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moonjxsung · 8 months

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When the Rain Stops

Read part 2 here.

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 9.8k

Warnings: mentions of drinking, mentions of smoking, mentions of cheating, brief comment about calories, use of pet names, sex in a public establishment (no one is around), oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, squirting

Synopsis: A passing storm during a road trip forces you to seek shelter in a little dive bar on the outskirts of town, and you find yourself drawn to the bartender.

18+. Mdni!

•

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, wringing out your stringy wet hair onto the black carpet below you. You know the weather forecast predicted rain- hell, your family even warned you about it when you left their place this morning. But true to your bad luck, you severely underestimated just how much of it. Now, you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere while you wait for the storm to pass.

Okay, maybe not technically the middle of nowhere. But a shitty dive bar surrounded by nothing for miles upon miles isn’t really something to write home about. You know it could be worse- at least here you have access to unlimited alcohol and mozzarella sticks. But a quick look around tells you that’s not enough to redeem it for you.

The place is undoubtedly small, pool tables and red leather booths housing most of the space. Where there’s vacancy at the tables, the servers haven’t bothered to clean up yet, passing by stacks of dirty plates and silverware to serve guests sitting at other tables. A group of men chatter amongst themselves at one of the pool tables, and a single man is sat at the open bar.

You settle on a spot at the open bar, sitting two barstools away from the man and drying your feet on the rug below you.

“What can I get you?” A voice overhead says dryly, and you respond without looking up.

“Just a Coke, maybe? Diet, please.”

You hear the man scoff a little as he retreats, and then you finally look up, slightly offended at his reaction.

He’s walking away from the bar when you see him, only the back of his head visible from behind the counter where you’re sat.

As he disappears into the back to grab a coke, you pull your cell phone out of your bag. You wipe raindrops off the screen with the sleeve of your sweater, pushing the lock button to catch up on unread texts. There are only two, both from your parents, warning you about the rain and requesting you turn back for the night.

You shoot them back a text, assuring them you’ve found someplace safe to stay, and that you won’t be driving in this rain until the storm blows over. But the truth is, you’re rather unsure of that yourself. Your phone currently reads at 26% battery, the storm is predicted to go on for several hours, and there are seemingly no hotels nearby to stay the night. Chances are, you’re going to be here for a good while.

A veiny hand places an iced glass of your Diet Coke in front of you as you finish sending the texts, and you look up to lock eyes with the bartender.

He’s rather tall, with light brown hair that falls just above his soft round eyes, totally contradicting the sharpness in his jawline and nose bridge. The man is dressed formally in a white button-up shirt and a black tie, rolled up halfway at the sleeves, the top two buttons undone to reveal just a glimpse of his broadened chest.

“Is that it?” He asks. His stare is cold and serious, and you find yourself a little intimidated in this proximity to him.

“Yes, thank you. Do you happen to have a phone charger?”

He scoffs again.

“This isn’t a convenience store.”

“I’m aware,” you reply with narrowed eyes. “I just need to make a few calls.”

“There’s a pay phone in the back.”

It’s your turn to scoff. He’s calculated with his words, like he’s trying his best to get you to leave the bar. But you’re as stubborn as they come, and it’ll take a lot more than rude customer service to make you leave in this storm.

“Look, I’m not using a pay phone unless you’re supplying quarters. You don’t have an iPhone charger?”

He rolls his eyes.

“No, I don’t have an iPhone charger. And I’m not supplying you with anything- this isn’t a convenience store. Unless you want a vodka sprite or some chicken wings, I think we’re all done here.”

Before you can reply, he turns on his heel, making his way back to the kitchen and disappearing behind the double doors once again.

The doors swing in and out a few times before coming to a halt, and you stare through the circular window as he resumes cooking something in the kitchen.

Unpleasant- the personalities of everyone in your parents’ neighboring town, miles away from your apartment in the city. It reminds you precisely why you seldom visit these parts.

“Don’t take it personal,” a voice from beside you says. He shifts to face you from his bar stool. “He’s always like that.”

The stranger is well-dressed in a coat and slacks, his black hair styled neatly out of his face.

“Surprised he keeps any business at all with an attitude like that.”

“The locals don’t get the worst of it,” he continues. “Mostly us city-dwellers he despises.”

A small smile forms on your face. “You’re from the city too?”

“Yeah!” he replies enthusiastically. “I’m just passing through for the weekend.”

“Me too! Though I got stuck on the way back home. Doesn’t seem like we’ll be able to leave for a few hours.”

“Oh yeah,” the man says. “It’s really bad out there.”

You shift your attention to the large window at the back of the bar- the rain is still coming down in sheets over the glistening black pavement, nothing visible beyond the blurry traffic lights as the trees melt into an abyss of darkness. The roads appear empty and the parking lot seems fuller than usual for a bar like this.

“I’m Jisung, by the way,” he says finally.

You turn back to him and nod once. “Y/n. It’s great to meet you.”

As Jisung indulges you in conversation about city life, you learn he’s a businessman who visits the area on Saturdays when he gathers in the town with old friends. He also lives alone in a high-rise apartment, he’s single, and he comes to this particular dive bar for the chicken wings. Ones he insists you have to try, so you waive over the bartender to place another order.

“Excuse me, could we get an order of chicken wings?”

The bartender scribbles something and walks away quickly, hardly acknowledging you the way he did earlier.

“You know,” Jisung says. “Maybe the rain isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve been talking to the prettiest girl in this bar for the last 30 minutes. Beats being stuck in traffic any day.”

You feel your whole face turn a bright shade of crimson as he grins flirtatiously. Of course, the other way around stands true, too; his features resemble that of a model’s, and you're pretty sure the other girls in the bar have been eyeing him since you walked in.

Before you can respond, the bartender returns, setting a plate down in front of you and some silverware.

“Enjoy,” he says plainly, and he blinks a few times before leaving again.

“Jeez, it’s like he doesn’t even want to work here,” you tell Jisung.

He says nothing in response- he simply slides the plate over to you, ushering for you to choose a piece.

And you do, carefully balancing the saucy cut between your forefinger and thumb as Jisung taps his against yours.

“Cheers,” he says happily. “To the rain.”

The chicken is the best you’ve had in a while- in fact, you can’t recall having better food at any bar before this.

“Wow, you were right, Jisung. this is phenomenal!”

“It’s Minho’s recipe,” he replies with a mouthful of food.

“Who’s Minho?”

Jisung nods in the direction of the bar, where the bartender is cleaning off a glass with a white towel. He raises his eyebrows once at you, as if to confirm he’s indeed the topic of conversation, and you turn back to Jisung.

“It’s really good,” you say loudly, with the intention of Minho hearing your compliment.

But Minho doesn’t respond, instead sauntering over and refilling your Diet Coke. His eyes visibly avoid yours, guarded, like you might instigate another quarreling match with him at any given second. But he also blinks rapidly as he pours your beverage, almost as if he’s trying not to say something himself. You analyze his mannerisms briefly, before brushing them off and enjoying your food again. He’s probably just still peeved from earlier.

“Do you want to play a round of pool?” Jisung interrupts your thoughts. “Not to scare you, but I’m kind of terrible at it.”

His eyes form little crescents as he laughs loudly, and the gloomy vibe in the bar seems to brighten from the sound alone.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

Three rounds in, Jisung is practically sober again, reeling off the high from winning three times against you. He might be terrible, but you’re evidently far worse than he claims to be.

“If I win this match, you let me take you out on a date. How does that sound?” Jisung says through laughter, though he’s entirely serious about the proposal.

Your cue stick prods at his ribs as you smile back in agreement. “And if you lose?”

“I won’t lose,” Jisung retorts. “Might as well pick a restaurant now.”

It’s a failure already, Jisung having only two stripes left while you’re still stuck with all 8 solids. He takes his aim at the cue ball, halting his laughter briefly to position his cue stick, and then cheering loudly as the ball disappears into its nearest hole. You watch with bated breath as he repeats the process, only this time, he misses.

“Hey,” you whine. “You only brought up our proposal midway through this round. At least I deserve a chance card!”

He scoffs. “Pick a chance then. I doubt it’ll get you 7 balls closer to your competition.”

You scan the room in deep thought, one hand resting under your chin and atop the cue stick; and then, the idea hits you.

“He’ll play for me,” you announce, nodding toward the direction of where Minho is wiping down the counter with a rag. He looks up momentarily, furrowing his brows when he notices the shared looks of you and Jisung.

“Get over here!” Jisung shouts, and a few patrons of the tables nearby encourage the invitation, cheering and applauding.

“No,” Minho says as he shakes his head shyly. “I’m busy.”

“There’s literally no one around,” Jisung retorts. “Come on, I know you can try at least once.”

“He’s scared he’ll lose,” you chime in. “And then you’ll have to take me out on a date.”

You swear you see Minho’s eyes narrow, and then he dries his hands with the same rag before setting it down.

“One round only. If I win, you tip double.”

“Deal,” says Jisung, and you watch Minho strut over to the table.

He’s taller than you assumed, towering over you in a black pair of slacks that lengthen his muscular legs. In preparation, Minho cuffs up his sleeves a few more times, buttoning them at the forearm and loosening his collar. You try your hardest not to stare, but it’s a seemingly impossible task, you quickly realize, as he takes your cue stick and positions himself over the table. One loose strand of brown hair falls into his face, and you resist the urge to move it out of the way for him.

The tables nearby are quiet as Minho pulls back, and then aims, the first of your solids rolling into the hole with ease.

“Oh fuck you,” Jisung groans, and Minho positions himself over the next target. Aim, roll back, perfect shot.

Tables around you begin to gather around yours, watching silently as Minho repeats his method. Aim, roll, shoot. The heavy sound of a solid rolling down the velvety surface, and the satisfying plink as it finds its home inside the hole.

Only two solids remain, and Jisung rests his head on his cue stick as Minho takes aim again. “I can’t watch. Someone tell me if he gets it.”

Aim… roll… and double plink- both solids disappear into the hole beneath them, effectively ending the match between the two. The patrons clap and cheer loudly, and Jisung throws his hands in the air, groaning in annoyance. “Fuck, man! You didn’t say you knew how to play pool?”

Minho shrugs, not a hint of a smile on his face as he retrieves the balls and organizes them on the table again. Jisung slides him a twenty, and he shoots you a quick glance, nodding once as he leaves the table and disappears back into the kitchen. You wonder again what he’s thinking about, briefly worried you’ve annoyed him by pulling him away from his work.

“Hey,” Jisung says, snapping you out of your tranced state. “Did you want to… maybe… get out of here? I know a hotel just a few blocks from the bar. We can walk fast.”

You think it over momentarily, weighing your options. The rain has no intention of stopping anytime soon, and you’re dying for a shower at this point. You’re also persuaded by the idea of a warm bed- not to mention, a warm body, for the night.

“Sure! I’m just going to run to the bathroom, I’ll meet you outside.”

The reflection in the mirror looks rough, staring back at you like this, desperately fixing the smudged makeup to the best of your ability and spritzing perfume. It’s been a while since you hooked up with a random person- especially one from a dive bar like this, but somehow you trust him. He’s funny, sweet, and he’s undoubtedly attractive. Plus, maybe a hookup will distract you from the current state of things.

When you exit, you make your way past the barstools, thanking Minho briefly. His lips curl up into a hint of a smile, and you can’t help but feel bad for him- he’s stuck in this shitty bar regardless, dealing with obnoxious patrons seeking shelter from the storm and cleaning up after their drunken messes. He may be a little rude, but it’s deserved, you think, as he cleans off your dishes.

Finally exiting the bar, you look around for Jisung, shielding your eyes from sheets of rain and squinting against the dark sky. The only source of light is a hanging light beside the wooden bar sign, and it illuminates nothing past your immediate eyesight.

“Jisung?” You call, being met only with the sounds of heavy rainfall and swaying leaves.

“Jisung?”

The wind blows violently, and you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering against the brutal cold. A man enters the bar beside you, keeping the door open and ushering you inside. And you do enter again, marching straight to the bar to search for Jisung.

“Excuse me,” you say to Minho, who is busy preparing a beer on tap for another patron. “Did you see the man who was here earlier? Tall, black hair, suit?”

“You mean Jisung?” He says without looking at you, and you perk up at his name.

“Yes! Did you see where he went?”

“Yeah,” Minho replies dryly. “I told him you changed your mind about him.”

“You- what?”

Minho says nothing again, filling another mug of beer and sliding it across the counter to a patron.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“He’s bad news,” Minho shrugs.

The words circle in your head for a good minute while you make sense of them. Minho ruined your chances at going home with Jisung- because he’s “bad news”? What does he even know about him?

“Why do you say that?” The question escapes your lips before you can ponder a more insightful one.

“I know him,” he replies casually. “Like I said- bad news.”

Frustration builds up steadily inside of you, turning your ears a bright shade of crimson and knitting your brows together in pure confusion.

“Who are you to determine that? You’re just a bartender! It’s none of your damn business who I leave with!”

He slaps a palm on the counter, not particularly hard, but enough to startle you a little.

“Actually, it is. I have a legal obligation to ensure my patrons don’t leave here inebriated behind a vehicle, or with strange men. And I saved you from the latter. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” You scoff. “Since I walked in here you’ve been nothing but a complete douche! There’s nothing to thank you for.”

“Then don’t,” Minho says. “I did my part either way.”

You stutter momentarily, settling on silence as he exits back to the kitchen and leaves you standing at the counter. The current state of things feels much like they did when you first entered- drenched from the rain, frustrated, and annoyed with the bartender. Only now, you can add cockblocked to the list, all thanks to Minho.

Two hours past the incident, your phone is completely dead. It’s just past 11 when the rain stills just for a little bit, and hoards of patrons file out of the bar to complete their short trips home. You remain stuck however, knowing the rain will pick up again if you attempt the six hour drive back right now. The bar is nearly empty at this hour, only two people sat at a far table, and the quiet swing of jazz music is now audible from your little booth. The peeling leather of the red seats below you is rather itchy, and the dim lantern hanging over you gives an orange-ish glow to the wooden table beneath you. You scribble mindless doodles on a stack of napkins in front of you, trying your best to pass the agonizing time spent here.

As you finalize the petals of a messy flower drawn on the napkin, a plate is set down in front of you, along with a glass of what you presume is Diet Coke. The smell instantly makes your mouth water- a cheesy omelet coupled with a side of french fries, steam still wafting off the plate and up into the glow of the booth’s lighting. You look up to see none other than Minho, and before you can protest, he slides into the booth across from you, setting a fork down on your napkin.

“You should eat,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s on me,” Minho emphasizes, and you finally look up from your drawing.

“Look,” he begins. “Jisung has been coming here for years. He’s a cool dude, I get it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly like I have a chance with him anymore,” you turn back to your drawing.

“He’s also married,” Minho finishes.

At that, your head snaps up at him, eyes widened in shock.

“What? But he said-”

“Yeah, that’s what he always says. It’s kind of his thing- picking up girls from the bar and taking them to that one hotel. I told you, he’s bad news.”

Silence washes over the booth as you swallow nervously. He shrugs apologetically, fiddling with his fingers as you begin to speak.

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t. I just didn’t want you to come back here crying tomorrow morning like the last girl did.”

It hits you like a ton of bricks- Minho really was looking after you. You’d almost left this strange dive bar, in the middle of nowhere, to sleep with a married man in a sketchy hotel. In hindsight, it was stupid you ever agreed.

“At least eat some fries,” he says, and you remember the plate in front of you. You comply with his request, taking a bite of the still-warm fries which almost melt on your tongue.

“These are really good,” you tell him. “He was right about the food, at least.”

“I’m kind of a big deal here,” Minho says as he leans back. He smirks- the first time you’ve seen an expression on his face tonight.

“I’m sure. How did you get so good at pool, anyway?”

“I work at a dive bar,” Minho says. “Girls ask me to play with them all the time.”

“Do they now? Your reluctance earlier says otherwise.”

“Oh they do,” Minho says. “When they’re as shitty as you, I’m the chance card.”

“Hey!” You shout. Minho giggles, his head thrown back as his eyes form little crescents in amusement. His laugh makes you laugh, too, the musical sound of it making your heartbeat quicken a little. It’s melodic and lighthearted, and you almost forget you’re stuck with him in this hell of a bar. There’s a glow to him at this time of night.

“Run it back,” you say as his laughter dies down. “And I’ll show you I’m not entirely terrible.”

“Better hope you don’t lose,” he says. “You won’t have a chance card this time.”

You still suck at pool. Minho clears the table in two quick rounds, and you’ve barely had time to practice with your cue stick because it’s hardly ever your turn.

“Alright,” Minho says. “I’ll let you have this turn. It’s boring watching you stand there all night.”

You approach the table, positioning your cue stick and taking aim at your first solid of the match.

“Use your thumb on the front hand,” he chimes in.

“Like this?”

“No, it should be between your thumb and pointer finger.”

“Like I’m pinching it?” You ask confused, and Minho chuckles.

“Here.”

Before you can adjust your cue stick again, Minho is behind you, one hand finding yours at the front of the cue stick and positioning it between your thumb and pointer finger like he explained. His hands are cold to the touch, and you’re intimidated having him this close to you. The other hand gently grips your elbow, moving it back a little as he scans the current trajectory. His face is dangerously close to yours, hair falling beautifully into his eyes as he moves, lips parted in concentration and the gentle flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks.

“There. Try now.”

You do as he instructs, rolling back and taking aim at your solid. Aim, shoot… and the familiar roll of your ball across the table. Only this time, it’s followed by the satisfying sound of falling into its respective hole.

“Oh my gosh!” You exclaim. “That’s only the third one I’ve gotten tonight!”

Minho chuckles, amused with your ardent reaction. “Your aim isn’t bad at all. It’s just your positioning.”

He turns to smile at you, momentarily unaware of how close he is to you. He’s towering over you, lips pulled into a mischievous grin as your eyes glimmer, still reeling off the high of scoring. For a brief second, your eyes flicker down to his lips, maybe a little too obviously, and then back up at his eyes.

“I should probably get back to the kitchen,” Minho says nervously. “I think that table ordered drinks like one round ago.”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little hurt that he’s leaving again. “I’m pretty tired, anyway.”

“You want something else to eat?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Good luck with work, though!” You avert his gaze fully now, mentally tracing the pattern on the rug below you.

When Minho leaves, you can’t help but mentally scold yourself. He’s just a bartender- one whose job is to serve you drinks and keep you out of trouble here. Not some friend to stand around and play pool with, regardless of how good he is, or hypnotizing it feels when he touches you.

At 1am, the bar is officially empty. The last few patrons leave after a round of gin vodkas, somehow getting an Uber despite the storm and leaving home for the night. You debate getting a room at the nearby hotel, but there’s no way you’ll be able to reserve a room this late, and your phone is still dead. It would probably be smart to attempt some method of getting home, but a part of you strangely doesn’t want to leave the bar anymore. It feels like a vessel into another universe, like time doesn’t exist here, like the storm or the ride home aren’t important as long as you’re sat in this little booth. You’re well aware the bar closes in an hour, but you’d rather wait until the hour to decide what to do.

Of course, part of it could be the bartender. You don’t want to like Minho, but you can’t quite make sense of him, either. He’s attractive, but reserved. He’s outgoing, but he has his guard up. And his walls break down when he’s enjoying himself, but he builds them up quickly again, and you can’t understand what triggers it. He’s much like the bar is- safe and homely, yet mysterious and alluring.

As you take a sip of your Diet Coke, neck craned to watch the show playing on the tv above you, a familiar face scoots into the booth across from you.

“Subway,” he says.

“What?”

“Jeopardy. Restaurants by slogan: Eat Fresh. It’s Subway.” He's referring to the episode of Jeopardy you’ve been watching for the past half hour.

“Everyone knows that,” you say with a smile.

You expect him to defend himself, but instead he laughs and shakes his head.

“Either our diet cokes are really good, or you’re not in any rush to get home.”

You sigh, swirling your straw around your third can of Coke and shrugging.

“I can’t make it home in this rain. The roads are closed going my direction, anyway.”

“Where’s home?”

“Far from here. In the city.”

Minho sits back comfortably now, arms crossed in front of him as he listens to you speak.

“City girl. I guessed it.”

“What gave me away?” You ask with a smile.

“iPhone charger request. And you drink Diet Coke exclusively.”

“I don’t like to waste my calories!” You argue.

