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goldenhourology · 8 days ago

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SAVE THE DATE.

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst, frenemies to lovers

summary: 5 weddings in one year. 5 dates you saved for you and your boyfriend to attend — before he cheated. and now, you had to force your best friend, vernon, to go with you. but after losing a bet, mingyu agrees to take vernon’s place and be your date. this wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go, but you guess you could settle going with your only one-night-stand from college.

warnings: oral (f!recieving), fingering, 69ing, unprotected sex, reader on top, praise, mingyu has boyfriend dick<3, sub-ish!mingyu, also power bottom!mingyu 👍, multiple sex scenes, marijuana smoking/shotgunning, marijuana-induced horniness lol, one bed trope, forced proximity, miscommunication, HEAVY mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 19.9k

note: first things first, APOLOGIESSSSS for this taking so long. I've had a lot going on (which I know just about everyone says) and I was lowkey struggling to write this, even tho I was so amped for it. nevertheless, I'm so glad I was able to focus and finish it, because I care so much for these two and I desperately wanted to share their story with you 💓 per usual, please expect angst with your smut, and if you cry, I will not judge you and honestly would love to hear it lol. enjoy friends! (taglist posted at the bottom.)

in rotation: bmf, sza / mona lisa, mxmtoon / gorgeous, taylor swift / moonstruck, enhypen / finally // beautiful stranger, halsey

Your mom had told you that the friends you make in your first year of college stay with you for life, but you didn’t expect that when you met Vernon. He had been shy, refusing to speak to anyone in your orientation group, but knowing glances turned into sitting next to each other, which then had you both whispering jokes back and forth, until finally, he told you his name. Hansol Chwe to be exact, but he insisted on “just Vernon.” By the second semester of freshman year, you both had become inseparable. He was your best friend, been with you through some of the toughest moments of your adult life, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Vernon’s friendship survived through many of your boyfriends, and you knew he’d outlast many more. He experienced some of the worst ones – a.k.a. the men who refused to believe you two were just friends – and also the boring ones – the one guy who used you to get to him. But none of them had pissed him off more than your most current breakup: the man who was three years your senior and cheated on you with a 22-year-old. You assumed by age 27, you’d know how to pick ‘em, but that was clearly wrong.

Now you were left to your own devices with five weddings to attend this year. In retrospect, maybe there was a few you could’ve skipped, but you hated saying no in situations like this. You had agreed to go to all of them with your now ex-boyfriend in mind, placing a 2 on the invite’s attending line. Per usual, Vernon had stepped up and begrudgingly offered himself to be your date.

So why were you now meeting up with Kim Mingyu to discuss the dates of said five weddings?

You first met Mingyu when Vernon joined a fraternity in sophomore year to make more friends. “I can’t just have you. I need to have at least some friends that are dudes,” he said, which made you reply, “That’s the toxic masculinity talking.” And boy, had Mingyu been the epitome of that statement. Him and Vernon had connected instantly, sharing the same major and an affinity for art girls. You had never really gotten along with him like Vernon had hoped, but he was … attractive, to say the least.

Okay, maybe you had a crush on him. You had eyes.

But it was college and you both were on the cusp of 20. It was so hard to confess feelings back then, especially to someone like Kim Mingyu. Who you didn’t particularly enjoy talking to in the first place. However … he was probably one of the hottest men you’d ever seen; made in a lab for every young girl’s fantasy. Sometimes you couldn’t help but just stare at him, admiring his perfect teeth or the way his honey-gold skin shined in the afternoon sunlight. (You thanked your lucky stars that Vernon joined the college football team alongside Mingyu, just so you could secretly ogle him during practice.)

Suffice to say, you did eventually hook up. In the most cliche way possible, you had both gotten a little too tipsy at the first frat party of senior year and wound up in Mingyu’s dorm, locking out his roommate for the entire night. It almost felt weird, realizing your attraction had been reciprocated, but he hardly said a word to you come morning. In fact, he never mentioned it again, period, choosing to avoid you except in group settings with Vernon. You weren’t a fool; you were quick to realize it meant nothing to him, just another notch on his bedpost.

Mingyu was every girl’s dream, but Mingyu was also uncommitted.

And he was walking towards you right now.

You looked up from your phone after stalking – looking through Mingyu’s Instagram. You never followed him, never checked in on him after graduation, but you knew how close he still was with Vernon. He even posted a picture with him recently. You rolled your eyes. Despite his long hair, you recognized Mingyu instantly as he went up to the barista and ordered a coffee. You studied him for a moment, noticing that there was a curl to his hair and the way those dark stands hung around his eyes. His skin was as perfect as ever and – goddamn, did he get bigger? He was wearing a jacket over his t-shirt and you could still tell how big his muscles were.

When he finally looked over his shoulder and your eyes connected, his face remained unchanged, if not a little awkward. He walked up to you, rubbing at the back of his neck, and said your name as if it were a question. “Yeah. Hi, Mingyu,” you replied with a wave. “It’s been a while.”

“Five years since graduation,” he added, pulling out the chair across from you and plopping down. “So you stopped putting those blonde highlights in your hair?”

Your eye twitched. Before you could spit out a response, a cute, dark-haired barista came over and set a fresh mug of coffee in front of him, completely ignoring that your own was practically empty. Mingyu flashed her a smile, showing off his pretty canines as she walked away. You frowned.

Vernon had told you last night that Mingyu wasn’t the same guy you knew in college, but you begged to differ.

Turning back to you, he took a sip from his mug and asked, “Why did you want to meet up again?”

“Because my best friend is an asshole and you lost a bet.”

“Oh, yeah. That.” He nodded.

You almost didn’t believe Vernon when he told you. You knew he didn’t exactly want to be your date to all these weddings and probably felt like he had to, but he did offer so you didn’t think much of it. Until he told you last week that he put all his guest invites on the line while playing a drinking game with Mingyu, which the latter lost. So now Kim Mingyu, your college one-night-stand that was scared of commitment, was committing to being your date to several weddings this year.

Kill me now, you thought.

“I thought drinking games and making silly bets like this didn’t happen once your frontal lobe formed,” you said, and his dark eyes flickered up to yours.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he cleared his throat and set the mug down again. “Men never really grow up.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and sat back in your chair. “Apparently,” you muttered under your breath. “How do you have the time to actually commit to this? Don’t you have a girlfriend or something?”

“One,” he held up a single finger, “I take bets very seriously and I’m not a sore loser. It’s only removing five weekends out of the year for me. No biggie. And two,” he lifted another finger, “No.”

You raised a brow. “Well, I guess that answers all my questions.”

Mingyu stared at you for a moment, running those two fingers over his bottom lip. You suddenly had a flashback to that night, remembering his hands all over you, remembering his fingers plunging inside and curling –

Not the time.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend? Why put down two people on these RSVPs you sent back and then force just anybody to be your date?” He fought the urge to smile, trying to dig a little deeper into you. You weren’t falling for it this time. “I love the guy, but I know Vernon wasn’t your first choice to accompany you.”

“My ex and I broke up,” you replied. “Not much to it.”

Intrigued, he sipped his coffee again. “Why?”

“It’s none of your business, Mingyu.”

“Well, as your new date –”

“Drop it,” you said, voice taking on a new tone. “I’m serious.”

Mingyu raised his hand in surrender, and you shook off your anger. This was supposed to be a friendly, quick conversation, but it was seemingly moving off the rails. A sigh escaped your mouth before you asked, “So you said this is only taking five weekends out of the year. What do you do with your time? Are you working?”

“I thought I answered all your questions.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He chuckled softly, exposing those canines once again. His smile was so … ugh, you needed to stop getting distracted. “I work at a restaurant four days a week as a cook, and then teach flag football at a rec facility the rest of the time. I’ve been trying to save up to open my own restaurant for years, but I got the time to be a makeshift wedding date.”

You knew Mingyu had always loved to cook – you remembered when he’d been the resident chef at the fraternity – but to hear he was still passionate almost … melted you a little. Almost. You were dedicated to not being too swayed by Mingyu’s pretty words. This was a deal and that was the end of it.

“I see,” you nodded, uncrossing your arms to play with the handle of your still empty mug. “I’ve been working at the same marketing agency since college. Pays the bills, you know?”

Mingyu gave you a knowing look before running a hand through the long strands. “Always so committed.”

Your lips pursed. “One of us has to be.”

“Speaking of commitment,” he said without missing a beat, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “What are the dates for those weddings again?”

Save the Date for the wedding of Choi Seungcheol and Holland Levine: February 28th

It was a rainy Sunday in February. Your coworker, Choi Seungcheol, was getting married today at a local venue on the outskirts. His girlfriend, Holland – otherwise known as, Hinge Holland, when he met her on the dating app 3 years ago – was a little kooky and asked for them to be eloped that morning. Seungcheol was too in love to say no; he’d do anything she asked. They were married early morning, and lucky for you and Mingyu, all you had to attend was a reception. It was a nice way to test the waters of this deal before anything got too crazy.

Mingyu had picked you up in his truck, and together struggled to help lift you inside with your dress and heels on. As he drove away from the city and into a more rural area, he commented, “Your coworker must be real whipped to agree to a reception here.”

“What are you talking about?” You looked through your phone for the address Seungcheol had sent you months ago. “I thought the reception was at some small venue.”

Mingyu said your name, and you glanced over, seeing the smile on his face. “It’s a VFW owned by someone in his girlfriend’s family.”

You realized just how right he was when he pulled up to a spot in a VFW parking lot, seeing a crowd of Holland’s family pour into the post. You knew what the inside of a VFW looked like; you had your sweet 16 at one. But going to a wedding reception at one was a whole different story. Were the walls so old that they’d crumble once the DJ dared to play Dancing Queen?

Rain pounded from the sky, making the cold February wind even more chilly. Mingyu rounded the truck and opened your door, making sure to hold an umbrella above your head as you slid out of the seat. He looked … okay, he looked extremely handsome in his suit, tailored exactly to his body. You were in an old, off-the-shoulder black dress with mesh sleeves that were doing nothing in this wet cold. This wedding had crept up on you, and before you knew it, you remembered you didn’t have any new dresses to wear. And while it looked nice, the dress just barely zipped and you had to keep pulling up the neckline. Clearly, you had grown a bit since the last time you worn this. Probably in college.

Mingyu was staring at you now, letting his eyes wander down, and you were yanking at the neckline again. He didn’t deserve to see more of your cleavage. He whispered, “You look …”

“Just come on,” you cut him off, tugging him in the direction of the VFW. He struggled to keep up for a moment, rushing to hold the umbrella above both of you.

As soon as you both walked inside, you realized just how dressed up you were compared to the place. The building looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1990s. There was, at least, a huge buffet-style food setup in the corner and a man so old that he probably had one foot in the grave behind the bar. A sign in front of him said, OPEN BAR, written in thick sharpie. Various family members were congregating at tables, while the DJ – who looked like a Pitbull impersonator – was setting up at the head of the room.

Seungcheol ran over the second he saw you meandering through tables. He had the biggest smile on his face, tugging his new wife over to introduce her to you before wiggling his eyebrows at you when he noticed Mingyu on your arm. Even Holland couldn’t help but ogle him. Seungcheol was one of your closest coworkers, so it wasn’t weird when he asked, “Who’s the beefcake?”

Mingyu was too busy dealing with Holland’s questions to hear you reply, “Don’t ask. I’ve cycled through many options before I was forced to bring him.”

“I’m sure it was quite difficult for you,” he snorted, before carefully pulling his wife’s hand off of Mingyu’s and introducing himself. Not long after, he was ushering her away to start making speeches.

You and Mingyu found your seat quickly, and luckily enough, you were sat with most of your coworkers. Every single one was looking at Mingyu like he was a piece of meat, but he didn’t seem to notice as he had a friendly conversation with each of them. You struggled to not roll your eyes. How was he perfect with everyone? Maybe your dislike of him was irrational and unwarranted, maybe he did change. But … ugh, could he fuck up for once?

Your coworker, Minghao, sat to your left, watching Mingyu converse with the young assistant – Amelia, right? – who was very clearly batting her eyes at him. Leaning towards you, Minghao whispered, “I thought you were bringing Vernon?”

Minghao was one of the few people you told about your breakup, as well as Vernon and of course, your girlfriends. It wasn’t like you to go around everywhere and post on social media about your breakup; it wasn’t anyone’s business. But Minghao gave great advice, and he was one of the first people that helped you get over the heartbreak. He wasn’t just a coworker. He became a trusted friend.

Turning your head, you said, “Would you believe me if I told you that he lost a bet?”

“Considering who you ended up with,” he chuckled, “I’d say it’s a win in your favor.”

“He’s not that great.”

“Then you might want to pull Amelia off of him before she starts sucking his face.”

The reception ended at an early hour thankfully. Most of the elderly guests were falling asleep anyway. Mingyu was a class act, per usual, trying to get you up and out of your seat to dance with him, but the last thing you wanted to do was dance to Toxic by Britney Spears in front of your boss at the marketing agency. Instead, he took the lead to asking Seungcheol’s mom to dance, and made Amelia’s day when he asked her to join. Minghao only continued to laugh when you rejected each of Mingyu’s advances.

Once 10 PM rolled around and you both were exiting the doors of the aging VFW, you noticed the rain hadn’t let up. In fact, it seemed to have gotten even worst. You had to run to Mingyu’s truck with him holding the umbrella above both of you and almost trip over your dress as you hopped up inside the cab. Assuming it would be fine to drive, just a few minutes in the rain left you both realizing that it might be extremely unsafe to drive back to the city in this weather. You really couldn’t argue with Mingyu when he suggested you stay the night at a motel right down the road.

The woman behind the front desk at the motel was chewing so loud that you thought the wad of bubblegum between her teeth might be larger than your palm. She informed you both that the only rooms available were ones with a single queen-sized bed. As much as you desperately wanted two, you’d take what you could get. She started grabbing both of your informations to check in when a loud bolt of lightning cracked, followed by a crash of thunder. You instantly gripped Mingyu’s arm, and he paused signing his name to look down at you.

“Are you scared of thunder?” He asked playfully.

Realizing how tight you were holding on, you quickly removed your hand. “No, I’m … it’s fine.”

His bicep felt so much harder than anticipated. All muscle.

Stop that.

The front desk attendant gave you an actual metal key to open your room, the number dangling from a kitschy pendant. This was the kind of motel where you needed to venture outside to get to your room, and with your arms locked together, Mingyu led you both through the pouring rain to the right building. He shoved the key in the lock, immediately opening the door and allowing you to walk inside first.

The room was smaller than expected. The heat was hardly circulating and you were still shivering. A queen-sized bed was situated in front of an old RCA TV, decorated with a comforter that looked strangely similar to the one from the 80s that your mom had given you when you first moved out. The room smelled like bleach and all you could hear was the rain on the roof. Noticing you shiver, Mingyu walked over to the thermostat and adjusted the heat.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” you said, hugging your arms around yourself.

Mingyu pointed to the large window by the door. “I can’t drive in that. It takes an hour to get back to the city and I can hardly see the road.”

“Okay, well –”

Lightning struck again, painting the window white, and you jumped. Mingyu shook his head and walked over, closing the shades over the glass. He looked down at you, and you were acutely aware that he was the kind of person who could say everything just with his eyes. “Better?” He asked, a smile playing at his pink lips.

He was so close that you could smell his cologne and – god dammit, you were such a sucker for men that smelled good. He smelled like violets mixed with smokey sandalwood, spicy and musky. Whatever you were going to quip back died on your tongue, leaving you to reply, “I can’t sleep in my dress. I have nothing to wear to bed.”

Walking over to the tiny closet, Mingyu spotted a robe hanging up next to the vintage ironing board. He placed it in your arms and remarked, “Take a shower and put this on.”

“Are you saying I smell?”

He laughed. “No, you’re shivering and it’ll help warm you up.”

You nodded, heading off to the bathroom and shutting the door. As you slipped off your dress and let it pool onto the tile, you realized how antagonizing you were being for no reason. Mingyu had been nothing but nice to you, but you were suspecting him to switch-up at any moment. Maybe Vernon was right, or maybe you just needed to take a chill pill.

Mingyu was helping you out, after all.

After taking the warmest shower of your life and probably using all of the hot water in the motel, you walked out into the room with your robe tied firmly around your waist. The cotton smelled like mothballs and you hardly left an inch of skin showing. Granted you weren’t naked underneath, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your underwear. Again. After five years.

He was wearing only a tank top and boxers while setting up a makeshift bed on the floor. You struggled to maintain focus with him looking … well, like that, and eventually spoke up, “What are you doing?”

He hardly jumped at hearing your voice. “I figured it would just be easier if I slept on the floor. Trust me, I’ve slept in far worse places.”

“Mingyu, you don’t have to do that,” you sighed, pulling back the covers and tossing the mismatching throw pillows on the floor.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“I know, but it’s just –”

Thunder clashed outside, sounding like pots and pans clanging together, rattling your bones.

Your eyes connected with Mingyu’s, and you pointed to the empty side of the bed. “Sleep in this bed right now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You both agreed – more like, you told Mingyu and he listened – to place a wall of pillows between you two, leaving you on the edges of the bed. You curled up into yourself, your spine facing him, as Mingyu laid on his back and pinched the bridge of his nose. The rain was so loud. The thunder was deafening. You considered plugging your fingers in your ears as you slept.

Mingyu was shifting on the small sliver of mattress he had, wishing internally that he brought a joint or two with him. This bed was so uncomfortable that he probably wouldn’t sleep. But hopefully, you would. Although that was seeming highly unlikely from the way your back tensed with every boom of thunder.

He watched you from the corner of his eye, and eventually, you did stop shaking. Soft snores filled the room, replacing the sound of the rain. And then Mingyu felt himself relax, swiftly falling asleep with his arm thrown above his head.

Despite the pillow wall you built, you woke up with your head on his chest.

Mingyu had wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked that day, but he couldn’t find the courage to finish his sentence.

Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Chan and Adrianna Olson: April 4th

Tapping your freshly manicured nails on your bare arm, you leaned against the passenger side door of your car and huffed. You uncrossed your arms, beginning to pace outside Mingyu’s apartment building. The ceremony today started in two hours and you were about ninety minutes from the venue. Not to mention, there was only a matter of time before one of his neighbors showed up, forcibly removing you from the parking spot in front of the building you definitely did not live in. What the hell was Mingyu doing anyway? He said he’d be down ten minutes ago.

You tugged off your heels, realizing they’d be a bitch to drive in, and pulled your sneakers from the back seat. Your floral, strapless sundress blew in the Spring breeze. Your curls – that looked like they could’ve been done by a toddler – whisked off your bare shoulders as you stepped into your favorite Nikes.

“Sorry.”

Popping your head up, you halted while shoving the back door closed. You blinked, assuming your eyes were deceiving you, but there he was, sprinting down the front steps of his building with freshly chopped hair.

Mingyu was quickly walking over to shove his duffle in your backseat, pulling at his tie, when you leaned in and placed your hand on his head. Yep, that was his real hair. Those long locks that had reached his chin were gone, replaced by a hairstyle that was similar to how he looked in college.

“I know we’re running late,” he apologized, letting your fingers sink into the strands for a moment, “but do you have to –”

“This is not about that.” You removed your hand, leveling a look at him. “You cut your hair.”

Mingyu raised a brow. “It was getting long.”

You paused, blinking at him. “Why didn’t you warn me of your new look?”

“I didn’t think I had to?” He shrugged, genuinely confused as to why you were questioning him. “My hair had gotten even longer since February, so I just thought I’d freshen up for you –”

You completely missed his words – for you, he’d freshened up for you – because you were already interrupting him. “Well, it’s just – it might look weird in pictures because my hair is up and your hair is so short. And I’m already going to have so many people looking at us wondering why my ex, who’s name I put on the invite, isn’t here. And I just want to eliminate as much attention as possible. And, well – and –”

Mingyu placed both hands on your shoulders. His palms were large, practically burning into your exposed skin. “Are you overthinking?”

“No, I …”

When your voice trailed off, Mingyu hesitated for a moment longer and then slid his hands off. “Vernon told me that you dated the groom. Chan, right?”

Of-fucking-course, Vernon told him. Your lips pursed before you replied, “We were friends before that, and we only dated for like a couple months in college. I introduced him to the woman he’s marrying.”

“Then why are you so nervous?”

“I think I have a lot of reasons to be nervous these days.” You continued to stare at him, waiting for him to come up with another quippy remark, but it seemed he contested and shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit. The same tailored suit he wore to the wedding in February, a few loose threads at the seams. “Let’s get going. We’ll be in the car for a while,” you said, rounding your car and hopping inside the driver’s seat.

As Mingyu dealt with finding room for his duffle in your trunk, you took this small second to text Vernon.

You: your friend is infuriating

You: also I’m never going to forgive you for telling him that I dated chan

Vernon: you’ll get over it lol

Vernon: is that the only reason why he’s infuriating?

You: HAIRCUT

Vernon: oh I probably should’ve told you about that when I saw him last week

Vernon: sorry :/

You closed your texts when Mingyu hopped in the passenger seat, turning on your music to drown out your thoughts. The drive was long and you were lucky that you got to the venue with ten minutes to spare. You parked the car in a haste, running to your back seat and quickly tugging your heels back on. You chucked your sneakers onto the car floor, almost hitting Mingyu in the face when he went to grab his phone from the same area. Locking your car, you grabbed his arm and yanked, both of you running towards the venue attached to a pretty hotel. Mingyu, even with his long legs, was struggling to keep up. He was also slightly impressed that you could run so fast in heels, and that was definitely the only reason why he was staring at your legs. He wasn’t admiring how long they looked when the wind lifted your skirt and he got a flash of your calf.

Even from your seat in the back of the ceremony, you could see Chan’s face light up as Adrianna was escorted down the aisle. She was wearing a vintage wedding dress, the veil sheer enough to see how beautiful she was underneath, and Chan was eager enough to lift it as soon as they said, “I do.” Adrianna looked like she hadn’t aged a day since school, and you could probably say the same for Chan. But he did manage to finally remove the earrings he got six years ago, which made you giggle to yourself.

Mingyu pretended not to notice.

Most of the people at the wedding were old friends from undergrad, even a few Mingyu knew in passing. Every time you were approached, you prepared yourself for the same question: “Where is He Who Will Not Be Named?” Or, for those that actually knew Mingyu: “Since when did you know Gyu?” You weren’t sure how much longer you could fake a smile and laugh, pretend that your heart still wasn’t sore from the breakup, rehash the same words over and over again. It was tiring; you were tired.

Same explanation. Same heartbreak. You wouldn’t be surprised if the whole planet knew of your breakup by now. You didn’t announce it anywhere, besides telling your family and close friends. It was natural for people to be curious; you had been with your ex for a couple years, enough for your family to assume that he’d propose. But then he cheated, and you found out, and you were left in pieces, tied to Kim Mingyu as your date for a full year of weddings.

You just didn’t want to keep on doing this, explaining yourself ten times over, realizing that everyone was looking at you with interest. Maybe a second glass of champagne would be a good distraction …

“Wanna dance?”

You looked up from the rim of your empty glass. Mingyu had knocked you out of your daze, laying out a hand for you to take. The reception was lively with family and friends mingling on the dance floor, but Mingyu had still noticed you alone at the table, lost in your thoughts. Had he always been this attentive, or was he just prone to watching you?

Ignoring your internal monologue, you took his hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. Just as Mingyu was about to place his hand on your waist, the song changed, switching to a more upbeat track you used to blast in college. You immediately started laughing at all the older folks trying to follow the beat, and then found Chan with his wife, shimmying on the dance floor. Mingyu pinched the bridge of his nose, but found himself beaming when he finally saw the smile grace your features. He didn’t let go of your hand, let you twirl him to the song that took you back to the musty basement of a frat party.

Chan, at some point, had managed to dance over in your direction, bumping into you with a big grin. “I knew all the alumni here would love this,” he shouted over the music. “Do you remember when you puked outside a window once at some party and you said that it was this song that induced it?”

You were surprised when Mingyu said, “Yes,” at the same time as you. Both you and Chan glanced at him, eyebrows raised, until he added, “That was at one of my parties. I cleaned your vomit off the windowsill!”

The four of you erupted in laughter. Even Adrianna remembered that party, considering that was the night you drunkenly introduced her to Chan. She eventually pulled you away from Mingyu, leading you towards her group of bridesmaids so you all could dance together. But your eyes couldn’t help but find Mingyu’s across the floor, and then he was looking at you, and – god dammit, staring at him felt like a crime you’d consider going to jail for.

Everyone was looking at him, but he was looking at you.

Actually, Mingyu couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you. Not once.

He stared at you as if it was just you two, as if you were stripped bare before him, just for his eyes to see. You could tell from the way he bit his lip while smiling. He looked at you as if you were naked.

Soon enough, you were slipping through the crowd and by his side once again. He was now leaning against the wall by the open bar, nursing a scotch. The party was winding down; all the older family members had left, leaving Chan and Adrianna – plus a few other young couples – swaying to a classic Ed Sheeran song. It wouldn’t be long until they ended the night with Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. The time war nearing 11 PM.

Slinking beside him, he offered the glass to you and you took a sip, wincing at the burn. You stuck out your tongue. “How can you drink that so smoothly?”

“Years of practice,” he replied, and then flicked your nose in a way that shouldn’t make you blush. But you definitely did.

You blinked up at him, admiring how pretty he was in the faint, yellow light. Actually, he was pretty in every light, but you liked to find any excuse to admire him. Even if you denied it.

“Wanna get out of here?” You asked then, digging your nails into your palms. So afraid of rejection after all these years, even though he agreed to be here. “I think the reception is going to end soon anyway.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” He set his half empty glass on a random table and straightened his back before adding, “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

God, you needed to get it together. Those words were the bare minimum, but when he said them in that slightly muffled voice, it made your nails pinch the inside of your hands harder.

You both stood on opposite sides of the elevator, dragging up, up, up to your room on the seventeenth floor. Your eyes connected. A smile played at his lips. An unspoken tension brewing between the two of you. A feeling you didn’t want to be there in the first place, but something you couldn’t simply ignore.

This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not tonight. Not ever again.

He opened the door for you, allowing you to slip inside and grab your bag. While he rifled through his duffle, you brought your bag into the bathroom and leaned against the sink. You allowed yourself a moment to just breathe. Maybe if you kept exhaling like this, you would release all the tension from your body. You knew how silly it sounded, but desperate times called for desperate measures. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, turning your face from side to side. Was it the makeup that made him look at you that way sometimes? Perhaps he still had a fondness for lipgloss, like he did back in the day.

When you finally stopped studying your appearance, you wiped off your makeup and tugged on a pair of loose pajamas. Wearing these would be so much more comfortable – and less awkward – than the robe you wore after the last wedding. You still had nightmares about that. Carefully tiptoeing out of the bathroom, you expected to find Mingyu already in one of the two full size beds, scrolling through his phone and ignoring the noise you naturally made. But he was on the deck just outside your room, smoke billowing from his mouth.

You stood near the unoccupied bed, balancing on the balls of your feet, as you debated your options. A smart person would go right to sleep, leave him to his business. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously.

