#this makes me sound like i said it to the laundry lmao i said it to my mom

[wooyoungiewritings]

A Spoonful of Trouble - Wooyoung x Reader

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

Word count: 17.4K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You moved in two weeks later.

That was three years ago.

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

But that changed. Slowly. Naturally.

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

Little things, at first. But they stacked up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wooyoung groans. “Disaster.”

“That bad?”

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

“Bold of her,” you say, chewing.

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

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

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

“To me.”

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

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

But now? Immunity.

Mostly.

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

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

Because it is.

***

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

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

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

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

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

And then, just your luck, you hear it.

“Oh my god, Y/N?”

You look up too slowly.

Hana.

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

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

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

You blink. “I... like this one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze.

You know that face.

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

Your stomach drops.

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

Hana is still talking but her words blur.

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

“Actually, I’m dating someone.”

Hana’s brows lift. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” You point down the aisle.

She turns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tragically, yes.”

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

There’s a beat of silence.

Wooyoung blinks. “You what?”

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

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

And then he grins.

Like really grins.

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

“Wooyoung.”

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

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

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

“She’s married to my ex.”

Wooyoung blinks. “The ex?”

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

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

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

“Why are you happy?”

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

“Wooyoung.”

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

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

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

***

Friday morning

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

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

You groan. “Please don’t start.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Madly in love,” you echo flatly.

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

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

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

You can’t help but laugh.

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

You make a face.

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

“Don’t.”

“-sentences.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because damn. He looks good.

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

Like fake dates, apparently.

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

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

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

You need a second. Maybe two.

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

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

Then, without a sound, the door cracks open.

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

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

It drops. Lingers.

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

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

“I knocked.”

You glare.

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

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

“What’s up?” you ask, voice soft.

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

“Dangerous.”

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

Your stomach tightens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mouth is dry.

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

He grins. “I make no promises”

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

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

“You didn’t say no to the kiss.”

***

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

You didn’t mean to hold hands.

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

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

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

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

And there he is.

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

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

“Hi,” you say. “Nice to meet you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if to say: I’ve got you.

But also…

Watch me work.

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

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

You swear the word echoes for a second. Boyfriend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how did you two meet each other?”

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

Wooyoung notices immediately.

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

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

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

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

Everyone leans in slightly, curious.

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

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

Soft laughter bubbles around the table. Your cheeks warm.

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

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

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

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

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

He looks at you then. Really looks at you.

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

Someone lets out a little aww.

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

The table is completely silent.

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

The table is enchanted.

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

“Oh my God,” someone breathes.

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

“You didn’t run,” he deadpans.

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

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

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

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

Laughter bubbles around the table, easy and entertained.

But not from everyone.

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

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

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

Your chest tightens.

The air feels heavier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow hard. “You scared me.”

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

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

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

You glance at him, eyebrows raised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “What?”

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

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

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

Your breath catches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huff a laugh. “Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it doesn’t last.

You hear movement behind you. Slow. Hesitant.

You turn your head and freeze.

It’s him.

Your ex.

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

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says.

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

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

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

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

“I’m just saying.”

Another beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In my own house?”

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

He stares at you. Silent.

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

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

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

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

You step back. “You don’t know him.”

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

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

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

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

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

And then…

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

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

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

But his eyes?

They’re fixed on your ex.

And they could kill.

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

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

His voice lowers. Smooth, velvety. Unmistakably his.

“You okay, baby?”

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

Your breath stutters. “I’m fine.”

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

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

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

Wooyoung breathes in once, slow.

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

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

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

Try it again. I dare you.

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

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

His voice drops. Low. Controlled.

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You meet his eyes.

He’s not angry.

He’s present.

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

That part lingers. A gentle offering.

You smile faintly. “Thanks.”

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

Your heart skips a beat.

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

You smile. “Let’s go.”

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

The energy around him simmers low. Controlled. Patient.

But it’s there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you trust me?”

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

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

Slow. Deliberate. Unapologetically possessive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he looks up.

Over your shoulder.

Still smiling.

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

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

You blink, startled, then turn.

And there he is.

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

He’d been watching.

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

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

Your ex stares, jaw tight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he blinks, as if struck by a thought.

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

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

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

“Y/N! Wooyoung!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Success, baby"

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

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

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

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

The table quiets, interest piqued.

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze. “Me?”

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

Everyone chuckles. The pressure thickens.

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

But he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

And then...

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

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

Your breath halts.

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

Wooyoung raises a brow. “Favorites?”

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

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

“Her neck.”

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

You feel your body go still.

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

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

Then his tone shifts, warmer, quieter. Real.

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

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

It’s weighted. Personal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And everything in his face is different.

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

And then, another gaze.

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

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

But he doesn’t.

Because it’s not about him anymore.

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

You close your eyes.

Footsteps approach, soft, familiar.

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

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

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

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

“That was one time.”

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

“You look really pretty tonight.”

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

“I-, what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And somehow, that says more than the rest.

You try not to smile. You fail.

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

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

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

Your stomach dips.

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all you need.

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

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

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

This time it’s deeper. Hungrier.

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

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

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

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

But it doesn’t feel like one anymore.

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

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

But then… it passes.

The air changes again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door closes behind you.

The air outside bites cold against your skin.

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

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

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

You're both staring straight ahead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still nothing from him.

You nod quickly. “Night.”

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

“If you ever need a fake boyfriend again…”

You stop. Your fingers twitch at your side.

“…you know where to find me.”

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

You don’t.

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

Then you nod.

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

The door clicks softly shut behind you.

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

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

There’s a knock.

A soft one.

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

The door creaks open behind you.

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

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

You manage a breath. “Not tired?”

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

Then silence again.

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

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

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

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

You attempt a shrug. “Just playing along.”

A soft laugh leaves him. “Mm. Sure.”

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

He’s letting the silence stretch.

He’s letting you squirm.

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

You don’t move.

You can’t.

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

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

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

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

You freeze just slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not breathing properly now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath hitches.

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

You swallow hard. “Like what?”

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

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

Your stomach tightens.

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

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

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

“I’d unzip it real slow…”

You hear the faintest shift of fabric.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stiffen.

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

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

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

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

You inhale sharply, your body practically trembling from restraint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your knees nearly give out.

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

You whimper, actually whimper, and shake your head.

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

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

“There she is.”

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

Then, with deliberate force, he turns you.

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

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

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

The kiss is devastating. Nothing sweet. Nothing soft.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles under his breath.

“Thought so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus-” you exhale, shivering.

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

“Eyes open, sweetheart. I said look.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips trace your jaw, voice molten.

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

And you do.

Loud, unfiltered, desperate for more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, desperately, eyes fluttering shut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And when you see him… you go still.

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

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it.

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

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

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

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

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

Deep.

Possessive.

Claiming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses it once. Then again, slower.

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

“Yes-,”

But he doesn’t let you come.

Not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then his eyes narrow.

“Spread your legs wider.”

You do, instantly.

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

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

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

“Yes,” you whisper, breath hitching.

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

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

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

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

And then-

He slaps your pussy. Open palm. Quick.

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

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

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

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

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

Your body is pulsing, burning, begging.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,-” you gasp, eyes rolling back.

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

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

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

So you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please-, Wooyoung, I’m close-”

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

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

Wooyoung watches it take you, and it wrecks him.

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

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

That does it.

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

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

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

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

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

And then he grins. Slow, smug, wicked.

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

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

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

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

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

But that just makes him laugh, low and breathless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t answer.

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, beautiful,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe… maybe it was.

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff. “Wow. Rude.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And god, maybe it is.

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

[angelbarelywritesslashers]

♡ mine | tommy hewitt x reader

♡ fandoms; texas chainsaw massacre remake/ the beginning

♡ characters; thomas hewitt

♡ reader; AFAB body description, second person POV

♡ cw; graphic sexual content, implied voyeurism, breeding kink, light daddy kink (just calling him daddy? wasn’t sure what to tag that )

♡notes; i feel the need to apologize for this one lmao. i didn’t intend for this to see the light of day but i felt we needed more smut around here and this was already sittin in my personal folder

i don’t know that I’ve ever posted detailed smut anywhere before? so lmk how i did, i still haven’t even asked to get my friend to beta read so I’m sure There’s Issues.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

“Oh fuck, baby,” You sighed softly, letting your head roll to the side as you ground on Thomas’ thigh - the mountain of a man pushing his leg up with a huff. Luda-Mae, Monty, and Hoyt had taken a rare trip to their cousins’ place upstate, and left Thomas and yourself in a…sticky situation.

It had already become a war of attrition with you living there, each of you testing the other’s boundaries as you tried desperately not to cross the line. Thomas was allegedly a good, Bible-following boy- and you a shy little virgin . But god, something about Thomas just made you crazy. You needed him- and you’d gotten so shameless that you’d let him do just about anything to you.

That’s what landed you there, trying to entice Thomas and only ending up a squeaky mess as you rode his thigh. He was steadfast for a man years pent up- seeming to find great pleasure in making you unravel without cracking himself. Of course, you had no idea of the hours he spent fucking into his own hand as he imagined you around him, stealing your panties from the laundry bin and palming himself to the sight of you splayed out sunbathing in the yard. Even now you seemed too hazy to notice his cock straining against his trousers, or his fingers dug into the couch to prevent himself from touching your body. The way he trembled as he felt you making a mess on him, the only thing between your slick cunt and his leg your already soaked lacy panties…

His laser focus was broken by something entirely unexpected. You whimpered and hid your face against his chest, mumbling “Daddy- please—“

He wasn’t sure if it was the phrase,the tone, or both that finally broke his resolve- but either way he pinned you against the floral sofa forcefully, snarling like an animal.

“T-tommy- what- I’m sorry—?” You squeaked, seeming utterly confused. Did you even know what you’d said to him?

He growled and quickly signed ‘Again’. You blinked, perplexed look quickly replaced with embarrassment. You whined and tried to hide your face but he snarled again and made you look at him. ‘Again. Now.’

“…daddy. Please. Please I need you. Please—“ You begged, panting weakly as you writhed uncomfortably and unsated.

He rutted against you quickly, moving and kissing your neck sloppily. “Mine,” He rasped quietly, a rare sound even for his partner “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Oh my god Tommy- please- I need you to give it to me- I wanna feel you inside-“

He made quick work of his belt, pushing your dress up carelessly and making just as quick a job out of ripping your undies clean apart.

You yelped but replaced the complaint with a blissed out, shuddering whine as he finally rubbed against your bare pussy. “Oh fuck…please- put it in-“

He grunted and pushed your legs back, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours as you felt his weight pressed against you. Even in this moment, he tried his damndest to be gentle, looking your face over for the slightest bit of fear or apprehension. “Tommy, please. Fuck me.” You whimpered out softly.

He pushed in carefully , having to stop only halfway in as you squeezed around him. He was huge, long and girthy and a painful stretch even with you relaxed. He gave a grunt and nuzzled you, hips twitching as he reached between you. Clumsily, roughly, he found your clit and slowly rubbed, purring in approval as you mewled out his name.

He was able to jerk his hips and finally bottomed out with a low groan, face buried in your neck. He held still, taking a ragged breath to try to regain control- but you didn’t want control. You needed him to lose it completely.

“Daddy, please. I want you to fuck a baby into me,” You murmured, letting a desperate whine leak into your voice. It was a bit of a long shot- but he was so possessive. Why wouldn’t he want to breed you?

Thomas’ eyes darkened at the thought and he gave a low noise you could barely classify as he pulled nearly all the way out and snapped his hips, setting a brutal pace.

“Oh god-“ You yelped, bracing yourself on his huge arms as he pounded into you, the entire couch creaking and slamming into the wall at the force. You lost any coherence you had as he again teased your clit, mind blank. You got exactly what you wanted, and it was too much in the best way possible.

You came first- you didn’t know if it was because of his stamina or because even in a frenzy he still needed you to feel just as good. You were almost crying as he continued, overwhelmed and overstimulated - and wrapping your legs around his waist to make sure he didn’t stop for a moment. “Baby please- inside- I want you to finish inside-“ You mewled out in your haze- but damn if you didn’t mean it.

That was all it took, unsurprisingly, for him to thrust one last time and fill you with a snarl. He peppered your face in soft kisses, giving a heaving sigh as he relaxed. You tried to move but he growled, keeping himself firmly inside of you. You blushed a bit as you saw his intense expression “You ah…you really liked when I asked you to knock me up, huh?”

He nodded, huffing at you.

“…you know we have all night to try again, yeah?”

He grunted and finally relented, pulling out and smirking at the sight of his seed dripping down your thighs.

“Tommy baby? I love you.” You sighed sleepily

He looked up quickly and seemed shocked. Man of few words that he ways- and never having dreamed he’d need to learn the sign, he took your hand and pressed it against his chest. Right above the heart. In your mind, there was no better way he could have said it; he loved you too.

[goosewriting]

I would just like to say…

your blog theme is adorable! 😌

How do you think Joaquin would react to a reader who is sick/stressed (maybe both!) who is refusing to rest? I definitely could see him being worried. Thank youuu!

Joaquín Torres x sick!reader [headcanons]

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: mention of being sick and medication, fluff

word count: ~500

A/N: tysm c: the whole goose thing started as a joke but i kinda went with it and it took on a life of itself lmao thank you for requesting! this one sounded perfect for a headcanon list to me so it’s a bit shorter than usual, hope you still like it :D

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

→ sick!reader who refuses to rest (established relationship)

You’ve probably been sniffling for a couple of days already, with an occasional cough here and there, telling Joaquín you’re fine when he asks if you’re feeling well.

He doesn’t want to be overbearing or treat you like you can’t take care of yourself when you tell him you’re fine.

But he does small things like bring you an extra cup of tea with honey and lemon, or cook chicken soup for dinner that his abuela used to make for him.

One day he comes home and finds you half hanging from the couch, your face hot from your fever that you’ve been ignoring. You were folding the laundry but passed out mid-task.

That’s when he takes matter into his own hands.

He picks you up and brings you to bed, tucks you in.

He takes your temperature, brings you ibuprofen and plenty of water.

If you’re really sick, he’ll ask for a day or two off work to drive you to the doctor and take care of you.

When you’re resting at home and he catches you out of bed, he’ll just take your shoulders, turn you around, and guide you back. 

If he gets exasperated at how stubborn you’re being, refusing to let him take care of you, you might hear a string of curses in Spanish; that’s when you know he’s actually starting to get frustrated, so you better stay in bed or he’ll get the chancla 🩴 

I headcanon Joaquín’s main love languages to be words of affirmation and acts of service, closely followed by physical touch.

So let him take care of you!!! It’s one of the ways he shows how much he cares.

And he actually loves taking care of you.

When the meds start to kick in and you’re not in pain anymore but still slightly delirious from your fever, you might mumble really cheesy stuff, telling him how much you love him. 

And he actually loves that. He lets you ramble, spurring you on to continue saying the corniest things, and he eats it all up. He might even bring it up again after you’re healthy again, repeating some of the things you said back to you, and you’ll bury your face in his chest with an embarrassed groan while he laughs, endeared. 

Also, expect lots of forehead kisses while you’re in bed! He says it’s to control your temperature, but really he’s just dying to kiss you for real again.

You don’t let him though, not wanting to pass on whatever virus got you.

Also, you can absolutely take advantage of him being extra attentive, asking for extra snacks, and he’ll bring them right away.

He just wants you to know that you can count on him, and that you are loved 🥺 

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @f1-tennisgirlie @magikdarkholme @tsunchani @Chuchu8923 @bitchy-bi-trash @guynamedaurel @crumbledcastle28 @sarahskywalker-amidala @crazy4lyricb

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

[sunshine-on-marz]

Cradles

In which you get to see Dean in his TRUE element

Dad! Dean x Mom! Reader

Warnings: none really unless you don’t like kids

I am not a mother but I tried to be accurate lmao

Also I couldn’t remember for the life of me if the bunker had a couch but it does now stfu

You were on the couch folding clothes, baby clothes to be exact, while Dean was holding the baby. It was a miracle to keep her awake for more then 20 minutes at a time so Dean was more than happy to play with her when she was up, not that baby Charlie was all too happy about it most of the time. You and Dean both knew it was expected for newborns to cling to their mother, but you saw the hurt on Dean’s face whenever his daughter cried as soon as her picked her up, so right now, seeing his smile as she squeaks and coos makes your heart smile.

You feel the couch dip next to you and you turn to see Sam who extends his hand “I can take over laundry if you want to go take a nap” he offers, and as much as you could probably use a little break, you shake your head. “Don’t wanna miss this” you smile and nod over to Dean, Sam smiles. “It’s pretty cool to see him being a dad” Sam’s comment makes you laugh softly. “I’ve been watching him be a dad ever since I met you two” you say, leaning you head on Sam’s shoulder. “You were his kid long before Charlie was” you tell him. Sam doesn’t respond, just pulls you into a hug. When you two go back to watching Dean and the baby, you speak again. “I really hope she’s a daddy’s girl”, you say it so quietly you’re positive Dean couldn’t have heard, but Sam did. “I don’t think any mother ever has said that before” he laughs, and so do you. “Yea well, I think he deserves it” you hum, fully content to just watch Dean be a father. In this moment that’s all that matters. Not monsters, not Chuck, nothing but the little family you’ve built.

You hear the bunker door click open, and look up to see Cas holding groceries. He walks over and hands you an energy drink. “Cas you might have just became my favorite person ever” you chuckle as he smiles “Hello to you too”. Sam follows him to the kitchen, which leaves you and Dean alone again. He walks over and sits beside you on the couch.