“You’re in a dive bar.”

The two of you share laughter at your admission, and you can feel your cheeks heat up again. He sure knows how to make you laugh.

“I’ll probably get a motel room for tonight,” you say. “I think there’s one walking distance from here.”

“The nearest one is a shithole. I’m pretty sure someone died there, like, a few months ago.”

You exhale deeply, poking around at your drink with your straw.

“I have work on Monday. I have to get some shut-eye or I won’t be able to get home even if it does stop raining.”

Minho glances around the bar, observing the vacant tables and empty parking lot.

“Yah, Jeongin-ah!” He shouts suddenly, and a figure appears around the kitchen door, peering over at your table.

“Yeah?”

“Clock out,” Minho says. “We’re closing an hour early.”

“An hour? But what if-”

“No one else is coming in this rain. Just grab your stuff And get home safely. I’ll handle the rest of the tables.”

Jeongin’s gaze darts over at you quickly, and then back to Minho, as he nods without saying another word. He disappears into the kitchen once again, presumably to gather his belongings.

“You don’t have to close on account of me,” you say finally, a little unsure of his motives. “I can walk to the motel from here.”

He scoffs, sliding out from the booth and gathering a stack of dirty dishes from the table beside you. “I told you, it’s not safe. You can chill here for the next hour while I do closing procedures, and if it’s still raining, I can at least give you a ride there.”

“Why should I trust you?” You ask, hint of sarcasm present in your voice, but still cautious.

“Technically you shouldn’t,” he says with a smile. “But you’re free to call the cops on me whenever you want.”

“Nice try. My phone's dead.” You shoot him a smile, knowing he’s just messing with you, but wanting to entertain his little game nonetheless.

“Back room, third drawer in the file cabinet. There should be a phone charger there.”

You gasp and scoff. “I thought this wasn’t a convenience store!”

“It’s not,” Minho says, flashing you a toothy smile as he makes his way to the kitchen and calls out over his shoulder. “It’s a dive bar. My dive bar.”

Minho scrubs grease off the plates while you dry mugs on the counter adjacent to him and arrange them neatly in a row.

“So you haven’t left this town in years?” You ask Minho, continuing the conversation you’ve been having with him for the past 45 minutes.

“I drive to the city probably once a year,” he replies. “Hate it.”

“Why?”

“It’s too busy. I prefer simple. Simple people, simple places. A simple life.”

“How can you say that when you’ve never experienced it the other way around before?”

“Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Experienced a simpler life. Outside of the city.”

“Well… kind of. I mean, I moved out the second I turned 18. Grew up in the suburbs, but I traveled to the city every chance I got. I always knew I wanted to be there.”

“So you’ve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible?”

“I guess not.”

He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm.

“I grew up in the city.”

“You did?”

“Hated it,” Minho says.

“Why’s that?”

“I was… easily distracted. Got involved with a lot of bad crowds. Never knew what I wanted. Worked as a private chef for a while, actually.”

You stop drying the mug you’re working on and look at him in utter shock.

“You?”

“Me,” he affirms with a chuckle. “I quit one random day five years ago and moved out here with every penny I saved. Obtained ownership of this bar and haven’t looked back since.”

You nod at his words, resuming your task as he shuts off the water.

“Takes some courage, I’ll give you that.”

Minho leans back against the counter and rests his hands on the table behind him. He smirks at you knowingly, and you can feel his eyes pierce through you out of your peripheral vision.

“What?” You say with a blushing grin.

“Nothing,” he replies. “You make a good employee here.”

“Yeah, right,” you say sarcastically, lining up the last mug on the counter and turning around to face him.

“I’d probably start a fire with running water or something crazy.”

He laughs again, shaking his head as you cross your arms.

“I need to close up the registers,” Minho says. “You want to hang out here until I’m done?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he bows slightly.

“I’ll try to be fast.”

Minho leaves to the back office as you wipe your hands with a dish rag, smiling in a daze.

While Minho counts change in the office, you explore the place a bit, making your way around the pool tables to the back of the bar. It’s then that you notice a tall staircase almost hidden away in a back corner. You slowly make your way up the stairs, tip-toeing so as not to startle Minho while he’s in the office closing up for the night. The creaky wooden stairs are muffled by the sound of the rain outside.

When you reach the top, you lean on the banister, looking down on the bar and taking in the view. It looks especially charming like this, illuminated only by the golden neon sign hung over the bar counter and reflecting off the big glass cabinets. Entrance through a small doorway leads to a single, dark room, and you turn on the dim light to explore the room.

There are only two things in the room- another pool table, visibly much older than the others downstairs, and an old arcade game. Upon closer inspection, you find that the game is a run-down version of Pac-Man, one of your favorite arcade games growing up. The giant yellow display is decorated with whimsical little drawings of Pac-Man and ghosts, and you can’t help but crack a smile at the sight, remembering the days you used to play as a kid.

You try the on switch, being met with a buzzing noise and the glow of red marquee lights, but nothing appears on the screen. Bummer, you think to yourself.

“It’s never turned on,” a voice says behind you, and you let out a shout, startled at the sudden noise.

When you turn around, Minho is standing with his hands in his pockets, a black blazer thrown over his button up shirt and a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Got it as a donation a few months ago and it’s lived up here ever since. I think it’d be a hit, if it actually worked.”

You turn back to the machine, observing the gentle hum from the static on the monitor display.

“It’s probably something with the PCB,” you reply, and Minho turns to look at you.

“The what?”

“The printed circuit board,” You repeat, setting your purse down on the floor beside you. “You have a screwdriver?”

Minho’s brows furrow together in confusion, but he nods slowly. “Yeah, sure.”

He leaves momentarily and returns with the requested tool, watching as you drop to your knees and unscrew the door to the cabinet.

“The lights turn on, which is a good thing,” you explain to him. “Means the monitor is still in good condition. So It’s probably just slowed down with general wear.”

When the cabinet door is off, Minho leans back against the pool table and observes as you pull out little parts from the myriad of pieces along the circuit.

“I figured,” You say, sitting back with a tissue in hand. “The EPROMs and ROMs are all warped.”

You pull a bobby pin out from your hair, gently wiggling the pins back in place before cleaning them off with a tissue.

Minho is lost as he watches you, mouth agape at the level of focus in your expression, tongue poking out between your lips as you move with purpose and determination. He realizes he may have undermined you this whole time, thinking secretly you’d crave a simpler life, when all along it was your intelligence and wit that drew you to the city. You’re as complex as the city, he thinks. You can’t be confined within the safety of these four walls like he can. And maybe he’s complex, too. But he’s not sure of himself the way you seem to be.

When you’re finished wiping down the acronyms of pieces, you fit them back in and screw back on the door. Minho watches curiously as you plug in the machine again, reaching around the frame for the switch and flipping it on.

The familiar hum of the screen starts up again, only this time it flashes a bright white color, and then displays PAC-MAN as soft music begins to play.

“Holy shit,” Minho says with a breathy chuckle. “That would've been thousands to get repaired.”

“Take it as a thank you,” you say. “For helping me out tonight.”

You hoist yourself up on the pool table and gesture to the display as he stares in awe. “Try it!”

Minho presses the red START button, chuckling when the familiar tune starts up and the game begins. He makes it through a few rows before getting eaten by a pixelated ghost, groaning when the game flashes GAME OVER and starts up another round.

But he doesn’t resume playing, instead turning around to face you with an unmoving expression.

“It’s drizzling,” he says, looking past you out the little window.

“Mhm,” you reply, though you’re not registering a word he's saying anymore. He’s dangerously close to you again, eye-level with you while you’re sat atop the pool table and not taking your gaze off him.

He seems to be trembling with anticipation, his gaze flickering down to your lips and back up to your eyes, hoping you’ll notice the motion and do something, anything with it.

“We should probably get going,” You say in a whisper.

He swallows cautiously. “Yeah.”

“Right now that the rain is a little lighter.”

“Yeah,” he says again, though neither of you make any move to leave.

“Thanks for tonight,” you reply, your eyes fully locked on his lips now.

Minho begins to say something, but his voice hitches in his throat, instead opting to swallow and and take a single step forward. And before you can say another word, his face tilts in front of you, gently pressing his lips to yours.

He kisses you gently, but he doesn’t waste any time, hands caressing your waist in his embrace and pressing up against you. He tastes like mint, his tongue mixing the flavor with the taste of Diet Coke still in your mouth. When he pulls away, he says nothing, searching your expression for a sign of how you’re feeling. You say nothing, too, eyes flickering over his serious gaze and waiting for him to break the silence.

When he still doesn’t talk, you reach out to grab his collar, pulling him toward you again. You kiss him first this time, slipping your tongue inside his parted lips to taste him fully, gripping his collar like you might lose him if you let go.

“Fuck,” Minho says, pulling away and breathing heavily. He squeezes his eyes shut, a nervous expression tugging at his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t do this,” Minho replies. “With patrons. I just… I don’t know what got into me…”

His words trail off as you work little kisses down his jawline and neck, nibbling over his clavicle and humming greedily against him.

“What if I wanted you to?”

Minho stares at the ceiling as you work him, breath hitching in his throat as you trail even lower.

You pull away from him, tilting his gaze down to meet yours with a hand on his cheek.

“Say you don’t want to kiss me again,” you clarify. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

His eyes narrow, piercing through yours as his hands rest gently on your upper thighs.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” Minho says seriously.

Your heart drops instantly, the anticipation that had built up pending his answer quickly fizzling as his words pierce through you. Your throat is dry, dozens of questions circling your mind, but nothing that comes to fruition amidst your disappointment. Guess it wasn’t the way you’d read into it all night.

“Okay.” Your voice is shaky, doing nothing to mask your disappointment.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” Minho says again quickly, his thumbs tracing circle patterns on your thighs. He leans in again, lips just barely grazing over yours as he speaks in a whisper. “I want you right here, on this table, right now. I want to do a lot more than just kiss you.”

Your heartbeat resumes, pulsing wildly as he scans your face for a reaction. You don’t grant him one through your facial expressions- rather, you pull him in by his collar once again, closing the gap between you and kissing him even harder this time. You can feel Minho smirking into the kiss, amused with how desperate you are at the simple admission.

His hands snake up your sweater, grabbing desperately at your lower back and pressing into you with his hips. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, neck craned to the side for easy access while he begins to work kisses down your neck now.

“You really suck at pool,” Minho says as he smiles against your skin. His lips find yours again, giving you repeated chaste kisses as you tangle your hands in his hair. His lips feel familiar on yours- almost like you’ve done this a hundred times before. You can’t imagine a version of him you weren’t kissing like this.

“You’re calculated,” you say, smiling as you loosen the black tie around his neck.

“How so?”

“No phone charger, you only agree to play pool when a date with Jisung is on the line, and you’ve gotten me to stick around this long? You’re not as slick as you think you are.”

Minho throws his head back a little, his eyebrows arching as he laughs loudly.

“You might be a genius at fixing arcade games, but you don’t have everything figured out the way you think you do.”

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

He pulls away again, completing your task of loosening his tie, and then discarding it completely on the table beside you.

“It stopped raining 15 minutes ago,” he says slyly. “And suddenly you’re in no rush to go home anymore.”

His eyebrows are raised as his hands caress your thighs, moving higher until he’s grazing your hip bones with his fingertips. You don’t reply, suddenly hot at his words, and knowing he’s in fact entirely correct about it. It’s the opportunity you’ve been waiting around for all night- a break in the rainfall to get back to your car and make it to a hotel for the night. But paired against the other opportunity right in front of you- the one wearing nothing but a loosened white shirt and a devilish smirk on his face, you can’t do much but resort to the latter.

“You gonna spread for me?” Minho asks in a gentle teasing tone, his voice much quieter than before as your breath hitches in your throat. You nod, disregarding his first statement and doing as you’re told, slipping off your jeans and opening your legs just enough so that he can move his fingertips to graze your inner thighs. It feels dirty like this, so sinful for your skin to make contact with the velvety table below you. But you’re too dazed with lust, completely encapsulated by his movements to do anything except obey him.

“Good girl,” Minho replies, and your heartbeat quickens at the praise.

His hands dance in gentle back and forth motions along your thighs, gradually getting closer to your core, until his middle finger rests gently atop your clothed clit.

Your eyes dart down to his hand briefly, waiting desperately for him to touch you, to kiss you, anything.

“Look at me,” Minho says.

And you do, making eye contact again with his cold stare, piercing salaciously through your doe eyes.

Another smirk grows on his face as he crouches lower, and lower, dropping to his knees until he’s eye level with your aching pussy.

“Please…” you say, resting your weight back on your palms and spreading your legs further for him. Your breaths are labored, eyebrows arched up at just the thought of his tongue on you.

“Please what?”

“Please, would you… eat me out?” You request quietly, somehow internally panicked that he’ll decline.

But he doesn’t- instead he loops a finger through your underwear, pulling down in a sudden motion, eyes widened at the sight of you like this. You’re swollen with arousal, clit visibly quivering at the proximity of his breath against your folds. Your pussy is deliciously sopping for him, glazed juices painting your cunt all for him.

“God,” he breaks the silence. “You’re soaking. I could probably put it in now and you’d take it, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t answer him, tucking strands of hair behind your ears and looking down on him with anticipation.

“Okay,” Minho says with a slight chuckle. “Just relax for me.”

And without wasting another minute, his hands find purchase on your knees, scooting you closer to the edge of the table before finally burying his face in you. His tongue licks a long stripe along your pussy, smiling at the taste, before his lips latch themselves around your clit and suck harshly.

Your eyes roll back almost instantly, completely lost in the sensation of his tongue gliding back and forth over your folds like a starved animal. His plump lips remain latched to your clit, suckling with lewd wet noises and basking in the flavor of your arousal for him. As your legs tremble with pleasure, your hands quickly find themselves tangled in his hair, grinding him up against you and using his face to satisfy the delicious ache between your legs. Minho is well aware of your desperation, pulling away mere centimeters to grin at your reaction.

“Don’t stop,” you say, massaging his tresses in encouragement to keep going. Minho chuckles, this time latching on to your bundle of nerves with a gentle graze of his bunny teeth. He nibbles tenderly, eyes rolling up to watch your reaction as you sense the shift in his actions.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out frantically. “That feels so fucking good."

Minho smiles into your pussy, giving one small lick with his tongue before utilizing his velvety lips on your clit once again.

“Mmh…” he hums into your pussy, sending divine vibrations that tickle your arousal and instinctively make you moan for him.

“You taste so good,” Minho says between suckling. “I wanna make you cum for me.”

You nod down at him, rubbing little circles on his scalp and throwing your head back when he dips his tongue into your entrance.

“Oh god!”

At first he takes little kitten licks at your entrance, coming back up to kiss your clit repeatedly while you wait in anticipation. And then he brings a hand up to your entrance, sliding one finger in and working it around your pussy as he continues the unwavering attention on your bundle of nerves.

“Yeah, just like that,” you encourage him.

“You like it when I do both at once?” Minho inquires with a knowing smile.

“Yes, fuck” you can hardly answer him between the high-pitched moans that fill the dark room.

“Like when I fill you up?” A kiss on your clit. “Like when I taste you?” He laps at your folds. “Like when I fuck you like this?” Two fingers pump in and out of you now, smearing your arousal back on your clit which he wastes no time lapping up on his tongue.

“Yes, fuck Minho! Please, I’m gonna cum-”

“Cum, then. Want you to make a mess on my face.”

His fingers pump at an even faster pace while he sucks your clit between his teeth and emits a deep moan against your wetness. The vibration of his voice gives attention to the rest of your aching pussy, which finally contracts desperately around his fingers as you leak cum on his tongue. Minho licks you clean, chuckling against you when he takes your clit between his teeth again and hears you gasp in overstimulation.

Both of you say nothing as he stands back up, eye-level to you once again, his chin glazed in your juices. He rests his hands on your thighs as he did before, leaning in to press a sweet kiss on your lips and smile against you. Your hands toy with his belt buckle, tracing the pattern in your fingertips before slowly undoing the buckle and snaking the belt out from the loops on his trousers.

“Let me return the favor?” You ask against his lips, and he takes a sharp breath when you unzip his pants.

“Can I be honest?” Minho replies, and you pull away to look him in the eyes. His round eyes are dark, hooded with lust and curiously peering back at you.

He grins sheepishly, massaging your thighs with the palms of his hands as he speaks. “I think I’ve been hard for you the second you walked in here.”

The words make your heart flutter, suddenly much more aware of his contact against your skin, an insatiable desire to satisfy him and let him do whatever he may please.

Maybe you were the one mistaken all night- maybe Minho’s curt attitude and cold demeanor wasn’t in fact discourteousness at all. Perhaps he was just as drawn to you as you were to him. And now here you are, each drawn to the other like moths to a burning flame, eager to explore and make the fleeting moment last in any way you could.

You laugh at his admission, moving strands of hair out from his face and tucking your face in the crook of his neck, where he presses a chaste kiss to your temple through nervous laughter of his own.

“Yeah?” You say finally. “What are you going to do about it?”

Minho narrows his eyes with a challenging expression, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you off the table, where he now towers over you and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Turn around,” he orders candidly. Your heart flutters again at the implication- him ordering you around like this when he’s already satisfied you once. But the tone he maintains is both sweet and inviting, and you know his intentions are the same as yours.

You follow his command, facing the pool table as he presses you against the edge, arms wrapping around your waist and peppering your shoulders in little kisses.

His hands snake up your sweater, where he now cups your breasts in his large palms and unclasps your bra. Once you’re bare, you hear him pull down his trousers, the muffled sound sending chills down your spine. If you weren’t dripping with anticipation before, you certainly are now. Minho latches his lips onto your throat, suckling just enough to mark purple bruises along your neck and collarbones. Part of you wants to deny him the little pleasure, reminding him that you have work on Monday and you can’t show up looking like you spent the weekend at a frat party. But the way his skewed front teeth nibble at your flesh stings delightfully, and you can’t bring yourself to protest it.

It’s then that you feel him behind you- his erection pressing into your upper thigh. He pushes into you with force, grinding softly on your skin and moaning against your neck when he feels you lean back into him.

One of your hands reaches out to palm him over the fabric of his boxers, and he lets out a soft whimper at the contact.

“Jesus,” he says “I can’t wait anymore. Prop your leg up for me, baby. On the- yeah, just like that.”

He guides you with one hand, moving your thigh up so that he has better access to your cunt as he palms himself more with his other hand.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, now freeing his cock from his boxers and tapping gently at your entrance. The sensation of his bare flesh against yours has you in a daze, desperate to be filled up by him.

“Mhm,” you say, drunk off the feeling of him behind you like this.

“Gonna put it in now, okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathing heavily as he jerks himself a few times. And without another minute to spare, he’s sliding himself inside of you, bottoming out almost instantaneously as your pussy takes him with ease.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out. “You’re so big.”

Minho smiles against your neck, pressing one chaste kiss and gathering your hair out from in front of your face.

He starts with gentle thrusts, panting in your ear and letting his hands wander all over your body as he moves. Your eyebrows arch up in pleasure, mouth agape as he picks up the pace, the wet sounds of his thrusting teeming all around you.

“God, you take me so well,” Minho breathes. “You’re so wet for me still.”

You can barely respond to him, one hand reaching up to tilt his jaw toward you so you can kiss him on the mouth again, your lips drooling with saliva and fucked-out with pleasure.

“I’m close,” Minho says into your mouth, pausing his thrusts momentarily to then pick up the pace again, much faster and with even more force.

“Ah- me too.”

As he moves in and out of your sopping cunt, one of his hands sprawls out across your tummy, pushing down with gentle pressure as he thrusts. You feel your insides contract at the sensation, now much closer to your release.

“Fuck, M-Min I’m gonna,”

He smiles against your neck again, amused with your reaction to the little move.

“Let go,” he says breathlessly into your ear. “I know you can give me a second one.”

His hand pushes down a little more, now tickling your insides with the constrained sensation against your abdomen.

And between his thrusts, you feel yourself let go around him, letting out a series of breathy moans as you cum on his still-moving cock. Only this time, you let go of everything, trickling fluids over him and the edge of the table, soaking the floor with remnants of you.

Minho’s orgasm follows just seconds after, breathing out melodic whimpers and moans as he feels you squirt, shooting ropes of his cum inside of you and fondling your breasts through his orgasm. He thrusts every last drop back into you, pulling out when he feels you shudder from overstimulation once again.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses as he pulls out. “You made a mess for me, baby.”

