for me,”

sungchan protests, but he’s laughing, that easy, warm sound that always puts you at ease.

the staff call them back to finish the session, and you slip out as quietly as you can, heart pounding.

by the time you’re halfway home, your phone’s buzzing texts from friends, a couple of notifications from X.

‘sungchan’s wife spotted?’

one post reads, with a blurry screenshot of you handing him the bag.

another.

‘who’s the lunch angel???’

you groan, burying your face in your hands. so much for low-key.

it’s past eight when sungchan finally gets home, the apartment quiet except for the sound of the tv you’d left on. you’re curled up on the couch, scrolling through the chaos online.

fan edits,

theories,

even a fan-screenrecord of him blushing when you walked in. he drops his gym bag by the door and flops next to you, still in his hoodie, smelling faintly of sweat and cologne.

“yeobo,” he says, nudging your shoulder.

“you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you say, setting your phone down.

“you’re the one who got ambushed by your own wife on live.”

he laughs, head tipping back against the cushion.

“honestly? worth it. the guys wouldn’t shut up about how good the kimbap was. and the fans, god, they’re insane. someone called you ‘lunch fairy’ already.”

“i saw,” you say, biting back a smile.

“i didn’t mean to blow up your spot.”

“nah, it’s cool,”

he says, turning to face you. his eyes are soft, a little tired, but there’s that spark in them, like he’s still riding the high of seeing you earlier.

“i like that they know i’ve got someone taking care of me.”

your cheeks warm. “yeah?”

“yeah.” he leans closer, resting his forehead against yours.

“plus, you looked cute, all flustered like that. made my day.”

“shut up,” you mutter, shoving his chest lightly, but he just catches your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, and for a second, it’s just the two of you.

no cameras, no fans, no schedules.

“thanks for the food,” he says quieter, like it’s a secret.

“and for dealing with… all this.”

“anytime,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

“but next time, text me the right schedule, okay?”

he grins, pulling you into his side until you’re tucked against him, his arm heavy around your shoulders.

“deal. now, wanna see the clip of me tripping when i saw you? sohee sent it to me.”

you laugh, nodding as he pulls out his phone, the warmth of him next to you chasing away the day’s chaos. maybe the internet’s losing its mind, but here, with sungchan’s arm around you and his laugh, it feels like everything’s exactly where it should be.

[destroyndecay]

Golden

genre: fluff

word count: 761

a/n: yes ik this isn't that long but I just needed to express how beautiful Daryl is

You squinted, the harsh light of the outside world flooding your bedroom and into your sleep-addled eyes. Your hand instinctively was brought up to your face to shield it from the onslaught of light, ducking your head deeper into the pillow below you. You took a view moments before slowly blinking them back open and the world around you gradually became less blurry. The window that was just assaulting you seconds before, the soft blanket that kept you warm, and… your husband.

You genuinely forget that he sleeps next to you sometimes, with how much he refuses to sleep or goes on supply runs that take multiple days. When he does actually take the time to rest, you selfishly soak in the sight.

He looked so peaceful, something that harshly juxtaposed his usual stressed demeanor. Golden rays of sunlight from the window on your side of the bed danced across his face, giving him an almost holy glow. One arm was tucked beneath his pillow as a head rest, while the other was loosely draped around your waist, holding the two of you in an instinctual embrace. Soft breaths that were bordering on deep snores could be heard emanating from his parted lips, and you responded with a faint smile. You honestly couldn't believe that a man as perfect as him was sleeping beside you. You had to pinch yourself sometimes. 

You sighed, knowing that you and Daryl couldn't cuddle in bed for the rest of eternity. There was work to be done. Tenderly, you gave him a kiss on the tip of his nose and moved a stray hair out of his face, lightly rubbing the side of his head with your thumb. You swore Daryl very faintly smiled at this in his sleep. Untucking yourself from the covers, you gently swung your legs to the side of the bed, stood up, and stretched. 

-

The smell of bacon filled the kitchen, along with the consistent sizzling of the meat on the frying pan. You gripped the handle of the pan and flipped on over with tongs. Rick had been lucky enough to find several working coffee pots on a run a couple weeks ago, so you were utilizing it to its fullest. It's bitter as all hell, but it's better than being dead all day. Your mug was steaming next to the stove top as you stretched your stiff neck, turning the heat off. You padded over to the corner of the kitchen to grab the bread and jam out of one of the cabinets, when you heard soft footsteps exiting the bedroom. You didn't turn around, but you smiled to yourself.

Two firm, bare arms wrapped around your torso and you felt a weight on your shoulder. You placed the bread and jam on the counter below and rested your arms on the forearms that were now caging you in an embrace.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

He softly grunted in response, knowing that his mouth was right next to your ear.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Your heart skipped a beat. His voice was so deep and rumbly in the morning. This man will never know how much he flusters you on a daily basis. 

You snickered and turned around in his hold, immediately placing a hand on his cheek, slowly rubbing your thumb across his stubble. He had remained shirtless, only having enough energy to pull on a pair of nearby sweatpants. Your bright eyes met his equally bright blue irises, though they were half-lidded, still full of sleep. 

“Dar, have I told you how pretty you are when you’re just waking up?”

His eyes were already closed again, leaning into your touch. “Ya have. Still don’t believe ya.”

“Guess I’ll just have to make you believe, then.”

You pulled him into a lazy kiss, your hands now on both sides of his face. It wasn’t hungry, nor longing, it was a reminder that you were his, every second of every day, no matter what state he was in.

Daryl punctuated the slow kiss by releasing the hold he had on your waist to grip the back of your thighs and cradle your back. Suddenly, he effortlessly lifted you into the bridal position, gripping you in place with his strong hands. “Dar, what’re you doing??” You said in between a fit of giggles. 

He placed a kiss on the top of your head. “Yer comin’ back ta bed. Wanna hold ya.”

You didn’t protest in the slightest, sighing contently while nuzzling your head into your husband’s chest, the bacon and the coffee forgotten.  

[yelenasbraid]

JOE BURROW — curing nostalgia

summary — post-grad is lonely. your boyfriend attempts to help.

warnings — fem!reader, angst, fluff, self-indulgent because post grad is slowly killing me, some random names used for friends, so sorry if i use yours on accident!

note — sorry for being MIA. depression has been kicking my ass ugh :( anyways! i’m back! and this is to help push y’all over while i’m finishing maintaining professionalism part 6.

tags — @starsinthesky5 @joeyburrrow @joeyfranchise @jburrgf @wickedfun9 @hotburreaux @softburrow @kazsbrckkers @iosivb9 @ebsmind @burrowdarling @blairsworld22 (comment/send an ask if you want to be added!)

YOU FLIPPED THROUGH PHOTO ALBUMS. The pictures of you and your friends, the memories that rushed to the surface. You gently lined the page with your finger, remembering the moments illustrated on the pages. You remembered loving physical photos in case something happened and all of your digital photos were erased. You cherished these moments, and you wished you could go back and live that life again. You lived so far from your friends, living on different paths. You were proud of them, but you wanted to see them.

Life in cincinnati was bliss. You lived with your boyfriend, and you made friends with some of the WAGs, but nothing filled the hole that was left after college. You shoved it aside for a couple of years, but every now and then, seeing your college football team play, it would churn up memories. The cups of overpriced alcohol. The upsets. The hugs from friends. You still had the jersey your mom bought you for your birthday one year.

But you were living a different life, now. Your friends knew that, too. You didn’t tell Joe, though. What would you tell him? That everytime you drove on the highway, you got flashbacks to driving to school? That you still grieved the loss of your college years?

You turned a page as footsteps came into the living room. You looked up and saw Joe walking in, sitting next to you. He looked comfortable with his sweats and his baby pink sweatshirt. His eyes were soft, holding yours in his.

“What’s that look for?” you asked him, a smile blossoming on your face.

“You only pull out the photo album when you’re feeling nostalgic,” he gestures to the album. He understood how hard it was for you. After college, you uprooted and moved back home, and then moved in with him. Because of the distance, you’ve not seen your friends in a long time. Your schedules weren’t exactly on the same timeline either. He knew you thrived off of your friendships. He also knew you missed them, and it’s been especially hard.

“Yeah well, guess i’ve been feeling nostalgic,” you joked. It’s only been two years since you graduated, but it still felt weird. You should be back there, with your friends, eating sappy dining hall food and too-sweet campus coffee. It didn’t help you still followed your college’s football team on Instagram, silently watching and hoping for wins, despite not being there.

Joe leaned against you, gently placing his chin on your shoulder, looking over and observing the pictures. He remembered some of these moments, he remembered you telling him about them. One picture in particular stuck out to him, the one with you at the coffee table in your apartment, homemade tacos in front of you and your friends.

flashback

“I’m so nervous, Joey, are they going to like them?” You were on the phone with Joe while ground beef browned in a pan.

“Y/N, babe, you’re an amazing cook. They’d be crazy not to like your food. Plus it’s tacos, you can’t go wrong with tacos,” he assured you. Doing long distance was hard, but you made it work.

“You’d be surprised,” you chuckled, continuing to stir the ground beef around.

“Your heart for your friends is evident, love, and they should see that over whether or not they like your tacos,” he told you. Joe saw the heart you gave to everyone, and he was lucky enough to get just a slice of that.

“You’re right you’re right,” you sighed after a few moments. There was a knock at your apartment door, and you turned to walk to the door.

“Sounds like your guests are here,” he hummed.

“They are, I’ll talk to you after?” you suggested before you unlocked and opened the door.

“Of course, I need to know how those tacos tasted. Send me pictures!” he told you, sounding like his mother.

“I will,” you giggled, opening your apartment door and greeting your friends with open arms.

end of flashback

“Have you talked to any of them recently?” Joe asked as you turned a page.

“I talked to Leslie the other day about one of our other friend’s engagement, but I haven’t spoken to her since,” you replied. Leslie was one of your closest friends, but she worked hours away in a different state. Getting together was hard; you could barely manage phone calls.

“You should plan a trip to see them,” he suggested. As much as Joe loved coming home to you, seeing you here with him, and just being around you, he couldn’t deny you the human need for friendship. What kind of person would he be if he did that? A bad one, that’s what.

“I just don’t know when. They all have very different schedules and I’ve tried to get with them, but it never works,” you sighed, closing the book. It sounded pathetic, but you yearned for the friends you made in college. You weren’t diminishing the friendships you made in ohio, especially with some of the other WAGs, but you didn’t have as deep of a relationship with them as you did with your college friends.

Joe wrapped you in his arms, bringing you into his lap. You cuddled into him, taking in his scent and his touch. You loved him, and you loved being around him. He was your best friend all while being your boyfriend, but there were some needs he couldn’t fulfill. He knew that, and you knew that.

As he held you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, an idea came to life in his head. What if your friends came to you?

a few days later

You shuffled around the kitchen, your fingers flitting over the brownies you were making. Joe told you that his parents were joining you for dinner, so you decided to make brownies.

You spread the chocolate concoction in a glass, buttered pan, humming along to soften music that played through your phone. The kitchen was warm, the heat prickling your skin as you slid the pan of brownies into the oven.

Just then a knock echoed through your home. You wiped your hands on a towel as Joe stood from the couch.

“I got it,” he grinned. It was the kind of grin that crinkled his eyes, that lit up his face. He loved his parents, but his brightened expression told you that he had something up his sleeve.

You watched the entryway wearily, your view obscured by a wall. Your ears strained for voices, the door opening and voices sounding through the hallway.

“She’s in the kitchen,” you heard Joe whisper. Why was he whispering? Your heart slammed against your chest, your palms sweaty with your nerves. What the hell was going on?

He wasn’t the one to come back into your field of vision. A shorter woman was, and your eyes widened. Your body froze as Leslie’s eyes lit up, as she ran to you, enveloping you in a bone-crushing embrace.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you saw the rest of your college roommates file in. You wrapped your arms around Leslie, your chest stuttering with the breaths that you took. Warmth spread over your body, your limbs numb from the sheer joy that lit your face.

Your friends were back. After years of being apart and seeing each other through a screen, you finally had them again. Your other roommates encased you, the four of you standing together in the kitchen. Their arms were a fortress, a place to go for refuge. You held onto them, and as you pulled away, Leslie held your cheeks in her hands.

