#Scratch Resistant Glass | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alygator77 · 6 months ago

Text

༻behind the screen༺

♡ pairing. gojo x fem! reader (au you're coworkers)

♡ summary. when a late-night swipe on an anonymous dating app leads to a sultry phone call, you think it’s the perfect way to escape your work stress—especially your infuriatingly smug coworker Gojo Satoru. but when the man on the other end starts sounding eerily familiar, secrets slip out.

♡ contents. 18+ MDNI, smut, phone sex, mutual masturbation, praise kink, dirty talk, satoru is pining over you.

♡ wc. 3k

♡ a/n this was a request! it became longer than i anticipated hehe. but i had fun writing it nonetheless 💕

Gojo Satoru was used to being in control. Whether it was at work, in social settings, or just walking into a room, he was the guy who turned heads, the one who made people laugh, the one everyone gravitated toward.

Confidence was his currency, and he spent it lavishly. But around you? His brain seemed to malfunction entirely.

It was infuriating, really. He could charm anyone with a single smile, yet you—you—barely spared him a glance. And when you did, it was usually accompanied by a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

But you didn’t hate Gojo Satoru—hate was too strong a word for someone as maddeningly smug as him.

What you felt for him was more akin to the annoyance of stepping in gum on a hot summer day or spilling coffee on your favorite blouse. He was a constant presence in your life, always hovering with his stupidly perfect grin and those ridiculous quips that made your eye twitch.

And yet, to him, you were an enigma. You didn’t fall for his charm, his playful teasing, or his self-proclaimed ‘devastatingly good looks,’ and that made you a puzzle he was desperate to solve.

At first, he chalked it up to frustration. No one had ever resisted him the way you did, and it had to be a fluke. Then, the realization hit him like a freight train: he didn’t just want your attention—he wanted you.

It was a big, messy crush, and he had no idea what to do about it. Gojo Satoru didn’t pine, for god’s sake. So, he acted indifferent.

Unfortunately, his strategy was… suboptimal.

Relentless teasing. Sarcastic remarks. Even the occasional ‘accidental’ brush of his hand against yours. None of it worked. Instead of pulling you closer, it only seemed to cement your belief that he was a certified pain in the ass.

Case in point: last Friday in the break room.

“Still no boyfriend, huh?” he’d asked with a smirk, leaning casually against the door frame as if he hadn’t been plotting that line all day. “Guess guys just don’t appreciate all that… sarcasm. Or is it the constant glaring?”

The flash of irritation in your eyes was immediate and searing. He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth, but instead of apologizing, he doubled down with a cocky grin. That was his defense mechanism—smugness as a shield.

You didn’t even bother to dignify him with a response. You stormed off, brushing his shoulder while your heels clicked against the floor as he stood there, internally kicking himself.

Now, as you lay in bed on a random Tuesday night, those words played on repeat in your head. It wasn’t because they hurt—of course not. But they lingered, burrowing into your thoughts like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

Was that cocky ass, right? No… you could get a boyfriend… if you wanted to.

The thought made you scowl, your finger aimlessly scrolling through your phone as the glow of the screen illuminated your face.

“God, who cares what he thinks…” you groan, tossing your phone aside. But the moment you did, it buzzed, and the glow of an ad caught your attention.

A dating app. Anonymous. Discreet. Perfect for someone who wanted validation… without the strings.

“Why not?” you mutter, tapping the download button.

You didn’t expect much. Maybe a few shallow conversations, something to pass the time and make you feel less… undesirable.

Fuck it.

༻♡༺

Gojo Satoru slouched on his couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest while his other hand flicked mindlessly through his phone.

The TV was on, some senseless drama he couldn’t care less about playing in the background. It was just noise, really—something to drown out the thoughts he didn’t want to entertain. Thoughts of you.

“You’re sulking,” Suguru’s voice cut through the haze, casual and smug as always. Satoru barely looked up as his best friend wandered in from the kitchen, a beer in hand.

“I don’t sulk,” his thumb swipes with more force than necessary, and the pout tugging at his lips, said otherwise.

Suguru snorted, plopping down beside him and cracking his beer open.

“Sure,” he said, leisurely taking a sip. “So, what’s your deal this time? Another tragic failure to get her attention?”

Satoru’s eyes flick up to glare at his friend, but the effect was less menacing and more petulant. He looks back at his phone, refusing to dignify that with a response. Still, his pout said everything Suguru needed to know.

“It wasn’t a failed attempt…” he grumbles after a moment. “She reacts… just… the wrong way…”

Suguru’s brow arches is amusement as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Lemme guess… she glared at you. Again.”

Satoru was silent, staring at his phone like it might provide him with a more dignified answer, but eventually, the admission slipped out, quiet and begrudging.

“Her glare is cute…”

Suguru doesn’t miss the soft pink dusting Satoru’s cheeks, and his eyes roll so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of his head. He sets his beer down with a sigh, leaning back to rest an arm along the back of the couch.

“You’ve got it bad, man. Just confess already.”

“I can’t,” Satoru’s sigh is so dramatic it could’ve won him an award. He drops his phone onto his chest, staring up at the ceiling like it holds the secrets of the universe. “She totally hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Suguru counters. “She just thinks you’re an idiot, which—let’s be real—you kinda are.”

“Wow. Thanks,” Satoru said flatly. “Your support is truly heartwarming.”

Suguru shrugs, unbothered as always. He grabs his beer and takes another sip, eyeing Satoru like he’s both a lost cause and an endless source of entertainment.

“Y’know what your problem is?”

“Oh, please. Enlighten me,” Satoru stretches his legs out on the coffee table.

Suguru sets his can back down with a decisive clink.

“You overthink things with this girl. Maybe you need a distraction. You oughta download one of those dating apps everyone’s obsessed with. Blow off some steam.”

“A dating app?” Satoru’s nose scrunches in disgust, like Suguru had suggested he take up competitive bird watching or something.

Suguru, unperturbed, reaches over and snatches the phone off Satoru’s chest with zero hesitation. “Yep,” his fingers fly over the screen. “You’re clearly incapable of doing this on your own, so I’m doing it for you.”

“Wait, what—”

“There.” Suguru shoves the phone back into Satoru’s hands, grinning like a man who’d just solved world hunger. “All set.”

༻♡༺

That was how Satoru found himself lying in bed, staring at the app now loaded onto his phone—the bright interface practically mocking him.

A dating app? Seriously?

He was Gojo fucking Satoru. He didn’t need help in that department—if anything, people practically threw themselves at him.

And yet, here he was, thumb hovering over the ‘Get Started’ button like it was some kind of nuclear launch code.

“This is so dumb…” he mutters to himself, running a hand through his snow-white hair. But the alternative—sitting here alone and thinking about you—was worse. Much worse.

With a resigned sigh, he taps the button. The setup was painless enough, and he will admit that the app’s anonymity piqued his interest. No names, no faces, no preconceived notions—just bios and conversation. A refreshing change from his usual routine.

But once he started swiping, reality set in.

The profiles were… bland. Painfully so. If he had to read one more line about someone who ‘loves hiking and tacos,’ he was going to throw his phone across the room. Plus, the conversations he’d had were dull at best and unbearable at worst. Small talk wasn’t his thing, and most people just couldn’t seem to keep up with his wit.

Satoru was about five minutes away from deleting the app when your profile popped up. It was short, clever, and witty—his kind of humor. Intrigued, he swiped right and shot you a message.

Hours slipped away like water through his fingers. The conversation flowed so easily it was almost surreal. You didn’t tiptoe around him or try to impress him—you met his sarcasm with your own, and every jab you threw only made him want to know more.

The two of you talked about everything—movies, terrible music recommendations, the absurdity of office politics. The way you called out corporate nonsense had him laughing so hard he had to put the phone down to catch his breath. He couldn’t remember the last time someone made him laugh like that.

God—you were funny, sharp, and quick on your feet in a way that reminded him of—

Nah…

It wasn’t you. It couldn’t be. The universe wasn’t that cruel—or that kind.

He groans, tossing his phone onto the bed and rubbing a hand over his face. His mind was betraying him again, spiraling back to you like it always does.

‘You need a distraction. Blow off some steam.’

Maybe Suguru was right. Maybe he needed a distraction. Something—anything—to get you out of his head.

As his phone buzzes with a new message, his gaze drifts back to the screen.

still there, or did I scare you off?

A slow grin spreads across his face. Whatever. Whoever you were, you had his attention. For tonight, that was enough.

Still here. Hey, can I be honest for a sec?

mmm… depends. how honest?

He smirked, typing quickly.

Well, tbh I’ve been having a tough time. Got it bad for this coworker. Total knockout, but I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m an idiot.

He hits send before he can talk himself out of it, watching the little ‘delivered’ icon appear. Your reply comes after a brief pause.

yikes… sounds complicated.

He chuckles, already typing again.

You have no idea... anyway, I figured I could use a distraction. And if I’m gonna distract myself, I’d rather do it with someone who can actually keep my interest.

There was a beat of hesitation, and then he boldly added:

Wanna have phone sex?

This time, the pause stretched longer. Long enough for him to wonder if he’d blown it. But then, his phone buzzes again.

fuck it... why not?

Grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, he hit the call button through the app. The line rang once, twice, before clicking.

“Hi…” your voice greeted him softly.

“Hey princess,” he drawled. “Thought I might’ve scared you off.”

“Oh… no,” you said, a soft laugh escaping you. “But I will admit, you’re straight to the point, aren’t you?”

“Always.” He leans back further, his free hand trailing lazily over his stomach. “Why waste time, right? Life’s too short for tiptoeing around.”

Ironic, considering how he seemed to do nothing but tiptoe around you—his coworker—at work. You—who always had him second-guessing himself in ways no one else ever could.

However, this wasn’t about you. This was a stranger—right? A voice on the other end of the line. That was all.

But as you laugh through the phone, he closes his eyes, letting the sound settle over him. It was nice… and familiar. Too familiar.

No.

He was imagining things. Again. His brain was playing tricks on him, twisting your voice into something it wasn’t. There was no way it was you.

“So,” he said, steering the conversation back on track. “You’ve done this before?”

“Not really,” you admit, voice dipping slightly. “Actually… no. Honestly, I haven’t. This is my first time.”

His grin widens—the cocky edge returning to his tone.

“First time, huh? Well, you’re in luck. I’m an excellent teacher.”

You let out another soft laugh, nervous but sweet, and it sends a jolt of heat straight through him. What the hell is wrong with him tonight? Your voice—soft, familiar—it feels like a melody he’s heard before.

“Is that so?” you ask, breaking his train of thought.

“Hmm? Oh… absolutely,” he said, shaking his head with a smirk. His fingers drummed against his thigh as he forced himself to focus. “Just relax, princess. Let me guide you.”

“…okay,” you whisper.

He exhales slowly, letting the tension drain from his shoulders as he shifts lower on the bed.

“Now… are you laying in your bed for me?”

“mhmm…” you hum softly.

“Mm, good girl,” he murmurs. “Alright, tell me—what are you wearing?”

“Just… an oversized shirt,” the hesitation in your voice makes him grin. “Nothing else.”

“Yeah?” his hand trails down to the waistband of his sweatpants as he closes his eyes. “That’s perfect. Makes it easy to imagine my hands slipping underneath, right up to that pretty pussy of yours...”

Your sharp inhale crackles through the receiver, and the sound sends a thrill straight to his cock.