When you’re both finished, you’re quick to dress yourself, pulling your sweater back over your head and buttoning your jeans once again. Minho turns around while you get dressed, well aware that he was inside of you just minutes ago, but wanting to respect your boundaries now that you’re no longer being intimate. He gets dressed too, observing through the little window how the rain hasn’t started again in the entirety you’ve been up here. When you’re done, he turns back around, shooting you a little smile as you fix your hair.

“What?” You inquire, mirroring his expression as he stares back at you.

“Where have you been?” Minho asks simply.

“Hm?”

“Where have you been all my life?”

You cock your head a little, not missing the way he blinks nervously a few times after asking the question.

“Not the suburbs,” you reply with a smile. “That’s for sure.”

The gentle lull of jazz music rings through Minho’s ears as he wakes, glancing around to take in his surroundings. He’s sprawled out on the dingy red couch in the back room, still wearing last night’s clothes, hair glued to his forehead under a sheen layer of sweat. The clamoring of dishes startles him, and he furrows his brows together in annoyance as he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Minho?” A voice says, and he shuts his eyes preemptively at the inquiry. “Did you…sleep here?”

When his eyelids flutter open again, he’s met with Jeongin, who’s already showered and dressed for his noon opening shift, clutching the till in both hands as he observes Minho’s disheveled state.

Beside him, the little folding table is in disarray, empty bottles of coke and peanut shells scattered everywhere. His mind goes back to last night- the arcade game, kissing you in the spare room upstairs. Fucking you over the pool table at ungodly hours of the night.

After you’d both finished, you agreed to stay in the back room downstairs until daylight when it was a bit safer to be on the road again. You and Minho chatted over diet cokes and a game of cards, between makeout sessions and desperate groping at each other in the dim light of the room. He wanted so badly to make love to you all over again, resisting the urge only because he didn’t want you to think all of this was just for sex. And maybe it started that way, when he fled back to the kitchen after helping you adjust your cue stick during a round of pool in an attempt to hide his raging hard-on. But somewhere along the way, he was also encapsulated by you- by your endearing obsession with Diet Coke, your ability to carry a conversation with a total stranger in these circumstances, and undoubtedly, your unique talent at fixing things.

It was just past 5 when you left, doing a double-take at Minho’s snoring figure to ensure he was actually asleep. You wanted to thank him- in fact, you stood over him for several minutes, playing the conversation in your head of how this would go.

“I’m leaving now- thanks for the life-changing sex and the free sodas. Call me if you’re ever in the city you despise.”

There was no good way to go about it- any which way, you knew that the two of you were destined for very different things, to live completely separate lives.

“You’ve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible,” Minho had said to you earlier, and you knew he was right, even still longing to one day get out of this province, and maybe even this country. A simpler life scared you- exactly what Minho chased after. And perhaps by extension, chasing after Minho scared you, too.

The dive bar suddenly feels suffocating to Minho, still looming with the rotten scent of cigarettes and beers. For the first time ever, he feels boxed in, much too confined by the four walls and the foggy window at the back.

“I’m leaving,” Minho says, quickly gathering his bag and his blazer from off the floor.

“Where are you going?” Jeongin asks, still holding the till and scanning Minho with a worried expression on his face.

Minho isn’t sure where- in fact, he’s not quite sure about anything right now. All he knows is that you’ve sparked something in him, something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. The days of working as a private chef paint vivid memories in his mind, days which he still had passion within him, trying new recipes late through the night and never ceasing to better his methods. A time that now feels one lifetime ago, much more complex in juxtaposition with this new life. Except maybe simple wasn’t the solution all along- for once, he’s determined to bask in all your complexities, even if it means sacrificing everything he left the city to pursue.

“I’m going to the city,” Minho says, combing through his hair with his fingers.

“The city? I thought you hated it there?”

Minho says nothing, sauntering to the door and fishing his car keys out of the drawer by the register.

“Oh, and Jeongin-ah?”

“Yes?”

“Call someone to move that arcade game downstairs.”

“The Pac-Man one? It doesn’t work-”

“It does now,” Minho replies. “Just promise me it’ll be down here when I get back.”

“Sure thing. But- how’d you get it to work?”

And without looking back, Minho approaches the double doors, keys in hand, no particular destination in mind. The gray clouds have nearly cleared up by now, fresh hues of blue painting the vast sky that overlooks the day ahead. The city calls out to him from afar, bustling traffic and busy roads clouded in pollution. But this time, he answers, in hopes you’ll be there, too.

*Part 2 out now, available here.

#stray kids #skz smut #lee minho #lee know #stray kids hard hours #lee know smut #lee know scenarios #skz x reader #skz hard hours #stray kids x you #skz #fanfic #Spotify

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nanamiluvs · 3 months

Text

oh your grace !

pairing : wriothesley x reader

rating : explicit

wc : 1k

tags : reader is afab but no pronouns used, use of “good girl”, wriothesley and reader are married, oh wriothesley loves to call himself the duke, sir kink, dirty talk, power play, begging, fucking in wriothesley’s office what a surprise, handcuffs, oh my god more dirty talk than i planned there to be,

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

thinking about wriothesley who likes it when you address him as the authority he is.

wriothesley who likes the way the words “your grace” fall off your lips when you’re joking. that’s what people call him, he’s quite used to it - being the one that is respected. after all, if the duke wants something, he needs no justification. everyone knows that much.

such a man is your husband. he’s the duke, scariest person most have ever witnessed, yet he is just your sweet wriothesley when he rubs his slight stubble in the crook of your neck. he may be a big bad wolf, but he’s a little puppy in your hands.

that’s why you tend to forget just how intimidating of a man he is. i mean, how could you remember how people bow to him in respect when he’s the one kneeling before you?

wriothesley has no problem with this. he feels safe around you and trusts you enough to the extent he’s willing to be vulnerable, he wouldn’t prefer it any other way. that’s why he’s surprised to feel his cock stiffen when you cling onto his arm as he’s working, whining, “please, your grace∿ i’ll do anything.”

you feel the shift in his mood, too. your husband is an easy man to read. his eyes snap at yours, a sign of success on your part, finally getting him to pay attention to you. “is that so?”

wriothesley who leans back in his chair, giving you the access you need to crawl onto his lap. and crawl, you did. his large hands immediately found their place on your hips, holding you. you wanted to kiss that stupid smirk of hiss away.

“i can’t say no to you, can i? not when you’re so polite, so respectful with your grace. what a terrible duke that’d make me.”

wriothesley who makes you take him in your mouth as he continues his work since you’re so eager to please his grace. paying no mind to how your spit runs all over his cock nor the way you struggle and whine, mumbling something about how he’s too big to fit.

“shh. you don’t want to be a hindrance for the duke, do you? keep quiet and take it like a good girl.”

wriothesley who rushes to finish his work as soon as possible because he wants nothing more than to bend you over his desk and slam his hips into yours, fucking you into oblivion. yet he wants to see you beg for him, eyes filled with tears as you need him inside. how shameful of you, he would say, ordering the duke around like that.

wriothesley who finally pets your head after he signs the last of the papers, your eyes lighting up as he looks down at you. “get up,” he says and you do so. he stands up after you, his frame taller and wider and towering over you as he traps you between his desk and himself. “now, how could he ever get his work done if little criminals like you kept bothering the duke?” his dick pressed against you from behind, one hand creeping up to grab your jaw while the other traveled downwards.

you blink as you hear the clinking of metal and feel the cold material around your wrists, accompanied by a click. “w-wriothesley?” you call out, unable to turn your face back to him with the way he holds you.

you can practically feel the shit-eating grin on his lips when he pushed you down on his desk, hands tied behind your back. “that’s not what you’re gonna be calling me tonight.”

“your grace,” you correct.

“smart girl.”

wriothesley who yanks your clothes enough just to have enough space to slide inside you, yet stays still when you expect him to do it. you can feel his heat throb against your ass, accompanied by his palms groping the flesh. “is this what you were trying to get?” he teased, “preventing the duke from doing his job, just to get his dick inside this pretty pussy?” you heard him chuckle when he probed your lips with his fingers, finding it already dripping and ready for him. “so wet, too. is this all for him?”

“yes.” you pant.

“i couldn’t catch that.”

“yes, your grace.”

wriothesley who makes you beg before his fingers find your clit, rubbing at the sensitive bud and laughing as you clench around nothing. he can’t just give you what you want, can he? how could that be fair, treating a cute, pretty criminal like you with kindness? he’s insufferable, mocking your neediness, his hands roaming all over your body. he’s already done as much as to make you cum on his hands twice, and now people are going to call him unjust. b

wriothesley who finally slams inside you, the oversensitivity making you whine and moan as he set a harsh pace thrusting in and out. wriothesley was your sweet husband but oh god was he not a ruthless man.

wriothesley who keeps shaming you and praising you at the same time, telling you how good of a slut you are for your grace. his dick slides in easier with your mixed fluids inside your cunt, a creamy ring formed around his member.

wriothesley who slams inside you one last time before he stills, grunting as he shoots ropes of white cum inside your walls, the way you clench around his cock when you orgasm enough to drive him over the edge.

“but fortunately,” he whispers against your ear, bending down to press his chest against your back one hand skillfully undoing the locks of the handcuffs and dick still semi-hard. “you are the duke’s favorite.”

#wriothesley smut #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #genshin wriothesley #wrio x reader #genshin #wriothesley x reader smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #wriothesley x you #genshin wriothesley x reader #genshin wrio #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin x reader smut

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formosusiniquis · 1 year

Text

y'know like barbie

ao3

It's Erica who gives him the idea, incidentally. Though she carries herself with a maturity that far surpasses the boys most days and though she's been through multiple life altering events, she does continue to only be eleven. Which is, it turns out, prime babysitting age.

The Sinclairs are going out of town overnight, it's their anniversary -- 18 blissful years, since our marriage can vote we thought we deserved a night away -- and they don't want Erica to spend the night home alone.

Enter Steve, who the Sinclairs trust with their children and who is inexplicably the only person Erica would accept staying the night with her. Steve honestly didn't believe it even as Mrs. Sinclair was saying it. But he smiles and nods, looks over the emergency numbers on the fridge when they're pointed to, nods at the money on the counter for food that he probably won't take, and waves as they walk out the door promising that he and Erica will be fine for the night and not to worry.

It's only when their car is out of the driveway and the door is shut that Steve realizes he isn't really a babysitter. He is a keep children alive while in a dangerous situation and when the situation is over drive them around because you feel bad that their childhoods have been marred by trauma-er which doesn't have quite the same ring as babysitter, and it's a lot harder to say with that rude tone the boys have been favoring. He also realizes that he's never actually dealt with children, or not girl children. The boys had all been older than Erica, when he had started keeping them alive. Max was definitely basically a teenager when he started really dealing with her; and she was usually okay to do what the boys wanted to do, like go to the arcade. Hopper didn't really trust him with El and that was fine, he wasn't sure he trusted himself with El either.

It put him in an awkward spot now though. Staring at Erica in her kitchen, a little afraid to ask the question on the front of his mind which was "What now?"

So he asks the second question on his mind, "What do you want to do that isn't eat ice cream all night?"

Say what you will about Steve Harrington, and a lot has been said, but he always keeps his promises and he always brings a pint of ice-cream for Erica to have when he comes over to the Sinclair house. Tonight he brought three, all different weird flavors he thought she'd like to try.

"Why can't I eat ice cream all night?" She says it with a challenge in her eyes, but he'd bet dollars to donuts that she's just doing it to make him sweat. "Because I've seen you eat ice cream, we've only got enough for two hours at most." His hand migrates as if of its own mind to his hip. "You need more than two people for Dungeons and Dragons, right?"

Her brows raise, for the first time since he's met her Erica Sinclair is stunned silent. Maybe she's just surprised he got the name right.

It lasts about as long as it takes him to notice it. "You'd play Dungeons and Dragons with me?" There's something fragile in the way she asks, and there is the eleven year old girl she's meant to be.

"Sure, you'd have to show me how, but if that's what you want to do I'm game."

Eyes narrowed in a distinctly intimidating way he kind of thinks she stole from Nancy, he does his best to make his sincerity clear on his face. "We need more than two people, but I've got something else we can do if you think your fragile manhood can take it."

He's got a retort at the tip of his tongue about just what his manhood can take and remembers just in time that yeah probably shouldn't make a joke like that in front of an actual child. "My pride isn't that delicate, I think I can handle anything you dish out."

"Famous last words."

He follows her to her bedroom, waiting outside the doorway to let her space stay private until he's told to come in. A clear plastic tub slides out from under her bed, out of sight but easily accessible and when the lid pops off he gets why. Rows of Barbies stacked neatly on top of each other, a mass grave for childhood. Steve has a stuffed bear, fur rubbed off of one ear, tucked up on the shelf of his closet that also got put away sooner than he would have chosen to, when it was too babyish.

“Alright, so who is the, like, elven warrior.”

“That’s not how you play Barbies.”

It’s snapped so fast that he thinks it embarasses her. He tactfully avoids eye contact, pulling out a doll with blonde hair snipped into a professional, if uneven, bob and a green skirt set. She's missing a shoe. “Then how do I play Barbies?”

“That one just won the Nobel Peace Prize, she solved world hunger, but she has plans to kill the Barbie who won the prize in Physics because she stole Barbie One’s research and gave it to NASA claiming it was her own.”

“Right, of course.” This was the kind of shit that happened on Dallas, only Barbie had a lot more awards. “And they’re all called Barbie?”

“Except for Ken, but Ken doesn’t do anything.”

“Well if Barbie just won the Peace Prize wouldn’t she use Ken to kill Barbie so she doesn’t get caught.”

Erica manages a look that is both condescending and considerate. “Barbie can do anything, including get away with murder; but she wouldn’t want to dirty her hands with that sort of thing.”

“And if Ken goes to jail it’s no loss.”

“Right.”

So maybe it's more accurate to say that Dustin actually starts it.

Dustin with the shittiest attitude this side of the Ohio, something Robin blames him for.

“Like father, like son.”

“Dustin doesn’t even know his dad.”

“I mean you and Eddie, dingus.”

“I am not that kid's dad. A brotherly figure at best, strong male role model more likely.”

“He’s a bitch because you are, Steve. Maybe if your and Eddie’s love language wasn’t being as bitchy as possible it wouldn’t have rubbed off on your kid.”

“Please don’t put Dustin and rubbing off in the same paragraph let alone the same thought wave.”

Dustin comes sprinting into Family Video on a Tuesday afternoon. “Steve! I need your car.”

“Did you learn how to drive when I wasn’t paying attention?”

“Obviously, I meant I need you too.” His hands are on his hips, eyes rolled. Shit maybe he did get it from Steve. “There’s this theoretical physicist coming to Notre Dame to give a talk on the Multiverse Theory.”

Steve was allowing himself a second to consider whether this was worth it, for once, instead of just blindly agreeing to drive Dustin wherever. The drive sucked ass, but it would put him close enough to Chicago that he could try to find a music store that would carry albums from the international metal bands Eddie couldn’t stop talking about.

It was a second too long for Dustin. “Steve, a theoretical physicist-”

See Steve had this suspicion that the kids did actually think he was an idiot. He was pretty sure that none of them, hell maybe none of Hellfire, save for Lucas realized that every athlete in the school had to keep up at least a 2.5 GPA. Which might not have been anything to write home about but Steve kept a 3.2 for most of high school, until the multiple concussions started to catch up with him. He wasn’t stupid, was the point and even if they didn’t think he was an idiot in a mean way he was a little sick of the shit.

“I know, like Barbie.”

That shuts Dustin up real quick.

“N- no, not like Barbie! Barbie is some girl's toy.”

“Excuse me?” Robin, who told Steve that she would not help him parent his children on work days or any other day ending in y had remembered that Martes doesn’t have one and her shift was almost over. “What does that mean, exactly, a girl’s toy?”

“And,” Steve adds, because he can and because Eddie made him drive him to fucking Bloomington because he was fixated on time travel and needed access to some science journal that only existed at Indiana U apparently, “Barbie is on a research team looking for the Higgs particle so she can start figuring out time travel.”

The bell chiming as Dustin leaves has never sounded sweeter.

He’ll definitely end up taking the twerp to stupid Notre Dame.

The thing is that Steve thinks he’s never really stopped being a bitch.

He doesn’t want to stop. He likes being bitchy. It’s fun, when you’re doing it with people you like it’s pretty funny, and honestly he’s kinda like Spiderman. With great power comes great responsibility, he’s only bitchy responsibly now.

And it’s actually perfectly responsible as an older brother type babysitter figure to correct the behavior of the younger siblings by being bitchy. If they don’t learn at home they’ll go out in the world thinking that kind of behavior is acceptable, see Steve Harrington in his early high school days who talked to people like his father did.

So when Mike interrupts El with, “I’m not going to ask Steve, he probably doesn’t even know what a Pulitzer is either.”

He says, “Oh, yeah like Barbie won. Or Nancy will someday, probably. It’s a journalism award, Wheeler.”

And when Lucas corrects, “I don’t actually think you can win an award for comics. It’s still really great though, Will!”

“Barbie won the Kirby Award in 1985 for best artist, I’m sure Will is soon to follow.”

Or when Nancy tells Holly, “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to be something important instead?”

“You could be an actress and do something cool like go to space if you want, Hols, like Barbie.” And maybe he says it with a little more bitch than he should that time, but he’s seen the ballerinas in Nancy’s room, she didn’t always want to be an investigative journalist.

It gets to be second nature. When someone starts being shitty about something or to lighten the mood.

Erica doubts whether she should run for student council. It's her first step to being actual president, like Barbie.

Dustin makes a crack about Steve's possible future prospects when he butts in on a conversation between Steve and Robin. "I could do all three, I could be a counselor and a hair stylist and an engineer. Maybe I'll add EMT too, Barbie wouldn't stop at three, why should I?"

Or when Mike sneers at him, "What are you a cop?" All because Steve told him not to buy weed now that Eddie had stopped dealing.

"Ew, no, because you look like a fresh-faced little narc trying to be cool and you're gonna get ripped off."

"What so not like Barbie?"

"The Barbie world has achieved equality at a level that it doesn't need the cops." Eddie sometimes has to get high after a run in with Powell or Calahan who he still doesn't really trust after the spring. Steve has been treated to many a lecture on why the police were a waste of resources.

He lets Mike sit with that for a minute before he adds, "Like Barbie, I am very cool and know what it looks like when I'm being taken for a ride. If you're gonna get pot from someone other than Eddie, ask Hop where he used to get all of his shit."

It doesn't feel stupid, until El comes running into the cabin one afternoon that Steve has decided to join the rebuilding effort. It’s actually just him and Hop, who has started trying to quietly parent him, something he’s not entirely convinced isn’t revenge for telling Wheeler that Hop has smoked pot before. Steve is pretty sure El was crying when she came in, something he bumps up to a certainty when he sees how awkward Hop looks right now.

“You mind taking that kid? It’s been a long time since high school.” he rubs the back of his neck, Steve does appreciate that he has the decency to feel weird about asking. “If it’s anything outside of big brother shit I can take over.”

He does let himself get suckered by that big brother line.

El is facedown on her bed in a clear ‘leave me alone I’m crying’ pose but he figures he’s already here it’s not like he can turn around and tell Hop that he was too afraid to approach a crying teenage girl. Like that wasn’t the whole reason he’d been sent in the first place. “Hey Ellie, can I come in?”

She sits up, tear tracks plain on her face but no more are falling, and nods in that endearing, aggressively certain way she’s got. “Is everything okay?” He pauses and asks, “Was it Mike?” because he knows that’ll be the first thing Hopper asks when Steve comes back out.

“You are worse than Dad.”

“That stings, Ellie Bell.”

She takes a deep breath, steeling an already impressive will, “Lucas says it is okay to just want to be happy right now, but all they talk about is what they are going to do. Dustin is talking about going to admission early, Will talks about talking to Dad and Joyce about art school, Lucas worries about his sports and scholarships, and Mike talks about classes that count twice. I do not know what I want to be. I do not know why I have to be anything.”

“You guys have been through a lot. I don’t think anyone would blame you for taking time to just be a kid.”

“What if I never want to be something? What if I do not ever want to go to college?”