Despite the slight warmth to the air, you threw on a hoodie, scared of the possibility of your nipples showing through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. You slid open the door and immediately closed it, preventing any smoke from getting into the room. He didn’t turn; he knew exactly who was behind him. His back muscles flexed underneath his suit jacket, the joint dangling between his lips as he prayed for his lighter to work again.

“You probably shouldn’t be smoking in this suit,” you said, saddling up beside him.

He chuckled, finally taking a long drag. “I promise to get it dry cleaned before our next adventure.”

Before our next adventure. You bit the inside of your cheek.

Your eyes didn’t leave the joint now sitting between two of his fingers. (Jeez, were they always that big?) He let more smoke filter from his lips and into the open air, clouding up the starry night sky. Without even looking at you, he asked, “Why are you staring?” His words hung in the silence for a moment. “Have you ever smoked before?”

You shrugged. “Only once or twice with Vernon. Probably as freshmen.”

“You want me to show you how?”

Blinking at him, all you could do was dumbly nod. Mingyu laughed under his breath, fighting with his lighter again, before eventually holding the flame to the end. He then cautiously passed the joint over to you, allowing the filter to brush your lips. “Take it in your mouth,” he instructed, “now inhale.”

When you did as he asked, you must’ve inhaled far too deeply, or just didn’t exhale at the right time. Because then you were coughing, doubling over as you tried to catch your breath. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, concern etched in his tone, and patted your back as you hacked up what felt like your left lung. His voice was soft, soothing, but you could hardly hear it through the ringing in your ears.

“Yeah,” you sighed, voice hoarse, “I’m definitely out of practice.”

As you stood up, his hand stayed on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing patterns. Your breath stilled as you looked up at him. Playing with the joint between his lips, he said, “Let me show you an easier way.”

“Okay,” you agreed, before your conscious could stop you.

You watched as he took a long pull from the joint, sucking it all in until you could see his eyes get a little pinker, and then moved closer to you. Instinctively, your eyes closed and your lips parted, welcoming the scent of him. His lips only lightly grazed yours as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, letting it engulf your very being, and you felt yourself start to relax. He craned back, grinning down at you, and it took everything within you to not ask for another hit right then.

In the moonlight, you could see why you fell hard for Mingyu. He had only gotten more handsome since college. Light, in any form, was so kind to him, but with the stars hanging above his head … it allowed his dark hair to shine, casting a slightly blueish tone to his warm features. You could see the twinkling stars reflecting in his eyes, especially when he leaned back in, expelling more smoke into your mouth.

This felt too intimate. This felt like fucking.

Once you both were so high you could do nothing but laugh, Mingyu stubbed out the joint and you stumbled back into the room. You both were finally going to have a good sleep at one of these, especially since there were two beds. Rolling into your bed, you immediately burrowed under the covers as Mingyu took off his suit in the bathroom.

The last thing you expected was to feel him plop down in your bed. He was wearing so little that it made your thighs press together, or maybe that was just the weed talking. He was disoriented, laying halfway off the edge of your bed, staring at you as if you were the Mona Lisa. You huffed, “Mingyuuu. You need to get in your own bed.”

“Do you really want that though?”

His words made your eyes immediately snap open. A grin was tugging at his mouth again, his teeth sinking into that plush bottom lip. Oh, so also wanted … Oh.

You tried to sound cool and nonchalant, “Considering this is a full size bed, yeah.”

Even in the darkness, even with his back to the moonlight streaming through the glass door – his presence was making you nervous. His eyes weren’t leaving yours. You felt your hand inch over, your pinky curling around his.

“If I can be so honest with you,” he whispered, licking at the corners of his lips, “you are so beautiful that I want to kill any guy that has done you wrong.”

You exhaled, “Mingyu …”

He leaned in, smiling like he knew he caught you in his trap. “Yes?”

You were pretty sure that you knew Kim Mingyu by now. You knew that this would be just another night that meant nothing to him. No matter how much he “changed” in Vernon’s eyes, it was very clear to you that he remained uncommitted. But fuck it, your heart was still burning from the breakup, stinging from the memory of people uttering your ex’s name tonight. It was only going to be a kiss. Just something to soothe the pain.

He was so much closer now, invading your space, his hand completely eclipsing yours. He smelled like marijuana and lingering cologne. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, but you didn’t. You let him kiss you, and god, it would be so much easier to dislike Mingyu if he didn’t kiss so well.

It wasn’t long before his tongue was pushing into your mouth, his large body looming over yours as he pressed you into the mattress a little more. And you’re desperate for it; you couldn’t stop. This was supposed to be simple – just a kiss – but you could feel yourself falling under his spell, feel how his palms burned against your skin as they dragged down your torso. He explored your mouth like it was the first time, parting your legs to make room for himself on top of you. When his lips left yours, you almost let out a whine, but he helped take off your hoodie before reattaching his mouth to your neck. Those large hands snake under your shirt – up, up, and up – until he was cupping your breasts and you can feel how hard he is against your thigh.

Mingyu looked up at you as he kissed down your torso, his spit soaking through the thin fabric of the t-shirt you were still wearing. He lifted one of your legs, adjusting it so your thigh could rest comfortably on his shoulder and – shit, you knew where this was going. Reaching the waistband of your panties, he begged, “Let me go down on you.”

You mulled over his words. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“No,” he grinned against your skin, meeting your eyes from between your legs. “But that’s a tomorrow problem. Please?” His head tilted. “Do I have to beg? I’m willing.”

You bit your tongue, egging him on a little as he nipped at the inside of your thigh. He bucked his hips once, them twice, trying to get the smallest bit of friction on his cock that was currently throbbing in his boxers. He grunted softly against your skin.

“And if I say, ‘No?’” You asked with a raised brow.

He lifted his head and pouted his lips. After all these years, he still managed the perfect puppy dog eyes that could make just about anyone weak. “Don’t be mean,” he pleaded, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“You like when I’m mean,” you quipped, giving him permission by helping him shimmy your panties off. He adjusted your legs again, presenting you like a meal.

“I do,” he chuckled, his breath ghosting over your pretty, pink folds. “Especially, when you act like you didn’t want me here in the first place.”

Before you can rebuttal, he’s pressing his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue up your slit to collect the wetness that gathered there. Just the small amount of attention had you keening, your hips jumping for more of him, and Mingyu was happy enough to oblige. His tongue flicked at your clit as he slid one single finger inside of you, testing your limits. Those puppy dog eyes lifted from between your thighs, wanting to see you crumble, knowing that it was him who made you like this. You sighed out his name, your hand coming down to tangle in his hair. And god, if Mingyu didn’t love that … he’d be a dead man. He groaned when he felt you tug at the strands, beginning to swirl his tongue in a circle around your puffy clit.

You couldn’t even prepare yourself when he shoved another finger inside, pumping them in and out at an unreasonably fast pace. But you were bucking into him, tears pricking at your eyes as you whimpered for him. It was too much but almost too little at the same time. You could practically feel him smile as he devoured you. The bed rattled against the wall when he ground his erection against the frame, so needy and aching. His plump lips suckled on your clit, your slick smearing over his face, but he didn’t want to miss a drop of you. He needed more of you, so he started curling three fingers inside of you, teasing that sweet spot.

This wasn’t your first rodeo with Mingyu. He knew what you could take.

“Mingyu,” you whined, and he glanced up at you again with the most fucked-out eyes imaginable. And still, he didn’t stop. “You’re gonna … I’m gonna cum so fast.”

He moaned into you, then begged, “Please. Need to taste you.”

He was so determined, so desperate to feel you shake and moan and cry until he was completely spent on the taste of you. And it wasn’t long before he got his wish: as he shoved those three fingers into you, grazing your g-spot while lapping at you like you were his last meal on death row. You unraveled on his tongue, muffling your cries for the rest of the people sleeping on your floor. Biting into your hand, you had physically restrain your body from shaking as your orgasm rocked through you, but Mingyu held you down with a gentle hand on your stomach. He was staring at you again and you were staring at him and fuck, his half-closed eyes made him look like he was drunk on you. You could feel him smirking into your pussy as he collected every last drop of you, knowing that he did a good job. He sighed with relief when he could finally taste you again and again and again.

Once your body settled, you felt him start to tug at your shirt and kiss up your stomach. The thought of now having him inside you made your hands clench with excitement, but dear god, he just knocked the wind out of you and you weren’t sure how you could last. You were spent, tired, probably could just fall asleep right now.

You weren’t feeling his lips on your skin anymore, so you opened your eyes. The moonlight gave you just enough to see that, despite the raging boner he probably had, Mingyu was now snoring softly with his head resting on your hips. Brows raised, you almost couldn’t believe that this was the moment he decided to fall asleep, but you couldn’t deny that you had been on the verge of doing the same.

Untangling yourself from him, you quickly cleaned yourself up and wiped his face clean with a washcloth. You sighed, using all the brute strength you had to haul him up on what was supposed to be your bed, and wrapped the covers around him. You admired him for a moment, your hand coming up to smooth back his dark hair. Somehow, this felt even more intimate than you cumming in his mouth. So you quickly moved away and slipped under the sheets of the other bed, using his snores as white noise.

The next morning, neither of you spoke of what happened.

Mingyu had wanted to tell you that he had a crush on you the moment Vernon introduced you two all those years ago, even when you disliked him. And slowly but surely, he was starting to realize it never truly went away.

Save the Date for the wedding of Joshua Hong and Jordan Lo: June 20th

Two months passed and the spring air turned sweltering. It was on days like this when you rolled the windows down and wasted gas just to get an overpriced iced coffee that you reminisced. You were taken back to a time when you waited by the curb as Vernon appeared from football practice, and even though he was sweaty, you still always agreed to drive him back to his dorm on the other side of campus. You would watch him say goodbye to his teammates and – shit, the light would catch, and suddenly you were looking at Mingyu wipe the sweat off his face while laughing with the quarterback and –

Now you were thinking about Mingyu again.

You had been thinking about him since April.

All of this felt so silly, like stupid games young 20-somethings played. You knew it wasn’t good for you in engage in – well, anything with Mingyu. He had always been perfectly uncommitted with women, and he was clearly obsessed with his work, posting his new recipes or pictures of him and his flag football team on his Instagram stories. You could handle this. You could be an adult and have a functional acquaintanceship with someone you found attractive.

So you kept your distance. On the off chance that Mingyu was free and asked if you wanted to get together (which was a shock in itself), you declined. Even if you wanted to. Even if you desperately wondered what would come of it. The next wedding wasn’t until the end of June and you were already biting you lip at the thought of seeing him in a suit again.

The only person you could finally blabber to about this was Minghao, and in typical fashion, he laughed. Not that you expected anything less.

“You’re overthinking the entire situation,” he said over drinks. “It’s completely normal for you to have a little fun, especially while healing from a breakup. That’s what being single is all about, my friend.”

He was right. Of course, he was right. But what if Mingyu rejected you yet again, like he did in college? You wanted to talk to Vernon about this. He always gave you the best advice with this stuff, but this was his friend. The last thing you wanted was to make his friendship with Mingyu weird.

You attempted to ignore him. You redownloaded some dating apps as a distraction. You deleted them just as fast.

On the morning of June 20th, your cousin, Jordan, was marrying her longtime boyfriend, Joshua Hong. You had only met Josh on a number of occasions, but considering that they had been together for almost twelve years, you trusted him enough to take care of her. You felt lucky to be chosen as a bridesmaid and you’d never make a fuss, but dear god, the dark blue of this dress clashed with just about everything. The color was so dark and the dress was clinging to just about all of you and Mingyu’s tie was the wrong shade of blue –

Damn, did he look handsome though.

Jordan had made you both get to the venue early for a rehearsal dinner, and then once the morning came, you were whisked off to hair and makeup. You had barely said a word to Mingyu, too scared to give him anything besides small talk, but you couldn’t help but compliment the new suit he bought for the last few weddings. “Figured I’d cave and invest in one that wasn’t from Goodwill,” he explained, “for you.”

For you. For you. For you.

Your heels were hurting your feet halfway through the wedding, and despite how hard you were trying to focus on Josh’s vows, you couldn’t help but find Mingyu’s eyes in the crowd. He wasn’t paying attention to anyone else, his stare burning into yours to let you know his intent. You swallowed hard. Would anyone notice if you hid your blush behind the bouquet in your hands? It felt like torture having him look at you like this, as if there wasn’t an extravagant wedding happening around them, as if he wasn’t Kim Mingyu.

It wasn’t until the reception that you could finally get a word in with your cousin, some much needed alone time after what was surely going to be the craziest wedding you went to this year. You both parked yourself near the open bar, ignoring the guests on the dance floor that were screaming for another round of the Cha Cha Slide. Tucking a strand behind your ear, Jordan said, “I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. Jeez, I really didn’t think when I was three and met you a couple weeks after you were born that we’d be here. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You grinned, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” The bartender handed you a new glass of wine and you took a sip. “Besides, these days all I do is work or go to weddings. The life of being a permanent wedding guest, I supposed.”

“Speaking of guests …” Jordan turned her head slightly, ogling Mingyu from where he was standing up and trying to decline your great aunt’s advances to dance. Your cousin giggled. “He isn’t the older guy I thought you’d bring.”

“Circumstances change.” You shrugged, and she gave you a look. “I’d rather not get into it.”

Jordan’s brow raised. “You guys are having sex though, right?”

You almost choked while taking another sip of your wine. “Absolutely not.”

“You sure?”

“Well, I –” You sighed, and then decided to suck down the rest of the glass in one go. Jordan whistled. “We did at one point. Very long time ago. But he’s Vernon’s friend and … it’s a long story.”

“Sounds like it,” she snorted, eyes flickering around the reception until they landed somewhere behind you. “Well, if you’re not having sex with him, my friend just might tonight.”

Your expression muddled, until she pointed over your shoulder. Turning around, you found Jordan’s Maid of Honor chatting up Mingyu near the stairs that lead to the restrooms. Her hand was inching up his sleeve and he was blushing at what you could only assume was a compliment coming from her lips. He was clearly enjoying the conversation, despite the intimate looks he was giving you earlier.

Classic fucking Kim Mingyu, you thought.

A pang of jealousy surfaced that you couldn’t control. It was probably best for everyone if you walked away and took a breather. After Joshua pulled his wife onto the dance floor, you adjusted the tight silk of your dress and headed for the bathrooms. You walked past them, your perfume wafting past Mingyu’s nostrils, a scent he would know anywhere.

Instead of going inside the bathroom, you decide to stand in the empty hall connected to the venue and brace your back against the cool wall. You sighed, gathering yourself, completely unaware it wasn’t just you here until you heard the squeak of someone else’s shoes.

“I noticed you were empty,” Mingyu muttered as a way of greeting. He was holding two glasses of rosé between his fingers, stepping down the small staircase to get to you.

It was just you two now, and he was handing you the glass while standing so close that you could smell his cologne. Had this dress always felt that tight, or could you just not breathe right now? You watched the way his eyes flickered to your mouth, and it took everything in you not to yank him closer by the tie. Instead, you took a big gulp of rosé.

“You didn’t have to come after me,” you remarked, and then nodded your head in the direction of the Maid of Honor now on the dance floor. “You looked like you were having fun.”

Mingyu simply tilted his head to the side, studying you carefully.

“She’s pretty. Don’t stop on my account, but please be aware that we are sharing a room so you can’t bring anyone back there.”

Mingyu’s lips slowly curved into a grin. “Are you jealous?”

You scoffed, “No. I’m just … being realistic.”

Taking your half empty glass from your hand, he set them both down on a side table right near the women’s restroom. Your mouth opened, but the words died as soon as he placed a hand beside your head on the wall. He was so tall that he towered over you, even in heels, leaning into your space with pretty, half-opened eyes as he stared at your glossy lips.

“Can I be realistic with you?” He didn’t give you a moment to answer. “I cannot stop thinking about our last night together. I know you probably thought it happened because of the weed, but I … these past two months, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. And it’s killing me that I’ve been trying to be normal this whole night when all I’ve wanted to do is drag you away and make you cum again.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words. He leaned in then, grazing his nose over the side of your face, desperate to be in your orbit. You took your bottom lip between your teeth and tried to control your heart rate, but how was that even possible when Mingyu’s other hand was brushing up and down your side, tangled in the silk.

“Well, that …” You swallowed hard. “That wouldn’t be a good idea considering all my family is here.”

He tsked under his breath. “Obviously, it wouldn’t be, but …” You felt his nose at your jaw, inhaling the scent of your perfume again, the one that made him crazy. And he damn near groaned in your ear.

“Mingyu, you … you –”

“Fuck, how could you think I’m looking at anyone else here when you look this good in your dress?” His voice had taken on that needy tone he always got when he was horny. It almost felt like a reward to be able to hear it again. “I’ve been half-hard this entire reception just from looking at you, remembering the way you tasted …” He muttered another curse.

This was how he always acted. Mingyu could be so desperate and pleading when he wanted to get someone in bed, needy to the point he would do anything just to please you, but god – you couldn’t deny how much you liked it. He was reeling you in. You were like fish to bait.

Slowly, he laced your dominant hand with his and moved it from his belt buckle to his groin. You could barely breathe when you felt him harden under your touch, and then you remembered you were still in a public hallway, where just about anyone could walk by.

Your eyes met his half-lidded ones as he murmured, “Look what you’re doing to me.”

And god help you, because you whimpered at the sound of his voice, slick starting to gather between your thighs.

“Okay, Mingyu, just …” You sighed, composing yourself because you knew he wasn’t going to any time soon. Your hand slipped away from his and he huffed, his forehead falling to rest on your shoulder. “Go to our room and let me make my rounds. I’ll meet you up there.”

He stood up. For a moment, he was almost tempted to drag you into the bathroom and bury his face between your legs, too hungry to let you get away now. But one of your uncles was walking down the hall, and you separated quickly. With a nod, you walked back to the reception and said goodbye to your family that you didn’t get to talk to for too long prior. Jordan gave you a look when you mentioned about going to bed early, and even Josh told you how weird you were being, but your cousin shut him up and sent you a wink.

You exhaled heavily and headed back to hotel on the other side of the venue. Slipping your heels off once you were inside the elevator, you debated if giving into Mingyu this easily was the smart thing to do. Smart? Definitely not. But would it be enjoyable? You didn’t need to answer that question. Mingyu knew what he was doing.

As you unlocked the door to your hotel room, you began to wonder if you were just setting yourself up to be hurt again. He didn’t come back to you like this in college, but what’s stopping him from telling you that he’s “just not that into you” at the next wedding? Or what if he just thought of you as an easy hookup that would get his dick wet every 2 months? Well, you hadn’t done that yet –

Yet. Yet. Yet.

The word repeated in your head like a melody, because when you threw your purse down and saw Mingyu walking out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower and dressed in only a towel around his waist, you realized that you were most definitely getting his dick wet tonight. Whether it was in your mouth or somewhere deeper, you were salivating for it.

He was smiling at you and you were smiling at him and Jesus, he was so goddamn handsome that you couldn’t believe that he was the one desperate for you. Droplets of water trickled down his tan skin and that towel around his waist was just barely holding on. His torso was chiseled and his arms – fuck, his biceps were bigger than you remembered. He was something out of a dream – some horny, fucked-up dream that you only had after masturbating before bed.

He was on you instantly, pushing you against the wall and kissing you hard. Sighing into the kiss, your hands fist into the towel to yank him closer, but it only makes the flimsy fabric fall. You break away for a moment to mutter, “Oh, shit,” but his lips can’t stay away from yours for long. And he’s laughing, like you did exactly what he wanted. You were too hypnotized by the scent of his body wash to care.

Dragging his lips down your neck, he sucked at the spot that he knew made your thighs press together, grinning proudly against your skin when you moaned. His fingers gripped the soft silk of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric up to feel you that much closer. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much he liked you in this dress – and god, did he like you in this dress – he needed you out of it. Now.

Mingyu unzipped your dress with precision, setting it down on one of the two beds in the room, and both of you were suddenly wishingthere was only one. His hands smoothed down your sides, his breath hot against your mouth. He just wanted to feel you everywhere. He almost didn’t want to step away, afraid you’ll slip through his fingers like sand. When you two had hooked up in college, it was quick and explosive, letting out the tension that had been building for years. There was so much territory for him to cover now, so many ways for him to find out what made you whine and sigh with pleasure. But, if he were being honest, all he wanted right now was for you to –

“Sit on my face,” he begged, caging you into the wall, pressing his hard cock against your stomach. So desperate for just an ounce of friction, so hungry for another taste of you. He could literally start drooling at the thought of it. He was mesmerized by you; he’d do anything you asked just to have your pussy on his tongue again.

But you seemed to be debating your options, biting you lip again, and he wished that didn’t turn him on even more. You were just so pretty, and the way your face scrunched as you decided on something was a sight he couldn’t help but think about when he touched himself, even all those years ago. It was just you. You.

Eventually, your face relaxed, and you replied, “Well, you don’t have to beg me.”

Mingyu’s lips pulled into a smile, and he laughed while pulling you down onto the nearest bed. Despite his request, you continued to straddle his torso and kiss him for just a little while longer. He was needy, moaning into your mouth whenever his cock bumped against your ass, but all you wanted to feel his lips on yours, tangle your tongue with his, even if it was just for another minute.

You forgot Mingyu was stronger than you, though. It wasn’t much longer before he was yanking your body up and turning you around so you knelt just above his face. He inhaled the scent of your pussy and almost breathed a sigh of relief, but instead muttered, “Such a tease sometimes.”

Now that you were hovering above him, you were suddenly self conscious about how excited you were and if your arousal was seeping onto his face. You couldn’t even see if he was thrilled or not, since he had turned you to face away from him, but the way his cock jumped in front of your eyes told you enough. His hands gripped your thighs tight. “I don’t want to crush you,” you said nervously.

“You could suffocate me and I wouldn’t have a problem with it."

You chewed on your bottom lip. His tone was firm, probably the most serious you’d ever heard from him. But you were embarrassed and this was crazy and you still so wet. With flushed cheeks, you asked, “Mingyu, are you –”

“Yes,” he answered before pulling you down onto his face.

He wasn’t teasing you tonight. He was devouring you without even letting you catch your breath. His tongue swiping at your clit before he sucked on it – hard. So hard that you let you a sound that was a mixture of a yelp and a moan. Gripping you roughly, he spread you wider, drinking more of you in. Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his face, which made him groan into your pussy. The vibration in his voice spread throughout your entire body, goosebumps lining your flesh. “Mingyuuu,” you whined, begging for more, and you could practically feel him smirk as he flicked at your swollen clit.

Leaning forward, you turned your head up and noticed again just how hard he was. His cock had always been perfect: the perfect size, dark pink at the tip, veins etched into the shaft. Precum beaded at the head, sliding down every so slowly, as he throbbed and ached and – god, his hips were almost thrusting into the air now. You didn’t doubt he could get off for hours on this, but that didn’t mean he needed to be unsatisfied.

Besides, you wanted something to do with your mouth anyway.

Mingyu whimpered as you shifted slightly to reach his cock. Your body stretched, your mouth at the perfect angle as you flicked the head with your tongue. He pulled you back towards his mouth, shoving his tongue inside your tight hole and making you gasp at the same time you licked a stripe up his shaft. His tongue worked you open while you swirled your own along the tip, and then finally took him into your mouth.

The grunt he released should’ve caused an earthquake.

You bobbed your head up and down his shaft, choking when he bucked into your mouth. You could hardly breathe, taking every opportunity to inhale through your nose, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. God forbid, you have a hobby like wanting Kim Mingyu’s cock in your mouth. He took the liberty of grinding you against his face with his own hands, wrapping his lips around your clit again, eager to taste your climax. And to be honest, he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last if you kept sucking on his tip like that. He groaned each time, feeling your tongue circle his head before going back down, taking as much as you could, as if you were rewarding him. And he just couldn’t help but whine along with you.

Your lips pulled off him to kitten lick the veins along the sides of his shaft, and you breathily asked, “Are you close?”

His only response was a moan straight into your pussy.

You nodded, even if he couldn’t see it, before your mouth opened like second nature. You spit on his cock and stuffed him down your throat once again. Head moving faster, you were slobbering on him like a dog in heat, trying not to gag and failing. Your free hand snaked up to cup one of his balls, and the sound he released was deafening. His tongue flicked and sucked at your clit like he had nothing left to live for, hungry for every last drop of your essence.

But then you were cumming, and he was too not long after.

You cried, choking on his cock as you came all over his face. White blurred in your vision, and you were a mess of sweat and spit and so much cum. He exploded in your mouth a moment later, hot seed running down your throat, and you consumed all of it. Neither of you wanted to miss out on the taste of each other. It was filthy, intoxicating, how much you liked this. How much you could suck him off over and over again, and not get tired of him.

You didn’t know it at the time, but Mingyu would say the same about you. If not worse.

He could spend all day between your thighs and never want to leave.

When you both finally angled off each other, spent and exhausted, your breathing was heavy and off by two seconds. Mingyu was glancing over at you before you could even process, a smile playing at his swollen lips. He brushed away a strand of hair that was stuck to your sweaty forehead.

“Mingyu,” you finally said, “has anyone ever told you that you have boyfriend dick?”

Mingyu had wanted to tell you how much he’d been dreaming of that moment, how much you had haunted his dreams and left him waking up so hard that he felt he was going through puberty again. Sometimes he dreamed of how good it would feel when he finally slipped into you, inch by inch. You’d feel like home.

Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Seokmin and Quinn Song: July 31st

You couldn’t go a day without talking to Mingyu. Whether it be through text or over the phone, you were joking with him, telling him about your day, and vice versa. Just a month prior, you had tried keeping your distance, but now … you simply couldn’t help yourself. It was like there was a voice inside your head telling you to contact him, to send him a funny video you saw that day, to tell him about the show you were currently watching. And on nights when you had too much to drink, that voice made you text him that you missed him. He always said he missed you too.

Mingyu: I’m watching that show you recommended

Mingyu: kinda wish you were watching it with me

Mingyu: but I’m still content here and I can see why you like it so much

You: right?? I knew you’d like it!

You couldn’t help but giggle at your phone when his texts came through. And you answered them immediately, like you always did.

Mingyu: what are you doing right now?

You: wouldn’t you like to know

Neither of you made the effort to go on an actual date. It was all just flirty texts with a TikTok mixed in every once in a while. Promises about going back to that coffee shop someday, but never planning the day. To be honest, this was one of those moments where you were glad Mingyu was so uncommitted. If you started going on dates that didn’t include a vow exchange in between, it would be so easy to fall for him again, and then be let down when he eventually didn’t want to see you after wedding season.

Mingyu: I mean that’s why I asked

You: I’m hanging out with

A pillow was suddenly thrown at your head. “Ow!” You shouted, head shooting up from your phone to glare at Vernon sitting on the other side of the couch. “What the hell was that for?”

“Anakin is literally burning alive and all you can do is look at your phone!” Vernon scoffed, turning Revenge of the Sith back on. You set your phone down on your lap as he muttered, “Kinda wish I never won that bet.”