“Do something for me,” he begins palming his growing bulge. “Run your hands down your thighs… nice and slow. Tease yourself the way I would.”

There was a beat of silence, and he held his breath, waiting. Then, he heard it—a faint shift in your breathing, followed by a soft, shaky exhale. It was subtle, but it was enough to tell him you were doing exactly as he asked.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his own hand slipping beneath his waistband to wrap around his cock. It twitched eagerly in his palm, already hard and aching as he imagines you following his instructions.

“…you touching yourself, sweetheart?”

“Y-yeah.”

The word trembles on your lips like a secret only he’s allowed to hear, and his grip tightens on his cock as he begins to stroke himself slowly—matching the rhythm he imagines your hand moving in.

“Good girl,” he purrs, the sheets rustling beneath him as his hand glides across his length. “Now slide your fingers inside that tight little cunt… nice and slow.”

Your soft moan spills through the line, and his hips buck involuntarily at the sound—his hand moving faster.

“Fuck… love hearing those pretty little sounds” he groans as his thumb swipes over his tip, slick with pre-cum. “How many fingers are you using?”

“Two,” you gasp as the word breaks into a moan.

“Add another,” he commands, almost a growl.

You hesitate for just a moment, but then your breathy whimper crackles through the line, and he hisses through clenched teeth, his dick twitching eagerly at the sound. But somehow, without meaning to, his imagination betrays him.

He pictures you—his coworker. Fuck, why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

You—head tipped back; lips parted as your fingers work you open—his cock throbbed eagerly at the mental image.

Fuck… this was supposed to be a distraction, not fuel for his already out-of-control infatuation. He groaned, annoyed at himself but powerless to stop, and his strokes grew faster, more desperate as he surrendered to the fantasy.

“Haa… that’s my girl,” he praises, eyes fluttering shut as his hips buck into his hand desperately. “Stretch yourself for me. Make yourself nice and ready for my cock… nngh… wanna fucking fill you up, princess. Make you take every inch.”

Your soft, choked moan crackles through the phone, and it unravels him further. His strokes grow faster, more erratic—his free hand gripping the sheets as he chases his release.

“Bet you’d look so pretty,” his hand becomes a frantic blur as he loses himself to his fantasy. “All spread out and dripping for me. Taking my cock like a good girl… haaa… gonna fucking stuff you full as you cum all over m’ dick.”

“Fuck… m’ cumming,” you gasp, and as your broken cry crackles through the receiver, it sends him careening over the edge.

“Fuck… yes, good fucking girl… haaa—m’ cumming too.”

He pumps his cock, hips jerking as thick, hot streams of cum spill over his hand and onto the sheets below. His breath hitches in his throat, and before he can stop himself, your name rips from his lips, raw and guttural, a desperate cry he couldn’t contain.

Through the phone, your own gasping breaths mingle with his—the faint sound of your release trembling through the line. Then, for a brief moment, the world was quiet, save for the shared rhythm of your breathing as the two of you come down from the high.

Until, reality set in.

Fuck.

He blinked up at the ceiling, his free hand raking through his hair as his brain scrambled to process what just happened.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He felt like a goddamn asshole. He’d just moaned someone else’s name—your name—while he was supposed to be with someone else.

What the hell was wrong with him?

But then, you laughed—a soft, breathless sound that broke through his spiraling thoughts.

“That was… fun,” you said warmly, slightly teasing. “But, um… how do you know my name?”

His stomach dropped.

“I… what?” his voice cracked slightly as panic clawed its way up his throat.

“You said my name,” you reply, a curious lilt to your tone now. “I don’t remember telling you my name. And, you know, the app is supposed to be anonymous…”

It hit him all at once.

The voice that had been haunting him, the one that felt so painfully familiar, the one he’d convinced himself couldn’t possibly be yours—it was yours.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest as realization washed over him.

“Wait…” your tone shifts from amused to sharp. “You sound familiar. Like… Gojo?”

His stomach flips, dread pooling in his chest like ice water.

“Uh…” He froze, his mind scrambling for something, anything, that could salvage this disaster. “…hi, princess?” His tone was a weak attempt at his usual cocky charm—it fell flat. “Didn’t expect to find you on this app…”

There was a beat of silence, and then, like the idiot he was, his mouth moved faster than his brain.

“Sooo… still no boyfriend then, huh?”

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #satoru gojo #satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #motherhood and matrimony #jjk fanfic #gojo x reader #jjk smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo jjk #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader

2K notes · View notes

stevebabey · 3 months ago

Text

pre-steddie (its rly scratching the itch atm), steve harrington being a sad drunk :(, angst with a happy ending, 1.4k

If you asked him how it transpired, Eddie couldn’t tell you — but somehow, there’s a drunk Steve Harrington on the Munson’s couch.

Physically, he’d hazard a guess Steve walked all the way from whatever party he’d been at. Which is a concern in itself—either Steve wandered through the woods or he wandered quite some way, but that’s a whole other can of worms.

The why of why Steve’s here—why he chose to sought out Eddie in particular—is another mystery altogether.

If Eddie had to guess, he’d say somewhere between the commonality of crashing at each other’s place to keep the nightmares at bay and a night of drinking is how Steve ended up here.

It’s nearing midnight the clock tells him, blinking red from the microwave. Steve’s holding a glass of water that he’s sipped from only once.

And he’s sad.

Considering it, Eddie hadn’t thought Steve would be a sad drunk. Especially if you consider the sheer amount of parties he threw as a teenager.

It just doesn’t quite fit into his ever changing picture of Steve Harrington. Like a puzzle piece the wrong shape that doesn’t fit with the rest. Happy drunk? Horny drunk? Those made better sense than this.

But then again, Eddie stopped trying to make sense of Steve a couple months after the Vecna-episode of their lives.

(It’s sort of something he really likes about Steve, that he can’t ever really pin him down — that he’s always surprising Eddie.)

Either way, the fact remains that Steve is drunk and Steve is sad.

Eddie just doesn’t know about what.

“C’mon,” Eddie nudges the glass in Steve’s hand gently, the second time tonight. “Gotta drink up, Stevie, lest you risk the wrath of tomorrow’s hangover.”

Steve’s slumped sideways on the couch, not too drunk to be out of it, but evidently rather physically beat. He’s leaning his head up against the ratty leather of the couch, his eyes closed.

Eddie sits opposite him, enough distance to keep it friendly, but close enough to catch the glass if Steve suddenly decides he doesn’t feel like holding it anymore.

He wants to sit closer, wants to maybe even hold Steve’s hand. Cup his face and murmur sweet nothings until sad drunk Steve is replaced by someone happier.

Eddie swallows the desire down, away.

By all accounts, there’s nothing Steve’s said or done to give away his sadness. Eddie only knows he’s sad from that slight downturn of his mouth — the slight jut of his lip. The world’s most adorable pout if it wasn’t being caused for bad reasons, Eddie thinks.

He knows what it looks like because it’s what Steve looks like when he wakes from a nightmare. When he’s properly distressed, thrust to the verge of tears. Eddie knows the sight well. (And Steve knows his.)

On the couch beside him, Steve makes a little noise in response to the nudge. His eyes crease open.

He looks tired. It’s not the exhaustion that comes with terror, with having sleep chased from you, but… bone-deep tiredness.

Eddie’s lip part, unsure if it’s to urge Steve to drink some water again or just to ask what’s wrong when—

“No one wants it.” Steve says, in the smallest voice. It’s barely a whisper.

Eddie’s brows draw together. The sadness in Steve’s words travel out, pushing an ache into his chest.

“Wants what?”

Steve is silent. He’s not looking at Eddie — he wasn’t before, but now his gaze is downcast, studying the glass in his hands. His finger traces the rim.

“Wants what, Steve?” Eddie tries again.

This time, Steve sighs and it looks like it takes the wind out of him completely. “My…”

There’s a crack in his voice. Steve clears his throat and closes his eyes again, this time scrunched up as if he’s resisting the emotion that tries to take over.

“My stupid love. Keep… keep tryna give it, but no one wants to take it.” He inhales jaggedly, turning an inch and pressing further into the couch, like he’s hiding. His voice is muffled and wrecked. “No one wants it.”

Something splinters in Eddie’s chest, slivers of agony burying beneath his skin. He’s speechless.

How can Steve think that? How can he believe that?

“I do,” Eddie says, before realising what’s he’s saying.

Steve stiffens on the couch, tentatively digging his face out from hiding. His downturned eyes still have that warbling sadness and Eddie just needs to make it better — even if it means throwing his pathetic crush under the bus.

“Eddie-” Steve says, wary and tired all at once, as if he’s saying don’t do this, don’t lie to me.

“I do. It sounds lovely,” Eddie insists, completely truthful. “If you want someone to give it to, I’ll take it. I want it.”

Steve eyes him. Some of that melancholy in him has turned to apprehension. He sniffles a bit and sighs again.

“Not- not like that.” Steve murmurs, eyes falling back to the glass in his hands. He speaks with a lilt of embarrassment, as though he thinks it’s shameful to care this much. “Not as a friend, Eddie.”

A stone grows in Eddie’s throat. It’ll hurt like hell to swallow it, to speak, but Steve has always been worth it.

“I know,” Eddie breathes. He can’t quite keep all his nerves out of the words and they jam up in his mouth for a moment. “Not like that, Steve.”

He desperately wants to grab his own hair, to fiddle with it, release some tension, but he also doesn’t want to break the quiet softness between them.

The fridge hums in the silence. The clock on the microwave blinks back midnight.

Wishing hour? Maybe in some myths and stories. Eddie clings it anyway.

Steve’s hazel eyes are a little wider now. A little more awake. He’s picked his head up, no longer leaning against the couch cushions.

“You…”

Freak. Fag. Eddie’s brain helpfully supplies every awful way this could roll, entirely too late. He tenses up, shoulders curling in, a minuscule motion.

But Steve doesn’t look disgusted, he looks a little in disbelief.

“You… want it?” He asks, that same quiet whisper.

And that does a number of Eddie’s heart—the enormity of Steve’s disbelief that someone would want his love, that the rest of it—the semantics, the fact that boys can’t kiss boys—doesn’t even matter to him.

“Yeah,” Eddie croaks. He nods jerkily, the nerves still there, even with Steve’s easy acceptance. “I do. I’d love to have it.”

“Oh,” Steve says. He’s laid his head back down, his hair scrunched up against the leather, but his eyes are still on Eddie. Not scrutinising, just studying. There’s still that hazy look to them, no doubt the alcohol still in his veins.

“I never… didn’t think…” He’s murmuring more to himself. From the concentration of his gaze, he’s thinking hard. He sniffles again, nose twitching and then frowns, eyes cast to the side, before,

“Okay,” Steve says finally, voice quiet. “If you… if you mean it.”

Then he unfurls his hand, the one that had been tracing the glass, and puts it forward. Between them on the couch.

Eddie eyes it, stomach swooping, pulse thudding, and then does what he does best; throws caution to the wind. Steve might hate him tomorrow but tonight, Eddie won’t hide.

Their fingers slot together easily, two perfect puzzle pieces.

Eddie wonders if him in Steve’s life, him like this with Steve, is one of those things that would work—would make sense. If he wants to make sense with Steve or instead be another surprising thing about him.

(That Steve Harrington might like boys. Might like Eddie.)

Steve is gazing at their joined hands. For the first time since he got to Eddie’s trailer, his lips turn upward, a very small yet happy smile. He gives a very light squeeze with his hand, the lack of strength evidence of his sleepiness. Eddie squeezes back nonetheless.