He’s made his way over to the bed with her, sits tentatively on the edge like he’s seen Joyce do before. “Then you don’t. You’ll probably have to get a job at some point, but that doesn’t have to be what you are. Lucas isn’t a landscaper just because he mows lawns in the summer.”

“You don’t think Dad would be upset?” she asks.

“I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would really make Hop mad. And you might change your mind. I've been out of school for almost two years and I’m only thinking about college now. Or you could go to college and change your mind about what you want to be. You could be a hundred things, you could be anything! Like Barbie.”

He feels like an idiot almost immediately. A jerk quickly after that. He’s made El’s genuine crisis part of his stupid running joke. But something settles in the room. The underlying tension, the thing that had the hair on the back of his neck raised. He realizes, now, that her powers had probably also been on edge.

"Like Barbie." She says it with a graven seriousness, like Steve's dumb little joke is a mantra now.

"Yeah, and you're a sophomore you don't have to have your whole life figured out right now. And don't take life advice from Henderson anyway, he thought it was a good idea to raise an Upside Down slug as a pet."

He mostly just used it to be a bitch though. Because it was fun. No, it was what he was good at. So good at it he didn't even have to try.

Because Steve had a plan to be bitchy. Specifically to Mike Wheeler who kept flirting with Steve’s boyfriend while taking advantage of his hospitality. Sure it was at their stupid Dungeons and Dragons game, and yeah Steve was the one who said they could host the game at his house now that Eddie had graduated. Yes, he knew Eddie didn't mean anything by it when he responded and usually didn't flirt back with the kids. But it was still the kind of behavior that had to be gently corrected, for Mike's sake because if he didn't stop things were going to get drastic.

His initial plan is already in action. He encouraged El to come along to watch the Party play. It was, admittedly, a half hearted plan. Wheeler got so awkward anytime El was around he mostly just hoped that would keep him from trying anything.

It isn't. Eddie starts to describe a new character, "Blonde and statuesque, she has a long bow in hand and delicate elven features."

And even though El is sitting a few feet from him Mike perks up the way he always does when there's a new NPC to flirt with. He is going to have to have a talk with Eddie about letting the kid try out a bard.

He does at least have one other tool in his belt. "Oh, like Barbie."

Steve knew what he'd get as he said it. A groan from Dustin, who falls for this as being sincere about as often as he falls for the dumb-dumbs and dipshits line -- which is everytime for the record. Will and Lucas keep their laughs small, enough that they're covered by Erica's snort. The original Hellfire crew mostly looks confused, it's becoming less and less their default as they warm up to the Steve he is rather than the Steve they thought they remembered; but he likes to keep them on their toes.

Eddie is charmed. He can tell. Sees him duck his head behind his screen and his binders, trying to preserve the stern and scary dungeon master image. That apparently isn't possible if you're smiling like an idiot at your stupid boyfriend, so he's been told.

And Mike has maybe been on the wrong end of the joke a few more times than everyone else. He turns an interesting shade of red, two parts anger and one part embarrassed is Steve's guess. The foot stomp is unexpected, but he expects its been passed down the Wheeler line as a shared signal of outrage. "Not like Barbie, this isn't some stupid kids game. She's probably a hot, wisened archer ready to reward us for helping her village, not some stupid doll that you're obsessed with."

Eddie's blank face with the twitchy eyes has fallen into place when he sits back up from behind his screen. His things aren't going according to plan, panicked face. "I think that's a good place to end things this week. Wheeler, Henderson, Jeff, and Lady Applejack you've all cleared enough experience to level right? Do that before next week."

Steve knows enough to keep his mouth shut while everyone packs up to leave. Sends a small smile to Erica on her way out to the family minivan, he knows she struggles a little being the youngest at the table even if she won't say it. He has to imagine that the outburst had stung a bit.

"You gotta be nicer to little Wheeler." Eddie chides once everyone is gone, halfhearted at best when he's telling Steve off into the soft skin of his neck. When he feels the admonishment more than hears it.

"I'm not mean to Mike." He says on instinct, he does try not to be. "And he started it."

"Definitely think you started the Barbie thing, Sweetheart."

And well, yeah. "I Barbie all the kids equally."

Eddie hmms Steve can feel the vibration of it through his back and on his neck. Eddie is about to start something he better plan on finishing. "He asked Hop where he should get weed."

Oh. "I didn't think he'd actually do it!" And then, "Is that why he keeps flirting with you, revenge?"

"No, he's got a bunch of misplaced jealousy because Will and the girls think you're hot." He toys with the edge of Steve's shirt as he says it. Perpetually cold fingers brushing the clothes warmed skin beneath making him shiver.

"The girls don't think I'm hot."

He hums again, nips at the blush red skin at Steve's neck. "El used to, Max definitely has a taste for jock.

"That's not my fault, you let Mike play a bard." He wishes he didn't sound so desperate.

"Wanted to leave the Paladin spot open for you, baby."

"I'm starting to feel convinced, we could go upstairs and you could show me your character sheet."

The things he'll say to get laid.

"Don't think I can do that Stevie, smooth as a Ken doll down there. Could show you the actual character sheet though."

His back is cold as Eddie pulls away, smirking unrepentant as he lets Steve have the tiniest taste of his own medicine.

"Barbie has a very active sex life, actually." He's never been one not to double down. "Let me show you the fun we can have without getting your dick out."

He does leave it alone for a little while, even though he really, really doesn't want to. But despite what his friends, his fifth grade report card, and his mom might think; Steve is capable of keeping a hold of his worst impulses when he wants to.

So he lets opportunity pass him by.

He makes no comment about Barbie when Eddie talks about how John Carpenter is a film auteur. Not even when Dustin tries to define auteur for him. Incorrectly, but Robin comes to Steve's defense.

Barbie goes unmentioned, barely when an argument breaks out about Nobel prize winners, of all things. He thinks the kids argue more now than they ever have like it's the only way they have to get their bloodlust out now that the Upside Down was closed. He was quickly boxed out of the conversation, even if Erica kept sending him little glances over everyone's heads. (She'd let him have Peace Prize Barbie a couple weeks ago and maybe he was a little obsessed.)

Holly wants to be a vet now, a singing vet who is also on TV, but mostly a vet. She tells him all about it while he waits for Mike to find his shoes? Definitely not his quarters for the arcade, the day any of them bring those is the day Steve brings the nail bat back out. He’s one impulse purchase away from getting one of those little coin dispenser belts that the employees have -- Gareth just quit, maybe he still had his? Mike's frown is a little less general annoyance at Steve and a little more confusion when he's finally ready to leave and Barbie has gone unmentioned.

He almost breaks again when Eddie starts talking about sports. Or he starts talking about NASCAR which is close enough for Eddie, he has a surprising taste for racing for someone who never wanted to put his van on the starting line at parties. A woman led a Busch Series race for the first time, what a year '86. He's got no opinion on Barbie's ability to drive at all.

He could let a joke go. He could be nice. It wasn't so out of character that it needed this kind of attention.

Mike has forgiven him by the time the next session rolls around. Delayed two weeks after Eddie screamed so loud on stage that he couldn't speak for two days, and then again for Jeff's emergency appendectomy. Eddie has stopped leaving pointed gaps in conversation for Steve to fill with mention of Barbie, he has had his thinking face on instead which is good for Steve about as often as it isn't.

He leaves it alone. A little bit of non-life threatening surprise is good for the soul, or something. Listen, he’s made it this far by only asking questions when shit is about to get really, really bad and Eddie’s thinking face has only resulted in something bad once or twice -- and they probably should have spent more than a couple minutes negotiating that particular kink anyway.

When the kids start showing up and nothing has come from the thinking face, he assumes it was just for them anyway. He settles in to see whatever shit Eddie is going to do.

"From the ditch you pull a human man, a paladin. His plate is dirtied by his time on the ground but clearly gleams in its typical state. He's handsome, a square jaw and fluffy brown hair-"

"Ugh is this Steve? You already made us do a quest for him," Mike complains, maybe he hasn’t completely forgiven Steve for that last interruption.

Steve has, by his own count been the inspiration for at least three NPCs for this campaign: a white light faction rogue, Sol, that the party had to rescue from the dungeons of the nightmare King after he was caught sneaking into the bedrooms of the prince -- like it was Steve's fault that Wayne had super hearing; a young fighter from the gladiatorial combat ring who helped the party rescue a group of kidnapped children that were going to be used as bait in the next round of fights; and the most obvious Prince Stefan who sent the party on a quest to kill his betrothed a Duke called Thomas the Boarish and rescue his knight Rowen and beloved Bard Edwin -- it's not like he could unkiss Tommy, and he could be a dick but boarish was dramatic.

He was not this paladin, assuming Eddie was telling the truth about saving the Paladin he'd made for Steve.

"Cut the out of character chatter, Michael, before it starts counting in game. The Paladin before you is handsome in a bland, approachable, non-threatening way," Mike opens his mouth again, how is that not like Steve surely perched at the edge of his tongue and stopped in its tracks by elbows from Erica and Joey. "He introduces himself to his rescuer, Will the Wise, 'Thank you, kind sir, I would have been down there for ages before my lady noticed my absence. I am Sir Kenneth.'"

"What deity does he serve?" Will asks, something suspicious drawing across his face.

"Is there a holy symbol on his armor?" Gareth follows up. Gareth has been backing a lot of Will's plays lately, Steve thinks something might be going on there but he hasn't wanted to deal with Eddie teasing him for being a meddling matchmaker, again.

"There is no identifiable holy symbol on his clothes or armor." Eddie says, there's a mischief in his eyes, the way he tilts his head with quiet challenge and smiles.

"What God do you serve?" Erica asks, blunt and to the point. She gets cranky when her rogue doesn't have anything to stab.

"'The Lady in Pink,' he answers."

Any time Eddie reveals lore shit there's always a bunch of people talking over top of each other. It always turns into the kind of mass blob of shouting that Steve has a hard time parsing out, especially these days. Eddie somehow manages to distinguish not only people but the things they're saying and keeps his cool enough to keep the story going.

"Roll your insight, Gareth. Jeff, with a 15 history check, you have heard some whisperings from your homeland about a newly ascended goddess but not a name. Dustin, you're not getting shit with a 5 don't even try that but my back story says shit with me. Will, pretty sure that's a cleric spell but I'll let you have it he's a Neutral Good alignment. An 18, shit, yeah Garebear he does seem to be telling the truth that is the deity he follows; but that isn't the whole truth, you know a lot of the newer pantheon have a colloquial name and a true name."

"I'm sorry," Lucas says, "we aren't familiar with your lady. What can you tell us about her? Why would she leave you there? And that's a 14 on persuasion before you even ask."

"Why would I have asked that, Sinclair the elder? He has stars in his eyes when he speaks, 'before she ascended she was already limitless. A powerful warrior, an expert marksman, a mage beyond compare. Her power grew and grew until the only place left to explore was godhood.'"

"And what's her real name, if we wanted to spread the word?" Joey asks.

"'Oh she's everything. She's the lady in pink, she's the goddess with the golden mane, but before she ascended she favored one name I assume she has kept it.'"

"What is it?" Mike asks, perched at the edge of his seat.

"Oh no," Dustin whispers, a dawning horror on his face.

"'Barbara, though she preferred it shortened. Nicknames you call them," Steve sees the joke, knows where this is going a split second before reality breaks through the haze of fantasy for the players around the table. Eddie's smirking now, smile too pleased and too attractive. "'Y'know like Barbie?'"

#steddie #steve harrington #steddie fic #and in 1996 when steve and eddie are expecting their first kid - a daughter #erica gifts them the barbie camper so steve has something while he waits for the real thing #listen you know that oh like barbie post with the steve speaking image below it #i saw that and this happened #i just wanted to try out a little steve and erica bonding #and it turned into steve being a bitchy big brother #steve and eddies love language is being dicks #but their secondary love language is not letting the bit die and i do believe that #so eddie had to take it up when steve set it down

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jarofstyles · 1 year

Text

Deep Inside

Wolfrry breeding, as popular demand.

Check out our Patreon for early access and exclusive writings.

Warnings: knotting, breeding kink, slight primal play, degradation if you squint

WC- 2.1k

——-

Harry’s eyes stayed intently on her. Holding a little pup in her lap, cradled carefully on her thighs as she sat against the tree with her fingers stroking back wispy hair. He could hear the soft coos over the crackling fire, their weekly bonfire giving the Alpha pair a chance to bind with their pack and let them feel more secure in their leadership.

Y/N always had a soft spot for the pups, but this was a new baby. A new addition to the pack and the first bonfire for the little one. The mother was happy to hand Y/N her pup. It was a great honor to have the alpha female dote and care for your pup. No one would refuse that. There were whispers that the alpha female of every pack would grant blessings each time the pup was held by her, so no one in their right mind would hesitate to hand them over.

It was even more so with his mate. She was a natural with them. Gentle and soft and her demeanor strong enough to demand the respect she deserved, yet tender enough for the pups to trust and crave her presence. They followed her around and liked to show her their tricks and toys while she happy observed when she had the time. Babies were some of her favorite though.

Harry couldn’t help but selfishly enjoy the sight. Her fingers playing with the chubby cheeks and tickling the little soft tummy, making the baby giggle with joy. Little pudgy fingers grasped her fingers, which Y/N brought to her own mouth to feign eating them with a comical noise. The pup let out a squeal of comical delight, kicking his little legs at the motion.

“You’re incredible, aren’t you? Strong little wolf.” Harry approached quietly, not a sound made as to not disturb his love or the pup in her grasp. “Yes. You are. So strong and fierce, but you must never forget to have a gentle heart underneath the warrior walls. Okay? Your mate will thank you for it. You are to be kind… generous… sharp as a whip.” The baby gurgled in reply, making Y/N laugh. “Mhm… exactly.” Her finger tapped the little nose, watching it scrunch up. “But you see… your Alpha is trying to pretend he isn’t watching me play with you. It’s very distracting for me.”

Damn. He had been caught. A light chuckle left his chest, arms crossed as he emerged from his shadowy hiding spot and leaned against the tree to look down at the baby. The giggles stopped, a wide eyed look taking over the face- but no discomfort. His little legs kicked again, hand raising up as if to point before looking back at Y/N.

“Yes. That is your alpha. The strongest wolf in all of the lands.” She whispered. “One day you will fight beside him to take care of our pack. Maybe you will have another passion as well!” She squeezed his feet. “But he will make sure you are protected until you can protect yourself. Your father, him, all the pack. You are safe!” She cooed, making Harry’s heart grow a few sizes.

“His mother is looking for him.” He murmured to her, looking at the pup. She was, but Harry was feeling very interested in something else right now. “We are needed inside for a moment, my love. Let’s return him and then we can take care of the issue inside.”

—

Harry’s energy was big today. Y/N had a feeling she knew why he was crowding her space as they walked inside, excitement stinging her spine and warmth flooding her stomach. His hands had held her hips as he shuffled her towards his office, kicking the door shut behind him as his dark eyes took her in. He was hunting her.

“You know what it does to me.” He whispered, pressing her against the front of his desk. “What it calls to when I see you cradling pups that way. When you… lay there and allow me to watch you do the things I’ve been dreaming about for ages.” He dragged his nails over her sides, catching slightly on the material of her long dress. It was a gauzy material, one of his favorites from how it flowed behind her and made her the ethereal vision she always deserved to be admired as- but he was hating any barrier at the moment.

“It’s tradition, Alpha.” She was baiting his wolf,’knowing damn well what she was doing with those soft eyes and gentle voice. Fingers brushing through his long hair and tugging a bit at the little snares it had gotten,’making him growl. “I’m whispering blessings to babies. Shouldn’t that please you?” Her head tilted to the side, her calculating gaze hot and heavy as she leaned back slightly. “I always try to please you.”

“And you do. You do it so well… but I think it should be time that you do that to our pups.” He grunted, fingers bunching up the thin fabric and pulling it up. “You should be full of me, bred properly like the good mate you are. You should show everyone how taken you are, how good you take my cock. Stuff you full of me, my knot, our children….” He pulled the fabric above her hips. “I need it. I’m done waiting.”

He had been patient. They’d played around- but he was tired of waiting. Y/N was too, or she would have stopped him. But she was wet, dripping down her thighs at his words and the walk back. She had been well aware of his gaze and what it meant. He was going to fill her up to the brim with his cum and make it stick this time, and she ached for it.

“Then stop waiting.” Her finger traced his lip, a little gasp escaping as he caught the tip with his teeth and growled. “Take what you want.” Y/N finished the job, pulling the dress over her head and letting it fall before turning from his grasp and bending over the desk. She knew exactly what she was doing- giving him a mounting position and breaking his last straw.

It didn’t take long for her to feel the bare tip of his cock pressing inside of her. A pathetic whine left her throat, gripping the desk as she felt her cunt begin that stretch she loved oh so much. His prick sliding inside of her inch by inch, his hot breath washing over her back as he pressed wet kisses to her shoulder blades. Lettin mg every little bit of his cock fill her up until his balls were rested snug up against her and she began to squirm, a weak thrust up trying to get him to move.

“Stop.” He snarled, biting down on her shoulder in warning. “Lay there and take my cock like the good bitch y’are.” His voice was so deep, so rough, it had her eyes rolling back into her head. The man was everything to her, every little thing he did making her feel even more desperate. “Got to make sure you’re stretched. You’re soaked but it’s so tight…” he ground into her, curling his hand back around her throat as he arched her up.

“Oh my…. Fuck.” Y/N whispered, panting as she felt him pull out to slam back in, making her jolt over the desk. She never tired of the feeling of his cock taking up every bit of space inside of her body. “I love your cock, Alpha. I love it, I need it. Gimme more? Give it.” She tired to push back against him again, her cunt sweet and soft around his aching length. Harry loved being inside of her and feeling how she reacted to him.

“I’m going to give it all to you, you filthy little thing. Teasing me by being so sweet with the little ones… finally need to give me our own. Need to give you some to grow.” He grunted, beginning his brutal pace. He was on a mission to knock her up, to get her full and make it stick inside of her. It was time to start the breeding process and her body reacted beautifully.

Y/N was pliant under her, whimpering and whining as Harry did what he did best. Aggressive and hot, she let him handle her in the way he needed. Every single movement and bite had her floating, submitting to the Alpha the way the gods intended for her to do. His cock was thick and long, curved just right to hit the spot that had her cunt leaking down his balls. The feral sounds filled the office, her nails scratching marks into the priceless desk while he fucked her rough. His growls were against her ear, soaking up each and every noise his mate made as his cock wrecked her.

“There- there, alpha. Please stay right there, it’s gonna make me cum.” She pleaded, working through the squeal she had met out when he has shifted his hips just so. His filthy mouth was the cherry on top of the rough fuck that brought out the animalistic side of them.

“Just lay there and let me fuck you” he panted into her ear, the vibration of his words making her shiver. “You’re such a good little bitch. Laying out and letting your alpha use your hole the way it’s meant to be used.” He nuzzled against her neck thrusting into her at the deep pace she had begged for. It was a nasty mess in the room. Anyone inside the hall could smell it if they walked past, the scent of their sex and desperation clinging to the walls. The sounds were echoing through the room, the grunts and growls and her sloppy cunt being wrecked by his cock, Y/N unable to keep quiet with her little whines.

“My perfect little mate. You were made for me. Made t’have my children. I want to watch you swell with them… taste your breasts when they leak. I want to make you a mother, my love.” He slurred against her neck, feeling the beginnings of his knot. “M’gonna stuff you full of my knot and my load, make it stick. Get you pregnant and bred up for me the way you should stay. Gonna do it over n’over until it takes. I can’t stand it anymore.” He needed to have her pregnant. It didn’t feel like a want but a need.

“Please, alpha. Please breed me, I want it. I want it so bad, I want our babies, I want…” she sobbed out in pleasure and desperation. “Want to feel full. Want you to own me. Please, please- I feel it.” She said frantically. “I feel your knot, give it to me. Give it to me, put it in, knot me. Breed me, Harry.” She snarled, her nails digging into his wrist as he held her throat. He owned her, yes, but she owned him too.

A roar of pleasure hit the room as Harry caved to his mate’s requests. His knot catching and flaring inside to lock them together as she came all over his cock, her body convulsing slightly under him as she sobbed out his name. She was so full, so overwhelmed as she felt his body cover hers and rock inside as the ropes of cum continued to fill her.

“Give it, Harry. Give me all of it.” She whimpered, a tear dragging down her cheek. “Give me all of your cum. I want it to catch. Want your babies inside of me. Give me the pups.”