Vernon, obviously, was becoming increasingly annoyed that you and Mingyu had rekindled … whatever this was. Sometimes you wondered if you were talking to Mingyu more than your best friend, but given the way Vernon was acting, that was probably the case. You probably shouldn’t even be texting Mingyu while hanging out with Vernon. Bad friend move; happens to the best of us.

You apologized to Vernon in the best way possible: you bought him fried chicken from his favorite spot.

As summer came along, so did Seokmin and Quinn’s wedding at the end of the month, an invitation that was barely hanging on by an old Britney Spears magnet on your fridge. Quinn Song had been your first ever roommate out of college. You both had met on a Facebook group to find roommates in the area and quickly hit it off. She had been your roommate up until last year actually, when her now-fiancé Lee Seokmin asked her to move in with him. It was at that point that you finally decided to live alone, besides the few days out of the week that Vernon crashed at your apartment.

The wedding was being held on a pretty island in the northeast, nestled on the expansive grounds of a bed and breakfast in the area. The spot felt warm and lived in, the exact kind of place you imagined Quinn would get married at.

Meeting Mingyu at the airport had been awkward, but at the very least, you two were sitting in different rows of the plane. Maybe it shouldn’t have been as cringe-worthy as it was, given the fact that you two had been talking nonstop, but it was the memory that the last time you did see each other in person, you were sitting on his face and his cock was so far down your throat –

Mingyu had found your eyes a couple rows behind him on the plane. Even he was blushing now, as if he could read your thoughts.

You had rented a car once you reached your destination and threw him the keys, letting him drive the convertible down the coast while the summer breeze whipped through your hair. You tried not to notice the way his hand twitched on the gear shift, like he was itching to place his palm on your thigh, to ground himself to your presence. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Especially when all you could do was stare out the window with a big smile on your face.

Unfortunately, you had to book a room at a small hotel near the bed and breakfast since all the rooms were used for the wedding party. The hotel was quaint, but definitely old and smelled like the Febreze scent your mom used to love when you were a kid. Your room was tinier than the pictures implied, but it was on the first floor and had a screen door that opened to a pretty view of the ocean. You didn’t have much time to enjoy it though, considering that the ceremony was in a few hours and the reception would probably carry on until way past midnight.

You decided to rewear the floral sundress that made a previous appearance at Chan and Adrianna’s wedding. It wasn’t like anyone here was at that event, and honestly, you didn’t care. Throwing your hair up into a perfectly messy updo, you curled a few pieces and took your time with your diligent makeup routine. Mingyu was in his suit before you could even blink, biding his time while you got ready by watching past game recordings of the flag football team he taught and trying to identify key moves they missed out on. As you finished up and clumsily slipped on your shoes, the perfume you sprayed seemed to beckon him like a siren song, and suddenly, he was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

Your brows shot up. “Done with your flag football research?”

“You’re beautiful,” he replied.

You turned, unable to stop your lips from pulling into a soft smile. His expression was so warm, cheeks tinged slightly pink either from embarrassment or a nasty sunburn. He was beautiful. In ways you couldn’t even comprehend.

Holding out your necklace to him, you asked, “Can you help me put this on?”

He nodded, plucking the dainty chain from your palm. You moved back to the mirror as he struggled to open the clasp with his thick fingers, but he got it eventually. Placing the thin, gold chain around your neck, you watched the small, star-shaped pendant sit so delicately under your collarbones. He fixed the clasp on your neck, his fingers brushing the top of your spine, and you watched him lean forward in the mirror.

His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, breath hot and making the hairs on your neck stand up. “I meant it, by the way,” he whispered, and then placed the softest of kisses behind your ear.

Your breath hitched, and you were unable to form a single coherent thought. For the first time in a while, he was catching you by surprise. He was moving back, and you noticed him smirk in the mirror, knowing exactly how he was affecting you. That annoying asshole –

“Ready to head out?” He asked, grabbing his wallet from the desk.

You huffed and tugged the strap of your purse onto your shoulder. “Of course.”

The grounds of the bed and breakfast were bigger than you assumed, enough to fit an extremely large tent and hardwood floor for all the guests to congregate. The ceremony was held near the shoreline of the ocean, and it was so, unapologetically Quinn to have a few seashell pins in her veil as she walked towards her husband. You had known Seokmin as long as Quinn had been your roommate, but you had never seen this kind of smile on his face until now. He completely lit up at the sight of her, and he didn’t waste a second to say, “I do,” once his time came.

As the guests crowded into the tent for the reception, Mingyu seemed to hold onto you like a toddler with it’s parent. His arm was locked around yours, letting you lead him through the crowd, even though he was tall enough to see over the tops of everyone’s heads. His palm was so warm on your wrist, and then his fingers were so easily lacing through yours, and you squeezed because you simply couldn’t help yourself.

You were able to find your table easily, but you didn’t recognize the other people already there. They introduced themselves as Seokmin’s friends, and you remembered seeing one or two of them at a bar. You still couldn’t get a read on these people, and found yourself swiftly growing silent around their shared camaraderie. But Mingyu was suddenly so talkative, catching along with their jokes just as quickly, so you stood and whispered in his ear, “Do you want a drink?”

He leaned back to meet your eyes, and you swore time stopped for a moment. His hand reached down, squeezing your wrist, as he said, “You know what I like.”

Jesus. Fuck. Since whendid he have you this wrapped around his finger?

(Probably since sophomore year of college.)

You nodded, swinging your head in the direction of the bar, and your feet had started to head there when you halted in place. It almost felt like your heels were glued to the floor as you found the face of the last person you expected to be here. The only face that could make all the noise drown out around you.

Your ex.

He still had that same curl that always got in his eyes. He was wearing the same suit he wore to your mother’s engagement party last year. The same watch on his wrist; the same cufflinks. Same. Same. Same. And now, he was meeting your eyes across the room. Bodies formed in clusters under the tent – some hugging, some stumbling into each other – but he was unable to look away.

Until a head popped up in front of him, standing from her chair at the table. Her wedge sandals almost made her taller than him, and her dress looked expensive enough that he probably bought it. You didn’t know her, but you knew of her. Well, at least, you knew what the back of her head looked like, and that was her right there.

You couldn’t forget the night even if you tried. Exhaustion had your shoulders sagging as you unlocked the door to your boyfriend’s apartment. He didn’t typically keep it locked, but you had a key anyway. You remembered how quiet the place was, except for the soft sounds echoing from his bedroom. At first, you thought he was just masturbating, and to be honest, you were too tired to engage in anything tonight. But a voice in your head had urged you to move, to go, go, go towards his room. And you were slowly pushing open the door, only to find your boyfriend fucking your 22-year-old neighbor from behind, yanking on her short hair like a leash. You had been too scared to move, too scared to breathe, but eventually, you had started wailing. His eyes had found yours – exactly like in this moment – and he screamed, slipping away completely as your back slid to the floor. He had tried explaining, tried to yell at the young girl, but everything had drowned away in that moment, and all you could hear was the ringing in your ears –

Your breathing was growing rapid, just like that day at his apartment. Sprinting to the inside of the bed and breakfast, you tried to act normal and say hello to whoever you knew mingling by the bathroom. But something was clearly very wrong. It was evident in your eyes, the way tears were pricking at the sides. You almost thought the universe was pulling a cruel prank on you, but then you remembered that it was Quinn who had introduced you two in the first place, that he had been a friend of a friend.

Climbing up the staircase in the lobby, you plopped yourself down on the middle step and let your face fall into your hands. You began to count your breaths – one, two, three, one, two, three – anything to make you get a semblance of control. But you could feel your brain spinning, and your heart was beating too fast. Was this what it felt like to die? Was your cheating ex going to be the last face you saw before you completely slumped against this staircase? Vernon always said you had a flair for the dramatic. What a fitting way to end.

You felt a weight sink into the plush carpet next to you, and you lifted your head, tears brimming your eyes.

“You do realize that this isn’t your party. You can’t cry if you want to,” Mingyu joked, reaching out and swiping the tear at your lash line. His eyes softened then, looking at you like you were something fragile, like a baby bird. “What’s wrong?” His voice was hardly about a whisper.

You sniffled, dabbing at the corners of your eyes with your knuckles. The last thing you needed was your makeup messed up. “This is so embarrassing. I’m crying over something so …” Your words trailed off, noticing that he was leveling a look at you. You sighed before admitting, “I forgot that the bride, Quinn, might invite my ex because they were friends. Somewhat.”

“Your ex? As in that ex?” His brow shot up, and you nodded. “Did he come alone?”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, and after a moment, you watched his large palm slowly envelope one of yours. The rough pads of his fingers – the hands of a cook – brushed over your knuckles, and his touch was so warm that it could burn.

His voice was soft in your ear as he said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

You chuckled a little, turning to look at him again. “Then we’d be sitting on this staircase forever.”

He smiled at you and stretched out his long legs. “That’s fine with me.”

Your lips pursed, and you found him staring at them for a moment. A sigh escaped, and you glanced down at your laced hands. How perfectly they fit together, how he held you with such a fierce softness. His thumb grazed the scar on your knuckle that you got the first time you fell off your bike. Finally, you answered, “He came here with the girl he cheated on me with.”

Mingyu didn’t speak, but you did hear him do a sharp intake.

“She’s twenty-two. She didn’t – she doesn’t know any better. He’s in his early thirties and he’ll do it again,” you continued, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. “I found them in his apartment after I came home from a late meeting at work. It was … messy. Walking in on them, the fallout, now this … everything about that breakup has felt like one big mess. And now, I have to see him here and be reminded of it all–fucking–over again.”

You didn’t even dare to meet his eyes as the next words tumbled out of your mouth, already feeling your voice start to break again. “It didn’t just hurt because I found them. It hurt because … I never wanted to become my mother. I love her. I really do. But the last thing I ever wanted was to become her. Be in the same situation as her. And yet, there I was, witnessing yet another infidelity that would affect my life for what seems like forever.” You rubbed at your running nose. “I found my father cheating too. It wasn’t exactly the same. I found him kissing my best friend’s mom in my parent’s bedroom one night when my mother stayed at work too late. The sentiment still stands, and history was always bound to repeat itself. Daughters always become their mothers and I always have to bear witness to another man not choosing to stick around –”

Mingyu stopped you by turning your face towards his, one hand cupping your cheek. His thumb skimmed the tears running through your blush. He didn’t say anything; his eyes let you know that he was here. That he was sticking around. Despite everything you thought of him, despite your past – Mingyu was here.

He held you for as long as you needed, gathering you in his arms and cradling your head against his shoulder. He let your tears soak into the fabric of his expensive suit, promising he’d get it dry-cleaned, which made you laugh. Your fingers clutched his lapels and you almost considered not letting go. You would give anything to stay in this bubble, to sit on this staircase in his embrace forever.

“I meant what I said all those months ago,” he said, his voice muffled from his lips at the crown of your head. “I would kill any guy that has done you wrong. Do you want me to kill him?”

You chuckled and raised your head from his shoulder. “What are you gonna kill him with? A butter knife?” You shook your head. “No chef is gonna let you in that kitchen tonight to grab a weapon. You of all people should know that.”

Mingyu grimaced. “This conversation is getting morbid.”

Another laugh bubbled at your lips. “You brought it up!”

“And you’re smiling again,” he said, making your hands hold onto him tighter. “That’s all I could ask for.”

Such simple words could take your breath away, especially when they came from his mouth. You searched his eyes for a moment, your fingers now smoothing out the creases in his lapel. Eventually, you whispered, “I don’t know if I can survive this whole reception. I hate the awkward tension, but I should stay for Quinn.”

“Trust me, I know,” he snickered, and his hand covered over yours as an anchor. “I say we stay at the reception for as long as your comfortable. Then we go to bed early. Whatever works for you.”

Your smile was so kind as you nodded along with his plan. After touching up your makeup, you took his hand and let him lead you back to the reception. Once you saw Quinn in her short, after party dress and looking at Seokmin with stars in her eyes, you instantly felt more at ease. This was her day; you wouldn’t let one person sour it. And Mingyu, clearly, wasn’t going to let your own nerves sour it either. Anytime you locked eyes with your ex, there Mingyu was, distracting you by whispering in your ear how pretty you looked or asking you about your best memories while living with Quinn. There was one moment where you saw your ex heading in your direction, assuming he was finally going to talk to you, and Mingyu stood up to whisk you onto the dance floor. His large arms enveloped you, holding you close, as you swayed to one of your favorite songs. Everything about him felt safe, secure, and he even let you stand on his feet when you told him you had never been that good at dancing. And when you looked at him, you noticed that he was staring at you like how Quinn looked at Seokmin during her speech. Even when you had cried, had let him in, see parts of you that not even Vernon touched … he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

You stayed at the reception far longer than anticipated. When you told Mingyu that you were too tired to stay any longer, he didn’t question it. He simply grabbed your purse and jacket before taking your arm in his, walking the short distance back to your Febreze-ridden hotel. The first thing you did once you were back in your room was take off your heels. They were only a kitten heel, but your feet were already blistering, and you winced as you went to the bathroom to wash off your makeup. Mingyu had set your stuff down on the small desk before walking out onto the deck connected to your room. You craned your neck out, assuming he was going to smoke a joint, but he was just staring at the ocean, noticing how loud the waves crashed against the shore.

You padded out of the bathroom and leaned against the door frame for a moment, admiring him in the dim light. It almost left in you in disbelief how you had roped Kim Mingyu, one of the most attractive men you’d ever met and probably one of the longest crushes you’d ever had in your life, into being your wedding date for an entire year. He had a lost a bet, but he really didn’t have to be here. He didn’t have to invest in a new suit. He didn’t have take the time off from his two jobs. He didn’t have to listen to your trauma, or look at you like you were this painting to be worshipped, this Mona Lisa of sorts. Mingyu could’ve said no.

But he didn’t.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you finally informed him, and he turned to meet you eyes. “Can you help me out of my dress?”

He nodded diligently, following you to the bathroom. You pulled your hair up with one hand, and with deft fingers, he slid the zipper down your back. Typically, you would hold the dress to your chest until he left the bathroom, out of respect, but you were letting it pool at your feet tonight. You stepped out of it, your gaze locking with his as you turned on the shower. You were giving him this look and he was still standing there in his half-buttoned dress shirt, hands forming into fists as he fought the urge touch you. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for your permission.

But you didn’t even have to say anything. Your eyes said the words for you. As you climbed into the standing shower, he took his time removing his suit, pretending as if he wasn’t fucking dying to have his hands on you, and then he was behind you, the hard panes of his chest flush against your back. He closed the shower door as the glass began to fog up.

The water was scalding as it rained down on your head, steam forming around the small bathroom. You could still feel the dried tears on your face, imprinted underneath your makeup all night, and you did your best to wash them away. Mingyu noticed the way your shoulders sagged, the way you sighed while you were lost in thought, and as much as wanted touch you in places that made those sweet sounds fall from your lips, he held himself back. Instead, he let his hands comb through your wet hair before scrubbing shampoo into the strands. You relaxed against him, closing your eyes as he washed your hair.

It was so domestic that you could cry.

(Again.)

The last person you ever thought could be capable of this kind of care was Mingyu. You both had known each other for eight years, and not once had he displayed this kind of person around you. Or maybe you just weren’t paying attention, too lost in your own perception of him. Even now, you couldn’t help but remind yourself of when he avoided you after the hookup in senior year. He really isn’t the same guy, Vernon’s voice echoed in your head. Give him a chance. You had never trusted those words, but in this moment … you realized where you had went wrong.

The water began to get cold when it came time to wash his own hair and you could tell he was struggling to rush. His mannerisms made you giggle, and even though the steam began to dissipate from the room, you still turned to his front and rested your forehead on his chest, letting the lukewarm water beat down your neck.

When you walked out of the shower, you had never felt more fresh and at ease. Your body was all warm and you had brought the comfiest pajamas for summer weather. The breeze wafting off the ocean blew through your room from the open screen door, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore could lull you to sleep.

But right now, it seemed like neither of you were keen on the subject. As you slipped under the covers next to each other, you were grateful that there was only one bed: one large, king-sized bed that both of you could be using to spread out. Instead, you were huddled close, hair still wet from the shower, and his arms locked around you like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. Your hands cupped his face, studying parts of him that you didn’t think of in your previous lust-induced hazes. Fingers traced his lips, brushed over the tip of his nose – where his tiny mole was stamped – before you skimmed the shell of his ear.

You almost didn’t recognize your own voice as you whispered, “Thank you for tonight.”

“Anytime,” he smiled.

A beat of silence. Hands stilled. Lips pursed.

“Mingyu?”

“Yeah?”

“Please, kiss me.”

His mouth was on yours before you could even finish the sentence, but he still took his time exploring new ways to make you moan into the kiss. He kept one hand splayed on your back, pressing you further into him, while the other played with the hem of your loose t-shirt. Your hands knotted into his hair as he kissed you slow, savoring you like a fine meal. And you simply let him. You were like molten lava, melting in the palm of his calloused hands.

You felt his fingers prod at the waistband of your shorts, and it was game over. Slipping them under, he practically whined into your mouth when he realized you hadn’t put any panties on after the shower. His mouth disconnected from yours, fingers sliding between your slick folds. “Are you trying to kill me?” He breathed against your lips.

“In my defense,” you chuckled softly, “I forgot to bring them to the bathroom.”

He laughed with you, and you were debating on crying again because he was so kind and good and definitely just as obsessed with you as you were with him. No matter how many times you didn’t want to admit it, you had somehow fallen into Kim Mingyu’s trap once again.

He kissed you again, hungrier this time, as he spread you open with his fingers. You whimpered, but he swallowed it with his tongue and began to rub tight circles on your clit. Your leg lifted, hooking onto his waist, and you bucked against his hand. Your body felt like it was on fire, but Mingyu was careful, plucking your strings like a guitar, and you needed moremoremore. Pushing two fingers inside of you, his kiss was like a sound barrier as he consumed all your sweet sounds, as if that would allow him to hear them forever.

It was only when you came apart that he dragged his lips to your neck, wanting to focus on your moans as he fucked you with his fingers. He felt you shake, your pussy squeezing his thick fingers, and he kept rubbing your clit through it, wanting to prolong your orgasm as much as possible. If not for you, then for him, just so he could hear you. He would make you cum as many times as you wanted if it meant he could hear his name falling from your lips.

Neither of you wanted to stop; all fumbling hands and shaky limbs as he finally tugged your shorts off. It was a lot more difficult to take off his boxers without separating from you, but you laughed and you were so pretty that he almost forgot what he was doing in the first place. Once he was situated, you rolled on top of him, straddling his lap. You held his face in your hands, and for a moment, you could almost see reflections of the dark ocean outside in his starry gaze. Your palms drifted down, fingertips tracing the hard panes of his chest. He was all muscle, sculpted like your very own David statue; his complexion so similar to golden hour personified.

You lifted your t-shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. Mingyu was already so hard that it hurt, but he took a few more seconds to stare at you. He wanted to remember this moment forever: the sight of you on top of him, naked and vulnerable, hair wet and a faint blush on your cheeks.

Sitting up on your knees, you positioned yourself right over his cock and gripped the shaft to get the perfect angle inside of you. You were looking at him and he was looking at you as you lowered yourself slightly, grazing his tip against your wet slit, still dripping from your previous orgasm. Mingyu groaned at the sensitivity, throwing his head back against the pillow and muttering, “This is so mean.”

“You like when I’m mean,” you giggled, repeating the same words you uttered that fateful night after Chan’s wedding, when Mingyu’s face was buried between your thighs.

And Mingyu recognized it too, a grin making it’s way to his lips. But that was soon replaced by look of complete bliss as you finally sunk down onto his cock. He was the perfect size, filling you just right but never uncomfortable. He gave you a moment to adjust, but you could tell from his white-knuckled grip on your hips that he was damn near fighting the urge to thrust up into you. He didn’t though. He was patient and perfect and all yours.

You anchored yourself to him with one hand on his shoulder, beginning to rock into him at a snail’s pace. Your eyes connected, and even as he moaned underneath you, he was unable to stop smiling. Mingyu let you set the pace, and you took your time, getting to know what speed had him pulling your hips harder. The angle had him buried so deep inside that you could practically feel him in your stomach, and you sighed each time as you moved against him.

“Fuck,” he whined, shifting to sit up against the headboard. “I’ve needed you so bad.”

“I know, I know,” you confessed in a breathy whimper. “Me too.”

He was digging his fingers into your hips so hard that you were sure there’d be marks, but you didn’t care right now. You just wanted him, wanted this. Wanted to be this connected to him and feel him this deep and cum together as the waves crashed against the shore outside. He began to move you on his own accord, bouncing you on his cock as he leaned forward to nip and suck at your neck. “So pretty,” he mused against your skin, breath stuttering as your walls tightened. “So pretty sitting on my cock.”

You were the one whining now, raking your fingers into his dark strands as your thigh muscles burned. Your breasts jumped with each slam of his hips against yours, and he planted hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, dipping his tongue into your collarbone, before latching his mouth around one of your nipples.

Your hands pulled at his hair. “Mingyu, please,” you cooed, not exactly sure what you were begging for. Just moremoremore.

His eyes lifted to yours and you watched him fucking smile while tugging at your nipple. You were melting like putty, and he was able to still move you with one hand, using his free one to cup your other breast and run his thumb over that nipple. Tears pricked at your eyes, feeling him pulse inside you with each pass. And when he started to thrust up into you, you were pretty sure that you were close to seeing stars.

“Wanna cum with you,” he rasped while switching breasts and flicking his tongue over your other nipple. “Please, wanna cum inside you.”

You nodded, too cock drunk to say anything besides, “Yesyesyes.”

He was rolling your hips now, practically rutting into you as he lifted his head from your chest, leaving a trail of spit. You leaned down and let his lips ghost over yours. Moans slipped from your mouth into his, and he was bouncing you on his cock so fast you almost couldn’t register to breathe. His breath was hot against your lips, so close he could feel his body shaking, but he needed you to be closer, needed to feel you tightened around him and milk him for everything he was worth.

Snaking a hand between your bodies, he found your clit easily, knowing your body better than anyone ever had. All you could hear in that moment was the sound of the ocean through your screen door and skin slapping against skin. You were so wet and warm and – shit, you were starting to clench around him. He rolled your clit between two fingers, and a whimper slipped out of his mouth when he felt your pussy clamp around his throbbing cock.

He needed to cum and so did you and – fuck, he could feel it, feel you, feel how deep he was inside.

He would do this forever if you asked.

“Fuck, Mingyu, oh my god, right there, right there –” You pleaded in his ear, feeling yourself tip right over that edge –

Then you were cumming.

And so was he.

You moaned his name like it was a prayer, shattering as you came undone. Your walls were squeezing him like a vice, and he was unable to hold himself back anymore, burying himself to the hilt before painting your insides white with his orgasm. Hips jerked, bodies went taunt. You felt your whole being dissolve into nothing but pleasure, molding yourself to him in his arms. When the rush of warmth started to fade and he felt your combined releases seep from between your thighs, he breathed out a sigh of relief, brushing kisses over your jaw.

You weren’t sure you were in your right mind. Everything was so hazy. But you didn’t want to move away just yet. Even when his cock started to go soft inside of you, you stayed connected to him, pushing his hair back from his forehead and whispering praises in his ear like, “You were so good … So good to me … My Mingyu … I’ve always been yours …” You could feel him smiling against your skin, his hands tracing circles on your lower back.

But as time seemed to stop and you felt peace for the first time in a while, you realized just how deep you had fallen. You were drowning in him.

Mingyu had wanted to tell you that it felt exactly like his dreams. If you were drowning in him, he had already sunk to the bottom a long time ago.

Save the Date for the wedding of Nathan Chaney and Your Mother: September 5th

Your mother was remarrying. Her and Nathan had been together since you went off to college, and then got engaged just a year after you graduated. They decided on a long engagement, choosing to plan out a destination wedding in the Caribbean. You thought it was crazy at first, but then your mother said, “If this is going to be my last wedding – and it is – I want to go out with a bang.” You couldn’t exactly blame her. After your dad had cheated and the divorce was finalized, you knew your mother deserved something like this. She deserved the world.

When she had called you just a week before the wedding, babbling on about who you were possibly bringing now that your ex was completely out of the picture, you paused. Holding the phone to your ear and watering one of your half-dead plants with the other, you said, “I’m … I’m going with Mingyu.”

“Vernon?” She asked, not believing what you said.

“Mingyu.”

“Like … the Mingyu from university? The football player?”

You sighed, playing with the dead leaves on the plant. “He was also – and still is – one of Vernon’s good friends.”

“Oh,” your mother said, more surprised than anything. “Well, you better watch for Nathan’s sister. If Mingyu looks anything like how I remember from Family Day, she will go buck wild over him.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” you chuckled.

The truth was … you weren’t exactly sure how this wedding was going to go. Ever since the last one, you had been progressively putting more distance between you and Mingyu. Once again. Your last night together had been so real … too real, and you wanted to save yourself from the heartbreak after this wedding when you never saw him again. As much as you hated to admit it, feelings were now involved, seeping into your bloodstream, until your heart thrummed like the sound of his name on your tongue.

Slowly pushing him away … it hurt, but it was better this way. Pain was temporary and so was your arrangement. You knew that going into it, so how did you end up in this mess? You remembered what had happened after Chan’s wedding, the way Mingyu looked at you as he was shotgunning smoke into your mouth and – yeah, you knew exactly how you ended up here.

If you kept telling yourself this was for the better, maybe you’d start believing it. Maybe your feelings would drift like smoke and your mother’s wedding would be a final farewell before you two went your separate ways.

But you had been doing that for a month now.

And those feelings refused to fade.

You had an early morning flight the day of your mother’s wedding. Typically, you wouldn’t be getting to a destination wedding on such short notice, but the ceremony was small. So small your mother refused to have a rehearsal dinner and no bridal party. It was about her and Nathan, and you had to respect that she was doing things her way this time around.

You had waited at your gate right before doors closed for Mingyu, since you were on the same flight. But he was clearly running late and you were much too awkward around him now to text him. So you finally got on the plane and found your seat, noticing the one seat in the back still left unoccupied. Once you had landed five hours later, you quickly headed to the hotel that Nathan had booked for the ceremony and reception. Your phone lit up as you hailed a ride.

Mingyu: I’m sorry, I got a new flight

Mingyu: I’ll be there just 2 hours after you land

Mingyu: I’ll make it for the ceremony. I promise

Feeling his anxiety radiate through your phone, you believed him, and then wondered if maybe this was a blessing in disguise. You were rewarded a few more hours of alone time before you had your last hurrah with Mingyu. Maybe if you buried your feelings deep enough, you wouldn’t tense up the second you saw his face. Maybe if you didn’t look into his eyes, you wouldn’t have the urge to kiss him. Or let him hold your hand. Or spread your legs to welcome him inside –

You dropped your lipgloss onto the bathroom counter, sick of your own thoughts. Your square-neck, baby blue dress was clinging to every curve, but you felt like you were being suffocated by the fabric. You had just finished doing your hair and makeup, but you couldn’t quite keep your thoughts at bay. Nerves batted against your skull, making your hands shake slightly. What would you do once Mingyu walked in? Would you avoid his stare? Would you tell him immediately how much you liked him and how this wouldn’t work out and you knew you set yourself up for heartbreak –

Maybe you needed a walk.