“Didn’t think you’d be living in a mansion,” she joked, and you laughed. You wiped your watery eyes, giving individual embraces to each of your friends. Each embrace was intentional, filled with your longing and a display of how badly you’d missed them. You finally pulled away from them, wiping your eyes with shaky hands.

“This is crazy,” you chuckled, feeling tears burn your eyes again. These were your friends, your people, and they’d found their way back to you.

“What’s crazier is me getting a DM from your boyfriend a few days ago,” another friend, Sam, spoke up. Your eyes narrowed, intrigue dawning on your flushed features.

“What?”

“Yeah, Joe messaged us on Instagram a couple days ago asking if we were available to come visit. Luckily we were, so he booked us flights and we found ourselves in a castle of a home,” Leslie spoke up, making you chuckle. Your eyes flicked to Joe, who leaned against the doorway. He’d definitely snapped photos, something else to add to your photo album. But he was just happy to see you happy, to see the tears in your eyes from sheer joy.

You parted from your friends, walking up and throwing your arms around Joe. He welcomed the embrace, wrapping his arms around you. He buried his face into your neck, his heart clenching in his chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered into his neck, your heart warm and steady. Your stomach was full, but it growled with the desire for brownies.

“Don’t thank me,” he hummed against your neck. He pulled away, cupping your face into his hands. His eyes were soft, filled with affection and a warmth that only he had for you. He kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger there.

“Go and have fun, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you come back,” he promised. Seeing joy fill your chest was something he’d never get tired of seeing. He’d never get tired of being the one to make you happy, even if he brought the joy to you. He knew you needed your people; he wasn’t the only important person in your life.

“Ok,” you smiled, the bubbles of excitement and a foreign yet familiar sensation of giddiness making you giggle. You kissed him sweetly on the lips before you returned to your friends. They had plenty of thoughts on your intimacy with your boyfriend, to which you blushed and argued back. Joe just watched for a moment, watching you indulge in the friends that made you.

He pushed off of the wall and walked up the stairs and into his office. He could hear your laughs from his office, and it only served to make him smile. He knew you’d always come back to him, but right now, he knew you needed your girls.

[sim0nril3y]

Handy Man

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Simon begins to notice that some things around your flat are a little worse for wear, so he makes it his job to fix them. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, smut, p in v, very little foreplay, dirty talk, praise, cumplay, creampie, canon-typical swearing.

The sound of sizzling frying in the pan seemed to become background noise around your idle chatter, using a spatula to move and flip it around the pan whilst you spoke. “… and she was telling me…” Even your incessant talking became background noise instead all that Simon could focus on was that sound of the drip, drip, drip of the tap. His eyes focusing on it like it was a target he needed to eliminate. Drip, drip, drip it mocked him again and his fingers tightened on the mug in his grip.

Did you not hear that? Did it not drive you fucking insane? Simon’s eyes flickered over to where you stood with your back to him, continuing to natter mindlessly. “… I was thinking that she had to be joking…” Then you laughed whilst drip, drip, drip consumed his attention again. “… there was no bloody way…” It didn’t faze you at all. No, you simply kept your attention on the bacon in the pan that was swiftly becoming burned. “… Oh, and then-”

“Love.” His voice was tight and stern as you glanced over your shoulder at him, eyes bright and inviting, reminding him that you didn’t think like he did, you didn’t obsess over the tiny details and that was something he loved about you. “You, uh… you got any tools 'round here?” He asked, standing in a moment to approach the offending tap, observing it, moving it, turning it on and off a couple times. “Tools?” You quizzed before frowning heavily, moving the bacon aside and switching off the hob. “Oh.” The opening a stiff looking drawer to produce the oldest looking screwdriver he’d ever seen. “I have this…” Announcing like some accomplishment.

Under his breath he muttered. “Fuckin’ hell.” Holding the tool in hand, gripping the handle hard before throwing it aside uselessly. “Stop fussing.” Your voice announced then, placing down a plate that held freshly made bacon sandwich where he had originally been sitting. “Whatever you’re obsessing about…” You took a hearty bite of your own sandwich. “It can wait…” Another bite. “Until you’ve eaten…” Then licking your fingers as you grabbed the condiments from the fridge and held it out to him. “Red or brown?”

Simon’s shower had been everything but relaxing. The water had been cold for far longer than he had appreciated and directly above him the light flickered so horrendously that for a moment Simon could have convinced himself he was at a rave. “Light is flickering in your bathroom.” Simon announced, towel wrapped around his waist as he stepped into the lounge to find you. “What’s that?” You quizzed from where you stood observing a canvas, then turning to him. “The light. In the bathroom. It’s flickering.” He reiterated in a low voice whilst your eyes were lingering on his broad chest, watching the water trickle down his skin. “Oi. Pay attention.” Simon bit out playfully.

Snapping you from your trance a low hum came from your throat. “The… light…” Then out made a small noise of recognition. “It’s actually always done that.” The statement followed a careless shrug as you turned your back to him to regain focus on your painting. “You told your landlord?” He asked with concern. “Uh, yeah…” The response was quick and Simon knew you too well. “Think I’ve mentioned it before. Said he tried to fix it but it was some bigger wiring problem, or something…” Another shrugged and it bothered Simon significantly.

He had a problem with you living in a place like this. It wasn’t a good area to begin to live in. Outside teenagers screamed and caused mayhem all night, idiots drove cars around too fast and noisy at night and others got up to shady things away from prying eyes. Too many times Simon had left your flat to find never seen before dents in his car or a bunch of teenagers loitering around it. It didn't scare him but he didn’t like the thought of them playing the same tricks on you.

Besides all that, the flat just wasn’t up to standard for you. It was tiny and cluttered and half of it didn’t work or was in the process of falling apart, all that on top of knowing that you rent was way too high for what you were getting. Simon knew he needed to fix this.

That evening a frown pressed to his lips as he walked into the bedroom with a couple glasses of water. Placing one down beside you he pressed a kiss to your hairline. Then moving to the other side of the bed Simon stopped by the radiator. His hand reaching out to touch it as he frowned. The heating was on full blast everywhere else, so why wasn’t this one hot at all? He removed his hand and touched a different part and his frown intensified. “This rad isn’t working…” He mentioned as you glanced up from where you were rubbing a sweet smelling moisturiser into your legs, as if you could be anymore soft and supple, Simon lamented internally. “Isn’t it?” “You didn’t know? Babe, it’s stone bloody cold.” Then pressing his hand to it again, as if he might have gotten it wrong, but it remained completely unchanged beneath his fingers. “I know that must bother you ‘cause you’re constantly putting your cold feet on me.”

A delicate laugh fell from your lips. “Well, what’s the point of having a warm, strong body beside me if I don’t utilise it?” You jested causing Simon to scowl. “Wind your neck in.” He muttered, before trying to fight the smirk that pulled onto his face. Once again, his eyes focused on the radiator, as if his new targed. Simon mentioned. “Probably needs to be bled. S’not hard. It’s something you should learn to do…”

You simply nodded, continuing your night-time routine that he actually enjoyed watching, by the end you smelt absolutely delicious and he was more than happy to eat you. “Y’know, there isn’t much that works in this flat, babe.” He said then, moving to lay down on the bed beside you, leaning on his side in your direction. “That oven is dodgy. Every tap leaks. Lights flicker. Rads aren’t working….” Then he frowned again, reaching out to rub your knee. “These are things your landlord should be sorting…” For a moment you were quiet and then looked at him with a genuine smile. “I really hadn’t noticed, Si. I think I’ve just gotten used to it.”

It may have been something that you’ve gotten used to, but it certainly wasn’t something that Simon was going to allow. By the time that you woke up the next morning to your dismay Simon was gone from your side. Instead of worrying yourself too much you started your day and decided to put some more work into the canvas that you were obsessing over. Maybe some green? Or… maybe some blue… that would be a nice bit of contrast… what story were you trying to tell with this piece?

A knock interrupted you, placing down your brush and then wandering to open the door and smiling as Simon stood there, toolbox in hand. Your eyes trailed over his frame, looking as handsome as ever and very handy too. “Oh, you here to check my pipes?” You cooed flirtatiously causing Simon to chuckle as he stepped inside, kissing your forehead and muttering. “I think you mean clean your pipes, love…” He corrected you. “I’ll do that later if you’re a good girl and let me work.”

You allowed him as much time to work as you could manage, but as you found him working under your sink, tight dark coloured shirt riding up to reveal the trail of short hair leading down it seemed impossible to resist. “My-my…” You whimpered, your voice quaint and lewd as you sauntered a little further into the kitchen. “That is an awful big hammer you have there~” You purred in a breathy tone. “Maybe I could hold it for you~” “Fuckin’ hell…” Even without seeing him you could hear the smile on his face. “You’re bloody insatiable, love.” Sliding out from the cupboard to look at you standing there, shifting from one foot to the other as if waiting for his command. “Fuck, c’mon then…” He mentioned, lifting his hips off the worn tiled floors and shifting his jeans and underwear down to his upper thighs, cock springing free and slapping against his stomach. “Hurry up.”

Hastily you moved to straddle his thighs, rubbing your clit in tight circles and humming as you warmed yourself up, stroking his cock languidly with your free hand. His eyes rolled back for a second, lower lip gripped between his teeth. “C’mon, baby…” Large hand spanked your hear and a moment later you were lowering yourself onto his hard member, gasping at the way it intruded and stretched your slightly underprepared walls, pressing your hands hard to the wide expanse of his chest as you happily bounced your hips. “Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. Quicker now.”

The look on your face was completely enchanted with lust and love, unable to form even the most basic of sentence. All you could manage was huffing and puffing, bouncing yourself with an unsteady rhythm. “C’mon, sweetheart. You can do better than that.” Simon grit his teeth, plating his feet on the ground and resisting the urge to begin to fuck up into your relentlessly, if you wanted this then you were gonna work for every fucking second of it. “Go on. Ruin that perfect little cunt on me…” His hands cupping and caressing your hips, feeling the way they faltered and sort his guidance.

In your defence, it was difficult to concentrate on keeping a rhymth with the way your thighs were burning, Simon had a way of keeping you his pillow princess, so times when he made you work for it felt extra hard. Not to mention, the way his cock split you open was mind-numbing, each time you sunk down his cock would press firmly against your special spots before bumping firmly against your cervix, kissing it before sliding back and promising to meet it again mere seconds later.

“S-Simon~” You cried softly, feeling your thighs cramping and pressing your hands firmly into his chest before your desperate eyes found his own. “Simon, please~” The sound was nothing more than a whimper, but it was enough for him to take mercy on your poor worn body. Beginning to thrust up firmly into your tight cunt, locking you into place with a firm hold on your hips. This produced loud gasps and moans beginning to tumble from between your lips, instead of planting your hands into his chest, now your desperately curled his shirt between your fingers. “Ohfuck. Ohfuck.” You cried helplessly.

“C’mon pretty girl.” He muttered coolly, fucking up into you without stopping or pausing, finding lasting stamina that were thankful that he had. “C’mon, get yourself there. You know how. Show me.” He pressed, watching the way your fingers slipped down and began to rub your clit in tight circles, whimpering, leaning forward, panting and then finally. “Simon~” That beautiful noise. Oh, he if he could play it on repeat in his head he fucking would. It was like a fucking lullaby that would coax him into a peaceful sleep everynight.

The way your body convulsed and locked up above his own, Simon observed with adoration, taking in the way your eyes rolled just slightly before sealing closed, mouth popping open, tongue sometimes bit between your teeth, nose scrunching, chest thrumming. It was fucking beautiful. Every second. He wanted to enjoy it over and over, but the way that you tight walls strangled his cock caused him to splutter out a low noise and then begin to shoot his thick load inside whilst your walls milked him for every pump.

There you leant into his body, breathing hard and both completely spent. It was bliss. All his worries had disappeared, the sound of that dripping sink was gone and instead replaced with your adorable whines as you slowly regained composure, smiling down at him so sweetly and carefully sliding from his length and sitting beside him.

For a moment he lay there, his body almost numb and then reaching over to pull your thigh aside and watching the way his cum seeped from your spent walls, convulsing weakly as it dribbled to the floor. “Beautiful.” He commented, closing his eyes for another second and committing that image to memory. “That’ll be me through the rest of this…” Simon mentioned, reopening his eyes and gazing at your cunt one final then and then tucking himself away. “Go on. Off you go. I got work to do.” Climbing back under the sink and resuming his handy work as if he hadn’t just destroyed your sweet cunt.