“She looks just like her mom” he says, kissing you on the cheek, “speaking of her mom, how are you? You can go shower or sleep, or both. I’ve got her” and you realize for a millionth time that you’ve found your person. “I’m shockingly gonna decline that offer” you say, leaning to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “I wanna stay like this for a second” you whisper, and he kisses your temple. “That sounds nice”. So that’s what you do. Sit there and look at the life you brought into the world and realize that everything truly had been worth it. Saving the world was nothing compared to this.

OMGGGGABSJAKAJSKXKDKS DEAN WINCHESTER DESERVED TO BE A FATHER.

Sorry for my disappearance school made me want to die then drivers ed made want to die then life made me want to die and I still want to die but now I want to die AND write about Dean so like

Tagging @canonically-a-genloser bc they’ve been witnessing my crazy and also think dad Dean is amazing

Btw this is one of the good supernaturals I made in my head so this is post season 15 minus all the bad shit okie love you bye

Remember to reblog and tell me what you think!!! Feedback and reblogs make the world go round!! Love you babes!!

[kvntonq]

hey i love ur logan pregnancy fics, can i request one with trilogy logan. just like fluffy him and the reader r having a baby plzzz

𖤐 — a pie promise

pairing - trilogy!Logan ft. pregnant!reader

summary - It wasn't just a pie. And Logan? He knew that. So he made a promise—and a mess.

contents - fluff!! just Logan being a good and domestic partner, light humor, brief cameo of Storm and Kurt, baker!Logan?? reader being fussy about a slice of pie (hormones guys, cut some slack!)

words count - 2280 words

zayn's note - hiii nonniee!! thank you for sending me the request because honestly I want to write this for trilogy!Logan but somehow ended up with old man Logan 😭 alsoooo, not me doing a whole research on types of pie!! just because of this fic LMAO therefore, I'm sorry if there are mistakes about the baking things here. can't you see that he's so domestic coded (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠) you can apply to any trilogy!Logan though I prefer X2 Logan. enjoy your reading!!

The scent of cinnamon still lingered in the kitchen when you passed through, one hand cradling the small of your back. You were heavier these days, slower too—your belly rounded and firm beneath the soft fabric of Logan's old T-shirt, which you had permanently claimed as your own. The fabric stretched over your bump now, worn thin and warm with his scent, like comfort stitched into cotton.

You hadn't meant to cry today. You'd promised yourself you wouldn't.

But it had been one of those days. The kind where your ankles felt swollen and sore before noon, where no position was comfortable long enough to matter. The kind where the baby rolled and kicked like they were doing gymnastics under your ribs, and everything—not just your body, but your mind—felt worn thin.

Still, you’d pushed through. You hummed while folding the laundry. You answered Logan's check-in call with a cheerful tone, even if it was a little forced. And every time something felt a little too heavy, too much, you whispered the same thing to yourself: just make it to the evening. Pie will make it better.

Storm had brought it over that morning—apple cinnamon, still warm when she arrived. She'd smiled and said something kind about how you deserved a treat. And she was right. You'd only had one slice and saved the rest, imagining how you'd curl up with it tonight like it was a reward for making it through the chaos.

So when your eyes landed on the pie dish now, and it was empty—only stray crumbs clinging to the plate like a bad joke—you didn't move for a long moment.

You just stood there. Blinking once.

Then again.

Your lips parted, but no sound came. Just the tight little knot that climbed through your throat and refused to budge.

You tried to breathe around it. It's just a pie, you told yourself. It's fine. It's stupid.

But it wasn't stupid. It had been the one good thing. The one thing you'd clung to like a soft place to land at the end of a long, aching day. And now it was gone.

And somehow, that felt like too much.

Quietly, you turned off the kitchen light and walked to your room.

The hallway was still when Logan opened the door to your shared room, hair damp from a post-mission shower. It hadn’t been anything major—just enough to keep his muscles sore and his patience thin. He was looking forward to collapsing beside you, stealing a few peaceful minutes wrapped around the life you were building together.

But the moment his eyes landed on you, his instinct tugged.

You were curled up in bed, your back to the door, the blankets bunched around your body in a way that didn't quite look like sleep. The lamp beside the bed was on, casting a soft glow across the room, and yet the air felt heavy.

Something tightened in his chest.

“You still up, sweetheart?” he asked gently, his voice low and a little gruff.

There was a pause—barely a beat longer than usual—but long enough for him to notice.

“Yeah,” came your reply. Muffled. Dull. Not angry, but not right either.

Logan stepped further into the room, drying his hair with the towel slung around his shoulders. His eyes lingered on you—your posture, the way your shoulders curled slightly inward, the way your hand rested on your belly like it needed comfort.

He knew that shape. Not physical pain. Emotional. Quiet disappointment wrapped in fatigue. And it hit him hard—how often he missed moments like these, too tangled in his own thoughts or distracted by the next damn missions.

He slid under the covers and settled next to you, careful not to jostle you too much, his hand reaching to brush along your hip. Slow. Gentle. Like coaxing the truth from someone afraid to speak it.

“You okay?” he asked.

You mumbled into the pillow, “Yeah.”

Then, after a breath— “No.”

Logan's brows knit together. “What happened, my darlin’?”

There was a long silence. The kind that made his stomach twist.

And then you whispered, “Someone ate the last piece of pie.”

Logan blinked. “Sorry?”

You sighed, rolling over to face him. Your eyes were glassy, your voice cracking. “Someone ate the last piece of pie Storm made me. And today was awful, and my back hurts, and my bra feels like it's trying to assassinate me from the inside out, and that pie was the one good thing I had going and—”

Your voice broke into a tiny sob. “—and I just really wanted it.”

Logan's expression softened immediately. The mission tension in his shoulders drained away as he propped up on one elbow.

“C'mere,” he murmured, voice low and rough but gentle.

You curled up toward him without hesitation, cheeks flushed with heat and emotion. He wrapped an arm around you, one under your head, the other protectively draped over your bump.

“I'm sorry, darlin’,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “It's just a pie. But it wasn't just pie to you, was it?”

You shook your head. “I feel so dramatic.”

He smiled against your hair. “You're carrying’ a whole other human. I figure you're allowed a meltdown or two.”

You hiccupped a laugh and tucked your face into his neck, his scent grounding you—clean soap, leather, something faintly wild beneath it all, something uniquely his’.

“It's not that I'm mad. I'm just…” You sighed. “This pregnancy making me feel everything so hard. I cried over a baby sock earlier.”

“Was it a sad sock?”

“It was wrinkled.”

“Damn. Those'll get you.”

You pulled back just enough to see his smirk. “You're not helping.”

“Didn't say I was tryin’ to.” He chuckled, then kissed your forehead. His thumb brushed along your arm as silence settled again—comfortable, safe.

After a while, he murmured, “I'll bake you another pie tomorrow.”

You raised a brow. “You can't bake.”

“I'll learn.”

“Of course you will.” You smiled, eyes half-lidded.

“For you and this little monster in here? I'd do just about anything. You name it.”

Your heart swelled, full and aching with love. Logan might be rough around the edges, might grumble and scowl his way through most days—but in moments like this? He was pure warmth.

You pressed a hand to your belly, where the baby kicked softly against his palm.

He stilled, then smiled. “Think they're excited about the pie too?”

You laughed sleepily and closed your eyes. “Definitely.”

The afternoon light drifted lazily through the kitchen the next day. Logan stood by the counter, arms crossed, frowning down at the open cookbook like it had personally insulted him.

“I don't get it,” he muttered, holding up the measuring cup and squinting at the numbers. “What the hell's a ‘scant cup’?”

Kurt leaned over his shoulder, tail flicking as he peered curiously at the cookbook. “It means almost a cup. Not quite full.”

Logan glared at the cup with an annoyed frown. “That's stupid. Just say ‘not a cup’. Damn thing already makin’ this complicated.”

The kitchen looked like a war zone. Flour coated nearly every surface—like a soft dusting of snow after a blizzard—with ghostly handprints trailing along the edge of the counter. A sticky mixture of butter and sugar clung to a wooden spoon like it had given up on being stirred. The cookbook lay open, pages smudged with fingerprints and faint cinnamon streaks. Apples rolled across the counter like tiny rebels with a soft thump, unnoticed.

Storm walked in, took one look, and blinked. “Is this… a midlife crisis? What's going on here?”

Logan glared. “I'm baking, can't you see?” He let out a frustrated grunt and then threw his arms wide, hands caked in flour and dough like a living exhibit of “man vs. baking.”

“This,” he grumbled, “is what happens when you try to make a damn pie from scratch.”

Storm lifted a brow as she stepped into the kitchen. “Why, exactly, are you trying to make a pie?”

Kurt leaned closer, stage-whispering behind a barely concealed grin, “Someone ate the last one. He promised to bake a new one.”

Storm's expression shifted. The tease softened into something warmer. She crossed her arms gently. “Oh.”

Logan didn't look up, but his jaw tightened. “She was real quiet yesterday. One damn slice of pie and she looked like the world ended.”

“I know it did,” he said, softer now. “So, I'm fixin’ it.”

“She's pregnant, Logan. That pie probably meant more than you think.”

It took longer than Logan wanted to admit. The dough was a nightmare. Sticky one moment, cracking the next. Storm guided his hands with practiced patience, showing him how to work the butter into the flour with his fingers until it resembled coarse crumbs. Kurt teleported around slicing apples with dramatic bamfs and flair—until Logan threatened to throw the rolling pin if he kept startling the bowl.

At one point, Logan knocked his knuckles so hard against the counter trying to knead the crust that a chip splintered off the edge of the cutting board. He grunted, shaking his hand out. “This better be the best damn pie in history.”

Storm chuckled softly. “It doesn't have to be perfect. Just made with love is all that matters.”

The scent in the kitchen shifted slowly—first sharp and sugary, then warm and golden. Cinnamon swirled with caramelized apple, rich and cozy. By the time Logan slid the pie into the oven, the space had transformed into something else entirely.

He leaned against the counter, arms folded, sweat at his brow and flour in his hair, and for the first time all afternoon, he smiled—just a little.

You were nestled in the middle of the bed, swaddled in what Logan always called “the nest,” a loose page of your book resting half-forgotten on your belly. The room was dim and warm, lit only by the amber glow through the blinds. Everything felt still. Quiet. You had been dozing in and out, floating between sleep and thought.

Then, you heard him.

Heavy footsteps in the hallway. The familiar, careful kind he reserved for when he didn't want to wake you—or when he was nervous. The door creaked open a second later, and you blinked your eyes open.

There he was, standing in the doorway like a man caught holding a secret. His hair was a little tousled, and there was a faint smudge of flour still clinging to his ‘kitty’ hair.

In his hands: a pie.

The crust was uneven in places, one edge darker than the other, and a bit of cinnamon trailed like a thumbprint along the side—but it smelled right. Warm and sweet and full of care. Like brown sugar and redemption.

He hovered for a second. Cleared his throat.

“I, uh… made you somethin’.”

Your brows lifted, and you slowly pushed yourself up, resting back against the pillows. “Is that…?”

“Pie,” he said gruffly, stepping inside and holding it like it was sacred. “Might not look like much, but—figured it might make up for yesterday.”

You stared at him, lips parting. “You baked?”

“I had help,” he admitted, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, still holding the pie. “Storm made sure I didn't light anything on fire. Kurt sliced the apples. I did the rest.”

You looked at the pie. Then at him. Your chest ached in that full, tender way that always came when he did something quietly extraordinary.

“You really didn't have to go through all that.”

“I wanted to.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes flicking toward your bump before settling on you again. “You've been carryin’ our kid—deal with sore backs, swollen ankles, cryin’ over socks—I promised you I'd make a new one, right?”

Your throat tightened. Tears blurred your vision, again, and you let out a watery laugh. “You're really kind of amazing, y'know that?”

His smile turned lopsided, crooked in that soft Logan kind of way. He put the pie on the side table and turned his attention to you. His world. He thumbed away the tears like a gentleman.

“Come on, don't cry. I thought that pie would make your day better, hm?” He said, with a light teasing tone.

“Pregnancy hormones,” you huffed out through the last of your tears.

He chuckled and kissed your temple—slow and sure.

“Want a slice?”

“Only if you share it with me.”

Logan's smile widened as he nodded, slicing into the pie like it was a holy rite. Two uneven pieces on one plate. You fed him the first bite. He watched you with quiet hope as you tasted yours.

“... Logan.”

He held his breath, heart pumping wildly.

“This actually tastes so good.”

Relief flooded his face, and you could've sworn his shoulders dropped two inches. “Thank God.”

As you chewed, your gaze dropped to the pie and tears pricked again. “You baked for me.”

“I said I would.”

“And you didn't burn the kitchen down.”

He looked smug. “Close call.”

You giggled, wiping your eyes. “So, this whole pie is mine?”

“All yours. I'm lockin’ the door too, so no one steals the last damn piece.”

You kissed his cheek, heart full. “Thank you, Logan.”

He smiled, rough thumb brushing your cheek. “Anything for you and our baby.”

You smiled back, sat together, warm pie in your hands, the baby kicking gently beneath your dress.

And even with flour in his hair and burnt sugar lingering in the air—

It was perfect.

and, that's it!! ayo, this is so fun to write MY. HEART. MELTS. thank youuu once again nonnie for the request!! I hope you'll like it! give me your feedback!! reblogs are appreciated too <3 have a nice day loveliess!

dividers by @elleisdesigning

tags!! @princessanglophile @wchswift @briseroyawritingsblog @themareverine @dimlylittorch @flowersforbucky @lubdubology @mcrdvcks @loganismybodyguard @xxladymjxx @sweetverine @tezooks

[mistydeyes]

for all my ugly sleepy girls out there🎀 (aka me bc beauty sleep is not a word in my vocabulary lol)

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pairing: kyle "gaz" garrick x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, some implied sexy fun times lmao

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You were by no means a sleeping beauty. You had been told by friends, family members, and even exes that you were the absolute worst when you slept. The laundry list of reasons you were the ugliest sleeping corpse crept into your mind every time you fell asleep. From drool-soaked pillows to your snoring that sounded like a mix between a chainsaw and a rumbling earthquake, you reveled in the fact that you lived in a one-person flat.

That was part of the reason you were hesitant to allow your boyfriend, Kyle, to spend the night after some festivities. It wasn’t like you hadn’t slept together before but it was usually following a drunken-filled night and he was still knocked out when you awoke and made yourself look a bit more presentable. But this time, it was clear he had come to stay when he showed up at your flat with dinner and a small backpack. Your heart sank as he innocently walked to your bedroom and you peeked into the bag to find it filled with basic toiletries and a fresh set of clothes for the next day.

You knew you were doomed the minute you both fell back into the sheets and he replied that he would get washed up for bed. “You sure you want to stay over,” you called as you followed him into the brightly lit washroom, “I’m a bit of a kicker when I sleep.” You decided to throw that in instead of all the other odd things you did in your sleep, you secretly hoped he’d get the hint and head home. You leaned against the doorframe as you watched him go about his quick routine and waited for a response. “Think I can handle it,” he replied as he patted his face with one of your face towels and delicately folded it in his hands. His boyish, charming smile made you melt but you decided to remain firm on the task at hand. You tried to feign a smile and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “Alright,” you said a bit cautiously before making your way to the sink, “just have to brush my teeth, I’ll be back to bed in a moment.”

The minute Kyle was out of the bathroom, you speed-ran your nightly routine. You ditched your multi-step skincare routine and went with the bare bones. As you quickly rubbed your moisturizer in with one hand and brushed your teeth with the other, you tried to figure out a solution to your current predicament. Kyle was the perfect partner and you wanted him around in the future but you knew from past experiences your sleeping habits were an immediate turn-off. You juggled the idea of sneaking to sleep on the couch but decided it was too risky. Eventually, you decided in your infinite wisdom it would be best to try and stay up for the remainder of the late night. You sighed as you washed your hands and patted your face with a soft towel. You looked at yourself one last time in the mirror before shutting the lights and returning to the bedroom.

“Took you long enough,” Kyle teased as he pulled you into bed. He gently placed his phone on your nightstand as you approached the bed. You giggled as he flipped you over him and wrapped a secure arm around your waist. You couldn’t help but reach a hand up and allow your fingers to trace his features. “You have to tell me what you use to keep your skin so soft,” you teased as you leaned closer to him. He smiled at your comment before moving his hand to tuck a few loose pieces of hair behind your ear. “I’ll never tell,” he whispered as he gazed at you, “besides, you are the most gorgeous person to me.”

Oh, how ironic his compliment was. You couldn't help but mentally gag at that comment, knowing there was so much more to you that he hadn't and hopefully would never see. It pained you to even try to imagine what it would be like to pull off an all-nighter. However, to keep Kyle, you would do anything. You lay in a comfortable silence, your hands exploring his chiseled frame, before he spoke up again. “Get some sleep, love,” Kyle commented before placing his head into the crook of your neck. You sat wide awake as his gentle breaths brushed your clavicle. You were fighting off sleep the best you could but were drawn into the idea of peaceful slumber every time he slowly tightened his grip around you. You pinched the side of your thigh as you tried to continue your little charade. You eventually moved slowly, untangling yourself from his grasp. You gently moved his head from your neck and rolled out of his arms that were settled around your waist. You could’ve sworn you heard him stir awake but the minute you looked back, he was still softly sleeping.

As you turned over and watched the soft midnight light hit Kyle’s face, you couldn’t help but yawn a bit from exhaustion. You rubbed your tired eyes and refocused your attention on how his chest softly rose and fell. He was gorgeous even when he was asleep. He looked peaceful as if he was something out of a fairytale book. You secretly envied him as you pulled out your phone and scrolled through your various social media platforms. You could feel your eyes getting heavier as you continued to scroll. “Just going to close my eyes for a few moments,” you said to yourself as you slowly felt yourself sink into your warm sheets.