Grabbing a spare pair of sandals, you headed outside to walk the beach just along the grounds of the hotel. There was still an hour before the ceremony, and you could just see the planners putting finishing touches on the decorations laid out on the shore, where your mother wanted it to take place. Couples were still walking through the water. Kids were making sand castles. The sun was slowly beginning to set and the breeze was whipping your hair off your shoulders.

And you smiled, despite everything you were feeling. Because where there was an end, there would always be a new beginning.

“HEY!”

You spun around, your sandals sinking into the sand. Although you recognized his voice, the last thing you expected to see was Kim Mingyu running towards you in his pristine black tux, his tie loose around his neck and blowing in the breeze. It was like something out of a movie, the kind of movie where there was supposed to be a happy ending, but you knew you weren’t afforded luck like that in real life.

He stopped in front of you, running a hand through his hair. Sand sprinkled down the tops of his shoes.

“When did you get here?” You raised a brow.

“About twenty minutes ago. I flew in my tux because I figured I wouldn’t have enough time to change. But now it just kind of smells like …” He lifted the sleeve to his nose and inhaled. “Like peanuts and old plastic.”

You giggled, holding a hand to your mouth and just … staring at him. He was smiling at you, fangs poking out from under his top lip. His skin was even prettier in the sunset. His hair, despite the messy texture, was effortless and perfect. He embodied sunshine in its purest form.

“Well, you …” You looked to the water, your hands flexing at your sides. “You didn’t need to come find me out here.”

His voice was sweet, soft, like fresh sheets, when he replied, “Yes, I did.” His hand reached out a little, attempting to lace your fingers together, but he stuffed them in his pockets instead. “When I was wondering where you’d be, I remembered something you said to me in college … Do you remember Move-In Day of junior year when we had that bonfire with Vernon and a few other people? You really didn’t enjoy my company back then, but I sat next to you because you agreed to sharing that god awful cheap vodka we used to like.” He laughed when you grimaced. “We got to talking and I asked you, ‘If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?’ And you said something like, ‘I want to be walking on a beach. I’ve always felt the most calm with my toes in wet sand.’”

You blinked, wondering if you had heard him right. He … how did he … “You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things.”

And there he was, reaching out again and brave enough to brush his fingers over your knuckles. You looked down, watching his hand interlock with yours, and his palms were balmy and calloused. They felt familiar, like home. And you simply couldn’t believe that you had deprived yourself of this.

“Did you mean it when you said, ‘I’ve always been yours?’”

Your head snapped up, tsking under your breath. Hand still intertwined with his, you pushed a lock of hair behind your ear. “You came all the way out here to ask me that?” You asked, flustered and agitated.

His brow shot up. “So that’s a yes then?”

Your mouth opened, but then closed when you realized that he caught you.

He added, his voice like velvet again, “Then why are you avoiding me? I can sense it.”

“Well, if you’re that sensitive to other people’s feelings than I guess that –” You paused, taking a deep breath as you gathered yourself. Your ears reddened. “Look, I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve … I like you. A lot. But having feelings for you would be so messy. The last time I went through this, we hooked up and you hardly spoke to me after.”

Mingyu’s brow furrowed. “That was years ago.”

“You know how uncommitted you’ve always been,” you quickly remarked, even though you didn’t fully believe those words anymore. “Weren’t you the one that told me at the start of this that men never really grow up?”

His eyes narrowed a little. “Are you playing psychological warfare with me right now?”

Slipping your fingers away from his, you shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I’ve been your date to five weddings this year. It wasn’t just about losing some bet. I did it for you.” He stared at you incredulously. “Are you really going to hold me to a mistake I made six years ago? When I was a shitty 22-year-old that was terrified to tell the girl I liked for years that I was interested in her?”

“I never … I never thought you liked me back then.”

Mingyu’s gaze softened, and he tucked another curl behind your ear that blew in the wind. “I made you believe that I didn’t because it was easier than admitting my feelings. I was terrified of rejection. And an idiot.”

You couldn’t help but snort at his comment, but you knew this conversation was far from over. “Well, I …” You rubbed at your nose and turned away from him, facing the water that looked almost sapphire in color. The waves sparkled under the setting sun. “Wedding season is over after this and we can both go back to our normal lives. Vernon won’t flip a lid when he sees me texting you all the time and everything will be back to the way it was. I always prepared for you to just forget about me after this anyway.”

“I love Vernon, but this isn’t about him.” Mingyu stepped forward into your line of vision. “What if I don’t want to go back to the way things were?”

Your eyes flickered to his, and it was his turn to step closer again. His large palm cupped your cheek, his skin always so cozy and inviting that you just had to lean into him. Fingertips traced your brow bone as his gaze lingered on your lips.

“I don’t want to forget about you or never see you again. I want to be around you,” he confessed. “I … want to go on more dates with you. I want to be your date to more than just weddings.”

You hesitated, unraveling and dissecting each word in your head, before you came to the conclusion that … oh, my god, he had feelings for you too. Had you always been this much of an absolute moron?

Getting on your tiptoes, you closed the distance between you two, your lips crashing onto his like the water against the shoreline. Your body almost suctioned to his, bringing him even closer when your arms wound around his neck. He kept that one hand on your cheek, the other splaying on your lower back, like how he always did when he was nervous. But he had nothing to be nervous about, because you liked him and he liked you. The world felt like it was spinning, but also just right, and his tongue was licking into your mouth enough to make you feel breathless. You could do this forever, be this relaxed in his arms, kiss him as if it was only you two in your own world. And as he tugged on your bottom lip to make your breathing heavy, you decided that your dream had become a reality.

When you broke the kiss, your cheeks were definitely flushed, even under the layer of blush you put on. Mingyu grinned, tilting his head as he whispered, “So you have always been mine then?”

“Such a tease sometimes,” you repeated his fateful words from June.

You turned, tugging on his hand playfully as the waves begin to lick at the sand near your feet. “C’mon,” you chuckled. “If we’re late to this wedding, my mom will kill me before I can even think about calling you my boyfriend.”

Mingyu had wanted to ask you to marry him only two years later, and thank god, he finally found the words.

tag list: @syluslittlecrows @yeosayang @eisaspresso @healingmv @nightshadeblooming @dmstoyangyang @amaraeofsunshine @thepoopdokyeomtouched @reiofsuns2001 @tigerhoshii @yoongznme @nerdycheol @gyuguys @ninixgyu4eva @tokitosun @wooyugta @dawn-iscozy @thecowboy7 @wonu-won @whoisbaek15 @alexie-blog

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yieldtotemptation · 8 months ago

Text

CRASH ft. Wonyoung

wonyoung x male reader smut

11k words

When she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch.

If you were to ask her, she’d probably say the same about you.

And yet, that doesn’t stop her from calling you in the middle of the night, slurring about some shit with her manager, telling (not asking) you to come pick her up.

You’re inclined to recommend that she fuck off and find her own way home.

But of course, you don’t. (You never do).

“Sorry boys, my ride’s here!”

There’s a collective groan of disappointment that ripples through the crowd that’s formed up behind Wonyoung; each face falling one after another as they realise that ultimately none of them get to be the lucky suitor that takes her home.

Moths around a flame, unable to do anything but watch as she sashays through the neon haze towards your car. Hips sway with a drunken grace, a dangerously short skirt dances around her thighs, high heels strapped to her feet make her legs seem endless.

It’s a view, that’s for sure.

It probably makes the pain of rejection a little more bearable, makes them forget that they’re being abandoned on the sidewalk with all the rest of the has-beens and ‘who the fuck were you again?’

Her ‘co-workers’, technically. Some you recognise, most you don’t. But they’re all basically the same insecure douchebag in a different shade of overpriced streetwear.

You’d probably be doing the world a public service if you were to steer your car onto the pavement and run them all down.

It’s an idea you entertain a little. Doing it would really ruin her night.

That’d almost make it worth the dent it would put in your brand-new car.

Still, you can’t completely blame the gaggle of potential casualties, not really.

It’s Wonyoung.

Girls like her are the reason they invented the word ’idol’ in the first place, because calling her ’pretty’ or ’hot’ is like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a nice portrait’.

It doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Like the starlet she is, Wonyoung waits until she’s at your car to make her grand exit. A turn to her adorers and a final goodbye: a casual flick of her wrist, a sweet, flirty smile and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink that’ll have them deep in their group chats ranting about how they definitely had a moment with the Jang Wonyoung.

You just roll your eyes. You’ve seen that wink a hundred times.

You know exactly how much it’s worth.

After all, it’s your car that she’s climbing into, slamming the door behind her like it’s her name on the registration; leaving behind her new fan club with nothing but their dicks in their hands and their heads swimming with fantasies of what totally could have happened.

You’re no better though, are you? The second she slides into the passenger seat, you’re judging the shortness of her skirt, eyes greedily tracing the length of her thighs, all the way up to a hint of lace that’s destined to be ruined later.

You’re not subtle. And in that outfit, she’s not either.

“What took you so long? I swear to God I’m going to punch the next guy that asks me ‘how much of a baddie I really am’.”

No thank yous, no pleasantries, not even a look in your direction.

To think that you used to be impressed by how quickly she could drop the act: gone is the sugary sweetness that she’d fooled those simps with back at the club; the pretty, airheaded, ‘lucky Vicky’. As fake and useless as the glasses resting on the bridge of her perfectly shaped nose.

Next to you is the real Wonyoung, the one that you’ve become intimately familiar with: intimidatingly smart, unfathomably hot, and all too aware of how dangerous a woman those two traits made her.

“Why is this car black? I thought I told you to get the red?”

You glare at her. The gall on this woman.

“What are you waiting for? Drive.”

Barely a minute in and she’s setting a personal best record for time taken to piss you off; impatiently kicking off her heels, tossing them over her shoulder and into the back seat (of again: your car, not hers).

You can be just as childish: you slam your foot down, pedal to the floor, wheels screeching, and you peel off into the night. The acceleration forces Wonyoung back into her seat, scrambling for her seat belt, yelling, “What the fuck?”

Now she’s looking at you. You’re casual, offering, “Oh, sorry, did I scare the passenger princess?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, and you’re welcome,” you grumble, slowing to a more reasonable (legal) speed as you turn onto the highway. “Remind me, when was it that I started operating a taxi service for wasted idols?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rolls her eyes, puts her hands together, bows her head down low. Rich, coming from someone who’s never had to genuinely apologise for anything in her life. “Didn’t realise washed-up trainees had such precious schedules.”

It’s a low blow, her go-to insult for you. Nothing you’re not used to; it’s been years of this, after all.

Years of Wonyoung, the living reminder of your biggest failure, making your life her personal pet project. Years of her smugness, of her flaunting her success in your face, of her demanding more from you, demanding better.

Years of you pushing back, pushing her, and somehow always ending up in the same place, the same bed, the same tangled mess of sweat and spite.

To think it all started when you saw her across that shitty practice room and one of you (you forget who, though it was probably her) said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and it was pure hate at first sight.

“Couldn’t get literally anyone else? Don’t you have friends?” You throw the question out there, keeping your eyes on the road, and not down at her legs, crossing and uncrossing, teasing and taunting. It’s a herculean task—she’s practically ninety percent leg anyway; so fucking easy to admire, so right wrapped around your waist.

“Trust me, I tried. None of the girls have their license, I definitely can’t call someone from the company, and the last time I tried to get a taxi the fucker recognised me and threatened to leak my address. So that leaves me with you,” Wonyoung sighs. “The last resort.”

“Wow, what an honour,” is your reply. You’re still not looking—not sneaking glances at her stomach, as she stretches in your passenger seat.

As an exercise, you pretend she doesn’t exist. Pretend that the hem of her shirt isn’t rising up, peeling back to grace you with a glimpse of her midriff, that waist, her abs tight and exerted after a night spent out on a dance floor.

It nearly works—for a second, you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed at her.

Right until Wonyoung laughs. Not that fake, high-pitched giggle that she knows you find so grating. No, this has an edge to it, a bite that she reserves just for you. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t waiting for me to call. Or were you in the middle of jerking it to my fancams again?”

There’s the memory, the one loss in territory you haven’t quite recovered from. (A reminder: be less blasé about what you choose to name your saved playlists.)

You fire back with, “Yujin’s actually, but nice try.”

“Whatever, pervert.” Your attempt at a riposte doesn’t work, it’s dismissed, leaving Wonyoung satisfied that she’s won this exchange.

As for her prize, she does what she always does—gets touchy with your property.

She busies herself, fiddling with the touchscreen on your dashboard—’What the fuck is this playlist?’ and 'Why do you listen to this group? You know all those girls are absolute bitches, right?’.

“Stop that.” You reach over to slap her wrist before she starts getting too ambitious and messes with the temperature controls again.

"Hey!” Wonyoung yelps, recoiling, and then pauses. You turn to her, see her annoyingly flawless features scrunch up in disgust as she asks, “What’s that smell?”

You curse under your breath as you realise what’s coming. Wonyoung’s frustratingly sensitive when it comes to scents; she’s got a nose like a bloodhound—and a penchant for sticking it in the parts of your life she doesn’t belong.

She’s gone as far as 'gifting’ you every perfume you’ve owned, every body wash, every shampoo, even your fucking laundry detergent.

Just another way she’s tried to take over your life.

You give your own car a whiff, if only to see if this is just another case of Wonyoung being a brat.

It doesn’t smell bad at all.

In fact, it smells sweet. Too sweet.

“Ew, seriously, what is that? Is that you?”

You’re too slow—she’s got your forearm now. For someone that looks so delicate she’s got a grip like a vice. She brings your wrist up to her nose, sniffing, making her way higher up your arm.

“Let it go, Wonyoung.”

She’s not listening at all, unbuckling her seat belt, leaning over the console, pulling herself closer to you, pushing her body against yours. Whatever little respect Wonyoung had for your personal space is gone; her nose is on your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

“It smells like…” She pauses, getting even closer, taking a deep inhale as she tries to place the fragrance. “Why do you smell like a whore?”

Her voice is low, coloured with a barely noticeable slur. You can feel it: the powder keg about to explode, Wonyoung getting ready to go from zero to a hundred. So, you deflect, “Sure you’re not smelling yourself?”

“Fuck you, I don’t use that cheap shit,” she snaps. “You fucked someone tonight, didn’t you?”

You don’t reply. It’s not like you owe her one, anyway—she’s not your girlfriend, you’re not her boyfriend, you two are…

Rivals, mortal enemies, fuck-buddies, friends-with-benefits (except without the whole friendship part).

(Take your pick, call it whatever you want, or in Wonyoung’s case: don’t call it anything at all.)

“Who—who was it this time?” Wonyoung’s fingers tighten around your arm, and there’s that spark in her eyes.

Every chance she gets, she’ll insist she gives so few fucks about your personal life, but one mention of another woman and she’s diving right in the mud, for once not hiding the fact that she may actually give a shit about you.

It’s probably why you do it.

“Who’s the slut dumb enough to spread her legs for you?”

Now it’s your turn to avoid her gaze, to pretend that having her this close isn’t doing wild things to your heartrate. You make an unforced error: “None of your business.”

“So you did fuck someone.” Her hand moves down your arm, dragging her fake acrylics across your skin until they find purchase in your thigh, digging in hard enough to make you flinch. “You fucked someone I know didn’t you. Who…” She’s reading you, trying to find the answer somewhere in the stress lines of your face. “Hyewon. Yena. Yuri. I swear if it was fucking Eunbi, I’m going to—”

“Going to what?” You challenge. You know this game. You’ve played it before—every damn time she gets like this (and you know where it leads). “Going to lie to me about your own personal survival show back there?”

Wonyoung scoffs. It’s a throaty sound that seems almost foreign coming from her—too impolite, too uncouth for the elegant, refined image she’s painstakingly cultivated. But she makes it anyway, because she’s had a few too many drinks and you’re the only one who’s around to see her like this—raw, unfiltered. “Those losers? I’m not like you, bringing home every pair of tits that strokes your ego.”

“Good to know that I’m special then,” you smirk, but she’s not smiling back.

No, she’s just looking at you, in that annoying, Wonyoung way. It’s those big, doe eyes of hers that you’ve seen do so much damage before—make men bend over backwards, light themselves on fire just to get her to look their way. “You wish.”

You push on, push her just a little bit. “Drop the act, Wony. I wasn’t your last resort—I’m the only one you even considered. You needed your daddy—isn’t that what you were calling me before?”

“I never said that.”

“Wony—”

“And if I did, I’ll never say it again,” she declares, before emphasising. “Never. Again.”

But you know her better than that. You know her lies just as well as she knows yours; it’s in the quickness of her response, the defensiveness—the vulnerability.

“I doubt that,” you say, making the most of the tiny crack in Wonyoung’s armour. “I remember you screaming it. Had you cumming like a fountain—ruined a perfectly good set of sheets, you know?”

“You’re disgusting,” she hisses, but she’s got the same memories in her head—that same night, so similar to this one (so similar to every night before).

The fighting, the fucking, the endless cycle of pushing each other’s button until one of you snaps.

“And what about you? You got here awfully quick for two in the morning,” she says. Her hand’s still on your thigh, less nails, more fingertips now, tracing patterns through the denim of your jeans. “Couldn’t bear the thought of me with someone else, could you? Lie to me—tell me that you weren’t waiting to get your hands on me again.”

Your denial dies before it even makes it past your lips—your own body turns traitor on you, provoked by her hand rising higher. There’s a smile as Wonyoung finds what she was looking for, the proof in the stretching of your jeans, the outline of your cock begging for more of her attention.

“At least this part of you is honest,” she muses, fingers dancing around your growing stiffness.

You grit your teeth, doing your best to keep the car steady, managing to grind out, “Please. It’s like you said, any decent pair of tits does it for me. Even your tiny ones get the job done.”

Her hand freezes on your thigh—you’ve hit a nerve, hit that dark part of her that’s so desperate for validation. “You think you can replace me? Find someone else to fill your sad, lonely nights?”

She’s closer now, her breath against your neck, her fingers drumming a beat right over where the head of your cock is. It’s a heady feeling, one that you hate and crave all at once.

“Was she even good?”

You know what she’s really asking: Was she better than me?

And you know the answer: How could anyone be?

But you don’t say that. You don’t need to. Instead, you reply, “It’s not a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition.”

Wonyoung’s hand relaxes, nails retreating from your thigh, leaving you flustered and fighting against the constraints of your own jeans. She settles back into her seat, having done her damage.

And for a moment, silence reigns inside your car, allowing you to actually focus on the road. Not that it really matters, you know the route to her apartment by heart—you could drive it blindfolded if need be. It’s just a welcome distraction to avoid dealing with the state she’s left you in.

The quiet survives a beat, two, and then Wonyoung’s squirming, shifting in the passenger seat.

And then she does it again.

And again.

You should keep your eyes ahead—you need to keep your eyes ahead.

You know exactly what you’re going to find if you look over at her.

That’s the problem with you and Wonyoung. You know each other too well. Your likes, your dislikes. What gets you off. What makes you mad.

What drives you fucking wild.

And yet, because you’re a sucker for punishment, you still risk a glance, and see Wonyoung, leaning back in her seat, her hand sliding up her own thigh, so casually drifting up her soft, bare skin, higher and higher.

The skirt rises, inch by torturous inch, and it’s those panties—the same set that was around her ankles the last time you had her bent over your couch, swearing she’d hate you forever. The same set that’s probably already soaked, just waiting for you to rip them off again.

You have to tell her to stop, to keep her hands to herself, to not do this to you, not now. Not while you’re trying to keep you both on the fucking road. But your mouth is dry, and all you can manage is a choked, “Wonyoung—”

Her fingers have slid past the hem of her skirt, now playing with the lace that’s the only barrier between her and open air. She’s biting into the plumpness of her bottom lip, staring at you, expecting your full attention, even now. There’s no subtlety with her, there never is, it’s one of the few things Wonyoung’s bad at.

You swallow hard, finding your voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” she says, a little breathy now, as her fingers slip under the lace. “You got a problem with it?”

There’s the flash of skin, a gasp as her fingers find purchase between her folds. So wet that you can hear it—the slickness of her arousal, the quiet sound of fabric sliding against her skin.

You’re straining, gripping the steering wheel so hard, it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in two. Her hand’s dipping lower, her finger sliding inside herself; not deep, not yet, just teasing. Enough to make you want to pull over, to grab her and throw her on the hood of your car, to show her exactly why you’re the only she thinks about when she’s lonely and desperate.

But you don’t, despite the way your body is begging for you to do something, anything, to ease the ache in your cock.

Because if you stop, it’s over. You know how this ends—or rather, you know how she’ll want it to end. She’ll want you to apologise for even being in the proximity of another woman, she’ll want you to beg for her forgiveness so that she might bestow upon you the privilege of touching her again.

If you’re lucky, she just might let you. But only if you play her games.

So you drive faster.

You push the speed limit, weaving through the mostly empty streets. You’re racing to a finish line, except all that’s waiting at the end of it is the taste of Wonyoung on your tongue, the feeling of her wrapped around you, the sweet victory of making her scream.

It’s hell—ignoring the sound of her pleasure, the wetness of her fingers working in and out of herself. There’s glimpses of her in the corner of your eye; she’s still watching you. Enjoying this, loving every second of it.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, oh-so-innocently, even though she doesn’t expect an answer—she just likes to hear her own voice. “Getting distracted? It’s a long, long way back to my place. No one can blame you if you need to give up and pull over.”

Wonyoung’s getting bolder now, pulling her skirt up to her waist, parting her legs for you, so you can see her hand moving faster, her hips rising to meet her own touch. So you can hear her, hear the fucking sound of each stroke of her fingers inside her, punctuated each time by a wet slap of her palm against her cunt, reverberating through the car, taunting you.

“You want it, don’t you?” She throws the question out so casually, like of course it’s only natural for her to be fingering herself in your car, of course she should be doing everything in her power to make you want to drive into a fucking wall. “I can tell, you’re so desperate to touch me. Definitely going to die if you don’t fuck me soon. Maybe even right here, right now?”

Your foot slips and the car swerves a little—it’s not much, but it’s enough to let her know that you’re losing focus, that she’s winning.

“Careful,” she laughs. “You wouldn’t want to crash before we get to the fun part.”

“You can’t wait until we get back to your place?” You finally ask, the question burning in your throat.

“No. You need to be reminded that you’re-ah-mine,” comes Wonyoung’s answer. “You’re going to fuck me anyway, so why not-mmph-why not save us both the trouble and get started on my own?”

“You don’t own me, Wonyoung.”

To that, Wonyoung raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

It’s not even worth a proper reply. Without a word, Wonyoung reclines back into her seat snaps open the buttons of her shirt. Casually revealing the swell of her breasts, the darkened peaks of her nipples.

No bra—they’re just there. Right there, in your face—those tiny, round, perky tits that you’ve had in your hands, that you’ve had between your teeth, that you’ve covered with your cum more times than you can count.

She’s not shy about it—never has been—arching her back, pushing her breasts out even further. It’s the confidence from knowing every other idol (hell, every other woman in the world) would sell their soul to have a body like hers. So why the fuck not flaunt it?

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true,” she says, reaching up to her chest. A palm finds her tits, pinching and rolling the sensitive nubs, making them nice and red and swollen for you.

She’s moving faster now, grinding down on her own hand, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip so deep you’re surprised she hasn’t drawn blood. Her breaths are getting shorter and shorter, she’s so close, she’s so fucking turned on, she’s so hot it hurts.

Her eyes remain fixed on you; seeing you struggle only makes her hotter, spurs her to circle her clit faster. She’s drinking you in—the tightness of your jaw, the way your eyes can’t decide whether to keep on the road or on her, the way you swallow, trying (and failing) to keep it together.

The worst part of it all is this wicked smile that’s settled on her lips; thoughts of wiping it off her face with your cock flash through your mind. She’s just so fucking smug about it, so sure of herself.

And maybe she should be.

“Admit it,” Wonyoung purrs. “Admit that you need me.”

“Why would I? You’re just a convenient hole to fill.” It’s not true, of course. You’ve never believed it; none of the hundred times you’ve said it to her before—and she’s never once been fooled.

Wonyoung is back in your ear, “You’re a bad liar.”

Her hand’s returned to your thigh, teasing closer and closer to where you really want it to be. You grunt a weak, “Wonyoung, if you think that’s going to work—”

But she doesn’t listen (she never does).

She reaches for the bulge in your pants, far too quick for you to stop her from wrapping her fingers around you, from taking a hold of you and squeezing.

“See?” She whispers, thick with satisfaction, feeling you throb in her grip. “You’re already about to burst. You can’t resist me. No one can.”

You’re not backing down. You’ve got your own pride to think of, after all. “Save it for your fan club.”

Wonyoung’s never been one to take no for an answer. Her hand moves with purpose, sliding over your zipper and giving it a forceful tug. The sound rings through the car, and it’s an out of body experience; it’s all in slow motion as she pulls out your hard, aching cock.

Fuck.

“Last chance to pull over.” Wonyoung takes a hold of you, fingers curling around your cock with a firm grip that leaves no room for doubt—she’s not letting go until she gets what she wants. “Who knows what will happen if you keep driving like this. Wouldn’t want to ruin these expensive leather seats with your cum, now would we?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Your funeral,” she answers, her smile widening into a full-blown grin as she starts to move, stroking you, her hand gliding up and down your shaft with familiar ease. “Or ours, I guess.”

She’s not making it easy—there’s the slow, deliberate pumps, her thumb circling the head, her fingers teasing the sensitive skin. It’s so natural for her, so goddamn good.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Wonyoung’s question hangs in the air, joining the sound of her fist pumping your cock, the squish of her own fingers plunging in and out of her cunt. It’s a taunting metronome, the more you try to ignore her, the tighter she squeezes, the fastest she strokes you, the louder she moans in your ear. “Are you sure you can handle me?”

“I’ve done it before and I can do it again,” you grit out. “You’re going to be the one begging for it in the end. Like always.”

She huffs, and you’ve found your mark. “Oh, really? You think you’re so much better than me? You think you can just ignore me like that?”

“Better than you? Easily,” you answer. “You’re just a pretty face and a pair of legs that can’t keep itself shut.”

That makes her stroke you harder, tighter now, firmer, she’s trying to make this hurt. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“What gives you the impression I even think about you at all?”

“Oh, I know it keeps you up at night—thinking about me, wondering if I’m thinking about you, wondering if any other slut can make you feel the way I do,” Wonyoung’s leaning on you, chin propped up on your shoulder, a devil in your ear. “You hate it, don’t you? You hate that it’s my cunt that you can’t get out of your head, that it’s my pretty lips that you need so badly around your cock.”

"Are you sure you’re not just projecting, Wony?” You ask, glancing down to her hand between her legs, her fingers deep in her folds, her cunt dripping with juices and making a small puddle beneath her. “Look at how wet you are at just the thought of having my cock back between your pretty lips again.”

“Fuck you.” Wonyoung’s panting, short harsh breaths. There’s no conviction in her voice, no denial to be found—this dance of spite and lust has her so fucking heated. All of it—the hate, the competition, the push and pull: it’s all just foreplay. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing but a back-up plan, a toy I play with when I’m bored.”