“Yes, sir~” You cooed, carefully climbing back to your feet and lingering in the doorway. Still sensing your presence Simon spoke without looking. “Thought I told you to bugger off.” Listening to you giggle in response. “Just give me a minute, I’m trying to think of another porny handy man line to use on you…”

Masterlist | Ask | 16-11-2023

[suku-enthusiasts]

chapter one || the beginning & past - r. sukuna

❛ ❜ Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader (on going)

❝A thousand years after tragedy tore them apart, the immortal wife of Ryomen Sukuna lives in hiding with their cursed-born son. When Sukuna is resurrected in modern-day Tokyo, long-buried love reignites—along with ancient power, vengeance, and divine destiny. As their family reunites under the shadow of Jujutsu High, they must navigate past sins, present tensions, and the fragile future growing inside her. A dark romance of eternal love, reincarnation, and the monster who would burn the world to keep his queen.❞

word count ; 6.1k

cw ; mdni • 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. hurt/trauma. smut . anxiety. death. graphic scenes

main masterlist | series masterlist

Rain tapped against the bakery window like a gentle reminder of passing time, soft and steady, the kind of drizzle that painted the streets silver and made the neon signs glow like lanterns in a dream. You stood behind the glass counter, hands dusted in flour and fingertips sticky with sweet dough, the smell of cardamom and butter wrapping around you like an old friend. The early morning rush had passed, and now, in this moment of silence, the world felt suspended — calm, slow, deceptively simple.

The bakery was small, warm, and tucked into a quiet corner of Meguro, nestled between a used bookstore and a flower shop run by an elderly couple who still greeted you with fresh daffodils each spring. You had named it Hoshikuzu no Pan, "Stardust Bread," though few ever asked why. Even fewer knew how far back your stars truly reached. You looked like any other 22-year-old woman. Young, healthy, soft curves hidden beneath an oversized beige sweater and a long, earth-toned skirt. Your long, brown curls were pinned back loosely with a carved wooden comb that had survived empires, and your green eyes — ancient, aching — were the only hint of the centuries you’d walked through.

The bell above the door chimed gently.

You didn’t have to look up to know it was him.

"You're late," you said, voice calm and even, without looking up from the dough you were braiding for the morning’s shokupan. Your son — no, your brother, as the world had to know him — chuckled as he pushed his hood back. His features, sharp and familiar, still held the shape of your husband around the eyes. Pink hair, pale skin, and that same quiet gravity that made people instinctively step aside when he walked too close. "Traffic," he replied flatly, pulling off his coat and folding it with precise movements. "And I stopped for coffee. Yours is on the counter."

"You made me wait an hour just to bring me overpriced coffee?"

"You like overpriced coffee."

You allowed a faint smile to touch your lips as you moved the tray of proofing dough into the warmer. The small space filled with heat and the soft hum of machinery, your silence more affectionate than annoyed. He handed you the cup without comment, and you took it, holding it for a moment before sipping. "You should cut your hair soon. People will start noticing how it never grays," you murmured, not looking at him. He shrugged. "I like it this way. Besides, we move again in six years. Let them wonder." You turned your gaze toward the window, watching the rain collect in rivulets down the glass. “Do you ever wonder,” you whispered, “what he would think of us now?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He walked to the front of the bakery and flipped the closed sign to “open,” though no one would come for at least another hour. The rain had made the world slow today — perfect, in a way. “I think he’d tell us to stop hiding,” he said, finally. “To live fully. Loudly. The way he used to.” You closed your eyes, the image of Sukuna flaring like fire behind your eyelids — sharp teeth, split mouth, laughter that shook the walls, hands warm on your hips, voice low in your ear. “No,” you said gently. “He’d tell us to survive. That’s what he gave his life for.”

A pause stretched between you. “I miss him,” your son said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

You looked at him then. Really looked. Over a thousand years old, stronger than any man, untouched by time — and yet there was still a boy in there. A boy who used to fall asleep against his father’s chest, who once clung to your sleeve during thunderstorms, who still left the hallway light on at night, though he would never admit why.

“I know,” you said, crossing to him. You placed a hand on his shoulder. “I do too.” He nodded, jaw tight. “You don’t have to keep calling me your brother. Not when we’re alone.” You gave him a half-smile, tired and sad. “It’s a habit.”

The silence returned, not uncomfortable, but thick with memory. He moved to the back to restock the flour, and you resumed your work, kneading rhythmically, letting the scent of yeast and sugar fill your lungs like incense. The past hovered over both of you, silent but ever-present — not a ghost, but a shadow that touched everything gently.

At noon, you closed early. The rain hadn’t let up, and neither of you felt like talking to strangers. You walked home together under a shared umbrella, shoulders brushing. A passerby might think you were just siblings, quiet and close, living a peaceful life. And in many ways, you were. But beneath the surface of that quiet life lay centuries of love, loss, blood, and the final gift of a man powerful enough to bend life itself — a man whose name the world still feared, but whom you had once called my love.

And now, in 2017, he lived only in your son’s eyes. And in the silence between you, when neither of you had to pretend.

The village had already stopped screaming. The fires were low, embers dancing in what was left of the huts, smoke curling into the twilight like spirits trying to escape. Blood soaked the dirt paths, the air thick with iron and burnt flesh. The few who dared breathe beneath the canopy of death hid far from sight — and those foolish enough to fight were already rotting where they fell. Ryomen Sukuna stood at the center of it all, still. Cloaked in blood, armor cracked but undefeated, his four arms relaxed at his sides, twin faces half lit by the red sky. His lower mouth was smeared with the blood of a priest who had dared whisper “curse” in his presence. The others had fled before the rest of their limbs hit the ground.

He should’ve kept walking. Another village. Another slaughter. Another hollow sense of amusement that never truly fed the abyss in his chest, but he paused. Something was… off. A sound. Faint. Like a cry strangled before it could fully form. He turned. There, behind what used to be a storehouse, was a heap of broken wood and cloth. No — not cloth. Fabric torn from a woman’s garment, and beneath it, something breathing. Barely.

He stepped closer.

It was you.

Your face was bloodied, swollen, the split in your lip scabbed with dirt. One eye swollen shut. Your hair — long, once brushed, now tangled and crusted with dried blood. You were trembling, but not with fear. With pain. Your legs were bent wrong, and there was a dark smear between them. You’d been discarded like garbage.

He stared.

You looked at him with your one good eye, but you didn’t scream. You didn’t beg. You only watched him — defeated, small, already preparing to die. And yet… he saw something in you. Not fire. Not strength. But something stubborn, still breathing, like a flicker of green in a field of corpses. He crouched, “Who did this?” he asked. Your lip trembled. You didn’t answer.

“I didn’t ask you to speak,” he said. “I asked you to point.” It took all the strength you had to lift your hand. You gestured toward a corpse in the dirt — a man with his throat torn open. He was already dead. Maybe Sukuna had done it himself. You didn’t know. But the ghost of relief in your eye was answer enough. He tilted his head. “Good.”

Then, he picked you up. You blacked out before you could process it — arms under your back and knees, your broken body lifted like you weighed nothing. You were vaguely aware of being carried for a long time. You smelled smoke, sweat, metal. You heard someone speak his name in reverence. You didn’t wake again until warm water touched your skin. You were in a large bathing room, the steam rising like morning mist. A young figure — androgynous, pale, with silvery hair tied up — was gently pouring water over your back. You flinched, instinctively covering yourself. “I was told to be gentle,” they said calmly. “And to say this: you belong to Lord Sukuna now. No one will touch you again.” Their name, you’d learn, was Uraume. His most loyal servant. A cook, an assassin, and something in between. They helped you into a robe — silk, soft, rich — and guided you, limping and barely conscious, through winding halls of dark stone and candlelight. You thought they were taking you to a cell. But they opened a massive door and gestured inside.

The room was enormous. Not a prison. A bedchamber. The ceilings soared high, beams carved with dragons and demons, and tapestries in deep reds and gold hung heavy over the walls. The air smelled of incense and blood. He was there. Sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, four arms propped behind him, hair wild, crimson eyes watching you — but not like the others had. Not like the men who had taken from you. He looked at you like a god looks at a star fallen from the sky. You stood there in your robe, legs trembling, unsure what to do. You wanted to drop to your knees, to beg, to cry. “Come,” he said, not unkindly. “Sit.” You didn’t move. He didn’t rise. He didn’t order Uraume to drag you forward. He only held your gaze, then said, quieter, “No one will harm you here. If they try, I will tear out their tongue and feed it to them.” A pause. “Even Uraume?” A flicker of a smirk crossed his lower mouth. “They’d never dare. But yes — even them.” You moved slowly, painfully, sitting at the edge of the bed. He made no move to touch you. His arms remained behind him, body leaning back, as if giving you space.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “Why bring me here?” He stared at you for a long time. Then said: “Because I have destroyed a hundred women like you. Burned their villages. Ripped their men in half. But you…” His eyes narrowed slightly, and for the first time, his voice softened. “You looked at me like you were already dead. And I hate when something is taken from me before I get to decide.” You shivered. He stood. Walked past you to a large divan near the hearth. He gestured at the bed.

“Rest. You’ll stay here. My chambers are safer than any room in this fortress.” You sat there in silence, your hands clutching the robe tightly at your chest, unsure of what had just happened. A massacre. A monster. And yet… he looked at you like you weren’t broken. Like you were still a person. Still something that mattered. You lay down, back aching, breath shaking, and stared up at the ceiling beams. He didn’t climb into bed. He didn’t touch you.

He simply sat near the fire, four arms folded across his chest, and kept watch. That night, for the first time in weeks — maybe months — you slept, and Sukuna did not dream.

You woke to the scent of smoke and roasted meat. At first, you didn’t remember where you were. The ceiling above you was vast and shadowed, the air thick with the smell of sandalwood and bloodied silk. Then you felt the weight of the covers — too fine, too soft — and the dull ache in your thighs and ribs. The robe on your body, still warm, still untouched. You weren’t in the village anymore. You weren’t in that dark place.

You were in his bed.

Your heart lurched, but you didn’t sit up. You turned your head carefully. He was still there. Sukuna sat on the wide wooden ledge near the open shoji screen, facing the mountains. The sun hadn’t fully risen, but it bathed his skin in a dull orange haze, throwing his silhouette into sharp relief. His upper arms rested lazily across his knees while the lower pair hung loose at his sides. Hair still wild, posture too casual for a god of death. He hadn’t slept. You could tell. As if sensing your gaze, he turned his head slightly. “Good. You didn’t die,” he said flatly. “That would’ve annoyed me.” You blinked at him, disoriented. “I… didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He scoffed. “You were half-dead. If you didn’t sleep, you’d be fully dead. Then I’d have to burn the bedding.” You stared at him. His tone was bone-dry, but there was no venom behind it. If anything, he sounded bored. Dismissive. But you could see something flickering beneath the surface — curiosity, maybe. Or restraint.

He stood. Without a word, he walked to the low table and picked up a small wooden tray. A bowl of rice, a cut of seared fish, pickled roots. Simple but fresh.

He approached, and you stiffened.

He noticed — of course he did — and stopped a few feet from the bed. He didn’t sit beside you. He didn’t touch you. Instead, he held out the tray at arm’s length like it was a transaction he’d rather get over with. “Eat,” he said. “Unless you’d rather I shove it down your throat.” You sat up slowly, legs shaky beneath the robe, and took the tray with both hands. He let go immediately and stepped back, folding his arms and watching you from a deliberate distance. “Thank you,” you murmured, “Tch.” He turned away and walked back to the screen, muttering something under his breath you couldn’t quite catch. You thought it might’ve been "Don't thank me," but you weren’t sure. You ate quietly. Every bite was a reminder that your body still worked. That you were alive. That someone — something — had made that possible. "You’re not going to ask questions?” he said after a moment.

You looked up. He wasn’t facing you anymore. His back was to you, the outline of his tattoos visible through his loose wrap.

“What would I ask?” you replied softly. He didn’t answer right away. Then: “Most people I drag back here cry. Or scream. Or piss themselves. You just slept and now you're eating like this is your house.” You swallowed. “Should I scream?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, one brow raised. "Wouldn't matter." The silence settled again, heavy but not cruel. “I’m not stupid,” you said after a beat, surprising even yourself. “You could kill me if you wanted. You could’ve killed me last night.” He turned fully now, arms folding again. His eyes flicked down your figure briefly — assessing, not lecherous — then back up to your face.