“It’s there, my love. It’s there. My perfect little breeding bitch.” He sighed, the pleasure still shooting through him as his cum shot into her in its heavy ribbons. Y/N shuddered under him, feeling every single throb of his cock as she was filled. It was one of her favorite feelings and Harry loved to give it to her.

“I love you. It’ll stick. M’gonna make sure you’re pregnant.” He turned her face to catch her lips, groaning happily into her mouth as her cunt milked his knot for all it was worth. “It’s coming soon. Don’t worry.”

1K notes · View notes

sanakimohara · 5 months

Text

“Stalker” B.C.

{ MDNI }

+++++

Chan as a stalker would be painfully toxic. The constant messages you’d receive from him, vague, but highly personal. He wouldn’t threaten you at all…at first.

It starts off with little random reminders or sending a few innocent pictures of you doing random tasks throughout the day.

“You look so cute when you’re cleaning, baby…”

“You should really eat something today, sweetheart…”

“Don’t stay up too late like last time little one…need you well rested okay?…”

Then he progresses to intricate gestures. It’s not hard to get to you since you’re a trainee under JYPE and coincidentally share the same dorm building as Stray Kids. Chan has easy access to the areas you occupy most often.

Even your dorm, specifically your bedroom.

Of course you don’t know this so when random pieces of your clothing start to disappear and reappear at odd times you just chalk it up to your forgetfulness. In reality Chan slips into your room when no one’s around, admiring how neat or messy you keep it, and committing to memory all the little trinkets/games/decor that you personalized it with. He likes the fact that your room reflects who you are, it brings out your purity in his opinion, and if he could lock you in it he would.

Deep down he liked the idea of locking you in his room much better. Then you’d be even safer under his constant watch. For now he settled with invading your private spaces, slipping your panties into his pocket as he wanders around, picking up the little messes around your room. When he’s all done and satisfied with the amount of possessions he’s taken from you he writes a note to you before leaving and continuing on with his day like nothing happened.

“Keep your room clean, sweetheart.”

You’re shaking with fear and anxiety reading his note but seeing as you don’t have a clue who wrote it you keep the information to yourself. It bothers you all week but weirdly you’re loving the anonymous attention. Blushing at random times of the day just from the thought of who might’ve written that note for you. It’s still terrifying but you admire their devotion…

Chan observes you from an afar after that, continuing to sneak in your room when he has the chance, and leaving less than innocent notes on your desk more often.

“You did well practicing. I was impressed, really,”

“I left you a little gift for working hard, baby. Open it when you’re ready..”

You spot his gift at the foot of your bed, all the random clothes (mostly underwear) he’s taken from you are neatly washed and folded too. It disgusts you to see your intimates causally laid out -and probably used for other purposes- like a present. At the same time your mind is reeling with the image of your ‘admirer’ getting off to the simple scent of you or the thought of you wearing them.

You’ve never felt so beautifully violated in your life and you hate how wet it gets you.

Something has to be wrong with you…

Paranoid. You become extremely paranoid and Chan uses that against you. You’re such a young trainee, being tortured by some skillful stalker, and he’s the first person you open up to about it. How can he not help you cope?

Everytime you come running to him about the last occurrence with your supposed stalker Chan is ready to console you with a warm smile and loving embrace. Sure, he’s extremely turned on by the fear in your wide eyes, and his cock twitches every time you curl into him for a comforting hug. He’s just there to help you through this mess, right?

“Why would anyone want to treat you this way?..”

“I’ll protect you I promise… “

“You can always come to me when you don’t feel safe..”

Every word he says is a backhanded lie and you fall for it every time. You spend less time in your dorm and more time with him. The other trainees and his members notice but don’t say a word since Chan never makes it a big deal. That isn’t to say he doesn’t purposefully act unnerved by the notion of a stalker with in the company.

His habit of texting you escalates into sending obscure photos of you in the shower, alone in the practice rooms, or simply getting changed. He’s gotten comfortable with his obsession now, actively seeking out chances for vulnerability, and that raises your fears and fantasies higher.

“Want to see you do this in person…”

“I can’t help but to watch you , baby… I’m just making sure you’re safe…”

Safe….and unknowingly reliant on him.

A perfect combination of control and fear.

“I know everything about you, little one. You can never hide from me…”

+++++

#bang chan #bang chris #skz #skz smut #stray kids #bang chan smut #skz x reader #chan skz #skz imagines #stray kids x reader

412 notes · View notes

tonicandjins · 2 years

Text

right where you left me

characters: wonwoo & reader word count: 8.9k genre: exes to lovers summary: in which wonwoo leaves and takes your heart with him. three years later, you're in another city, but tragically, right where he left you. warnings: alcohol consumption, detailed smut.

please help me see seventeen on december!

***

Seoul’s stale and dusty air reminds you exactly why you don’t like visiting the capital city often despite its vibrance and the colors built upon its land. As someone who likes to have their own space once in a while, the city is not for you, with its busy streets and lights that never seem to dim even a little. Seoul, at least for you, is a place to visit when you’re looking for some excitement, some diversity, some stories to tell your workmates—but definitely not a place to reside in full time.

But here you are, two days after moving, trying to get used to its noise and its beauty at the same time. If it hadn’t been for your job requiring you to move around multiple times a year, you wouldn’t be here. Albeit grateful, part of you wishes it could have been some other place closer to where you were raised.

Growing up in Changwon, your slightly tanned skin had been used to the coastal area’s cool, salty air. Also, it’s 40 minutes away from Busan—where your best friend Jihoon lives (which means to reach your best friend is a 40-minute drive). And this is also one of the reasons why you didn’t want to move to Seoul unless Jihoon tags along with you (which he, unfortunately, did not because he “can’t just pack up his entire life so that you’re not lonely in Seoul”).

“Is it that bad?” Jihoon’s voice echoes from the speaker of your phone as you put away your groceries.

“Yes,” you huff, remembering how someone bumped into you as soon as you stepped out of the subway, making you drop one of your grocery bags. The person did not even bother to look back. “Jihoon, I want to go home.”

“How old are you again?” your best friend teases. Even from miles away, you could make up his face as he speaks with you. “You’ll be fine. Remember that your boss had said it’s a temporary relocation. Once you’re done with whatever you have to complete in Seoul, then you can come back home.”

“I doubt,” you answer as you finish organizing the last few containers. “Launching this project in Changwon took them 2 years to fully establish. It’s Seoul, I know many things are more accessible here; for sure we’ll have more chances of finding competent potentials here to kickoff the project with me. But still, I don’t think I can do this in six months; one year at the least, maybe, if I work hard enough.”

Jihoon hums, agreeing, then proceeds to ask when the rest of your team would arrive. You briefly explain their itinerary and tell him that you’re also in collaboration with HR to ensure that enough manpower will be available by next week. You ask about the project that Jihoon is also working on; he tells you he will most likely visit Seoul, too, and it excites you until he reminds you of what you’ve been trying to avoid since you arrived.

“Wonwoo lives in Seoul. At least you have someone you know,” he says, voice reluctant. “I mean, that is if you need help settling. I know you don’t have a lot of relatives up there, but you know, just in case you need someone to remind you of home.”

You laugh at the last statement. Jihoon sighs, knowing how stupid he sounded just now.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “It’s not like I stopped being in contact with him after, you know, and it would be nice.”

“What would be nice?”

“You know, to catch up and all,” he answers, yawning. You look at the time, nine in the morning, Jihoon probably hasn’t had a wink of sleep.

You stay silent, sitting on the stool from your kitchen island, looking at your phone as if you’re waiting for him to say something more.

“It would be nice,” he repeats. “You were friends for a long time before you dated. It would be nice to have someone in the lonely city.”

You hum, still not willing to say anything. Jihoon knows that you never like talking about this, about Wonwoo.

“I mean, it has been how long?” Three years. “Two? Three years now, right? I’m sure Wonwoo’s moved on. I’m sure you have, too. Right?”

Being friends all throughout high school, dating as soon as you go into college, Wonwoo leaving as soon as the three of you graduated, you and him not being able to handle the distance—of course. Of course. You should have been able to move on at this point. Three years should be long enough for someone to move on. Three years should have allowed you to see someone else, to get rid of your feelings from the starry-eyed boy whose dreams are as vivid as yours.

Jihoon calls your name. “You there?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I’m here.”

You’re here, in Seoul, miles away from Changwon, but here also means right where Wonwoo left you.

***

Kwon Soonyoung is a long-distance friend of Jihoon, which by default makes you a friend of his, too. He and Jihoon used to live next to each other when the latter temporarily moved to Seoul to be trained for his current job. Soonyoung is vibrant and loud like the city, but kind and warm like home. He helps you familiarize yourself with the city and gives you a list of places to visit nearby where your live and work. He shows you which subway or bus stop to go to certain places and helps you settle in further.

A month into living in Seoul, you’re finally getting used to it. The rush still bothers you sometimes, but it’s better now, thanks to Soonyoung.

“Do you like this place?” he asks, mouth full as he chews on the grilled beef you had just served for him.

You nod, taking a piece of meat into your mouth.

“I’m glad,” he says. “This is me and my best friend’s favorite place. We come here every weekend to drink. He doesn’t really drink, but he eats a lot and takes me home to make sure I don’t die. Jihoon knows him, too, apparently. Small world, if you ask me. Wonwoo used to go to the same college as Jihoon.”

You almost choke. Soonyoung quickly hands you a glass of water and asks if you’re okay.

Small world, my ass. The universe should might as well just punch you in the gut.

“Wonwoo,” you breathe out. “Jeon Wonwoo.”

“Yes,” Soonyoung exclaims. “You know him, too? That’s—wait, that actually makes sense. You and Jihoon have been best friends since birth. Of course, you know Wonwoo.”

“Soonyoung,” you say, catching your breath after chugging the glass of water. “We have been hanging out for two, three weeks now. Why haven’t you ever mentioned Jeon Wonwoo?”

What difference would have it done? You would have avoided Soonyoung at all costs, wouldn’t have bothered to befriend this bright, kind man across you. Then, that would minimize the chances of ever seeing Jeon Wonwoo in Seoul until you have to go back home.

Soonyoung shrugs. “He’s been busy. But he should be free next weekend, so we can meet up here then—“

“No,” you cut him off and visibly, you could see how Soonyoung’s mouth form into a pout. “No, Soonyoung. Sorry.”

“Why?” He asks. “Wonwoo is not that bad. He’s a little cold, but he’s not that bad. You should know if you had known him back in Changwon. I mean, Jihoon is the coldest person in the universe, so Wonwoo is not half bad.”

“It’s not like that, Soonyoung,” you sigh, picking up a piece of radish and shoving it in your mouth.

The man across you is puzzled for a minute, chewing on another piece of meat with his eyebrows furrowed.

Soonyoung suddenly gasps when it dawns to him. “Oh my God.”

“Shut up.” He knows.

“You’re the ex,” he exclaims. “Holy shit!”

“Shut up, Soonyoung.”

“You are!” He repeats. “You’re the ex that got him so fucked up on his first year here in Seoul!”

“That’s rude,” you remark.

“Sorry,” he says. “Oh, I am so going to call Jihoon later. This should be fun.”

***

What are the odds of meeting Jeon Wonwoo for the first time in three years?

More than half month ago, back in Changwon, chances were nearly zero. Wonwoo completely moved to Seoul and never bothered to return since he left. His father and brother had already moved to Seoul, too; Wonwoo never really had a reason to go back.

Weeks ago, chances were little to likely. You are in Seoul. It is a big city, but bumping into him wasn’t completely impossible.

Two weeks ago, chances were most likely. After learning that Soonyoung had been friends with him for three years, it’s definitely a possibility to see him one of these days.

But here, in a small cafe at the corner of the street leading the way to your workplace, you would think that it’s less likely. There are thousands of cafes across Seoul, a wide variety of themes scattered along the busy streets, and it’s not very likely for you to meet Jeon Wonwoo in this place.

Yet here he is. Right in front of you. Sitting right across you as if it’s the easiest thing to do.

“So, uhh,” he starts, clearing his throat and setting his clasped hands on top of the table between you. “Seoul. How is it?”

You shrug, looking anywhere but him. “It’s alright. Too noisy—“

“I figured,” he interrupts but apologizes right away. “I mean. It’s different. From home. So, I figured it would be too noisy for you.”

Jeon Wonwoo is different, and it’s not like you expected him to remain the same after all these years, because you, too, are an entirely different person now. His hair is fixed, cut clean and pushed back from his forehead so that it doesn’t cover his eyes. Eyeglasses are nowhere to be found; you reckon he’s wearing transparent contacts to help with his sight. He’s wearing a suit and a tie, something you seldom saw back in Changwon, and he’s more confident now. He doesn’t look away when he talks. He doesn’t look like the Wonwoo you had known.

The Wonwoo you had known never would have approached you as soon as you stepped in the cafe. The Wonwoo you had known would have pretended he never saw you and ran away. The Wonwoo you had known would have shot a text to Jihoon to let him know that he saw you, so that you would initiate a conversation with him next time because you knew that he was too shy to say hi first.

In the end, you don’t really know a Jeon Wonwoo at present. He doesn’t know you at the same time.

“Jihoon said the same thing,” he continues, filling the awkward air with words you could barely absorb because you’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he really is sitting right across you. “When he moved here for a while. I also thought of the same thing during my first few months here.”

You hum. The barista calls both your names just in time before another wave of awkward silence could take over you.

Wonwoo abruptly stands and tells you he’ll take both your orders. You let him. Your legs probably do no have enough strength to stand on its own at this time.

He comes back with both your orders combined in one tray. You’re glad you didn’t get anything to eat, otherwise you might have to vomit your insides out with how much your stomach is shaking.

“You sure you don’t want to eat anything?” He asks as he sets your drink in front of you. “The strawberry shortcake here is nice. Even the tiramisu is to die for.”

You shake your head. “I should get going,” you answer instead. “I just dropped by for some coffee. I need to go back to work.”

Wonwoo nods as he sips into his drink. “You work right down the street, right? I texted Jihoon while ordering, I hope you don’t mind. I asked him where you worked. I should have just asked you.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “But I should really go.”

Wonwoo pulls out his phone and slides it in front of you. The screen tells you he’s asking for your number.

“Please allow me to take you out for lunch,” he asks. “Let’s catch up.”

If your heart was galloping two minutes ago, at this point it’s in a fucking drag race. It’s not a good feeling and you do not trust yourself enough for things like this.

“Wonwoo,” you sigh. “I don’t think we should.”

“Why not?” He asks. “It’ll be alright. Besides, I’ve been meaning to ask Jihoon for your number anyway, ever since he told me you had moved here. I can help you fi—“

“Wonwoo, please,” you reply. Wonwoo stops. And this is the only time you actually look at his eyes.

His eyes soften when he notices the way your face winces in distress. Worry clouds the windows to his soul, and this lets you know that this Wonwoo may not entirely different from the Wonwoo you had known.

“Please,” you say again. “I’m not even sure why I agreed to sit across you, let alone give you my number and let you in again.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“You left, remember?” you reply. Wonwoo doesn’t answer. “You left. I could have waited for you, or uprooted my entire life so I could follow you here if you had a little more patience. A little more understanding.”

You have no idea where this burst of emotions are suddenly coming from, but it’s here now and you are not going to contain it.

“I don’t think I can be friends with you again, Wonwoo,” you continue. “It’s—it’s not right. It’s not good. For me. It’s not good for me, and I don’t think I am ready to reconnect with you in any form. I’m sorry, Wonwoo.”

“No,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

You nod and take your cup of coffee, bowing your head a little. “I’ll see you around.”

Wonwoo watches you leave.

***

You don’t drink a lot, and it reminds you why you, Jihoon, and Wonwoo were closer to one another compared to the rest of your friendship group back in college. The three of you were, by default, the ones responsible to take everyone home safely.

It was a routine back in college. So long as nobody has to attend some kind of practice on the weekend (swimming, football, debate club, theater – name it), everyone from your group would meet up at the same place at seven every Friday night. You, Wonwoo, and Jihoon knew everyone’s dormitories and were always in a conquest to ensure everyone would have hangover soup and aspirin ready by the time they wake up in the morning.

The flashes of memories make you smile as you down on another shot of alcohol, and man, do you wish Jihoon could keep you company. Both of you would have been so shitfaced by the third shot, careless and honest strings of words thrown at each other. As soon as alcohol has reached your system, you and him become emotional turmoils. You and him, despite being fully grown adults, are still terrible drinkers.

And you wonder if Wonwoo had learned how to handle his alcohol tolerance better.

The drink is hot when it slides down your throat, but you like it better than the feeling in your chest.

Jeon Wonwoo is the greatest love of your life.

It had always felt like he was a gift from the sky, like a star who fell comfortably on your hands, sharing his light and warmth whenever he was close. The star himself winked his vibrance amidst the void surrounding you – just in time when you were going through growing pains.

High school wasn’t the best time of your life, unlike any other person you may ask. It was when you were still trying to get to know yourself better while juggling school and family matters. Jeon Wonwoo had sat at the back of the class, as though he’s the furthest star from the sky, but his light extended far enough for you to see him.

Wonwoo has always been handsome, even when he had gained some weight on his cheeks in sophomore year and when he decided to get a K-Idol type of haircut that didn’t quite suit him. He was quiet and timid, wouldn’t talk to you unless you approach him first, but was subtly funny when he starts becoming comfortable. Wonwoo and Jihoon’s similarities made them friends, and you had to start competing against Wonwoo for the title of Jihoon’s best friend as soon as you noticed how much Jihoon adores the boy.

The three of you were inseparable. But it was always different with Wonwoo.

Jihoon wrote you a letter when your 15-year old dog passed away, and it was the most beautiful string of words you had read your entire life. Wonwoo couldn’t express himself well, but he slept over for two weeks and held your hand every day during that difficult time of your life.

Which is why the lines were never blurred with Jihoon, but with Wonwoo, it was always grey.

Jeon Wonwoo kissed you under the stars on the night of your graduation day – hands shaking, lips soft, eyes twinkling – and told you he had decided to go to the same college as you and Jihoon.

Wonwoo had just gotten a car from his father on the first day of college, and he made it a point to drive you to and from the state university. He had asked you to be his girlfriend before you got off from his car on the first day of freshmen year.

When you, him, and Jihoon had found part-time jobs to get you through dorm rent and daily needs, it had saved countless of core memories in your head. Those were difficult times, but it never felt that way when you had those two boys by your side.

Eventually, you and Wonwoo moved in together to save some money for rent. You and him fell into daily routines and in love with each other even more. Wonwoo became family, eventually, and you to his, and for a period of time, all was well. Better than well, most of the time.

That is until Wonwoo had to leave right after graduation and you couldn’t because you had so many things going for you in Changwon. There were opportunities for you and him, but in different places, and it would have been unfortunate if either of you turned these chance. Wonwoo had asked if you wouldn’t consider moving with him. Seoul is a big city, after all, there were jobs available for you. But as much as Wonwoo was a dreamer, you were, too. You had dreams of your own, and those dreams aren’t in Seoul.

Hence, Wonwoo had left and you had stayed. You were ready to let him go if it means he would fly and be successful. There were hushed promises the last time you made love in your shared apartment, words of comfort that things would be fine, that you and him will eventually find your way back to each other once you figure things out. No concrete plan, but promises nonetheless.

Promises that were, eventually, thrown into oblivion.

Inevitably, you and him became occupied at work – too much that sometimes both of you forget to call. On the weekends, during Wonwoo’s first few months in Seoul, you would take a train to visit him and spend your days off from work together. For a while, it worked. The routine of not talking at all from Mondays to Fridays and catching up on the weekends with you taking a train to Seoul worked. That is until you noticed Wonwoo never bothered to come see you at home.

To your surprise, his father and younger brother had moved to Seoul when he found a place for them to stay nearby. Bohyuk, his brother, was getting ready for college, and Wonwoo decided it would be best for him to study in the city and have his father move, too.

“Not right now,” Wonwoo had answered as soon as he picked up the call. But you weren’t having it.

“Don’t hang up,” you had warned while knowing well that he was in the middle of work. “Bohyuk dropped by to say goodbye. You never bothered to tell me you’ve decided to have them move to Seoul.”

“Y/N,” Wonwoo warned in the same tone. “I’m at work. Let’s talk about this when you come here on the weekend.”