When you awoke, you frantically trapped your phone to look at the time. 8:56 AM the letters harshly read as you wiped some droll off your face. You took a minute to wake up before you realized, fuck, Kyle was nowhere to be seen. Your insecurities began to unravel before you heard some noise in the kitchen. You rose from the bed and hissed at the cold hardwood hitting your feet. You pulled on a shirt that had been haphazardly thrown on the ground and made your way to the bathroom. You took a moment to look at yourself in all of your disgusting glory as you continued to hear the commotion of ceramic cups clanging against each other. “At least he didn’t leave,” you mumbled to yourself before you ran the faucet and splashed some water onto your face.

“Hey,” you said gently as you walked over to the kitchen. You had spent a good five minutes brushing your wild hair and scrubbing your drool-crusted face. Kyle was leaning against the counter as he prepared two cups of tea. "Sorry if I woke you," he commented and you couldn't help but smile at the baritone nature of his morning voice. You shook your head as you stretched lightly and suddenly felt a bit shy at the feeling of his eyes on yours. “I’m sorry,” you suddenly blurted out as you made your way to him, “I know I’m an ugly sleeper and I should’ve warned you before you slept over.” As you scanned his face for a reaction, he burst out in laughter. You rubbed your neck in embarrassment as he calmed down from his sudden outburst. “I will say I was scared at first when I looked over and saw your eyes were open but I was happy to hear you loudly snoring after,” he said through chuckles, reaching up and cupping your cheek. You were flushed at his words and felt yourself slowly dying from shame. “But you know I’m a soldier, love,” he reassured you as he stoked your soft face, “I have slept in much worse situations.”

You let out a sigh and looked back up at him with a soft smile. “Well I’d be more than happy to stay 'round yours,” you teased as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “now that you know what you’re in for.” As you savored the moment, you couldn’t help but look over to see how the phone with a few notifications popping up. What was more important was the fact that his new lock screen was a picture of you sprawled out on his chest, eyes half-lidded, and hair a complete wreck. Before you could even think about it, he snatched the device and placed it safely in his pocket. “Don’t even think about it, love.”

[nctstar]

Hello!

I saw that your requests are opened so can you write something cute with a smut about period sex with Doyoung or Jaehyun?

Your writing is really good, congrats!!

hello! this is so late and you probably forgot about this already lmao but here it is! hope you like it <3 and thanks so much! appreciate the support.

slip

“You’re so cute. A real man isn’t afraid of a bit of blood, baby.”

“Still, maybe we should-“

“Already thought of that, beautiful.” He stroked your hair before reaching somewhere behind you to show you a towel. “Lay it out in front of you, pretty. Can you do that?”

pairing: doyoung x fem!reader

other members: nil

word count: 2.7k

genre: smuuutttt with a touch of fluff throughout

warnings: sexual content so minors please dni! everything is consensual and implied that reader x doyoung has discussed boundaries and safewords prior to the scene taking place + discussion takes place throughout, talking about periods and cramps throughout (reader has painful cramps and these are described), period sex, hard & soft dom doyoung, use of restraints, oral (male receiving), crying during and after sex, sex pausing because of pain, reader is manhandled + held down, sir kink, degradation (use of slut, whore, brat), spanking, pussy slapping, begging, sexual punishment, reader slowly slips into subspace towards the end, intense orgasms, penetrative sex (unprotected - please be safe irl guys), use of good girl, fingering + clitoral stimulation, squirting, profanity (f word, s word once)

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction purely from my (filthy) imagination. I don't know the nct members and don't claim that they act like this in real life. I also do not condone any of the activity by any of the characters in this fic.

a/n: happy new year guys <3 YES IK I said I would finish the old requests by the end of the year but...it got crazier than I expected so...anyways here I am. new year same old me (but worse it seems). I thought the markhyuckno and dojaejung fic was the most graphic nasty thing I could write but...here we are :D

Your dutiful stares were enough to send him over the edge. Thick, glassy eyes rimmed with black and adorned by lashes as sensitive as butterfly wings, fluttering as you whimpered. “P-please.”

Doyoung stood so tall in front of you, you could barely make out the outlines of his face, ones you knew so well. His slacks smelled of laundry detergent, and you gulped as he used one hand to press your head to the front of his thigh, another unbuckling his belt. The scent elevated your senses, thighs squeezing around nothing in anticipation. Your arms and legs tied tightly behind you with silky black ribbons, just the way he liked it, you were forced to balance on your knees, your body seesawing as he prepared himself. A cramp hit you then, and you shut your eyes, breathing through your mouth, letting it pass.

“Keep your eyes open.” He sounded emotionless, careless, like he wasn’t even looking in your direction, but you nodded anyway, looking up at his face. Bits of light in the room was now illuminating parts of his chin, the sharp lines of his jaw and nose. The hand behind your head contracted, fingers digging into your scalp roughly. You gasped, parts of your scalp now throbbing as he pushed your open mouth onto him.

“Nghhh…” you gargled noisily, your eyes silently pleading at him to go easy on you. But he persisted, even as your hands curled into fists, fighting against the restraints as he used your mouth as he pleased. Tears and drool ran down your face and onto the grooves of your collarbone, and that was when the next cramp hit.

The pain was sudden and immobilising, like a lightning strike on the most sensitive parts of your body. Your whole body jerked, and Doyoung’s hand release from your scalp. You cried out, doubling over, and you felt soft skin all over your bare shoulders. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You began to cry softly, your stomach turning as embarrassment settled into your body. “Mmm, sorry, s-sir.”

“Shh, we’re not doing the scene right now, honey. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m sorry…” You rubbed your face on his shoulder, feeling his fingers quickly work to release you from your restraints. Once you did, your hands wrapped around his body instinctively, knees separated so you could sit on his lap. He patted your hair and upper back gently as you cried in his lap, the remnants of the cramp ebbing away inside your stomach. Once your breath slowed, Doyoung pulled your face away from him, but you still couldn’t look him in the eye. His thumb was gently circling the bare skin above the edges of your underwear. “Hey. This is for both of us to enjoy, right? If you’re in pain, we’re not doing it. And I’m not having fun either if you’re not, okay? Baby?” He kissed the top of your shoulder affectionately, and you felt your insides warm instantly, as if he had doused you in warm water. “Let’s get you relaxed and comfortable now, okay? What would you-“

“Doie, it’s fine. We can continue.”

“No, honey. It’s enough for today. There’s clearly something on your mind.” Your head snapped up to look at him, but there was no hint of frustration or anger lining his face. “It’s okay.” He rubbed up your arms, making you sigh inaudibly. “You don’t need to tell me right now, okay?”

“No, I…” You stopped, looking up and sighing, loudly this time. “I’ll tell you. I don’t know, I was just…embarrassed, I guess? But it’s not really a big deal, it’s just, well…something we haven’t really, um…” You were fumbling, playing with the bow on your bra as the anxiety rose up your body, threatening to silence you once again.

Doyoung’s plush lips pressed against yours, a clean, musky scent overtaking your senses. He squeezed your waist supportively as he pulled away.

You lashes fluttered as you spoke. “I’m on my period.”

Doyoung was silent for a second, maybe a second too long. Then, he sighed, resting back on his hands. “Oh, thank God.”

“What?”

“I thought you were gonna drop some huge bomb on me, like you had some weird fetish or something.”

“Doyoung!” You slapped his arm, making him laugh deeply. Your heart felt full as his face crinkled, your favourite feature on him being the way his entire face brightens when he smiles or laughs. You kissed his nose. “Thanks for not being weird about this.”

“Come on. Who would be weird about this? It’s such a normal thing.” Then, his face slowly dropped, darkened, and the worry started to creep again, tingling up the back of your neck. “Does it hurt? Is that why- oh.” He looked away, his hand slipping from your waist. “God, I’m such a jerk.”

“Wha- Doyoung, no. It’s not your fault, we agreed beforehand and, well, I thought the cramps would go away eventually! I mean, they usually do when I-“ You stopped, but Doyoung stared at you, willing you to continue. “What? What makes them stop?”

A blush crept up your cheeks, the exhilaration overtaking you as if you were 13 years old preparing to make your first sex joke rather than a grown woman who had just sucked her boyfriend’s cock for two minutes. “Um, well, you know. You know what they say about orgasms and cramps, right?”

Doyoung raised an eyebrow at you, before the realisation washed over his face. “Oh.”

You laughed awkwardly. “See, it’s so embarrassing, even if it’s not, technically. God, this is so weird. Let’s just finish here for today.” As you went to get off his lap, his hands pressed your hips down again, bare thighs slipping against his unbuttoned slacks. “I have a better idea.”

You looked into your eyes as your panty-clad core rubbed against the bulge of his cock in his boxers, making you shiver. “But if we do this…”

“Doie, are you sure?”

“Are you?” You nodded, almost too enthusiastically, which made him chuckle darkly. It was true that you were horny as fuck, despite the earth-shattering electric-shock level pain that was ravishing your body every now and then.

He grazed his lips on the shell of your ear, hot breath tickling the tiny hairs on your neck. “Good girl.” He gripped your ass with both hands, making you moan almost instantaneously. “We’ll play by the same rules we decided before then, okay? Promise me you’ll use your safeword, and tell me if it’s too much, okay? I don’t want to hurt you.” You muttered a mh-hm, starting to get impatient and grind against him, but he stopped your movements in place. “Words, sweetie. This is important.”

“Y-yeah, Doie. Fuck, I w-want it – I need it, please, sir…” You bit your lip, grabbing his hands to push them away from your hips and let you grind against him. Doyoung let go, but he hooked his arm around your lower back, other hand spanking your clothed ass harder now. “Oh my God!” The sting took you by surprise, and as he stood up, his shoulder pressed against your stomach, giving you some relief from the dull ache that came every time you were on your period. “S-sir, where are we-“

The wind whooshed out of your lungs as he threw you onto your bed, the covers warm against your skin. As you caught your breath, Doyoung slammed himself over you, throwing both of your arms above your head recklessly. “So disrespectful, speaking out of turn like that.” You bit your lip in response.

As he rose above you, you yelped as you felt your world spin again. Lying on your front now, you tried to move onto all fours, but a hard whack to your backside stopped you in your place. You yelped, feeling him push you down onto the bed and spank you three times in a row. The third hit make you cry out. “S-sorry, sir!”

Leaning over you, trapping you in between his knees, you felt a sharp tug at your hair. Your neck bent backwards awkwardly as he pulled your face off the bed. “A-ah!”

“Naughty girl, hmm? And what happens to brats like you, baby? I want to hear you beg for it.” The way the word beg fell off his lips, like poison from a vial, made your legs shake in anticipation. The burn in your scalp was overwhelming, and you managed to make out, with shaky breaths, “Please, sir, please punish m-me.”

You yelped as he grabbed at the plush of your ass, fighting every urge to move. “Please, please, I need it, I need this.” He pulled the waistband of your black panties down to your upper thighs with one hand, landing hits as he let his other hand keep your face buried in the sheets. “Stupid whore. Grinding on me like my cock is all you can think about. Is that right, baby? Is my cock all that you’re good for, slut?” His words made you melt like butter, your heart racing as the arousal that was now collecting threatened to send you over the edge too early. “Ah- fuck! H-hurts…” Your voice croaked. Doyoung paused, but his hand still pressed you to the bed. Realising he was probably waiting for a verbal all-clear, you wriggled your ass teasingly. “Sir, please, I deserve it. I’m your brat, please, please punish-“

The next few hits took your breath away, and you wondered how all of this strength was coming from one arm. Your eyes watered as he travelled down your thighs before coming back to the curves of your bare ass, now probably red on impact. Your body began to fight the pain, your hands gripping the sheets to keep yourself anchored to the bed. “Fuck, y-yes sir, I’m all yours, please, please, take me.” You babbled nonsensically as you felt yourself relinquish control, wetness now dribbling down your inner thighs.

When he stopped, you felt yourself breathe out, and in one go, Doyoung lifted you backwards so your back was pressed against his. The first thing you noticed was the pad that lined your underwear, now on full display. “Oh shit.” You scrambled to untangle your legs to throw it away, out of sight, making Doyoung laugh. “You’re so cute. A real man isn’t afraid of a bit of blood, baby.”

“Still, maybe we should-“

“Already thought of that, beautiful.” He stroked your hair before reaching somewhere behind you to show you a towel. “Lay it out in front of you, pretty. Can you do that?”

He was slipping in and out of the scene with so much ease. Tears sprung to your eyes for the third time that day as you unfolded the towel, leaning over to open it onto the bedsheets. “I love you.”

“Love you more.” He didn’t hesitate as he laid you down on your front, aligning you with the towel properly. “You ready, my love?”

Nodding furiously, you felt him push you down on your upper shoulders with a tantalising amount of strength. “Stupid brat is always ready for cock, right?” You moaned, loudly, making him groan and slap your soaked core. “Ah! Fuck, s-sir.” You felt his engorged bulb run through your folds, so slowly, teasing you with an agonisingly slow pace. “You need this to put you in your place, right?” Another slap, this time hitting your clit and making you cry out. “And where is your place, baby?”

As he landed another slap, you cried out. “U-under you, sir! I belong under you, stuffed with your coc-“ He thrusted inside without warning, making you arch your back almost involuntarily. Your brain catching up with the sensations now running rampant through your body, you began to cry, the tears flooding your vision as your body shook with the strength of his hips.

He mocked. “Cock so good you’re crying, is that it?” Doyoung slowed, signalling to you that he needed some sort of verbal encouragement to keep going when you were crying. He was always like this, no matter how many times you assured him you would use your safeword if it was too much. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, drool slipping out of your open mouth. “Fuck, please, wan’ cum, please.” You managed to make out these words as you climaxed, white hot pleasure running through your lower body.

Even as the overstimulation sunk into your body, you gripped onto the sheets, throwing yourself back onto him, not wanting him to stop. “Please! Please fill me up, make me, ah…” His sped-up thrusts and quietened demeanour could only mean one thing. As you felt his hot cum inside you, he muttered deeply, throaty moans and gasps escaping him. “Good fucking girl. That’s it, gonna stuff you full of me, isn’t that right?” You nodded dumbly, the pleasure overtaking all of your senses. You snuck one hand down your body, toying with your clit, as if your body had a mind of its own.

Doyoung slapped the hand away, grabbing both your wrists and pinning them to your back with one hand. “Filthy girl.” You whined, but a screamed ripped itself out of your throat as Doyoung pushed two fingers inside you, thumb pressing directly on your clit. “Fuck, wait, ah, too much…” You tried to wriggle away, and he pulled out momentarily to slap you hard on your ass, the sting on your already sore skin making you jerk off the bed. He released you from his grip. “Get up. Now.”

You were shaking, half confusion and arousal clouding your vision as you high-kneeled on the bed. “Legs out and hands behind your back.” You complied, aware now that your core was exposed. One of his arms snaked around your shoulders, fingers dangerously close to your boobs. “So you can be a good girl.”

“Mmm, only for you.” You kissed the skin of his arm, the one in front of you, and gasped when he pressed his bare body close to you. “Not getting my cock again, slut. But you can come. Only when I say so. Understand?” His free hand gripped your chin, strong enough to leave bruises. “Y-yes, yes, sir!”

“Oh, and, these,” he slapped the thin skin of your inner thighs, left, then right, “aren’t moving.” You nodded relentlessly, the waiting driving you mad now. When he pushed two fingers knuckle-deep inside you, slow but firm, you gasped, engulfing the air as if it would help you ground yourself. “Fuck, I’m all yours, p-please!” His pace quickened, and it took everything in you to keep your thighs where they were. They shook almost painfully, and Doyoung stopped, pausing to spread your own fluids over your inner thighs. “I’m so close,” you cried softly, and Doyoung shushed you, pressing kisses on your shoulder. “Good girl, you kept still for me. You think you can soak the towel under us, baby? Hmm?” Your thighs pushed together at his words, but you snapped them apart again, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “Sorry, sir! I’m sorry!” You felt yourself slipping slowly into subspace, kept afloat only by the arm that was wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

Doyoung cooed. “Obedient slut, aren’t you? It’s okay. We’ll keep going. You can come now.” You thanked him profusely as he rubbed firm circles on your clit. You gasped for air, random words flying out of your mouth without restraint. “Sir, feels so good, I- oh, I think I’m gon-, nggh, fuck, sir, it’s so much, please, please…” You came hard, seeing stars as you felt yourself let go completely. The feeling of the wet towel and your legs seemed to slowly bring you back to reality as you looked down, mortified. “Wait, did I…” your chest rose and fell. “Did I pee or something?”

Doyoung laughed delicately in your ear. “No, darling, you just squirted.” Your eyes widened as he pulled you closer. “You’re so pretty when you let go. We should do this more often.” You shook your head in disbelief. “Wow, I…didn’t think that was possible.”

“It’s gonna be hard to stay humble if you keep saying stuff like this, baby.” You laughed, anxieties lifting off your shoulders for a moment. You turned your head, moving your hair out of your face to kiss him deeply.

When you pulled away, he pecked you again on the forehead, cuddling you against his body. “So…you hungry?”