“I still might,” he said, you nodded. “I know.” He watched you for a moment. His expression unreadable. Then, to your shock, he smirked — faint, crooked, but there. “You really don’t scare easy, do you?” You hesitated. “I think I’m just too tired.” That made him laugh — dry, quick, a harsh rasp that bounced off the chamber walls. Not warm, but not cruel either. “Fair,” he said. “Uraume said you’d last a week before you tried to run.” You frowned. “And what did you think?” He paused. “I thought you’d bite your tongue in your sleep and bleed out like a rabbit.” A beat passed. And then, somehow, you laughed. It was short, weak, but real. The sound startled even you. Sukuna tilted his head slightly, studying you like a puzzle he hadn’t expected to enjoy putting together. “You’re strange,” he murmured. “You massacred a village,” you said back, tone quiet but clear. “You’re not exactly normal either.” He chuckled again, under his breath. “True.”

You finished the last bite of fish and set the tray aside. He stepped forward, this time only a little closer, and took it without comment. As he turned away again, you saw the faintest tension leave his shoulders. He didn’t say “good job.” He didn’t praise you for eating or ask how you felt. But he didn’t let Uraume care for you again. From that day forward, it was him who brought you meals. Him who stood in the doorway each morning to check if you still breathed. Him who never crossed the line, but never let you forget whose room — whose world — you now lived in, and though he was feared, though whispers of his cruelty traveled on every wind, he never once touched you without cause. Even monsters, it seemed, had rules, and Ryomen Sukuna — young, brutal, curious — had chosen to make space for you in a world carved by his own hands.

The journey took the better part of the day. You rode behind him in silence, your hands tense around the reins of a horse far too fine for someone like you. Sukuna said nothing as the road wound through the trees, his wild hair whipped by the wind, robes stained with dust and the scent of steel. Uraume and two other silent retainers followed at a distance, but no one dared speak—not with him in the lead. He hadn’t told you where you were going. Just that morning, without a hint of softness, he’d entered the chambers and said, “Get dressed. We’re leaving.” That was all. Hours passed, and with each bend in the path, the landscape grew more familiar… until, eventually, your stomach turned with recognition.

This place had once been ash. You remembered passing through it seasons ago—burnt soil, blackened trees, bodies strung through what remained of shattered homes. A village he had destroyed without hesitation, its people cut down for resisting him, for daring to defy a god. And yet now, it breathed again. It was no longer a graveyard. The streets were paved cleanly with stone, and merchant stalls lined the main road with fragrant incense and fresh fruits stacked in symmetrical baskets. Silk banners fluttered above tea houses and forges, the clatter of life rising with the sun. Children ran barefoot through alleyways while armored men bowed in silence as Sukuna rode past. You stared, lips parting in quiet disbelief.

“I thought you destroyed this place,” you murmured, your voice barely louder than the wind. “I did,” he replied, never turning his head. “Now it works for me.” You said nothing. There was nothing to say. He guided the horses down a quieter road that split from the main square, leading toward the edge of the village where the noise softened into distance. The homes here were larger, more refined. Stone-walled, cedar-framed, and guarded with iron lattices and oil lamps. You passed a small shrine tucked beneath a plum tree, its bell untouched by soot. Everything was in place. At the end of the road stood a home nestled near a cliff’s edge, where the mountains curved and the trees dropped into mist. It was secluded, flanked by thick hedges and weathered stone. The home itself was beautiful — wide-roofed, built with dark timber and high windows, its wooden steps polished smooth by craftsmen’s hands. Lanterns glowed softly from within, and you could already smell the faint aroma of smoke from a fire recently lit.

Sukuna stopped his horse and dismounted with a grunt. Without looking at you, he reached into his robe and pulled out a thick coin pouch, then tossed it toward you. You caught it on instinct. The weight of it nearly wrenched your shoulder. You looked down. The pouch was embroidered in golden thread. It clinked heavy with metal. “What is this?” you asked, “Yours,” he said plainly. “Enough to last ten lifetimes. Maybe more, if you’re boring.” Your hands clenched around the pouch. “I don’t understand.” He gestured toward the gates, now being opened by one of the silent attendants. “This house is yours,” he said. “You’ll live here.” You blinked. “Why?” He stepped past you, boots thudding against the smooth walkway as he moved toward the front entrance. “You don’t belong in the fortress. You wake like a cat, flinching at every sound. You don’t eat unless I tell you. You hate the blood in the floors.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “This house doesn’t have any.” You didn’t move. The wind pulled at your sleeves as you stood at the gate, stunned.

He watched you a moment longer, then continued walking. “I had it built. I don’t waste coin on things I don’t plan to keep.” That should have frightened you. The way he spoke of ownership. The finality in his voice. But it didn’t. Not anymore. There was something behind his words — not tenderness, no, but intention. A strange kind of care that didn’t ask for permission. It didn’t disguise itself in kindness or gentility. But it was real. You followed him inside. The house was quiet and warm. Tatami mats lined the floors, and pale scrolls hung on the walls, each one inked with mountain scenes or cranes in flight. There was a writing table in the corner, ink already prepared. Silk cushions, folded robes, and baskets of rice filled the back kitchen. He had thought of everything. Or someone had. But you had no doubt whose will had made it happen.

He stepped onto the veranda at the back, overlooking the cliffside, arms folded as he gazed out into the forest. You found yourself moving toward him, the pouch still clutched to your chest. “You could’ve let me go,” you said softly, not accusatory — just honest. He didn’t turn to you, “I did,” he replied. “Here.” You stared at him. The silence between you lengthened, then softened. “And why here?” you asked. He finally looked back at you, jaw sharp, expression flat. “Because you don’t belong in my world,” he said. “So I built you one.” And with that, Ryomen Sukuna—the demon of men, the god of war—stepped down from the veranda and walked back through the home, past the firelight, past the threshold, into the dusk. He left without another word, but that night, he returned, and the night after that, he stayed longer. Until one evening, you found him asleep in the room beside yours — a god who had made the world bleed… now breathing softly, close enough to touch.

The candles had burned low by the time you looked up. The house was quiet, as always. Outside, the trees rustled with the occasional brush of wind, their leaves whispering secrets you’d grown used to ignoring. You sat cross-legged on a cushion in the center of the main room, a silk-covered book open in your lap — one of the few indulgences you’d allowed yourself. The characters were faded with time, ink soft against the page, and your fingers lingered over each one as if reading could somehow keep your mind tethered. It was past the hour when you usually retired. But you weren’t tired. Not truly. Not when you knew he might come again, and, as if summoned by the thought, the soft sliding sound of the door echoed from the front.

You didn’t turn.

You didn’t have to.

Heavy footsteps. The subtle shift of the air around him — not charged, not aggressive, but unmistakably him. Ryomen Sukuna did not knock. He never had, and yet, he also never entered with force. Just quiet, steady presence, like smoke trailing beneath the door. You turned a page slowly as he approached. “You’re late tonight,” you said, eyes on the book. A pause, you could feel his eyes on you before he sat, choosing his usual place across from you on the wide mat near the hearth. His movements were unhurried. No weapons tonight. Just him in a dark robe, hair loose over his shoulders, one hand braced against the floor as he leaned back and stretched his legs out beside the fire.

“I wasn’t coming,” he replied, voice low, gruff with fatigue. You glanced at him then, raising a brow. “But you did.” A flicker of something passed over his face. Annoyance, perhaps. Or irritation turned inward. “I changed my mind.” You hummed softly, more to yourself than to him, returning your gaze to the page. “You change your mind a lot when it comes to me.” His silence wasn’t defensive. Just still. You read a little more, letting the quiet stretch between you. The warmth from the hearth cracked faintly. The scent of smoke and cherry bark drifted through the room. He watched you — you could feel it. He always did. He never said anything, never reached for you, never crossed a line. But his eyes followed you like you were something he couldn’t stop trying to understand. You turned another page, then closed the book gently, setting it aside. “Why do you come here, Sukuna?” Your voice was soft. Not accusing. Not bitter. Just real. He didn’t answer immediately. You looked at him then, full on — candlelight catching the curve of his cheekbones, the edge of the scar that split his lower mouth, the dark intensity in his eyes that seemed oddly tempered tonight. His gaze met yours. He didn’t look away. “You have everything you need,” he said finally. “I made sure of that.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His jaw tensed, you waited. Then, he said, quieter, “Because it’s quiet here.” You tilted your head. “Is that all?” He looked at you, long and unreadable. “You don’t scream when I walk into the room,” he said. “You don’t flinch when I sit down. You don’t ask me to be anything else.” You swallowed, the weight of that settling over you like a second robe. He turned his eyes toward the fire. “I don’t like noise.” You reached for the book again, your hands slower now. “But you like me.”

The words came out before you could stop them.

He stilled.

The room went silent — not cold, but fragile. Like something invisible had cracked between the floorboards. Sukuna didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His breathing was steady, controlled. But he wasn’t looking at the fire anymore. He was looking at you. You didn’t smile. Didn’t tease. You simply watched him back. “I can tell,” you said softly. “Even when you pretend you don’t.” Still, he said nothing. But his lower hand — the one closest to you — curled slowly against the mat, fingers flexing once, as if fighting the urge to reach. You didn’t press him. You didn’t need to. The truth was already there, suspended in the quiet space between your breaths. You picked up the book again and turned a page without reading it. He stayed there beside the fire until the candles had burned all the way down — until the coals dimmed to a glow and the world outside turned black, and though he never touched you, never spoke another word, when he finally rose to leave, his footsteps were slower than usual. As if he was waiting for you to ask him to stay.

The next morning, you woke to birdsong instead of silence. The air smelled of dew and earth, and for once, the warmth of the sun made it through the open screen door, casting golden stripes across your floor. You rose quietly, dressed yourself in simple linen robes, and made your way barefoot to the garden beyond the back veranda. It was new — the soil freshly turned, your palms still aching from the work of clearing roots and stones. You hadn’t told anyone. It was something you’d done for yourself. Something that reminded you of your mother’s hands, long before everything fell apart. You knelt into the dirt and dug, your fingers careful as you placed a row of small herbs into the moist earth: shiso, perilla, green onion, and a stubborn little ginger sprout that had nearly snapped in half but clung to life. The sun had begun to crest the trees when you felt it again — that stillness in the air.

Not the wind.

Him.

You didn’t look up right away. You brushed a smear of soil from your wrist and sat back on your heels, brushing the sweat from your brow. Your hair had fallen from its pin, curling wild around your face. Only then did you turn, Sukuna was there. Not at the gate, not on horseback — just sitting in the grass a few paces away, one leg bent beneath him, the other stretched long. No armor. No weapons. Just him, in a dark robe, watching you with an unreadable expression and eyes half-lidded like a cat resting in the sun. “How long have you been there?” you asked, mildly amused, he shrugged. “A while.” You raised a brow. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“You looked busy.” You gave a soft snort and returned your attention to the herbs, patting the soil into place. He said nothing else. Just watched you — and for a moment, the world felt unnaturally calm. As if nothing existed outside this garden. As if the man watching you hadn’t reduced entire provinces to ash. You finished the last row, wiping your hands on your robe, and leaned back slightly, tilting your head toward him. “You’re here during the day,” you said with a teasing lilt. “How lucky I must be. You’re not too busy slaughtering another village or picking up random women to flirt with?” His lips twitched — just the faintest curl of amusement in his lower mouth. “Wouldn’t call it flirting,” he replied dryly. “They scream too much for that.” You gave a soft laugh, shaking your head as you pushed your hair back. “Mm. A real gentleman.”

“I’m not here for them.” The words fell quiet between you. You met his eyes. “I know.” He held your gaze for a breath longer, then looked away first — not with shame, not with weakness, but with something else you couldn’t quite name. As if your honesty unsettled him more than any weapon ever had. You stood slowly and brushed the dirt from your knees, the light catching on your robe as you tilted your head toward the house. “If you’re staying,” you said, soft but playful, “would you like to have dinner here tonight?” He looked back at you. There was no mocking in his expression. No twisted grin. Only that same still, unreadable curiosity — the kind he wore when you surprised him. “…Fine,” he said after a moment. “But I’m not helping you cook.” You smiled to yourself as you turned toward the door, his footsteps quiet as he followed a few paces behind, and in that quiet, between the scent of sun-warmed soil and the rustling of garden herbs, something bloomed that had nothing to do with roots in the earth.