“Now who’s a bad liar.”

“Go fuck your—”

You don’t let her finish her insult. You’re tired of the back and forth, the games, the fucking power plays. You take your hand off the steering wheel, grabbing her by the hair, wrenching her head up to meet your eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re—” Wonyoung’s mistake is opening her mouth in protest—you push her face down onto your cock; not giving her a chance to argue, not giving her a chance to do anything but suck you dry like the skinny little slut she is.

She chokes, hacks a cough as you plunge your cock down her throat, her nose meeting your waist, and it nearly has you emptying into her mouth then and there.

Turns out, she’s right.

You do need this. Need to feel her perfect, pouty lips on you again, her teeth grazing against your skin, her tongue giving in and worshipping you like she’s never done with anyone else.

You keep a hand wrapped up in a fistful of her hair, but you don’t even need to hold her down—she doesn’t fight you, doesn’t even make the slightest noise of protest. No, she just takes it; never mind how much her eyes water, her mouth drools.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning before you can think better of it, and just like that, you’re conceding the smallest victory to her.

And it makes her smile around your cock.

You grunt in response; buck your hips, feed her your cock, make her gag (make her regret it).

You don’t ease up, because if there’s one thing you know about Wonyoung (one thing you know about fucking Wonyoung), it’s that the most insulting thing you can do to her is to take it easy on her.

Just fuck her face and behold the sight of Wonyoung taking your cock. God, her pretty lips wrapped around you, her throat bulging at your length, her teary eyes staring up at you with a mix of defiance and something that’s eerily close to adoration.

It almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to be driving, and it takes a honk from a car behind you and a smile and a curt nod from Wonyoung to remind you of the world rushing by outside.

You pull your eyes back to the road, both hands on the steering wheel to right the car back on track, barely escaping death by deepthroat.

Wonyoung laughs around your cock, a muffled sound that sends vibrations up your shaft. You try to ignore it, but she’s already seizing the opportunity, taking full advantage of the distraction to push down on her own accord, to take you deep—to start properly sucking.

You swerve again.

Her mouth is absolute heaven, pure and simple—she’s a fucking master at this. Your cock’s been in her mouth so many times before that she could probably write an instruction manual on exactly how to make you come unglued.

Too much all at once—you’re groaning now, unable to help it. She’s not even trying that hard; just taking your cock between her lips, sliding it all the way down her throat, a few gentle licks here, a swirl of her tongue there, but it’s more than enough. It’s what keeps you coming back. No one else feels like this—no one else has mapped out your cock like she has—every inch, every vein.

It’s the rhythm that she’s got down to a science: how fast to take you, how much pressure to apply, when to break from her pace to keep you teetering on the edge.

You can feel her eyes on you, scanning you for any sign of weakness—this is precisely where she wants to be. Like this was her decision—like everything leading up to this was part of some messed up strategy to provoke you, to make sure that your cock ended up in her mouth.

You don’t get a chance to dwell on that thought, not when Wonyoung’s teeth is at the base of your cock, her cheeks hollowed out, her tongue doing these little flicks that make your toes curl.

And there’s the question in her eyes: ’is that all you got?’.

Fuck it—risk taking your hand off the steering wheel, it belongs in her silky, dark hair. Make her eyes widen, make her take you deeper, kiss the back of her throat with the tip of your cock, force these divine fucking sounds.

The noises when she gags around you, when the spit is hacked up and drooled down your cock; she’s so sloppy, so filthy.

And she takes it, takes all of it.

Push her down before pulling her up by the hair, choke her, gag her, have her slobber all over your cock, make her feel you.

Wonyoung takes and takes and takes.

It’s fucked up how you’re treating her (how she’s letting you treat her); she’s an idol for fucks sake. But that’s the last concern you have on your mind—all you can focus on is how fucking good it feels to do this to her, to have her fighting for air around your cock, fighting to keep her eyes on you as you fill them with tears.

Wonyoung’s not giving up though—she’s timing it, timing you. When to relax her throat to take you deep. When to suction her lips. Where to dart her tongue to find that sensitive spot along your shaft.

She’s battling back, in her own way, just as determined as you are to not lose this war of wills. But in the end, you’re the one in the driver’s seat.

“Mmmph,” she’s the one moaning now, moaning around your cock. Shivering in your lap, body jerking and trembling; you can tell her fingers are still buried in her cunt, playing with herself.

She’s so fucking shameless, so fucking pretty, even like this—cheeks flushed, makeup smeared, eyes watering.

You want to kiss her, but that would mean separating her lips from your cock. You want to tell her how much you hate her, but the words won’t come out—they’re stuck in your throat, lodged between your grinding teeth.

“Wait—fuck.” You realise you’ve missed your turn, a split second too late. You jerk the steering wheel, needing both hands as you pull a sharp U-turn. The tires squeal as you try to correct your error, Wonyoung’s mouth around your dick scrambling your brains.

She pulls her lips off from your cock with a hollow ‘pop’. “I thought you could handle me?”

You try to reply—try to form a single coherent thought—but the chance slips by as Wonyoung’s back on the offense, back throating your cock so quickly that your vision swims.

A deep breath is what you need to keep it together. You’re barely thinking straight, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life, doing everything you can to keep yourself from giving up (giving in to Wonyoung’s mouth).

But it’s hard. So fucking hard.

You’ve blown far past any normal speed limit, trying to keep from spinning out with every one of her enthusiastic bobs—it’s by some divine benevolence the car hasn’t completely flipped over by now.

Wonyoung’s relentless, her mouth’s a fucking black hole, sucking you in, stealing every thought from your mind until there’s nothing rattling around your skull but the feel of her wet, warm lips on your cock, and the obscene sounds of her fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, fucking herself.

You’re almost there, and Wonyoung knows it. You can feel it in the suction of her lips, in how hard she’s working you over. It’s the sweetest kind of torture—knowing that she’s got you right where she wants you, that she’s got you on the edge and you can’t do anything about it.

You’re not going to last much longer.

Neither is she.

So you drive. You drive like your life depends on it, because maybe it does. Maybe the only thing keeping you sane is the promise of your eventual release, of filling her mouth with her cum, of pulling her onto your lap and fucking her cunt raw until she screams your name.

“Come on, you can do it,” she’s taunting you now, lathering your cock with just her tongue, dragging it along your length, licking you all the way from your balls to your head. She’s giggling as she steals the pre-cum from your tip, the fucking bitch—like she’s got all the power in the world.

You can see her apartment building in the distance, a beacon of light in the darkness.

You’re almost there.

You reach for the garage remote, mashing the button as you get closer and closer (you’re going to break it). The gate sluggishly opens, and you make a sharp turn to swerve into the dimly lit building, not bothering to slow down.

You can’t, not when Wonyoung’s balancing your cock on her tongue, her hand now squeezing at your base, stroking so fast, so erratic, determined to have you cum in her mouth as soon as fucking possible.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she asks, expectantly. “Cover me in it, give me what I deserve—show me how much you need me.”

The car’s screeching to the closest parking space, the sound echoing through the garage, as you skid between parallel white lines.

You’re cumming before the car’s even completely stopped.

It’s explosive; a white-hot heat searing through your veins, a roar in your ears as you shower Wonyoung’s perfect face with ropes of cum. She’s still jerking you off with her hand, her mouth hovering around the head of your cock, slurping up every drop she can get.

“All mine,” she chants, greedy for it. You pulse in her hand, your cum spurting over her cheekbones, across her nose, painting over that tiny dark freckle above the corner of her mouth.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink; she’s a statue, a goddess demanding her sacrifice. Her grip is ironclad, stroking you through your orgasm, not stopping until you’re drained, until your cock is twitching in her hand and there’s nothing left but a sticky mess plastered across her big, wide grin.

You feel the last of your orgasm pulse out of you, dripping down her dainty fingers. She licks her lips, smearing your cum across her cheek with her thumb before she sits up straight, basking in her victory.

“Fuck, Wonyoung,” you somehow manage to choke out.

“Mm-hmm,” she nods, not looking away from you, not breaking the eye contact that’s holding you hostage. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

She’s not done yet—she still has to take her victory lap.

Wonyoung pulls herself off you, giving the tip of your cock a parting kiss as she sits back in her seat. She lifts her legs up—those endless stretches of porcelain skin—one after another, slow, dramatic, placing her bare feet on the dashboard.

Her skirt rides up, and with a stretch she drags her panties up her thighs, along her calves, and off her feet; the lace is soaked with her juices, leaving a trail of stickiness as she reveals herself to you.

The panties disappear somewhere into the backseat of your car, another spoil of war, and she spreads her legs wide, so wide, making sure you have a perfect view of her gleaming cunt. You can see her clit, peeking out from between her folds, and it’s all you can do to keep your hand from reaching over and taking over.

But this is her show, isn’t it? This is all for her, all about her getting off. And she’s fucking drowning in it—fingers in her cunt again almost immediately, so wet, so hot, so shameless in your car, so confident in her ability to get what she wants from you.

Her hips rock up and down, she’s fucking herself in front of you—for you. She’s daring you to look away, challenging you to deny how fucking hot she is.

You can’t.

“I’m going to cum now.” It’s a low hush, confident. “Watch me. Don’t move. Just fucking watch me.”

Wonyoung’s eyes are crystal clear, staring deep into you with the look of a girl who’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted in life. It’s that look she gets right before she shatters, and you know she’s there—right fucking there.

Her other hand reaches up, cradling your cheek, needing some connection, needing you to be with her. It’s not enough to just simply cum, she needs you to see it, to be a part of it in some twisted way.

“Just look at you,” Wonyoung says, like she’s not the one that’s covered in your cum, that’s not bucking her hips into her hand, working herself into a frenzy, like she’s trying to tear herself apart. “You can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?”

And she’s right—you hate her, you love her, you want to fuck her, you want to strangle her—it’s all a jumble of emotions in your head.

“That’s it—keep looking at me—don’t fucking take your eyes off me—fuck—yes—I’m going to—”

The only warning you get is a strangled gasp as Wonyoung cums, feeling it through her entire body, forcing her to keel over by just the force of it, making her fall into you.

Her hand on your cheek drags down to wrap around your neck, anchoring herself to you, pulling herself closer so she can smash her mouth against yours.

She’s kissing you, really kissing you, mouth open and hungry, all teeth and tongue, sloppy and wet. She’s marking her territory now, claiming you as she cums, and fuck, you can still taste yourself on her lips—salty and bitter.

Wonyoung’s hand is still working her clit, prolonging her bliss, and then she’s climbing on top of you, straddling you, grinding down on your half-hard cock as she rides out the last of her orgasm.

Her thighs are sticky with her juices, her skirt riding up so high that you can see the bare, plump skin of her ass, and you’re fighting the urge to just push it aside and plunge your cock inside her—

But she’s not giving you that satisfaction—not yet.

Her climax dies right on top of you—her hips rolling on her fingers, her body living and dying on the last embers of pleasure.

Finally, Wonyoung stops, collapsing against your chest, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of her body pressing down on you. She’s a mess, a fucking disaster, and you hold her tight, your arms around her impossibly tiny waist, your cock coming back to life between her thighs.

It’s intimate, almost kind of romantic in a way that’s entirely fucked up, considering, well everything. You’re both a mess of cum and sweat, panting against each other, intertwined together in the driver’s seat of your car, the garage lights flickering overhead like some kind of sick mood lighting.

Wonyoung laughs.

“You’re all sticky.” She leans back, taking her finger and swiping it across your cheek, coming away with a glistening strand of your own cum, a rope that must have strayed from her face and onto yours.

There’s a glint in her eyes, a dirty little idea, and before you can even react, she’s leaning in again, her tongue tracing the line of your jaw, collecting the rogue drops of you.

She rolls her hips down and over you as she does it, stirring your cock back to attention, because apparently she’s not done with you yet.

“You’re a fucking bitch, Wonyoung,” you reply, but there’s no venom behind it. You’re just stating a fact: the sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and Wonyoung is a bitch.

It’s just the way she is.

You can feel her smirking against your neck, you can picture the look on her face—like she’s already won. It’s infuriating, really, and you’ve got to even the score.

“What are you going to do, take me upstairs and punish me?”

“No,” you say, the word sticking in your throat like it’s made of honey. “Not upstairs.”

“Here?” Wonyoung looks around your car, doing a terrible job of feigning shock (as if she doesn’t know what you’re about to do to her). Yes, she’s a horrendous actress, but it would take an Oscar worthy performance to mask the heat radiating from her thighs, her cunt dripping down onto your lap. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

“What makes you think you have a choice?”

A press of a button has your seat sliding back, giving you just enough room to lift Wonyoung up, hoisting her above you like she’s a trophy you just won. Congratulations, here’s your Grand Prize—Wonyoung’s tight body, yours for the night (yours for every night).

She can’t do anything but be held by you, have her hips positioned, her cunt aligned with your cock—in your hands, at your mercy, under your control.

“Wait, wait—fuck—”

And then you slam into her.

“Daddy!”

That word. That filthy, devastating word is fucked out of her mouth, a gasping scream as you bury yourself deep into her.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

You don’t bother with gentleness or foreplay—this isn’t a romantic reunion after a long day apart. It’s your hands on her narrow hips; hers doing its best to brace herself on the roof of the car, the window, anywhere she can get a grip.

“Say it again,” you grunt, pulling her back down on you, so hard that she bounces back up, only to be met by another thrust.

“Fuck you,” she spits out, but she’s moaning with every thrust, tightening around you each time, her body betraying her words.

“Fuck you, who?” You’re laughing now, the sound thick and low in your throat as you watch her squirm in your grasp. “You’re going to need to be more specific than that, baby.”

“You know who,” she says, her eyes flying open, glaring at you as she catches her breath. “You always know who.”

“Then say it.”

“Fuck you, daddy.”

“That’s fucking right.”

Her legs are trembling around your waist as you drive into her, nails digging into the threads of your shirt. She’s begging you for more—harder, faster, deeper—because that’s all she wants from you, all she needs from you. It’s always been like this—no soft embraces, no tender kisses. Just more, more, more.

Wrap your hand around her throat, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to remind her who’s in charge, who’s giving it to her. You lean in, so close her eyes cross, whisper in her ear, “This is all you’re good for, you know that?”

Wonyoung’s response is to tense her muscles, clench her cunt around you, buck her hips to slap her ass against your thighs. Another battleground in your endless fight for dominance. Fighting for control, trying to dictate the pace, to set the rhythm, to be the one doing the fucking and not the one getting fucked.

And fuck, she’s tight.

Her cunt, her waist, her body. God, it’s like she was built for this.

Designed to fit perfectly in the palm of your hand, to be filled by your cock, to have her skirt hiked up to her waist like a flag of surrender. You’ve got her right where you want her, where she’s always been, where she always will be.

“I fucking hate how good you are at this,” she gasps, the confession spilling from her lips.

You laugh, “I fucking hate you too.”

She’s kissing you again, fingers in your hair now, scraping the back of your scalp, as she rises and falls on your cock. Reflex has your hand tightening around her throat, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your thumb, making her choke out another ‘daddy’.

You’re fucking her like you hate her, like you’re trying to punish her for every sharp word and cold shoulder she’s ever thrown your way. And she’s taking it like she loves it, like she’s been waiting for this all night, all year, all her fucking life.

Wonyoung looks so fucking good, so perfect riding you like this, it’s starting to piss you off. Her hair’s framing her face in perfect waves, not a single strand out of place, even though you’ve had your hands all through it, your fingers tangled in it. Her makeup’s smudged—you can see the tracks of your cum on her cheek—but she wears it like a fucking badge of honour—and like all things, it looks good on her.

It’s like the universe took one look at her and said, ‘nah, she’s too pretty to let any of that shit ruin her.’

But you’ll try.

Keep going—keep fucking; each moan into your mouth, each push of her tongue against your own, each graze of her teeth against your skin—tells you you’re getting there.

Like you’re trying to fuck out all the spite and anger that’s been building up between you, like you can somehow purge it from your systems and just be left with the good parts.

(It’s never that simple.)

“Wonyoung—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“If I could just have your cock without the rest of you—without your stupid mouth, without that fucking look on your face—fuck yes, just like that—without all the bullshit and fighting—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You don’t believe her, of course—you’re not just a cock to her, the same as she’s not just a pussy to you. But you let her have her fantasy, let her keep pretending she’s just using you for a good time.

“You’re such a bitch,” you murmur, making her chuckle in your ear, her teeth finding the sensitive skin of your lobe, biting down and making you hiss.

Wonyoung’s confession: “Only because it—gah—makes you fuck me harder.”

And it does—it makes you want to show her, prove yourself to her, make her feel it the next day and every day after. Fuck her until she’s nothing but a trembling, whimpering mess, until she’s begging for you to stop. Until she’s begging for you to never stop.

You’re both getting sloppier now, Wonyoung’s hips stuttering as you pound that spot deep inside her, the one that makes her see stars and scream your name, the car shaking with the force of your fucking.

It’s a badly-kept secret you’re keeping from the world outside—the car’s rocking, the lights inside are on, making no efforts to hide what the two of you are doing (doing to each other).

If anyone looks closely enough, if the security cameras in the garage get curious and zoom in, they’ll see your silhouettes; her body arching back, your hips thrusting up and into her.

They’ll see Jang Wonyoung, the princess of the industry, getting fucked in the front seat of a car like some common whore.

And she’s loving it. The danger, the thrill of being seen, the risk that anyone could walk by and hear her moan your name, her voice strained by your hand on her throat. It’s the fact that she’s letting you do this to her, that she’s letting you fuck her like this, even when she’s telling you she fucking hates it.

This moment—Wonyoung—right here, is what you live for.

You want to save it, to bottle it up and keep it with you forever. You want to remember how she feels, how she tastes, the fucking sounds she makes when she’s just about to cum. You want to replay this in your head every time you’re alone, every time you’re with someone else—because even though there might be someone else, they’ll never come fucking close to her.

And then you get an idea.

It’s a terrible idea, one that’ll surely end in disaster—like all the best ideas.

You hold down on Wonyoung’s hips, stopping her mid-thrust, and she’s whining, letting slip just how good you’re making her feel.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps, taking short, sharp inhales, replenishing all the oxygen you’ve fucked out of her.

You ignore her, reaching for the dashboard camera that’s been silently facing outside, towards the wall of the garage. It’s been switched on the entire time, waiting to record the car crash inside—you and Wonyoung tearing each other apart.

Wonyoung’s scared. “Oh no, don’t you fucking—”

But she can’t stop you. You’re already spinning it around, pointing it directly at her cum-covered face, her sweat-drenched body.

“Smile for the camera, Wony.”

Her mouth opens, but she can’t muster the words. You’re fucking her again, the camera watching everything, capturing every moan, every slight quiver of her body. It’s a side of her nobody gets to see—the side you’re most familiar with.

Wonyoung at her most honest, when she’s undeniably yours.

Just her—getting used (using you)—and fuck, there’s nothing more worthy to be captured and preserved for all eternity.

Her eyes dart to the camera, then back to you, her mind racing a mile a minute. You can see the gears turning—she’s trying to figure out how to get out of this, how to win back some ground, but she’s lost.

You’ve got her, and she knows it.

You’re fucking her, and she has no choice but to follow—whether she likes it or not.

“Fine,” she says, the admission torn from her throat as you push back into her. “But if this leaks—if you ever show this to anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.”

You just laugh. “You really think so little of me? Like anyone would believe it anyway.”

And you mean it. You’re not that stupid. But the thought of having a permanent record of this moment, of Wonyoung, begging in high definition—it has you hooked.

You can’t help but add, “But we’ll always know it’s there, won’t we? Forever.”

Wonyoung narrows her brows at you, but she doesn’t protest anymore. Instead, she does the opposite. She starts to lean into it.

She tips her head back, arching her spine so that her tits are pushed up, giving the camera a picture-perfect shot of her body, her chest, the stiffness of her nipples—everything.

Jang Wonyoung—always the performer.

A free hand runs through her hair, flinging it back over her shoulder, and she starts to roll her whole body; fucking herself on you in a way that’s so deliberate, so fucking pornographic.

“God, I fucking hate this.” Wonyoung puts it on public record, eyes never leave yours as she performs for the camera—or for you, it’s hard to tell.

“What’s that, baby?” You tease. "You hate how good this feels?”

“I hate that it’s you,” she says, the words forced out between gasps. “I hate how fucking hot you are.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

You’ll never understand it. How someone you despise so much, with every fibre of your being, can fit so perfectly around you, feel so downright incredible on top of you. It’s a cruel joke that the universe decided to play on you both.

But you play along, let her ride you like it’s her fucking birthright, lock you in some petty staring contest, keep your mind filled with nothing but the tightness of her cunt.

You’re both panting now, sweat slicking your skin, making it easier for her to slide up and down on your cock. Her small tits bounce with every movement, and you can’t help but reach out to grab one, pinch it hard, making her wince, making her gasp.

“Fuck—you should quit whatever the fuck you’re doing,” she says, trying her best to form complete sentences through the pain, the bliss. “Work for me.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know.” Wonyoung looks down at you and you can see it on her face: the fucking slut is dead serious. “Manager, bodyguard, assistant. Whatever I can do to keep you close so you can fuck me like this whenever I want. If Yujin can have her drummer boy, it’s only fair that I get you.”

“Why the fuck would I want to spend all day waiting on you?”

She corrects you: “Spend all day inside of me.”

There’s your fantasy—mornings fucking Wonyoung in some hotel room, drinking all the juices from her pussy in the car on the way to work, having her suck your cock backstage at some concert, making her scream your name every night before going to sleep.

And then waking up and doing it all again.

There’s no hiding the smirk on your face. “Go fuck yourself, Wonyoung.”

Wonyoung mirrors your grin, that wild, cock-drunk look in her eyes. “Why would I do that when I have you?”

“No.” You’re pulling her close, holding her body tight to you, making her feel it. “You’re mine.”

That word again—'daddy’ on her lips, turning into a desperate cry as her thighs tense on either side of you, her hands locking behind your neck. She’s holding on tight, because you’re not giving her a choice, you’re not giving her anything but what she’s begging for.

You watch her face in the reflection of the car window—the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut and then open again, searching for something, anything to keep her grounded.

"Fuck me like I’m yours,” Wonyoung pleads. “You own me? Then fucking treat me like you do. Treat me like I’m your fucking whore, daddy.”

It’s too much, all of it. Wonyoung: her face—those lips, her body—those fucking legs, her voice—the way she says your name, how she calls you daddy, like it’s a fucking curse. You’re so close to the edge now, so close to cumming again, cumming inside her. You can feel the beginnings of it, the tension coiling in your balls, the white creeping into your vision.

But she’s still talking—and so are you, you realise.

One of you cries out—holy shit—answered with a—so fucking good—followed by an exchange of—fuck yous—and—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

It keeps going, this fucking, this using, this hating—whatever this is.

“I fucking hate you—”

“Hate you too—”

“Hate how good your cunt feels—”

“Hate how big your cock is—”

“Hate how perfect you are—”

“Hate how much I want your fucking cum—”

“Fucking slut—"

“Daddy—”

“I’m going to—"

"Please!"

And that’s it.

It’s over—your cock pulsing deep inside her, Wonyoung’s cunt clamping down around you, and you’re cumming—together—tightening and writhing and calling each other every name under the sun, except maybe the one that actually matters.

Wonyoung’s head falls back, losing control of her own body, the camera catching every glorious moment as she cums, her orgasm ripping through her in a scream that you feel in every inch of your body.

You kiss her—her tits, her neck, her jaw, her lips—claiming her, making sure she feels every drop of you. You hate her, you love her, you hate that you love her, you love that she needs you, you hate that you need her.

And all the while the camera keeps rolling, capturing your sweaty, heaving chests; capturing you filling her, spilling out of her, giving her the cum she so desperately pleaded for. It’s so much more intimate than any kiss, any love confession, any of that romantic shit she sings about.

But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

It’s every twitch, every shiver, every little pulse of your release flooding her. How she tenses and clenches around you, soaks you with her wetness, drowns you in her tight, drenched heat.

And she keeps calling you it—whispering it—‘daddy’—over and over again, even as she’s coming down from the high, even as she’s gasping for air, even as she’s forcing her tongue into your mouth.

Wonyoung slumps against you, your cum dripping out of her and down your cock, staining the leather of your car seats. You can feel the stickiness of it, the mess you’ve made together. It makes you want to do it all over again.

To make her say it again, to make her scream it again.

“You’re so fucking mine,” you murmur against her neck, kissing her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat.

Wonyoung just nods, too exhausted to argue, too satisfied to care. Her hand finds yours, weaves your fingers together, and you hold onto her, tight. It’s sickeningly sweet, and yet, despite your best efforts, the insult, the quip to break the spell doesn’t come.

Because in the end, you don’t want to kill the moment—not when it’s so perfect.

You don’t want to ruin it with talk of the real world, with the harshness of the light that’ll be waiting outside the car door.

You stay there, parked in the garage of her apartment building, the headlights dimming down to black. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, the taste of it lingering on your tongues. It’s a bubble you’re both loath to burst—because once it does, once it pops, you’re just Wonyoung and some guy she fucking hates again.

“Thank you, daddy.” Wonyoung’s breathing slows, her grip on you loosens. She’s drifting off, the stress of the night and the alcohol finally claiming her.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the two of you tangled together. It’s quiet except for the occasional hum from her, a cute little sound that she’s probably unaware she makes. It’s soothing, almost sweet.

But reality has a way of crashing in, doesn’t it?

You know you can’t stay here forever. You know you’ve got to get her upstairs before someone sees, before the cameras (the dangerous ones, the ones you don’t own) spot you. Before the rest of the world catches up.

You ease her off your cock, she whines, her eyes struggling open. “Take me home,” she mumbles, still not fully coherent.

“Already am, baby,” you reply, gently untangling her body from yours.

With a bit of effort, you manage to get her into an almost presentable state—straightening her skirt, buttoning her shirt, dabbing the cum that’s pooled between her thighs. She watches you as you do it, through a hazy gaze, still recovering from being fucked into oblivion.

It’s an act. Partly at least. A way to save face—pretend that it’s only the exhaustion, that she doesn’t really need you, doesn’t really want to be taken care of like this. Doesn’t want to nuzzle her head into your shoulder, or hug you tight, or have you kiss her on the forehead and tell her that you’ve got her.

Tomorrow she’ll yell at you for it, probably call you an overbearing asshole for treating her like a delicate flower. Make fun of you for going soft, for totally falling under her spell.

(And sometime even later, in a moment when she’s all quiet and feeling vulnerable, right after you’ve fucked each other and hated each other and ended up holding each other for the millionth time, Wonyoung will say:

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

You’ll know what she means right away; you’ll kiss her again and you’ll answer:

“I know.”)

Because despite the fact that when she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch, you’re also kind of in love with her.

And, if you were to ask her, she’d probably the same about you.