Then Steve’s eyes are closed and in a few deep breathes, he’s out like a light.

It’s a careful process to extract the glass of water from Steve’s clenched hand, but Eddie manages it. It sits on the edge of the coffee table and when Steve wakes up, mouth dry and in need of water, it will be there.

And so will Eddie.

The burning possibilities of what happens come tomorrow—when Steve’s sober and actually thinking straight (ha)—filter through Eddie’s mind, but he can’t find it in himself.

There’s no regret of he’s done. What he’s said, what’s been revealed.

It’s tomorrow’s problem (or tomorrow’s fantasy come true…?), but til then, Eddie burrows into the couch and readies for a sore neck tomorrow morning.

He should really get up and turn the lamp off, Eddie thinks to himself. Then Steve snuffles in his sleep, uses their intertwined fingers to bring him closer, and he forgets all about it.

#who am i if i’m not making steve harrington sad 🫶#but it’s okay bcos he has an eddie #dialogue inspired by fleabag btw!#EDIT: WAIT I FORGOT THE GAY PPL IN MY PHONE TAG #ruby writes steddie #you can decide how the next morning goes! i support either #a) eddie tentatively wonders if steve remembers it and steve is like cool. i have a boyfriend now:)#or b) the tentative slowburn where they kind of tiptoe around it for the next couple months. steve knows but it takes time to grow feelings #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #can’t tell u how long it is cos i wrote it on one shift on my phone my bad #steve harrington #eddie munson #angst #steve harrington angst #steve angst #angst with a happy ending

1K notes · View notes

dollyswishingwell · 11 days ago

Note

hihi :3! First off lemme just say that I absolutely adore your writings they’re all so good I’ve spent the past few hours just reading thru all of them! And secondly I wanted to make a request for the obsessed LADS with an MC who’s pretty compliant with them from the start like “oh you wanna lock me away and make me ur pretty little house wife? Sound like a dream <33” or something like that basically an MC whose equally obsessed with them :)

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ I like this

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, crack? this is literally me cause i wouldn’t be fighting shit lmao

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You’re quite happy with this new arrangement

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

From the moment you stepped foot in his world, barefoot on the marble floors of his seaside estate, sunlight catching on your smile like it was made just for him, Rafayel knew. He didn’t need to break you. Didn’t need the slow, aching game of manipulation, coercion, or seduction.

No. You looked at his claws and kissed them. You saw the cage and asked for silk curtains and plush pillows inside.

And gods, he fell.

“You’re not going to run?” he asked that first night, a little disappointed, a little curious, watching you lounge across the velvet divan he had carried in just for you.

“Why would I?” You tilted your head. “You’re rich. You’re pretty. You adore me. And I get to stay home and be pampered like a princess? Honestly, I should be paying you.”

He blinked. Then burst into delighted laughter, sharp and glittering like shattered candy glass, before pouncing on you in a flurry of silk and perfume.

“You’re mine,” he purred, nuzzling into your neck like a smug cat. “Don’t say things like that unless you want me to go and have the entire staff fired for even looking at you.”

“Do it,” you hummed, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Let’s go full tyrant.”

He did.

Rafayel stopped pretending to function in society entirely. His meetings became virtual, or more accurately, delegated. His manager Thomas despaired.

He had you now. Why would he ever leave?

He got addicted to watching you drift through the estate in your soft pastel robes, tiaras in your hair just because, calling him pet names and snuggling up in his lap while he painted. You’d tell him what new shell you wanted for the fountains. What gem color suited your mood today. What dress you wanted copied in ten colors.

“D’you think we should get married?” you’d say casually, flipping through a designer catalogue. “Or should I stay your scandalous mistress forever? Like, hidden flower in the tower kinda vibe.”

“Wife,” he corrected immediately, voice laced with possessive heat. “You’re mine. You deserve the castle. The ring. The surname.”

He proposed three hours later. A box of seven rings, each more ridiculous than the last.

You picked the heart-shaped one with the pink sapphire. Naturally.

Now, no one dares question why you’ve vanished from the public. Why the estate security is tighter than a vault. Why the man known for his detached cruelty is now painting seashells with “my darling girl” scratched into the backs.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

Zayne expected resistance. Not because he wanted it, but because he was used to it. He’d prepared for the fights, the escape attempts, the begging. He’d even gone as far as reinforcing the estate with biometric locks and deleting your Hunter Association credentials behind your back.

But then you looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes the morning after he made you quit your job, and just… smiled.

“So I don’t have to risk my life anymore,” you said softly, curling into his lap like it was your natural place. “You’re just gonna take care of me forever?”

He paused. Scalpel-steady hands twitching.

“…Yes.”

You beamed. “Good. I hated those missions. They made me miss you too much.”

He blinked once. Twice. His jaw ticked.

“…You were going to come back to me,” he said quietly. “Always.”

“I was yours before you even asked.”

You tilted your head, eyes glimmering. “But I like that you made sure. That you made me stay.”

From that moment on, Zayne never questioned the decision again.

He gave you the master bedroom and moved his office into the suite next door, because you liked being able to sleep in his shirts and sneak into his bed whenever you wanted. He stopped accepting surgeries on weekends, because that was “your time.” Spa treatments. Cooking for you. Holding you on the couch while you rambled about the adorable new heels you bought with his money.

You’d kiss him in the mornings before he left and whisper:

“Don’t be late. Your pretty wife gets lonely.”

He became militant about punctuality.

You never questioned his control. You welcomed it. Handed him the leash with both hands. Every new rule, every vitamin he made you take, every tracker sewn into your dresses and discreetly implanted bracelet,

You adored it.

“I like it,” you once said, curling beside him in bed while he checked your vitals on his tablet. “When you act like I’m breakable. Like I’m something precious.”

Zayne looked at you like you’d just opened his ribcage and whispered inside his heart.

“That’s because you are.”

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“If anyone ever tried to touch you… I’d put them in the ground myself. Slowly.”

You just smiled and murmured, “I know. That’s why I married you.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Xavier genuinely thought he’d have to be careful with you.

He’s weird. Awkward. He lives in a world of wanderers and underworld corpses and secret identities. His penthouse is too big. His life too strange. He’s… not normal.

So when he told you, quietly, half-asleep on your stomach, words mumbled into your back, that he didn’t want you leaving anymore…

That he was going to make you quit your job…

That you’d never have to work or worry again, but in exchange, you’d be his,

You didn’t flinch.

You just rolled over and looked at him like he’d offered you the moon.

“Wait, really?” you whispered. “I can just stay here? Be your pretty wife and wake up with you every day?”

He blinked. Slowly. “…Yes.”

“Done,” you beamed, snuggling against him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He short-circuited.

Ever since then, Xavier has been in a near-constant state of dreamlike bliss. You wanted to be kept? You wanted to stay tucked in his arms in that oversized bed, scrolling outfits for the association Gala while he trailed kisses up your back?

“Pick the blue one,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and devotion. “Matches your eyes. Looks good when I hold you.”

He installed a custom closet for you. Got the entire place redesigned for your taste. A garden on the top floor, because you said you liked “something soft to look at.” A full kitchen even though he doesn’t cook, because you like baking him things and feeding him from your fork.

And when he’s in Lumiere mode, when the world is cruel and sharp and demanding, he comes home to you.

Crawls into your lap like a lovesick cat.

You always cradle his face. Cup it gently and murmur:

“Who do you belong to?”

“Who kisses your forehead when you fall asleep?”

“Who’s always going to be here, waiting?”

He’s so hopelessly in love it physically hurts.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

Sylus had everything, wealth, connections, a global weapons empire. He thought love would be an indulgence. A vulnerability. Something to manage.

And then he met you (again).

Sweet, gorgeous, ambitionless in the best way, perfectly content to let him build your world for you. You didn’t resist when he said you’d never work again. Didn’t fight when he said he didn’t trust anyone to protect you.

You smiled and asked if you could pick the color of your new closet.

“You’re not going to fight me on this?” he’d asked one evening, watching you admire your new pink diamond ring.

You gave a soft laugh, nestled into his lap like you belonged there. “Why would I fight the man who wants to pamper me, protect me, and make me his spoiled little wife?”

His red eyes darkened.

He kissed you so hard he left you dizzy.

From that moment on, he spoiled you mercilessly. Twelve armories worldwide? Now thirteen, one converted into a private resort just for you. Every gala dress custom-designed. Entire floors in luxury department stores cleared just so you could browse in peace.

And you, his darling little thing, you fed into it.

“Buy it,” you’d murmur, brushing your fingers along a jewel you wanted. “For me. Just to show everyone whose name I moan when I’m in your bed.”

He’s never signed a wire transfer so fast.

He adores how you never try to take the power from him. You respect it. Crave it. You let him rule, but you reign at his side. When he hands you your card, you kiss his knuckles. When he orders security to shadow you in public, you smile and wave at them sweetly.

When he comes home from business drenched in blood and smoke, you’re waiting on the couch in your silk nightgown, holding a wine glass and purring, “All done, my love? Did they behave?”

You don’t flinch when he talks about toppling rivals. You don’t question when you’re moved to a different penthouse in a new city overnight.

You just smile and say, “As long as you’re there, it’s home.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Caleb had been preparing for war.

Not military strategy, you.

He was ready for the heartbreak. The betrayal. The screaming. The way you’d fight tooth and nail when he finally took you. Locked you in his Skyhaven penthouse. Made you his and no one else’s.

Because you had always been free. Beautiful. Untouchable.

And he had always watched you. Protected you. Loved you in the way no brother, no soldier, no man should. From the shadows. With a military-grade obsession.

So when he brought you home after that final mission, bloody, injured, nearly lost, and told you you’d never leave again…

You looked up from the plush penthouse bed, eyes heavy with painkillers and love and whispered,

“Good. I only want to be yours anyway.”

He froze.

You blinked. Smiled. Reached for him with trembling fingers.

“I hated being away from you,” you breathed. “Please don’t let me go again. I’ll be good. I’ll be your pretty little housewife.”

He didn’t speak. Just cradled your hand like it was made of glass. Like you might vanish.

From that day forward, Caleb changed.

No longer cold. No longer quiet. No longer the stoic colonel hardened by war.

You brought out the boy in him. The one who used to blush when you shared a blanket. The one who used to memorize every little thing you liked. The one who used to dream about kissing you, marrying you, keeping you locked in his arms forever.

Now he had it.

You padded around the penthouse barefoot in his oversized shirts. Asked him if he liked the pink lipstick you wore. Curled into him on the couch while he planned missions, whispering,

“When will you be back? I get lonely without you, you know.”

“I’ll call off the deployment,” he said immediately.

You laughed and tugged him down for a kiss.

You encouraged his obsession. You made it beautiful.

You didn’t just accept your gilded cage, you helped him decorate it.

Matching rings. Matching loungewear. Little domestic rituals that made him feel like he had you in every lifetime.

“I belong to you, Caleb,” you murmured one night, forehead to his. “I always have. Even before you took me, I was yours.”

433 notes · View notes

puma-riki · 25 days ago

Text

You're My Romeo! (Everybody Laughs When I Tell Them So)

I just changed your name, now its Romeo! ── . dork! maknae line x fem! reader

[ - skinship kissing est. relationship loser enha ] Hyung line maknae line

! tw. small mention of drugs

⟡ I need a dork boyfriend before I end it all guys I'm so fr, hyung line coming soon mwahaha

────────────────── ⟢

Sunoo

There's a lot of people Sunoo holds dear to his heart. You and his sister being two of them. He absolutely adores how the two most important girls in his life get along so well and even consider each other close friends.

