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cbgisland · 2 months ago

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Cherry-flavoured

girl dad & husband (in that specific order)!Choi Seungcheol x wife!Reader

Genre: fluff, sickfic

Word Count: 1,400

Warnings: the flu; Seungcheol is down bad for his two girls; reader despises cherry-flavoured medicine

[Domestic AU] When both of his girls fall sick at the same time, Seungcheol is more than happy to take care of them both - no matter how difficult they are.

The kettle had barely finished when Seungcheol heard your voice calling out, “Can I get my tea yet?”

“You don’t even like tea that much,” he scoffed under his breath, careful not to be heard, before responding louder, “Just a moment, honey!”

He waited for a response and it soon came. A sniffling sound. A sneeze. But even then your pout was practically audible in your reply: “I don’t like honey.”

He sighed. The hot steam of the water was making his nose runny even now, a whole three days after his recovery from the flu. Still he carried on, adding spoonfuls of honey into two cups of tea. With the utmost care, he picked out the best looking cookies from the box (one Mingyu had so kindly brought over after hearing of your family’s predicament) and added them to the tray, right beside a small box of flu medicine.

To the sound of sniffles, coughing and whines of suffering, he steadily picked up the tray and began his journey upstairs. The ticklish feel of the cat scurrying past his ankles almost threw him off his balance. Just as he regained it, another fluffy creature practically flew past him – Kkuma stopped on the top step to look back at him, judging him for his slowness – but soon he reached the top of the stairs with a sigh of relief.

The relief was temporary though because the moment he reached the 2nd floor, he was bombarded with complaints.

“What’s taking you so long, dad?” sounded from the bedroom to the right. It was followed by shuffling, a soft greeting for the cat, and more whining. “You promised to fix my TV!”

He took a moment to wonder when his little girl had started calling him ‘dad’. It sounded so formal and affectionless compared to the nicknames she’d given him in the past.

But it was clear where his journey would take him next. Cautiously, he made his way to Minah’s bedroom. The door got stuck before he could fit himself through. He resisted the urge to forcefully rest his head against the doorframe.

“Minah, princess, I told you I’d fix your TV after you clean your room,” he pointed out as he tried to shove the door further open without much success. It was harder to do this with no free hands and even he wasn’t bold enough to try to balance the tray with only one hand. “Where do you even walk?”

“I climb the walls like spiderman.”

His brows furrowed: that sounded an awful lot like talking back! Seungcheol wasn’t entirely sure whether she was just loopy from the fever or if it was time to stop letting the members babysit his daughter.

“Well, what’s daddy supposed to do?” he asked once he finally managed to break into the room. The tray remained mostly dry and he considered that a win. “I can’t climb the walls.”

There was a glint of mischief in his daughter’s eyes. “I’ll clean the room if you fix my TV.”

That was it, Seungcheol decided. He was done having children. If a few days ago he had wondered how to bring up the idea of having a second child with you, the desire now swiftly left as he realised his fate: endless circular arguments that would somehow always end with him folding around his little girl’s finger.

He placed a cup of steaming tea and half the cookies on her bedside table. When she inevitably reached to take one (for she was only a girl; one with a sweet tooth), he let out a warning noise and handed her a spoonful of cough syrup. “Medicine first, candy second.”

His eight-year-old daughter offered him a look that called him dumb in five languages. The white cat in her lap seemed to match her sentiment. “Cookies aren’t candy, dad.”

“They’re chocolate-chip,” he retorted, already feeling his eyes widening with annoyance, “and chocolate is candy.”

“No, chocolate is chocolate,” she corrected him with a giggle that was soon interrupted by a coughing fit.

Seungcheol felt himself soften at the sight. His free hand reaching out to brush her hair out of her face as she blew her nose, he patiently waited with the spoon still in his hand. Once she looked at him again, eyes red-rimmed and filled with exhaustion, he offered her a gentle smile. “Your medicine, princess?”

Her hand reached upwards towards the spoon. She hesitated. “Do I have to?”

“Do you want to get better?” he countered, raising a brow.

She groaned and looked up to her ceiling covered in plastic glow-in-the-dark stars. Clearly he hadn’t realised how difficult of a question that was to answer. “But then I’ll have to go back to school.”

“Don’t you want to see your friends?”

Once again he was on the receiving end of that look she had perfected – the one that called him old and dumb and boring. “I chat with them all the time.”

It was time to bring out the big guns – the one thing (a person, really) he hated to speak of but always seemed to get her to do what was needed. He squeezed his eyes shut as he braced himself to say the words: “If you get better, you can see Yongho again.”

The spoon was out of his grasp and in Minah’s mouth before he could open his eyes again. Defeated, he sighed and handed her a cookie in return for the newly empty spoon.

“Will you fix my TV now?” she then had the audacity to ask.

And Seungcheol couldn’t even say no.

He nodded and left the room with the tray in his hands, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll get mom her medicine first and then I’ll fix your TV.”

She cheered and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Seungcheol?” he then heard your voice call. “How long does it take to make tea?”

He entered the room with a chuckle. “There’s only one of me, you know? And someone has to take care of the little one as well.”

“The little one,” you snorted at the nickname. “Honey, she’s eight. She has a boyfriend. You need to come up with a new nickname soon.”

“God, don’t even remind me about the boyfriend,” he groaned as he placed the tray down. “It should be illegal to date before the age of 30.”

Amused, you raised an eyebrow.

“For her anyway,” he added with a pout. “And she’ll always be my little one.”

“Even when Yongho asks her to prom?” you teased, sitting up just as he made himself comfortable sitting on the bed. “Even on her wedding day?”

He stared at you. Then his eyes narrowed. “You’re just saying things to annoy me, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one that took your sweet time making my tea.” You reached for the cup. “My throat is so scratchy. I hate being sick.”

Golden opportunity. “If you don’t want to be sick, you should take some medicine.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the venomous glare you sent his way.

“I think I would rather just succumb to the flu,” you told him and he was sure you meant it.

But he had vowed to stay with you through sickness and health, and then he had sworn to your mother that he wouldn’t let you be sick when he could help it – really, he had a duty to fulfill here. “You’re setting a bad example for Minah, you know?”

“She’s not even in the same room–”

“MINAH, YOUR MOM’S NOT TAKING HER MEDICINE!” he bellowed right then and there, confident that he would receive a response that would force you to accept your fate.

Seconds later, a loud – slightly wheezing – yell sounded from the other bedroom, “MOM, YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”

You grimaced under his self-satisfied stare. “Fine, but it better not be the cherry-flavoured one.”

He put extra effort into hiding the label from you as he poured a spoonful of the syrup and handed it to you. “Drink up.”

You did as told. Then glared at him with viciousness he rarely had the pleasure of seeing. “You just had to get the cherry-flavoured syrup, didn’t you? Traitor.”

“I love you too!” He offered an apologetic smile in return, placed a soft kiss to your cheek, and made a swift exit.

Suddenly fixing Minah’s TV didn’t sound so tedious after all.