#kpop smut #wonyoung smut #ive smut #male reader

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baepsays · 1 month ago

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MONA LISA ⋆˚࿔⸻ Nanami Kento

THE WAY YOU LOOK I UNDERSTAND THE HYPE, YOU KNOW YOU'RE JUST MY TYPE꩜ .ᐟ Gotta, gotta, get ya, 'cause you know just what I like.

cw ꩜ .ᐟ nothing, just fluff, but there is a dumbass ex, whirlwind romance sort of cliche, some suggestive stuff, but just me being a poetic dumbass mostly, i heard the song and i was like yes, so just enjoy.

a/n: fully inspired by mona lisa by jhope

Nanami Kento is a connoisseur of art. He is the greatest opponent of the philosophy presented by Plato, that art is an imitation of an imitation, and therefore not a true representation of reality. He believed that art has always been and will always be the direct and indirect reflection of reality. And if Plato were alive today, he would not hesitate to blurt it out in his face.

So after saving up for a while and doing an insane amount of overtime, when he found himself in Paris, all by himself, he knew exactly where he wanted to explore first and foremost.

The Louvre museum was somewhere he always wanted to explore, not vicariously through a digital screen or how Gojo flew out his girlfriend there for her art history project—he wanted to see everything with his own two eyes, and just get lost in there if possible.

He expected the crowd. Even when he scheduled his visit at an odd time, to enjoy some serenity in those masterful pieces from the past. He wanted to find the Venus de milo, the coronation of Napoleon, and of course, the Mona Lisa.

But instead he found you, standing opposite to the Mona Lisa herself, just staring at Veronese's wedding feast at Cana.

Even when he came on a weekday, during downtime, there was still a crowd in front of the mona Lisa. But honestly, he would get in a queue to watch you instead. Maybe frame you in his eyes forever, if it is possible. He never really got the hype about Mona Lisa anyway, of course it has its own significance with how the colors and techniques were so sophisticated for its time that it was thought to be irreplicable. But Nanami was not fascinated by the, now, dull colors of the painting. But he is sure if it was you that Vinci decided to immortalize in his painting, the crowd would have to be bigger, and the queue has to be longer. And the colors have to be more vibrant and acute. And even then he could not have captured your beauty.

But then again, you do not need such empty validations.

He never thought of himself as a person to think his type was a pretty face, if you asked him, he would say personality. Yet here he is walking up to the gorgeous woman of his dreams, and asking her if she wanted to stroll around the museum with him.

If only your, now ex, boyfriend took a second too long before saying he wants to break up with you to get with the younger hotter girl at his office; he would not have been backtracking from that statement in a panic when you told him right after that you got two tickets to Paris for your anniversary. And he would have probably been here standing next to you. But thankfully you threw him out of your apartment, threw everything of his in your home, on the street. And got a considerable amount of refund on his ticket, and made your way to Paris. Fortunately instead of your ex, this gorgeous stranger, who looked really dazed when he came up to you, and gave you company through the rest of your trip. All he said was a simple,

“Hello.” a gorgeous voice to match a gorgeous voice.

And suddenly it was as if you two were in a movie, about two strangers falling in love, in the city of love. You did every cliche tourist thing with him, to your heart’s content. From going to the Pont des Arts to the Eiffel tower. And doing things out of visiting historical monuments, like struggling to order a croissant and coffee. The days you spent with Nanami in Paris, became some of the most cherished memories you have created in your life. And you can only hope you get to have him around for more memories to create.

While you were too busy wallowing in your own head about never possibly seeing him ever again after this—Kento was becoming borderline obsessed with you.

The amount of time you occupied in his thoughts and his journal, was getting concerning. You simply have him bad. And he is ready to submit himself, nay, devote himself to you. Frame you in a picture, make a shrine out of it and call you his religion, his one and only.

By the third day of knowing Nanami Kento, you somehow ended up in the same hotel as him. With different room numbers to your name, you still somehow always ended up in each other’s rooms. At first it was petty excuses like the bed is better in your room, then it was the shower not working well, the lights in your room were too fluorescent. These were things easily solved by calling the front desk, but then it would mean these were real problems and not made up excuses.

And everytime your horrible ex tried to call you and ruin your mood, he was there for you with some bottle of wine he found at the grocery store down the street. Along with some variety of cheese and fruits, to make you a charcuterie board of sorts.

And you appreciated it all. The cheap wine, cheap ‘i heart Paris’ t-shirts, wild little flowers from some random park you two stumbled upon, to the diamond earrings he insisted on buying you. Something about them matching your smile too perfectly to let them be bought out by someone else. And you have never felt so at ease to be spoiled like so. Never with your parents, nor with any ex, or even friends. And it was all too much and too easy to get used to.

“Will I ever see you again, after this?” you were in his bed, fully clothed and in his arms, but never in your life have you ever felt so naked.

“You are asking the wrong questions sweetheart.” he moved his head just enough to take it off the top of your head, and came eye to eye with you. His one hand steady as ever on your waist, slightly bunching up the satin of your nightdress. While the other held your own hand in comfort, with the most delicate touch. As if you were some exquisite work of art that would crumble with just one thoughtless touch.

“What should I be asking then?”

“How can I look at you for the rest of my life instead?”

FIND MORE OF MY WORKS HERE

a/n: dividers by @/cafekitsune. header is Monalisa by Leonardo da Vinci.

big Plato disliker here. you can say i loathe him even. fuck Plato. first Nanami work woooo!!! also shit i made up from my own trip to paris like when i was a wee baby so it is def not accurate i think.

I LIKE MY GIRLS PRETTY IN THE FACE ART PIECE TO FRAME MONA MONA LISA YEAH I NEED YA

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojao @cuntphoric @nanamiskentos @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @alygator77 @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @gojosconsort @soupicidesquad @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 29 days ago

Note

My hands are tied, I have to ask for more Ghost family! It's a need not a want

What do we think about Simon and the 141 being on leave after a particularly long mission and Tommy is in football (us soccer ) and has a match and made little crayon invitations for the each member if the team, inviting him to his game

And maybe they go get dinner afterwords? And celebrate? Win or lose?

His Whole World

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, emotional softness, child/family content, swearing (from the adults), suggestive content and soft smut (MDNI 18+), mild language, hurt/comfort themes, domestic sweetness

Author's Note: You asked for more Ghost Family—and I gladly deliver. I hope you enjoy this little life of theirs!

Summary: While on leave, Simon and the 141 attend Tommy’s football match after receiving adorable crayon-drawn invitations. What follows is a celebration full of laughter, love, and a quiet night where Simon gets to hold his whole world in his hands.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It started with a stack of brightly colored paper, three boxes of crayons, and Tommy sitting at the kitchen table with his tongue poked out in concentration.

You'd glanced over while washing dishes, catching him drawing lopsided smiley faces and scribbling stick figures in what he insisted were team uniforms. Little soccer balls dotted each corner, and each card was signed in big, clumsy letters:

To: Uncle Soap

To: Uncle Gaz

To: Grandpa Price

“Baby,” you smiled, drying your hands. “What are those?”

He held up a green one proudly, a sun in the corner with a crooked rainbow above it. “I’m inviting Daddy’s friends to my match! ‘Cause they said they’d come next time!”

You blinked back emotion. “They’ll love that.”

When Simon walked in and saw the mess of crayons and construction paper, he tilted his head.

“What’s all this, little lad?”

Tommy beamed. “Invitations!”

“For what?”

“My game! You said they’d wanna come!”

Simon froze in the doorway. And then—very slowly—he crouched next to his son, picked up one of the drawings and stared at it like it was the Mona Lisa.

“They’ll be there, kiddo. Promise.”

—

A Few Days Before the Match

The restaurant was the definition of comfort—old booths, framed kids’ drawings on the walls, crayons and coloring menus already on the table. You, Simon, and Tommy were squeezed into one side of the booth while Soap, Gaz, and Price took the opposite. It had been laughter and casual teasing all night.

But Tommy had been fidgety the entire meal, a little bundle of nerves and excitement, bouncing in his seat and clutching his backpack like it was a top secret mission.

When dessert arrived, he couldn’t wait anymore.

“I have something!” he blurted, sliding out of the booth and tugging open the zipper of his backpack with both hands.

Soap raised a brow. “This ain’t a bomb, is it?”

Tommy giggled. “Nooo, silly.”

He handed out folded papers one by one—wrinkled, smudged with crayon, each one unique.

“To Uncle Johnny. To Uncle Kyle. To Grandpa Price.”

They each unfolded theirs carefully, expressions going soft.

Soap snorted a laugh. “That’s me? You drew me with… is that a cape?”

“You’re my superhero,” Tommy explained proudly.

Gaz blinked a few times. “Is this for your football match?”

Tommy nodded eagerly. “You said if I invited you, maybe you could come. So I made invites! I drawed them all by myself!”

Price cleared his throat, already reading aloud. “‘Please come watch me score lots of goals. There will be juice after. Love, Tommy.’”

“Juice and football?” Soap grinned. “It’s a date.”

Gaz leaned across the table. “Front row. We’ll make signs.”

Tommy gasped. “Really?!”

“Absolutely,” Price added. “We’ll be the loudest ones there.”

Simon hadn’t said a word, just watching with his jaw set tight, a hand resting protectively on his son’s back.

When Tommy crawled back into the booth beside him and leaned into his side, Simon bent low, pressing a kiss to his curls.

“Told you they’d say yes,” he murmured.

—

Game Day

The field was damp from last night’s rain, the grass lush and springy underfoot. Kids ran wild in miniature uniforms, knee-high socks pulled to their thighs, shin guards crooked. You’d found a good spot on the bleachers while Simon paced just behind them, arm crossed, leg bouncing.

He was nervous.

“He’ll do great,” you said, rubbing his arm.

“I know,” Simon murmured. “Just—first time he’s ever played with a crowd.”

“He’s not just playing for a crowd.” You smiled. “He’s playing for his dad.”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed the top of your head and scanned the field until he found Tommy—a tiny blur of navy blue and white, blonde curls under a too-big headband, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

And then the shouting started.

“GO ON, TOMMY BOY!”

Soap.

“LET’S SEE THAT RILEY FOOTWORK!”

Gaz.

“DO US PROUD, LAD.”

Price, calm and commanding even from a lawn chair.

The three of them had shown up in matching 141 hoodies, faces painted with small stripes in Tommy’s team colors, holding signs that were very obviously made by Soap’s chaotic hand: “RILEY FOR MVP!” “BABY GHOST DOMINATES!”

Simon looked like he was about to cry. Or fight someone. Maybe both.

Tommy turned to look for you—and when he spotted his dad and the team waving wildly from the stands, he lit up.

He gave the smallest salute.

And then he ran.

The game was chaos in the best way. Kids missing the ball, bumping into each other, falling down and crying before getting up again like it never happened. But Tommy—Tommy scored. Twice.

You swore the sound Simon made wasn’t human.

Soap was on his feet, swinging Gaz in a circle. Price looked smug like he knew all along that the kid was destined for greatness.

And Tommy? He ran right to the fence after the whistle blew and threw himself into Simon’s arms.

“DID YOU SEE?!”

Simon lifted him like he weighed nothing. “Saw everything, champ. You were brilliant.”

His voice was hoarse. Raw. So proud.

And you—watching your husband hold your son like he was holding the whole damn sky—felt your heart swell.

—

After the Match

You all piled into a local family diner—sticky booths, cracked menus, a jukebox in the corner. Simon sat with Tommy tucked under one arm, still in his uniform, now eating a celebratory sundae with a plastic gold medal around his neck.

“Best player award,” Tommy announced to the table, lifting it up for all to see.

Soap clapped so hard it startled a waiter. “That’s our lad!”

Gaz leaned in close. “You want us to tell the base commander to get you a real one next time?”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Can you do that?!”

“Absolutely,” Price said. “We’ll frame it for you.”

The food was greasy and perfect—burgers, fries, and milkshakes all around. Simon barely touched his own plate, too busy watching his son laugh.

You caught his hand under the table. He laced his fingers with yours instantly.

“He’s happy,” you whispered.

“So am I.”

—

Later That Night

Back at the house, Tommy crashed the second his head hit the pillow—sunburnt cheeks, messy curls, medal still clutched in his hand.

Simon kissed his forehead and closed the door quietly behind him.

You found each other in the hallway, drawn together like magnets.

“He was amazing,” you whispered, arms slipping around his waist.

“He was perfect,” Simon murmured, pressing you back against the wall, hands slipping beneath your shirt. “You should’ve seen yourself cheering for him. Christ.”

“I did. You cried.”

“I didn’t—” he huffed, nose brushing yours. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

You laughed softly, fingers sliding beneath the hem of his shirt. “Come to bed.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

—

You lay beneath him, skin bare, breath stolen by the slow rhythm of his hips and the heat of his mouth on your neck.

Simon moved with reverence—like prayer. Every inch of him pressed close. Nothing frantic, nothing rough. Just desperate closeness.

“Missed this,” he whispered against your collarbone. “You. Home.”

“I missed you too,” you whispered, breathless as his hand slid over your hip, his lips ghosting over your breast.

The only sounds were the quiet creak of the bed and the way you gasped his name when he filled you again—slow, deep, a rhythm just for you.

You arched under him, clutching his shoulders, letting yourself fall apart in the safety of his arms. He followed not long after—buried deep, voice catching as he groaned your name into your mouth.

After, you stayed tangled together, hearts thudding in time, sweat cooling against your skin.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For all of it. Him. You. This life. I never thought I’d have it.”

You cupped his face. “You earned it.”

Simon kissed you slow, like he could bottle this moment forever.

And maybe—just maybe—he could.

—

The Next Morning

You woke to the smell of pancakes and the sound of tiny feet thumping down the hall.

Simon’s voice drifted in from the kitchen.

“Alright, champ—one more flip, then you do the syrup.”

You padded out, still in one of Simon’s shirts, hair messy.

Tommy looked up from the stool he was perched on, beaming. “Mummy! We made breakfast!”

Simon looked up and smiled, eyes soft.

“Family tradition,” he said, setting a plate in front of you.

Tommy hopped off the stool, ran over, and threw himself into your lap.

You looked at them both—Simon, shirtless in flannel pants, Tommy in his dinosaur pajamas—and felt that ache again. The one that came from too much love in one room.

He was your little shadow.

And Simon?

Simon was finally standing in the light.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

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o4o41 · 4 months ago

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Tychou, but she was intended to be the first animated female turtle. But since Mr Laird sexualised her, thinking tmnt should never start a family, he didn't allowed that happen. And went more, that he didn't allowed for her second episode.

He had that same bad taste for the next official female turtle Venus De Milo -Mei Pieh Chi. (Having a female in a male team was actually unavoidable since every good show had at least one token female character).

"Too long don't read":

Aka, let me go off topic to my original question, Tychou,

For I have some comments about Laird and his direct tmnt 2003 creation

❇️📛2003 tmnt, his direct influence, was a pretty good and decent show. It really stayed bold and took its path and everything. ⏸️🏏⏯️ He also had a blind spot as a person, because he was negatively wired to the previous cartoon. (It showed in the cartoon. Like Raph hit Mickey when he said "Turtle Power". The previous show had that catch-call. It went hard to avoid the previous 1987 tmnt lore and influence.)

❇️He also allowed female characters to normally exist. For a male-centered superhero show, he generated backgrounds and abilities in its female characters unlike other superhero shows that were male-centered. Like the young and strong lady, blind and old lady, fierce and strong mom, programmer later fighter woman, a mechanical life inventor, strong bold and inventive monster hunter, gender-ambiguous monster woman, leader of the country and warrior women.

Hello.

How are you?

I have an idea for Mona Lisa.

Tell me your thoughts.

Since the female turtle ban is over. She can be more a female turtle and be named after a "Frankenstein's Monster" autor Marry Shelly what do you think? And she is an artist, like living marks on desks of a mysteriously smirking woman.

Sounds like you're trying to make an OC, not a Mona Lisa. Which is totally cool. I think you should explore that idea as a character. As for me, I love Mona as a lizard girl of one kind or another. And will probably always keep her that way. At least for my little corner of the fan community. Thank you for the ask!

#Tmnt #My idea was Marylisa = Mary Cure Shelly (she has 2 inherited surnames from bright women like in Bostonian marriages)#= Mona Lisa (Lovely Lizard Lady; M'onna = Lady; hence Lovely Lisa M'onna)#I also thought that she could be Misa (from Artemissia = Artie+Missa)#Could have transitions or mutation-metamorphosis (like “Next Mutation” title suggests from 1997 tmnt)#Btw I have just made up an anecdote where Raph and M'onna be smooching💋 each other #When he reaches to her tail he's like surprised and said what is it #She's like that's my tail silly #(She could have a body dysmorphia at one point and tried to make herself a dick as oppose to the hostile mentality that women can't be TMNT #A hero/ninja turtle:'cos they should be cute nice comfortable-for-people a good girl and generally harmless and quiet and a proper bride et #(Aka “bring honor to us all”#So she wanted to make a dick or pseudodick but ended up having a larger tail 🤔#Edit: another HC she can be Merula Snyder #As in Merula = Me+Rule #It has meaning #And the surname is vague because it is not clear whether male-inherited or not #(I thought Mary Shelly sounded good to piss off Laird for the reason with a double-meaning of “shelly” or nickname)#She can have “M'onna Lisa” hinted or suggested #Because M'onna means Madonna means Lady on its own

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dancingdonatello · 4 months ago

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2012 Raph X Reader who is the OPPOSITE of Mona Lisa

i mean they are sweet, can’t fight, gives raph random little gifts to show affection, love’s physical touch all that stuff

Love your fan fictions!

2012 raph x reader

“Come on.” Raph dragged you off the couch that you clung desperately to. “Live a little.”

“You’re going to kill me!” You whined, looking up at him with big eyes. “Raphie…”

He rolled his eyes and reached over to effortlessly pick you up. You pouted as he carried you into the dojo and placed you on your feet. You continued to give him your best puppy eyes but he ignored you as he cracked his knuckles.

He won every ‘spar’ you two had in the next hour.

“You’re not even tryin’.” He had you pinned to the floor with his body. You took the chance to hug him, nuzzling into his neck affectionately. “What kinda move is that?”

You grumbled, bringing him in closer. Why fight if you two could cuddle instead? You didn’t get it at all.

“What’s gonna happen when I’m not around to protect ya?” He poked you in the side with a finger and you jumped, biting down laughter.

“Never gonna happen!” You kissed his cheek, smiling when he rolled his eyes with an embarrassed expression. “You follow me everywhere. I can’t even buy any surprise gifts for you anymore!”

“You’re so dramatic.” He sat up, allowing you to cling to him so that you got raised along with him. You settled into his side easily, staring up at him.

“Nuh uh.” You grinned up at him mischievously. He gave you a suspicious look immediately. “It’s why I had to go at 3am to a 24 hour junk store to buy you something.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, lip twitching into a scowl. “You went out at night. At 3am. Alone. Nobody knew.”

“Yup!” You broke away from him to dig into your pockets. You took out a small turtle charm. “It reminded me of you! You can hook it onto your phone or something!”

He stared at you. “You went out at 3am for this?”

Your expression fell. “You don’t like it.”

He sighed and took the turtle charm from you, staring down at it. “I like it. I don’t like you going out at night with the Purple Dragons and the Foot and—”

“and the Kraang, I know, I know.” You rolled your eyes, sticking your tongue out. He poked it and you yelped, staring at him in betrayal. He simply smirked at you.

“I guess this just means we have to train some more.”

“No…” you whined, going boneless when he tried to drag you to your feet.

#tmnt x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt raphael hamato x reader #raphael hamato x reader

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sweetestcaptainhughes · 20 days ago

Text

Please enjoy my unhinged thoughts of Quinn Hughes tonight:

For whatever reason, you are demanding attention. And it’s not even a cute “aww she loves me way.” It’s somehow always at the worst times and you find yourself whining if you don’t get your way. It doesn’t matter, if you’re in public or at home, when your body craves Quinn you need him immediately. Like at the Yankees game the other day, when you find yourself whispering the most unhinged shit in his ear until he’s red in the face and dragging you to the newest bathroom. Pushing you on your knees, forcing you to make good on your promise and suck his dick until he’s painting your face like the next Mona Lisa.

Or it could be at home passing him playing video games with his brothers or reading a book, manspread to the extreme in basketball shorts slowly riding up. You find yourself climbing in his lap, putting your hand over the mic as you get yourself off grinding against his thighs.

It doesn’t even matter if you’re throwing a watch party for the devils playoff game. If you give him that look he’s pushing you both in the kitchen, one hand gripping hip, his other hand down your pants as he circles your clit in fast rough circles teasing your hole as he grinds against you also trying to find his own relief as quickly as possible in a house full of people.

#wow first Jack a few weeks ago now this…#I think this segment needs a name… maybe #late night unhinged thoughts edition…#quinn hughes blurb #schwritingsqh43 #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #Quinn Hughes x you #hughes fanfic #quinn hughes imagine

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kaiyunsim · 1 month ago

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silver lining —

pairing : top student!sion x troublemaker!reader

summary : detention is supposed to be boring, until the school’s top student shows up with the world’s worst excuse. turns out, they might’ve broken a rule just to sit next to you.

warnings : fluff, kind of cliché, featuring ni-ki from enhypen, ni-ki is such a troublemaker too.

a/n : i love laufey. i love silver lining. i love nct wish. also trying out a different writing style... lmk any thoughts :)

queueing : silver lining - laufey, talk - beabadoobee, left right xg, mona lisa - mxmtoon

— wc 1.3k — not proof read —

you shouldn’t have done it.

stupid ni-ki.

“y/n, detention for vandalism” your teacher reports, “you need to stop getting these, it might affect your permanent record.” she continues. she isn't mean or commanding, she just sounds like she actually cares and is looking out for you.

you look up to her, “just me this time?” you ask with a smirk of nonchalance.

“well, is there anyone else i should call?” she asks, wondering if you're going to rat anyone out.

but that's not something you would do.

"nope, all me" you say, feigning innocence. it was all ni-ki's idea but you're not the type to tattle on anyone who hasn't been caught.

under the teacher's, more like principal's guidance, you stay afterschool in the same classroom.

it's just you, like it usually is. life isn't fun without a bit of thrill, and people just don't wanna have fun.

while inside you just sit around, you stare outside the window next to you. it's something you've started to do while the staff started to take away your phone when they realized that you were texting other students to help break you out of detention.

among the crowd of people leaving the school, ni-ki's face catches your gaze as he pulls his eyelid down while sticking out his tounge. you should've called him out to the teacher.

a few minutes pass and you're laying your head on your arms, trying to pass the time. you close your eyes, thoughts starting to drift to—

knock. knock. knock.

you raise your head, startled. you look to the teacher's desk, like they accidentally locked themselves out the room (has happened before). agianst your suspicions, you find that the teacher is present and at their desk. she also looks surprised, not expecting more people to come.

she gets up and checks on the door. your thoughts immediately think that ni-ki got caught in his own shenanigans. when the door get opens you see the face of someone who doesn't belong in the detention class, oh sion.

oh sion is notable for being the top student of the school. highest grades? oh sion. teacher's favorite student? oh sion. student favorite? oh. si. on.

you did not expect to see him knocking on the detention classroom's door. you just assume he's dropping something off for the teacher, he always does small things like that. such a teachers pet.

"hi, mr. kim sent me here" sion explains to the teacher who now looks in disbelief. you share that same expression as sion locks eyes with you for a moment, giving you a smile before being sent to your neighboring desk.

you just glare at him, not in a mean way or anything, just analyzing the situation. like, why would the top student be in detention? he catches your glance, where you immediately glance away, trying to avoid any conversation.

he just slumps, leaning his head on his arm. "man, it's boring here." he mumbles.

you turn back to him. you probably shouldn't talk to him, you are the biggest troublemaker. but the way he's just there makes it seem like he wants to talk.

"why are you here?" you ask, genuinely curious about what he could have possibly done to be here.

he looks at you, "um... cheating on a test" he responds, sounding unconvincing as ever.

an awkward silence follows.

you don't believe it. "yeah, right."

you glare at him more than before, but instead of just analyzing him, you're trying to dig for the real reason he is here. he kinda just freezes in your gaze and the awkward tension increases.

when the teacher leaves for a moment, you take it as your opportunity to ask, "okay so what's the real reason? you here to help me break out?" you joke, trying to lighten the mood, especially with the atmosphere.

"listen, maybe i'm just done being the perfect student." he replies, not sounding even a little bit more convincing than before.

you just react with an imperceptible smile.

as time passes on, you lean to the nearby window catching some sleep while you're here. while you do so, you feel someone staring at you. you slightly open your eyes and turn your head to see sion just blatantly staring.

“si… on?” you mumble, voice coated with drowsiness.

all of a sudden, the table seems to be the most interesting thing in the world. sion immediately looks towards it, now avoiding your own stare.

you make some slight notes of how he's acting, but your brain malfunctions due to just getting up from your nap.

after slowly recovering and rubbing your eyes, you start to notice small things that sion does. some things like tapping his feet at a fast pace, small glances that end up with him looking at another direction, and small taps from their finger that make some slight noise on the table.

it makes you think... sion's nervous..?

he's definitely not as calm as he usually seems.

you check the time on the clock. 3:30pm. 30 minutes left.

"god, this is taking forever." you comment, taking your attention towards the window which now has fewer students, only the ones staying for after school activities. you're kind of surprised to not receive a reply back from sion, he commented earlier so you kinda just expected one again.

you turn to see what caught him busy and just see that he is writing on paper. correction, he isn't doing homework like you though he would be doing, he's just doodling on some piece of paper.

this top student really is weird...

you peek over, curiosity winning on the inside. "you doodle?" you ask.

he freezes for a second, not expecting you to notice him doing his own thing. "sometimes."

"let me see"

he offers his paper, covered in drawing to you. it’s not amazing art, but it’s thoughtful. little sketches of windows. hands. the corner of a locker. shadows that look familiar. just things that he likely thought were interesting to look at.

but then you swear your heart stops, just for a second, a small drawing which is practically recognizable catches your eye. a more detailed drawing of someone with their feet on a desk, leaning back.

“…is that me?” you asked

sion doesn’t answer right away. instead, he rests his cheek on his fist and smile, just barely. "maybe.”

the room suddenly feels smaller. quieter. heavier. that and the teacher who is supposed to be supervising you probably isn't coming back.

you push the paper back. "you're weird"

"and you noticed," he says with a smile that you swear you've never seen before, and you've seen him practically everywhere. it's hard not to.

somehow, that breaks the tension. not by erasing it, but by naming it. giving it space to exist.

"so why did you do it?" you question.

"what do you mean?" he questions back.

"why did you get detention" you clarify. "i know it's not because you cheated on a test, you wouldn't do that"

he just stares for a bit, like he's about to admit something.

"well, we were in class and you were gonna be in detention alone..." he mutters. "and i kinda told the teacher that i was a part of your thing with ni-ki"

you just stare with wide eyes.

"what the fuck... you're insane" you say jokingly. "so you're here cause of me?"

"basically"

you just smirk, nudging him in the process. now you think he's cooler than just the normal top student you originally thought he was.

just like that, detentions over. the teacher still isn't back but you both just get up and exit the classroom. a small silence is present as you hesitate.

"so see you around..?"

sion gives you a look, amused. something softer in his expression than usual.