“I am not going there on the weekend, Wonwoo,” you firmly replied. “Why don’t you ever come home?”

Wonwoo had stayed silent on the other line.

“You like Seoul that much, huh?” You taunted. Wonwoo huffed on the other line and you knew him well enough to understand that he’s just as angry as you. “You’ve never bothered to come home. I’ve always travelled miles and miles for you, spending my days off on trains and not being able to sleep well at night because it’s not my bed. Every fucking weekend since you moved to the city.”

“What are you trying to say?” Wonwoo asked.

You sighed, palm on your forehead as you tried to think about where you and him went wrong. “Wonwoo, why do you never come home?”

Wonwoo never held back, didn’t take a second to even think about his answer. “I don’t have a reason to visit Changwon. It’s not home for me.”

That was the last straw for you.

It may be the vodka that’s keeping you from remembering, but you’ve forgotten what you had said after that. All you remember is how you were fuming mad and had taken an empty box to gather all of Wonwoo’s things and to send it to his address in Seoul. It was only then that you had realized Wonwoo had really left. He had taken all of his belongings when he left to Seoul, and you realized he didn’t bother leaving any clothes or any pair of shoes when he took the flight to Incheon to reach Seoul. It was only then that you had realized Wonwoo never inteded to go back. He took all of what’s his and had left you.

And it may be, again, the vodka that’s talking but you understand now why you dislike Seoul so much.

It’s because you never understood why Wonwoo had easily left you for a city so bright and so loud, and you were jealous of that. You were envious of a city and you wonder why Changwon was never enough for him to even visit. Why you were never enough for him to call you home.

Wonwoo, indeed, was a star that fell out of the sky.

The universe never told you that you had to return him back to the sky eventually. It was the most painful thing you had to do, but you did it, anyway.

***

It turns out that saying that you don’t want to reconnect with Wonwoo is better said than done.

Soonyoung is determined to see you and Wonwoo in the same room, same space, same air – that’s why you are here, again, in the same barbecue place that Soonyoung took you weeks ago.

It’s Saturday, and Soonyoung picked you up from your apartment to have some grilled meat, yours and his favorite. And you should have known, truly, with the smug look on his face and overly huge grin on his mouth, that Wonwoo had been waiting for you and Soonyoung at the said place.

Wonwoo and Soonyoung talk animatedly about work and how the week went by so slow with the load of work they had to finish. The two apparently met at work and have been friends since then.

You stay silent for the most part, reason truly being to tired from work. You tell them you had been working ten to eleven hours a day since Monday because of the preparation for the program’s launch. Soonyoung points out that all you’ve been eating for the entire week are noodles and soda.

“That’s not healthy,” Wonwoo comments.

“I know,” you sigh. “But I don’t really have that much time to make something for breakfast. And I would be too tired in the evening to even wait for food delivery so I just settle on what I have.”

The conversation falls into place, awkwardness from the first few minutes gone, thanks to a tipsy Soonyoung clearing the air for everyone. And just like this, you and Wonwoo fell into another routine, as if those years of nothingness between you and him never existed.

***

Jihoon is surprised when he sees you and Wonwoo pick him up from the airport.

You had filled him in, of course, with the situation and how much you hate it, but still, your best friend couldn’t hide how happy (maybe?) he was to see you and Wonwoo together (not really). You decided to let Jihoon stay in your apartment for the entire two weeks that he needed to be here for business. One thing common about you and him, he could never sleep well on a hotel’s bed.

Wonwoo tags along, of course, and it’s the first time he sees where you live. You see him briefly stare at the pictures you had displayed in your small living room (many, many photographs of you and Jihoon, your family, some friends, and your pets who were left at home). He takes a second to study each, and you wonder if he’d been expecting to see his face on the photographs.

“Thanks, Wonwoo, for driving us here,” Jihoon says. “Y/N, I told you it would be more convenient if you get a driver’s license and buy a car. Especially here in Seoul. How are you commuting every damn day?”

You shrug as you start to unpack Jihoon’s carry on. “The company pays for my transportation. Also, driving, me? Can you really picture that?”

Both Wonwoo and Jihoon laugh.

“Some things never change,” Wonwoo mumbles.

You never learned how to drive because Wonwoo always drove you to places when you were younger. You were too uncoordinated to learn it on your own, and now you feel like you’re too old to take driving courses.

Wonwoo helps Jihoon settle in on the spare bedroom you had prepared for him. You can’t help but kiss Jihoon on the cheek when you the dried fish he had packed just for you.

“There is dried fish from the supermarket nearby,” Wonwoo comments as he watches you place the delicacies on the cupboard. “They’re good, too.”

You shake your head, still smiling, “Nothing will ever taste like home.”

Jihoon agrees from his bedroom.

The three of you decide to have dinner across the apartment complex. Soonyoung joins you within half an hour, which is why as soon as you finish your meal, alcohol is served on the table.

“You’re a fucking alcoholic,” you joke. Soonyoung pouts and says it’s the best time to drink because Jihoon is here. This is, as he says, a rare occurrence in the universe.

Eventually, Soonyoung was able to pursuade the three of you to drink, but he was already too tipsy himself to realize that you and Wonwoo had stopped taking shots on your second ones. Jihoon, however, seems to be having fun drinking with Soonyoung.

When the clock hits 12, Soonyoung’s roommate arrives to pick him up. The man introduces himself as Jun.

Jun is handsome, and he shakes his head when you offer him a drink. Soonyoung begins to tease you and tells everyone that he’s never seen you so red before. You tell them it’s the alcohol, but even Jihoon wasn’t buying it. Flirting wasn’t really your forte, and maybe it was those two shots of soju that helped you speak confidently with Jun the entire 20 minutes he sat on your table.

“Sorry,” you say as you and Jun haul Soonyoung to the car.

“It’s fine,” the man answers and settles his friend on the back seat. “I wonder why Soonyoung never introduced you.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you reply. “I’ll see you around. Thanks for picking him up.”

Jun nods, smiling, and takes a device from his back pocket. “Here,” he says softly. “Put your number.”

Your breath is caught when you realize what’s going on, and unconsciously, for a reason unknown to you, you look back at the restaurant where Wonwoo is seated right the wall made in glass.

He is looking right back at you as this is happening.

Jun is quick-witted. He realizes what’s going on and chuckles.

“Oh,” he mutters, about to pull his phone back but you stop him, pulling your eyes away from Wonwoo.

Jun is surprised when you punch your number in and give yourself a missed call.

“Is it okay?” He asks.

“Nothing’s going on between me and Wonwoo,” you answer confidently.

Jun laughs, and you blush. “I’ll just say I believe you, okay? Now, give me a hug so he can throw more daggers at me. He’s been slaughtering me with his eyes since you and I started talking back there.”

You’re taken aback when Jun suddenly pulls you in, your face buried in his fruity scent and you laugh when he makes an effort to make it look real. He bids goodbye and you watch his car leave before returning to Wonwoo and a very sleepy Jihoon.

“Took you a while,” Wonwoo mumbles and helps Jihoon to stand. “Saying goodbye really takes that long?”

You shrug and walk to the other side of Jihoon, helping him walk as well. “He’s nice.”

“Nice enough to give your number immediately?” he mutters, making you chuckle at the new behavior.

“Yes, of course,” you answer sarcastically. “Soonyoung has mentioned him before. I’ve been looking forward to meeting him.”

The three of you walk (Jihoon, very drunkenly) across the street. Wonwoo punches the button to your apartment’s floor and you’re impressed at how easily he remembered it despite being here the first time.

Wonwoo complains about how buff Jihoon had gotten and how heavy he is when he comes back to the living room after closing the door behind your best friend’s room. He catches you making tea, and you don’t even remember grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

“Tea?” You offer. Wonwoo hums and takes one mug from the counter. He comfortably takes a seat on the couch, taking a look around while waiting for the tea to cool a little. You don’t hesitate to take a seat beside him.

“Nice place,” he comments.

“Isn’t that compliment a little too late?” you joke, blowing air to your tea and deciding to set it down the table beside Wonwoo’s because it’s still too hot.

“We were busy unpacking Jihoon’s things,” he answers. “I didn’t get a good look.”

“Thanks,” you say anyway. “Nothing like home but, you know, it’s nice.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “You like comparing everything to what it is at home. If you keep doing that, you’re never going to truly like Seoul. Changwon and Seoul are two different places.”

“I have no plans of liking Seoul,” you answer. “I’m here for work. Once I’m done, I’m going back home.”

Wonwoo nods. He looks at you and finally, you look back at him. Wonwoo had his hair down today, unlike all the other days you’ve seen him. He’s wearing his glasses and it reminds you a lot of what he used to look like when you were in college. He’s wearing a plain white shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. And you would be lying if you say you’re not attracted to him right now.

He has always been handsome, and though you like when he wears suit and tie, nothing will ever compare to how attractive he looks right now, to how much he looks like the Wonwoo you had known right now.

Wonwoo licks his lips when your eyes meet his, and the sparks light up like a switch, then seconds later he’s kissing you.

Wonwoo’s lips are as soft as you could remember despite how roughly he’s holding you as he kisses the air out of your lungs. His hands are on your jaw, keeping your face still and he dives in, his tongue licking your lips and asking you to open up. You cave in so, so, so easily when his hands travel to your arms and to your legs and when he pulls you so that you’re sitting on top of him.

Wonwoo licks and bites and sucks your lips and your tongue, and the heat between your legs makes you moan. The sound you make invites Wonwoo to touch the skin in your hips, your shirt lifted a little, and suddenly he’s pulling the material over your head.

He is hard when you move closer and sit right on top of his crotch, and he makes the same sinful sound when you grind yourself on his boner. The strap of your bra begins to fall from your arms and this encourages Wonwoo’s lips to leave yours and mark up your shoulders and chest. You throw your head back when Wonwoo pulls one of cups of your bra down and starts kissing your breasts. He nips and sucks where you want it the most and uses his other hand to massage the other.

“Wonwoo,” you moan. “Room.”

Wonwoo doesn’t need a second. He uses his strength to stand and carry you while your legs are wrapped around his waist, teas forgotten and cold. He locks your room, gently places you on bed and pulls his shirt off his body before climbing on top of you again.

“Can I take these off?” He asks. You don’t know which piece of clothing he’s asking but you nod anyway.

Wonwoo unclasps the last piece of clothing that’s covering your chest and continuest to dive in, mouth finding your nipple, sucking, nipping, biting, kissing. And it’s hot and your heart somersaults with how familiar this feels. With how much Wonwoo remembers when it comes to your body. You feel your wetness pool even more between your legs when you realize Wonwoo has been kissing you on the right places, sucking when you need it the most, biting where you want it the most

“Wonwoo,” you moan when he finishes sucking both your breasts and moves down to kiss your stomach. “Please.”

“Please what, sweetheart?” He asks. You involuntarily moan at the nickname and how low and attractive his voice sounds, and how much you remember that he likes words being used when fucking. “Tell me what you want.”

“I need you,” you answer. Wonwoo chuckles, kissing your stomach.

“You need me now?” he taunts. “You seem to like Jun.”

You shake your head, reaching so you could pull him back to your lips. You kiss Wonwoo, palms touching his neck and shoulders. (Wonwoo had started working out, you realize.)

“I’ve only ever liked you,” you say in between kissing him. “Please. I need you.”

“Don’t be in love with someone else,” Wonwoo whispers and you nod. He kisses you one more time before going back down in between your legs.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he commands. “What do you want me to do?”

“Your hands and mouth,” you answer. Wonwoo shakes his head. You sigh, closing your eyes and know exactly what he wants to hear. “Please eat me out, Wonwoo. Please use your tongue and your fingers.”

Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate. ��Can I take these off?” You nod. He pulls your pants alongside your panties down.

You bite your lip when Wonwoo breathes out as soon as he sees you on full display. Unconsciously, you start to cover your breasts and close your thighs, but Wonwoo stops you and tells you he wants to see you first. Wonwoo takes his time looking at you, admiring your skin and the wetness between your legs.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” he whispers and dives in.

Wonwoo knows how to use his tongue well. There were a lot of things you’ve already forgotten about your dynamics, but if you could recall one thing perfectly, it’s how amazing he treated you in bed. He takes his time making small, soft licks on your folds, tongue glazing on your clit, making you squirm and moan. Wonwoo holds you down when you start to move and close your legs on his head.

“I’ve missed this,” Wonwoo mutters as he sucks and kisses your cunt. You’re a moaning mess and even worse when you see him looking right at you as he licks your wetness. “I’ve missed you,” he says, eyes locked to yours, tongue slowly licking up, showing you exactly how wet you are for him through his tongue. He climbs back and kisses you, letting you taste yourself.

Wonwoo takes this moment to slide to fingers in while you’re making out. His mouth swallows your moans when he fingers you fast, your cunt making a scandalous schluck, schluck, schluck sound as his fingers pound you hard and fast. You’re about to cum when Wonwoo stops.

“Do you have a condom?” He asks and that’s when it hits you.

“Fuck, I don’t,” you answer. Wonwoo nods and says it’s okay. He lays on his side beside and starts to slide his fingers again.

“I’ll make you cum like this,” he assures but you shake your head.

“I’m clean,” you say suddenly. Wonwoo takes the message. “I’ve never had sex with anybody after you.”

“Me neither,” he answers and you’re already gone.

“Pull out,” you remind him. “I’m not ovulating so we should be good.”

Wonwoo agrees and removes his pants. His erection springs and it’s huge and red and you sit up to touch him but Wonwoo stops you.

“I might cum as soon as you touch me,” he says. “Next time.”

Next time. Next time. Next time.

You nod and lie back down on your pillows, legs open for Wonwoo, all wet and ready for him. Wonwoo settles between you, one hand on the bed steadying himself and the other holding his hardness. He massages his tip nice and slow with your clit and it takes everything in you not to take matters into your hands and ride the fuck out of him. You let Wonwoo take his time when he slides into you slowly.

He’s as big as you remember, but he prepared you well (and wet) enough for your cunt to swallow his cock gracefully. Wonwoo is a mess when you look at him. His face is read and contorted into a look of pleasure when he feels how warm you are inside.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re still just as warm.”

He begins to slide in and out, a steady pace, and kisses you all over your face, asking if you feel good. You nod and let out a moan when he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

“You feel exactly the same since the last time.” Since you left. “And I love you,” Wonwoo says. “I love you.”

He says it over and over again. He says it when he pulls out for a second, bringing your legs up on his shoulders and fucking you deeply on your bed. He says it when he spreads your legs again, diving back to your lips, and tells you he’s about to cum. He says it over and over again when he makes you cum first, fingers making circles on your clit as he swallows the noises you make when you reach your orgasm. And he says it when he continues fucking you until he has to pull out and cum on your stomach.

You say it back when Wonwoo carries you to the toilet because he knows you need to pee after sex. You say it again when he cleans you up with the shower head and a towel. You say it again when he carries you back to bed and pulls the covers over your body, kissing you on the lips and on the forehead. You say it again when he’s asleep and you’re staring at the digital clock on your bedside table, Wonwoo hugging you from behind, his naked chest keeping you warm.

Just when you’re about to drift off to sleep, you look at the time again. 1:56 am, it says, and you wonder if it’s going to hurt if it doesn’t work out with Wonwoo for the second time.

Your back aches a little, a small groan leaving your lips when you adjust your torso so that it's more comfortable. Wonwoo remembers it like the back of his hand and helps you adjust yourself so that your back is not as stiff. He mumbles a soft I love you, and you hum when his thumb makes small circles on the skin of your stomach.

The last thing in your mind before completely passing out is the answer: yes. It’s going to hurt.

A routine is made after that night.

Wonwoo had woken up long before you, but he stayed on the same position as you slept. The only difference was that he had his phone in his hands as you slept soundly. He had kissed you as soon as he realized you were awake like it’s the most normal thing to do. He had dressed up and said he’ll pick you and Jihoon up for dinner and that he had to leave because he had to do his laundry before Monday arrives.

Indeed, Wonwoo had picked you up that same evening. When he held your hand and kissed you in the car, Jihoon didn’t say anything. After that dinner, Wonwoo stayed the night again (and this time, you and him had to be more quiet because Jihoon was awake and sober in the other room).

The routine goes like this: Wonwoo picks you up from work every day because he clocks out at the same time and eats dinner with you or with you and Jihoon if the latter is not busy. Sometimes he would take you out for dinner, other times he asks you to cook for him at your apartment. He does home and only stays the night if it’s the weekend. When Jihoon leaves Seoul for Busan, he tells you he's happy his best friends are together again, and warns that love is more painful the second time around as much as it is sweeter.

Some weekends, Wonwoo would take you to his father and brother’s apartment nearby the university. Bohyuk looked confused, most likely why you’re suddenly in the picture again when he knows all too well that it didn’t end up nicely between you and his brother, but he never said anything.

It’s easy to fall into a routine with Wonwoo, and the lines were never blurred. He never shied away from admitting how he felt and conveniently, you had always felt the same.

He apologized for leaving you behind (though, him leaving Changwon wouldn’t have been so bad, you could have compromised) and for never making an effort all because he was too excited to venture out his new life in Seoul. He spends hours talking about his experience and how much he missed you every step of the way. And just like that, you and Wonwoo are back together.

All is well, at least for the time being.

The program launch was a success six months in. You had underestimated yourself in the beginning, yet here you are after months of working hard, recognized and praised by your bosses with how efficient you had worked for the last six months.

They jokingly tell you that you’re free to go back home now, but Seoul will always be ready for you whenever you wanted to come back.

And in the last six months, you have learned love the place despite its noise and how busy it is all the time. You have understood why people sought after Seoul’s vibrance and why people find inspiration when they visit the city. You have seen different personalities and realized that maybe it’s not the city that’s giving the place colors, maybe it’s the people and their diversities and quirks. Seoul, finally, is a place you like and would often visit if given the chance.

But in the end, home is still home.

People think that all small town girls want to venture out the big city and learn life from there, but it’s different for you. You like Changwon, and as much as you love Seoul now, nothing compares to home.

And so you decide to go back home.

And Wonwoo wasn’t taking it well.

“But I thought you love Seoul,” he argues when you drop the bomb on him.

“I do,” you answer. “And I love you. But it’s not home, Wonwoo.”

He licks his lips, frustrated and leans back from the dining chair. “Y/N, stay. You’ll do well here.”

“I’ll do better in Changwon, Won,” you reply. “Besides, it’s not like we’re breaking up again. We know better now.”

“You don’t know that,” he mumbles and drinks from the glass.

You sigh, losing the appetite. “Won. I supported you when you wanted to move to Seoul. Can’t you do the same for me?”

“Am I not enough?” He mumbles. You understand but you ask him to repeat. “Am I not enough?”

You laugh sardonically. “It's funny because I was asking myself the exact same thing when you left me for Seoul.”

Wonwoo sighs. “That was different, Y/N. We were just starting our careers back then. It was an opportunity I couldn’t miss. It’s different this time. You have the choice to stay.”

“And you had the choice to visit me once or twice and to make it work,” you retort. Wonwoo is taken aback by your sudden attitude. “But you didn’t. In your head, it was all Seoul. You told me you didn’t have a reason to come home.”

“I only said that because I was pissed,” he answers. “You’re the one who broke up with me.”

“And you didn’t bother calling back,” you respond. It’s true. He never called back, never tried to apologize, never took a train home to ask you to take him back – which you would have. In a heartbeat. Without a doubt.

“Was I not enough?” You ask the question back to him. “Was I not enough for you to compromise, Wonwoo? Now, am I not enough for you to finally learn how to compromise and make this work?”

Wonwoo stays silent. You can’t read his mind, so you pick up the dishes and wash up. He avoids you at all costs. By the time the clock hits 9 pm, Wonwoo bids you goodbye – but not before kissing you on the forehead.

When the door is shut, you start to cry and pack your things.

***

Your flight is three days from now, but Soonyoung is already acting like it’s your last day. He reckons it would be nice to have dinner at the same barbecue place for the last time because you would be too busy for he next two days.

The dinner is nice, as always, and Wonwoo is silent the whole time. Soonyoung teases him and tells his friend not to be too sad that you’re going back, unaware of the fight you and the latter had two days ago.

When dinner is done, Wonwoo drives you home and announces that he’s staying the night. You let him and kiss him on the lips before taking a shower.

Wonwoo hugs you while you scroll through your phone on the bed.