[in-a-bucket]

now that i'm finally home from my track meet and i actually have some free time i want ramble about some of my thoughts on [Call to the Void] that I have been rotating around in my head for the past few days

I was not expecting to get an episode like this in Pink. I figured maybe we would get hints of people figuring stuff out in Blue and then some more clear things in White but wow Ken has already figured it out. I'm so curious as to how he discovered that WE are watching though. I get finding the bugs and realizing that whoever is running this whole thing is listening in but I wonder what tipped him off to us, the fans listening in. Did he find something in the archive room? or the library or somewhere else? Did he just have some insane revelation while he was high lmao????????? It's just so interesting cause all the heads do not know we are watching, only Monomoko does. And from what I've read in the staff threads, Moko does NOT want the other doctors to find out about us. I assume the glitch at the end of the video was Moko cutting the audio so the doctors don't listen to it (also I think it's pretty likely that's all that happened, I think Ken's fine, he wasn't breaking any rules or anything so I don't think Moko teleported him away or anything). I wonder what Ken will do with this info. Will he keep it to himself or will he tell the rest of the students. It isn't info that's going to help them escape or anything so I could see him keeping it to himself. Is Moko going to have a word with him? Do something similar to what she did with Wada in [Lily]? I'm just so curious as to if this is going to have any affect on the rest of pink (or even the rest of tetro as a whole) or if it's just a one time thing to keep the audience thinking.

Now as for the actual content of the episode. It honestly just made me so unbelievably sad the way he was speaking. Like he wasn't screaming or crying, he didn't even sound all that angry. It started off with him asking why we are here and like I said he didn't sound super angry or upset, he just wants to know. And then he starts to quietly plead with us, asking for a sign that we hear him. Even though he is repulsed by us watching and doesn't understand what we get out of this, he is still pleading for our help, to give a sign that we are there and just ughhhhhhh it hurts man. We are here because none of this is real, but hearing Ken basically beg for us to help just makes it feel so real and I just feel awful for not being able to do anything. I just really enjoy these episodes that just make you feel so frustrated on behalf of the characters cause even though you know it's not real and it's just a fictional piece of media, you still feel awful for not doing anything to help.

I know I am horribly biased and there's not much of Pink left but I am so excited to see where Ken goes from here and what he does with this information and if he'll find any more.

Also I noticed this episode took place in the laundry room and I'm not sure if this was intentional or not but I remember all the way back in chapter 1 when everyone was investigating the school, Sasaki wanted to seriously investigate the laundry room since it was the room everyone woke up in and she thought that there might be some secret code or something to help them escape hidden in there and I just think it's neat that's where Ken goes to acknowledge us.

[shogunish]

you: "nsfw is very much allowed"

me: 🫡

I bet we all NEED your take on Satoru, Suguru, and Megumi caught reader taking care of herself and moaning their name.

imagine all three walking in on you..👁️👄👁️

.

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contents. aged up! megumi, usage of toys, female masturbation, pillow humping, written with sweet suguru in mind not the deranged version lmao, male masturbation, megumi and suguru listen to reader, mentioned period

g. satoru

↠ satoru was abroad for a mission for several weeks on end, somewhere in china, he said.

↠ of course, he kept in touch with you, calling you whenever he had the time to do so, calling all night long until one of you fell asleep and going on facetime when he went souvenir shopping for you.

↠ phone sex played a huge role as well. satoru who jacked off to your pretty pussy on his phone's display. nudes that you'd send him whenever you missed him a tad bit too much and videos that you'd send each other.

↠ sometimes, satoru even sent you an audio of his moans and groans when he thought about you - a surprise for you to wake up to.

↠ one evening, the door finally creeks open and satoru is relieved to be back home, but also deflates like a balloon when you don't come crashing into his arms like you usually do.

↠ in the end, satoru finds you in your shared bedroom. delicate hands groping your tits, moans spilling from your lips and a little pillow squished between your thighs for you to ride it.

↠ "mhh, toru..~" you moan, imagining you were humping his bulge, his thigh, anything that belonged to satoru. "ngh..ah..yeah, just like that.."

↠ his cock immediately hardens in his pants.

↠ removing the blindfold from his eyes, satoru drinks your lustful state in, how much you missed him that it led to you humping a pillow like you were in heat.

↠ your cunt drags back and forth against the covers, leaving behind damp spots as you leaked all over the fabric. satoru could only imagine how needy your little pussy is.

↠ "mhh, someone missed me, it seems." satoru suddenly appeared right behind you, his large hands fondling your tits and soft lips peppering kisses across your neck.

↠ you jumped, but your surprise quickly dies down when you realize..he's home.

↠ "welcome home, baby.." lolling your head back onto satoru's shoulder, you exchanged kisses, tongues intertwined and hands busy with each other.

↠ that night, all your neighbors knew that satoru had come back home.

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.

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g. suguru

↠ as your roommate, suguru had taken it upon himself to go grocery shopping while you were doing the laundry. he was calling with satoru, talking about the latest digimon cards that came out when he heard muffled moans spilling from your lips.

↠ "i've got to hang up." suguru said.

↠ "ohhh, someone's gonna get all down n' dirty with–"

↠ he hangs up on satoru.

↠ suguru stands in front of the door to your bedroom just to make sure that those weren't moans of pain. or so, he liked to tell himself.

↠ "mhh..ah, fuck!" you called out, breathlessly. "right there, suguru! ah..yeah.."

↠ suguru found himself listening in to your moans, his strong hand palming his cock over his boxers. he shouldn't invade your privacy like this and maybe make himself known by making some noise to keep your decency, but fuck..

↠ who would've thought that his pretty roommate fucks herself to the thought of him?

↠ if the buzzing sound is anything to go by, then you're using that cute clit vibrator on yourself (he had accepted the package for you back then).

↠ suguru wondered..

↠ how wet is your pussy? is it leaking or more creamy? would your cunt suck his cock back in and take on his shape? he knows that your little pussy needed to be fucked by a real man who'd treat you right.

↠ suguru can't help himself anymore.

↠ he absolutely has to take a cold shower before he'd barge in on you and pop his cock inside your little hole.

.

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f. megumi

↠ megumi is a sweet, caring boyfriend who never crosses your boundaries and respects them just as much as he loves you.

↠ he knows that your period is about to arrive in the next couple of days and wanted to surprise you by bringing over some snacks, ice-cream and emergency pads as well as a hot water bottle since yours got lost.

↠ "[name], i've brought you some–"

↠ "oh, megumi!~"

↠ megumi immediately knows that the way you call him is odd..he doesn't mean to pry, but in case you're feeling funny or anything, he decides to follow your noise.

↠ he freezes the moment he hears your moans and whines and the squelching of your pussy when you drive your purple dildo in and out, in and out. thighs are shaking, cunt clenches around your fingers while your free hand is playing with your hard nipples.

↠ "shit..feels so good.." your pussy lips spread obscenely around the toy he didn't know you have. "mhh, megumi..wanna cum for you.."

↠ megumi doesn't need to look down to know that his cock jumps in his pants.

↠ undoing his zipper quietly, megumi whips out his cock and begins stroking himself to the sounds you're making and the peeks he takes at your squirming body.

↠ he knows that he's being a pervert by touching himself to your unknowing self, but what is he supposed to do with a leaking and twitching cock?

↠ megumi has to clamp his hand over his mouth when he cums all over his fist while you're making a mess all over that silicone dick, pretending it was..him.

[nevvdrinksteaa]

favors pt. i

~~~

i think that this sounded better in my head, but i went ahead and wrote it anyways because i really couldn’t stop thinking about it. also kinda leaned into the horny vibe i was feeling, i’ve never written smut but i’ve read a lot and i think i could do it lmao

~~~

pairing: mike schmidt x reader

prompt: idea from sweet child o’ mine @macfrog (it’s amazing i suggest you read it)

you’re abby’s babysitter and mike can’t pay you just quite yet and he asks if he can do anything for you in return and you mention that you need a date to your brother’s wedding.

warnings: uhmm fluff, angst, suggestive content, i think that’s it, let me know if i missed something!

word count: 1.7k

PART TWO HERE

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Waking up from your uncomfortable position on the couch, you heard the rain pattering on the window. The cold air suddenly swarming your body as you woke from your slumber. You reach over and tap your phone on the coffee table, watching the screen light up and checking the time. 5:48 AM Mike should be home in about 30 minutes. You reluctantly decided to slowly remove the blanket, standing up and reaching your hands in the air, stretching your stiff body as much as humanly possible.

You decided to help Mike and start cleaning up the mess you and Abby made from your activities. You start picking up the crayons, markers, and pencils and place them in the pink basket you picked out for Abby hours before coming over, smiling at how she colored in the paper hearts that were stuck to the sides, picking up the loose paper and sticking it in a neat pile on the desk on the dining table for Abby to use when she wakes up. You walk directly towards the hallway, taking clothes from the hamper and starting a load of laundry. Softly chuckling to yourself about how manly the laundry detergent Mike picked out smelled, you filled up the cap with the green goop and threw it in the washer.

Mike walked through the door as you were finishing up the dishes, drying off the big bowls you and Abby used to make brownies. He kicked his shoes off by the door and placed his keys on the little hook above the light switch. He looked at you for a few moments, taking in how cute you looked dancing to the soft music that came from your phone, how pretty your hair looked slightly knotted from your nap on the couch, the shorts you were wearing creeping up your legs with every step you take.

Mike loved watching you, in the least creepy way possible. He adored everything about you, taking the little extra time he had to notice things he never had any interest in noticing in anyone else before. You were so different and he was so infatuated, interested in getting to know you, getting to know your interests, getting to know your body. He thought about you constantly, something about you made him feel like a teenage boy. He was deep in thought when you turned around, yelping when you noticed him staring at you.

“You want to take a picture? Some people say they last longer” you say smirking, crossing your arms at the brown-eyed boy.

He chuckled softly at your flirtatious comment, a light pink dusting spreading across his tired face, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. You were listening to music and didn’t hear me come in.”

“It’s okay, I was just finishing up some dishes, I didn’t think it would’ve been fair to leave you with the brownie mess” His ears perked up with excitement “You made brownies?”

He faked surprise, ‘Of course, you made brownies’. You were always doing extra things, it was his favorite thing about you, always doing the most and expecting nothing in return.

You grabbed a brownie for yourself before sliding the plate over to the pretty boy. You stayed leaning against the island, smirking to yourself when you saw Mike's eyes dart to your chest.

“Abby and I made them, she said that she wanted to surprise you when you got off work”

“I swear that kid is only nice to me when you’re here,” he said, partially to you and partially to himself.

Rolling your eyes “You know that isn’t true, she adores you”

“I would strongly disagree, She told me I was the ‘dumbest person ever’ when I told her she needed to eat more than just spaghetti and pizza”

“To her defense, she ate brownies today, that's more than spaghetti and pizza”

“I cannot believe you would rather agree with a 10 year old than me” He put a hand over his heart, sighing heavily to show he was hurt by your words. “I always knew you liked Abby more than me.”

You looked at him, eyes wide at his comment. “Sorry, I thought it was clear that I liked her more than you” you paused, for dramatic effect “I never tried to keep it a secret.”

He laughs grabbing a second brownie, and moving away from the kitchen island toward the couch. “You coming?”

“I could be” you winked, smirking at him. He shook his head, thinking of all of the ways and positions he really could make you cum.

You start to follow him, scolding yourself for flirting with him, staying behind for a few seconds to click the lid back on the Tupperware container.

You walk around to the left side of the couch, opposite to where Mike was sitting. After your comment, you got nervous, thinking you pushed it too far. You started noticing the quietness that suddenly arose and not knowing what to say to make things less awkward.

Mike was the first to break the silence, “How was she today?”

“She was good, I was able to pull her away from her drawings long enough to watch a movie. We watched Coco and the end made her cry, then she called me a monster for making her watch it and walked right back to the bedroom to color” You giggle at the memory of the evening you had with the younger sibling.

“Sounds like Abby” Mike sighed “At least she’s warming up to you enough to sit and watch a movie with you, I can’t remember the last time we sat down for a movie”

You grabbed his hand, noticing the sadness that started to form on his face. “You know she loves you, she talks about you constantly, you’re front and center of every one of her drawings. You’re her favorite person”

He smiled softly at your kind words, grateful to have you there to comfort him. “Thank you”

“Of course, that’s what I'm here for”

“Technically you're here because you babysit my sister, but it does make me feel good to think that you’re here only for me”

“Yeah yeah Schmidt, keep telling yourself that”

“Speaking of” Mike trailed off, “It’s going to be just a little bit longer before I can pay you, the new job doesn’t offer insurance so I have to pay for everything out of pocket and Abby was just sick-” You cut him off

“Mike you know I’m not worried about it” he sighed and you could tell by the look on his face that he was still bothered by not being able to pay her.

It had been three weeks since you started babysitting for Mike, coming early to help him make dinner before he leaves for work and staying late to get Abby dressed and feeding her before driving her to school so Mike could get more than an hour of sleep.

You enjoyed helping Mike and loved taking care of Abby, you were the oldest child in your family, so you were used to caring for people.

Mike hated it, it made him feel so guilty. He felt like he was taking advantage of your kindness, promising you every day that it would be only a little bit longer before he could pay you.

“You know, if you feel bad you could just repay me with a favor”

Mike perked up. His mind was filling with ideas of what could fall out of your pretty little lips. He would do anything you asked him to, make you dinner, give you a massage, eat you out for hours and hours. ‘God, why was he suddenly so horny?’

“What kind of favor are you thinking?” slightly squeezing his hand that was placed across your soft thighs. As soon as the words came out of his mouth he felt like a cheap whore, suddenly nervous that he was coming onto you so strong and you wouldn’t reciprocate.

“As tempting as this favor is,” you say placing a hand on his chest “I was thinking something else”

He was suddenly so embarrassed. He quickly pulled his hand away, placing it in his lap, and looking away from your beautiful face. You felt bad seeing a pitiful look on his face, hurting Mike’s feelings was the last thing you wanted to do.

“My brother is getting married in two weeks and I need a date.” He was ecstatic, pushing his horny feelings aside, he could picture it in his head; you two hand in hand, his tie matching your dress, sharing a kiss after your first slow dance-

“My boyfriend has a work conference and he has to be at” You have a boyfriend? “and my family is so annoying if I know if I come without a date, all they would do is tell me that I’m wasting my life away and I’m going to forever be so lonely and-” You have a boyfriend? How could he not know that?

“Mike, are you listening to me? If you’re uncomfortable pretending to be my boyfriend then I could always ask someone else”

“I’ll do it” Against his better judgment, he agrees, hoping that something could come out of it

“Really? Oh my god, thank you so much!” You lean over and hug him “You’re really saving my ass”

“Anything to help” he laughs, trying to make it seem like you didn’t just stab him in the chest with a casual mention of your boyfriend.

Suddenly, your alarm goes off and you pull away from the hug. Mike felt cold at the loss of contact.

“It’s 7:30, you should get to bed” you state standing up from your spot on the couch “I’ll get Abby ready from school so you can catch up on some sleep, I’ll text you the details of the wedding after I drop her off”

Mike watched as you walked away, feeling like he just got punched in the gut. You didn’t feel the way he did and god that was embarrassing. He never had time to even think about a relationship and the first time in a long time he does, the girl in question has a boyfriend.

Mike let out a deep sigh and got up, heading towards his bedroom ready to close his eyes and forget about the miserable conversation. As he walks past Abby’s room he notices you crouched beside her bed, softly shaking her awake.

Fake boyfriend or not, at least he knows he won’t be pretending about his feelings for you to your family.

[sweetbabycheesez]

Only you

groupchat: KISS N TELL🔥🔥🔥 darci 🍓: claire ditched us for her BOYFRIEND mary 💅: jim is so boring i can’t believe she chose love over liquor you: LMAO darci 🍓: anyways we’re going to that party on bellevue. not up for discussion. mary 💅: pls look hot i can’t carry this group on my own you: i always look hot mary 💅: true darci 🍓: okay okay get ready. picking u up in 30

You didn’t even know whose house it was. Some college guy Mary maybe hooked up with once—or not. The whole place smelled like weed and Ralph Lauren cologne, and someone was playing beer pong with a bowl of M&M’s.

It was that kind of night.

You stuck close to Mary for the first half-hour, sipping something that made your tongue burn and pretending to be more interested in some sophomore’s breakup story than you actually were. Then Darci elbowed you.

“Look,” she whispered, eyes wide. “Near the stairs.”

You followed her gaze.

There he was.

Douxie.

Leaning against the wall in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled, a few necklaces dangling just loose enough to catch the light. Jeans with rips that looked accidental but definitely weren’t. His hair tied back—except for the dark, blue-dyed ends that brushed his shoulders.

He looked... like a sketch someone drew in the margins of a poetry book.

Mary whistled low. “Okay he’s like actually insane looking.”

“Have you ever heard him talk?” you asked, sipping again.

“Yeah, like once. British accent." Darci said

You weren’t even trying to flirt. Not really. You just walked past him to get to the kitchen. He looked up. You looked back. And then, as you opened the fridge:

“You looking for something?”

You turned. “Something that doesn’t taste like gasoline.”

He gestured to the soda can in his hand. “Try this. It’s vintage.”

You arched a brow. “So, old.”

“Not old,” he said, grinning. “Vintage.”

He handed it to you. His rings brushed your fingers. You drank without breaking eye contact.

And yeah, okay. That was a little cocky. But only a little.

Later, you ended up in some bedroom upstairs because the music downstairs was too loud and your feet hurt and he said, “Wanna sit somewhere quieter?” in that low, weirdly calm voice that made your stomach do something stupid.

The room smelled like shampoo and someone’s laundry. There was a record player on the dresser. Actual vinyl.

“No way,” you said, walking over. “People still use these?”

He shrugged. “They sound better.”

You raised a brow. “You just like pretending it’s 1962.”

He smiled. “That too.”

He pulled a record from the sleeve—some romantic ballad that made your heartbeat drop into your stomach—and set the needle. The crackle came first. Then the sound.