The sun had long dipped below the horizon by the time you finished cooking. You’d set the table simply: rice, simmered vegetables, and grilled river fish you’d bartered for earlier that week. A small clay lantern flickered in the corner of the room, casting soft shadows across the tatami mats, the scent of cedar smoke curling lazily through the air. Sukuna sat across from you at the low table, sleeves pushed to his elbows, his topknot slightly messier than usual, as if he hadn’t cared to fix it before appearing. He’d removed his outer robe at some point, and now in the dim light, the black ink of his tattoos coiled faintly over his arms and shoulders, crawling beneath the edge of his collar. You both ate in silence for a time. It wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it had become routine — this quiet rhythm that defined his visits. The sound of chopsticks against ceramic, the occasional huff when he decided a dish was too bland for his tastes but finished it anyway. The small glances. The way he always sat a little too close without saying why, but tonight was different.

There was something in the way he looked at you across the flame — something brewing beneath the surface, heavy and unresolved. You could feel it. It pressed between your ribs like an old bruise returning to life. You took a sip of tea, and then he finally spoke. “What happened to you,” he said quietly. “The day I found you.” You froze mid-motion. Your cup hovered at your lips. You lowered it slowly, setting it back down with careful hands, the warmth in your chest bleeding out all at once. He watched you — not with cruelty. Not even with pity. But with something closer to dread. Like he already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway. You didn’t look at him when you spoke.

“There was a man,” you said softly, eyes on the table. “Older. A merchant’s son. He used to visit my family for business. At first, he was… kind.”

Your voice thinned around the edges, like thread unraveling. “He offered to help my parents with debts. Said he’d take me as payment — as a bride. They refused. So one day, he followed me. Pulled me behind the granary.” Your throat felt tight. You could feel the air leave the room. You folded your hands in your lap. “He didn’t care if I screamed. He said no one would come. And he was right.” Sukuna hadn’t moved. But his expression had changed — not slowly, not subtly.

He was staring at you with eyes gone dark and dangerous, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle twitched near his ear. One of his lower hands had gone rigid at his side, fingers digging into the mat. He looked like he could peel the world open with his teeth. You finally met his gaze. “He took something I never agreed to give,” you said, voice steady despite the storm that trembled inside you. “And I was bleeding when you found my village. I had been thrown aside. Useless to him. He was dead when you arrived.” Sukuna didn’t speak. He looked like he couldn’t. You studied him — this man who razed cities without blinking, who had torn men in half for less than a sideways glance — and now he sat with hands shaking beneath the table, nostrils flared, breath slow and burning. You tilted your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “…Why does that make you so angry?” you asked quietly. “Isn’t that what men do?” His eyes snapped to yours — sharp and alive and furious. “I am not like them,” he said. Low. Measured. Dangerous. “Don’t ever compare me to those fucking animals.” The weight of his words settled hard in the room. You nodded slowly. “Then what do you want from me?” Silence, It filled the space between your question and his answer like water in the lungs.

He looked at you — not just with his face, but with every part of him. The way his shoulders tensed, the way his throat worked around a thought too large to speak. And when he finally spoke, his voice was nothing like the one you’d heard in war, or rage, or even command. It was quiet. Frayed. And young. “I don’t know,” he said, you blinked, and he didn’t look away. “I just know that… when I see you, something stops.” He inhaled sharply, jaw flexing. “The noise. The need to break things. To kill. It all goes still. And it’s only you.” He exhaled, long and slow, and for the first time since you’d known him, he looked tired. “I’ve never felt that before,” he said. Your heart ached in a way that had nothing to do with pain. You looked at him — really looked — and saw not just the demon who brought you to your knees, but the boy who hadn’t known what to do when you didn’t scream in his presence. The boy who sat in your garden for hours and didn’t speak, afraid silence might be broken by truth.

“I don’t need anything from you,” he said, softer now. “I just… need to be near you.” You didn’t reply, nor did you didn’t feel the need to. Instead, you rose from your seat slowly, walked the short distance between you, and knelt beside him. He stiffened instinctively — all four arms tensing at once — but he didn’t pull away. You rested your hand gently over his, the one that had clenched into the mat. He looked down at your fingers, calloused and warm, resting against his scarred knuckles, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a god, or a weapon, or a monster. Just a man who didn’t know what to do with gentleness.

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[borathae]

↳ Index [Snippet #39 - Sextape]

“When Jungkook films you sucking his cock.”

Genre: Smut, married life!AU

Warnings: Dom!Jungkook, sub!Reader, filming of a sextape, she calls him Sir, he calls her babydoll & slut, fondling, nipple play, spit kink (he spits on her tongue & she swallows it), blowjob, she kneels as she blows him, face fucking with fingers & cock, deep throating, tongue spanking with cock, she massages his hole without slipping inside, handjob, dirty talk, praise, he gets all needy & whiney because of her, he keeps messing up the filming and whines about it eheheh, hair pulling, size kink, moneyshot (cumming on face), cum swallowing, also he makes her cum on his tongue as a reward, cuddly aftercare, they’re so in love!

Wordcount: 6.1k

a/n: this is a request from Kinktober22, which i couldn’t fit in anymore. it’s finally here! Enjoy besties istfg this couple will always hit just right 🧡

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You turn upon hearing your husband’s voice behind you. You are in the bedroom, folding laundry. Jungkook has been in his room up until now, but is now pointing your camcorder at you.

“Are you filming me?” you ask him.

“I am.”

“You are? Is there a reason for it?”

“No, just thought you looked beautiful right now”, he says and pans the camera up and down your body.

You are wearing an oversized t-shirt and some cotton shorts. A bandana holds your hair out of your face. It has small daisies on its fabric.

You smile, pulling a little pose for him.

“Well thank you”, you say and turn back to the laundry.

Jungkook zooms in just enough that you are filling two thirds of the frame. Then he pans the camera up and down, ending it on the back of your head.

“Baby, look here”, he says.

You turn.

“Kook”, you laugh, “what’s up with you? I’m trying to do laundry”, you chuckle.

Jungkook laughs, making the biggest heart eyes at his screen. Your smile looks so fucking beautiful on film.

“I just wanna capture you”, he whines, “I missed you like crazy. I gotta make sure you’re real.”

“You’re so silly”, you say and give the camera one last smile before turning back to the laundry (for real this time).

Jungkook closes the distance between you and him, keeping the camera focused on you. He flips the screen and then wraps his arm around you. You lift your head just in time to watch him lift the camera in front of you. The small screen shows that he is capturing both your faces. He is smiling, kissing your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder and gazing at your face through the camera.

“Mhm Kook”, you say, leaning into him and giving him a smile, “you’re so cute.”

“No, you are”, he says, nuzzling his cheek against yours, “baby, I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

“Can I keep filming you?”

“Course you can”, you say and chuckle, “you’re so cute”, you add and then pay attention to folding your socks.

Jungkook steps back and keeps filming you, flipping the screen for it. He wants to capture every inch of you. The way you did the knot on your bandana, how your neck looks in the light, how your arms move as you fold the clothes, how your shirt sits on your torso and moves against your curves, your legs. Jungkook loves your legs, especially in shorts. And especially when you wear no socks and he can see your ankles. You have such pretty ankles. Jungkook captures them before moving up your body again. He has to make sure that he gets everything. He rounds you, now filming your face. You sneak a glance at him and smile to yourself.

“You’re actually still filming?”

“Yeah, I told you that I will.”

You chuckle, “okay then. I’m not stopping you.”

Jungkook thinks that you are the most beautiful woman on earth. He really does. And he won’t ever change his mind. This is a law of nature. The way you look on film however, proves to him that you can become even more beautiful. Jungkook is fucking obsessed. The light hits your features just right, your skin glows, your eyes are works of art and the way your lips look when you relax them makes Jungkook want to steal a kiss. Or maybe a dozen.

Jungkook reaches out and cups your cheek. You falter in your task of folding his tank top to instead lift your head and look at him. He runs his thumb over your lips. You smile, close your eyes halfway and lean into his hand.

“My beautiful”, he whispers and traces your cupid's bow.

You kiss his thumb, giving him a love drunk smile afterwards. Then you look back at the laundry and Jungkook continues filming you.

He won’t ever show people this film. Not because he doesn’t want people to know how beautiful you truly are, but because this feels too precious to him. The way he films you right now is how he sees you and it feels like a violation of you to show you off like that. You are too precious and wonderful to him. He would never boast with you like that, because it invalidates you. He will write a hundred love songs about you, draw a million pictures of you and tell everyone he meets how he is the luckiest man on earth, but this right here? This is just for you and him.

Jungkook breaks the camera away from your face and films his hand as it dances down your neck. His wedding ring glistens on his finger. Jungkook loves showing it off.

“Beautiful”, he speaks softly, “I married the most beautiful woman ever.”

His touch makes you tingle, the attention he gives you makes you feel like a goddess. You hope that he won’t stop filming for a long time. It feels so good to be so adored by him.  

Jungkook’s right hand slips to your chest and lingers, now fondling with your breast most teasingly. He films it with his eyes lowered just slightly. 

“Kook, behave”, you chuckle, swatting his hand away without actually making sure that he leaves. Quite frankly, this type of touch does other things to you. Exciting and addicting kinds of things like leaving a faint tingle in your tummy and the slightest bit of warmth between your legs. Knowing that he is capturing it on film, fortifies said feelings.

“I am behaving. This is me being a good boy”, he defends himself and rubs his fingers over your nipple until it hardens.

You squirm, swatting his hand away again (with minimal effort).

“Oh, you are very far from being a good boy”, you say in a chuckle.

He hums, pinching your nipple and eliciting a squeaked gasp from you at the same time. He smirks, filming how the fabric starts bulging where your nipples harden under your shirt. You may swat his hand away, but your body speaks the truth. He is messing with you in the best way possible. It makes him hard to think that he has your first reaction on film.  

“Kook please…” you sigh, arching into him while your fingers try to tug his hand away.

“You’re so pretty. Your nipples are so hard, baby”, he teases and drags his fingers to your other side just to pinch your nipple.

“Kook”, you let out, tensing up. You can’t lie, there is way more than just a little bit of warmth between your legs by now and your tummy is tingling like crazy.

“Do you wanna play with me?” Jungkook coos and cups your tit just so he can jiggle it for the camera. He loves how it bounces in his hand and how you seem to breathe heavier because of it.

“Why did I not figure out what you actually wanted the moment I saw you with a camera?” you say.

“That wasn’t my plan, I swear”, he says and changes sides to give you equal attention, “just saw your tits and wanted to touch them.”

“Yeah?” you say and, because you know that this will ruin him, hook your fingers in your shirt just to tug it up your torso.

“Fuck, baby”, Jungkook gasps, scrambling to get it all on video.

You give him a good show, wiggling from side to side to move them around and even arching your back.

“Yes baby, fuck look at you. Your tits are fucking beautiful. Look at your nipples. God, baby I’m so hard”, Jungkook babbles.

“That’s all you’ll get”, you say and pull the shirt back down. You laugh at the grimace of distaste he sends you.

“Babe”, he whines, “don’t do that to me.”

You snicker, dismissing him with a shrug of your shoulders.

“It’s what you get for acting up.”

“I didn’t act up. Come on baby, show me more”, he begs, tugging at the sleeve of your shirt, “please? Do it for the camera?”

“No”, you laugh, turning your shoulder to him as you pretend to fold laundry again. You have long given up on it, all you are doing right now is play with him. It’s so hot when he begs for you and fights for your attention.

Jungkook steps closer and presses himself into you. The camera is forgotten for now, filming the windows as he holds it away from you accidentally. He wraps his arm around your waist and tugs you into him. His hardening cock rubs against your ass, his hand slips under your shirt and takes a hold of your tits instantly.

Jungkook purrs seductively and drags his tongue over the shell of your ear softly, “play with me.”

“Baby…” you sigh, rolling your hips back into him. It grinds your ass right against his cock, forcing it to grow even harder.

He moans deeply, pinching your nipple. It makes you grind against him a second time, forcing a small whimper out of him.