Note: I wrote this when my bestie @haoboutyou was sick and then she proceeded to begged me "150 times" to share this with y'all, so here we are, I guess. I hope this brought a bit of joy into someone's day! <3

#AWWWWWW #SQUEEEE #*seungcheol

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cbgisland · 3 months ago

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woozi being a cat dad is sooooooooo lovely and so him genuinely… rangi and ddungi… sigh……. let me just fall deeper into my woozi shaped hole….

#rest peacefully to the one that is no longer with us 🥺

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cbgisland · 3 months ago

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more woozi bf fluff texts plz !! 🫶🏻 thank yew

took me so long BUT ITS HERE!!!!

Lee Jihoon || even more bf texts with woozi

genre: one shot texts, fake texts, fluff, idol!bf

warnings: nothing just pure fluff🙁

#*jihoon

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cbgisland · 3 months ago

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— Synopsis: Where you “unfortunately” caught your best friend's roomate—your unsaid enemy—masturbating in their shared apartment. — WC: 4.6k — WARNINGS: smut, monster cock!seungcheol, explicit language and content, overstimulation, dry fucking, oral as a tongue massage (f. receiving)—a reward <3, body fluids (cum), dry humping, cock riding, dumbfication, degradation, aftercare, exhaustion, and DIRTY TALK.

here’s how it always goes with seungcheol:

you walk into a room, he immediately finds something to scoff at. maybe it’s the way you dress, maybe it’s the way you talk, maybe it’s just the fact that you exist in his general vicinity. but it doesn’t matter what you do—he hates you. or, at the very least, that’s what he insists on showing you.

joshua, your best friend and possibly the only person in the world who can tolerate both of you without losing his mind, always tells you to be the bigger person. “he’s not that bad,” he says, as if seungcheol didn’t practically hiss at you last week for sitting on his side of the couch.

but whatever. you don’t go out of your way to piss him off, and he doesn’t go out of his way to be nice. that’s just the way it is.

which is why you hesitate when joshua calls you:

“i swear, i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. i left my keys at your place before i flew out, remember?”

“okay, but i literally don’t want to step foot in his apartment,” you stress, cringing at the thought.

“it’s my apartment, too,” joshua deadpans.

you groan, already feeling a headache coming on.

“just go in, grab the folder on my desk, and leave,” he insists. “cheol probably won’t even be home.”

which is how you find yourself standing outside their apartment door, holding joshua’s keys and hyping yourself up like you’re about to enter enemy territory. which, in a way, you are.

you unlock the door, push it open,

and immediately wish you hadn’t.

seungcheol. on the couch. fisting his cock.

your brain short-circuits. like, full shutdown, blue screen, cease all functioning mode.

the man is spread out—legs wide, head tipped back, theres a drop of sweat that drips from his neck aand land in the middle of his chest. hes exposing his toned abs that clench with every up and down of his hand. and his cock is huge. thick from the base to the top and flushed deep red at the tip, veins prominent as his fist works over it.

he’s so lost in it that he doesn’t even register your presence at first, not until he finally cracks his eyes open and sees you standing there, frozen stunned into silence.

the next few seconds happen in slow motion.

his eyes widen. his entire body stiffens. his hand stops.

“WHAT THE FUCK—”

seungcheol scrambles to cover himself, reaching for the nearest thing—which, unfortunately for him, is a shirt that does nothing to hide the absolute tent he’s pitching. his face goes red, splotchy from the neck up, and he looks so flustered that for a split second, you almost feel bad.

“why the fuck are you here?!” he practically barks at you, voice ragged from whatever the fuck he was doing before you ruined his life.

you blink, still processing the image that’s now burned into your brain for eternity. “uh. joshua?”

“what about joshua?!”

“he… he needed a document.”

seungcheol lets out a sound that is so frustrated, so exasperated, that it almost doesn’t register as human. “and you didn’t think to knock?!”

“why would i knock?! i didn’t think anyone would be jerking off in the living room like a fucking pervert—”

“IT’S MY APARTMENT.”

“IT’S JOSHUA’S TOO.”

“HE’S NOT HERE.”

“WELL, NEITHER AM I, NOW.” you turn on your heel, hand reaching for the doorknob. “i’ll just get the doc later—”

but before you can escape, he rasps, “don’t you dare tell joshua about this.”

you pause. smirk. oh, this is fun.

back still facing him, fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. you should leave. should pretend none of this ever happened. but something—some sick, wrong part of you—doesn’t want to.

so you turn. lean back against the door. cross your arms.

“what?” he snaps, shifting on the couch, the shirt still pitifully draped over his lap.

you tilt your head, dragging your gaze slowly down his body—his hard nipples, the taut muscles in his arms, the way his thighs tense like he’s fighting the urge to close them. you can see the way he twitches under the shirt.

“you’re still hard,” you note, your voice syrupy sweet, but your eyes gleam meanly.

seungcheol tenses. “so?”

“so… you’re mad at me for walking in,” you say, cocking a brow, “but you’re still hard as fuck.”

he grits his teeth, but his silence is loud as hell.

so you take a step forward. just one.

his breath hitches.

“cheol.” you coo at him. “you sure you hate me?”

he glares, but it’s weaker now, faltering under your scrutiny. you can see it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way he’s not telling you to stop.

so you take another step.

and another.

until you’re standing right in front of him, the shirt the only barrier between his cock and your eyes.

his jaw tightens. “don’t.”

“don’t what?” you murmur, reaching forward to trace your fingers over his wrist—the one that was just wrapped around his cock. “don’t call you out? don’t get closer? don’t—”

in a flash, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down.

you gasp as you land on his lap, his hands firm on your hips, his cock pressing against your ass through the thin barrier of the shirt and your clothes.

his lips are right by your ear when he growls, “don’t fucking test me.”

you shiver, but you’re not scared, you’re thrilled.

so you shift, pressing back against him, and smirk when he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.

“or what?” you whisper.

his grip tightens. “you really wanna find out?”

your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

“yeah,” you breathe, lips brushing his jaw. “i do.”

he snaps.

the shirt under you is gone.

his mouth crashes into yours, hot and angry, his hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue prying your mouth open, swallowing the gasp you let out when his fingers dig into your hips.

you grind down, moaning into his mouth when you feel just how fucking thick he is, leaking against your skirt.

his hands are rough when he yanks your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist with no intention of letting it fall back down. you barely have a second to breathe before his fingers push past your thighs, finding the front of your panties hooking his thumb into the damp fabric and pulling it to the side.

the rush of cold air makes you gasp, thighs trying to snap shut, but his thighs pins them open. and maybe, he has a shred of decency in him, because he lets out a low breath and murmurs, “this is gonna be rough.”

no warning. just that.

you should stop him. you should tell him to go slow, to prep you, to at least spit on it—but you don’t, you need to feel this big cock stretching you until every single thought inside your head gets completely erased.

there’s no lube, no prep besides the mess between your thighs, just the torturous process of sinking down.

seungcheol watches all of it. watches the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter, how your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders the lower you go. he’s leaning back against the couch, one hand gripping the plush of your ass, the other wrapped around his base, guiding you onto him like you’re something delicate. like he’s trying to help.

but he’s not.

because he knows what he’s doing when he taps his cockhead against your clit first, dragging the tip through your slick, coaxing out little whimpers that make him smirk. he knows what he’s doing when he presses up, just the tip slipping inside, barely enough to be satisfying but more than enough to make your thighs twitch.

your breath catches in your throat, your whole body twitching up as you take the next inch too fast. your brain is empty, your body is working on instinct, thighs shaking as you brace yourself against him, trying—failing—to push down further.

and he sees it. sees how you’re struggling, sees how your muscles twitch like you’re about to give out, sees how you want to take it but your body is fighting the stretch.

so he helps.

his hands clamp down on your waist.

and then he slams you down.

the sound that leaves your throat is so ruined that he cant help but feel a bit of compassion.

because suddenly you’re full. suddenly you’re sitting completely in his lap, completely engulfed in him, your thighs flush against his, his cock buried so fucking deep that you can feel it pressing up against every nerve inside you.

but when you try to move, try to lift yourself even an inch—nothing.

your thighs won’t cooperate. your muscles won’t listen.

you can’t move.