It’s been two days and all he’s done is to mope around. He has followed you everywhere but hasn’t said anything about you moving. He takes care of you, kisses you, and even makes love to you but he doesn’t talk about the elephant in the room. You are just as bad; you don’t say anything either.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly when you’re laughing at a video from Instagram, you almost miss it.

“What was that?” you ask, pausing the video and looking up at him. Your head is resting on his arm, his hand playing with one of yours.

“I’m sorry,” he says it again, clearly this time. “I thought about us a lot, even talked to Jihoon and asked for his insights. And I realized how insensitive I have been towards you and this relationship. Jihoon told me about how much pain you went through three years ago—“

“Wonwoo, you’ve already been forgiven,” you interrupt.

“No, please let me apologize properly,” he says. “Three years ago, Changwon wasn’t the place for me. I was happy with you but I knew it in my heart that I couldn’t stay in Changwon. The first week in Seoul was the best week of my life. I had learned how to deal with different personalities here, and found myself learning about my own potentials that I couldn’t see when I was in Changwon. I was happy in Seoul, and it had always felt incomplete because you weren’t around. And I knew you never wanted to move.

“I had asked father and Bohyuk to move here because I knew they’d be better off here, too. And I knew deep down, you weren’t too keen of the idea of moving here with me someday, and that made me mad. That made me think as though you didn’t love me enough to even visit me every weekend, not realizing that you did. You do. You loved me so much that you let me go even when you were lonely and missing me most days. You supported me, and took your days off with me so that we could make it work.

“I was the one who didn’t love you enough to see through what we could have done and compromised to be together until the end. And with you being here in Seoul for the last six months, I have learned that I can never be truly happy if you’re not with me. So, I’m sorry, Y/N, that I had been too selfish years ago and even now. I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize once again a mistake I could have done for the second time. I’m sorry that you had to double your efforts back then and that I had made you feel like you weren’t enough – and the truth is that you are. More than enough if you ask me. And I am willing to meet you halfway to make it work this time.”

By the time Wonwoo is done, you’re already crying and hugging him. You don’t realize this until Wonwoo laughs and comments about how you made a paper towel out of his shirt. You apologize and stand to grab another shirt for him. He thanks you and helps you wipe your tears as you and him sit across each other on your bed.

“So how do we do this?” he asks. “We can take turns going back and forth from Changwon and here.”

“They’re promoting me as senior manager for both sites: Changwon and Seoul,” you announce. Wonwoo gasps and hugs you. “You can come visit me if you miss me too much, but I’d like to talk about moving some of my things to your apartment if you don’t mind.. I’m giving this place up.”

Wonwoo kisses you again and again, saying he’s proud of you and tells you that he’s going to start moving your things tomorrow. You tell him that you will still take the flight to Changwon in three days to check on your team, but you’ll most likely be back in a month.

You and Wonwoo spend hours talking about your plans, and somehow it reminds you of three years ago when Wonwoo had to leave. But this time, instead of hushed promises, you and him had plans: a timetable and a commitment to make it work this time.

Wonwoo randomly brings up the question of marriage and what would happen by the time you and him decide to tie the knot. You kiss him goodnight and tell him that you’ll cross the bridge when you get there. He asks if you would marry him if he asks you.

You say yes before you and him drift to sleep.

***

The flight back to Changwon took an hour at least. Your luggage weighs lighter compared to how heavy it was when you left six months ago.

There is a light, hopeful feeling in your chest as you push your luggage in the middle of the busy arrival area. Your phone dings, but you decide you’d check it later when you reach home.

Changwon is much, much warmer than Seoul, and you kind of forgotten because you wore a jacket before departing the city. Its salty air hits you as soon as you step out of the airport and suddenly, you’re reminded why you loved home so much.

The taxi stops right in front of you. The old man helps you with your luggage albeit light. You thank him and he asks you the address. His accent tells you you’re home.

Your phone dings again, and you pull out your phone this time.

The messages are from Wonwoo. The first one is a picture of him pouting with a caption “missing you already x”.

The second one is a message that makes your heart swell.

From: Wonuuu <3 Seoul is colder without you. Have a great time in Changwon, love. Trust that your Wonwoo will wait for you.

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fic #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo scenario #wonwoo angst #wonwoo au #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo scenario #ex!wonwoo #seventeen #svt wonwoo #seventeen smut #seventeen fic #seventeen au

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roanniom · 2 years

Note

Days like today I just want Eddie to pin me against the wall and say the dirtiest things to me until I crumble in his arms :)

Studying

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Note: lol I got carried away with this one, sorry.

Warning: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, semi public sex-ish, grinding, dirty talk

Eddie loves to find you when you're studying in the community college library. You're a full-time student, but he's taking a music business course on Tuesday nights, and he knows exactly where to find you when class lets out at 10pm. You're always sequestered in the back of the stacks on the fourth floor. It's quiet there. No one to distract you and the history section all to yourself. That is until Eddie arrives.

He finds you looking through the shelves in the very back. Every other overhead light has been shut off in the energy-saving mode that the library switches to after 10pm. This leaves the corner draped in darkness, and that's where you find yourself pinned, your back against the angle where the two bookshelves meet. Eddie’s hands gripping the shelves on either side of your face. His pelvis crushed to yours and his lips at your ear.

“Pretty little baby’s been waiting all night just for someone to come and distract her, huh?” His lip catches against your earlobe as he speaks. Your hands clutch at his battle vest to pull him needlessly closer.

“E-Eddie, I need to study,” you mutter. You both know you’re a filthy liar. The words on the page had stopped making sense long before his class had finished and you’d really only stayed here so he could find you here alone. And moreover, you’re dragging him against your body, not allowing a centimeter of space to generate between you. Eddie chuckles.

“What do you need to study, baby? My fingers?” He brings a hand to your face, lightly hooking under your jaw to tip your head up while his thumb begins tracing your wet bottom lip. He applies light pressure on it and your mouth opens with a rushed exhale. “Looking for some extra credit there, princess?”

You blink up at him, brain already going fuzzy, and nod your head as best you can in his grasp. He takes that moment to insert his thumb in your mouth and you begin sucking dutifully without missing a beat. Eddie groans.

“Mmm I don’t know, baby. Seems like you might already be acing this subject matter.” He pulls his hand away and tsks you when you whine at the loss. The hand on your face slides to your neck while the other reaches down to clamp onto your hip. “What else is there baby? Maybe you need to study my...mouth?”

“Y-yeah,” is all you manage to agree vehemently before he’s descending on you. Catching you up in a bruising, frenzied kiss that sucks away your breath and curls your toes in your shoes. The hand on your throat tightens just a bit and you gasp into the kiss, allowing him more access to delve his tongue into your depths. He swallows your moan, fresh from the source.

When Eddie pulls away you are panting, but though his breathing is definitely sped up a bit, he smiles at you with an ease that drives you wild. He scrunches his face dramatically like he is considering something. His hand still light but steady on your throat.

“Nah, you’re almost too good at that, baby. Who’s the lucky fucker who got to tutor you to such high marks in making out?” he asks with a cheeky gleam in his eye. You’re so beyond the point of teasing or playing along at this point, shooting straight past to full on earnestness.

“You are, Eddie,” you exclaim, voice desperate even to your own ears. Eddie’s face feigns shock before it slides into a smirk.

“I should up my rates, then,” he teases. “If I’m such a good tutor, maybe you should be paying me double. Or maybe I should switch up the payment to something a little more...mutually beneficial.”

As he says this he hikes one of your legs up over his hip, hooking his hand up under your thigh in order to support you and keep your leg lifted. He swiftly grinds his clothed hard on against your panty-clad pussy. You whimper and do your best to grind back, seeking the friction you so urgently desire, but the angle he’s holding you at and the desperation of your gyration makes it so you push against him erratically.

And he laughs in your ear.

“Oh pretty baby. I think we might have found what you still need to study,” he whispers, mock sympathy rough on his voice. Eddie swivels his hips a bit harder and more intentionally against you now, causing a whimper to fall off your lips. “Need to study my dick, yeah?”

“Yes, Eddie,” you gasp. Your hands fly to his shoulders, fisting in the fabric of his jacket. Clinging to him for dear life as he hoists you more fully up against the corner, now both your legs wrapped around his torso. He sucks a ferocious kiss into the side of your throat, making you moan.

“Mmm yeah you do, fuck.” His words vibrate against your skin as he continues to mouth at you. You’re rutting against him as best you can now though it’s almost no use. You’re losing control, a shaking mess as the anticipation and the arousal builds your movements become shallow and weak. You know Eddie’s going to tire of the tease soon and take pity on you, it’s only a matter of time. But he chuckles at your attempts nonetheless. “Poor baby. So hot and bothered but she just can’t get herself off. Need my help getting yourself off on my dick? Want me to help you feel real good?”

“Eddie.” His name comes out as a squeak. Eddie places a blistering kiss on your lips, positively plundering your mouth with his tongue before pulling back, a string of spit connecting you till he laughs.

“Well you’re in luck, because I think we just established that I’m the best tutor around.” The motherfucker gives you a roguish wink and you melt even deeper against the bookshelf. He ruts his erection against you with purpose now, punctuating each of your gasps with another answering thrust. “Time for your first lesson.”

~*~

Taglist: @sacklerscumrag @millenialcatlady @theoncrayjoy @cowboy-kylo

@copycatkillerfics @boomhauer @boostilinski @wroteclassicaly @eddiesprincess86 @bambigoth-sims @chaoschaoswriting @lassie-bird @softpshycopath @katsukis1wife @spookyreidd

#Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson/you #Eddie Munson/reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #fem!reader

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hyukasmiles · 6 months

Text

—Soobin—

Fem reader

Warnings: NSFW// kinda in a public space? (workplace but private office) // spanking // oral (f) // spit // squirting // NOT PROOF READ

he’s the CEO of like a small company idk 😭

—

CEO! Soobin who is so mean to you. Always making you redo your work, making you stay late, yelling at you. The whole office knows about it too, constantly trying to cheer you up.

CEO! Soobin who calls you into his office, pinching his nose bridge. Your coworkers look at you like you’re a kicked puppy as you walk towards him, a couple of them shooting thumbs up towards you.

CEO! Soobin who locks the heavy oak door behind you, his breath hot on your neck. “You didn’t even pretend this time.” He laughs, pulling your hair to one side. “Just sent me an empty doc.”

CEO! Soobin who chuffs when you bat your eyelashes and whine about how sorry you are, pout about how you were afraid of missing the deadline and panicked and sent him the wrong thing. Big fat crocodile tears roll down your cheeks as you cross your arms under your chest basically pushing your boobs into his face. “You won’t fire me will you?” You whine.

CEO! Soobin who leads you to his big wooden desk and bends you over it and it’s so tall your feet don’t even touch the ground. He smacks your ass pushing your skirt over the fat. “Fuckin’ soaking wet down here aren’t you, just pathetic, I don’t even need to look.” He laughs, landing another hit. You squeal at the sensation, your legs kicking up reflexively. “I’ll fix your work this time.” He spreads your thighs open so easy, laughing more at the almost puddle in between your thighs.

CEO! Soobin who hates when you wear pantyhose cause he has to be extra careful when getting them off so no one notices anything, and he knows you only wear them when you’re trying to be difficult. “Should I rip them?” He asks, pressing two fingers against your cunt. “Have everyone in the office wondering what happened to them?”

“No-“ You whine, closing your thighs around his hand. “I’ll take them off.” Reaching behind you, you quickly pull the thin nylon down to your knees. “Good enough?”

CEO! Soobin who looks at your now bare cunt like a starved animal. “I should fuck you till you can’t walk.” He spanks you again, grabbing fist fulls of your ass. “You can go home early, it’s more expensive to keep you here anyway. Doesn’t that sound good? Half a day off?”

“But my work.” You pout, wiggling your ass a little. “I gotta do… that… thing.”

CEO! Soobin who tells you to shut up before he’s scooting you up the desk and propping your knees on the wood leaving your cunt level with his face. His thumbs spread open your pussy giving him room to lap at your cunt. He shoves his tongue into your cunt as far as it will go and licks at your gummy walls until you’re shaking, your upper body giving out leaving your chest and face squished against the oak.

You whine when he pulls away to spit on your cunt, using his thumbs to smear it across your clit. You arch your back at the stimulation, hoping to give him better access to the little bundle of nerves.

CEO! Soobin who nips and sucks at your clit until you’re so close to cumming you can taste it and then pulls away and moves to your poor little hole to do the same again and again and again until you’re sobbing so loud he tugs his tie off and shoves it in your mouth.

He works you up one more time before sucking on your clit to harshly it shoves you into an orgasm so strong it pushes all the air out of your lungs.

CEO! Soobin who sits there with his jaw slack, your release sprayed all over his designer suit and expensive desk. “Fuck- fuck- what- so fucking hot, squirted all over me.” He groans, spreading your cunt open again this time to just look at it.

CEO! Soobin who’s snapped out of his trance when his secretary knocks on the door, he moves quickly to get the two of you looking put together, pulling up your pantyhose and trying to dry off his suit with napkins. But when he helps you up your legs are too shaky to hold yourself up so he picks you up and takes you to the small bathroom connected to his office, leaving you on the sink counter so he can get back to work.

CEO! Soobin who tells all your coworkers you left during their lunch hour and that he’s got a big conference call he’s going to be on for the rest of the day and everyone's a little skeptical about it but they dismiss it because they’re too busy to get caught up on it. Little do they know he has you caged under him, your knees against your chest as he fucks you and demands you squirt for him again.

——-

Inbox always open 🫶

#txt #txt smut #kpop smut #soobin smut #beomgyu smut #taehyun smut #hueningkai smut #yeonjun smut #this isn’t very good lol

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writerracha · 1 year

Text

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ like never before, part 1 — han jisung x female reader

↻ around 950 :: best friend's brother :: cw. explicit smut. soft dom!jisung, "public" teasing, dry humping, dirty talk, begging, cumplay, use of "slut", "baby," "cutie," and "baby girl", slight edging, corruption kink if you look for it that might be developed later eheh.

you spend a part of your summer vacation at your rooomate's house, and her older brother is making you feel things you've never felt before. part one of a series of encounters.

↻ 18+ mdni :: not proof read, pls be kind :: masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Jisung pushes his fingers against your lips, muffling your moan.

“Shh…” he breathes in your ear. “You wouldn’t want anyone to hear us, right?”

You shake your head, Jisung’s breath tickling your ear. Slowly, he inserts his thumb in between your lips, and you suck it in, swirling your tongue around it.

“Good girl knows to listen.”

Jisung bucks his hips, growling softly against your neck. His cock is trapped between your thighs, his warm body pressed against your back. Your wetness, combined with his precum, is drenching your panties, and you know he can feel it. The friction is sending shivers throughout your body, his cock grinding against your aching cunt.

He feels so good between your legs, so warm and big, you don’t want him to stop moving. You want him inside you, all over you, your head going numb as Jisung continues to grind against you. He’s breathing harder, so you know he is close, but he keeps a steady rhythm. Your own climax is building fast, too fast.

You desperately suck on his thumb to refrain yourself from moaning too loud and Jisung chuckles.

“Is my good girl going to cum?”

You nod, and Jisung stops moving. You can’t hold back the whimper from escaping your mouth as you desperately roll your hips around his cock.

“Beg for it,” he grunts in your ear.

You sound pathetic, and you know you are, humping your swollen cunt against his hard cock, frustrated at the layer of clothing separating you from it - but Jisung is holding you tight against him.

“P-please…” you whisper.

“Please, what?”

“Please, Jisung… I need to cum… P-please make me cum…”

“Tell me what you want, baby girl,” he breathes, smearing his wet thumb on your cheeks, against your neck. “Do you want my cock?”

“Y-yes, I want your cock inside of me,” you sigh. “Your cock, your fingers, your tongue, a-anything…”

“So desperate,” he chuckles. “Who knew you were such a needy little slut…”

You can’t even argue with him. You never thought someone could make you go this insane, but you had never met Jisung.

Your roommate from college - and your best friend - offered you to stay at her parent’s house for a week during the summer vacation. You had nowhere to go, while they lived away from the city, with easy access to the beach and plenty of space. Your roommate just forgot to mention that her incredibly hot older brother would be there, too. Jisung’s smile instantly stole your heart, and his way of looking at you awakened desire in you.

You didn’t think he would be interested in you, but then the flirting started. He complimented you, helped you put sunscreen on your back. He stood so close to you one night as you made yourself a snack you were sure he was going to kiss you. He smiled at you, stared down at your body. There was undeniable attraction between you, but you didn’t know how to make a move, and you didn’t want your roommate to know.

Earlier he sat down next to you on the couch for movie night, and his hand slid under the blanket to touch your thigh. His fingers simply rested on your skin, but the simple touch made you wet. He just looked so good with his dark hair, his deep eyes, his loose tank top showing his firm biceps and hints of his chest. You pushed your thighs together, hoping he would understand what he was doing to you, and his hand slid closer to your wetness without touching it. His thumb caressed your inner thigh as the movie played, the rest of the family completely unaware of what was happening. You were so dizzy you thought you would faint - you completely missed the movie, but you couldn’t care less.

You had fingered yourself to the thought of Jisung minutes before he slipped into your room and pressed his hard cock against your ass. Did I make you wet, baby girl? You could only nod - you had never wanted anyone this bad.

“F-fuck, Jisung, please…” you whisper now.

He hums, placing a kiss on your neck, and starts to slowly thrust his hips, his cock rubbing against you once more. You bite your lips to refrain from moaning.

“So fucking wet,” he says softly. “A part of me wants to rip those cute panties and fuck you right here… Stretch that little hole and stuff it with my cum…”

No one has ever spoken to you this way, but you feel yourself clench, bucking your hips desperately against his length.

“You’d like that, huh?” Jisung laughs. “Then let’s keep it for later… Let’s not ruin the fun by rushing things. For now I’ll just make you cum, yeah, cutie?”

You nod, and Jisung thrusts his hips faster. His other hand grabs one of your tits above your tank top, massaging it, flicking your nipple. It only takes a few more seconds for your orgasm to wash through you. He muffles your noises with his hand, grunting hard, and removes himself from between your thighs as you ride your high. He pumps his cock in his fist a few times before he comes all over your panties, warm cum staining the fabric, soft grunts escaping his wet lips.

Sighing in relief and delight, Jisung spreads his cum on your underwear. You can’t see that well in the darkness of the room, but the moonlight is enough to see the dark stains. Jisung shoves his thickness in his boxers again and bites your earlobe.

“Better not wash those panties, baby girl, yeah? A souvenir from your vacation.”

You don’t know what to say - you want him to stay, to keep doing filthy things to you, but Jisung is already standing up from your bed, his hair tousled, his defined chest making you drool a little.

“Keep that cunt wet for me,” he says. “Next time I’ll show you how hard my tongue can make you cum.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

hiiii! thank you for reading ♡ this isn't very long because I want to see if this series would be interesting to any of you... I have so many ideas for this aah!! if you think i should write more parts please let me know! ♡♡

taglist: @lix-ables (let me know if you want to be added to my taglist)

#han jisung x y/n #han jisung x reader #han jisung x you #han jisung smut #han jisung hard hours #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz x reader #skz x female reader #han jisung x female reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #kpop smut

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apollos-calliope · 4 months

Text

a change of heart - luke castellan x child of iris!reader

warnings: betrayal scene, heartbreak, injuries, sword-fighting, uncontrollable angst the reader should be gender neutral and this is proofread, but i might’ve made some mistakes! please let me know if there is and i’ll fix it asap

word count: 2k

DISCLAIMER: some of the dialogue from this story is from episode 8 of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series on Disney+. this is because i wanted the reader to feel as if they were experiencing the scene first hand. since i fear the disney conglomerate, this dialogue is highlighted in orange

you stood in between percy and annabeth in the doorway of cabin 14, listening to luke’s explanation of what was going on. as far as you knew, clarisse had stolen the master bolt, percy was accused of it, and poseidon had just surrendered to zeus and called off the war. you had stayed at camp the entire summer to you had learned quickly to not question things that happened in the demigod world, accepting each new piece of information nearly immediately as it came. as a friend and a dedicated helper, you took to offering your help any time luke needed to release stress, whether verbally or physically. over time, your friendship started to evolve into a situationship. instead of quiet nights whispering about your parents’ involvement in your trauma and sparring in the arena until bruises formed across your limbs, it became quiet nights kissing in the empty cabins during the bonfires and pulling each other behind the trees by the wrist. it seemed as if your lips were the only thing that could soothe the permanent wrinkle in between luke’s eyebrows. you could tell something serious was going on, but it was easier to let him brood and offer comfort than to force it out of him. he was the most stubborn man you’d ever met, after all. he began the clarisse slander after the first call with the demigods. you had been distant since then. it was easier to be around him when he was pushed up against a tree with his pretty lips doing something other than talking.

in terms of the quest, it only seemed right to keep the communication flowing smoothly between the young demigods and camp. as head counselor of the iris cabin, it was also your job to give luke access to your mother’s fountain. he took over the role of mentor, probably because of his need to protect annabeth. you didn’t believe that clarisse had stolen the master bolt: in fact, you vehemently denied it. she was one of your closest friends at camp, and you had spent more of the summer with her than any of the others. other than luke, that was.