“Please, baby. Please?” he begs, “you wanna play with me?”

“Mhm maybe?” you force out, feeling breathless from his touches.

“That’s not enough. I need you to say it”, Jungkook says.

“To say what?”

“That you wanna play with me.”

You lean into him, rubbing your ass so aggressively against his cock that Jungkook curses behind you and his fingers squeeze your tit.

“I don’t gotta say it, you already know that I do.” 

“Fuck baby”, he pulls his hand free and turns you in his arms. 

His eyes are dark, a deep fire is burning inside them. You gulp hungrily, rubbing your legs together. You know that look. Jungkook is not here to get told what to do, tonight he is going to have the word. You can’t deny that this isn’t turning you on like crazy. You really craved that side of him. 

He grabs a bundle of your hair at the back of your neck and tilts your head back. 

“Ah”, you gasp, shivering in the burn. 

“You are going to be my good, pretty girl tonight. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes Sir”, you choke out. 

Jungkook smirks, twisting your hair. 

“It’s so hot when you call me that. But also you know that you can stop at any time?”

“I know and I’ll let you know if I’m uncomfortable. Just”, you touch his hard pecs, “...be rough with me please.”

“Alright”, he smirks, “fuck babydoll, you’re making me the happiest man.”

His smile morphs into a dark frown. The kind that taunts you and makes you happy that you’re his’.

“Now get on your knees and start begging.”

You fall down with a moan, folding your hands on your lap whilst gazing up at him with big puppy eyes. Fuck. He looks so huge in this position, towering over you with his dark hair hanging into his eyes and his muscles flexing with every move he makes. He lifts the camera, capturing your willful submission.

“Look at you”, he rasps, “you look so sexy when you’re kneeling for me. Go on, show the camera how pretty you are.”

You make cute eyes at the camera, arching your back so your ass sticks out. Jungkook inhales shakily because of it.

“That’s it. Fuck, you’re beautiful”, he rasps, running his hand over your cheek, “you’re made for film, babydoll. I’m fucking obsessed.”

You rub your legs together, tilting your head back just slightly to give view to your vulnerable neck. You know that this drives him crazy.

“Please Sir, can I have your cock?” you plead.

Jungkook laughs in disbelief.

“Oh my god”, he gets out, “baby.”

Your stomach tingles. He’s so cute when he’s all desperate. 

“Please Sir”, you pout cutely, “I’m gonna be such a good girl for you. Wanna suck your cock so bad.”

“You’re seriously so sexy, I can’t fucking breathe.”

“Please”, you beg, throwing a little tantrum by bouncing on nothing, “I wanna have your cock, Sir.”

Jungkook smirks and reaches down to brush his fingers over your lips. He presses hard, forcing two of his fingers into your mouth. 

You whimper with your eyelids fluttering at the familiar feeling of his heavy fingers on your tongue and begin sucking passionately. 

“That’s it, suck my fingers as if you mean it, babydoll", he encourages you, raising his head slightly to look down at you tauntingly, "you’re such a needy girl, begging for my cock like a slut. Now look at you. All silent for me. You’re such a good girl, babydoll."

You mewl and force his digits to go down your throat, gagging around them in an instant. You move off of them, but Jungkook forces you back on his fingers by moving closer. You gag and keen, eyes filling with tears. 

“I told you to suck them off, didn’t you hear?” he spits with his brows furrowed. 

You obey with your pussy throbbing and your stomach tightening in excitement. Fuck, his fingers are so long and girthy, it’s forcing your spit to run down your chin and soils your cheeks with your tears. 

“That’s it, babydoll. Now you’re behaving. That’s how I like you”, Jungkook praises, flitting his eyes between your face and the camera screen. You look so pretty like this. Jungkook loves the angle of how he films you. You look so tiny and submissive. Your lips look so pretty all wrapped around his fingers. And your beautiful eyes are gazing at him with such love that his heart races unbearably. His cock throbs like crazy at the view of you, begging to get freed from his pants.

Jungkook listens to the desperate gurgling you do, pulling his fingers free. You cough and moan, grasping your own throat as you stare up at him with your chest heaving up and down quickly. 

“Good?” he makes sure.

You nod your head vigorously, whimpering needily.

Reassured by your words, he gives you a smile and traces your glistening lips.

“You’re so messy. Look at that”, he taunts.

“I love Sir’s fingers”, you say cutely, “love sucking them and have them stuff my little holes.”

“Baby”, Jungkook hisses the word, gawking at you with big eyes. Cute. 

You give him big, innocent eyes, tilting your head to the side. 

“Does Sir not like it when I talk like this?” you ask and pout.

“You’re too hot, fuck”, Jungkook murmurs and lifts his hand just to lick his slickened up fingers to taste you. He growls throatily, giving you a playful cock of his eyebrows. 

You tremble at the sight, your tongue itches for another taste of him.

“Let me taste your spit, Sir.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen again because you never made such a request before. He squeaks and slips his fingers free.

“W-what?”

“Please feed me”, you plead, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. 

Jungkook blinks in confusion twice then his eyes darken in arousal. He grabs your chin and leans down with a taunting smirk on his lips. 

“You’re hungry for a taste?” he rasps. 

You nod your head vigorously.

“Hah”, he scoffs and collects spit in his mouth. You watch his lips hungrily, moaning when you can finally watch the spit trickle down. The first drop is hot on your tongue, making you flinch. 

Fuck. Your eyelids flutter, your chest vibrates in a moan. Your pussy is dripping wet. This is the nastiest and hottest shit Jungkook ever did to you.

The last drop lands on your tongue, leaving you to ache for more. But it doesn’t come. Jungkook straightens up again. He inspects his artwork for a few moments, smirking to himself. It looks magnificent on film.

“Swallow”, he orders darkly and you obey happily, swallowing every last drop of his taste. 

You groan, feeling it run down your throat. It’s better than anything.

“Thank you, Sir”, you moan. 

Jungkook smiles and drags his thumb over your lips. 

“I didn’t even know that you’re into me spitting at you.”

“I didn’t know either, but I’m in a mood tonight.”

He laughs. 

“I like that mood, it’s sexy”, he smiles.

You giggle, leaning into his touch.

“Koo, I’m having so much fun”, you say. 

“Yeah? I’m having so much fun too”, he says and gives you one last touch to your face. Then he lifts his hand to the camcorder, holding it to make sure he films you perfectly. “Beautiful. You’re so beautiful”, he murmurs, panning the camera onto your face. 

Encouraged by his attention, you slip your hands to his pants. You hook your fingers in the hem of them and gaze up at him.

“Can I take out your cock, Sir?” you ask.

“Go ahead baby. I’m not stopping you”, Jungkook rasps, staring at the camera screen obsessively. He needs to make sure that he captures every second of it.

You tug his shorts down, letting them pool by his feet. Next, you run your hands up the inside of his legs, forcing goosebumps to the surface of his soft skin. Jungkook feels his breathing speed up at the thought of what was to come. He loves it when you suck his cock. You are so talented at it.

You stop once you are at his hips, placing your hands on them safely. Your eyes flit up.

“Your bulge looks so big, Sir”, you say, making big puppy eyes at him, “my mouth is watering so much.”

“Take my cock out”, he orders breathily, forcing down the please wanting to escape as well. He is so desperate for your mouth.

“Mhm Sir, you’re so sexy”, you coo and look at his cock. You lean in just to connect your tongue with his clothed bulge.

“Fuck”, Jungkook lets out in a surprised hiss, tensing his thighs. You are dragging your tongue over his outline and it feels so hot on his cock that he wants to press out yet another please.

You end it with a flick of your tongue and a soft moan. His essence sticks to your tongue. He tastes so good. Oh, how you want more of him.

“I want your cock so bad”, you murmur more to yourself than to him and with a skilful movement of your hands, tug down his briefs. His cock springs free and hits his tummy, throbbing in relief now that it is finally free. It looks so huge in this position. You can’t wait to get it inside your mouth.

“Fuck baby, look at my cock”, Jungkook rasps, filming it, “he’s so hard for you.”

“I wanna have him in my mouth so bad”, you whine, placing his briefs and pants aside now that Jungkook stepped out of them. They are forgotten instantly.

With shaking fingers, you feel up his sculpted thighs, slowing down once you are close to his cock. One hand slips to his hips while the other takes a hold of the base of his pretty cock. Jungkook holds his breath in anticipation, gripping the camera so tightly the pads of his fingers turn pale.

You look up at him and stick your tongue out. You are impatient, aching for his cock, but you know better than to rush it. Jungkook wants to film you sucking his cock? Fine by you, but you will make sure that he is breathless in desperation once you are done with him.

You tighten your fingers around his cock and use the leverage you have on him to spank your tongue with his cock. Hard enough that Jungkook’s thighs flinch with each impact.

You do it four times and then you take a break, hovering your lips close to his cock without ever touching him.

Jungkook bucks his hips, forcing you to move back.

“Baby”, he gets out.

You look at him, “what?” you ask innocently.

“Don’t make me wait.”

“I’m not”, you say, fluttering your lashes, “I love your cock so much, Sir.”

You move your lips closer, darting your tongue out and ghosting it over his tip without ever touching it.

“___”, Jungkook says and takes a bundle of your hair even of that messes up your bandana, “don’t tease”, he orders, pushing you closer.

You giggle, letting his cock brush against your lips. You don’t open your mouth, forcing him to poke and poke and poke you without ever getting what he truly craves. Your warm mouth.

“Baby. Please.”

There it is. Your favourite word. You feel your stomach churn in pleasure and your pussy throb in desperation. Now you have him desperate. Exactly how you like him.

“I’m sorry Sir, I just really like teasing you”, you say and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out.

Jungkook takes the opportunity instantly, sliding his cock inside with his fingers in your hair. He throbs instantly, spilling excitement on your tongue. It tastes just like him, making you moan around him because you’re fucking obsessed with his taste.

“There we go, holy fuck baby that’s amazing”, he lulls, “take me inside, that’s my girl.”

He hits the back of your throat, making you gag. Startled by it, he pulls back a little, releasing your hair to instead caress your cheek.

“You’re doing so well”, he praises.

You mewl his name as best as possible and begin chasing him. You didn’t mind that you gagged. You actually really liked it. Gagging around Jungkook’s cock is so fucking hot to you. Your hand squeezes his hip and your fingers glide over the inches you can’t take in, all while you are moving your head up and down his addicting cock.

“Baby, oh god”, Jungkook lets out and scrambles to take a hold of the camera. He has to grip it with both hands or else he would shake way too much, “oh god, baby. You feel so good. You’re doing that so fucking well.”

Encouraged by his praise, you let his cock glide out of your mouth just so you can take him inside again. Quick and without warning. He hits the back of your throat and glides down. Your lips touch your fingers. His legs wobble like crazy.

“Baby”, he lets out, almost dropping the camera, “baby please don’t do that.”

“Why?” you ask him, rubbing your lips all over his cockhead afterwards.

“Because…because I can’t film like that”, his voice sounded strained from pleasure.

“But I love Sir’s cock so much”, you coo and take him back inside. You let him glide to the back of your throat and moan, sending vibrations through his cock.

Jungkook groans, parting his lips and never closing them again. He is so pretty like this.

With your eyes gazing up at him, you begin moving around his cock again. You keep your tongue pressed to the underside of it, moaning deliciously each time he hits the back of your throat. You love this so much. You especially love how utterly dumb he gets. You can watch it happening. His every thought disappears from behind his eyes and his face falls in pure bliss. How he still manages to keep the camera pointed at you, is a mystery to you. You make it your new goal to force him to mess up.

You slip your unoccupied hand between his legs and probe at his hole. He stumbles and shakes the camera.

“Okay babe”, he laughs, taking a hold of your arm, “let’s not do that.”

You slip off, but keep your finger pressed to his rim, “why? Is it hard to film like this?”

He furrows his brows, “you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

You giggle, giving him a cute flutter of your lashes, “no? I just love pleasing you, Sir”, you say and add more pressure to your massage.

Jungkook moans, clenching his hole desperately while his cock twitches in front of your face.

“I love making you feel good, Sir. Love it so, so much”, you coo in a cute voice and open your mouth widely just so you can take him back inside. You even tilt your head back, allowing your throat to open up for him. It feels intense to have him glide down your throat and fill you out. It makes your eyes water and for your tummy to tense up in excited nervousness and you want more. You push past the moment of tears and take him inside until his soft pubes tickle the tip of your nose. All while your fingers put pressure on his hole to the point where he feels like bursting.