“oh?” seungcheol tilts his head, smug grin curling at his lips as he grinds up, watching the way your mouth falls open at the sensation.

“too big for you, baby?”

you whimper.

“thought so.”

and then he takes control, because you can’t move—so he does it for you. his hands lift you effortlessly, dragging your hips up before slamming you back down, setting the pace, forcing your body to take what it’s given.

and you can’t think straight anymore. every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, every time he slams you down it punches little whimpers from your throat that only make him hungrier.

“awww… thought you were so tough. but you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock, huh?”

you cry out, body giving up, melting against his chest as you desperately try to follow his rhythm, hips twitching with little, pathetic attempts to keep up. your body isn’t even yours anymore—just a toy, something for seungcheol to use, something he’s breaking in with every brutal roll of his hips.

his fingers dig into your waist, gripping you so tight it hurts, but the pleasure drowns it out. you’re so deep into it, into him, that every ounce of shame has left your body, every shred of dignity gone. because you can’t do anything but take it, can’t do anything but let him use you like you were made for this.

he tilts his head, watching you fall apart, watching how your thighs tremble with every slap of his hips against yours.

“damn,” he laughs, licking his lips, voice mocking. “you’re making such a fucking mess of yourself.”

you whimper, forehead pressing against his collarbone.

and then he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“mm-mm, don’t hide now,” he says, smirking. “be a good girl and let me see that dumb little face while i ruin you.”

a sob rips from your throat, high-pitched and wrecked.

he groans, grinding up into you.

“fuck. bet the neighbors can hear you, huh? joshua’s gonna be so fucking embarrassed when he gets a noise complaint for his dumb little best friend getting dicked down like a whore.”

your whole body jerks, a whimper escaping your lips at the humiliation, the filth dripping from his tongue.

and he sees it.

his grin turns cruel.

“oh, you like that?” he taunts, thrusting up so deep your back arches. “you like knowing that you’re loud enough to make it everyone’s fucking problem? that you’re such a good little fucktoy for me that i can’t even keep you quiet?”

you nod, because you can’t lie. his fingers tighten around your jaw, his lips brushing against yours as he coos.

“poor little thing.”

he thrusts up again, so hard, so deep that your whole body bounces, hands scrambling against his chest, voice cracking in a choked-out sob.

and he moans, deep and satisfied, because you’re so fucking perfect for him. because your body is his to use, to mold, to ruin.

“joshua’s gonna kill me c-cheol.”

his hips snap up again, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“but you’ll tell him it was worth it, won’t you, baby?”

he smooths one over your back, pressing down so your tits rub against his burning skin, while the other stays firm on your hip, keeping you still. your body jerks with every pulse of his cock inside you, twitching as you flutter around him, so overstimulated you can’t tell where the pleasure starts or ends.

“s-seungcheol—” his name is nothing but a broken cry, muffled against his neck, but he’s relentless. he doesn’t even let you finish, just shifts his knees slightly and thrusts up into you with all the power in his core.

“fuck,” he hisses when you clamp down, crying out into his skin, and he wraps an arm fully around you to hold you up. “shh, baby, you’re being so loud.”

his hand snakes up your back, fingers tangling into your hair, forcing you to lift your head. you meet his gaze, and it knocks the breath from your lungs. he looks fucked, mouth parted, sweat dripping from his hairline, chest heaving, but he still manages to look at you like he’s about to devour you whole.

“c’mon,” he coos, tilting his head, his grip tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “tell me it was worth it. tell me how good my cock is.”

he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips and you keen, trying to lift yourself, trying to relieve some of the intensity, but your thighs betray you. seungcheol laughs, breathless but smug, and his fingers press bruises into your skin as he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing.

“see? can’t even move, huh? my poor baby,” he murmurs, voice syrupy sweet, his free hand cupping your cheek now. “you’re just gonna sit here and take it like the perfect fucktoy you are.”

heat prickles at your skin at the words, your brain too fogged up to be embarrassed, too fucked out to do anything but let him guide you. he rocks you against him, making sure you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls, rubbing at all the right places, pressing into you deeper than you thought was even possible.

“you take me so well, baby,” he praises, leaning in to press his lips against yours, just enough to tease. “so fuckin’ tight, so warm—fucking heaven.”

his hand slides between your bodies, two fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over it. the sensation makes your thighs twitch, your nails dig into his back, a fresh wave of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

“shhh, i got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing your jaw now, your temple. his fingers on your clit work in time with the slow, torturous grind of his hips. “i got you, yeah? you gonna cum for me? hm?”

he kisses you full on the mouth when you sob, swallowing the sound like he wants to keep it forever. and then he speeds up just a little, rolling your clit with more pressure, meeting every rut of your hips with a firm thrust up.

you shatter.

your whole body seizes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as you clamp down so tight on him that it sends him tumbling over the edge with you. he groans, long and low, holding you so tight against him that you can feel every pulse of his cum inside you, hot and deep. his hips jerk once, twice more before he stills, forehead pressed against yours as you both gasp for air.

it’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds are the distant hum of the city outside the window, and the soft squelch when he finally shifts, making you both moan.

your body trembles like a leaf caught in the wind, and seungcheol drinks it in, the heat of your overstimulated form twitching against his chest as he presses slow, lingering kisses into the curve of your neck. his lips move down, sucking at the pulse point that hammers beneath your skin. your breath stutters. his fingers, nails just barely grazing, trail down the arch of your spine, featherlight but enough to make you shiver. you barely even realize you’re moving, the last bit of strength in your boneless limbs used to weakly push yourself up, to let his cock slip free from where it’s buried inside you.

the second it leaves you, your body gives out. you collapse right into his chest, heavier than before, spent and trembling, the exhaustion hitting all at once. you can’t even pretend to be embarrassed about it. you just sigh, your lips brushing the base of his throat as you settle against him, body limp.

seungcheol holds you steady with both hands, like he’s afraid you might melt right into the couch and disappear. his broad palm cradles the back of your head, fingers splaying across your scalp, scratching at your roots. he keeps the other hand wrapped around your waist, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs. the tension in his body hasn’t left yet. his shoulders are still tight. you know him well enough to know what’s coming before he even says it.