But right now, the both of you together is irritating his soul.

He was absolutely thrilled for all three of you to go out for dinner tonight. It was supposed to be amazing, there'd be good food, a chance to sit down and catch up after so long, a nice ambience in the background as the night settled over the city, his sister wouldn't be stealing his girlfriend, and you wouldn't let her.

But of course, the universe is cruel.

"Ugh! [Name] you're literally so cute!" His sister's overly cheery voice from across the restaurant booth makes him roll his eyes for the nth time while he sips his drink.

He resists the urge to bang his head against the table.

And then you- his girlfriend, mind you- giggle at her dumb compliment and poke at your food all shy.

This has been happening all night. You and his sister linked arms when you met up at the train station, haven't shut up since, and are now sitting across from each other like you're on a date.

You've been laughing at each other's dumb jokes, sharing bites of your food, and at one point you tucked her hair behind her ear.

What's worse is you're flirting with each other. Shamelessly.

Which, he gets. It's just what girls do with their friends, he guesses. He knows you guys are just messing around with each other and having fun.

He knows it doesn't mean anything

Doesn't mean it doesn't piss him off though.

He can't complain too much though, because all the passes his sister is making on you are true. You are very cute. And very sweet, you have been making an effort to bring him into your jokes and conversations. You remind him every now and then that you still know he's there through giddy smiles and soft touches to his arm or thigh.

You being exceptionally sweet and cute would've made up for every ill fantasy he had of jumping across the table at his sister if it weren't for... that one particular moment of utter betrayal and heart break.

His sister goes to grab a perilla leaf, but as always, its stubborn. The edge tears slightly, folding weird, and holds on to the other leaves below it for dear life. Sunoo watches, eyes narrowing, when she lets out a frustrated "Ah..."

And then you swoop in.

Silently, you reach over with your chopsticks, perfectly poised, and separate a new leaf with practiced ease. You place it on her bowl of rice like you've done this a million times before, so smooth and gentle it might as well be a love confession.

Sunoo freezes. Mid-bite. Spoon hovering in front of his mouth.

In his mind, a record scratches, the light bulbs burst, glass shatters.

Not the perilla leaf. Literally anything but the damn perilla leaf.

He watches you, expression blank but soul spiraling. You don't notice. Instead, your preoccupied with finding the perfect piece of beef on the grill in front of you, and when you do you place it in his bowl.

They always say the one who helps you separate a perilla leaf is The One.

His sister gets the highest level of sought after romantic encounters right in front of his face with the love of his life. And what does he get?

A piece of damn beef!

This is sick. Sunoo's going to be sick.

"Sunoo close your damn mouth. Gosh, absolutely no decorum at all."

Later, when the three of you step out of the restaurant into the warm buzz of the night, Sunoo gives his sister a half-hearted hug and a fake smile, still stewing.

You hug her tighter than you hugged him, by the way.

And then she waves, disappears down the block, and the second she's out of sight- you're back.

You loop your arms around Sunoo's, lean your head on his shoulder, and snuggle into his side like nothing ever happened.

He doesn't say anything for a beat.

Then "Oh, nowww you wanna be all cute with me."

You glance up at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He shrugs and keeps walking. "Just thought I was the side piece. Didn't realize I'd be sharing my girlfriend tonight."

You bite back a laugh. "You're so dramatic."

"You helped her with the perilla leaf. And you put it in her bowl." He scoffs, "I mean you might as well have signed the marriage papers with her right in front of me."

You lean closer and rest your head against his shoulder again. "Hey, I fed you too. And I help you with your food all the time."

"Yeah, because I'm your boyfriend. Or was, apparently."

You stop walking, grab his wrist, and tug him gently to face you. With a fond look, you cradle his cheeks in your hands, thumbs brushing the pink tint rising under his skin.

"You are my boyfriend," you say sweetly, pecking his lips once. "And you're my favorite. Always."

He tries to stay mad. He really does. But his cheeks are burning, and your hands are so warm and soft, and when you kiss him again- this time on the tip of his nose- he's a puddle.

"Hmph." He loops his arms around your waist and buries his face in your shoulder. Your body shakes slightly with laughter as your arms move to wrap around his neck. "Still should've been across from you. I would've flirted better."

You giggle, hugging him tighter. "You were sitting right next to me, you dork."

He mumbles against your shoulder, "Didn't feel like it."

Jungwon

Jungwon is acting weird.

I mean- he's always weird, but he's being weird.

You had invited him over after a very long week filled with crammed schedules and work. You're both lounging on your bed watching TV. The room is a bit chilly due to the AC running and the only light in the room is from your bedside lamp and the TV. Theres a comfortable silence laid across the both of you as you lay next to him, knees tucked in and just barely brushing his thigh as he sits up against the headboard of the bed.

It's supposed to be a chill night in after not seeing each other all week.

And it would be if Jungwon wasn't so damn restless.

He's been trying to watch the movie, he really has. But all he can think about is how you've barely touched him since he got here. Sure, you gave him a hug and kissed him when he first arrived.

But that was it and it wasn't enough.

After countless photo shoots, interviews, promotional activities, and many many hours without you by his side, He can't think of anything else but being wrapped up in your embrace. For you to run your fingers through his hair and kiss his cheeks. He's practically vibrating with need next to you and you don't even notice.

You're curled up next to him, all cute and sleepy, and completely content with letting your boyfriend wither away next to you.

You hear him sigh next to you and shift to sit up. You glance over to see him fluffing the pillow he's been laying against.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just trying to get comfortable, you know." He tries to sound casual as he moves his pillow closer to yours and turns back around. Moving closer to you now that his pillow is moved.

You hum in response, turning back to the TV. Your knees are now laid on his thigh. But it still isn't enough. At this point, He doesn't even think crawling under your skin would be close enough.

You're so close yet so far.

He could just... ask you to move closer to him and coddle him like he desperately wants you to. He is your boyfriend after all, it's not like you haven't been affectionate like that before.

Jungwon is just incredibly bad at showing and receiving affection, even if he is fiending for it. Like he is now. He always tries to pass off affection as a casual thing, like something he's doing only because it's convenient.

Except it's not. And he knows that and hopes you don't pick up on it. But sucks for him, because you do. Every time. Even now.

You clocked his attempt at nonchalance the minute he walked in the door. When you kissed his cheek upon greeting and he followed your lips on instinct when you pulled away. You can practically feel the tension radiating off him as he sits next to you on the bed now. You definitely can feel him glancing at you from the corner of your eye every 5 seconds and see his hands twitching and how he awkwardly fidgets with them like he doesn't know what to do with them.

You could say something, or just initiate cuddling with him and save him from his painfully awkward and you deprived state.

But where's the fun in that.

"It's really cold in here..." Jungwon suddenly announces, lifting the blanket you have draped over your lap and moving under it; even closer to you and closing any gap that there was between you.

"Really? I'll turn off the AC then." You move to get up and Jungwon nearly launches himself off the bed with how fast he sits up.

"No!" You turn to look at his wide eyes. Jungwon, upon seeing your furrowed brows at his sudden outburst, clears his throat. He rubs the back of his neck as he sinks slightly into the pillows.

"I mean- it's not that cold. Just... cozy. Right now. With the blanket. So, like. Don't move."

You blink at him.

He refuses to meet your eyes.

"Right," You say, lips twitching. You shift the blanket off your legs and sit up again. "It's okay. I'll just turn off the AC real quick-"

"No!" Jungwon shoots up again, so quickly you almost thought he would shoot through the ceiling. His hands fly to your wrist as if stopping you physically is somehow more subtle that just admitting he wants to stay tangled up in warmth- and you.

You break out into a smile. "You literally just said you were cold."

"I changed my mind," he says way too quickly. Then he clears his throat and adds with a shrug, "Like I said, it's not that cold. Kinda refreshing actually."

You give him a look.

He avoids your gaze.

With a grin tugging at your lips, you start to get up again anyway, just to mess with him. "Mmm, no. Now that you mention it, it is cold in here. So, I'll be right ba-"

You don't get to finish that sentence because before your feet can even touch the floor, you're yanked backwards onto the bed.

"Hey!" you squeal as your back hits the mattress and Jungwon puts his entire body over yours. He makes quick work of turning his head away into your chest to hide the pink blooming on his cheeks.

"You can't leave!" he says, but it comes out muffled because his cheek is mushed against your chest. His arms tighten around you like a vice and his body weight draped over yours anchors you to the bed. "Please, I missed you all week so just stay here and let me melt into your skin." He says it so fast and quietly you have to take a second to process what he just said.

You smile, affection blooming in your chest. "Why didn't you just say so, silly"

"I don't know... I'm bad with words... and actions." He mumbles.

You snort, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, and he melts instantly. Pressing closer, tucking his face in like he's burrowing for warmth. "You're such a baby."

To be honest, now that Jungwon is finally and completely wrapped up in you, he has no idea what you just said. He can smell your perfume and laundry detergent radiating off you and your nails lightly scratch his scalp. He is gone.

He sighs and closes his eyes. "Sure."

Ni-ki

Ni-ki likes to think he's cool. Calm, collected, unbothered, an untouchable aura with just enough energy to make people double-take. And honestly? He most definitely is. He's tall, walks like he's got theme music playing behind him, and somehow always ends up in the most expensive yet effortlessly "I didn't try that hard" outfits.

He knows his angles, never fumbles his words on camera, and gives off that effortlessly aloof energy like he doesn't even need to try.

But all of that?

Yeah, it goes straight out the window the second he's with you.

Because around you, Ni-ki becomes... himself. Less "cool guy on stage," more "dorky, lowkey clingy boyfriend who trips over his own feet trying to impress you"

And if you so much as laugh at one of his jokes or randomly compliment him? He malfunctions.

You walk down the street, hand in hand with your supposedly aloof boyfriend. You don't say anything as you notice, yet another pair of girls nudge each other and glance his way. You could tell them that Ni-ki, for all his sleek appearances, has been squeezing your hand three times every block just because "it's our secret signal" Or that he keeps brushing his pinky against yours when you're not holding hands, pretending it's an accident.

Or that earlier, when you stopped to look at some jewelry in a window display, he absentmindedly leaned his entire body weight on you like a sleepy dog.

But hey let them, and him, think he's cool.

As your walking a sudden chill breeze blows through and makes you scrunch your nose and shiver slightly. "You cold?" he asks, voice low in your ear. But before you can answer, he's already tugging you into his side, unzipping his jacket so you can fit under his arm. You huff a laugh into his shoulder.

"Was that for warmth or because you missed me?"

He gives you a nonchalant shrug that's completely ruined by the way his hand over your shoulder reaches down for yours and intertwines your fingers. "...Both."

The two of you pass a bakery. Then a claw machine arcade. Then a bookstore. He doesn't say much- letting you do most of the talking (aka letting you yap your life away to him) but every time you stop to look at something, he watches you, not the display. Like he's trying to memorize the way your face lights up when something excites you.

"You wanna go in?" you ask when you catch him eyeing a shop window.

"No," he says quickly. Then,"...Unless you do. Then yes."

You tilt your head. "You're not very decisive, huh."

"I'm very decisive." He deadpans. "I've decisively decided to do whatever you want."