“Baby please”, Jungkook chokes out and drops the hand in which he holds the camera, “no babe look, I messed up because of, of……you”, the last words leaves him as a breathy, small sigh. You just moaned around his cock, timing it with your left hand squeezing his balls and your right drawing circles on his needy hole.

Jungkook tries to fix the camera angle again, biting down on his lower lip and whimpering in a high pitched voice. He even furrows his brows, looking beyond adorable doing so. It’s so cute how hard he tries to concentrate when you are so hellbent on ruining him.

This is perfect. Now you have him attempting to film you again, which means you can begin moving around him. You know that this will mess him up again. Especially because you keep moaning around him.

“___ please”, Jungkook takes hold of your hair again, slowing down your movements with a harsh tug, “I gotta concentrate.”

You slip off, even remove your hands from his body. Jungkook curses under his breath because of it, aching for your touch.

“You are so unfair, Sir”, you whine, wiggling your shoulders in a small tantrum, “I wanna suck your cock, but your stupid movie is more important to you.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Jungkook asks, “why are you acting like this?”

“Acting like what?” you say and pout.

Jungkook wipes it away with his thumb running over your lips.

“Like such a needy slut”, he rasps, sending heat to your pussy.

“Because I am”, you say, arching your back so your butt sticks out, “I’m Sir’s cock slut.”

“What the hell? Why are you so good at that?”

“Good at what?”

“Just…the way you talk.”

You chuckle, “you think that you’re the only one who can act like a slut? Sweetheart, you married me.”

“Yeah, I figured that out by now”, he laughs breathily, “I’m so fucking lucky.”

“You are”, you say and giggle, taking him back inside afterwards.

Jungkook grips the camera, letting out a little moan. His face morphs into the droopy, dumb look of pleasure from before, his eyelids flutter in bliss. You will never really know how good your mouth feels. How his brain turns off the second he is inside your warmth and how he grows oh so weak in the knees whenever you suck his tip.

To his dismay, you do exactly that. You jerk off his shaft, concentrating your attention to his tip as you suck on it vigorously. Your right hand slips back to his hole again, massaging it skilfully.

“Fuck”, Jungkook lets out and closes his eyes. Just for one second and then he remembers that he has to make sure the camera is fixed on your face, “you drive me insane. It’s so hard to film you.”

You smile around him, moving your head as you suck him.

“Wait”, he gets out and tugs on your hair. You slip off of him with a bop of your lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“Fuck wait”, he breathes and exhales shakily, letting out a groan.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay, Sir?” you ask, running your hand over his cock slowly.

“___”, he hisses, “give me a break oh my fuck.”

“Why?” you laugh, “close?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re cute.”

“And you’re playing a dangerous game.”

You smirk, squeezing around his cock as you massage his tip.

“Baby please”, he whines with wobbling knees. The camera doesn’t pick up anything right now as he is shaking way too much.

“I don’t want you to edge today, Sir. I want you to paint my face with your cum”, you say, listening to the loud mewl he lets out, “and cover my tongue with it”, you add, sticking your tongue out.

“Fuck”, Jungkook lets out, “fuck, baby, fuck”, he growls, swatting your hand away just so he can take over. He broadens his stance and begins jerking himself off roughly, “keep looking at me, you’re so fucking pretty. My pretty, little slut. I fucking love you”, he babbles, furrowing his brows.

You mewl for him, sliding your hands to his thighs to squeeze them. They are tensing, feeling oh so hard under your fingertips. His cock is leaking like crazy, looking so sexy between his tattooed fingers. You can’t wait to have him paint your face.

“I’m so fucking close”, he growls, “close your eyes, baby.”

You follow, arching your back just for his viewing pleasure. You slide your hands further up his thighs, letting them linger next to his cock.

“Fuck, my love”, he gets out, checking the camera one last time. It’d be a shame if he didn’t capture what he was going to do any second. Your face is on full display, looking oh so pretty like this “fuck. Now”, he gets out in a squeak and feels his orgasm hit him. The view was just too fucking hot. His milky cum shoots all over your face and tongue, covering you sinfully, “oh god baby, you’re so sexy. Holy fuck, look at you”, Jungkook moans with shaking legs. The view of you being marked like this and the knowledge that he is filming it makes him cum ever harder.

You are moaning like crazy, enjoying the creamy facial with a throbbing pussy. His cum is so hot as it hits your face. And it tastes so, so good as it covers your tongue. You love every second of it.

Jungkook finishes after eight aggressive tugs on his throbbing cock and a raspy moan of your name. He drops his slowly-softening dick and tangles his hand on your hair, tilting your head from side to side for the camera.

“My sexy cum slut”, he lulls, feeling oh so dizzy, “mhm baby, are you my cum slut?”

You nod your head, moaning needily.

“Of course you are. Go on, swallow me. Show the camera how much you love my cum”, he orders you.

You follow happily, swallowing every droplet of cum he left on your tongue. You lick your lips afterwards, cleaning off anything your tongue can reach.

“That’s my girl, so sexy. You’re so sexy like this”, he praises you and grips your chin gently, “say thank you.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“You’re very welcome, babydoll”, he rasps, caressing your messy skin. He likes what he did. You look so beautiful with cum on your face, “now say goodbye to the camera.”

“Goodbye”, you say and giggle shyly.

“That’s my girl”, Jungkook says and turns off the camera. He lowers it and discards it on the bed afterwards. Then he falls to his knees before you, pulling you into a surprise kiss.

You whimper into it, falling into him as he pulls you close with his strong arms closing around you and his tattooed hand cradling the back of your head.

Jungkook releases your lips after biting down your lower lip softly. He lets it slip from between his teeth, poking your dirtied nose with his own.

“Thank you for this”, he whispers. There is no ounce of dominance in his voice right now, just love and adoration, “I know I kinda ambushed you right now.”

“No you didn’t. I really loved it”, you assure him.

“I loved it too. It was so fucking hard to hold the camera still.”

You giggle, “you’re welcome.”

“So mean”, he mumbles and pecks your nose, “keep your eyes closed, I’m getting a tissue.”

He returns with two tissues and cleans off your face gently. He makes sure that you are as clean as he can get you, ending it with a loving kiss to your forehead.

“You can open your eyes now.”

You meet his adoring gaze, feeling weak kneed because of it.

“Thank you”, you whisper.

“Of course, it’s the least I can do after nutting on you like that”, he says and grins boyishly.

“I really like it when you do.”

“I know. Me too”, he kisses your cheek, “do you want your reward now, baby?”

“My reward?”

“Mh-hm. I bet your pussy’s so wet, mhm?”

“Yeah”, you lower your eyes shyly.

“Yeah? Want me to clean you?”

You nod your head.

“That’s what I thought. Get on bed, baby.”

You follow instantly, taking off your shorts as you do. You lie down next to the fresh laundry, wiggling your butt to the edge of the bed and propping your feet up on the mattress.

“That’s my girl. So pretty”, he praises you and falls to his knees. He wraps his arms around your thighs and sinks into you, wasting no time in going slow. He knows that you are too needy for that. You did such a good job blowing him and Jungkook just wants to reward you. He also knows how incredibly needy you get from sucking his cock, which means he is also aware that all you really need right now is an orgasm. You already did enough riling up when you sucked him for the past twenty minutes.

You moan accordingly, closing your thighs around his head and reaching down to twist his hair. You know how needy giving him head gets you and yet you somehow always forget just how needy you get. His mouth feels so hot and wet around your clit that your toes curl even after nothing more than thirty seconds of contact.

“I’m really close”, you let him know and whimper desperately.

The submissiveness in your voice makes Jungkook growl into you. He opens his eyes, looking up at you with furrowed brows and blown-out pupils. You look so out of it. He's obsessed with that view. He puts more pressure into his licks and moans deeply. Your thighs squeeze his head. Jungkook spreads them apart with the help of his strong hands. It dimples your soft flesh and leaves spots of sensitivity behind.

“Sir”, you mewl, arching your back, “Koo Sir. Koo!”

Jungkook moans and it’s enough to break you. You sob his name, falling entirely limp from the intensity of your high. It is hot like fire, rendering your legs useless and soaking the rest of your body in unbearable warmth.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” you chant, feeling lightheaded and ruined.

Jungkook helps you ride out your high until you flinch away in overstimulation, giving him a hard tug on his hair. 

“No more, please.”

“Good girl”, he praises, kissing your clit and then he already kisses a path up your clothed torso. He climbs on bed, keeping his knee between your legs and placing his hands on each side of your head. He kisses your neck. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then he lifts his head and gives you a smile, “how was that?”

“Good”, you get out and gulp audibly, rolling your head to the side in sync with your eyes rolling back and falling closed.

He chuckles, kissing your cheek, “you were so sensitive”, he teases, keeping close so he can inhale your scent. A hint of his cum still lingers in your smell. Jungkook likes it a lot. 

“I couldn’t help it”, you whisper weakly, “sucking your cock makes me like that.”

“It’s cute, don’t apologise. Also means I can cuddle you sooner”, he says and picks you up to cradle you against his chest. He falls in a way that he knocks over your neatly done stack of clothes. It falls and tumbles to the floor.

“Oops”, Jungkook lets out, gawking at you with big eyes.

“Jungkook”, you whine, “I worked so hard on folding that.”

“I’m sorry, my dumb ass didn’t see it”, he apologises and grins boyishly, “I’ll refold it, promise.”

You nudge his chest, clicking your tongue, “obviously.”

He chuckles and pecks your lips, “I’m sowwy bwaby”, he coos cutely.

“Mhm yeah, yeah it’s forgiven”, you murmur, closing your eyes and cuddling into his chest, “wanna cuddle for now.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good plan”, Jungkook snuggles into you, “love you baby”, he coos.

“I love you too, baby”, you tell him, smiling to yourself when you can hear him whisper a happy little “heck yeah.” 

[literaila]

stress baking

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you bake a cake and satoru tries to distract you

warnings: mom guilt (angst), fluff, satoru, etc.

last part | next part

*

year five.

“ooo,” satoru reaches a hand across the counter, fingers about to contaminate everything in the kitchen. “frosting.” 

you're slouching against the oven, trying to pretend like the cakes have been cooling long enough to frost when he comes in. 

and you know immediately that you've been caught. satoru can read your mind with a mere glance most days, and so you try to avoid his eyes. because really--you don't need (or want) his input about this

you slap his hand away, turning away from the cakes. “don’t touch,” you tell him, glaring. “i don’t know where your hands have been.” 

satoru grins at you, leaning against the counter so he can observe your corrupted workspace. “i can assure you that you do.” 

you roll your eyes, flipping a cake pan over. it shouldn't take too much longer, really. just a couple... hours. 

“what is this? did i forget about a birthday?” he looks up suddenly, startled. “was it yours?” 

you scoff, moving every edible thing away from his reach, and still don't look up at him. but you can still feel every moment he makes, like a secret intuition. 

as if knowing this, satoru smiles, leaning his elbows against the counter, face in hands, just watching you. “nah, i wouldn’t forget that.” 

“hmm, when’s my birthday again?” 

“it’s… uhhh a day. once a year," you make a face, scrunching your nose away from him, and he resolves. “the best day of the year?” 

you ignore him--and your stupid instinct to look at his face, in his eyes, and observe every expression he makes--wishing that cakes were sturdier. it's late enough that you already know this is going to be a disaster. can you make cement appetizing? 

“no, really,” satoru waves a hand in your face. “what is this?” 

“it’s a cake.” 

“for what?” 

“tsumiki.” 

he raises a brow, tapping on your forehead to get you to pay attention to him. “is it her birthday?” 

“no, you deadbeat dad, her birthdays in may.” 

“right.” 

you roll your eyes again, cutting the top off of the cake. still, you try to keep your eyes concealed from him. your entire being--even though you're well aware that it's futile. 

satoru can feel it when you cut yourself shaving in the shower, so it's likely that he already knows what you're doing. 

and exactly why you're doing it. 

but, you can play chicken with him for hours. you're very used to pretending like he doesn't know what you know that he knows. very very good. 

“sooo..." satoru drawls, voice bright and smiley. like the demon he is. "what’s it for?” 

you sigh, wanting to throw the excess cake at him. “can you use some critical thinking skills? just once, please?” 