"probably sooner than you think"

tysm for reading :>

nct wish taglist :

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz @the0p @mon2sunjinsuver

#kaiyunsim #nct wish #nct wish x reader #nct wish x gn reader #nct wish sion #nct wish sion x reader #sion x reader #sion fluff #nct sion #nct sion x reader #oh sion #oh sion x reader #oh sion fluff #nct wish fluff #kpop x reader #kpop x gn reader #kpop fluff

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wordsofwhimsy · 2 months ago

Text

𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘈𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 - 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘍𝘪𝘷𝘦

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader | Sinister!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse

→ Part Four ←

The fluorescent lights of the Guardian’s of the Globe HQ buzzed overhead as Cecil stood at the front of the meeting room, pacing slowly back and forth. The Mark Variants sat around the table in various states of attention, some more engaged than others, as Cecil went through the rundown of the day’s events. The tension in the room was palpable, though no one could pinpoint exactly why.

“Alright, folks,” Cecil started, flipping through a few pages on his tablet. “Let's break down today’s operations, starting with the biggest failure.” His eyes turned to land on Sinister Mark who was sat at the far end of the table, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable.

“The Louvre was attacked this afternoon,” Cecil continued, his voice tinged with disappointment. “A criminal organization, likely out of France, managed to breach security and make off with the Mona Lisa. Local authorities are calling it the biggest heist in the country’s history. You were supposed to be on patrol there. What happened?”

S.Mark didn’t answer right away. He sat up slightly, his eyes dark, scanning the room as though looking for an out. But instead, he just muttered, “I had it under control. It was just… a bad timing issue.”

Cecil wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t push it further. His gaze moved to the next variant.

M.Mark, who had been staring blankly at the table, blinked and snapped his focus back to Cecil’s voice when he realized he was being addressed. Cecil had asked some kind of question about how his mission went.

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, his tone flat. “Everything went fine.”

But his words were distant, like he wasn’t really listening to himself speak.

Cecil raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “The rest of you did pretty good work, particularly with keeping those rogue supers in check. Maybe a little overboard….” His statement trailed into a murmur more to himself than anything, before giving his full attention back to the group. “We’ll have to follow up to see how we can improve coverage in Europe. But for now, I think we can all agree it’s been a relatively successful day, despite a few hiccups.”

A few mumbles of agreement rippled through the collection of variants, but M.Mark remained unfazed, still caught up in his thoughts, the weight of his own internal turmoil pressing on him like a fog.

Then, a loud smack against his back broke through the haze.

"Hey, Mohawk!" Lensless Mark grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “You still daydreaming, or are you actually paying attention now?”

M.Mark blinked again, shaking his head as if to clear the fog. “Yeah, yeah, I’m paying attention.”

Lensless Mark’s grin only widened. “Good, ‘cause there’s a celebration at that weird, GDA-owned bar tonight. Heroes only, you know the drill. It’s to commemorate another day of saving the world.” His words came out almost wistfully, the sparkle on his teeth as he grinned a testament to his own vanity. “You in?”

The words barely registered for a moment, but then something shifted in M.Mark. The mention of the bar caught his attention in a way that the rest of the conversation hadn’t.

Right. The GDA bar. The one reserved exclusively for heroes. A place for their kind to unwind and bond after a successful day of work. The other variants would be there.

“Yeah,” M.Mark muttered, still feeling slightly detached from the conversation but more invested than he’d been all day. “I’ll go.”

The meeting wrapped up soon after that, and as the group disbanded, M.Mark found himself slipping into a haze again, his thoughts consumed by images of you. His mind’s eye refused to leave your perfect form—your smile, your laugh, the warmth that always radiated from you. He longed to be close to you, and that desperate craving seemed to only grow stronger by the day.

—

The bar hummed with chatter and clinking glasses, the usual post-hero celebration. It was one of those rare moments when everyone let down their guard—when the weight of being a hero didn’t feel so heavy. Most of the variants had shown up, celebrating the victories and drowning out the day's stresses.

Sinister Mark was the only one missing.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” he’d said earlier, his voice low and clipped. “Got somewhere to be.”

No one pressed him on it. That was just the way S.Mark was—detached, always in his own world, never really willing to join in on the camaraderie.

M.Mark sat at the counter, a bottle of beer in front of him that he wasn’t really drinking. His mind was still elsewhere, apparently permanently lost in a haze he couldn’t shake.

Lensless Mark slid onto the stool next to him, his usual grin plastered across his face as he took a long drink. “Hey, what’s up with you, man?” he asked, nudging M.Mark with an elbow. “You’ve been zoning out all night.”

M.Mark let out a long, almost imperceptible sigh, barely noticing Lensless Mark. He kept his eyes on the bottle, feeling the alcohol working its way through him but not enough to numb the thoughts that circled relentlessly in his mind. There was you.

“Not much,” M.Mark muttered, still staring at the bottle.

Lensless Mark raised an eyebrow, turning his body more toward him. “You’ve gotta be thinking about something,” he prodded. “You’re looking like a man on a mission or some shit. Got a girl on your mind?”

The words pierced through M.Mark’s fog. A smile tugged at the corner of Lensless Mark’s mouth, but M.Mark wasn’t amused.

“Yeah,” he answered, his rough voice softer than usual. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Lensless Mark blinked, clearly intrigued. “A girl? From the GDA?” His tone carried a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.

Mohawk Mark’s eyes flickered up, his gaze meeting Lensless Mark’s. For a split second, he felt exposed, but then he just shrugged, as though it didn’t matter. The weight of the truth was already too heavy to hide.

“It’s [Name],” he said, almost in a whisper, like he was admitting a guilty pleasure.

Lensless Mark froze, his bottle halfway to his mouth. He stared at M.Mark for a beat before lowering the drink. “Wait—you mean bumblebee-fuck’s girlfriend?”

The words hung in the air, thick with disbelief. M.Mark didn’t answer immediately, but his face betrayed the obvious truth – you were all that was on his mind.

“Yeah,” M.Mark said, his voice barely audible. “It’s her.”

Lensless Mark’s head tilted slightly as he processed it. “Hmm. Interesting,” he said slowly, then shook his head. “But I don’t get it, man. She’s not even… wild enough for you two. I thought you were into chaos, you know? She's kind of, well... normal.”

He said the word like it was a punchline, as if it explained everything.

“Not crazy enough for me?” M.Mark echoed with a bitter chuckle. “You think that’s what matters? The crazy? She's not just some game to be played. She's—” He cut himself off, feeling that familiar ache in his chest. The way you looked at him. The way you felt real. He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening on the neck of the beer bottle.

Lensless Mark gave him a lopsided grin, clearly unfazed by the weight of his counterparts words. “I don’t know, man. I like ‘em wild. But you? You’re better off. You don’t need Sinister Mark’s sloppy seconds.”

The words landed like a challenge, but M.Mark didn’t feel the rush of defiance he expected. Instead, something else hit him, something like clarity.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he muttered. “But she deserves more than what that bastard can offer. She’s way above his level. She’s…” He trailed off, his voice going soft as he thought about you once again. “She’s better than anyone else. It's not even close.”

Lensless Mark gave a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, dude. You’re whipped already.” He shrugged, unbothered by the intensity of M.Mark’s words. “Fuck it. Who cares what that asshole thinks? Go make her yours. Fuck that guy.”

The advice was simple, almost too simple, but it felt like the only thing M.Mark needed to hear. For a second, it almost felt like a challenge he was ready to face.

But before he could even reply, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The vibration was sharp, pulling him back from his thoughts.

“Who the hell would be calling you?” Lensless Mark asked, a little distracted but still curious.

M.Mark fumbled for his phone, not recognizing the number that flashed on the screen. His thumb hesitated over the screen.

“I don’t know,” he muttered in response, looking at the unfamiliar number.

Lensless Mark leaned over, trying to see the screen. “Answer it. It’s probably something interesting. Or a debt collector.”

M.Mark shot him a wry look but answered the call anyway. “Hello?”

*Readers POV*

You walked down the street of the familiar neighborhood, your fingers tracing the edge of your purse. You hadn’t felt this anxious in a long time. You were on a mission.

A simple mission. One to bring a little joy back into something broken.

The liquor store’s bell jingled as you entered, making your way straight to the back and picking up a bottle of brandy. The smooth amber liquid would be perfect for him—your boyfriend’s drink of choice. The bottle felt heavy in your hand, a small comfort in the storm of uncertainty that had settled in your chest. Along with it, you picked up a bottle of wine—the kind you liked. A little indulgence for yourself.

You couldn’t help but hum a quiet tune as you imagined how tonight would go. A quiet dinner. The two of you talking, reconnecting. You had missed him. You had missed this.

But as you paid and made your way out of the store, you froze.

Across the street, at the strip club, there he was—your significant other. The man you loved, walking out with a woman under each arm, both of them giggling, their arms draped casually around him.

Your stomach dropped as your heart thudded painfully in your chest. The anger surged first—sharp, bitter, and overwhelming. Then sadness settled in, cold and heavy. You felt a deep wave of embarrassment come over you. The kind of embarrassment that gnawed at your skin, reminding you of everything you had hoped for that was now crumbling.

Without thinking, your feet moved toward him but then stopped. Your body shook, but not from the cold. You remembered the bruises. The broken bones. The haunting memories of the times you’d crossed a line with him before, and the “lessons” he taught you in kind.

Your hand gripped the bag of alcohol in a vice, and your thoughts spiraled. You couldn’t do it. Not again. You would never let yourself go through the pain of his hands again.

Instead you turned away, your feet stumbling as you walked faster, away from the anger, away from him, tears blurring your vision. The cold air didn’t soothe you, didn’t offer anything but an empty space in your chest. You stumbled into your house, throwing the door open with a shaky hand before collapsing onto the couch and letting the bottle of wine open, uncaring.

Hours passed, and you had slipped into a mess of tears and liquor. The house felt suffocating, even with all the windows open. The flickering light from the kitchen bulb cast long, distorted shadows across the room as you poured yourself another glass of wine. You didn’t know why you were drinking, why you kept trying to drown the anger and pain in the bottle. It wasn’t like it would fix anything. But the alcohol helped you forget, if only for a little while.

Your eyes blurred with the sting of tears that wouldn’t stop coming, and you cursed yourself for being so weak. Why the hell do I even care? Your mind screamed, fingers gripping the glass so hard it almost hurt.

You hated him. Hated Mark for making you feel like you weren’t enough, for making you believe that somehow you had done something wrong when all you ever wanted to do was love him. That’s all I ever wanted, you thought bitterly, and he couldn’t even give me that.

Your breath hitched, a sob catching in your throat as you lifted the glass to your lips, but you barely tasted the wine. It burned as it slid down your throat, an empty sting that matched the one gnawing at your chest. You threw the glass down onto the table with a clink, tears spilling down your cheeks in angry streaks.

“Fuck you, Mark,” you whispered through clenched teeth, your voice shaking with a mix of fury and grief. “You’re a fucking asshole. You don’t even care, do you? Not a single fucking care about anyone but yourself.”

You laughed bitterly at the thought, wiping your face with the back of your hand. I’m just some stupid girl to him, aren’t I? you thought, wiping away more tears, furious at yourself for letting it hurt this much.

You knew better. You knew what kind of man he was. But somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d always convinced yourself that maybe, just maybe, he could change. But no. He hadn’t. He never would.

You’re worthless, the thought echoed in her mind. You’re nothing but someone he can push around when it’s convenient for him.

The floodgates opened, and your sobs became more violent, your body shaking with the force of them. You couldn’t stop yourself—couldn’t stop the wave of anger and sadness crashing over you like a monsoon. You cursed him again, your voice breaking, “I gave you everything, and you just... just...” You couldn’t finish the sentence. It felt pointless to even try. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve anything from you.

Your mind was spinning, the vicious cycle of self-loathing and fury carrying you further down into the abyss. But then, just as you were about to curl up in the misery of it all, something shifted. A flash of someone—someone else—cut through your thoughts like a sharp breath of air.

M.Mark.

You blinked, the image of his face flashing in your mind. The way he had looked at you with that quiet, reverent gaze. He’d always been so kind, in his own weird way. Checking on her randomly when it felt like she was invisible to everyone else in the world.

He came to my house earlier tonight... you thought, your breath catching in your chest. Ypu remembered the knock on your door, the brief moment when your eyes had met. He hadn’t said much, but there was something in his expression that said it all. He cared about you. For reasons you didn’t understand, but the feeling of warmth it gave you was just the same.

Your tears slowed, the storm inside you beginning to settle. The anger that had once consumed you began to dissipate, replaced by something softer, something you hadn’t felt in a while—peace.

You sniffed, wiping your face with the sleeve of your shirt, then stood up shakily from the couch. Your mind was clearer now, the haze of alcohol and emotion giving way to something that felt more tangible.

I need to do something, you thought, the realization hitting you suddenly. I need to talk to him.

Without thinking, you shuffled into the kitchen, hands still trembling as you rummaged through the drawers. You didn’t know why—or maybe you did—but you were looking for the list. The list Cecil had given you. It was tucked away somewhere, a list of phone numbers for all the GDA heroes, including the variants. You had almost forgotten about it in your rush to block out the world, but now, it was the one thing that felt like it could pull you out of the darkness.

You rifled through the drawers, throwing aside papers, random tools and clips, a few stray utensils, your heart pounding as you searched. Your vision swam from the tears and alcohol, your movements sloppy, desperate. You didn’t care about the mess you were making. Yoi just needed to find it.

And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, there it was. The crumpled list, the ink slightly smudged from where it had been stuffed into the drawer. You pulled it out, your fingers clumsily brushing over the names until you found what you were looking for.

M.Mark’s number.

Your heart skipped. You hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t even realized you’d been searching for it until now. But there it was, clear as day.

You stared at the number for a long moment, a million thoughts buzzed through your head in a frenzy, spinning faster, louder. What were you even doing? And should you? Could you? It felt insane, but in this state of confusion and hurt, he felt like the only one who might understand.

And before you could second-guess yourself, you dialed.

The phone rang once. Twice.

And then, finally, he answered.

“Hello?”

And in that moment, the world outside faded. You exhaled, a mix of relief and anticipation building.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

→ Part Six ←

#invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #variant!mark x reader #mark grayson fanfic

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iriswritesforyou · 9 months ago

Text

His Mona Lisa

Warning - small violence, prejudice against mutants, and maybe some other things? IDK

Word count - 1,889

Description: Reader is a human art teacher at the school. You and Logan had both been giving each other eyes for a while now but things heat up during a field trip.

Charles Xaiver had asked you, a human, to teach at his school for mutants, as an art teacher. You were reluctant at first, not because you were scared of mutants but because you felt as if you had nothing to offer them. Your only gift rested in your ability to paint and draw, to bring the images in your mind to life, and to help the youth do the same.

It was rocky at first, the kids were hesitant to warm up to you and you were hesitant to discipline them but that all changed one day when you introduced them to what you liked to call ‘splat balloon painting’. You had set up a canvas for each kid with balloons filled with paint next to them outside, encouraging them to throw them at the canvases. The kids loved it so much and getting paint all over you was definitely worth watching them smile and laugh. The true solidarity came when one of the kids' powers acted up and you got freezing cold acrylic paint all over you. The kid expected you to be angry like most humans would but you werent, to their surprise you just laughed it off and assured the kid you were fine.

After that day your class was one of the favorites among the students, even the kids who had hated art in previous years found themselves enjoying your class.

And then there was Logan, the combat instructor teacher who plagued your thoughts and little did you know you plagued him as well. It all started when one of your kids came to class all battered up and looking worse for wear claiming it was from Logan’s combat class. You didn't know much about Logan and you didn't know much about his class but you did know that your students shouldnt be showing up to class looking like they just got beat up in an alleyway.

So you marched down into the lower levels of the school determined to scold Logan like a parent would a child.

He was quite surprised to see a young human woman dressed in paint covered overall hanging off one of her shoulders, paint brushes stuck in her hair, and mismatched jewelry stomping up to him.

He had heard about you of course, there was a stir when you joined the campus, people whispered about you with some saying you didn’t belong and others thinking your presence would be good for future relations between humans and mutants, he didn't particularly care. This was the first time he had seen you through and you certainly left your mark on him huffing and puffing about how the kids shouldnt be showing up to class battered and bruised.

If Logan was being honest, despite what most people thought his reaction would be, he wasn't annoyed or angry, in fact he found it a little endearing how you cared for the kids, but he pushed that down and explained to you how it wasn't his intentions but the kids have to learn somehow.

A couple months had passed since then and you and Logan were cordial to each other, you smiled at each other in passing but nothing more than that but the rest of the teachers and even students could see how both of your eyes always found each other in a room.

Things started to heat up when you scheduled a field trip for the students to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and Logan was going with you to help you watch the kids.

Logan knew he should have been paying more attention to the kids but he couldn't help but keep his eyes on you, the way you smiled when you explained the exhibits or how you lit up when they would ask questions. And you couldn't help but notice his watchful gaze, mostly on you and it unnerved you. Why was he staring? Was there something wrong with the way you were dressed? Something on your face?

“Alright I want everybody to find a partner and split up, the sheet of paper I handed you all lays out the entire place and all of the attractions. Please, remember to meet up back here in an hour.” You told the kids as Logan came up beside you and you smiled at him gently “And you and I will be walking around keeping an eye on them.” he didn't say anything but nodded.

You both had wandered over to the Museum history panel and read the date 1870, was Logan born just after that?

“Can I ask you something personal?” He didn't even have to think about it before answering “Yes.”.

“It says this place was founded in 1870.” your voice dropped into a whisper “weren't you born around then?” He snapped his face towards you while you stayed looking away. He wondered how you knew that you and him hadn't had a conversation in months.

“How did you know that?” You now turned to face him completely, faces close and heart racing, he could hear it. Your eyes were locked onto each other and he couldn't help but study how the light danced in them and skin became flushed under the cool lighting, he thought he was making you scared and took a step back. He wouldn't admit it but he didn't want to take a step back. He wanted to take a step closer.

“I’ve been - asking around, about you. I'm sorry, I should have asked you but-.” Unspoken words held in the air.

It was your guilty pleasure to find out more about Logan, the more you knew the more you had answers and you couldn't ask him, he was, well, him.

“You could have just asked me.” He said. You thought he would be mad, furious even but instead he looked hurt. “You're right Logan, and I’m sorry. If I’m being honest you intimidate me a little.”

He raised one of his brows at you, he knew he had that effect on people but he didn't want it on you. “Well, you don't have to be. I don't want you to be.” His gruff voice made you stay locked onto him.

Time could have passed for a hundred years and you both could have stayed right there forever but time didn't care what you wanted as a blood curdling scream snapped you both back to reality.

Over in the Egyptian side of the room one of your kids and a human boy were having an all out brawl with your kid winning. Logan got there faster than you and pulled him off while the human boy quickly got up and spat at the ground by your feet, “mutant.”

That one word was all it took for your kid to start kicking in Logan's arm, trying to claw his way back over to the human boy while he just stood there glaring. You quickly walked over to the human boy and grabbed his forearm, “where are your parents?” and it was as if they heard you.

A lady in an expensive looking green suit and a man twice the size of you came over, the woman with tears in her eyes, hyperventilating and the man getting red in the face with anger.

“Let go of my son!” the man huffed getting up into your face, so close you could see the pimple about to burst on his nose. Letting go of his son you took a step back and he took one again closer to you. “Mutant bitch” It was two words now that snapped Logan into action, as he had been watching the exchange with the kid still fighting in his arms. Quickly, Logan let him go, not caring if he went back over to the human boy and started another fight. No, his only concern was you.

Stepping in between you and the man, blocking him from your sight, they stood toe to toe. Logan was clearly taller and stronger than the man but that did nothing to deter him “And you must be her mutant bastard”. You grabbed the back of Logan's clothes hoping he wouldn't start something “Logan” you gently whispered. Logan may be an angry man but it was never for himself, he wouldn't start anything.

It wasn't until you stepped around Logan hesitantly, still keeping your grip on him and started to try and mend the situation. “Please, ma’am, sir, we are truly, very sorry. And -”, a sickening slap echoed around the now quiet room, he had hit you and Logan wasn't going to let that slide.

In the blink of an eye Logan pulled you back and into the arms of your mutant students who had now gathered around the both of you and punched the guy right back.

Chaos exploded, the woman shrieked as Logan had the man jacked up against the wall as he cried, half of your kids went for the human boy who had bullied your kid and the other half stuck by you as you stood there in shock.

It took ten security members to pry off Logan and the aftermath was quite horrific. Blood was on the walls and floors, but only the man and his boy had seriously gotten injured with your mutant students only having minor bumps and bruises.

They would have hauled Logan off to jail if it wasn't for Charles showing up and sweet talking to them, promising not just financial compensation for the museum but for them personally as well, the human family too.

It wasn't until you got back to the school that you really felt the pain in your upper cheek bone and eye. As you were about to open your door Logan stood there with his fist raised about to knock.

“I’m so sorry Logan.” He didn't say anything back, his eyes not wavering from a particular spot on your face. He reached towards it and gently touched it making you hiss and jerk back “I should have hit him harder.”

You shook your head in disbelief “No, anything more and you would have gone to jail Logan.”

“You need to go down to the infirmary.” He took your hand in his. “That's actually where I was about to go.” but he still held your hand and led you to the infirmary.

“I’m sorry.” The gruff man apologized this time.

“Why?” he stopped and fully turned to you, feeling ashamed for running your first field trip.

“It was a shitty field trip, your first one.” you shrugged but still stayed looking at him “I'm more upset about not being able to tour the museum, I've always wanted to go.”

He felt guilty now, he knew art was your passion and he didn't even think about that part of the debacle.

“I'll make it up to you, I'll take you next time.” He couldn't even believe the words that had come out of his mouth but he wanted to take them back, not because he didn't want to but because he assumed you wouldn't want to go with him. But to his surprise a smile grew on your face “Like a date?”

There was a beat of silence as he gazed down at your beautiful face and gave a small smile down at you “Like a date sweetheart.”

#wolverine x reader #wolverine #wolverine x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #james logan howlett

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itsriabby · 2 months ago

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Mona Lisa - S.H. (Part 1)

actor!steve x makeupartist!reader

Plot: When Steve meets his beloved makeup artist’s replacement, he swears it’s hate at first sight. But… is there truly such a thing?

Trope: enemies x lovers

Warnings: slight slut shaming (Steve is kind of an asshole at first).

Hi!! I thought about trying something new and this came up. I don’t really know if I should continue it so let me know if you like it! Thank youuuu!!!

Main Masterlist | Chapter 2

————————————————————————

“What do you mean she’s not coming?”

Steve was mad. Actually, no, Steve was furious. Angela had been working with him for the first two seasons of the show he was in, and frankly, she’s one of the only people he doesn’t hate in there.

Everyone treats him like this stuck up marionette, either not even looking at him because they’re scared of him, or kissing the ground he walks on, doing things for him like he’s a dummy, as if he can’t take a simple direction. It’s honestly insufferable.

The rest of the cast are nice and all, but he doesn’t really spend much time with them out of character. The only time he felt he could be himself and disconnect for a while was in that chair in the makeup trailer, with that middle-aged woman that treated him like her own son, and who’s now, apparently, getting fired.

“Steve, listen, I get that you’re angry, but she’s not getting the results we were hoping for. This season is filled with gruesome scenes that need some vfx makeup that she’s, quite frankly, not qualified for.” Sam, the showrunner, exhaled, like explaining the situation was a waste of his time.

“How do you know that though? You haven’t even seen-“

“We have. We’ve done a test run on a lot of the looks and even she said herself that it wasn’t “her thing”.” Sam sighed, pinching between his eyes. “Look, she’s been in the business for more than 20 years, and she’s tired of having to learn new advanced techniques to do everything we ask her, she just wants to do the usual screen-ready skin and that’s it.”

“But-“

Sam grabs Steve’s shoulder, softening his expression. “I know you bonded with her. And trust me, I get it, it sucks.” He shrugs nonchalantly “But her job wasn’t to be your friend, it was to do makeup, and it’s not up to par, so she’s out, end of story. Now please do me a favor and go change, the new makeup girl is waiting for you in the trailer.” Sam leaves immediately, leaving Steve to dwell on this unwanted situation.

Not only does he have to come to terms with the fact that Angela won’t be here anymore, he has to deal with the new hire.

He doesn’t want to meet her.

If Angela’s not enough for this, then who did they get to replace her? If 20 years worth of work isn’t good enough, the new “girl” has to be old enough to be her grandma. And he bets she’s one of those stuck up mua’s that stay quiet for two hours and look at you like a project, like you’re a canvas, not a human being. God he really didn’t want to meet her.

No one can compare to Angela. She was real to him, she treated him like he was normal. Plus, he really did see her as a parental figure, and God knows he doesn’t have much of those. But well, as it’s been shown time and time again, everyone leaves him, so what’s one more?

Actually no, that’s not true. Robin’s there, as always. She now has the title “manager” added to “best friend” but honestly, nothing’s changed. She’s always wanted the best for him and held him accountable at the same time, so he couldn’t have imagined someone better for the job.

The kids, Nancy and Jonathan are there too, but he hasn’t really seen them in a long time, and they call as much as they can but it’s not that much. Not that he blames them, they all have their own lives.

He thought making friends in Hollywood would be easier, a fresh start, but its the absolute worst. Not only are the friendships fake and shallow, they have a shelf life of 2 months tops. They adore you and tell you what you wanna hear, and the minute they find their next new shiny friend, you’re out. So he has to admit, he feels pretty lonely.

“Goddamit Steve, I’m not your nanny!” Robin marches into his trailer, walking up to him and yanking him up so he stands up “You were supposed to be in the makeup trailer 30 minutes ago! And that tiny short-tempered producer has been blowing up my ear for 10 minutes straight, so you either go out there or I’ll have to kick his minuscule ass and you’ll face the consequences cause-“

“Ok!ok! I’ll go!” Steve raises his hands, trying to calm her down “i didn’t notice I’d been here so long, I’m sorry.”

Her shoulders slump down and she sighs “It’s ok dingus, I’m sure you’re stressed with all your start-of-the-season shit. Go do your magic and we’ll order takeout tonight, alright?” She gives him a soft smile.

They’ve been roommates for years. It’s been a long time since they’ve passed the point of affording their own place, but L.A. is lonely, so having company at the end of the day is nice.

“Ok. Although I’m not sure if you need that more than I do.” Steve laughs and raises his eyebrows playfully.

“Sure, sure, whatever. Go get your makeup done princess” she ushers him away, pushing him out of his own trailer and shutting the door on his face.

…

When Robin said he was late to makeup, she really wasn’t lying. The trailer was almost empty at that point. A girl was sitting in one of the chairs, but apart from her, completely empty.

He’d never seen that girl before but he’d been told there were new characters this season, so she must be one of them. She’s pretty and around his age, maybe a love interest. She’s also on her phone so she must be waiting for this new makeup artist too.

Who’s nowhere to be seen apparently.

“Not very professional is she?” He jokes, sitting a couple chairs away from her and taking off his jacket.