You laugh. Ni-ki beams.

"Whatever I want?" You ask, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. The way you look at him makes his brain melt in real time and all he can reply is with an affirmative hum.

"Ah, you really have no backbone. I could humiliate you and you would just stand there and take it." You let out a faux sigh and shake your head. Turning to face the street ahead and resuming your walk with Ni-ki right beside you.

"Yeah." He agrees, making you side eye him with a raised brow. He laughs and takes hold of your hand again. "You can do whatever you want to me. You're pretty."

Oh.

Now you look uncool, muttering a 'whatever' as you turn your head, pretending to look at a store across the street to hide your flustered expression. Ni-ki smiles but doesn't say anything. He starts playing with your hands as you walk, this time comparing them to his.

"Why are your hands so small?" he mumbles, mostly to himself. "Mine could eat yours."

He presses your palm to his, and then- because apparently because this is his thing now- starts swaying your joined hands back and forth as you walk, like two kids on a playground. It might be the least cool thing he's done all day.

Key word might.

Ni-ki doesn't know what it is about you that makes him act like an absolute idiot with no senses at all. It's crazy, really, like who needs drugs when you can just have an insanely gorgeous girlfriend who looks like she descended down on earth with wings and a halo.

Still, he tries to play it off like he's smooth, walking down the street like a cover model with his girlfriend beside him. It would be convincing too- if he weren't so busy watching you instead of the sidewalk.

"Ni-ki-"

Clunk.

He walks straight into a pole. A metal one. Full-on, loud, direct hit to the forehead.

You gasp. "Oh my god!"

He winces, holding his head. "I didn't see that."

Well no duh.

"Are you okay??" You quickly step in front of him as he steps back from the pole, reaching up to brush his bangs out of the way and check the damage.

"Yeah," he mutters, completely mortified, eyes darting left and right as if witnesses are the worst possible outcome. "Yes. Totally. I just- was checking the, uh, skyline."

"Uh huh." You gently take his face in your hands, turning it from side to side to inspect him like a mom inspecting a scraped-up kid. "That skyline must've looked so good right in front of your face."

He groans. "You're actually so mean."

"You're the one in love with me."

"...Unfortunate."

Still, he doesn't pull away. He stands there obediently while you kiss his lips once, then rub the reddening spot on his forehead with your thumb.

"You're lucky it didn't leave a bump," you say, trying not to smile, concealing it with a pout.

He closes his eyes. "Please stop fussing. You're making it worse."

You cup his cheeks and continue pouting. "What if I kissed it better?"

He almost melts. "You'd do that in public?"

"You already embarrassed yourself in public. I'm just finishing the scene."

You kiss his forehead- gently, so gently- and he just stares at you like you're the most unfair person alive.

"...I'm gonna walk into more poles if you keep looking at me like that."

"Try not to." You loop your arm around his waist, guiding him away from the pole and continuing your stroll. "I like your face. Would be a shame if it got ruined."

Ni-ki rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are pink, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder, tucking you in close beside him. "So, you should watch where you're going, you dork."

So yeah, he looks cool to everyone else. But only you get this side of him: clumsy, smitten, and so totally gone for you it hurts. literally.

⭑𓂃

Taglist | @jiiyen @yangjungwonnie @amoressb @chrrific @stvrriki @hyukabean ...loading

Send an ask or comment to be added to my permanent taglist!

#enhypen fluff #enha fluff #ni ki x reader #nishimura riki x reader #ni ki fluff #yang jungwon x reader #yang jungwon fluff #jungwon fluff #jungwon x reader #kim sunoo x reader #kim sunoo fluff #sunoo x reader #sunoo fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfic #enha fanfic

417 notes · View notes

sugurusyndrome · 11 months ago

Text

cw/tags: househusband!nanami, fluff, smut, fem!reader

— oh househusband!nanami my love…

househusband!nanami initially resisted the idea of being a stay at home husband when you first proposed it. aghast, he might even say. he couldn’t fathom the possibility of being dependent upon your income. not that his masculinity was threatened or anything of the sort. you were the one supposed to be spoiled while he does the hard work.

your husband was traditional in a quite endearing sense. bless his giant heart and his even bigger cock.

“darling, i want to do this. for us,” you had gently insisted. reaching forward, you took off his spectacles and brushed a hand around his cheek. “you deserve to be pampered, too.”

househusband!nanami was exhausted from the long hours over many years and he knew his wife was sorely aware of that fact. he leaned into your touch, hazel eyes slipping shut.

“alright, my love.”

it took some adjusting to his new role during the first few days. when your alarm rang, you swiftly silenced it so he wouldn’t wake up. looking over your shoulder, you find his side of the bed empty.

househusband!nanami had gotten dressed as usual before remembering he didn’t need to work anymore. instead of going back to bed, he whipped up a breakfast feast fit for a queen. he also sent you off to your big-shot job with a kiss and your lunch.

soon enough, this became a routine. a hearty breakfast followed by a “see you later” kiss—kento didn’t like saying goodbye, it’s always “see you later.” househusband!nanami wanted to bring a smile to your hectic days so he stuck an adorable note in his neat handwriting squarely on your lunchbox. he never ran out of words to express his love for you.

househusband!nanami was finally able to tackle the books that had accumulated on his side of the bedroom but never had the chance to read. you could only imagine how he looked like, all cozy. in the nook of the living room where the sun shone best, he had one leg tucked under his body with his glasses perched on his sharp nose.

when he was not devouring words, househusband!nanami was taking himself on a stroll in the neighbourhood with a cup of a pick-me-up coffee. once, he passed a park and sat at a bench watching the mothers playing with their children with a soft smile. however, he quickly walked away because he realized his presence as a sole man just lingering at the edge of the park might be a cause of concern for the mothers. you giggled later over dinner when he recounted his thoughts to you. what a thoughtful man you married.

you wanted to give him 10 children.

if not books or a stroll in the neighbourhood, househusband!nanami was doing his duty ever so happily between your legs.

"k-ken..." you whimpered, back arching gracefully while your nails scraped his undercut in a way that made him growl into your pussy. he knew how much you loved the vibrations as much as he went crazy for your nails on his scalp. "missed this pussy today....mmm...” he captured your clit in a wet, hungry kiss. “take tomorrow off for me, sweetheart.”

this part of the night quickly cemented its spot as his favourite. to absolutely neither of your surprises.

househusband!nanami became fast friends with the owners of your favourite bakery. they already knew him from his frequent visits after his long shifts to pick up something sweet for his wife but the more he hung out there, the closer he got with the bakers. you were particularly fond of the strawberry shortcake from there and what did he do? oh yes, he learned how to make it. everything was from scratch down to the syrup. by the end of it he was sticky but super excited to surprise you with it for your birthday.

"honey, those better be happy tears," he chuckled, drawing you into a tender hug. either that, or the cake turned out to be a disaster.

"of course they are, kento!" you blubbered in his chest. strawberry syrup and whipped cream was smeared around your mouth, mixing with your tears.

oh, how you adored this man to his bare bones. and he devotedly breathed in the very air you exhaled.

1K notes · View notes

akultech · 2 years ago

Link

iPadOS 15, up to iPadOS 15.7, upgradable to iPadOS 16.5 64GB 3GB RAM, 256GB 3GB RAM Apple A13 Bionic (7 nm+) 10.2 inches, 2160 x 1620 pixels, 60Hz Refresh rate 8 MP (Single camera), 12 MP front 8557 mAh Scratch Resistant Glass

#Apple iPad #Retina IPS LCD display #8557mAh Battery #Scratch Resistant Glass #Ninth Generation

0 notes

starphones · 3 months ago

Text

Ultimate Protection: Premium Tempered Glass Screen Protector for Your Device

A tempered glass screen protector is a must-have accessory for safeguarding your smartphone or tablet from scratches, cracks, and smudges. Made from heat-treated glass, it offers superior durability and impact resistance compared to standard plastic protectors. With high transparency and a smooth touch, it ensures a crystal-clear display and a seamless user experience. Additionally, tempered glass protectors come with anti-fingerprint and anti-shatter properties, enhancing device longevity. Easy to install and bubble-free, they provide a perfect fit for various phone models. Protect your screen with a premium tempered glass screen protector and keep your device looking brand new!

#Tempered glass screen protector #Scratch-resistant screen protector #Glass screen protector

0 notes

redcherrykook · 4 months ago

Text

✰ 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦.

✰ 1 / 02 / 03 / series m list.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

tags: bestfriendsboyfriend!jungkook, boxer!jungkook, cheater!jungkook (not on oc) , making out, grinding, mini tit play, oc is a piece of shit, sneaking around

note from cherry: shameless one is here!! debuting a morally grey (fucked up) lil three shot. yay!! Lmk what u think >_<

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The grey, cloudy storm outside knocks on your window rather gently, brushes against the glass with it´s windy strokes as if asking to be let in rather than commanding you to. But you knew Jungkook wasn´t really asking.

"Hey doll" the sleezy smile spreads across his features quickly, his scratched up, tattooed hand wraps around the window seal while he kicks his legs over, invites the rain in briefly. The sliding window shuts closed behind him- shakes off the wetness from his leather jacket, runs a hand through his damp mullet.

"You look beat up, what happend?" he hums briefly, letting your exposed arms sneak around his neck while he find the familiar spot on your waist- he shouldn´t know that that´s where you like to be held. Does nonetheless, rubs his rough palms under the flimsy material of your cami.

"Street fight, coach said i shouldn´t but the bastard was asking for it" he lowly murmurs against your lips, unable to resist their proximity anytime he crosses boundaries again. Instinctively leaning down to meet you, splatter ink on to your skin that you would have to spend hours scrubbing off of every patch on your body he´d touch- everywhere, only to still linger around with his cologne.

He brushes his busted lip against your own plump, soft ones- vanilla, your usual lip balm that´s kept on at all times. Even on mundane days where the thrill of his presence lies low.

"Want me to patch you up?" your words fan against his small wound, breathe the hot air, thus the life, back into him like you always do. Like you´ve grown to do in the reflection of broken vows and in corners you should not be lurking in.

"Hmm, missed you" Jungkook grins, feeling your own smile creep up into your lips, invading that slight scowl you worse tentatively. Outside becomes louder, drags the trees against your window now, but you can´t hear it, not against your heart pounding in your eardrums, not when you try to ignore the guilt that bubbles up every time his lips hungrily meet yours. Clash, collide, collapse.

You moan at the wet sensation of his mouth trailing down your neck, he blindly finds your sweet spot and you let out his favorite sigh, tangle your fingertips into his midnight hair and tug on it near his roots. He matches the sound, groans and embeds himself deeper into your delicate skin.

You smell like his favorite too, cotton, a hint of lavender. He had always despised strong floral scents, especially artificial ones. They make his head hurt and his nose burn, he´d say.

Your breeze of lavender kisses his senses as much as it devours him whole. He indulges in it, drinks every drop, tongue darting along your skin to feel it rise, feel how you shiver through his open mouthed, hot kisses.