“an accusation against clarisse-“ luke began, before being promptly interrupted.

“without proof,” annabeth injected, putting a little extra emphasis on each word.

“exactly,” he smiled at his little sister. “without proof, it would have lit this whole place on fire. but now you’re back. i want to tell chiron, but i need it to be private so that we can speak without any of clarisse’s friends noticing.”

“one is present, castellan,”you retorted, nearly hissing at him.

“i’ll keep an eye on clarisse while you’re gone. make sure she isn’t going anywhere.” annabeth gave you a knowing glance, watching your glare soften when you turned to her.

“great. And we’ll meet back here,”luke decided. he leaned over to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, completely ignoring everyone’s look of shock (including your own). then he and percy were gone, and you and annabeth were standing alone.

“reckon that cap might be of use?” you winked at her to fend off the inevitable questioning coming your way.

nestled in the trees, you listened carefully to percy and luke below you. it was hard to hear them over the whipping of the wind: a sign that the nature surrounding you had detected a strange energy. something was off. you concentrated on the space around you, waiting for the wind to quiet. and it did, softening to a lull humming until eventually it faded out. you heard the boys beneath you.

“talk about a celebration. they really pulled out all the stops for you. come on, you’ve said, like, two words since we left the cabins,”you hear luke say as they settle in the clearing. you notice a hint of disdain in his tone, likely jealousy. he’s always wanted the glory, the celebration.

“just… thinking about what the oracle said. that I’ll fail to save what matters most in the end.”

poor percy didn’t ask for any of this. he was so worried about his mom. despite being at camp since you were a toddler, you understood how important family could be. that’s why you hung on so hard when the other iris campers arrived. you couldn’t imagine losing a sibling, let alone knowing a parent well enough to lose them.

“you're thinking about your mom. i get that. believe me, i do. but prophecies? those things are so vague.“

you glanced over to where annabeth stood invisible: you knew she was forming the same conclusions you were. luke fidgeted in a more frantic way than normal, which only happened when he was nervous. luke was almost never nervous and everyone knew it. percy seemed none the wiser to his cracking facade, though.

“the quest is over, and everything the oracle said has either come true or makes sense.”

‘or it was about to,’ you thought. you weren’t surprised, or hurt, to be completely honest. you had noticed things were off since the solstice, but never felt close enough to luke to pass it off like it was reasonable to ask. he had a reasonable cause, too.

“has it?” luke questioned percy.

“you shall go west and face the god who has turned,” he says slowly, as if luke was being unreasonable for asking him to confirm.

“ares. okay.”

“find what was stolen and see it returned."

“clearly the bolt.”

"and you shall be betrayed... by one who calls you a friend!” it hits him. “well, the reason clarisse is still here is because…”

“you never said anything to chiron about her. did you?” luke begins to explain himself; percy interrupts him.

“you couldn't... because you knew clarisse didn't steal the bolt. you did.”

water began to pool in the eyes of the boy you had trusted with your body, with your heart. you doubted he really wanted to do it. he must have been forced.

“you worked with ares to plant it on me so when the shoes you gave me pulled me down into tartarus, the bolt would be delivered right to kronos.”

the shoes. he wanted to kill percy? percy, the innocent little boy you met at the beginning of the summer. after he arrived you held his hand in the infirmary so he wouldn’t have to be alone. he was only 12, and forced to go on a quest as soon as he figured out his heritage. a child, forced to traumatize himself for the sake of the “greater good”. you sent him with a handful of drachmas for your mother’s fountain, a small pack of ambrosia, a kiss on the forehead, and a remember that his safety was most important. grover got a small tube of ointment for his horns, just because you knew he scratched them. he got a hug - he technically was older than you after all. you refused to let annabeth go, pretending to cry dramatically as you slipped a small pouch into the palm of her hand. you closed her fist around it as percy pulled you away from her hug. you were beyond relieved when they returned. you had kissed luke the second you found out, thrilled that your family was safe. the two of you had never kissed for the purpose of anything but frustration or stress relief. he had seemed so happy. luke had seemed to love percy as much as you did, but maybe he loved with less of his heart.

“i didn't think you'd give 'em to grover to wear.”

the crack of his voice told you everything you needed to know.

“i am your friend. percy, none of this was meant to betray you. the gods are my enemy. you... i'm here to recruit.”

“recruit?” percy tilted his head, confused.

you flinched as luke unsheathed his sword, the metal making a noise as it hit the air. percy reached for the pen in his pocket, pushing the button. it configured itself into his sword. luke took a step back.

“easy. i don't wanna fight. this is what I wanted to show you . this... is our way out.”

“way out of what?”

“camp.” luke slices through the air and it ripples like satin, the forest peeling back for a second before returning to its original state. there sat a long, glowing neon gash.

“and their control. backbiter can open secret doors. we can stay on the run as long as it takes.” he was planning to leave you here? he had told you earlier in the summer that he would do anything to keep you safe. he had a similar look in his eyes back then.

“stop saying ‘we.’” percy chokes a little, and you knew he felt conflicted.

“it’s the word zeus fears the most. the gods want us to fight for them, worship them, fear them. and they couldn't care less what we want. they're bad parents, percy. and they've gotten away with it for far too long.”

he wasn’t wrong. you had never seen the gods care for their children at more than base need. some campers stayed in the hermes cabin permanently unclaimed. the relationship you all had with the gods was less than sufficient.

“no. this isn't you. this is kronos. he got to you.”

“no, he opened my eyes to the truth. a golden age. that's what they called it when he ruled. we're gonna help kronos bring the golden age back.” he cuts an identical length gash next to the first. “stealing the bolt and the helm was easy. for what comes next... we're gonna need all the help we can get,” he admitted.

for the first time since luke arrived at camp three years after you, you saw genuine childlike whimsy in his eyes. he was hopeful for a future of fairly treated demigods. he was incredible. he seemed to glow with the fireworks and the cuts in the air, illuminated by his newfound mission.

percy wasn’t having any of it. as luke raised his sword to connect his previous work, percy lunged to stop him. luke parried easily, turning to face the young boy. they pointed their swords at each other.

“our parents aren't perfect, but they're trying their best.”

luke lowers his arm slightly, curious.

“i met your dad.”

wrong move.

“but he…” luke dived back into the fight, celestial bronze clanging on - steel? why was luke using a weapon that could hurt mortals? for a second they stood still. luke’s sword pinned percy’s.

“you did get better,” he mentioned as riptide’s blade scraped against backbiter’s. luke started to advance more aggressively, pushing percy back against one of the trees. “last chance.”

this was starting to get a little too dangerous.

percy shoved him out of the way with his hands, using luke’s lack of balance to land a hit on his stomach. as soon as he realized his mistake, he froze.

“i’m sorry. I didn't mean to...” luke bounced up immediately, using the momentum to make a long cut on percy’s forearm. with percy on the ground, luke approaches his figure. backbiter is raised into the air, poised to swing. you hear the dagger before you see it, jumping from the tree.

“luke!” you hit the ground as annabeth whipped off her hat. the noise of the forest quieted to a lull hum as luke looked at annabeth first. when he turned to you, the tears started to roll from his deep eyes. you were already at percy’s side, pulling ambrosia from your backpack.

“annabeth? y/n?”

“we heard everything.” annabeth admits, heartbroken. years of having a friend, having a brother - gone.

you get a really good look at him in that moment. his eye bags drop lower than they ever have before, scooping up into the hollowness of his cheekbones from the times you missed him at the dining pavilion. his face was red and agitated from the tears. what a beautiful tragedy. in that moment you loved him. he needed to be loved. he was a broken, abandoned child. just like you. just like every other kid at this camp forced to give away their lives to a cause they didn’t ask to support.

“wait - luke.” percy and annabeth turned toward you with shock. you squeezed percy’s hand one more time, mouthing ‘i love you’ to the both of them before standing up and facing your fate.

“i want to go with you.”

you could only hope that annabeth would open that pouch when she needed it.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #cal's writing!#pjo series #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x you

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 5 months

Note

Hi there! So i hope you dont mind me requesting the BB league elite four members + Kieran with a disabled reader who used to be a former BB league elite four member themself (Romantic for Drayton and platonic for the others)

So basically, the reader used to be the fifth ranked member of BB league elite four but after Kieran became the BB league champion, they lost their rank to Crispin and now is the sixth ranked member. Though, they dont have any hard feelings and still see the elite four members as their friends

the reader had an accident when they were younger and now uses a wheelchair to move around. They have a gardevoir who they raised since she was a ralts and now helps her trainer with stuff (so maybe there’s something the reader needs but it’s on the top shelf, Gardevoir will then just use psychic and bring it down for them or maybe the reader wanted to try walking with a cane, if the reader fall, Gardevoir will catch them with psychic) and a Hisuian Braviary to help them get to places in the terrarium (if some hisuian pokemon still exist in this generation, who’s to say that Hisuian Braviary still exist as well)

With permission from the director, Gardevoir was allowed out of her ball to help the reader which then leads to a misconception where people think the reader is a psychic type trainer due to Gardevoir and Hisuian Braviary, when in fact they’re not. They are actually a ghost type trainer but they never bother to clear the misconception bc its funny to see people’s faces when people see their ghost type team.

Hope you have a lovely day/night btw!

- 🪷 anon

Oooh in regards to Hisuian Pokemon, I have a hc that they are extremely rare and got isekai'd to the present via space-time distortion bubbles (like opposite of how Porygon and Johtonian Sneasel were transported to Hisui)

Anyways these hcs sorta took off on their own haha, so they're under the cut!

.....

Drayton

Despite being wheelchair-bound for most of your life, that never stopped you from joining the BB Elite Four and becoming the fifth ranked member practically overnight.

Around that time, you and Drayton were dating, and during his champion days, he always tried to make time for you and put his duties on the backburner.

He knows you value your independence and will only help you out with stuff if asked.

But usually it's your two psychic types that assist you. They don't battle much, but rather work as your medical support Pokémon.

Gardevoir, a sweet lass you've raised since she was a Ralts, uses Psychic to retrieve things for you that are just a little out of your reach in the store.

One good days, you could walk around with a cane...but if they turn bad (ie your chronic pain acts up) she'll use Heal Pulse as a temporary remedy.

She also pushes your chair around in case your arms get tired, taking you around to accessible spots.

Director Cyrano gave you permission to let her stay outside her pokeball 24/7 so she can properly work.

You also have a Hisuian Braviary--who literally travelled across time and space to meet you--that flies you around the Terarium, letting you climb on their back while their talons securely hold onto your folded chair.

With those two often out and about, there's a common misconception about you being the Elite Four's psychic specialist...when in reality you have a ghost type team.

Many challengers find that out the hard way when they clear your trial and send their ghosts against you....only for you to reveal your own ghostly duo that hit back twice as hard.

Drayton loves watching your matches from the sidelines and laughs every time he sees their shocked faces.

He even proposed an idea that your team should remain a mystery up until the moment of battle.

All is well until Kieran comes along and dethrones him, which demotes you to the sixth ranking member..while Crispin takes your spot.

It wasn't exactly a position you liked, since it's on the cusp of disqualifying you as an elite member.

But you weren't mad at anybody over this...if anything you had to make sure Drayton didn't get too mad at Kieran.

Eventually, though, he learns that he could spend more time with you and has less responsibilities on his plate (ofc he's still petty, as we all know during Indigo Disk).

Despite his lax personality, he wants to do all he can to support you and defend you from harassment.

This man would definitely find excuses to carry you around.

"Oh why don't cha give your Pokémon a break and let me help you over here?" He suggests and you end up accepting his offer, letting him carry you from your wheelchair to the sofa in the club room...which is literally five feet away.

Still, you let him do what he wants.

Plus getting to cuddle is a nice bonus.

Kieran

You once knew him as this sweet shy kid who used to be scared of your Hisuian Braviary, always asking if they're gonna hypnotize him.

"No, Kiki..they just help me get around places."

"...a-are you sure? Because they're starin' at me kinda weird.."

"That's how they normally are."

Plus he (like many students) falsely believed you had a psychic team when you're actually the Elite Four's ghost-type specialist.

He admired that "element of surprise" you brought to the table and dreamed of the day he could challenge you himself.

But one trip to his hometown and back later...he's suddenly the Champion, a shell of his former self, who only sees Pokémon as tools for battle.

You wonder what happened to him, although apparently he had a bad falling out with some exchange student and took his angst out on everyone at BBA.

Getting you knocked down to the sixth rank was something he never really apologized for.

Despite that, he didn't tolerate people who talked shit about you, your ranking, your medical condition, or why your Pokémon get to roam more freely than their own.

"At least [y/n] is still out there training their team every day. At least they're turning their hardships into strength. What's your excuse?"

"I-I didn't mean any offense, Kieran! Listen, I'll apologize to them and-"

"Oh, you will...after we have a battle so I can assess your strength. No potions. No moves that boost attack, speed, or defense. If you lose, you resign. You have one hour to prepare."

Sometimes, you're not sure if he's genuinely looking out for you...or if he just wanted an excuse to bully club members around.

While he's aware that Gardevoir and Hisuian Braviary are mainly your medical support 'mons, he still thinks they can always try out battling.

"They could be the ones who help you climb the ranks again [y/n]. Surely you're tired of being in last place, aren't you?"

Yet the advice he believes is helpful is usually unwarranted half the time.

You could just be casually talking to a friend about how your opponent out-sped you and/or used Light Screen/Reflect...

Only for Kieran to barge into the conversation with "well maybe you should've taught Braviary Tailwind/Defog..but I guess you don't have the time for that" or something passive-aggressive that just makes you both uncomfortable.

Your psychic types are honestly annoyed by his new attitude..and you're just disheartened by how he acts around Drayton now.

You and him dating never bothered Kieran before, but now he just glares at your bf 24/7 and scoffs loudly if you're talking about anything except battling.

Despite everything, you knew he was going through something difficult, so you tried not to take his words to heart. You still saw him as a friend.

Someone who was just misguided in his ambitions.

After his humbling defeat and adventure into Area Zero, he comes back with extreme guilt, with you being the first elite member he apologizes to.

He especially feels shitty for distracting your psychic types from doing their jobs properly with his constant nagging to battle them.

But you forgive him, thanking him properly for all the times he's stood up for you.

And you do end up taking some of his unsolicited advice.

You invite him to a friendly double-battle when he returns from break and brought out Braviary and Gardevoir, using Tailwind and terastalizing one of them into a ghost type.

It turns out that whenever they're not working, they battle in perfect sync.

Crispin

In the beginning, this chef boi wondered how your two psychic types help you with your daily life, and you just explain everything as simply as you could to him during a picnic.

"So Gardevoir pushes me around, retrieves stuff I can't reach, and helps me manage my pain. Braviary just flies me around the Terarium....any questions?"

"Just one......do you use Braviary because the taxis here don't accommodate your wheelchair?" He assumes, already starting to fume. "How outrageous! That's not-!"

"Calm down, Crispy..they do. I'm just saying that I'd rather fly with Brave most of the time. It's not only convenient, but more fun for me."

"...o-oh, right. Sorry for getting all fire-up back there.." He gushes.

After learning how hard they work, he absolutely wants to make sure they're fed well everyday! Snacks alone won't sustain them. He knows this for sure.

So he's always cooking them up something, often wanting their opinion on the meals and sandwiches: are they too spicy or not spicy enough?

The same goes for your ghost types, too (especially if you have a Chandelure, Ceruledge, and/or Skeledirge on your team).

But after Kieran becomes the new champion and Crispin takes your rung on the League's ladder..he feels really awful and constantly apologizes for pretty much replacing you.

He should feel good about climbing closer to the top, but he doesn't, as he cried over the possibility of you hating him forever or resigning from the club because of him.

When you confronted him, he tried blaming the onions.

But your Gardevoir--one of the most emotionally-intuitive Pokémon out there--saw through his lie, and you had to reassure him he was still your friend.

You kept telling him you weren't mad....until you almost got mad fr because he wouldn't stop asking if you were 100% sure of that.

To prove it you, your psychic pokemon, and your ghost team all split one of the spiciest sandwiches he's ever made.

By the time it was finished, you were convinced you just learned the move Flamethrower.

Yet seeing that bright smile return to Crispin's face made it worth the agony.

Lacey

She loves hearing that you have a Gardevoir (or just cute ghost Pokémon in general).

If you have a Mimikyuu on your team, that's a plus in her book.

But regardless, she's the first to give you a warm welcome into the Elite Four, explaining the criteria and tests you had to pass in order to be accepted as a member.

Yet even outside of battle, she quickly discovers that your ghosts are still mischievous at best--always playing pranks on her fairies with moves like Phantom Force, Shadow Sneak, Astonish, and Poltergeist.

Ofc they never mean any harm, but when she hears Whimsicott squeal in fright, she's quick to come to its rescue and scold the perpetrator.

If you have a Gengar, it just laughs and mocks them both until it hears you roll up like "that wasn't very nice, y'know...apologize to Lacey and Whimsicott right now, please".

Even if it's a little defiant, a glare from Gardevoir or Hisuian Braviary is enough to make it relent and apologize.

Speaking of whom, seeing an ancient variant of Braviary did frighten Lacey upon first meeting them (especially with their hypnotic-looking faux flaming "eyes").

But over time she grows to like them, seeing how obedient and gentle they are with helping you get you around the Terarium.

If you have any decal on your chair, she'll suggest adding a few more things to make it "cuter". Like stickers of fairy types or a soft pillow for your back.

When you get demoted to the sixth rank in the League, she bought you those exact things to cheer you up, feeling bad that things turned out the way they did

But you expressed zero grudges towards anyone and appreciated her kindness.

Her Granbull always offers his tummy to you should you wanna rest somewhere--even though this makes Braviary a little jealous bc they're supposed to be your favorite resting spot.

Their rivalry is amusing, but Gardevoir often has to come to her fellow psychic type's rescue.

Meanwhile you're just sitting back and snickering at their banter, while poor Lacey begs you not to encourage this behavior.

Amarys

When you both first met, you found her personality rather off-putting, assuming she was doubting your capabilities of being an Elite Four Member despite passing all the tests.

She never seemed happy for you, her face always blank.

Growing up, a lot of people have pitied you, given you odd stares, or thought you would've given up being a Pokémon trainer...and some even asked outright insensitive questions about what happened to you--and seeing how Amarys acted kinda brought some of those ugly memories back to the forefront.

But once she realizes this, she apologizes straightaway for giving you such a bad impression, clarifying that she fully believes in your battling abilities.

Since then, you've formed a better friendship with her.

She asks you respectful questions about your wheelchair (ie if it's made from any strong alloys, how well it gets you around the Terarium's biomes, etc.) and how Gardevoir and Hisuian Braviary aid you in your daily life and listens well.

Learning that you actually battle with ghost types despite the misconception circulating around the school wasn't too surprising.

If anything, Amarys believes that was quite strategic on your part.

It's no wonder you have a lot of victories under your belt.

Even after getting demoted to the sixth rank, she's impressed you're still able to bounce back from such defeat..and that you didn't hold it against Kieran or anybody.

She believes he could learn a lesson or two from you and not take his loss against Florian/Juliana so hard...but knows that's not her place to speak.

#clanask #lotus anon #pokemon x reader #pokemon sv x reader #pokemon scarlet x reader #pokemon violet x reader #indigo disk x reader #pokemon drayton #pokemon kieran #pokemon crispin #pokemon lacey #pokemon amarys #gardevoir #hisuian braviary #disabled reader #headcanons

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