“you good?”

you hum in response, nuzzling into his chest as your fingers curl weakly against his pecs. “just a little sore.”

he exhales through his nose. shifts beneath you. you can feel his fingers flex where they rest on your waist, like he wants to squeeze but holds himself back. then, with zero effort, he grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, just enough to force you to look at him. your lids are heavy, half-lidded, dazed, and fuck, that shouldn’t make him feel so possessive, but it does.

his thumb sweeps across your cheek, his jaw tensing. “shit. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over your features like he’s searching for anything more than just exhaustion. “lemme take care of you, hm?”

you don’t have it in you to resist, don’t even want to. you let him move you, let him handle you like you weigh nothing as he lifts you from his lap and shifts you onto the couch, laying you down as if you’re something delicate. and maybe you are, now, after the way he ruined you. maybe that’s why you don’t fight him when he presses your thighs apart, watching as they just fall open on their own, spread wide like a doll.

you don’t have the strength to do much else than whimper softly as his thumbs spread you further, gaze locked onto your swollen cunt, still so slick from where he fucked you. his jaw clenches.

you don’t even get a warning before he moves in, before his hands grip your thighs to keep them open as he dives between them, mouth sealing over your clit in one slow stroke of his tongue.

you jolt, a weak little gasp punching from your lungs. your fingers barely find the energy to tangle into his hair, and the grip is nowhere near as firm as it usually is, but he groans anyway. whether it’s from the feeling of your grip or from the way you instantly react to him, you don’t know. but he doesn’t stop.

his tongue moves slow, warm and so fucking wet as he licks broad, flat strokes over your sensitive flesh, working you open again with patience. he isn’t trying to overstimulate, isn’t trying to get you off again—though you can already tell it wouldn’t take much. his focus is entirely on easing the ache, on massaging every tender inch of you with his mouth, his lips, his tongue.

“feels good?” his voice is muffled against you, but it vibrates in just the right way.

you nod, breath hitching when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling it in slow circles. your body twitches, heat curling at the base of your spine. “cheol…”

he moans against you, and presses you down harder against his face. your hips jump, an embarrassing whimper breaking free as his tongue dips lower, tracing around your entrance before dragging back up, collecting every bit of slick along the way.

you whine, fingers curling tighter in his hair. he doesn’t tease. doesn’t prolong it. just keeps his pace slow and steady, gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to keep you on the edge of something, even if you’re too sensitive to chase it. and if the way he’s grinding his hips into the couch tells you anything—it’s that he’s just as affected as you are.

he’s not eating you out to get himself off, but fuck if it isn’t working.

the obscene sounds of his mouth working between your thighs filling the entire apartment, mixing in with your breathless moans and the way he groans right into your cunt. you don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed about the way your cum is smeared all over his chin, his jaw, his cheeks—how it drips down onto the couch below with every intentional roll of his tongue against your entrance.

his tongue works in circles, pressing flat to your hole before dragging up again, tasting every bit of your arousal as it gushes out onto his lips. his mouth is open the entire time, tongue rolling and flicking, nose nudging against your clit as he angles his head lower. he flattens his tongue, groaning as he drags it up through your folds before plunging it into you, so messy that you swear you see white behind your eyelids.

your back arches, chest rising in sharp, hiccupped gasps, every single nerve in your body on flames. your thighs twitch in his grasp, and he squeezes them tighter, keeping you spread open just for him. his hands slide up, one wrapping firmly around your waist, keeping you pinned in place, while the other travels up, up—his fingers finding the stiff peaks of your nipples.

your eyes snap open, a gasp catching in your throat as he rolls one between his fingertips, twisting just enough to make your eyes roll. you swear you hear him chuckle against you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“breathe,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your clit before sucking it between his teeth, tongue rolling in lazy, teasing circles on the swollen bud. “breathe for me, baby.”

you try. you really do. but the way his mouth moves, the way his fingers tweak and pull, it’s too much. you’re spiraling. you feel another orgasm creeping up so fast it steals the air right out of your lungs.

he sees it. he knows.

his grip tightens on your thigh, his tongue flicking faster, working you open as his free hand continues to play with your tits, kneading the soft flesh, fingers rolling your nipples in rhythm with the lazy grind of his tongue against your clit.

your moans turn high-pitched, desperate. your body twists beneath him, unable to keep still as the pleasure builds, climbing higher and higher.

but then—a whimper.

not from you.

from him.

you force your heavy lids open, head lolling to the side as you try to focus on him. and fuck, the sight that greets you is almost enough to make you cum then and there.

seungcheol is rutting against the couch. grinding, fucking humping it like a damn dog, his hips rolling in slow thrusts, his rock-hard cock straining against his stomach, smearing precum all over his abs and the fabric beneath him.

he whimpers again, this time louder, his brows furrowed, his breath coming in short, uneven pants.

“fuck,” he groans, mouth still pressed against you, voice muffled by the way his tongue keeps working you over. he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his chin soaked. his eyes are dark, glassy, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you. “can’t—fuck, i can’t stop. you taste too good.”

your chest tightens, a desperate, aching cry slipping from your lips as you clutch at his hair, thighs twitching in his grasp. “cheol—gonna—gonna cum, oh my god—”

he moans, actually fucking moans, his hips grinding down harder against the couch as he redoubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit in precise, teasing flicks, his fingers pinching your nipples just hard enough to send you over the edge.

your body locks up. your back arches. your mouth falls open, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, all-consuming.

seungcheol doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow down. he works you through it like it’s his mission, licking you clean, his tongue rolling over your entrance, collecting every last drop as your body trembles violently beneath him.

your chest heaves, your vision blurring, but even through the haze, you can feel him still grinding against the couch, still so fucking hard and desperate, all because of you.

your brain is slow. dial-up connection slow. everything feels like it’s underwater, your body floating somewhere between consciousness and the best orgasm-induced coma of your life. it’s warm, so warm, like your body is still riding out the fever of your high, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth, throat dry, muscles heavy like they’re full of sand.

you don’t even remember when it happened—when you blacked out, when you got moved. just flashes of cool wipes dragging over your skin, a damp cloth pressed between your thighs, seungcheol’s hands gentle, careful, murmuring something you were too gone to comprehend. like déjà vu, like something out of a dream.

but you’re awake now. sort of. and you’re in his bed.

the sheets are soft, cool against your fevered skin, and it feels so good that you can’t help the tired, pleased moan that slips past your lips, involuntary, barely conscious.

but it’s enough to make him look at you.

you blink, vision still a little hazy, but yeah, that’s definitely seungcheol, sitting at his desk, dressed in a loose shirt and sweats, hair damp, probably from a shower. there’s a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are soft as they sweep over you, taking in the way you’re still half-buried in his sheets, limbs heavy, body relaxed.

then it hits you.

the documents.

joshua.

fuck.

your eyes widen, and you jolt up too fast, regretting it immediately when the soreness between your thighs protests, a sharp ache shooting up your spine. “fuck—”

seungcheol’s already up, one hand pressing to your shoulder, guiding you back down before you can do any more damage. “hey, hey, relax. you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“the—documents,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again as the exhaustion creeps back in. “joshua.”

he chuckles, and you open your eyes just in time to see him shaking a small stack of papers in his hand. “yeah, yeah. i got it. sent them over while you were passed out.”

you frown, groggy. “i was supposed to send them.”