“Only you… can make this world seem right…”

You turned around slowly.

“That’s not fair,” you said.

“What’s not?”

“You’re setting me up.”

He walked toward you, slow. “You sound like you want to be set up.”

You didn’t move. “You don’t even know me.”

He was close enough now that you could smell mint gum and cologne and maybe a little smoke.

“I know enough,” he said. “I just want to kiss you.”

And then?

Then he did.

Hard.

There was no soft lean-in, no slow build-up. Just his hands in your hair, your back hitting the dresser, mouths crashing like you’d both been waiting for this all night.

He kissed like he didn’t care if anyone walked in. Like he needed it. One hand gripped your waist, dragging you closer. The other slid into your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp.

You bit his lip. He groaned.

You felt it in your spine.

Your fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, nails dragging up his stomach, and he shivered against you. He tasted like Coke and something else you couldn’t place. Maybe magic.

He pulled back just barely, both of you panting.

“Too much?” he asked.

You answered by grabbing his face and kissing him harder.

You ended up tangled in each other, his leg between yours, your head tilted back as he kissed down your jaw, your collarbone, your throat. His breath was hot against your skin, and your knees almost gave out when he pressed his lips just under your ear.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t cute.

It was messy.

When he kissed you again, it was slower. You dragged your fingers through his blue-streaked hair and pulled him back in until the song skipped and someone knocked on the door, yelling something about looking for a charger.

You didn’t answer.

groupchat: KISS N TELL 🔥🔥🔥 you: u guys mary 💅: ? darci 🍓: DID YOU KISS HIM you: if by kiss you mean almost blacked out from oxygen loss, then yes mary 💅: OMG darci 🍓: DETAILS RIGHT NOW you: he said “i just want to kiss you” and then he DID and it was A Lot mary 💅: i KNEW he’d be like that darci 🍓: did he do the hair grab thing you: yes. like full on. mary 💅: do you like him or do you just wanna make out again you: both??? idk darci 🍓: you HAVE to see him again

You didn’t sleep much that night. You could still feel his hands on your waist. His mouth on your neck. The soft scratch of vinyl playing something heartbreakingly slow while he kissed you like you were the last good thing in the world.

And okay.

Maybe vintage wasn’t so bad.

[boltwrites]

Rough Handling

Fandom: Marvel; X-Men Pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine / Reader (AMAB, masculine) Rating: E Tags: Face-fucking, Blowjobs, Masks

Anon Requested: Reader using Logan’s helmet as blowjob handles 😩

A/N: There is actually a line in here where I could have dropped a perfectly placed, Logan-accurate bub, but didn't out of principle. First person to spot where it goes wins a prize lmao

"You know," you started, gazing down at Logan's discarded cowl as it lay in your lap. "I think Wade had a point."

"About what?" Logan asked, frowning as he tried to scrounge together the rest of his laundry. You'd snatched the cowl up as soon as it had been uncovered in the back of the closet, and you'd pounced on it like some kind of creature. Logan had let you have it, waving you off in favor of actually doing something about the piles of dirty socks around the place.

"These are some pretty hefty blowjob handles," you grinned, sliding your hands over the wing-like portions of the cowl, even twisting your wrist like you were revving up a bike. Logan shot you a deadpan stare, before rolling his eyes and throwing a pair of jeans into the laundry basket.

"Fuck off," he replied, shaking his head as he moved on to the things on your side of the bed. "Not like I designed the thing. Still think Scott had it out for me."

He huffed - it almost sounded like a little growl. You laughed, rolling your eyes at the fact he took this as a jab against his costume, and not the proposition it was.

"I'm not making fun of your outfit, Wolvie," you laughed, shooting him a silly grin as you turned the cowl around, wiggling it as you said his little superhero nickname. "I think we should try it out."

He peeked over the bed, a pair of your underwear in his hand as he shot you a withering glare.

"You're not serious."

"Oh, I'm serious," you insisted, nodding the cowl in your hand. Logan huffed as he turned away, gathering up the last of the laundry and balancing the basket against his hip.

"Well, you look like an idiot," Logan replied. But - importantly - he didn't say no. And he was very upfront with you about shit he didn't want to do, so you were notably intrigued.

"But you would look better with your lips wrapped around me in the cowl..." you teased, an eyebrow raised and a little sly smile on your lips. "I'll even let you fuck me in the suit after."

"Both of those things seem like shit you're into," Logan countered, but you couldn't help noticing how the corner of his lip twitched a little. The little almost-smile. "And there's only half a suit left."

"Oh no, just the mask on while we fuck-" you fanned yourself with the cowl like you were so scandalized. "What a horrible turn off -"

"Shut up." Logan rolled his eyes again, but this time it was with a stupid smirk. "Let me get this load in first. Ah ah-"

You had definitely opened your mouth to comment, but he tilted his head to the side, eyes wide and finger outstretched as he dared you to make a dirty joke. Your lips stayed firmly shut. You were not going to risk face-fucking Logan Howlett over a cheap cum joke. You weren't Wade Wilson.

But you were, however, already half hard at the thought of it. Was the whole thing stupid? Yes, absolutely. But as you undressed so you could make yourself comfortable at the end of the bed, you couldn't help the thrill that rushed through you when you caught a glimpse of the cowl in your periphery. You thought everything about Logan was hot - even the parts that others might thing were scary, or even a little dorky. The claws, the scowls - but also the bright yellow of his suit, the little curly cowlicks in his hair. And, maybe most of all, you liked being a little goofy with Logan. Making him laugh, making him smile. And you knew this was going to be that kind of fuck.

You knew it when he walked in from dealing with the laundry, took one look at you and asked, eyebrow raised. "What, me in just the mask, you in your fucking socks?"

You quelled a snort as you looked down - white nike crew socks still on your feet. You'd gotten so lost in your thought you'd stripped down bare ass naked, dick out, socks still on.

"What, they're not as hot as thigh highs or something?" You laughed back. He grinned in reply as you peeled yourself out of them, sauntering over to inspect the cowl. He shook his head - like he was questioning the life decisions that led him to this moment - before he slid it on.

Oh. Ok. Logan in jeans, a white T-shirt, and the mask? Kind of hot, you weren't gonna lie. Your dick twitched in interest.

"Oh, come on," Logan snorted, unable to contain himself. "Really?"

"Honestly, I think you've given me some kind of complex," you tried to defend yourself. "Remember the time you wore that yellow shirt to the bar-"

"Mhm, vividly," Logan hummed it low, smirking as he looked you up and down. You couldn't help the bob of your adam's apple as you swallowed, the way your dick plumped up between your legs, at full attention now. That's just what this man did to you, really.

Your full attention was on him now, as he sank to his knees in front of you casually, sliding his hands up your thighs so he could spread them. Your gaze lingered on those hot hands, and-

"Oh, don't even think about it."

You snorted, because he'd clocked you fantasizing about his claws dead-on.

"Hey, a man can dream," you chuckled, breathless as Logan repositioned himself between his legs so that now the scruff on his jaw could scrape along the inside of your thighs. So close, but so far.

You were pretty sure Logan rolled his eyes, but you couldn't tell because of the mask - oh man. You reached out, half believing that he'd slap your hands away, before you wrapped them around the curved bits - the blowjob handles. He was - wow. He was really letting you do this.

And he was into it - he just didn't project it like you did. Or, maybe it was more accurate that he was into you. As you were distracted with his cowl, he'd started to press kisses to your thigh, sinking down lower in his stands as his breath ghosted over your dick.

Most of the time when he did this for you, he was in control. He'd hold your hips down and take you into his mouth at his own pace, smirking when you whimpered at how much attention he paid to the tip, or when you whined at how long he licked you up and down instead of just sucking your cock already.

But like this - like this, you could gain some of that control back. Logan nuzzles into the seam between your thigh and dick, licked a long, wet stripe from base to tip - and then you applied just the smallest bit of pressure to the handles on his mask, and Logan made a little shocked noise in the back of his throat, stilling in his tracks as he tilted his head to look at you.

"Oh no. None of that this time," you insisted, grinning as you adjusted your grip on his cowl. "Come on. Let me fuck your face."

Without being able to look at his eyes, Logan's expression was unreadable. This wasn't something you did with him often - and for a split second you wondered if you'd taken this whole joke too far.

That was, until Logan's lips parted. Just barely, at first, before he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out like you'd done so many times before for him. But oh - he rolled his jaw as he opened wide, squared his shoulders. This wasn't just an invitation. It was a challenge.

You removed a hand from the mask, if only to angle your dick to Logan's mouth, bouncing off his tongue with a little hitch of your breath before you rolled your hips, lips wrapping around you as the both of you found your places. It took you another breath to center yourself, to wrap your hands tight around that mask.

The first roll of your hips was experimental, slow and steady as you bit your lip, learned to tilt down Logan's head just a bit as you guided him with the cowl. He made a low noise in his throat - approval? A moan? you didn't know. You did know that he slid his tongue along your shaft like he knew you went crazy for, and you gasped at the feeling of it, his thumbs drawing circles on your inner thighs only serving to distract you further.

You built up a rhythm - hips rocking faster, deeper into his mouth, but never quite hitting the back of his throat. Logan took you with no complaints, head bobbing in time with how you dragged him along your cock by his mask, trying your best to keep your breathing steady, to make all this last.

But, try as you might, there was still something missing. You couldn't fuck his throat deep, not as hard as you wanted to, and his hands on your thighs were distracting enough that you wished you'd invested in some adamantine sex cuffs. You needed more control.

So, you took it. You stilled your hands, your hips, and then you stood. You didn't bother telling Logan what you were about to do - you didn't need to. After all, you were the one guiding him this time. And you did it well - hands on his mask firm enough to help guide him as you stood, letting him shift his weight and steady himself with a hand against your knee. You moaned at the new angle - it was so much easier to thrust into him like this, and you knew that with the advantage of forward momentum, you could fuck his throat raw.

"Oh, yeah-" you breathed out, as Logan swallowed roughly around you - it was clear he understood the implications of the new angle too, bracing himself with a wider stance, knees further apart, hands tracing your hips more as a way to keep himself steady than to quell your thrusts. And when he looked up at you - well, obviously, the mask was in the way. But just the fact that he bothered to try to meet your eyes had you smirking.

"Ready?" you asked him, your voice almost teasing. The low grumble he replied with reverberated all along your dick, and you shivered at the feeling. Oh, he was ready.

So, you gave him what you promised. Tilted his head back just slightly, and with your fingers wound tight around that mask, you speared his mouth on your cock, his throat squeezing around your tip as you cried out, grinding deeper into that heat before you pistoned your hips out. You yanked him forward by that cowl, then back off with your hips - and despite the wet choking noises he made, Logan only urged you to fuck him more - harder, faster. His hands wrapped around your ass, squeezing tight, willing your hips back into the vice of his throat, like you could somehow force your way even deeper.

It had you crying out, nails catching at the feeling of that mask, your pace stuttering the closer you got, thighs shaking as you rammed the back of Logan's throat again and again, just to feel how tight he squeezed your cock. Between thrusts you could see how it affected him, too - how he'd sunk low in his stance, no longer able to kneel upright with how hard you were fucking his face. His shoulders were slumped, one of his hands now cupped against the bulge in his jeans - how hard he was from you ruining his throat.

And that was it - the image of him hard because of this, pliant and desperate and blissed because of how you thrust ragged into his mouth. That's what finally sent you over the edge, burying Logan's nose into curls at your base as you cried out his name, his throat convulsing around you as he struggled to take all you gave him.

Your knees damn near gave out afterwards, shaky as you released your vice grip on Logan's mask, pulling out of his mouth with a groan. You'd left a mess at the corner of his mouth, over his lips - it almost made you twitch to life again, with how good he looked.

Maybe Wade did have good ideas sometimes.

[internetscenarios]

been wanting to do this for a while ehhehehhe

im very into madoka magica again you will have to excuse all the gifs

living in tgc house ʚɞ

- okay BASICALLY

- there is never a day where some part of the house isnt messy, whether it be someones room, the kitchen, etc

- so if u like cleaning ur in for a treat 😁

- you will have to deal with constant loud noises like screaming and banging oh my god

- ok besides the negative parts it would be so fun living with them

- if ur having a bad day any of them will cheer u up

- im gonna assume u would be a cc, so ur always in vlogs and maybe popping up in the other guys streams occasionally

- if ur a girliee there is gonna be hate,, but every girl who hangs out with guys get some kind of hate

- god that sounds so stupid but YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN

- doing anything with them all is super funnn

- going shopping or anywhere is chaos

- your always trying to leave sweet or nice notes on that notepad thing on the fridge but someone always ruins it LOL

- i feel like isaac is just male wife completely, so u two have fun cleaning and doing laundry

- if ur faceless or havent face revealed, u are the photographer for their mf instagram posts

- your camera roll is filled with really bad pictures of all of them

- i feel like you would have late night talks with them just about life, then someone else comes down and ruins it LMAO

- your sleep schedule has gotten ruined since moving in

- especially if u would participate in ltlvc😢

- omg they would go all out for ur birthday

- i feel like tanner would steal one of ur presents, nick and isaac would actually put effort into the gifts, larry would try and yumi would also try but jus ask to get take out food

- they mean well🙏

- ok you are getting jumpscared all the time

- like u are sitting on the couch by yourself and isaac just screams from the other room at you

- scary behaviour

- ok grunk is a college guy now,, but if u were on vc with them all he is so fun

- watching spongebob with him

- car rides are either dead quiet bcs everyone is tired after a day out, or they are screaming song lyrics there is no inbetween

- ive said this with tanner hcs but if u were streaming and went to the bathroom someone would sneak in and start pretending its their stream

- or they would turn ur computer off to annoy you

- you never get alone time, like imagine trying to have a nap and someone needs u to do something stupid jesus christ

- OK BUT BESIDES ALL THE NEGATIVE they are funnyy there isnt a day where they arent making u laugh

RAHH ive been wanting to do this forever omg

also guys,, maybe,, send me requests *wiggles toes together*

[redrosydiaz]

“eddie sniffs buck’s laundry” sounds sooo incredible 🫶

omg HI hehe god i am SO excited about my idea for that one!! it started bc basically one day i said to my bestie hey i think evan buckley would be like. superridiculouslycrazy into the way eddie diaz smells literally. always. like my man would wanna faceplant riiiight into that armpit every single day and drink it Direct From The Source dslkjfds. and me and bestie went okay but eddie would also be just as feral about buck and the way he smells too — he's just maybe a little more reserved about it at first. like he holds those cards close to his chest before he finally lets buck see them.

and BASICALLY i went okay but what about the first time he DOES let buck see those cards — what if it is a total accident. what if eddie is just doing laundry one day, and, y'know, buck's always over so his dirty clothes end up mixed up with the diazes so often that it's totally normal to find it in the basket. and i'm thinking maybe eddie is doing this after having just woken up from a post shift nap (buck is either still snoozing away on the couch or they're at that fun stage where they platonically share the bed when they nap (bc u know. they are, crucially, still just friends here) so buck's chilling in eddie's bed still) but either way!! eddie is doing laundry, and he is loading the washer when he comes across the shirt buck wore in the gym earlier, and eddie catches a whiff of it bc like. it's ripe. buck literally was sweating in it mere hours ago. it's probably even a little sweatdamp still. and so eddie catches that smell and he just. takes a deeper sniff. and then he glances over his shoulder and the hallway is clear and when he strains his ears he does still hear buck's snoring. so he just. lifts the shirt. right up to his face and he— buries his nose into it. takes a biiiig 'ol inhale. pops the world's most immediate boner ever skfljgs.

and he's like. so caught up in it that he doesn't even register that the faint snoring sound has stopped, nor does he hear the soft pad of buck's feet down the hall, and he's so not paying attention so he doesn't even realize buck is there until buck's voice is ringing out, "i told you that new fabric softener smelled good." and eddie nearly jumps out of his goddamn skin. he yanks that shirt away from his face and valiantly fights the blush that's 100% already covering like his whole entire body at this point.

and like it's just impossible for buck not to catch the expression on eddie's face that 100% gives him away that he was very much not sniffing clean nice smelling laundry. no one makes that kind of panicked face over clean laundry. and buck clues in reaaaal quick. and suddenly he's standing there in that doorway, leaning against the jamb with his arms crossed and theeeee most shiteating grin curling onto his mouth.

and he goes [what are you looking at eddie voice]: "hang on, isn't that the shirt i wore to the gym earlier?" and eddie looks down at it and then back at buck and he— fucking lies. terribly. he's just like "uh, no." and the spirit of ostark's fuckass eyebrow possesses buck in this moment, the way he quirks it so knowingly. and he's just like "it is, eddie."

and eddie— he knows he's been caught. there really isn't any use trying to lie. but oh boy does he stick with this denial anyways lmao and he's just like "um what no definitely not. pft. you have like. two very similar looking shirts. you gotta expand your fashion horizons buck! hah." and then needing to Make His Escape he's like "in fact this is sooo clean i should go put it away. right now. so i'm just gonna—" and then he tries to skirt around buck to go like shove this shirt in the deep dark depths of his closet until this blows over and buck forgets lol.

only buck is obviously blocking the only escape route and he's so broad. eddie can't squeeze past him. and then buck tries to grab the shirt from him and eddie straight up drops to the floor and tries to like. army crawl through buck's legs lmfao bc he's standing wide to block up as much of the doorway as he can. and it's. really it's a dumb move lmao, because all buck has to do is like squeeze his legs together and bam. eddie is. trapped. and that's exactly what buck does. until eddie reaches up and tickles behind his knee because he knows buck's most ticklish spots. and he wriggles the rest of the way out. and then it turns into a game, eddie running and buck chasing him, like fucking children, until buck like football tackles eddie right there in the living room.

and then there buck is, in all his glory, sitting right on top of eddie, holding him down with his weight and also pinning his arms with his hands— which is a trip and a half. and also it. puts his armpit like. right in eddie's line of view and jesus christ eddie's going to pass out actually. he's doing literally everything in his power not to pop a boner (well. not to pop a more noticeable boner bc lets be real. he's already halfway there sdlkfds). because good god that would be embarrassing if buck noticed!!

but of course buck does, except there is literally nothing for eddie to be embarrassed by because if he wasn't so caught up in his head about it all he would've noticed that he's not the only one.

blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda all of that to say that is some wiiiicked foreplay to them fucking nasty, probably right there on eddie's living room floor, yay 🫶🫶

ADLKFSD ANYWAYS. this got away from me and i basically just. dumped what i have in my google doc into this ask rn lmfaooo but it IS something i'm hoping to write soon!!!