"Come on, let me clean you up baby" you speak through breathy moans, gliding your finger along his jaw, he whines; then chuckles "Fine"

"This is so unnecessary doll" his teeth chew down on his pillowed bottom lip, oozing out more red liquid - you wipe it again, scoffing "Well stop getting into street fights. Turn left" you nudge his chin, inspecting the dirty scratch on his cheek- shake your head as you bring the disinfectant to the cut up skin. Jungkook tries his best not to wince at the sting, but you see right through him, his eyes scrunch up briefly "Such a baby"

"You just need an excuse to sit on my lap don´t you?" the flat tip of his nose nudges yours, pokes little holes into your annoyed facade, he throws your other thigh over his hip aswell- planting you to straddle his larger frame. You proudly nod, shimmy his leather jacket off his shoulders and let him find his rightful place around your waist again. He massages the flesh carefully, taking his silver lip ring between his teeth while you apply the last little bandaid just above his eyebrow piercing.

The storm roars now, banging against your windows, breaking through to be acknowledged. But you´re oblivious. Focused on the routine like feel of Jungkook´s hands sliding up your cami to cup your breasts, he gropes the soft swells, brings his head forward to tug down the lace with his mouth, "So cute" he mumbles, runs his tongue flat over your hardened pebble. The neglected, bruised knuckles of his caress you with airy adoration that don´t seem to match their broken exterior, bled through, vulnerable. Contrary, they´re feather light, guarded. Almost, as if he´s still afraid to go too far. His cock strains at the memory of being nestled inside of your cunt.

"Kook.. she´ll be here soon you know" the sentence floods his mouth, invading your sweetness with bitter aftertastes- he´s aware that he can´t fully enjoy you without it stringing along, but he likes to pretend in these moments, that it´s just the taste of sweat, part of your giving body that he claims with vile breaths. Inhales, swallows.

Your airy noises of enjoyment deafen him, edge his tongue to swipe across the skin of your chest and make his palms itch to grind you against his clothed cock, run your throbbing, wet core over he bulge to create electricity throughout his system, strain his throat with gutteral groans only a equally hungry man would understand.

"Just a little, missed you all week" it echos through your made empty head, fills up your every cell with lust for something in your possession, inside of a grasp you dug your claws in, fitting in holes that aren´t yours- molds you never made, though you seem to fill them out better than their originator. You sneak your way down his body, work to zip open his heavy jeans while he´s long gone in pulling down your little sweatpants- sighs at the view of pink undies covering your pussy.

"Did you know i was coming?" he jokes, engulfs your hips into his hold and stutters out a curse at collision, "No, but I was hoping"

Every ragged, filthy drag of your panty clad core to his messily pulled out, thick cock feels like a hit of gratification, he glistens with the cover of your sins and swells at the fat tip every time you rub your needy clit against it, digs deeper into you.

His solid muscles flex under the touch of your eager hands, it burns on the surface of his skin and Jungkook wastes a thought on wishing it wouldn´t show when he faced the mirror later. Invisibly ruined by your fingerprints, committed to his pleasure once his hand wraps around his cock in solitude- even when he tries to wash off your remains, the chamber of his mind found it´s way back. In horror, his heart always pumped his blood in the route to where you tainted him.

"M´close" you whisper ravishing his jaw with your dainty kisses that don´t mirror an ounce of the true need coursing through you, you weren´t allowed to bruise his skin more than you had already done so in the secrecy of your affair, a single visible mark and it would be over. It can however, not be over, not yet, or so he thinks even when his milky cum splurts on his stomach, paints the sensitive flesh of your cunt as you lazily drag over it. Let out little whimpers that make his chest clench with ownership.

The fever dies out into a candle, he smiles, presses a kiss to your nose "We should be quick baby"

Fast enough to make it seem natural when he just undoes his no longer wet jacket at the front door while it rings expectedly,

"Hey- oh baby, you´re here already?" she chimes, turns the corners of her lips up in excitement

You watch as your best friend leans in, kisses his cheek on the side he´s been patched up on, "Yeah, came here just now, had to get fixed up first"

"What happend?" you hold back the answer that prudes the tip of your tongue, glance at his loose hold on her hips and briefly allow yourself to proudly smile, just before you recoil in shame.

"Street fight, all good"

The rain trickles down her wet hair, pools down at the floor but calms down significantly on the other side of your four walls, sings against the heavy curtains, asks you to forget.

"You smell so good" Jungkook tells her, letting the words intoxicate her innocent head with lovesickness, but his eyes dull with boredom even when she beams, he´s good at lying you´ve learned- even burries his nose into her hair.

"Thank you babe. Gucci flora, got it just the other day"

It takes a bit not to chuckle, stepping behind her back to carefully send him a knowing smile before you turn around- walk back up to your room and leave the lovers in their confined, rightful space.

#redcherrykook #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook bts #bts fic #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic

815 notes · View notes

geeeemmmmmmm · 22 days ago

Text

pretty boy

Summary:Bucky comes home from another stressful day as congressman and lets his love for you keep growing

wc:1.5k

a/n:Not much to say but I'm quite proud of this one so as always, sorry for any mistakes and enjoy!

It was another late night for Bucky—the kind of night he hated. The front door creaked open as he slowly stepped inside your shared apartment. The aroma of mac and cheese quickly filled his senses. Of course, you had already predicted he'd need his comfort food ready after another stressful day as a congressman.

After silently toeing off his shoes and hanging up his jacket—on the lilac coat hanger you had insisted on getting because it would brighten up the entryway (it did, but only because each time it reminded Bucky of the way you could find beauty in anything, even him)Bucky ventured into the kitchen, the space you had worked so hard to make cozy. Finally, he began to indulge in your signature mac and cheese. Promptly after finishing the bowl you had left on the counter, he read the note you'd written:

Eat up, Buck <3 Hopefully this helped your day improve. I love you xx

Of course, you could tell the demeanor of his day before he even got up in the morning. It was in the way he twitched more tensely beside you while deep in slumber, and how, when he woke, he was even more resistant to leave.

The meal you left had improved his night—only because you always found a way to pour more love into even the smallest actions. Bucky internally cringed as the glass bowl clattered while he tried to effortlessly lower it into the sink (a job for tomorrow). Instinctively, his eyes flicked to the back of the couch, trying to determine if you were lying there. You weren’t. He quickly realised that there was no movement—not even your light breaths.

Moving like a liquid shadow (a skill he hated having, though it proved useful in non-violent contexts) he made sure Alpine wasn’t on the couch alone. It was clear that you both had relocated to the bedroom at some point. His heart ached at the sight of the pillows left askew and the blankets discarded on the floor. If he weren’t so busy, he wouldn’t have to stay late and cause you to try to stay up for him.

Remaining silent, he made his way to your bedroom, hoping you were asleep—he didn’t want to disrupt your night further. A small smile tugged at his lips as he caught sight of you cuddled up on his pillow, in his hoodie (the one you swore was yours first). He wished he could be holding you in his arms. But before he could wallow in guilt, Bucky was quickly distracted by the sight of Alpine also curled up on his pillow next to your head. You both are truly his girls.

Slowly, he tiptoed over to the edge of the bed. He kneeled beside you and reached up with his flesh hand to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Instantly, you stirred in your sleep, your pout shifting into a sleepy smile.

“Mm, hey Buck,” you whispered, your voice warm and sleepy as you spoke. “Did you get the mac and cheese I left?”

“Yeah, I did. Thank you so much, baby it was amazing.” His tone had returned to the soft, gentle one, saved just for you.

As you fluttered your eyes open again, Bucky was already peppering kisses across your face. His metal hand had taken its rightful place, delicately cupping your jaw.

“I’m just gonna get ready for bed, m’kay?” Bucky’s voice wavered between softness and a small laugh as you whined ever so slightly at the loss of his touch. “Fineeeee,” you groaned jokingly before settling back into bed. “Hey! You gotta greet Alps too.”

It was tradition, if Bucky greeted you, he had to greet Alpine. With a playful eye roll, he leaned back down to scratch Alpine’s ears and plant a small kiss on her head.

“Off you go then, Barnes,” you mumbled before drifting back to sleep. Slipping in and out of consciousness, you tried to keep a watchful eye on Bucky as he ran through his nighttime routine.

“Like what you see, doll?” Bucky teased when he turned to find you ogling him from the bed as he changed into a fresh pair of boxers.

“No, I just—I just like the wall behind you. It’s a very nice colour.” Real smooth. Every time Bucky flirted with you, it made you flustered—even after dating for a couple of years. But you stumbling over your words always earned your favourite sound: Bucky’s laugh.

Before you knew it, Bucky had shuffled onto his side of the bed beside you (only after slightly readjusting Alpine off his pillow). You returned to your rightful place—moulded against Bucky's side, one hand sprawled across his chest and the other snaked around his neck to rest at the join of metal and flesh. Your legs intertwined with his.

Carefully, you traced your fingers along the jagged, crude scars that painted his shoulder in a canvas of pinks and reds. It was comforting for Bucky, even if he had been hesitant at first. But your touch kept building that same thought: you could find beauty in anything.

“God, I missed you so much today, like, even more than yesterday,” Bucky’s voice broke the silence as he hid his face in the crook of your neck.

“You say that every day, Buck,” you laughed, his beard tickling the sensitive spot on your skin.

“Yeah, because I mean it every day. I always find new things I love about you—and I always will.” His voice never faltered, even as he tried to subtly kiss your neck between words.

“You’re the most beautiful person I know. You’re my pretty boy,” you murmured, pulling his face away from your neck to look into the blue eyes you wished you could swim in. Your hand cupped his stubbly cheek, you watched as a rosy tinge creep across his skin.

“Think I’m the only one who gets flustered?” you whispered, trying not break your composure as he huffed a small laugh against your palm.

Before either of you could speak again, a small meow caught your attention. Alpine had jumped up, curling herself on Bucky’s stomach and leaning her back against your hip.

“Think she got jealous of someone else being called pretty,” Bucky murmured, voice edging with jealousy. “You’re both very pretty, okay,” you giggled, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky’s plush lips and scratching Alpine under her chin. Then you reached over to turn off the bedside lamp.

In the darkness, your breathing slowly synced with Bucky’s as your fingers continued to trace the many scars scattered across his torso.

“Night, my pretty, pretty boy,” you whispered, settling your head on his other shoulder—taking in his scent, a mix of cedar wood and home. You suspected the pet name would mean a lot to Bucky.

Softly, you sank back into a content slumber, not even wanting to dream—because you were already living the life you’d always dreamed of.

Bucky stayed awake a little longer, admiring everything about you. He caressed your back and neck with featherlight touches while your words replayed in his mind, already reaching the parts of him that cowered from affection.

Before succumbing to sleep, he wanted to confess one last thing—even if you couldn’t hear it.

“I’m going to marry you soon, my gorgeous, gorgeous girl.”

The words that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue. The ones he’d hidden from the demons in his brain. The words he wished he could properly tell you.

a/n:I loved this piece guys, I hope you all did too

#geeeemmmmmmm #x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluff #james bucky barnes

277 notes · View notes

gdgwatches · 9 months ago

Text

0 notes

kwilquib · 5 months ago

Text

Promised 9

chapter - 0

Fromis_9 x Male reader

Word Count: 4.5k+

Chapters: One | Two | Three

a/n: This is just set up of the story, no smut in this chapter. but this chapter is important, for the story.

The classroom buzzed with the faint whispers of students exchanging notes and furtive glances at their phones. You sat slouched at the back, staring blankly at your open notebook, the pages still pristine except for a single doodle in the corner: a coffee cup. You idly tapped your pen against the desk, your thoughts drifting far from the lecture.

“Mr. Kang Junho!”

The sharp voice of your Professor Min snapped You back to reality. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned toward you. You straightened, blinking rapidly as the professor leveled a stern gaze at you from the podium.