“why would i do that when you could just tell me?” 

unforunately, the two of you both know that he's not going to leave without an answer. he's purposefully using your greatest weakness--his face, your heart, your irritating want to tell him every thought that crosses your mind--against you. 

but who's fault is that if not your own?

“she’s worried about a test tomorrow,” you say, slowly, finally turning to look at him, trying not to wince. “so i’m making her a cake.” 

satoru is already grinning, hand partially covering his mouth. you glare at his terrible attempts not to laugh at you. 

at least his eyes are pretty. his cheeky eyebrows and stupid knowing look. without the view, you know, satoru would mean absolutely nothing to you (and everything, of course).

“will it give her superpowers?” 

“shut up, gojo, what are you doing to help?” 

“not worrying about it," he answers easily, "tsumiki’s a genius, she doesn’t need your anxiety too.” 

“i’m not anxious.” 

he smiles at you, tilting his head. 

you crack, trying not to squeeze the offset spatula in your hand. “whatever. last time she got in a fight with akio you tried to buy her a kitten. i’m not taking your criticism," you look away from him, frowning. but before he can say anything, you add. "or your advice."

“the kitten wasn’t just for her,” he says, whining. “it was an addition.” 

“an addition i was going to take care of.” 

“tsumiki wouldn’t have to worry about a test if she had a soft, cute, cuddly little baby kitten to cuddle with.” 

you refrain a smile. “that’s redundant.” 

“you changed the trajectory of her life by telling me no. she'll probably go to prison now," satoru sighs, shaking his head at you. 

“yup. it’s all my fault.” 

he laughs, reaching a long arm over you to try and steal some frosting again, but you grab his wrist and push it away. he frowns, but asks, “are you going to let her eat this for breakfast?” 

you pause, looking back at him (he's already smirking because you've had that conversation a dozen times) then you look back at the cake you’re currently mutilating. “um…” 

satoru shakes his head. “so she doesn’t even get to have any until after the test? what's the point in that?" 

"the point," you say, glaring at him. "is that it's nice. i want to do something for her." 

"bake a cake?" 

"shut up." 

he laughs again. "you're such a nerd." 

"you can leave now." 

"what'd she say?" satoru asks, smiling up at you, brow perked. "'i have a test tomorrow?'" 

you huff, waving him away. "fine, no cake for you." 

"tsumiki probably didn't even tell you," he continues, cockily. "you probably read it in an email and immediately turned on the oven." 

"you are not helping." 

satoru snorts at you one more time, and then he stretches as he straightens up. 

your eyes dart towards him--and the sliver of skin you can see peaking out from under his shirt, very attuned muscles--and then away. you're not being caught again. 

but satoru is already smirking at you as he rounds the counter, hands traveling to your waist automatically, squeezing you to him--in a very uncomfortable position, by the way. 

he nuzzles his nose into your hair, breathing obnoxiously. 

"satoru, i'm busy," you say, trying to sneak out of his hold. unfortunately, he's way stronger than you are.

your hands have been blocked by his hold, and you set down the spatula, forced to bend to the will of this very irritating co-parent of yours.

"you're so cute," he says, cooing into your head.

"i'll pour oil in your hair." 

he laughs, again. "then you'll have to take a shower with me." 

you push him away, finally, scowling. he only moves back a couple of inches. "not happening." 

"you realize that you're crazy, right?" satoru asks, still smiling, but a bit differently. it's less arrogant and more adoring. like he's completely star-struck, lost in the entirety of you. "this isn't news to you?" 

"i'm not crazy. i'm being nice." 

he continues to smile at you, ignoring your carefully pointed scowls and the harsh way to continue to frost the cake. "tsumiki will be fine. even if she fails her test, or gets sick, or..." he shakes his head, shrugging. "pulls the fire alarm so she doesn't have to take it." 

"i hope you're not encouraging the children to fake an emergency." 

"she's the smartest kid in that class, sweetheart, she'll do fine. and would it really matter if she didn't?" 

you pause, biting your lip. no, it wouldn't matter, you should say. you should just tell him the increasingly worrisome thoughts that have been collecting in your head the past couple of weeks. you should've just helped her study more or made sure that she was feeling comfortable, or double-checked on her grades another time, or--

"well, she can have her cake as a reward," you say, instead, ignoring that last bit. 

you both already know the answer anyway. 

satoru is quick to wrap an arm around your shoulder, gentler this time, pulling your head to his chest with an impenetrable hold. "what's this really about?" 

"nothing." 

satoru's lips twitch, and it's silent for a moment, your disheartening 'nothing' ringing through the kitchen. 

he's so stupid. and you hate that he knows what's wrong already, but that he's gonna make you say it. and you hate that it's sweet, in its own, very annoying way.

and then you break.

you sigh, a grumble coming from the back of your throat. "i just think i've been too worried about megumi lately. i mean school and missions and..." 

satoru raises a brow at you. "okay?" 

"and then there's you, too," you add, giving him a look. but it's dropped very quickly, as you look down to the floor. "do you think i've been paying enough attention to tsumiki?" you ask, softly. 

tsumiki has always been good at taking care of herself, that much was obvious when you met her--when satoru told you what the two kids had been doing for months, all on their own. 

but you don't want her to have to take care of herself. or feel like she should, just to make it easier on you both. 

she's far too people-pleasing, far too sweet to tell either of you if you're missing something. she could have a broken arm and walk around like nothing was wrong until you finally asked. 

you swallow, then continue. "you and megumi are important, but i don't want her to feel ignored just because i've been preoccupied." 

"wow. i'm just a distraction to you?" satoru asks, pouting. 

"you know what i mean," you whisper, shrugging. 

really, you know these are just venomous thoughts. trying to hit you where it hurts. 

but there's that part of you that isn't sure. if you're usually wrong, why shouldn't you be right this one time?

"you pick them both up every day, feed them, put them to bed, help with their homework..." satoru shrugs, never seeing the things that you do; stronger than you'll ever be. "how could she feel ignored?" 

"well, i've been spending more time with megumi trying to figure out his shikigami. and you and i have been going over those books, and tsumiki can't be a part of any of that so she probably feels left out, and i haven't been doing anything with her anyway--" 

"woah," satoru interrupts, a brow raised. "what's wrong with you?" 

you glare, trying to push him away to no avail. "get out, satoru. i need to finish this." 

"no, i'm serious." he holds a hand to your forehead. "are you sick? did you hit your head on something?" both of his hands grab onto your face, squeezing your cheeks together. 

"stop," you say, muffled from his pinching. 

"you're so..." satoru shakes his head, every word going unsaid. "she doesn't feel ignored. she couldn't, because you're very clingy." 

"not as clingy as you." 

satoru laughs, pinching a bit harder in retaliation. "okay, so there's two of us. at this point, tsumiki is probably looking for other families to go live with." 

"she wouldn't leave megumi." 

his grin widens. his eyes are thoughtful, careful. "you spend time with her every day. you probably know more about her schedule than she does. megumi is..." satoru tilts his head. "difficult, and a priority. but tsumiki knows she is too." 

"i just don't want her to feel lonely. or unimportant," you whisper to him, eyes darting down to his chest. 

you know that it's a natural reaction, to want more for your kids. to want to protect them from your own feelings, however different the situations might be. 

when satoru tells you that tsumiki reminds him of you there's that scared, cowardly little girl who recoils in response, flinching away from that idea. you never want her to feel like you do, to be like that little girl. 

but unless you can erase history, you're not sure that it's possible.

satoru's eyes soften, looking at you. he breathes out, letting go of your face finally. then he leans down so his forehead rests against yours, shaking his head. "you're the most ridiculous person i know." 

your eyes are forced upon his and you finally crack a smile. "have you met yourself?" 

"megumi spends more time with us because he doesn't have any friends," satoru tells you, ignoring your glare at the statement. "tsumiki's just cooler than him." 

"i'm gonna let him hide your blindfolds." 

satoru rolls his eyes, but he shakes his head again. he's just staring at you, so you know that he's not going to entertain your pity party any longer. 

at least he knows that there's no point in arguing when you're not going to listen to reason.

you nod, looking away from him, back to the counter of destruction. "okay, i'll just finish this for her. i already started, so i might as well--" 

"finish it in the morning," satoru says, finger forcing your face back to his.

"not how that works, satoru." 

"put everything away, and finish in the morning," he repeats, trying ridiculously hard to sound stern--but it's almost impossible with the smile that leeches onto his face. "she can have some after school." 

"but i just want--" 

satoru shakes his head, shaking your jaw with his hand. "you're tired. go to bed." 

you cross your arms. "since when i have i ever done anything you said?" 

"since i said so," satoru answers, as a finality. 

and then he lets go of your face and wraps his arms around your waist, getting a secure hold so he can pick you up, hoisting you across his shoulder before he can say anything. 

it's about as gently as satoru does anything, but still surprisingly comfortable.

you squirm against him, though, ignoring that thought, making sure not to squeal at the sudden feeling of being swept off your feet. the children are asleep. "put me down,” you hiss at him.

"nope. it's bedtime." 

"satoru gojo, i swear--" 

he just laughs, removing you both from the kitchen and continuing down the hall. 

but instead of stopping at your door and depositing you in your bed--probably finding a key to lock you in with--he continues to his own room, opening and door and spinning around so he can shut it softly. 

you don't have the time to question his motives or meanings before you're already trapped in the enclosed space with him, with none of the willpower to argue with him. 

your room is cold anyway. 

satoru walks you both over to the bed, laying you down in his usual spot, head against the pillow (he ignores the glare you have pointed up at him). 

he shrugs off the sweater he's wearing, throwing it somewhere behind him like the teenage boy he is, and then lays down. 

right on top of you, of course. 

his body is sprawled across yours, your shoulder digging into his chest. but his arms are on either side of you as he holds himself up so that he can continue to look at you. 

he has boxed you in completely. and just his eyes on yours keep you from any viable means of escape. 

you breathe in his face and frown. "i hate you." 

"shhh," satoru is grinning, his face bright enough to be seen in the dark. "we're sleeping. can't hear you." 

"you're heavy, satoru," you complain, pushing at his chest with an ounce of strength. it doesn't work because you don't want it to. 

satoru pretends to snore, but he's still several inches above you. his face is close enough that you can see little scars, and the flecks of white in his eyes. he's looking at every part of your face, every single inch of your being. 

your eyes should focus on his, but you're used to this. so, after a moment, they trail across his face, to the bridge of his nose, and down to the swell of his lips. 

there's light coming in from his window, the moon flattering satoru completely (not that he needs any help). 

and, right now, as he keeps himself just above you, satoru's smile is gentler than ever. 

it lacks the bravado, the carelessness he usually exudes. but it's full of something else, probably something more. 

and you're the only person that gets this smile. the slightly drowsy, completely sure one. 

so you keep your eyes on it for a moment too long, but it's really not your fault at all. 

you could just kiss him and fall asleep.

he's looking at you like that's what he wants you to do, and you know that you're probably looking at him the same way. a simple kiss and the two of you would pass out, unbothered by the aches you'll wake up to, or the body weight that could suffocate you.

but you've never made things that easy. 

when satoru leans down, his entire back tensing, muscles probably straining from staring at you for this long, you sigh. 

satoru pauses, moving back a centimeter, checking your eyes for something--his are bathed in temptation, basking in desire, and you're sure that yours are just an echo of all of that. 

but it's the perfect opportunity. 

he leans in again, but you interrupt. 

"i still need to put everything away," you whisper to him, cheek twitching. 

satoru groans and his head falls against your shoulder. 

you tangle your hands through his hair and giggle into his ear until you can feel the goosebumps across the skin of his biceps. 

*

"so, tsumiki, how'd your test go?" 

you glare at satoru, trying not to look at how tsumiki reacts. you've decided that you don't care. 

tsumiki is always happy, satoru told you this morning, she might be on drugs. 

and, well, you couldn't quite disagree with him (the first part, not the second. he got a smack for that).

she nods, forking her piece of cake again. "good," she answers, through the bite that's already in her mouth. 

"was it a hard one?" 

"nope!" 

satoru gives you a look. a very familiar 'i told you so' look. 

you roll your eyes, giving megumi a piece of cake which he takes begrudgingly. 

"shut up," you tell him.

*

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