“and joshua needs to get used to me handling shit for you,” he says, grinning as he sets the papers down. “besides, he’d probably prefer not to get another noise complaint under his name.”

your face heats up instantly. “oh my god.”

“mhmm,” seungcheol hums, tilting his head. “wanna know how loud you were?”

“no.”

he laughs, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek. “then go back to sleep, baby.”

you glare at him. or, at least, you try to. it’s weak, and he knows it, because all it takes is one more stroke of his thumb before your eyes flutter shut again, body sinking further into his bed.

yeah. you can fight him about the joshua thing later. maybe. probably not.

#whale!!!#need that #*seungcheol

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cbgisland · 3 months ago

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soft spot for you ; lee jihoon

SUMMARY. jihoon has a soft spot reserved just for you.

PAIRING. lee jihoon x gn!reader

GENRE. fluff, friends to lovers (idiots to lovers), college au (they're seniors), soonyoung horanghae agenda, mildly ambiguous hopeful ending, just wholesome things

WARNINGS. language/swearing

WORDS. 2.51k

NOTES. here's a short little piece lol - if you couldn't tell i'm obsessed with soft spot by keshi... according to airbuds i listened to it like 64 times yesterday oops. also dedicating this to @ppyopulii my resident woozidan love you jay!! ok it's like 6 am for me rn so i'm going to sleep after posting goodnight (or goodmorning i suppose) enjoy reading!

TAGS. @mochacoda @ppyopulii (dm or ask to join!)

PLAYLIST. soft spot - keshi / the cutest pair - regina song

There has never been a time where you did not know Lee Jihoon.

Or if there has, you don’t really remember it. It’s always been you and him, a package deal; always two halves to the whole, no questions asked. The two of you could not be more different, but even so – everything is just so easy when he’s with you.

“Ji, can you pass me the gummies, please?”

Soonyoung watches as Jihoon wordlessly brings the bag of gummy bears over to you, picking out the pineapple ones he knows you like.

“You don’t give me candy,” he sulks, homework lying forgotten on the table.

“You are annoying,” Jihoon tells him, “and you also haven’t gotten a single bit of work done since you’ve gotten here. Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?”

“Well, I did the math and I could theoretically pass this class even if I get a 50.”

“At the rate you’re studying, I doubt even that’s possible.”

That gets a preoccupied laugh out of you. Jihoon smiles – he knows you’re listening, even as you type away at your laptop. You always have an ear out for anything he has to say, you hope he’s learned over the years.

“You have no faith in me,” Soonyoung grumbles.

“Correct.”

The exchange has you smiling to yourself quietly, because anyone with a brain and two eyes knows that Jihoon cherishes his dear friend very much, despite the harsh words.

Tough love, you like to call it, also having had to deal with Soonyoung’s questionable decisions multiple times before.

The clock hits midnight, and it still feels like you’ve made little no headway on your assignment. Soonyoung is currently knocked out, head leaning against his chair, and Jihoon is scrolling on his phone absentmindedly like he has been for the past hour.

“You know you can leave, right?” you whisper to him. “You literally have no reason to stay here.”

He blinks, eyes tired from staring at the screen all day. “You’re here.”

“That doesn’t necessarily extend to you,” you point out, giving your laptop screen a disdainful look. “You’re not the one doing this god awful project.”

Jihoon leans closer to squint at the document you’ve got pulled up, his hair brushing against your cheek. “Is this for that one systems programming class?”

“Uh-huh.”

“This looks awful,” he remarks.

“You’re not helping!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, patting your shoulder comfortingly. “I think they have a new professor teaching it this semester. I don’t recognize the dude’s name, either, but we probably had it a lot easier.”

“Great. I’m going to drop out of college,” you groan.

“And leave me here with Soonyoung?”

You consider it for a moment, wrinkling your nose at the sleeping man across from you.

“Good point.”

Jihoon sighs, placing his phone down on the table and looking at you with a concerned expression on his face.

“I wish you hadn’t drank all that coffee earlier. You always get wired and end up not sleeping for at least sixteen hours.”

“That was the point,” you huff, editing a line of code. “Ji, if I cave and sleep now, I might literally fail all my classes.”

He frowns at you. “Sleep is a necessity, and you’re treating it like a luxury. You’re just as bad as Soonyoung.”

“Now that’s a comparison I didn’t think I’d ever hear,” you say, amused.

Even between your deflections, though, you know that Jihoon is right. You’ve started to notice the dark circles around your eyes lately, the little signs that you’ve been pushing yourself a little too hard.

And yet, you simply can’t. Stopping now is like throwing a wrench into the gears of your carefully planned out life. You know Jihoon knows that, too.

“Just be careful,” he tells you, glancing away indifferently. “Don’t want you to go and die out of sheer stress before you can even graduate.”

“Are you saying I won’t even make it to the end of the semester?”

“Well, not like this.”

He doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the time you stay holed up in the library, but he doesn’t leave either. You eventually give up trying to get him to go home and get some sleep, but you can’t say you don’t find some type of comfort in his presence, either.

It has always been this way. You will always look out for each other.

It’s a staggering two in the morning by the time you finally get to shut your laptop. You wake Soonyoung gently, though Jihoon tells you not to.

(“Just leave him here, he probably won’t wake up until noon, anyways.”

“We can’t do that, are you insane?!”)

The trudge back to your apartment is silent, the weight of a sleepless week on all of your shoulders. The boys insist on walking you back to your place, and you gratefully accept their company on the walk back.

Jihoon stops you right before you head into the building, propping open the door with his shoulder. Have his arms always been so… prominent?

You raise your eyebrows when he slips you another packet of gummy bears. “What’s this for?”

“Sustenance,” he says, and there’s that rare smile on his face again, one you only really see at times like this, when he’s just talking to you. His eyes always crinkle at the corners, forming crescents, and there’s something so heartwarming about his happiness when it spreads to you, too. “I picked up extra. For tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Ji.”

“Yeah, whatever,” comes his chosen response, but the gesture stays with you long after that. You end up leaving it on your desk with the rest of your things, and when you wash up the next morning you find it lying there, hastily forgotten in the rush to get under your covers.

It’s early, and the morning light is shining through your window. You rip the bag open, popping the first piece into your mouth, and the familiar flavor of pineapple floods your tongue.

“Soonyoung, please.”

“You know, I’m with him on this one,” you pipe up, enjoying the scene unfolding in front of you right now. “It can’t hurt to do it for like, two seconds.”

Jihoon looks genuinely distraught at just the thought of doing Soonyoung’s tiger pose, even for a quick selfie. It’s almost funny, almost.

“This goes against all my values and morals,” he states stubbornly.

“You just hate me,” Soonyoung complains, trying to get a good angle with his phone. It’s lovely out today, and you thought having lunch outside in the courtyard with your friends would be a nice way to destress from the week you’ve been having.

This, however, might be accomplishing just the opposite.

“Come on, you can horanghae for one photo,” you coax him gently. “Just let him have this one, okay?”