She jumps a little, obviously not expecting him. Immediately she turns off her phone and tucks it in her jean pocket, looking at him very confused “Sorry?”

He points behind them, where no one is “The new makeup girl, or woman, I guess. Not very professional to be absent on her first day.”

She frowns “Actually-“

“But what do I know? The big guys hired her. She’s probably sucking up to them, figuratively or literally, cause she must be sleeping with one of them to make them fire Angela. She was the best, really, if you’d met her you’d love her. But she’s gone, so we’ll make do with whoever this is, if she shows up that is.” He shrugs, getting comfortable on the chair.

“Unbelievable.” she scoffs.

“Right?” Steve smiles. At last, someone who gets his indignation. It doesn’t hurt that she’s hot, but really, he needed a friend here.

Maybe this is the subject they relate to, and because of this mutual annoyance they end up with a beautiful friendship. Or something more. He hasn’t had action in a while.

You know what they say, nothing brings people closer than a common enemy.

He glimpses through the mirror the new plaque on the wall behind him, reading it out loud. “Wow, even her name sounds pretentious.” He looks at her with a smirk “I’m Steve by the way, what’s your name?”

————————————————————————

Frankie, the older black woman who introduced herself earlier as the hair magician, shouts your name before opening the door to the trailer “Hi honey, I don’t wanna rush you but he has to be ready in 5 minutes.” She nods to Steve.

“It’s alright, tell Erik I’ll be quick.” You pick up your face palette and start mixing shades to get Steve’s color.

Steve fucking Harrington. Who with a quick glance, you can see is shocked to learn you’re the woman he’s been shit-talking about. What an asshole.

You were actually excited to work with him. He was your favorite character in the show and after watching some of the cast’s interviews, you kinda became his fan.

Not anymore.

“Wait. You’re-“ He frowns, trying to understand just how bad he’s fucked up.

“The slut who’s sucked off her way here? In the flesh” You give him a sarcastic smile, before dropping it completely and turning his chair around, facing you.

“I- I thought…”

You start applying light concealer on the reddening areas of his face, not including the blush he’s now sporting. “That I wasn’t her? No shit.”

You continue working under his eyes, making him avoid staring at you.

“You could’ve told me.” he mutters, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“I tried, you were pretty passionate on the subject.”

You thank whoever made the schedule for filming a natural look today, because if you spend much more time with him alone, you can’t promise he’ll come out alive. And it’s not a good look for your first day of work.

He looks down apologetically, feeling guilty for his words in the heat of the moment “Look… I’m sorry for saying what I said, I’m having a really-“

“Shut up.” you cut him off.

He looks taken aback, frowning and looking up to stare at you “Excuse me?”

“Stop talking, I’m trying to do my job.” You mutter nonchalantly, giving him the last touches under his lower lip.

He’s still processing, a disoriented look taking over his face, cause there’s no way someone’s talked to him that way, not after he became who he is now at least.

You put all the makeup back in its place and turn around to face him one last time, “There you go Mona Lisa, you can leave now.” You clap his cheek a couple times without applying pressure, just to piss him off, and point to the door behind him.

He’s still speechless when he leaves the trailer, and when he finishes shooting, and even that night at home, with a slice of greasy pizza between his teeth, he can’t seem to shake off the way you acted, the way you talked to him. It’s like you couldn’t care less about him.

It infuriates him.

It infuriates him so much he spends all night tossing and turning, thinking about you. Cause if you want to play like this, then game on, you have no idea what you started.

#steve fic #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington hc #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve stranger things #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington one shots #steve harrington series #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you

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saturnville · 4 months ago

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ember & hush | kelvin harrison, jr.

pairing: kelvin harrison jr x black fem oc (nia) summary: when Nia experiences an inconvenience at her apartment, Kelvin offers to let her stay with him for the night, which leads to tension and lines being crossed. warnings: none wc: 4823 an: the girlies are giving khjr love, and I am all the way here for it. I am tagging folks from my terry richmond taglist, so message me if you want to be removed. remember: likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are encouraged! tags: @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @turn-thy-paige @theglamclosetsl @mymindisneverhere

Most people hated old apartments. The beauty of aches, creaks, and groans of old floorboards and rusted windows was foregone when gray laminate floors, white cabinets, and stainless steel appliances took over Architecture Digest.

But she loved her apartment. Nestled in the rear of a Victorian-style building turned small investment property. It wasn’t much, but its beauty was indescribable. From the stained windows with stories of Mary and Jesus to Romeo and Julie and even Mona Lisa were her greeters each time she crossed the threshold.

Her heels were pitter-pattered against the cracked tile floor as she trekked toward the elevator. Her forearms grew weary from the lines of bags on her arms. It was her monthly restock day, and as usual, she went a bit overboard and was paying the consequences by nearly colliding with the wall beside her.

“Oof,” she grunted, wobbling a bit. She stuck her hand out to press the elevator button. She whistled a soft tune as she waited for the doors to open. A soft ding indicated she was next up for a luxurious ride. The first layer of doors peeled open, revealing her neighbor, Kelvin, on the other side.

Her eyes dropped to the bag in his hand, which was labeled with the logo of the local Chinese restaurant on the corner. She chuckled and stepped into the elevator. “Chinese for the third time this week? It’s only Thursday.”

Kelvin laughed mockingly. “Cooking isn’t in the cards this week.” He tilted the bag as if offering a confession. “I’m in survival mode.” She nodded in understanding. Seeing him rush out the door from her peephole early in the morning with a backpack slung over his shoulder to see him trudge indoors later in the evening proved his words correct. His job wasn’t the most graceful, but he adored it. She could tell from how his eyes lit up when she asked about his day while they passed each other in the apartment foyer.

“I see,” she concurred.

A moment of silence settled before Kelvin spoke up. He nodded toward her bags. “You sure you didn’t make a Chinese restaurant run?”

Nia’s eyes dropped toward her bags as if unaware of what she had swiped her debit card on. She smiled softly as she thought of all she had gotten. Investing in herself and her relaxation was non-negotiable; monthly restocks were planned and budgeted monthly. She deserved to treat herself with care.

“All the self-care goodies. Lotions, body washes, snacks. Everything to keep me happy this weekend.” The smile on her face didn’t fade, and it was contagious. It was so infectious that Kelvin didn’t realize a small smile bore on his lips. However, he saw how the bags slowly weighed her down.

The elevator dinged again.

“Here.” Kelvin held his hands out. Nia sighed thankfully and slid some of her bags into his awaiting hands, choosing to ignore the jolt that shot down her spine when their fingertips touched. Ever the gentleman. She didn’t surround herself with men often, but Kelvin was the one man who made her feel comfortable and cared for. From when he opened the door for her, helped carry her groceries, and let her borrow his utensils when she realized she was lacking. He stood outside and jumped her car for 30 minutes at 12 degrees last winter. He always had her back.

Her hand touched his bicep, which she tried not to squeeze, and said, “Thank you.”

The walk to her apartment was short. Nia continued to engage with his new questions about her day as she dug in her messy tote for her keys. “Uh, I had a client I tried not to cuss out, but what’s new.” She went to put the key in the door, but much to her surprise, it opened on its own. Her eyebrow raised, and her heart pounded. She locked her door this morning. What happened?

“But I…” She was in a rush this morning; maybe she forgot to lock it. But even if she didn’t, why did her door open? A busted lock didn’t mean her door shouldn’t shut. The hinges were loose.

Kelvin sensed her discomfort and growing panic. His eyes cut toward her apartment, whose vanilla and cedarwood scent wafted beneath his nose. He returned his gaze to her.“You sure you closed the door all the way?”

“Positive.” She nodded. She gnawed on her bottom lip like candy as her brain rattled off a million possibilities that had to make a fraction of sense. “I don’t…maybe the hinges are loose? I don’t want to go in…will you…can you?”

Kelvin pushed the door open slightly, peeking his head around without further question. “Yeah, stay here.” With the door wide open, she watched his movements intently. Her bags left his strong hands, and she was given a home on the couch. He maneuvered around the living, dining, and kitchen before disappearing down the hallway. She heard light switches flicker and doors open.

“I think you’re good. We’ll call maintenance first thing in the morning,” he said as he returned down the hallway, suave and confident like he’d been there before. “What do you want to do?”

Nia’s face twisted. What else was she going to do? There was no other home for her to go to. “What do you mean? There’s nothing else to do but suck it up; I don’t know…I rather not, but…”

Kelvin’s eyes followed hers as they bounced around her home. Her arms were crossed over her chest, a clear sign of fear. Watching her shrink away from her own home felt wrong. He spoke before he thought: “You can stay at my place until they fix the lock if you’d like. I still got the food and a dope DVD collection,” he suggested.

Nia’s eyebrows raised. She and Kelvin had been neighbors for years, but she had never been in his home, and up until today, he hadn't been in hers either. Her delayed answer caused him to retreat visibly, growing bashful.“I’m sorry…”

Nia smiled shyly. He was so kind. “I don’t want to invade your space, Kel.” He quickly shut down that thought, insisting it was a genuine offer made by his desire for her to feel safe. He insisted that he didn’t mean to overstep, which she shut down by saying, “I don’t think you were overstepping…I wasn’t expecting it, is all, but I do appreciate your offer. Would you mind sticking around while I shower?”

Kelvin huffed a breath of relief and nodded immediately, “Absolutely.”

Nia shut the front door as far as possible, pushed a half-full case of water by her door that had been there for days in front of it with her foot, and instructed him to make himself comfortable while she took a quick shower. He then took the time to digest the place she called home. Everything about it screamed her, from the fine-line paintings to the green accent wall with a gold coffee cart pressed against it. Her apartment exuded warmth, which lulled him to sleep against the fuzzy throw blanket on the back of her couch.

Twenty minutes later, her unforgettable scent pulled him from his light slumber. When he peeled his eyelids open, she stood before him dressed in a satin long-sleeve pajama set with fuzzy slippers, her hair wrapped in a scarf, and her face free of makeup. She looked like a teenager going to her best friend’s house for a sleepover. It was good enough for him if she felt comfortable enough to present herself to him in the way she might do alone. It meant, to some extent, she trusted him. He had never given her a reason not to. He was a gentleman, she insisted. He wouldn’t try anything. Right?

Seeing him asleep on her couch pulled her out of her thoughts.“Sorry, sleeping beauty,” she said. Kelvin gave a lopsided grin. Her laughter softened the tension in the air, and Kelvin couldn’t help but notice how his chest tightened at her relaxed smile. God, she made comfort look effortless and asked if she had all she needed for the night. She nodded, pointing toward the tote on her shoulder.

The walk to his apartment was short as he only lived two doors down. As they inched closer to his apartment, Nia found herself growing nervous. Was she a fool for going into this man’s home? She had known him for some years, so she did trust him. Maybe she was overthinking.

Kelvin stuck his key into the door and pushed it open. “Welcome. What’s mine is yours, so make yourself comfortable.” Nia was in awe. Her inner artist wanted to jump up and down. His apartment was every artist’s dream. It was covered in black-and-white prints, abstracts, line art, and much more. It was clean and smelled amazing, and the couch in the middle of the living room looked like a cloud.

“Your place is beautiful, Kelvin,” Nia complimented genuinely. Kelvin’s eyes dropped just slightly as he thanked her bashfully.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Feel free to eat,” he raised the bag of almost-forgotten Chinese food. “The DVDs are in the television stand…or streaming services; pick your poison. Kitchen is to your left, bathroom is down the hall and the first door on your right.” Kelvin locked the front door and jogged toward his bedroom, leaving Nia to make herself comfortable on the kitchen island as she helped herself to some of his food.

Nia paused for a few moments, realizing she had no fork. She pondered. Would it be rude to go through his drawers? Yes. He did say what was his was hers. But people always say that; did he mean it? Well, he had to if he opened his home to her. “Girl, get it together,” she mumbled. Hunger won the battle over politeness, and she hopped off the bar stool. Her slippers scraped against the floor as she tiptoed around the kitchen like a bandit.

The first drawer revealed four piles of neatly folded towels, all organized by color. She nodded in approval. “Not bad, Kel.” The second held measuring cups and spatulas. “Okay, chef.” However, the Chinese bag on the island and two additional ones in the trash said otherwise. The third revealed a beautiful set of black silverware. “Victory!”

Sliding back onto the bar stool, she savored the flavor of the chicken and noodle dish. She glanced around his apartment between bites, taking extra time to examine the art and the stack of records in the corner of the room. His apartment—his home—felt inviting. Like him.

Sometime later, Kelvin came around the corner, seemingly more relaxed. Sweatpants and a T-shirt had replaced his dress pants and sweater. Nia had seen him in a durag before, but something about it was different this time. His deep stretch exposed the slight curve of his waist beneath his sweatpants, and she found her gaze lingering longer than usual—an amplifier of a pulsing feeling between her thighs. She snapped her eyes away quickly.

“How you feelin’?” He asked as he approached her. Suddenly, Nia felt her heart race as she stammered, I’m good. “Good. Hope you left some food for me. Got some on your face, too.” Nia gasped and scrambled for a napkin, hoping the grease hadn’t made her look like a pig rolling in mud.

Kelvin’s hearty laugh halted her movements. “I’m playing with you, girl.” Nia’s eyes lowered in annoyance. His dimpled smile was the spark that ignited something warm within her. She suddenly felt bashful, embarrassed almost, yet dually at ease. How did he manage to do that?

“Anyway,” Nia dragged, turning on the bar stool to face him. Kelvin leaned against the counter, attentive as he ate the remainder she didn’t eat. Her palms were sweating, and she wondered if it was the temperature in the room or just him standing there, leaning so casually against the counter. She hadn’t expected to feel so… off-balance. She tried not to show how his gaze affected her as she continued, “What does your DVD collection include?”

Kelvin cocked his head to the side and nodded a few times. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. They were full. Full and plump and moisturized, she wondered what they tas—. Dear God. Nia, get it together, she scolded internally.

“Damn near every Marvel movie. Most of the Black cinema movies: Love, Jones, A Thin Line Between Love and Hate, Last Holiday, Brown Sugar—“

Nia’s eyes lit up. Kelvin couldn’t miss it. His eyebrow raised, “First one of the night?” She nodded like a kid who cheerfully finished their chores and awaited their allowance.

“Let’s get it going, then.”

Kelvin had soon plopped on the couch beside her, the smell of Chinese food lingering between them. Still adjusting to the fact that she was in his home, Nia shifted uncomfortably on the cushion. Her legs, sprawled out normally when she was alone, were tucked tightly beneath her bottom.

She could feel the warmth of his body next to hers, but she kept her gaze ahead. Her heartbeat pounded so vigorously that she felt it in her ears. Curling the blanket tightly under her chin, she shrank into the couch cushion.

Kelvin didn’t miss the small movements she made to avoid getting close. He sensed the tension but didn’t press. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. After a beat, he reached over her to grab the remote. He didn’t miss how she gasped when his fingertips grazed her ankle in passing.

“Hey,” he said, his voice light and teasing. “You gonna sit over there or come over here and share the blanket?”

Nia’s eyes darted diagonally as if looking for a way out. Was it that obvious, or was he hyper-vigilant? She shrugged a shoulder. She scooted over just a bit, but not enough to close the large gap between them.

Kelvin chuckled, the sound warm, “Girl, get over here,” he said softly, a playful yet inviting invitation. He wasn’t about to push her, but he wanted her to feel wanted.

Nia finally gave in with a reluctant smile. Slowly, she moved until their hips brushed. Kelvin reached over her to adjust the blanket, ensuring she felt comfortable. She stole a glance at him as he adjusted his position. He was so calm and relaxed as if it were natural and second nature.

They ate silently, passing the food back and forth as their eyes followed the scenes on the screen. They said tiny because they were content but unprepared to address their tension. Everything between them felt effortless, like a routine they’d perfected.

Halfway through the movie, Nia yawned. Work, shopping, and dealing with her door had done a number on her, and all she desired was her head against a pillow and a room of darkness for eight hours. “I think I’m gonna crash.” Her eyes dropped slightly as she moved the blanket to cover her feet. “I’ll just sleep here on the couch.”

Kelvin blinked, clearly surprised. “You wanna sleep on the couch?” His voice softened, and Nia saw a hint of concern in his eyes for the first time. “Nah, I don’t want you sleeping on the couch.” He shook his head in disagreement.

Nia’s lips parted, “I don’t want to displace you…”

Kelvin laughed as if what she had said was part of Kevin Hart’s comedy set. “You’re not gonna displace me, Nia; I live here. I’ll be cool, regardless. I didn’t buy those expensive ass couches for no reason. I just don’t want you sleeping on them. Sleep in the bed.”

Her silence and awkward sway didn’t go unnoticed. She fiddled with her fingers like a child and pursed her lips. She knew it was kind of him, but she still felt a smidge of guilt. This man, her neighbor, had opened his home to her, let her eat his food, and lounge on his couch watching her favorite movie. Now, he insisted on her sleeping in his bed, not because he wanted to sleep with her but because he wanted her to be comfortable. Her other neighbors were friendly, but they weren’t kind like this. The kindness was overwhelming. Overwhelmingly sweet.

Kelvin tilted his head. His words tested unsteady waters: “You want me to sleep with you?”

And just as she thought she couldn’t get any more flustered, Nia’s face warmed like the earth beneath the sun’s rays. She stammered, “W-what? No—not like that.”

The corner of Kelvin’s lip twitched as he tried to hide his smile. For someone so outwardly confident, Nia had the awkwardness and quirks of a 17-year-old girl. She was easily bashful and overwhelmed, often stuttered over her words when embarrassed and had difficulty keeping eye contact with him after more than 30 seconds. Yet, the average Joe would never know that by her soft smile, steady walk, and confident sway of her hips. It was cute.

“Not like that,” he reassured softly. “If that’ll make you comfortable. No funny business.” Kelvin raised his hands like a boy scout and nodded stiffly to emphasize his point. Nia rolled her eyes playfully and agreed. For her comfort, she told herself.

Kelvin instructed her to head to his room, the farthest down the hallway on the left, while he cleaned the laundry room and kitchen. Nia grabbed and slung her tote bag over her shoulder, curiously walking down the hallway. The smell of newly purchased wallflowers caressed her senses, adding a new level to domesticity.

Kelvin’s room wasn’t like the rest of his home, which was vibrant and full of colors and patterns. His bedroom was calm, dimly lit, and minimal. His bed was in the center and took up most of the space. The cloud-like duvet was pristine white and looked new. Her fingertips caressed the soft fabric. Her brown eyes raised, and she nodded approvingly at what she saw. Three prints hung horizontally above his bed, all fine-line art of the Black woman—beautiful.

Two black nightstands with matching lamps accompanied the bed. One nightstand, which she assumed was his, contained a book, a journal, a BIC pen, and glasses scattered about, while the other was empty, waiting for something to accompany it.

A chair and small table were in the corner, along with books and magazines written by Black authors and published by Black companies, plus a plant. She smiled. It was cozy.

Nia found her way to the bathroom. Its aesthetic matched his bedroom. Black and white with hints of earthy colors. She set her toiletry bag on the counter next to his, her white one contrasting with his black one. She found herself soaking in his space. Her fingertips ran over the hand towels, sleek hand soap bottles, and the cap that covered his toothbrush. She was with him. In his home. In his room and his bathroom. They were close.

Nia gasped when the door opened. “Sorry, you alright?” Nia nodded and ushered him in. Kelvin’s body heat set her on fire as he reached above her to grab his contacts case out of the medicine cabinet. Her eyes fluttered closed. She inhaled quietly. He smelled so good.

His question pulled her out of Lala's land quicker than she would have liked. “You mind if I brush my teeth in here?”

“It is your house, Kelvin,” Nia stated matter-of-factly. “Go ahead. I need to brush mine, too.”

The bathroom was quiet, save for the soft hum of Nia's electric toothbrush and the rhythmic sound of bristles against teeth. She hummed absently, her tune mingling with the buzz of the brush. When her eyes lifted to the mirror, she froze, caught off guard—not by her reflection, but by Kelvin’s gaze. He’d already been looking. His brown eyes held hers for a heartbeat, a game of hide-and-seek she hadn’t known she was playing. Then, he winked. Heat crept up her neck as she fought the smile threatening to curl around her sudsy, blue toothbrush.

Kelvin leaned forward, spitting into the sink before rinsing his toothbrush. "You hum off-key, you know that?" he teased, shaking water off his hands.

Nia gave him a dramatic side-eye through the mirror, blue toothpaste foam still coating her lips. "And you hold your toothbrush like you're fencing. What's your point?"

He laughed low and easy, the sound reverberating through the small bathroom. She rinsed her mouth and joined him at the sink. Their movements fell into an unspoken rhythm: she reached for the towel as he dried his face, their elbows brushing, but neither pulled away.

"You heading to bed?" she asked, her voice light, as if it wasn’t the only question between them.

Kelvin nodded, tossing the hand towel over the rack. "Yeah. You?"

"Guess so," she said, tucking a stray curl under her bonnet.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment too long as if gauging her next move. Without waiting for his response, she padded toward his room, her bare feet muffled against the carpet. Kelvin followed, flipping the light switch off as he went.

Nia plopped onto the bed, tucking her knees beneath her, and pulled the covers up to her chin. She bit her lip, glancing over at Kelvin, still standing by the dresser and slipping his shirt off. How often did he work out? Three days a week? Four, five? She couldn’t tell, but she knew it was frequent by how his back tensed with subtle movements. Her mind raced, and she swallowed, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach.

“Uh,” she started, her voice quieter than she intended. “I guess this is the part where you’re supposed to say something cute, right?”

Kelvin shot her a playful look, eyebrow raised. "Like what?"

She hesitated, then half-smiled, her face warming. "I dunno, like 'I’m glad you’re here,' or 'I can’t imagine sleeping without you'… something sweet."

Kelvin chuckled, shaking his head as he climbed into bed beside her. "You want me to lie?"

Nia shrugged, her fingers nervously twisting at the hem of her shirt. "Maybe not lie, just… something that doesn’t sound so weird."

He gave her a teasing look before letting the silence hang for a second, the air between them feeling lighter than before. "Alright," he said, his voice gentle. "I’m glad you’re here."

Her breath caught for a moment. It wasn’t just a casual remark—it was real. He wasn’t trying to ease her anxiety with empty words; it was exactly what she needed to hear. Her lips parted in surprise, but she couldn't entirely hide the joy she felt from his statement. Her reaction seemed to satisfy him, as his eyebrow raised and his dimples appeared.

“Thanks," Nia murmured, her voice quieter now, almost shy. "I’m glad I’m here, too.”

Nia’s fingers kept fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, cautious energy buzzing through her veins. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this unsure, but her body betrayed her want with every passing second. One moment, she yearned for his attention; the next, she was shaking like a stripper when she got it. And Lord knows it didn’t help that Kelvin was beside her so calmly as if he didn’t have the treasure between her thighs ready to explore.

Kelvin, already propped up on the pillows beside her, had an arm behind his head, his eyes casually studying her. Had his eyes always been this pretty? They were so big and brown. Like a baby, though. She glanced at his chest, still warm from the clothes he shed earlier, and she felt her heart race again. What was it about him that made her feel like this?

Kelvin noticed her gaze, and his lips curved into something that felt like reassurance and an unspoken invitation. His hand moved, resting just above her knee, but he didn’t lean any closer. He didn’t have to; the space between them felt alive, thick with anticipation.

“You okay?” His voice was low and soft, like he knew exactly how she felt.

Nia swallowed, her throat dry. Glancing away, she bit her lip, unsure of how to answer. She was more than okay, but putting that into words seemed too much. She nodded, her voice small when she spoke.

“Yeah. Just… nervous.”

Kelvin’s hand shifted from her knee to her thigh, his touch lingering there. “You don’t have to be nervous. It’s just me.”

She could feel his warmth through the fabric of her pants, and her breath hitched slightly at the feel of his palm pressing against her. She wanted to say something—to laugh it off, to ease the tension—but her mind was fuzzy, distracted by how her body responded to his touch. Yeah, just you, she said to herself—the man who had seemingly flipped her already wild world on its head even further.

Slowly, as if testing the waters, she moved slightly closer. Her back brushed against his chest, and she heard his breath catch at the slight contact. Her heartbeat sped up as she felt the heat radiating off of him. But still, she didn’t turn toward him, not yet. She was unsure, but she also wanted him there.

Kelvin’s hand shifted again, inching up her side, his fingertips grazing the skin beneath her shirt. His breath was warm against her ear as he leaned in just slightly as if to say something, but his voice faltered, caught between them.

Nia’s body responded before her mind did, her back relaxing as she pressed closer to him. It wasn’t much—just a shift—but it felt like a silent invitation. And it was all he needed.

His fingers found their way to her waist, gently caressing the curve of her body. The movement was so slow that it was almost as if he were waiting for her to pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, she exhaled, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she let herself melt into his touch. Her heart was racing.

Kelvin’s heart raced, too, but it wasn’t from the anticipation. It was the unfamiliar tug of something deeper. His hand, still resting lightly on Nia’s waist, seemed almost too heavy now. He had to fight the instinct to pull away, to give her space—but there was something about how she shifted toward him, her breath soft against the air, that made him want to lean in closer. He could smell the hints of vanilla and honey on her skin. He wanted to bury his nose in her neck and inhale.

He didn’t want to move too fast. Didn’t want to scare her off. But every little breath she took, every slight movement she made, felt like an invitation for something more.

His hand stayed where it was, not quite touching the softness of her skin beneath her shirt but just close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her. He wanted to trace the curve of her waist, feel her breath hitch again, maybe even make her laugh or stammer, but there was a part of him—this silent voice in the back of his mind—that told him to wait. Patience was a virtue, grandmother always said.

He shifted slightly, his gaze flickering from the softness of her face to the curve of her neck. His lips tingled as he imagined kissing her there. He felt her pulse beneath his lips as her body reacted to him in ways it may not have responded before. But he pulled himself back, catching himself just before his thoughts got too far ahead. Nia was already nervous, already unsure.

Her back pressed against his chest, and the simple contact sent a jolt of electricity through him, sharper than anything physical. The warmth of her body was a stark contrast to the cool sheets around them, and he could feel every inch of her. What if he moved too fast? What if he said the wrong thing?

Kelvin wasn’t one for hesitation, but with Nia, everything was different. He wanted to be gentle, to let her feel like she wasn’t just a passing moment. He wanted her to feel safe with him, to know that when he touched her, it wasn’t just about tonight.

Finally, when she moved closer again, he couldn’t hold back. His hand, frozen in place, finally pulled her in closer. His fingers skimmed the skin of her abdomen as he slowly wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her even tighter. This time, when she exhaled, her body relaxed into him, and his breath came out in a rush of relief.

“Goodnight, Kel,” Nia murmured into her arm.

“Sleep well, beautiful,” was the last thing she heard before falling into her best sleep in a long time. Because, for once, she didn’t have to go to bed alone.

Part two

#saturnville #kelvin harrison jr.#kelvin harrison jr x reader #kelvin harrison jr x black oc #kelvin harrison jr x black reader #black!reader #black reader #x black oc #kelvin harrison jr smut #aaron pierre x black reader #mufasa the lion king #original content

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