[pseudoartistpostsstuff]

Ik you said you’re on break but that’s okay! I can wait lmao

I’m obsessed with your yandere lu writings. I would love a yandere Time x fem reader where he like extra creeps on reader? I’m talking like spying on them n shit and maybe stealing an article of clothing just bc it smells like them

Lord help me that sounds so weird

Why am I like this

Help

Thank you so much for requesting for my boy Time!

Notes: No no I like your way of thinking, give me your worst. Me, personally, I can be way worse than that lol

In fact, I may have accidentally made this creepier than I meant to, idk

By the way, when I said underpants in this I meant those white pants thing Link uses, which is probably called tights or something, but I didn't want you guys to read this and imagine reader with, like, fishnets by accident lmao

Time has anxiety and I'll not elaborate

I was gonna post this tomorrow, but ya know

TWs: Yanderism, stalking, suggestiveness, clothing stealing.

Yandere! LU! Time x Reader

In a way, Time was like a cat.

There was no way you could just ignore random articles of your clothes going missing every time you went to bath.

No matter where you went to clean yourself, it was like one part of your outfit was picked out by hand and evaporated, be it your undershirt, underpants, socks, and sometimes even your underwear!

You tried everything to prevent it, hiding your clothes, setting up traps… You only drew the line when it came to anything to do with poison, since you couldn't bear to possibly end up killing an innocent animal just for the sake of clothes.

Even if said clothes somehow always ended up randomly returning unscathed to the rest of your laundry.

Time and time again, this topic was brought up in conversations with the men you traveled alongside. Yet, for some reason, the matter was also time and time again swept under the rug. It never got solved, neither did it ever get discussed, more often than not.

Starkly different from your point of view, Time found it pretty cute how you got all fussy over some little clothes, clothes which he could easily just make you throw away and buy new ones, it's not like he was lacking the rupees for it, after all.

Yet, he couldn't find it within himself to keep pressing on that matter, not when you looked just so embarrassed protesting against the idea of throwing away your under clothes, stressing about how comfortable your clothes were and about how they were your favorite because of that exact reason.

From what he's noticed, you barely ever wore anything else, no matter how many clothes they could offer you, which was proof of just how much you adored that outfit, each part that composed it having been carefully thought out before being picked out by your hand back when they first went to the market to look for an appropriate Hyrulean attire for you.

It was more than obvious by now that you weren't planning on getting rid of it any time soon.

Still, despite all your best attempts to keep your clothes safe, you couldn't really stop them from randomly disappearing, that is, unless you stopped bathing, and that was something you obviously couldn't even consider doing.

So, you simply sighed with resolution as you took off your clothes to once again go into the river next to the camp, wanting to wash off any grime that may have rubbed on you from the last battle the Links went through before you guys left for the next village.

A little ways down in the same river, you knew the other men were washing themselves, that way, a scream would be all they needed know to come over to help you, should anything happen.

Not that anything had ever happened to you while you were bathing.

You kind of felt like you were being watched, but then again, you learned to not pay attention to that, after all, your brain always seemed to like playing tricks on you, be it making you think you saw the shadows in the corner of your eye moving, or strange noises coming from bushes, all of which always proved to be absolutely nothing at all. Especially the strangely distinctive smell of Time rubbing off on your clothes...

Besides, whenever you looked around yourself to see if your senses were correct, you'd only be able to hear the calm silence of the river waters, almost as if the fish itself held back from swimming every time you tensed up.

The regular calming ambiance noises returned when you finally stopped being paranoid, going back to washing yourself with a relieved sigh, knowing the feeling of being watched was just a product of your tricky mind.

Sound doesn't travel much underwater. Should it be sounds of heavy breathing, sounds of something much larger than the river fish swimming, or even the heavy sounds of metal boots sinking into the sandy floor of the river with every step their wearer took.

Time observed with certain amusement as you walked around the shallow part of the river, your head just above the surface, your feet dangling dangerously near the deeper part. One wrong step and you could risk drowning.  

However, you seemed to be having fun while cleaning yourself, enjoying the cool, clean water. The elder, though, was having his own fun watching you.

He had to give it to you though, no matter what you did, your movements were always so captivating to him. He had already seen a lot in his life, many races, creatures and even monsters. Yet you had such a… Human way of behaving. Even if humans were so alike hylians, you still seemed different in a way, a very good way in his eyes.

What was even more interesting to him was the fact that you were still different from the other humans he'd met through his life.

More often than not your actions were unpredictable and random, not at all serious, it was like you somehow weren't very phased after getting kicked out of whatever universe you originally belonged in and into another. An universe that was extremely dangerous and distinct from yours. His universe.

You were very, very far from your home, yet he could still see some of it in the way you spoke, behaved and reacted to the things and beings around you.

Sometimes, he'd catch himself becoming infatuated again with the stuff that he was already used to, simply because you seemed so surprised and excited by them. 

Things he saw in his everyday life and just happened to ignore. Places, people, animals, creatures, plants, you name it. You gave him a renewed view of life, the whole "enjoy the small things in life" a concept so simple that still managed to make him feel truly alive again.

When he was with you he felt like Hylia and the Golden Goddesses themselves were paying him back for all heroic deeds he performed. In his eyes, you saved him.

In no time, watching the stars with you became a new routine, you were always so interested in them, yet still didn't seem to mind when he preferred to do something else, as to avoid looking at the moon.

Therefore, counting and catching fireflies was the next best thing.

And before he even noticed, he had bought an extra satchel at the market just so he could collect and buy those things that reminded him of you, things he noticed you pointing out whenever you saw. Pretty rocks, shiny crystals, colorful shells, and even those silly little trinkets that, in his eyes were useless, yet brought happiness to yours.

You'd even managed to make him blush the other day, when you told him he was acting like a cat, placing gifts by your bedroll at night, while you were asleep.

Yes, you made him blush. Him, The elder, The Hero Of Time that was also The leader their group, a group made up of the strongest men known in the history of Hyrule.

But, in a way, you were actually correct. 

Cats are very attached to their favorite person, enough to follow them around and watch them do the most simple things, like sleeping, or bathing.

He didn't feel like admitting to those things though, especially not to stealing your clothes.

At first, he assured himself that he was doing all that watching just to make sure you were safe, after all, bathing time was the only moment of the day when you were “fully alone” or so you thought. Time would never forgive himself if you accidentally got hurt because of his lack of attention to you, even if the “hurt” in question was merely a scratch on your knee from accidentally slipping while bathing.

He knew better than anyone that too much peace meant something bad could happen at any time, and too little peace was even worse! Therefore, there was no middle ground, you needed to be protected at all times. And the fact he also got a little fun out of guarding you didn't hurt anyone. After all, what the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel.

He didn't even try lying to himself about stealing your clothes, he wasn't that delusional, after all, liking your smell didn't sound like too good of an excuse to tell you, should you find out about that little habit of his.

In a way, he wasn't even hidden right now, per say, he was just not in plain view. 

In fact, sometimes even hoped you saw him, so that he'd be able to stop just watching and join you already.

After all, you wouldn't be able to get hurt if he was right there beside you, right?

Let him keep pretending that's the only reason he wanted to join you in the bath.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #31] The Photo Booth

warnings: THE photoboth chapter!!!! a legend amongst bd readers!!!! we meet jaykays mum (shes the best) and his dad (legend), byeol gets her own back for the 'daddy' debacle, teasing, shameless flirting, a lil dirty talk, jaykay is desperate and whiney (just how we like him!!), precum...swapping?? as much as it can be swapped lmao, jaykay does her glitter ::(((((, a date! between friends!! some would argue!!, photobooths, kissing !!!!, oh god I love them so much, very cute, mmmmmm the way he says goodnight!! or alternatively, the way he doesn't say goodnight!!, our babies are v confused <3 cos they are stewpid <33

wc: 9k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Mum? Dad?" Jeongguk calls into the entryway of his family home, pushing the door further open with his shoulder.

Your bag is hooked over his broad back, along with his own, Jeongguk not even considering it a favour. Just helps you out in little ways whenever he can, just because he can. You do what you can to make his life easier, and so it's reciprocated without a second thought.

Carrying a bunch of fresh flowers that had hastily been picked up from the shop across the street, you're a little nervous. There was no way you could show up empty-handed, but had been so scatterbrained when you left your place, it had completely slipped your mind. They're pretty pink posies and are something - which is always better than nothing, even if they aren't all that impressive.

"Oh, you're here!" A sweet voice calls from the back of the house. The sound of indoor slippers scuff against the wooden floors, as his mother scurries to greet you both. "I thought you'd call when you were on your way!"

"Sorry," he apologises and leans down to let the bags softly tumble to the floor, before outstretching his arm for a hug. "Left in a bit of a rush."

Squeezing his mother gently, his back eclipses her from your view. Hands patting his back, you think you can tell a lot about a person from their hands - and she's no exception.

Well-manicured, his mum clearly looks after herself. She wears just two rings - her wedding band and engagement ring. Gold. The only remaining elements of her wedding jewellery that had survived the '98 gold drive.

"Spent my whole life in that house," Jeongguk had said of his family home on the journey to Busan. He'd been opening up. Telling you tales that you'd have never heard if you had declined his offer. Is clueing you in on the life that formed him. Wants you to know. "They held onto it throughout everything. The financial crisis, turn of the century, everything. I'm lucky. We were never well-off, but they never let me know when we were struggling."

It explains a lot about who Jeongguk is, you think. Never wants others to shoulder his burdens. Keeps things bottled up until the glass shatters - but you can see through glass. You always know.

A modest three-bed, there's something nostalgic about the four walls he calls home. Though you've never been here, it somehow feels familiar - but that's perhaps more so to do with the scent of laundry drying, and the fact that Jeongguk uses the same fabric conditioner as his mother always has done.

Swanning Jeongguk out of the way, his mother greets you with a smile that could stoke warmth in even the coldest of hearts - and suddenly, you understand exactly where Jeongguk gets it from.

Dark, round eyes, and a smile as radiant as a spring day, she's got the kind of delicate nature bestowed upon Disney princesses. If you were to learn she'd been a model in her youth, you wouldn't be surprised. 

Introducing yourself,  you hold out the flowers for her to take.

"For you," you offer, a little shy and reserved, in a way that Jeongguk doesn't see too often. Your glitter - toned down today, for some reason - sparkles in the late afternoon sun that pours through the windows. "Thank you so much for offering to host me. I really hope it hasn't put you out too much-"

"Oh, don't be silly," she tuts, flipping her hand away as if to emphasise that it really is no big deal. "It's always lovely to have Jeongguk's friends staying with us."

She glances over to Jeongguk. Leans in a little closer. Whispers just loud enough for him to hear. "Plus I'm sure you'll be a far better house guest than Jimin ever is!"

"Mum!" Jeongguk goes to defend his housemate - but he knows his mother adores Jimin. Treats him like a third son. Knows she's creating an alliance with you, given the little lie Jeongguk told about you previously dating Jimin.

"What?!" She plays innocent, and it's suddenly so easy to see why Jeongguk is the way that he is. A product of the people around him, he soaks up their best qualities like a sponge in search of water. His playfulness must come from her. Taking the bunch of flowers, she smiles. "Let's go put these in a vase. You must be hungry."

"Ravenous," Jeongguk confirms, as if he didn't eat half an hour ago. "What's for dinner? And where's dad?"

"At the driving range," she tuts, encouraging you both further into the house.

Large and open plan, the sitting room is adjacent to the kitchen; a space designed for socialisation, it's clear that Jeongguk's parents enjoy hosting. It's no surprise that they agreed to let you stay without hesitation, and is also why Jeongguk had no qualms about asking.

"Minhyuk got a new driver that he wanted to show off, apparently," she continues. "A Titlelist. Got it in some dodgy back alley sale. Your father reckons he's been scammed, but Minhyuk reckons it's the real deal, so I'll guess we'll see."

"Minhyuk lives down the road," Jeongguk explains to you as his mum rummages around in a cupboard to find her favourite vase. He's smiling, amused by it all. "Bit of a busybody. Likes being in people's business, so Dad likes to return the favour. Petty middle-aged man shit."

"Watch your language," his mother scolds. He apologises immediately.

It's sweet, seeing Jeongguk like this. He's always been respectful, even if he does swear like a sailor and has a sense of humour that would send a prude to an early grave.

"As for dinner, I told your father to meet us at the samgyeopsal place you like down by the beach-"

"Ugh," Jeongguk smiles, beaming from ear to ear. "Thank you."

"Don't know why you're thanking me," she hums sweetly as she arranges the flowers in the vase. A little lacklustre while they were still wrapped up, she manages to preen them to look far more beautiful. "You're paying."

"I'm- what?!" He whines, now, taking on the role of youngest son perfectly.

She's just joking, and you all know it - but you also know Jeongguk will likely try and cover the bill regardless. Glancing over to you with a cheeky grin, his mum playfully shrugs her shoulders. You return the smile, and giggle a little harder when Jeongguk continues to whine.

"Oh hush your moaning," she simply says. "Go take your bags through to your rooms. We'll head out in half an hour."

Jeongguk doesn't protest. Drags you along with him back to the entry hall to retrieve the bags.

"See," he says quietly, finding your shyness all rather curious. You're never normally like this. Never so quiet. "Told you there was nothing to worry about. Mum always likes my friends."

Picking up your bag to hoist it over your shoulder, you simply say, "Nerves are natural."

Jeongguk doesn't entirely disagree, but really thinks there's no need for you to feel this way.

"Yeah, if you're meeting, like, a girlfriend's parents," he says. "My parents are nothing to be scared of. Idiot."

"Doesn't matter if I'm not your girlfriend, Gguk. I still want them to like me," you remind him. "And let's be realistic here, parents aren't one for subtleties. You've brought a girl home and have hickies on your neck - I need to touch up the foundation, by the way. If they notice, they're gonna add two and two and get five."

"Well actually," he interjects. "They'll add two and two and get four. You are the girl who gave me them."

You laugh. He's got a point. "But I'm not your girlfriend ."

Yep , he thinks. Thanks for the reminder.

It's not like he even wants that. He knows that things are good as they are. Knows that any indication of things getting serious will likely make you run for the hills.

Things feel easy, now. He doesn't wanna do anything that will complicate it. Won't tell you how he's feeling, 'cause he knows the second it does, things will change.

He doesn't know if it would be for better or for worse, but he knows you. Knows his own lived experiences.

The mistakes made with Hayun have contorted his ability to go with his heart, because he knows the pain it can cause. Will take the nail-biting uncertainty of his feelings for you over the soul-crushing certainty of rejection any day of the week.

You're equally as shaped by your own experiences.

Once had a man who would declare his love for you on a Monday morning before his monthly business trip, only for him to spend the entire week in bed with a girl from the accounting department. You've no trust in words. No trust in anything, really, when it comes to matters of the heart. All you can trust is how you feel - but even that's a little more confusing than usual, these days.

"And thank God for that," Jeongguk teases, which seems to settle the woes within you. He tilts his head to the side and guides you up the hallway. "C'mon. I'll show you to your room."

He deliberately doesn't show you his own room. Will show you later, once he's had the chance to hide away most of the embarrassing stuff he hasn't touched since he was a teenager.

Instead, he leads you straight into his brother's old room, and winces.

"It's worse than I remembered."

Jeongmin's bedroom walls are coated in the Lotte Giants; like an oil slick on the surface of a road, or ice cream dripping down the side of a cone. Unsubtle, garish and impossible to ignore, the man is an interior decor menace.

Flags, shirts, commemorative posters, you name it; Jeongmin has it. You think he must have personally spent enough money to fund an entire season of the KBO.

It's a pretty inoffensive colour scheme - white, blue, red - but it's still an eyesore. The rest of the house is well-decorated. Tasteful. Roses do come with thorns, you consider. Maybe Jeongmin and Jeongguk's rooms qualify for that position.

"So your brother likes football?" You deadpan - although you're sure if there was a Lotte Giants branded football, you'd be able to find one in this room.

Jeongguk just shakes his head. Doesn't even dignify it with a proper response.

"It's a miracle he even managed to get girlfriends during high school. This shit is... I didn't recall there being so much."

Signed baseballs, bobbleheads, foam fingers. God. It's endless. Trading card binders, house slippers, even a rubber duck. It's overwhelming.

"What about now?" You ask of Jeongmin's passion. "Still obsessed?"

"Less so," Jeongguk shrugs. "Did call his dog Seagull, though."

The prospect of a dog being called Seagull has you bursting into laughter. You half think Jeongguk is joking - but quickly realise he isn't. For some reason, that only makes it even funnier.