He scowls deeply, folding his arms. “No.”

“Jihoon.”

He manages to hold your stern gaze for all of five seconds before looking away, rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” he mutters in defeat as he brings his hand up to his face, and Soonyoung cheers. “I better be compensated for this.”

You frown. “You can only be compensated for emotional or financial distress.”

“My point exactly.”

The fiasco is more or less over with by the time you’ve finished your sandwich, with Soonyoung promising to never let that selfie see the light of day on social media. The sun is high in the sky, and the warm weather has you feeling more like yourself than you have in a while.

Soonyoung plops himself down beside you as you click through an email on your phone. He observes you silently, occasionally glancing towards Jihoon’s retreating figure going to fetch water bottles from the trunk of your car.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask after a while, not moving your eyes from the screen.

“You two are so weird,” he remarks pensively. “I’ve known Jihoon as long as you have, but you get all the privileges that no one else does.”

You look at him curiously. “Like horanghae privileges?”

“Yeah, exactly,” he agrees, laughing, “but it’s everything else, too. You know what I mean.”

You do know what he means. You can’t say you’ve never questioned it before, either; the unspoken words sometimes hang in the air, suspended like a weight that hasn’t quite dropped yet.

But to even question it puts a lot of things on the line, and you’re not ready for that. So you just let it go, words dissolving on the tip of your tongue.

“We’re just friends,” is your very anticipated answer. Soonyoung only chuckles lightly at your response.

“You always say that, but I’ve seen that man genuinely almost break his neck looking at you every time you laugh,” he points out, and you can’t even refute it. “I’ve seen it all, so many times. I literally can’t possibly be wrong.”

And shit, if Soonyoung isn’t right, if he hasn’t said exactly what has been on your mind when you let it wander. But just the thought of that is frightening, and it’s enough for you to smack his shoulder playfully, deflecting again.

“Don’t be silly,” you chide him, trying to change the subject. “Maybe you’re just infinitely more annoying than I am.”

Soonyoung laughs out loud at this. “I thought we already established that!”

“For once in your life, you’re actually correct,” Jihoon calls out, approaching your spot with water in tow. “I can’t remember the last time I had a moment of peace with you.”

“You love me,” Soonyoung teases, accepting a bottle. Jihoon rolls his eyes, but the small smile on his lips gives him away.

The rest of the day flies by so quickly between their bickering and the endless chatter that follows. You wonder why you haven’t done this sooner, barring exam weeks and important deadlines. Lately things had gotten so hectic that you hadn’t spent much time with either of them.

“Hey, that’s cheating!”

“No, this is allowed! It’s literally the rules!”

It’s every day with these two, you can’t help but think to yourself as they argue over an UNO play, cards lying forgotten on the gingham picnic blanket.

And in truth, you would not have it any other way.

The day your thoughts start to boil over, it rains like there is no tomorrow.

“Fuck.”

The word drops from your mouth as you glance out the window, met with the torrential showers. Across from you, Jihoon’s got his headphones on, focused on an assignment he’s been trying to do for the past few days.

You take a long sip of the coffee he’d brought you earlier. The taste is warm and familiar on your tongue, and you wonder how he got it down exactly, whether this is a step out of the ordinary for him or not. Ever since that day in the yard, Soonyoung’s words have done nothing but haunt you.

The seconds tick by as you watch him quietly, taking in his features and mannerisms. Amidst the familiarity is the feeling of a new emotion unfolding, and to name it scares you like nothing else.

“Wow, I think my eyes are burning,” Jihoon announces abruptly, leaning back in his chair. The exhaustion is evident in his face – you could count on one hand how much sleep he’s gotten over the last few days. “I can’t wait to never take an exam again.”

“Like the workforce is any better.”

“At least there won’t be any of this, though.”

“Yeah, but taxes, bills, all of that stuff,” you list off, “there’s a bunch of hard things that we don’t need to worry about just yet.”

“Oh, I guess you’re right,” Jihoon accepts, yawning as he glances back at his screen. “We grew up so fast, didn’t we?”

You nod in agreement. “Scary. I really don’t feel equipped to start adulting.”

The silence that follows only makes you feel the weight of your statement even more. The two of you sit there like that for a while, watching the rain fall rhythmically on the road outside.

You don’t enjoy this kind of weather, but still, you have to admit that there’s something awfully peaceful about it. It’s as if the pit-pat of the raindrops syncs with your own heart, and it grounds you in a way.

“You know, you could call me for any of that stuff,” Jihoon starts, still gazing out the window. “I can’t guarantee being able to help, but we can figure these things out together.”

You look over at him, in part surprise and part fondness. “That would be quite the tall order from me,” you joke.

He just shakes his head reassuringly. “Nothing ever is. Not if you ask.”

“Aww, look who’s being awfully nice today.”

“Hey, I’m nice every day! Well, most days,” he corrects himself immediately.

“I think Soonyoung would have a lot to say about that, Ji.”

Jihoon’s lips are pulled into a slight pout as he furrows his brows at your words.

“I care more about what you think than Soonyoung,” he confesses, mouth open in a slight laugh. “Always have.”

You were going to say something, but now your throat is dry, the words gone from your mouth. It’s all so confusing; you can’t tell if this is supposed to mean what you think – secretly hope – it does, and it won’t do to give yourself false hope.

“Oh?” you just say instead.

“Thought you’d know that after a decade,” he adds, mildly amused. You can tell he’s trying to act as nonchalant as possible, but you see right through it. “When have I not had your back?”

You catch yourself staring into his eyes for a little too long, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. There is something there that feels a lot like a warm welcome home.

“Never,” you say hesitantly. There’s many more words you want to say, but they don’t come right now, still stuck in your mind.

Jihoon just smiles tentatively at you, and in that moment you understand everything that he hasn’t said – everything he hasn’t needed to say.

“Finish up,” he says gently, nodding towards your laptop. “I’ll buy dinner if you can get it done within the next hour.”

You laugh at that, knowing he’ll do it regardless. “Deal.”

Even so, you can’t help but steal the occasional glance back at him, meeting his eyes across the table ever so often. It’s so strange, so new, but so intimate at the same time.

You smile to yourself, barely concealing a giggle. Jihoon has returned to his work, squinting at the lines of code, but you know the two of you will have a nice long talk about this over dinner.

Whatever this is, you’re not sure – but it’s Lee Jihoon, and to you that means everything will be okay. If anything, excitement is what bubbles in your stomach, an anticipation for whatever more is in store for you.

The rain has ceased, and the sun is back.

God, you can’t wait to tell Soonyoung about this.

thanks for reading! i usually end up writing much longer fics so this was really fun, let me know what you think! love, ashi xx

#wait why is this so cute #what if i die #ahhhh #*jihoon

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cbgisland · 3 months ago

Note

gala i've fucked up my algorithm so bad without you there is no woozi on the tl. that's how i know you're a true friend just as a built-in characteristic

this just means i’m not working hard enough WORRY NOT BELLE WOOZINGIE! will be resuming my full time job (woozi publicist) ASAP!!!

#lowkey same tho..#i never seen uji content anymore 💔#why did everyone have to get a life!!!#cbg.gbt

0 notes

cbgisland · 3 months ago

Text

love when someone writes a fic like they’ve actually attended college before bc i promise you you’re not meeting someone at a frat party

#cbg.gbt

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cbgisland · 3 months ago

Note

Hi can you do for the svt 24 hour one with woozi at 6:45 waking up together and getting ready for the day

hihi! killing my writing slump with our very last instalment of 24hrs with svt! thank you to everyone who requested - and thank you, my love, for requesting this! 6:45 was already taken, so i hope you don't mind that i moved it slightly to 7am :)

to everyone who sent a req in and didn't get anything, the window for submissions closed in december. but fear not- there will be plenty other chances for submission events like this one!

mornings with woozi is under the cut :)

7:00am

Early mornings with Woozi are quiet, as you are blissfully pulled away from sleep and into your lover’s arms. He holds you like his favourite instrument, hands carefully placed against your waist, your head bobbing up and down on his chest in tune with his breathing.

The line between his eyebrows disappears when Woozi sleeps, his usual concentrated and sometimes stressed out expression nonexistent, replaced by the ethereal calmness both you and sleep granted him.

Woozi was a homebody. His best days were those spent inside, whatever anime he was most obsessed with playing on the TV and you cuddled between his arms. He was a man of simple pleasures, and nothing could easily please him as waking up to your face could.

“G’morning.” He’d grunt out, blinking as his eyes met your already wide ones. He liked how you looked at him first thing in the morning, hair adorably unkempt and eyes wide despite the heaviness of sleep still weighing on you.

He liked how you smiled at him, equally thrilled at the idea of waking up to each other everyday.

Getting ready was a slow ordeal, as he watched you move about the room, occasionally getting his opinion on outfit and makeup choice. He liked watching you through your vanity mirror as you got ready, eyes solely concentrated on yourself, completely unaware of how smitten he looked on the bed behind you.

He gets up only to make you a cup of coffee, handing it to you with sleep still in his eyes. He wordlessly clinks his own mug against yours, the sound signaling his nonverbal wish for you: today is going to be a good day.

You would leave for work, not before pressing a quick kiss on Woozi’s lips, promising to be back with tales from the office to entertain your secretly drama-hungry lover. Quick the kiss might be, it lingered with thoughtful affection and unspoken love, satiating his hunger better than any breakfast could.

Mornings with Woozi ended quickly, although you knew he’d be waiting for you back at home, and that you would be on his mind the entire time you were apart.

#arg matey…#this be my dream #*jihoon

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cbgisland · 3 months ago

Text

Title: Fitness Quest

Masterlist

Woozi, a fitness enthusiast, drags his lazy, homebody girlfriend out of bed for an early morning jog, tired of her frequent colds and low energy. Pairing: Woozi x reader Genre: Fluff

The sun hadn’t even thought about rising yet, and the world outside was still cloaked in that pre-dawn hush—perfect for sleeping, in yn's opinion. Curled up under a mountain of blankets, she was blissfully lost in dreamland, probably imagining a world where calories didn’t exist and couches came with built-in snack dispensers. Meanwhile, Woozi—her gym-obsessed boyfriend—was already up, lacing his running shoes with the kind of enthusiasm that made yn wonder if he was secretly a robot powered by protein shakes.

Woozi wasn’t just a “go to the gym sometimes” guy. No, he was a gym rat. The kind who had a favorite treadmill and a handshake with the guy at the supplement store. He thrived on early mornings, green smoothies, and the satisfying clank of weights hitting the floor. Yn, on the other hand, thrived on netflix marathons, instant ramen, and the art of doing absolutely nothing. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be healthy—she just figured her body was already doing its best by keeping her alive, so why push it?

The problem was, yn’s 'best' came with a side of frequent colds, low energy, and a general vibe of “I’ll get up in five minutes” that stretched into hours. Woozi, bless his heart, adored her anyway. He’d bring her soup when she was sick, tuck her in with extra blankets, and even let her whine about how “unfair” it was that her immune system betrayed her again. But lately, it was getting out of hand. Last week, she’d caught a cold again, and Woozi had spent three days playing nurse while she dramatically declared she was “one sneeze away from the grave.” Enough was enough. He loved her too much to watch her wilt like an unwatered houseplant.

So, today was the day. Operation “Get Yn Moving” was officially in motion. Woozi had planned it like a military strategist—step by step, easing her into exercise so her body wouldn’t go into full rebellion. Step one: a simple morning jog. Nothing crazy, just a light loop around the neighborhood. He’d even checked the weather (chilly but manageable) and laid out her comfiest sportswear the night before—a soft oversized hoodie, stretchy leggings, and sneakers she’d probably only worn twice.

At 5:30 a.m., Woozi crept into their shared bedroom, his gym-honed resolve unshaken by the sight of yn cocooned in the blankets like a human burrito. “Baby,” he whispered, nudging her gently. “Time to get up. We’re going jogging.”

A muffled groan emerged from the blanket pile. “Noooo… tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. “Or I’ll drink vitamins. Promise. All the vitamins. Just… five more minutes.”

“Yn, you said that last week. And the week before. Come on, it’ll be fun.” Woozi’s tone was patient but firm, like a parent coaxing a toddler out of a tantrum.

She peeked one eye out, glaring at him like he’d suggested they climb Mount Everest barefoot. “Fun? It’s not even light outside! This is torture, Babe. Torture! I’m calling the police.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “You’re not calling anyone. You’re jogging. Let’s go.” Before she could protest further, he yanked the blanket off her in one swift motion, earning a dramatic yelp as the cold air hit her.

“Nooo! I’m fragile! You’re gonna shock my system!” she wailed, flopping back onto the pillow like a stranded fish.

“Your system’s been shocked plenty by all that instant ramen. Up you go.” Ignoring her theatrics, he scooped her out of bed, setting her on her feet. She swayed there, pouting, her hair a bird’s nest of chaos. He handed her a water—“Drink this, it’ll help”—and started tugging the sportswear onto her like she was a grumpy mannequin. She whined the whole time, muttering about how “leggings are oppression” and “sneakers are a conspiracy,” but Woozi was relentless. By the time he tied her shoelaces, she looked halfway decent—if you ignored the scowl.

“Perfect. Let’s move,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the door.

“Babe, it’s freezing! I’ll die out there! You’re dating a popsicle!” she protested, dragging her feet as he hauled her outside. The sky was still a dusky gray, the air crisp and biting, and yn immediately hugged herself, shivering exaggeratedly. “This is how horror movies start. Early morning, creepy silence—next thing you know, I’m running from a monster.”

“You’re running with me, not from me,” Woozi teased, starting a light jog down the sidewalk. “Come on, keep up.”

Yn shuffled behind him, her “jog” more of a zombie stumble. “This isn’t keeping up! This is survival!” she huffed, already winded after ten seconds. Woozi, naturally, was in his element—breathing steady, pace smooth, looking like he could jog to the moon and back. Meanwhile, yn’s lungs were staging a full-on protest. “You’re too fast! Slow down! My legs are shorter!”

“They’re not that short,” he called back, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “Just breathe, you’ll get the hang of it.”

“Breathe? I’m trying not to die!” She stopped dead in her tracks, hands on her knees, panting like she’d just run a marathon. Woozi didn’t notice at first, too focused on his rhythm, but when the constant stream of whining went silent, he turned around. There she was, a good twenty meters back, sprawled across a bench like a victorian lady who’d fainted from exhaustion. Her arms dangled over the sides, and her eyes were closed—either asleep or pretending to be.

“Yn,” he said, jogging back to her. “Are you serious right now?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him a pitiful look. “I’m resting. My body said ‘nope,’ and I respect its decisions.”

“You’ve been jogging for three minutes.”

“Three minutes too long,” she groaned, letting her head loll back. “Look at me. I’m adorable like this. Don’t ruin it with exercise.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. She was adorable, all flushed cheeks and pouty lips, but he wasn’t falling for it. “Nope. Up you go.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet despite her protests. “We’re finishing this jog together.”

“Together? You’re basically usain bolt, and I’m a sloth with asthma!” she whined, but he kept her hand in his, tugging her along at a slower pace this time. She stumbled beside him, grumbling under her breath about “gym tyranny” and “protein shake propaganda,” but she didn’t stop. Not completely, anyway.

Every few minutes, she’d dig her heels in, forcing him to pause so she could “catch her breath”—which mostly meant bending over dramatically and declaring things like, “My lungs are quitting. Tell them I love them.” Woozi just stood there, hands on his hips, smirking at her theatrics.

“You’re doing great,” he said after her third break, squeezing her hand. “See? You’re not dead yet.”

“Yet,” she wheezed, glaring at him. “You’re lucky I love you, or I’d have faked a heart attack by now.”

He grinned, leaning down to kiss her sweaty forehead. “I love you too. That’s why I’m doing this. I want you around for a long time, whining and all.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

The jog—or, in yn’s case, the “near-death shuffle”—had finally come to an end. The sun was just beginning to spill its golden rays over the quiet neighborhood, casting long shadows on the pavement. Woozi slowed to a stop near a weathered wooden bench, his breathing steady and calm, while yn looked like she’d just survived an alien invasion. Her legs wobbled as she collapsed onto the bench, sprawling out like a starfish that had washed ashore.

“Sit here for a bit,” Woozi said, his voice gentle but still tinged with that no-nonsense tone he’d used to drag her out of bed. “You need to let your skin soak up the morning sun. It’s good for you—vitamin D and all that.”

Yn groaned, flopping her head back against the bench. “Vitamin D? My body doesn’t even know what that is anymore. It’s too busy screaming at me for this betrayal.” She rubbed her legs dramatically, as if they might fall off from the sheer audacity of exercise.

Woozi stood in front of her, arms crossed, looking every bit the picture of health with his flushed cheeks and steady posture. He didn’t sit—he never did after a jog; something about “cooling down properly”—but he softened when he saw her pitiful state. Yn, sensing his presence, scooted forward and pressed her forehead against his stomach, wrapping her arms around his waist in a half-hug, half-collapse.

“Babeee,” she whined, her voice muffled against his hoodie. “I’m so tired. And sleepy. And my legs hate me. And I hate jogging. And the sun’s too bright now. Can we go back to bed? Please? I’ll be good, I swear.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against her cheek, and brought a hand up to stroke her messy hair. His fingers were gentle, untangling the knots she’d accumulated from flailing around during their run. “You did great, you know,” he said, his tone softening into something warm and fond. “I’m proud of you.”

“Proud?” she mumbled, tilting her head up just enough to squint at him. “I stopped, like, ten times. And I’m pretty sure I’m legally a sloth now.”

“Still counts,” he teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “You made it through. That’s more than yesterday.”

She huffed, burying her face back into his stomach. “Yesterday, I was happy and cozy and not dying on a sidewalk. Take me home, Woozi. I need to recover from this trauma.”

He laughed again, letting her cling to him for a moment longer. The morning air was still crisp, but the sunlight was starting to warm things up, casting a soft glow over them. Yn’s breathing was still a little ragged, her chest rising and falling unevenly as she recovered from her “ordeal.” Woozi kept stroking her hair, patient as ever, waiting until she didn’t sound like she’d just run from a bear.

After a few minutes, her dramatic gasps settled into normal breaths, though her pout remained firmly in place. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes. “Okay, I’m alive. Barely. Now what? Don’t say more jogging, or I’m breaking up with you.”

Woozi grinned, crouching down so they were eye level. “No more jogging. Promise.” He paused for effect, watching her pout twitch into something hopeful. “How about this: I’ll carry you home, make your favorite pancakes, and let you sleep as long as you want. And I’ll stay with you all day. Deal?”

Her eyes lit up like he’d just offered her the moon. “All day? Like, no sneaking off to the gym or fiddling with your music stuff?”

“Nope. Just you, me, pancakes, and the couch,” he confirmed, standing up and offering his hands to pull her to her feet.

Yn hesitated, then sighed dramatically as if it were a huge effort to stand. “Fine. You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Gym Rat. But if those pancakes don’t have extra syrup, I’m rioting.”

“Noted,” he said with a smirk, turning around and crouching slightly. “Hop on.”

She blinked at him. “Wait, you’re serious? You’re actually carrying me?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” He glanced back at her, eyebrow raised. “Unless you want to walk—”

“No, no, no!” she interrupted, scrambling onto his back before he could change his mind. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her chin on top of his head as he hoisted her up with ease. For a guy who spent half his life lifting weights, she was light as a feather—or at least, he made it look that way.

“Comfy?” he asked, starting the trek back home with her clinging to him like a koala.

“Very,” she mumbled, nuzzling into his hair. “You’re warm. And you smell nice. Way better than jogging.”

He snorted. “Glad I rank higher than exercise.”

“Barely,” she teased, though her voice was already growing drowsy. The steady rhythm of his steps, the warmth of his back, and the exhaustion from their morning adventure were lulling her into a sleepy haze. “Don’t drop me, okay? I’m too cute to fall.”

“I won’t,” he promised, adjusting his grip on her legs. “Just don’t fall asleep up there, or I’ll have to eat all the pancakes myself.”

Her head popped up instantly. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” he shot back, grinning as he felt her tighten her hold on him.

The walk home was quiet after that, save for yn’s occasional sleepy mumbles about pancake toppings and how she was “never jogging again.” Woozi just smiled to himself, the weight of her on his back a comforting reminder of why he’d dragged her out in the first place. She might’ve whined the whole way, but she was his—lazy, dramatic, and all. And as long as he had pancakes and patience, he’d keep her around for a long, long time.

When they finally reached their apartment, he set her down gently on the couch, where she promptly sprawled out like a cat claiming its territory. “Pancakes now,” she demanded, though her eyes were already half-closed.

“Coming right up,” he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead before heading to the kitchen. True to his word, he stayed by her side all day—pancakes, cuddles, and a nap-filled afternoon included. And if yn noticed the extra syrup he drizzled on her stack, well, she was too blissed out to complain.

#sooo cuteee #i need a man that will force me to exercise #i remember when i was on hinge #all the men wanted a gym girlie #so i would have to swipe left bc they clearly weren’t looking for me #*jihoon

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