“Care to join us in this riveting discussion, or are you busy solving life’s great mysteries back there?” Professor Min’s voice was tinged with sarcasm.

“Uh, no, sir. I mean, yes, I’m listening,” You stammered, scratching the back of your neck. A few chuckles rippled through the classroom.

Satisfied, the professor adjusted his glasses and continued, pacing slowly across the front of the room. “As I was saying, today’s topic is about myths and their reflection of humanity. Take, for instance, the legend of the Promised Nine.”

The room quieted, the students now leaning in slightly. Professor Min always had a way of making even the dullest of topics sound compelling.

“Long ago, during a time when humanity was steeped in chaos, war, and unrelenting greed, there was a king—a wise man, yet weary of the barbarism that plagued his people. No matter how many treaties he signed or how many battles he fought, peace was fleeting. He despaired, knowing that humanity’s greatest enemy was not the sword but the emotions that drove men to wield it: pride, envy, wrath, greed, gluttony, sloth, lust, apathy, deceit…”

Junho’s attention perked up. There was something strangely familiar about the words, though you couldn’t place why.

“So the king, in his desperation, climbed the tallest mountain in the land to plead with the deity who ruled the heavens. He begged for salvation, not for himself, but for humanity. The deity listened, moved by the king’s earnestness. But salvation comes with a cost.”

Professor Min paused dramatically, glancing at his captivated audience. “A promise was made—a sacred pact between the king and the deity. Aid would be sent to humanity, not as armies or riches, but as nine beings, each representing the most volatile of human emotions. Their purpose? To keep the balance of these forces, preventing anyone from consuming the world.”

He walked over to the whiteboard and wrote the words The Promised Nine in bold letters.

“But there was a catch,” he continued. “The deity warned the king that these emotions, though tempered, could never truly be eradicated. The Promised Nine would struggle with the very forces they were meant to contain. And should even one of them fall to the temptation of their burden…”

Professor Min trailed off, his gaze sweeping the room.

“What would happen?” a student near the front blurted, unable to resist.

“Should one of the Nine succumb, their emotion would consume them entirely, turning them into a force of destruction. And that destruction could spread unchecked, tipping the scales and plunging the world into chaos once more. To prevent this, the Deity decreed that the Nine would be connected to a chosen mortal—an anchor. This anchor would serve as their confidant, grounding them when the weight of their burden became too great to bear.”

He turned back to the whiteboard, writing in large, bold letters: The Promised Nine.

“The anchor is as important as the Nine themselves,” he said. “Without them, the balance could not be maintained. The king agreed to the Diety’s terms, knowing full well the cost. And thus, the Promised Nine came into being.”

Professor Min stepped back from the board, his expression somber. “But the Diety’s warning still lingers in the echoes of time: no balance lasts forever. The story of the Promised Nine reminds us that humanity’s greatest strength—and its greatest threat—lies within ourselves.”

The shrill ring of the bell echoed through the room, breaking the spell. Students began packing their bags, the hum of chatter returning.

“Read chapters six through eight for next week!” Professor Min called over the noise.

You gathered your things slowly, the tale still turning over in your mind. As you slung your bag over your shoulder and made your way to the door, you muttered to yourself, “Promised Nine, huh? Sounds like something out of a fantasy novel.”

—

You exit the lecture hall, slipping into the stream of students flowing out into the bustling campus courtyard. The sun dips low in the sky, casting long shadows and a warm orange glow over everything. You glance at your watch—just enough time to get to your part-time job.

The café isn’t far, a cozy little spot just outside the university gates. Its charming wooden sign, Golden Brew, sways slightly in the breeze. The place is always busy, a favorite among students and faculty alike. But there’s one reason it stands out from the dozens of other coffee shops around: its owner, Gyuri.

You push through the door, greeted by the familiar hum of chatter, clinking cups, and the hiss of the espresso machine. The café smells like roasted beans and freshly baked pastries—a comforting combination that feels like a second home.

“Junho, you’re late!”

The voice is soft yet commanding, and you immediately straighten, turning to the counter. There she is—Gyuri, the radiant owner of Golden Brew. Her beauty is the kind that leaves people momentarily breathless. stood effortlessly graceful in her casual white t-shirt and mint-green cap, her gentle features framed by stray strands of hair and a gaze as warm as the morning sun

“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Gyuri,” you stammer, bowing slightly as you head toward the staff room to put your bag away.

“It’s fine, just don’t make a habit of it, okay?” she replies, her voice as warm as the golden light streaming through the café windows.

“Yes, of course!” you reply quickly, though you can’t shake the sense of unease you always feel around her.

It’s not fear, exactly. Gyuri is unfailingly warm and generous. She treats her staff like family, remembers the names of regulars, and always has a smile for everyone who walks through the door. Still, you find yourself hyper-aware of her moods, as though disappointing her might lead to something far worse than a lecture.

When you emerge from the staff room in your apron, Gyuri is already behind the counter, expertly steaming milk for a cappuccino. “Can you handle table seven’s order? They’ve been waiting a bit.”

You grab the tray, carefully balancing two lattes and a slice of cheesecake, weaving your way through the maze of tables. It’s almost automatic at this point—sidestepping bags, dodging half-turned chairs—but when you reach the corner table, you stop.

She’s there.

Seoyeon.

She’s a regular, not a student or faculty, just... always here. You’ve seen her enough times to notice the details: the dark circles under her eyes, natural and striking, framing her otherwise delicate features. She’s beautiful in a way that sneaks up on you—her sleepy, almost lazy demeanor masks something deeper.

She’s hunched over her laptop, typing slowly, as if testing each word before committing to it. The oversized navy shirt drapes over her frame, and her hair carelessly tied, some falls messily around her face. You set the tray down gently, not wanting to disturb whatever she’s working on.

“Thanks,” she mutters without looking up, her voice soft, almost as if she’s halfway to falling asleep.

You nod, even though she doesn’t see it, and glance at her screen. It’s filled with text—lines upon lines of words you can’t make sense of from this angle. Stories, maybe? Essays? You don’t know, and it’s not your place to ask.

As you turn to leave, she stretches, her movements slow and languid, like she has all the time in the world. For a moment, you wonder what keeps her coming back here, day after day, to sit in that same spot, typing away.

But you shake the thought off. You’ve got other tables to serve.

.You make your way back behind the counter, tray in hand. It’s a small relief to retreat to this spot, even if only for a few moments. Manning the cashier is easier—less weaving between tables, fewer chances to trip or spill something. The register beeps softly as you organize receipts and prepare for the next wave of customers.

The door opens, and the atmosphere in the café shifts. It’s subtle, like a faint breeze stirring through a room, but you notice it immediately. Heads turn—students and faculty alike—and conversations falter as if someone hit pause.

You glance up and freeze.

Jiheon.

Her name is spoken in hushed tones across campus, her presence both admired and untouchable. She moves with an effortless grace that feels out of place in the mundane setting of the café, her bright smile commanding attention without even trying. But it’s her eyes that hold you—the way they curve into crescent moons with a hint of something sharper, more mischievous, just beneath the surface.

To your utter disbelief, she walks directly to the counter. Your counter.

“Hi there,” she says, her voice smooth and casual, like she’s greeting an old friend. Her gaze locks onto yours, and her smile widens slightly. “You’re Junho, right?”

You blink, caught so off guard that you almost drop the pen in your hand. “Uh… yeah?” Your answer comes out as more of a question than a confirmation.

Her smile grows, as if your awkwardness amuses her. “Thought so. I’m Jiheon.” She leans in just slightly, resting one hand on the counter. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your wariness kicks in. Jiheon—the Jiheon—is talking to you? Asking for your name? It feels like the kind of thing that only happens to other people. Your eyes flick briefly to Gyuri at the other end of the counter. She’s busy steaming milk, not even sparing a glance in Jiheon’s direction.

“Nice to meet you,” you manage, your voice steadier this time, though your thoughts are racing. “Uh, caramel macchiato?” You blurt the question out more out of instinct than anything else.

Her laugh is light, lilting, but there’s something playful in it, like she’s already decided you’re her new source of entertainment. “Hmm. Good guess,” she teases, tapping a finger against the counter. “Sure, I’ll have that. But I’m impressed you remembered. I didn’t think I was that predictable.”

You feel your face heat up, fumbling to punch her order into the register. “It’s not that, I just—uh—” You stop, realizing anything you say will just dig you deeper.

She watches you, clearly enjoying the way you stumble over your words. “Relax, Junho,” she says, her tone soft but undeniably amused. “I’m just messing with you.”

Handing her the receipt, you attempt a smile. “Coming right up.”

Instead of moving to find a seat, she lingers by the counter, her eyes drifting lazily around the café before landing back on you. “Nice place. Gyuri’s done a great job here, hasn’t she?”

Your gaze flicks to Gyuri again. Still busy. Still not looking this way. “Yeah, she has,” you reply, keeping your voice neutral.

Jiheon tilts her head, her smile still firmly in place. “You two seem close,” she muses, her tone light but probing. “Gyuri’s lucky to have someone like you helping her out.”

The way she says it makes you feel like she’s toying with you, testing your reaction. “I just do what I can,” you say cautiously.

Her eyes light up, as if you’ve said something particularly amusing. “I bet you do.” She straightens up and takes a step back. “Well, Junho, it’s been… enlightening.” Her smile takes on an almost cat-like quality. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll be around.”

As she walks away to find a seat, the tension in your shoulders eases, but her presence lingers like a shadow. You glance at Gyuri one last time, hoping for some kind of reaction, but she’s focused on the drinks in front of her, her usual calm smile in place.

And yet, for just a moment, you swear there’s something almost knowing in the way she glances at Jiheon’s retreating figure..

—

The bell above the door jingles as the last customer leaves, and you let out a long breath, leaning against the counter. The café feels different now—quiet, peaceful, but heavy with the lingering scent of coffee and pastries. It’s nighttime, and the warm glow of the overhead lights gives the empty space a cozy but slightly eerie feel.

“Good job today, Junho,” Gyuri says, flashing you one of her signature warm smiles as she locks the cash register.

“Thanks, Ms. Gyuri,” you reply, your voice softer than usual in the now-empty café.

After finishing up your closing duties—wiping down tables, stacking chairs, and sweeping the floors—you grab your jacket and step out into the cool night air. The streets are quieter now, with only a few scattered groups of students heading home. You adjust your backpack, your thoughts already drifting toward the comfort of your cramped boarding room.

As you turn a corner, someone bumps into you.

“Ah, sorry,” you mumble automatically, stepping back.

The girl doesn’t even glance up, her eyes glued to her phone. She’s wearing what looks like an e-sport jersey jacket, its bold colors contrasting with the dark street. Her brown hair catches the ambient glow of the streetlights, faintly shining as she moves past you. For a brief moment, her face is illuminated, and it’s enough to leave an impression.

She’s stunning.

Before you can fully process it, your impulse kicks in. You take a step forward, clearing your throat. “Hey, uh, I’m Junho...”

But she doesn’t respond. Her focus remains solely on the screen of her phone, and she keeps walking, oblivious to your presence.

You stand there for a second, feeling a bit foolish, then shake your head. The image of her lingers in your mind as she disappears into the night, leaving you with nothing but the quiet hum of the street.

When you finally reach your room, you fumble with your keys and push the door open. It’s as small and cramped as ever, but it’s yours. You toss your jacket onto the single chair by the desk, only to realize something’s missing. Your bag. You groan, running a hand through your hair. You must’ve left it at the café in your rush to leave. There’s no helping it—you’ll have to go back.

The walk feels longer this time, the quiet streets amplifying the sound of your footsteps. As you get closer, a strange unease settles in your chest. The air feels heavier, the streetlights casting elongated shadows that seem to move just out of sync with your steps. Your skin prickles, as if something unseen is watching.

When you reach the café, you notice something strange. Cars are parked outside. Not just any cars—luxury vehicles, sleek and expensive, the kind you’d expect to see in a high-end district, not outside a cozy student café. Their polished exteriors gleam under the soft glow of the streetlights, each one a testament to sophistication and taste.

Your gaze drifts across the lineup, catching details that feel oddly personal. A jet-black SUV, imposing and understated. A sapphire blue Porsche, sharp and vibrant, eerily luring you in. Your eyes stop briefly on a compact car that feels out of place among the giants—a Mini Cooper. Its emerald green paint shimmers, the kind of green that feels rich and alive, paired with racing stripes that speak of personality rather than pure extravagance. It’s less ostentatious but undeniably stylish, a subtle standout among its peers.

As you approach, an inexplicable resistance builds inside you, like a pressure against your chest. Your feet feel heavier, your thoughts fuzzier, and for a brief moment, you consider turning around. The café seems distant, almost unreal, like it’s shifting away even as you step closer. But you shake it off, forcing yourself forward.

You head to the backdoor, fishing out the spare key Gyuri gave you for emergencies. Pushing it open, you step into the staff area and spot your bag right where you left it. Relieved, you sling it over your shoulder and turn to leave.

That’s when you hear it.

The faint jingle of the front doorbell breaks the silence, followed by muffled voices.

You freeze. The café should be empty, but there’s a light seeping through the crack of the door leading to the main lobby. Slowly, you step closer, curiosity outweighing caution.

Peeking through the door, you see her.

She steps inside like she owns the air she breathes, her presence commanding yet effortless. Her long, jet-black hair cascades down her back, perfectly straight, with sharp bangs framing her face. Under the glow of the café lights, her striking blue eyes seem almost unnatural, as if they were cut from the sky itself.

For a moment, her gaze sweeps the café, and then it lands directly on you.

Your heart skips a beat. You’re sure you’ve been caught—your face heats up, and you’re ready to stammer some excuse about being here after hours. But her expression doesn’t shift.

Her lips curl into a smile, slow and deliberate, as if she’s been waiting for this very moment. It’s the kind of smile that feels personal, like it holds a secret meant only for you.

But then, as quickly as her eyes found yours, they slid away.

It’s deliberate—you’re certain of that. She must have seen you. And yet, she acts as if you’re invisible, as if your presence is of no consequence. She turns, her hair sweeping behind her like a silk curtain, and addresses the others in the room.

From your hidden vantage point, you take in the scene.

The café, which should have been empty, is instead alive with movement. A group of women fills the space, each one radiating an aura of distinct confidence and beauty. They aren’t just sitting or lounging; they seem to command the room, transforming it into something that feels foreign, almost sacred.

“Chaeyoung,” one of the women calls out, her tone both teasing and sharp, “you’re late.”

Your eyes dart to the source of the voice, and your breath catches—it’s her. The same woman you bumped into earlier, the one engrossed in her phone. She’s still wearing that e-sport jersey jacket, looking as effortlessly confident as she had before.

“And Nagyung? You’re not late?” Chaeyoung fires back, her tone teasing, her smile sharper now.

The casual banter between them feels like watching something private, yet you can’t look away.

Your gaze shifts to the rest of the table. The initial shock of seeing Chaeyoung fades as you take in the others, each of them equally striking in their presence. You almost stumble backward when you spot familiar faces.

Gyuri, whose warmth you’ve come to rely on, sits with an unfamiliar coolness about her. Her brow is furrowed, a faint trace of annoyance crossing her usually gentle features. It sharpens her striking appearance, making her seem like someone you’ve never truly known. There's a tension in her posture that makes you feel like you're seeing a side of her that’s been hidden until now.

Seoyeon leans lazily toward the women beside her, her relaxed posture contrasting the air of composure around the table.

The woman Seoyeon is leaning into feels strangely familiar, as if you should recognize her. She matches the others in beauty, her jet-black hair framing a delicate face. A soft smile plays at her lips, radiating warmth and charm. With luminous skin and deep, expressive eyes, she exudes an effortless elegance that captivates without even trying.

And as if that weren’t enough to leave you reeling, on the other side of the table, you recognize Lee Saerom.

The Saerom. The top celebrity, known for her flawless visuals and commanding performances.

Sitting next to her is Song Hayoung, the famous songwriter and soloist whose music dominates every chart.

They’re casually leaning into the conversation, as though their combined fame and aura aren’t enough to make this room the most exclusive place in the city.

“Is Jiwon not here yet?” Chaeyoung asks as she slips into a seat, her voice nonchalant, but her eyes scanning the room with interest.

The front doorbell jingles, and the door swings open.

“I’m here!!” a bright, piercing voice calls out.

Your head swivels toward the source, and there she is. Jiwon, bounding through the entrance like a whirlwind of energy, her grin lighting up the room before her words even have a chance.

“Jisun, did you bring food?” Jiwon’s question comes rapid-fire, her tone playful but undeniably demanding.

The woman Seoyeon was leaning into rose. She moves with calm precision, her composure stark against Jiwon’s lively presence.

"Of course, I brought food. Wouldn’t want you to starve." Jisun says, her voice soft but firm, as she produces a stack of containers seemingly out of nowhere. She places them on the table, the gesture practiced, as though she had been anticipating the request long before it was asked.

It hits you then. Roh Jisun. The world-famous chef. Known for her culinary brilliance and beauty. You've seen her multiple times before in magazines, tv, or online articles. You can hardly believe she's here, so close, exuding an effortless elegance.

“Can we finally get started? I still have to clean up after all of you,” Gyuri complained, her annoyance clear.

Now that the group had gathered, all eyes shifted to Saerom, who was waiting for their attention.

“Our youngest is losing control,” Saerom began.

“We all constantly are,” Nagyung shrugged off the concern.

“This isn't the same, you know that,” Saerom replied firmly.

“Don’t try to ignore these meetings, Nagyung. I’m losing millions just being here,” Jiwon said, flaunting her wealth.

“Must be nice having all those millions,” Hayoung remarked. While her gaze focuses on the only fork on the table, in the hands of Chaeyoung.

“You’re a millionaire too. Why are you eyeing my money?” Jiwon shot back defensively.

“Ahem!… Losing control?” Gyuri steered the conversation back on track.

Saerom, now commanding their full attention, spoke with purpose.

“We need to consider finally finding an anchor.”

“Then we’ll get an anchor. Meeting is done,” Soyeon said with a yawn, stretching.

Charyoung, still twirling the fork between her fingers, smirked. “Do we have to? I’ve been liking her attitude recently.”

“It’s time,” Saerom replied, her tone serious. “We can’t risk it. If deceit consumes her…”

“It will consume all of us,” Gyuri finished, her voice dark.

You stay frozen, trying to make sense of the conversation. Consume? Anchor? Deceit? The weight of their words sinks in, and though you know you should leave, something keeps you rooted to the spot. The truth behind their cryptic conversation is just out of reach.

Then, without warning, a soft voice whispered near your ear.

“Curiosity can be dangerous, you know.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, spinning around to find Jiheon standing inches away, her signature eye-smile curved upward in amusement. You’re certain she wasn’t there a second ago. How could she have gotten so close without making a sound?

“Wha—how—?” you stammer, instinctively taking a step back, only to hear the door creak open behind you.

Seoyeon, now fully awake, leans forward slightly, her drowsy facade giving way to genuine surprise. “How did he get here?” she asks, her voice carrying a rare edge of curiosity. Her eyes scan you, but it’s not just scrutiny—it’s disbelief, almost as if you’re some kind of anomaly.

“Who’s this?” Nagyung asks, clearly not remembering you.

“Junho,” Gyuri says softly, her voice now laced with concern and confusion. “How are you here?” Her warm demeanor has returned that almost makes you feel safe. Almost.

Your mind scrambles for an explanation, but Jiheon, ever calm, steps forward, her gaze fixed on you as if she’s reading your very thoughts.

“He overheard,” Jiheon says simply, her tone neither accusatory nor dismissive.

“Clearly” Jiwon crosses her arms, her lively energy dampened by suspicion. “Why did you let him through?”

Jiheon doesn’t answer. Instead, she steps forward, closing the already narrow distance between the two of you. Her eyes glint with an eerie amusement, her head tilting slightly as she examines you like a puzzle she’s just begun to piece together.

“Regardless of how,” Saerom says, her voice cutting through the murmurs and drawing every gaze. She rises slowly, her commanding presence quieting the room once more. “What matters is why. What did he hear?”

“I didn’t mean to listen!” you blurt out, your voice shaky as you raise your hands in defense. “I—I just came back for my bag, and then I heard voices, and—”

“And stopped to eavesdrop,” Chaeyoung interrupts, her voice playful but her eyes uncomfortably sharp.

“No! I mean—yes, but not like that!” you stammer, feeling the weight of their collective stares crushing you. “It’s not what you think! I swear I won’t tell anyone!”

Gyuri sighs, stepping closer. “Junho, you don’t understand. This... what you’ve heard... it’s not something you can just walk away from.”

“I don’t know how you got through the mist ” Jisun adds, her tone firm but not unkind. “But this isn’t something just anyone can know.”

“Maybe,” Chaeyoung says, her lips curving into a sly smile, “he’s not ‘just anyone.’”

“Enough.” Saerom’s single word silences the room, her authority undeniable. Her eyes pierce through you, weighing your very existence. “What’s done is done. The question now is what we do with him.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. “Wait!” you cry, your voice desperate. “I swear I won’t say anything! I don’t even understand what I heard! Just let me go, and I’ll forget everything!”

“That’s not how this works,” Hayoung says from across the room, her voice carrying an edge as she’s now holding the fork she was eyeing earlier.

Jiheon smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she takes another step closer. “Oh, Junho,” she purrs, her voice dripping with playful malice. “It’s not your fault, really. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She tilts her head, her smile widening. “But... well, it’s a little late for regrets, don’t you think?”

Her hand lifts, faint cyan light dancing at her fingertips, and you can’t tear your eyes away. The glow reflects in her eyes, making her look ethereal and otherworldly.

“Jiheon, stop!” Saerom’s voice cuts through, but Jiheon doesn’t even flinch.

“Relax,” Jiheon says lightly, her tone almost soothing as she looks at you. “I’m just helping him... rest a little.”

“Jiheon!” Saerom’s command comes sharper this time, but it’s already too late.

Jiheon’s fingers flick, the cyan light tracing an elegant pattern in the air. “Just a little nap,” she whispers, her voice lilting and playful.

The moment the light touches you, an overwhelming drowsiness washes over your body. Your knees buckle, the edges of your vision darken, and Jiheon’s playful smile is the last thing you see as the world fades to black.

a/n: Before you move one the next chapter, can you guess who's who, with their pairing emotion?

(Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, Sloth, Deceit, and Apathy)

Next ->

#kpop #kpop gg #fromis 9 #fromis #saerom #hayoung #gyuri #jiwon #jisun #seoyeon #chaeyoung #nagyung #jiheon #kpop au #qwilorg #qwib-series #qwib-Fromis9

462 notes · View notes