"Will he be at dinner? Your brother?" You ask, setting your bag down on the freshly made bed. The scent of laundry detergent wafts up, and it reminds you of being back at Jeongguk's place in the city. You've never felt more at home in a stranger's bedroom.

"Why?" Jeongguk asks, narrowing his eyes, remembering what you had said earlier. "You're not allowe-"

"Oh give over," you laugh. "You know I won't."

You've never seen his brother, but already know Jeongguk must be the brother. The one that the girls go crazy over.

Then again, Jeongguk did say that his brother is a fuck boy. Perhaps he's just as handsome.

Impossible .

Thing is, Jeongguk doesn't know you won't go for his brother. You made threats earlier. Knows he ignited a fire in you the second he pulled the 'Daddy' stunt. Knows you're competitive. Regrets it a little bit now. Only has himself to blame.

"Anyway, piss off," you playfully tell him. "I wanna get changed."

Jeongguk doesn't care. Takes a seat by his brother's desk, instead. Smirks. Raises his brows in that promiscuous, boyish way that always disrupts the butterflies who peacefully rest in your diaphragm. "Okay. Get changed."

"Gguk," you deadpan. He's pushing his luck, and he knows it. Glances over to the door. It's ajar, but pushed shut enough to obscure any unwanted eyes. Just means he needs to keep his deep voice quiet.

"What?" He flirts. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

"Your mum is down the hallway!" You whisper-shriek. Sometimes you forget how much of a boy Jeongguk is, and then he pulls shit like this.

The worst part?

You love it when he's like this; all cheeky and brazen, audacious in his quest to get what he wants.

And when it's you that he wants? Oh, it gets you all hot under the collar. He has that effect on people, you think. It can't just be you.

"So?" He licks his lips. Rakes his eyes down your body. Looks fucking hungry - and to him, you look like a 5-course meal he'd gladly get on his knees and beg for. "She's not gonna come in."

His lips press down against one another, tightly. His lip ring does the thing. You whine.

"Gguk."

"Byeol." He teases. "It's not like you're getting naked. Not like we'd be doing anything. Seen you in your underwear so many times."

He'd like to know that he still can. Wants to know he hasn't fucked it all up by getting you a little vulnerable earlier.

"Maybe I am getting naked," you whisper back, feeling challenged now.

"Are you?"

"Should I?" You tease. He sits up a little straighter. Tries to be subtle as his hand drops between his legs, the heel of his palm pressing against himself. Fails. You know he's adjusting himself. Know that it means he's getting a little excited.

"Think if you need to, then you should," he simply replies. "Just a little revision of a bird, no? Nakedness ? It'd be good."

You don't need to get fully undressed. Not in the slightest - and you're not gonna.

In fact, Jeongguk isn't gonna see anything - but you're still gonna fuck with him a little first. He deserves it after this morning.

You turn away from him. Shrug the jacket off your shoulders. Toss it onto the bed. Open up your bag, and have a little dig around.

"I'm not sure what to wear," you hum, sounding a little defeated. It's intentional. Want him to think you're being genuine.

Turning to face him, you hold lingerie in either hand. Packed deliberately just to fuck with him. Had figured you'd wear it discreetly, letting him know as and when he deserved to know. Would use it to wind him up - and not to give him any satisfaction. He's right in thinking he's ignited a little competition in you.

Didn't realise you'd take him to war, instead.

He's not seen you in either of these. Has never really seen you in your 'nice' stuff. All of your underwear is nice to a certain extent, because you're intentional with your purchases. Like feeling good beneath even a pair of sweats.

However, Jeongguk has only ever been treated to matching sets.

After all, you've never tried to seduce him. He's your friend. You fuck each other, sure, but it's cause it's comfortable. Safe.

The lace in your hand is far too exciting for your established arrangement.

In your left hand is a lace bodysuit. Mesh panels make up the structure, but it's the ornate, hand-sewn lace that really makes it beautiful. The neckline is fairly high, so sometimes you get away with wearing it at a top on nights out. Been a while since you went that risque.

In your right hand, it's a classic black garter belt. Jeongguk has no idea what the fuck they're called, just knows he likes them.

He swallows. Licks his lips. Doesn't know where to focus his eyes. Barely realises he's gripping himself now. Is so fucking hard.

"Which is your favourite?" You ask, eyes innocent, voice nonchalant.

Jeongguk thinks he'll die if you wear either.

"Both are fine," he manages to say, eventually.

"Fine isn't good," you pout.

"Well what do you want me to say, B?" He whispers, clearly a little frustrated. Not with you. With himself . "That as soon as you put them on, I'll wanna take them off you? They're fuckin' hot. Both of them. Fuck ."

He tilts his head back. Whines a little. Moans. "Why do I do this to myself?"

"Think you might be a masochist," you giggle now, tossing the lingerie back down by your bag. Will save it for later. Poor boy is going through it. "You did this to yourself."

He looks at you with a huff and a frown that is far too sweet for the situation at hand.

"I'm stupid," he pouts. "Pea brain. You're the one with a big brain. You should tell me to stop doing pea brain things."

"You wouldn't listen to me even if I did," you smile fondly as you walk towards him - 'cause even if it looks like he's admitting defeat, you don't trust him yet. His cock is too hard to be making sensible choices.

Coming to a stop between his legs, you don't stop Jeongguk when his large hands stroke up the backs of your thighs. Your own hands are toying with his hair. It's all very amorous; affectionate despite the allure.

"You don't know that," he whispers, still. Cupping his strong jaw, you tilt his head upwards. Your hair is still up from earlier, and he regrets it now. Always loves it when your hair tumbles around his face. Likes being consumed by the entity of you. The scent of your shampoo, the softness of your well-conditioned hair. Heaven.

"You made a bad decision this morning," you remind him. "Would have done it even if I told you it was a bad decision."

Regretfully, Jeongguk thinks this is true. That instant gratification of his ' Daddy' stunt made it worth it.

Worth it at the time, at least.

He's not so sure, now.

Sinking to your knees, your hands stroke up his thighs. Jeongguk looks down at you, tongue wetting his lips. There's a change in his breathing. Anticipation.

"You know," you say quietly, making sure no sound travels at all. You're not looking to get kicked out of Jeongguk's house within an hour of being invited in. Looking directly at his hard crotch as your hands squeeze his thighs, you simper. "I really thought you were gonna take charge this morning. Thought you were gonna get me where you wanted me."

"Yeah?" he husks, pulling on his shirt, releasing it from the belt around his waist. Lifts it a little. Gets his abs out. Is doing shit he knows will make you salivate. One of your hands follows his encouragement and pushes up his chest. Hard beneath your warm hand, his body really is a gift from the gods.

"Yeah," you tease.

"What did you think, huh?" He says, his hand cupping your cheek to raise your gaze to his. It'd embarrass you, if it were anyone else; but for some reason, you don't mind worshipping Jeongguk unabashedly. Are on your knees like his body is your alter. Whisper words of sin like you're in a confessional. Pray that you'll never have to give this up. Religion is wasted on you, and Jeongguk is a false God, but you've never felt more holy than when you're committing cardinal sins with him. "Where was I gonna get you?"

Smiling in that coy way you so often do whenever he gets you a little vocal, your eyes rake back down his body.

"Right here," you shrug. Give him those eyes; the ones that make Jeongguk think he's seeing fucking stars. Smirk, before you say, "thought you were gonna get your cock in my mouth."

"Shit," he curses as you press down over the hard ridge in his pants. He's always so pleased to see you - especially like this. "You want that, huh? Wanna suck on it?"

Nodding, you bite on the lip, sin written in the constellations Jeongguk's gazing at. "Wanna make you feel good, Koo."

If Jeongguk doesn't get his cock in your mouth within the next minute, he's pretty sure he'll die. Has wanted it for weeks. Months . Wants you in any capacity he can get you, granted, but there are few things in life better than a good blow job. Good pussy, is, admittedly one of those things, but he already knows you have that. Thinks your mouth must be just as good.

His hands drop to his belt. Metal clangs as he races to get it undone. You let him. Don't stop. Watch on with sated pleasure as he hurries. Undoes his buttons, and then his zipper is down, too. His Calvins are on display. There's a teeny tiny damp mark showing through; evidence of how badly he wants you. "We don't have long. Be quick, B. Gonna nut so fuckin' fast."

Smirking, there's something so painfully endearing about how needy Jeongguk is as he untucks himself from his boxers. Thick and firm, his cock is just as pretty as it always is whenever he's desperate for you. The little bead of precum pooling at his tip is begging for your tongue, the freckle on his shaft deserving of a pretty little kiss.

And then you pull back. Look at his pretty, needy face and raise a brow. Poor baby .

"Said I wanna make you feel good," you smirk. "Not that I will."

You get to your feet. Walk away. Giggle to yourself as Jeongguk fucking whines as quietly as he can. Needs that door closed. Needs you to know that this balling is gonna kill him off. Head thrown back, cock in his hand, he's gonna fucking die .

"B," he growls a little, faux sobs echoing from his throat.

"What?" You smile. He looks like a fucking state, desire taking hold of the way he's staring you out, chest heaving a little bit. And then, to add insult to injury, you remember to 'address him properly'. "Something wrong, Daddy ?"

His face bunches up. Regret embeds itself into the lines on his face. He whines. "You're so mean, Disco Ball."

He's cute. Really fucking cute.

It makes you feel bad.

And fuck, you want him.

Seeing him like this gets you all sorts of fucked up - but he deserves it.

He watches you cautiously as you walk a little closer.

You crouch between his legs this time, instead of getting down on your knees. Replace his hand with yours. Have missed how it feels to have him in your grip.

Eyes on his, you watch as his chest begins to beat a little fast. His lips are ajar. Eyes forlorn, he's desperate . His cock twitches in your hand, so you tighten your fingers. A hushed moan lets you know he likes this. Likes every fucking thing about it.

Licking your lips, you position yourself a little better. Glance down. Think it's a miracle you haven't given him head yet. Have never wanted to choke on a cock more - cause what are friends for, if not that?

"I'm not mean," you whisper. You drag your wet tongue across the tiny slit that is fucking oozing for you. It takes everything in you not to give into what you want. "I'm so nice to you, Koo."

You've got a point to prove, though. Ease your grip. Stand. Replace the now empty space in your hand with his chin between your thumb and index finger, grasping onto it as you tilt him upwards.

You hold your tongue out, encouraging him to do the same - and without even a second fucking thought, he does it.

Eyes wide, Jeongguk wants this. Want you. Wants your tongue on his.

And what Jeongguk wants?

Well, eventually , he always gets it.

Your tongue swipes against his; traces of his own precum sinking onto his tongue, masking the taste of you.

He wants more.

Wants you to do it again. Wants to taste you. Wants you to sit on his lap, tongue in his mouth. Wants to be too fucking busy with his lips to remember how to breathe.

And, like always, he will get it - just not now.

Eventually, yes.

Immediately, no.

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me one day, B," he whines as you walk away from him again.

"Good," you smile, talking at full volume now. Playtime is over.

You do, however, take off your shirt, and let him watch. All he can see is your back, but even that drives him insane. He can't remember the last time he was this worked up without any indication of a release. He's been horny all fucking day.

Pulling a fresh shirt over your head, you're a little sad to see he's tucked himself away when you turn around again.

"Go get ready," you say fondly. "We don't have long."

Jeongguk is pouting. A crease between his brows, he looks hard done by.

" So mean."

His stroppy demeanour makes you laugh. It's so classically him. A Ggukism, if you ever did see one.

"That's what you get for making me call you Daddy," you say quietly. Find it funny how much of a baby he's being - and consider that maybe he's the one that is better suited to the nickname.

He whines again. Louder this time. You glance to the door. Make sure you're still without disturbance.

You want to call him baby.

Just because it works, and it's funny, and - fuck it - maybe it'd be nice.

But it would also be a step too far, you think.

"Shush," you say affectionately, not accenting your command with 'baby' like you really want to. Instead, you walk over to him and cover his mouth with your palm. "What if someone hears you whining, huh? I don't wanna have to tell your mum you've just been tasting your own cum in your brother's bedroom, do you?"

"You're so fucked up," he wails, feeling incredibly hard done by. He needs to learn how to resist you. Never wants to have to endure this again.

"We're so fucked up," you correct. "I wouldn't be so mean to anyone else - but you deserved it."

He can't even argue against it. He knows that this is a product of his own creation.

"Go, get yourself sorted out," you encourage him along. "We don't have long."

He nods. Sighs. Gets to his feet, and does his trousers back up. Is convinced he'll die before your trip to Busan finishes if this is the game you're playing.

Leaving you to get ready (and to let his raging boner die, even if he won't) Jeongguk returns within 15 minutes. He's nonchalant, as if what happened the last time he was in the room was simply a fragment of your own imagination.

You're sitting by the floor-length mirror (which is, of course, adorned in Lotte Giants memorabilia), doing your makeup. Hair claw-clipped now, Jeongguk is a little sad to see your space buns go, but understands why. You seem to be a little more demure than usual.

He nudges his knee against your back, gentle in how he touches you, your body swaying ever so slightly.

"Don't," you smile, pulling the liquid glitter away from your face. "I'll get it in my eye."

There's an innuendo to be made there, but Jeongguk knows better. Just smirks. Plonks himself down next to you; cross-legged, knees up, arms hugging around them. He looks like a condensed version of himself like this, sitting as close to you as he possibly can just so he can see himself in the mirror.

"Little disco ball," he says fondly, watching you dab the glitter onto the inner corners of your eyes. It's not something he often calls you these days, but there's something about hearing the name now that makes you smile.

"Strange, isn't it?" You muse. "This time last year I was just disco-ballin' in your club. Didn't even know your name."

He nods. Smiles. "And now you're in my brother's bedroom turning yourself into a disco ball."

"Funny little lives, we live," you muse fondly. How far you've both come. If it wasn't for the glitter, you don't think you'd recognise yourself.

"Would you have ever predicted it?" he asks. Knows he was intrigued by you from the very moment he first saw you. Has no idea what you thought of him. Wonders if you had 'what if' thoughts about him. Who he was. Who he could be. What you could become. "That you'd end up here?"

"Honestly? Sorta wanted to curl up and die after you found me in your living room."

The memories are a little hazy, but you still remember the look on Jeongguk's sleepy face in the early morning sun that was intruding on his living room at the time.

Jeongguk nods. Smiles. Remembers it far better than you do. "Yeah, wasn't your finest hour."

You turn to look at him, chin resting on your shoulder. There's a glow about you now that Jeongguk can't seem to get enough of. Wants to drink you in like purple starfuckers at 2am in the heat of full-capacity Dionysus nights.

"I mean, I don't know," you say with a small shrug. "How often do you become friends with your punters?"

"Not often," he admits. "How often do you become friends with your bartenders?"

You're coy as you smile. "Not often."

Not ever, actually.

Yeonjun doesn't count - you've never spent any time with him sober, even if you do always enjoy seeing him behind the bar. Even then, it doesn't compare to the way you seem to light up whenever Jeongguk is serving your drinks.

Jeongguk's the first. The only.

Taking the liquid glitter from your hands, Jeongguk scoots a little closer. Gets more product on the wand, and sets the tube down beside him. Pinches your chin between his index finger and thumb.

There's no opposition from you; just a silent acceptance of Jeongguk dictating your movements. Lips parting as he draws a little closer, there's apprehension to the way your eyes flicker between his own pair and his lips.

Jeongguk is pleased, but tries not to let it show. Fights his smile. Battles the inner voices telling him that kissing you would be a good idea.

Breath hitched as his dark eyes survey your face, you're regretful of the way your body responds to him. Friendship tainted by desire; a natural by-product of fucking someone you really care about, you think.

It's no secret that you adore each other, but doesn't everyone feel so fondly about their best friends?

He's slow as he dabs the end of the wand against your cheek, following around the curve of your eye socket. Jeongguk always thinks you look so pretty when you highlight yourself with glitter there. It catches the light so easily that he always notices it. Might have even been the first glitter of yours that he notices in the dreary lights of Dionysus, the hedonistic haze of neon lights and dark shadows creating the disco ball effect he likes so much.

"There," he says quietly as he finishes evening it out. "Pretty little star."

"Careful," you say back just as quietly. "You'll give me an ego."

"Just returning the favour," he jokes, screwing the wand back into the tube, his hands working quickly. "The Daddy thing really did a number on my ego this morning."

Rolling your sparkly eyes, you gently push him away.

"Fuck off, Jeon," you playfully reprimand him for mentioning it again, getting to your feet. Smoothing out your clothes as you check yourself over in the mirror, you're pleased to see that Jeongguk has applied your glitter just the way you like it. Dabbing it out slightly, your heart swells a little with how attentive he is.

Still sitting exactly where he was, Jeongguk strokes up the inside of your leg. It's all very innocent. Just touching you 'cause he likes the comfort that comes with it. You're in sheer tights, there's a softness to them that Jeongguk likes. He tries to forget the garter belt you were holding earlier. Doesn't think you'd wear it out for dinner with his parents.

He's right.

No matter how hot it might be working him up in public, you're not about to go and do it in front of his parents . You have some morals at least, even if Jeongguk does make you momentarily forget about them from time to time.

Reaching down, you scratch his hair a little, just behind his ear. Eyes closed, he leans into your touch like a little puppy dog. So docile and devoted. Cute.

"C'mon," you encourage him, but remain fixed in position. Head versus heart. Wanna stay right where you are in the cocoon of Jeongguk's family home with him, but know you have places to be. "Shouldn't keep your mum waiting."

He nods, head resting against your leg. Sighs. "Yeah. You're right. Let's go."

You offer him a hand up, of which he gladly takes. Checks himself over in the mirror. Is still wearing the outfit he drove in. Considered changing, but he's aware of the way the girls at the service station were ogling him earlier. Knows the outfit probably has something to do with it.

He doesn't mention the change of your outfit; the fact that you're wearing a white shirt too, now. It's tucked into a little black skirt, he's certain you're probably gonna wear those slightly worn out Converse of yours - and he intends on doing the exact same.

"C'mon, kids!" Jeongguk's mum calls up the corridor, echoing your thoughts about needing to leave.

It's nice, you think, to be grouped with Jeongguk in such a way. Makes you feel like this is the way it's always been. Doesn't matter if you're in your twenties, and Jeongguk's mum met you an hour ago. There's an acceptance of you; of your place in her son's life.

He glances over at you, scrunching his nose a little. Is a little awkward. Likes the idea of you being part of his life since childhood. Is sad it'll never be the case.

"You heard her. Let's go."

Ushering you back down the hallway, a hand on top of your shoulder, thumb rubbing the nape of your neck, there's a casual intimacy to the way Jeongguk always finds an excuse to touch you.

It's not scary, nor daunting in the way that you always deem intimacy to be, but it is something . Gets you feeling a little flustered. Has you wriggling out of his grip with a laugh, as if he was tickling you.

"Stop annoying the poor girl," his mother scolds fondly as you come into her line of vision, which just simply earns another protest from Jeongguk.

"She's the annoying one."

You scoff. "That's rich coming from you."

It's all in good humour, and his mother appreciates this. Likes seeing Jeongguk goof around, especially knowing how stressed he's been lately. Has barely called. Missed his father's birthday to study.

All she wants is for her children to live happy, fulfilled lives, and if there's one thing to be noted about Jeongguk's current demeanour, it's that he's undoubtedly happy.

Whether or not that has anything to do with you, she doesn't know - but she wasn't born yesterday. His desire to visit home is understandable after the pressure of his studies. He needs rest - and somehow, he factors you into that rest.

Of her two children, Jeongguk's always been the more introverted one. He needs his time to recharge. Would be the life and soul of the party at school, then come home and remain silent until dinner time.

For a few years, it bothered her. Thought that maybe Jeongguk was unhappy at home - but it was quite the opposite. It's his safe space.

And now he's bringing you into it.

"Is the room okay?" she asks you, knowing that the sheer amount of baseball memorabilia in Jeongmin's room is... a lot to take in. "Interior decoration was always more of Jeongguk's speciality. Had Jimin to give him pointers. Jeongmin... Well, he had an acquired taste... As you've probably already gathered."

Laughing a little, you nod. "It's grand. Thank you for letting me stay. I really appreciate it - and I grew up with a Lions-loving Dad. I'm used to it."

"Ohh," his mother winces, then addresses Jeongguk. "Keep this one away from Jeongmin."

You also turn behind you now, raising a brow. He's just rolling his eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

"Samsung Lions - and their fans - are the scum of the earth in Jeongmin's eyes," he explains, then looks over to his mum. "Is he coming to dinner? Do we need to sit them at opposite ends of the table?"

Shaking her head, she laughs. "No, he's got plans, apparently. I did tell him you were visiting, but you know what he's like."

Jeongguk just sort of accepts this answer. Nods. Shrugs his shoulders, as if it's to be expected. An air of disappointment clouds around Jeongguk, lips pursed, eyes stern.

He and his brother are cut from the same cloth, but have been sewn together with different stitches. For all their similarities, they have stark differences, too. This one has always been the most challenging for Jeongguk; how little his brother seems to care about maintaining a good relationship.

Jeongmin seems to think their status as brothers is enough to keep the bond strong. Doesn't seem to care about fostering an actual friendship with him.

It's part of the reason why Jeongguk is so reluctant to let go of friendships that no longer serve him. They're filling a void. He never wants to be the one who gives up. Doesn't wanna be the reason things fall apart.

"Alright," Jeongguk's mother smiles at you both. "Ready to go?"

It surprises you that she's the one driving to dinner instead of Jeongguk - but it makes sense, given the fact you and Jeongguk will stay in the area afterwards.

She insists that you sit up front, even if all forms of hierarchy would dictate that Jeongguk should be there instead. He doesn't complain. Sort of likes how you and his mum are ganging up on him like a little team.

When you arrive at the samgyeopsal place, his father is already waiting.

He's everything you expect him to be: funny, a little dramatic, and the spitting image of Jeongguk, just with a few more grey hairs and even deeper creases beneath his eyes. Introduces himself with as much gusto as a cartoon character; full of life and pleased to have another person to relay all of Minhyuk's misdemeanours to.

You learn more about the Busan Driving Range circuit than you ever could have predicted - specifically about Minhyuk, the legitimacy of his 'bargain' driver, and how Jeongguk's father is convinced he's been tampering with his balls.

Jeongguk chokes on his drink when his dad mentions that last point. Earns himself a talking to for thinking with such a dirty mind - but after a few drinks, his parents are giggling about it, too.

There's something incredibly easy about being around Jeongguk's parents. It's no wonder he's grown into the person he is.

You feel a little shy. Don't understand the in-jokes at first - but someone always explains them to you. Normally Jeongguk, but sometimes his mother. Never his father, 'cause he'll go on a twenty minute long tangent explaining the lore and the back story. They've learnt this the hard way.

Still, he's a dab hand when it comes to grilling the meat. Takes charge of it all. Plates his wife up first, always. You second, Jeongguk third, and then himself. Head of the house, he takes his place in the hierarchy seriously, but not at the expense of the ones he loves. Will make sure they're provided for first.

Jeongguk is much the same. In charge of refilling the soju and beer, he'll pour for his father first, then mother, then you. Puts the bottle down before he fills his own, which is when you step up and fill his glass. He'll nudge with you his knee beneath the table to make you wobble, but never enough to make you spill it.

Subscribing to drinking norms is something that you never really do with Jeongguk. He's a bartender, after all. Things are always a little unconventional. He's normally the one making you drinks and sorting himself out, too.

Something about this feels incredibly domesticated. Natural. Pleasant.

By the time dinner is done, Jeongguk's parents have to order a taxi. Had a little too much to drink- but you're bloody glad for it. Made it a lot easier for you.

"Your parents are fun," you beam, walking down the promenade of Gwangalli with Jeongguk. It's your favourite of all the busy beaches in the city, but you rarely ever get the chance to see it after dark. There'll be a drone show, soon. You've definitely never seen that. Can't wait for it.

"They sure are something," he laughs, a little embarrassed. They have big personalities, which he's glad of, but he knows they can be a bit much sometimes. "Dad drinks well, so we probably had a bit more than we should have done. Sorry."

Shaking your head, you don't mind in the slightest. Are at that giddy stage of drinking, where everything seems marvellous, and bad decisions cosplay as good choices.

"Are you forgetting how we met? I don't mind having one too many, Gguk."

"True," he agrees, checking the time on his phone. Still a good half an hour before the small show. It's just a free thing that the city council puts on every night, not a huge deal to him anymore, but he understands why people romanticise it. Knows that you have to see it.

Tugging on your hand, Jeongguk checks the road before he crosses, dragging you along with him.

"Hm?" You squeak, taken by surprise. A little tipsy, your reflexes aren't as fast as usual, just like tipsy Jeongguk isn't as good at voicing his thought processes as sober Jeongguk usually is.

"Photos," he simply states, leading you into a small retail unit that houses only photo booths.

It's the standard set-up: wall partitions between self-timer camera units, and curtains instead of doors to the small spaces. Each booth has a different colour background, adding to their own individual charms. The walls of the entryway are lined in discarded pictures; friendship groups, couples, first dates, anniversaries, birthdays. Life events, big and small. Moments of time captured to last forever.

Accessories and props are abundant in the entry area - hats, glasses, wigs, signs. Your favourites are always the headbands. Kitty ears, normally, though sometimes you branch out into bunny ears if you're feeling fancy.

There are five booths in total along the back wall, but one in particular grabs your attention: the one advertising Sanrio-themed frames instead of the standard solid colour outline.

"Oh my god," you gasp, and then it's Jeongguk's turn to squeak with confusion. You point to it. Specifically, to the My Melody and Kuromi figures by the bottom of the ad. "It's us."

He smiles. Doesn't really understand your hyper fixation. Agrees nonetheless. "It is us."

The pair of you goof around, picking props. Jeongguk learns that you find him in any sort of animal ears absolutely hilarious, but the second he puts on a yacht captain's hat?

"Take that off right this second," you tell him, voice stern, eyes wide.

He's bemused. Snorts a little. Teeth on show, he's dangerously pretty. So handsome and yet such a little shit. "Why? Like it?"

You turn your nose up. "Hate it."

"I know you're lying," he laughs. Tilts it down. "Is this getting you all hot, B?"

"I'm leaving," you say, because it's so much easier than saying yes.

Something about him in a white shirt, with that hat? White with a navy peak, gold embroidery on the sides? God, you see why the old money girlies like boatmen so much. Decide that you're never getting on a boat with Jeongguk if you want to retain your sanity.

He takes it off. You don't even realise it, but you pout.

"You're so confusing, Byeol," he says as he playfully puts it on your head - and then he's feeling all fucked up too.

Something about a captain's hat. Just really does the trick.

You've both had too much to drink. There's no reason for you both to be getting flustered because of a stupid hat and yet -

"I don't think we should ever touch hats again," Jeongguk says very quickly.

But then you put a pair of kitty ears on and he starts questioning whether or not furries are actually kinda onto something.

He furrows his brows. Picks up a pair of ears. Bunny ones. Black. They're satin and a little too sexy, he thinks, but he's gotta see himself in them.

And when he does?

He kinda gets why girls dress up like cute animals for fancy dress parties. Doesn't wanna blow his own trumpet - but shit. He does look cute.

"Oh my god, YES," you exclaim when you clock his new attire, and quite literally drag him to the booth. He gets no say in the matter, and honestly doesn't care. Is having too much fun with you to take any of this seriously.

You pick the Sanrio framed booth, because of course you do. Jeongguk pops his card in the slot, and lets you click through on the options that you want - 4cut, vertical frame. The classic style. Your favourite.

Turning to Jeongguk, you tweak his glasses a little. Can't decide if they look better hiked up, or further down his perfectly sloped nose.

All Jeongguk can think about is your nose, and much he wants to nudge his up against yours.

And so he does just that.

Doesn't give a fuck.

The camera flashes.

You're caught, forevermore, in your state of Jeongguk-induced hypnosis. The pictures will survive beyond you. Will be stored in boxes to be looked at once, maybe twice by future generations.

One day, no one will know the name of you nor the boy you're with. They won't know how the scent of his aftershave lingers, nor the way your soft exhale of air sounds as you smile. Your present will be lost to history, this photograph? Your legacy.

Nothing will be known of you, and yet this picture alone will tell them everything they need to know.

"We're gonna waste shots," you whisper. The booth takes six photos, but you'll only be allowed to choose four for the printed picture at the end.

The more to choose from, the better.

"So?" Jeongguk smirks. Holds your neck just beneath your jaw. Strokes across your cheek with his thumb. Looks at you with sparkly eyes and a boyish smile that is just begging to be kissed. "Don't you wanna see what it looks like when we kiss?"

"It's intimate," you remind him.

"Maybe - but it's also fun," he reminds you.

The camera flashes again. That's two shots wasted, now.

If you let this carry on, it'll be three, and then one of them will have to be used in the final print.

And yet as Jeongguk nudges against your nose a little deeper, you let him.

When his lips ghost yours, you let him.

When his lips press down, you let him.

You'll let the third photo be taken, because you'll be too busy kissing him back to pay attention.

The fourth, too.

Lips on yours, Jeongguk kisses you in a way that he hasn't done before. It's delicate, and gentle, but his lips are strong. Intentional. There's no intrusion of tongue, no fervent need to get you moaning, even though it feels like you will regardless.

Your brain screams at you. Something about rules, and breaking them.

You ignore it.

'Cause all you can think about is the way this feels.

You don't think you've ever had a kiss like it.

And it's terrifying.

It's not until the fifth shot flashes that you both pull away; smiles smitten, eyes glossy. Both of you felt that. Ain't no way he couldn't have.

You think that maybe that's even more terrifying.

And so for the sixth shot?

Both of you pretend to throw up, disgust plaguing your giggly smiles and blushed cheeks.

There's distance between you, but as soon as the camera flashes, Jeongguk is pulling you back to his side again. It's just so that you're both ready to look through the pictures that are about to pop up on the little touchscreen. He's being helpful. Glances down at you, and has to stop himself from pressing a kiss into your hair.

Things are just so easy with you.

As soon as the pictures load, you're laughing. "We have to retake these."

"No, no, no," he swats your hand away, then taps on one of the photos, adding it to the preview frame. "My jaw looks really good in this one."

It's shot number four. Mid kiss. His hands on your cheeks, yours out of frame because they were on his waist. His jaw really does look fantastic - but it's sort of devastating when you realise just how happy he looks. He's smiling into the kiss. The most devastating thing of all?

So are you.

"How is that even us," you giggle. Seems so bizarre to see yourself like this.

"Gross isn't it," he smiles, adding more of the pictures to the frame, but you're the one correcting him now, tapping his hand to move him out of your way.

"We need them in order," you say. "A chain of events."

Eventually, the order is settled: the nudging of noses, the innocence of a kiss with the sin of Jeongguk's sharp jaw, the slightly startled look in both of your eyes as you'd pulled away, and then, of course, both of you pretending to vomit.

As they print, you pick out props for the next set of photos - Jeongguk in a pair of purple heart-shaped glasses and a Kuromi headband, you in that damn sailor's hat - and discuss which poses to actually do. This time round, it's all peace signs and finger hearts; goofy angles too close to the camera and a little laughter to set the tone.

"C'mon," Jeongguk says softly as you finish sliding the pictures into the thin plastic sleeves next to the booths. He normally doesn't bother with them. Likes that you seem to care about preserving the integrity of your memories. Hand outstretched, he encourages you to take it.

"Your bird," he says. "Said we'd do it in Busan."

The look you give him is coy, eyes a little sultry, lips a little pouty.

When you're silent, Jeongguk laughs. "Hold my hand, B."

"Getting a little date-like, don't you think?" You say of the night, but Jeongguk just shrugs.

"So? We'll just call it practise."

"Mhhm," he nods, shaking his hand a little because you still haven't held it. He's impatient. It's only as you take his hand that he begins talking again. "You don't wanna go back into the dating world unprepared. What if Mr Mechanical Engineer tries to hold your hand without you being ready for it?" He squeezes your hand, leading you out the door. "Let's get you used to it."

The mention of Seojoon makes you feel guilty. About him? About Jeongguk? You're not sure. It's something you need to figure out. Something you need to figure out fast .

And yet as Jeongguk holds both yours and his shoes in one hand, your hand firmly secured in the other, you choose not to think about it.

Just think of the sand, and how it will be a bitch to get out of your tights. It's sort of like your glitter, in a way.

But just like Jeongguk wouldn't trade your glitter for anything, you wouldn't trade this moment for anything either.

Neither of you say much. Just listen to the waves rolling in. Listen to other people's conversations. Listen to the whir of the drones as they start up and get into position. The show begins. Won't last longer than ten minutes. The silence is comfortable.

He holds your hand, and you move them to your lap in a bid to keep them warm.

Jeongguk isn't really feeling the cold. His heart is simply burning too brightly.

"I'm really glad you're here," he says as the show draws to a close.

"Me too," you whisper back fondly. "It must be nice to be home."

"Well, you know they say," he muses. "Home is where the heart is, and all that."

Been at home for months, B.

You breathe through your nose, exhaling a sincere smile. Could say a million things. Could say nothing at all. Could ask what he means, but you're taking it at face value. Genuinely think he's just happy to be home.

"We should visit more often," you suggest.

"I'd like that," he nods as he squeezes your hand. "You wanna go explore the night markets?"

Grinning, you get to your feet immediately. "Thought you'd never ask."

Jeongguk leads the way. Shows you his old haunts. Gets you hotteok from his favourite stand down by the promenade. Shows you the arcade machine he once spunked away 50,000 won on and didn't even win a prize. Shows you the initials he and Jimin caved into a pavement curb fourteen years ago. Took them hours. Both got blisters. Worth it though. They're embedded in the city, forevermore.

He takes you down memory lane, and you find it's your favourite street to visit with Jeongguk. You love his history; learning what shaped him. Who shaped him. Where.

Not once does Jeongguk let go of your hand.

Not down the markets, not along the beach, not in the taxi home, even when he doses off for a moment, head resting on your shoulder.

Not once. Not until you're both home, and he's saying goodnight outside of his brother's bedroom door. He's still toying with your fingers. Isn't even gonna suggest the idea of doing things you know you shouldn't.

Doesn't wanna taint the night.

In the morning, he'll blame all of his bad decisions on the alcohol. Will say he was tipsy, even though you stopped drinking hours ago.

He hugs you goodnight. Lingers a little too long. Too close. Nudges his nose against yours. Brushes his thumb against your cheek.

"This..." he whispers. "This is what it should be like."

His jaw tenses. He holds himself back from pressing his lips against yours like he so desperately wants to. Knows he's already said too much. Pulls himself away from you, to press a kiss against your forehead.

His lip ring is so hard, and his lips so soft, that it makes you feel all sorts of fucked up.

The most fucked up thing of all?

How badly you want his lips on yours.

But then he fucking walks away .

Closes his door. Shuts you out.

The evening had been so simple. So straightforward. Casual. Nothing confusing in the slightest. You were happy. So was he.

And yet as you lie in bed, all that rattles around in your head for hours on end is the question: what the fuck is happening to us?

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI