#n all i saw was the tiniest wet dot when they raised their arm

[tskumoyuuma]

anxiety is so stupid. been dreading n putting off doing this one stupid thing for literal months cause I'd never done it before. finally forced myself to do it today n it took like 10 minutes, most of it walking to n from the place. was shaking the entire time

[babyrides]

Memory

Genre: Smut

Word count: 2097

Summary: Having a rival as hot as Yunho can be pretty infuriating at times

Warning: Mentions of alcohol, cursing, semi-public sex????

(A/N): omg my first full scenario in so long pls do not judge me oof also this is the longest scenario I have on here now and I wrote it in one night it’s 100% unedited basically don’t judge if it’s bad I just have a lot of feelings about Yunho

EDIT: the premise of this is heavily based off of the otome game Irresistible Mistakes!

The shrill blare of your alarm invaded a vague dream about lingering kisses and hands on your body. Your head felt like it was full of cotton, and the sunlight hurt your eyes when you tried to open them. You groaned, reaching to hit the snooze button on your phone, but instead of the cool metal or the wood of your nightstand your hand found nothing but a plush comforter. You tried to open your eyes again, cracking them just enough to realize that you were not in your bed. Or even in your apartment, for that matter. You roll over to the other side, finally spotting your purse with its contents spilling onto the chair next to the bed. You grabbed your phone and turned off the alarm, now fully awake. Information from your other senses began to filter in; you heard the shower, felt the soft cotton sheets against your bare body, saw your panties (or, at least, what was left of them) draped over the corner of the television. As you began to connect the dots, your eyes widened and you scrambled to dress yourself and collect your belongings.

You managed to make it back to your apartment in one piece, but not without difficulty; with each step the ache between your legs and the shakiness of your thighs became increasingly evident. Flinging your heels into your bedroom, you collapsed on your couch and tried to collect the thoughts swirling through your mind. 

You knew there was a big company dinner last night to celebrate a successful year. You could remember arriving, uncomfortably tugging at your evening gown and scanning the room for someone you knew. Admittedly, you were uncomfortable at parties, especially fancy ones like these. But you were also gearing up for a promotion, and you knew the best way to guarantee that spot would be to network. So you had grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and braced yourself before diving into the fray.

You groaned from your position on the couch, shaking your head as if that would help organize your memories. Any time you tried to retrace your steps further than that first glass, your train of thought was interrupted by memories of pleasure. You hadn’t had that much to drink at a work function, had you?

Of course, the level of drunkenness you had reached mattered little in comparison to the fact that you had slept with someone from work. Not only that, but you had also left without saying goodbye in the morning. It could have been anyone, and your stomach dropped as you realized you had only a few hours before you had to encounter them again. 

You showered quickly, though the warm water felt so nice on your aching muscles you wanted nothing more than to stay under the stream forever. You finished composing yourself, carefully covering the marks littering your neck before rushing to work, hoping to get there and get working before having to encounter the person from last night. While it appeared you had been successful at first, you soon found your thoughts drifting away from work. You glanced around every few minutes to see if any faces sparked a memory, but nothing did. The more you thought about it, the more distracted you became. 

Finally you shook your head and stood to grab a cup of coffee from the machines around the corner. You absentmindedly drummed your fingers on the counter as it brewed. Why had you repressed the memory? If the fuzzy memories you had retained served, you had certainly enjoyed yourself. Had you slept with your boss? No, that didn’t add up; not only was he married, but he was much older, and the soft singing voice you’d heard in the shower this morning definitely belonged to a younger man. Was it someone under you? An intern, maybe? The thought made you nauseous. 

“And what are you so deep in thought about on this fine morning, missy?” The voice was right next to your ear, making you jump. You turned to see Jeong Yunho leaning against the counter, smirking at you. He had a lollipop in his mouth, because of course he did. You rolled your eyes at the tall boy, grabbing your now finished coffee and beginning to add cream to it. 

“It’s afternoon,” you said, giving full attention to stirring your drink. “What’s with the lollipop? Did you get it for being a good boy at the doctor’s while they took care of your hangover?” You skirted the question with ease. Not only was Yunho the office golden boy, naturally good at whatever task got thrown at him, but he was also your direct rival, going for the same promotion as you. Any chance he got to throw you under the bus, he would take, so there was no way you were letting him catch wind of the previous night’s escapades. 

He pulled the candy out of his mouth with a loud pop, discarding it in the trash can next to the counter, his wrist brushing against your hip in the process. “Nah, that’s my personal stash. They say you should draw attention to your lips, right?” He punctuated the sentence with a wink before sauntering to his desk. Actually, you just noticed he hadn’t been there earlier, and you smiled to yourself. Showing up halfway through the work day certainly didn’t help his chances at the position. You made your own way back to your desk, your head clearer than it had been all day.

You ended up staying late due to your unproductive morning, completely engrossed in your work as people filtered out. You had an important deadline coming up, and you wanted to at least finish this one element…

“Done!” You exhaled in relief as you saved your file, closing your laptop and packing it up. You pull out your phone to call a taxi as you gather the rest of your things, not noticing that you’re not alone until you hear a voice.

“Do you always stay this late, or did you just want to get me alone again?” You whip your head around to see Yunho standing from his desk and stretching. His jacket was off, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his tie hung loose on his neck. Rival or not, you had to admit he looked good. But what did he mean by “again?”

“I had some stuff to finish up before heading home. What about you? Wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to work hard.” He had crossed the room to lean against the wall by your desk by this point, messenger bag slung over one shoulder and his jacket draped over his other arm.

“I may have had some ulterior motives,” he said with a smirk, briefly glancing at your lips before biting his own. 

You scoffed, unamused as usual by his flirting. “You can cut the act now. No one else is around.” The words are thrown casually over your shoulder as you try to head toward the elevator. Within a flash, he’s dropped his things and blocked your path. 

“Who’s acting?” His expression darkened, his eyes lingering longer on your lips this time. His arms cage you against your desk, his lips moving to whisper against your ear. “You certainly weren’t last night, baby girl.”

The memories suddenly came flooding back all at once. His full lips on your neck, your hands desperately grasping at his hair as his easily brought you to your climax more times than you could count before he even dropped his pants. The way he fucked you into the hotel mattress when he finally was inside you…

Your jaw dropped without you even realizing, too engrossed in the memory and the shock of knowing you had the best sex of your life with Jeong Yunho to have any control over your own body. 

“Did you really forget?” You thought you could hear an edge of real disappointment in his voice underneath the false offense. “Hm. Maybe I can give you a quick refresher?” You finally snap out of your stupor, looking up at him. He raises his eyebrows at you, a silent question that you wish you could refuse. Your body, however, betrayed you, your panties growing uncomfortably wet as the memories came back to you. 

You pulled his lips down to connect with yours, your fingers weaving themselves into his already disheveled hair. His hands found your hips and pulled you flush against him, a small sigh leaving his lips at the minimal contact. You take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, taking momentary control while his focus is on other things. He pulls away, and you think you hear him laugh at your attempt to dominate before he’s lifting you onto your desk, his hands planting themselves firmly on your thighs, fingertips brushing just underneath the hem of your skirt as he begins pressing kisses to your neck. You were just beginning to get lost in the feeling of his lips on your neck when you felt his knuckle brush ever so gently over your clothed clit, earning a gasp from you. He grinned against your neck, adding the tiniest bit more pressure as he swiped over you again. “You want my fingers, baby girl?” He practically growled the words, and you merely whimpered in response, scooting your ass forward on the desk so his fingertips were pressing fully against you. He retracted his hand to hike your skirt up to your waist, hooking his fingers into the crotch of your panties.

“Don’t rip them this time,” you chastised him as he put tension on the delicate fabric, causing him to laugh. He pulled a little harder, and you weren’t sure if he was testing the limits of your panties or your patience. “Yunho,” you warned, frowning at him. 

He stopped immediately, his breath catching in his throat. “Fuck, say my name again.”

Now it was your turn to laugh. “What, you like it when I scold you? You’re a bratty little sub, aren’t y-” He didn’t even let you finish the thought before plunging two long fingers into you, starting to pump them at an agonizingly slow pace. You gasped at the sudden feeling, your grip on his hair tightening. He curled his fingers inside you, causing you to see stars. Your gasps and sighs quickly evolved into small moans, but it wasn’t enough for him. He dropped to his knees and began to lap at your clit as his fingers sped up. 

“Fuck, Yunho, that feels so good,” you moaned, your head tipping back and your eyes screwing shut. You were getting close, and you knew he could tell by the way you were clenching around his fingers. 

“Look at me while I make you come, baby girl.” His voice was demanding, making you oblige without even realizing. His wide eyes looked up at you from between your legs, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. The sight alone was enough to push you over the edge, his name falling from your lips like a mantra. He helped you ride it out before standing, holding his fingers still slick with your arousal to your lips. You licked his fingertips before taking both digits into your mouth, cleaning them thoroughly before releasing them with a pop. He groaned at the sight, rutting his still clothed cock against your thigh. 

He made quick work of his pants and boxers, lining himself up to your entrance before plunging in in one stroke. 

“You feel so good,” he said, his voice barely audible next to your ear. You could only whimper in response, still trying to adjust to his considerable size. After a moment’s hesitation, he began to move at a slow, shallow pace. Your eyes fluttered shut once again as you lost yourself in the feeling. His thrusts were precise, hitting spots in you you never even knew about. Before you knew it, you were on the edge again.

“Fuck, baby, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.” You nodded in agreement. His grunts and moans had devolved into whines at this point. “Look at me.” Once again you obliged, your forehead resting against his as you fell over the edge again. He followed soon after, stilling inside you. 

You stayed like that for a moment, both of you completely silent with his cum trickling out of you. He was the first to break the silence.

“Remember me now?”

[marueonmain]

WINDFLOWER

part four ~ it was them like that ~ 

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

A/N: I rewrote this part twice wanting it to be perfect readable. I am grateful for every like/retweet: to quote our boy himself “I wish I could shake all your little hands.” Messages/asks are always highly appreciated. Strive to have a good quarantine, and take care of yourself!

Summary: Alex goes to find Sammy at his apartment and is met with an odd reception from Y/N.

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Language. Minor (Non-Graphic) Injury.

Word Count: 2.6k

Alex woke to the feeling of incessant buzzing in his hand. It was not a bright morning. With a groan, he opened his eyes – feeling the crust in the corners of them – and looked to his phone in his right hand. It buzzed with silenced notifications, and the screen lit up with banners and alerts. He tried to fight through his exhaustion. There was an odd taste in his mouth; he swirled his tongue around, attempting to produce saliva to little avail.

Propping himself on his elbows, he pulled his phone to his chest and read the lock screen. Nothing it said made sense. When he activated the touch ID, his phone opened to instagram and the last thing he watched before passing out (in his street clothes on top of his bedding). He had been watching an instagram story he was tagged in – even worse – it was George's instagram story.

To his horror, George had posted a solid three minutes of him dancing. Despite the overall low quality of the videos and darkness of the club, it was clear that it was indeed Alex who was throwing his limbs and jumping around erratically.  

George had also managed, even in his inebriated state, to post the worst of the videos on twitter. And his followers were going mad. Three hundred retweets, five hundred comments, and at least a thousand laughing-crying emojis in all. 

Alex groaned and tossed his phone to the end of the bed.

Getting up was a slow process. He had to stop to ground himself every few steps. While grasping a weak hand on his side table, he picked a pair of black joggers off the floor and replaced his white jeans with them. He moved steadily, grazing his fingertips along the wall as he went to his cupboard, and ripped a shirt from its hanger in an almost aggressive manner. He changed into it.

Eventually, he made it to his bathroom. After splashing water on his face and sticking his head under the faucet for a good minute, slurping the water like he would if he were drinking from a garden hose, he felt better. Alex tossed his hair around with his hand, pulling it forward and down, smoothing the cowlicks. Its slight greasiness was not too noticeable. He huffed, gathered his essentials (wallet, keys, phone) from his desk/bed, and left.

"You up already?" George called from where he sat on the sofa eating cereal. "It's before noon."

"Shut up. I saw your instagram story." Alex stood in the kitchen with a blank gaze debating whether to eat then or later. "You made me look like a complete bellend; I don't appreciate it."

"You wanted to dance! Who am I to deny the imallexx stans their behind-the-scenes exclusive?"

Rolling his eyes, Alex left the kitchen. At the front door, he slipped on the most available shoes there: which happened to be George's crocs (he swears he bought as a laugh but wore all the time).

"I'm going to go pick-up Sammy.” 

George snorted and said, "You mean pick-up off the floor, probably."

"Just be ready to film when we get back."

Standing out in the hall, breathing in the fixed smell of wet dog in the carpet, Alex thanked himself for being young enough to be able to near blackout and be just a touch ill in the morning.

It was not a full two minutes between Alex leaving George and him stepping out of the lift onto the floor above. Coming up on Sammy and Y/N's apartment, there was a fleeting regret that he wished he had thought in his morning haze to brush his teeth before showing up unannounced. But it was too late as his hand was raised and rapping on their door.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Alex watched the door handle jump as it was twisted and pulled on the tiniest amount possible. Just enough for the latch bolt to disengage and reengage so that it rested – holding the door open – against the doorframe. There was no proper greeting. He felt like an intruder having to push on the almost closed door and let himself into the apartment: though invited not necessarily welcome.

Inside it was bright with all available light fixtures on including a scattering of floor and table lamps. There was the sound of a running shower.

To his left was Y/N ducked into her refrigerator. She pushed things around on the top shelf before landing her hand on a carton of eggs. Taking them out, she sat them on the counter next to a mixing bowl. She turned her back to Alex but not before flashing him a tense near straight-line smile.

"Hi." Y/N counted out three eggs from the carton. "Sam's in the shower."

Alex grabbed a bar seat. He rested slouched against the backrest but kept his shoulders square and arms open. Hair fell from his fringe, and he jerked his head out of instinct, flipping the hair out of his face. A bit bedraggled. The chain still around his neck from his night-out. Lithe arms stuck out from armholes three times their size as he drowned in the large yellow crewneck.

It was the same yellow as the one Y/N complimented him on earlier. Not that he recognized it when he was throwing on clothes. Not that he would admit he recognized it.

Y/N cracked three eggs into the mixing bowl with one hand and tossed the shells into the kitchen bin. She stood, her feet set like an arrow, with her toes touching. Next to the mixing bowl was a waffle iron with a red light on top and a baking mix box. She held it up; her mouth moved as she read off the ingredients on the recipe on the back of the box to herself.

Alex forced a light chuckle. "I'm surprised he's up. He was out of it when we dropped him off."

"You all were," mumbled Y/N into her collar. She placed the box down and stirred the contents of the mixing bowl with a fork and a quick hand. Her head was down focused on what she was doing; a little wrinkle formed between her eyebrows.

"You got me there." Alex shifted in his seat, scooching up so he might rest his forearms on the counter. He proceeded to crack his knuckles to occupy his nervous hands. "How is Sammy?"

"Fine."

"He's helping me film a video." Like a smiling dog promised and expecting a treat, Alex straightened up in his seat. He searched Y/N's side profile for a read on her but came up blank.

"Hmm," hummed Y/N letting up on her battering of the waffle batter.

It was evident in how his spine slumped and how he returned to resting on his arms that it was not the reaction Alex expected. The reaction he hoped for was a reaction at all but no such luck.

"I guess he would have told you. I'm a youtuber." Alex added in a stronger voice (as if her not hearing him was the issue), "So is George."

"Uh-huh." Polite in tone but nonetheless dismissive.

"I was hoping you'd text me, then I'd have your number as well."

Y/N gave no response. Her eyes were clouded and distant. Leaving the batter to sit, she crossed the kitchen and pulled open a drawer of miscellaneous utensils. While she searched for what she wanted, the fingers of her non-dominate hand drummed a rhythm against her hip.

"Did I do something wrong?" asked Alex.

"What?"

"Was it last night? Did I do something to offend you? I was trashed." He spoke plain, hiding the hint of hurt in his voice. His open palm-up hands moved in a series of give and take type gestures.

His bit of babbling grabbed Y/N's full attention. She pulled her focus up, from her search in the utensil drawer to Alex's face. Her hesitant gaze stopped at his mouth and nose before going further up.

Their eyes met. Alex felt a surge of warmth rushing upon him: a warmth he could lie in forever. Die in. So even his bones might one afternoon be exposed to it. It was clear at that moment (as if it was not before) that being around Y/N was not something Alex knew how to handle or react to.

There was an undeniable switch in her gaze – a moment of real recognition – and if eyes could talk, hers would have sighed and happily said, oh, it's you.

Alex reiterated, "I promise I don't remember a thing."

"Sorry, Al." (a pause like she did intend the nickname but then thought it inappropriate) "Sorry, Alex. It's not you. I just have a lot I'm thinking about."

"You don’t have to apologize; I was just a little worried is all." He relaxed, dropping his hands, letting them fall to his lap.

"You're sweet. Thank you." Her hand settled in the utensil drawer; she pulled out an ice cream scoop and held it at an odd angle. Fiddling with the lever as if checking it worked. It did. Y/N turned her back to him once more to place the ice cream scoop on the counter with the mixing bowl. She picked out the fork from the bowl and continued stirring the batter.

Sore from slouching and general aching muscles, Alex stood from the bar seat and stretched.

"You make a lot of breakfast foods, huh?" he asked as he stood with solid feet and twisted at the middle as far to his left as he could; he twisted to the other side as his spine screamed at him. "Is that your favourite then?"

"Why? Got something against breakfast?"

"I like buttered toast as much as the next—" Alex was distracted mid-thought when he lifted his foot and put it down again to the sound of a quiet crunch. Light speckles of paint dotted the floor, and when he lifted his foot, under it was a small chip of plasterboard.

"Toast, you said? How extravagant!"

A framed picture was stuck on the wall nearest Alex: one he did not recognize as being there before, but half the apartment was not yet unpacked when he last was there. How bad could you screw up your wall hanging something? He pulled on a bottom corner of the frame and peered behind it.

It was a fine hanging job. There was just a fist-sized hole in the plasterboard wall. And the framed picture was covering it.

Y/N glanced over to him. "That's nothing – just a little accident from last night. Could thank George for that if you like."

"George did that?"  He exclaimed, reeling as if he were about to faint. Alex made a fist and compared it to the hole. George and him about matched in height – matched hand sizes. While the hole in the plasterboard could eat Alex's hand.

Y/N's face dropped as she rushed to correct herself, "No! Not at all."

"You scared me," the words rode out on his bated breath. He put the framed picture back in place, moving to retake the bar seat.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that." Y/N gave a shallow shake of the head.

"What did happen?"

"Oh," she sounded exhausted, "Sam got angry because George was teasing him about something."

"What was it about?"

"I couldn't understand it. None of you lot were making sense," she said unconvincingly

"Come on, Red."

And there at his words or in reaction to the strange atmosphere Y/N rolled her left shoulder back and, when it returned to its natural resting position, she twitched. Her head turned forty-five degrees to the left, and her chin lifted so that her cheek was parallel to the ground for about half a second until her muscles relaxed, and she stood regular. Y/N spoke soft, "I don't know."

"Well, Sammy must have said something. Or George."

"Stop." Y/N spoke clear and stern, throwing her voice despite not facing him. "You were all giggling like idiots and piss drunk. Ok? It was bound to happen."

Atop the waffle iron, the red light switched to green. Y/N tilted the mixing bowl toward herself and grabbed the ice cream scoop. She stirred it around the bowl. Her elbow lifted from her side in the motion. It was shaking. She was shaking. Trembling – even if just a small amount.

"Ok," Alex said without thinking. 

The ice cream scoop gathered the golden batter. It would have looked delicious if his stomach was not so knotted.

Lifting the waffle iron lid, Y/N poured the batter in a circle from the outside-in, when the lid dropped, snapping shut on two of her fingers. "Ow! Shit."

She raced to the sink: turning it on to its coldest setting: she kept her hurt hand at a distance. Her free hand grasped her inner elbow supporting the extended arm. As the water bathed her burnt fingers, Y/N stood bent over with her head tucked under her arms and muttered a string of curses.

"Fuck. Are you alright?" Alex rushed around the counter. "Did you break them?"

"N-no. No." She was stuttering through distressed gasps.

"Red, it's not great." Alex laid a hand on her shoulder and another over her free hand on her arm. He felt her continuing to struggle for breath and start a self-soothing type rocking on her feet – not about to give in to the panic. "It’s not great, but you got to calm down. Follow me."

He pulled his lips in and inhaled a slow breath as if through a straw, exhaling it just the same. It took ten seconds of him doing the exercise on his own before Y/N began to follow. And it was them like that. And it was nice – given the circumstances.

Both their shirts were damp from the splashback of the running sink.

Half a minute passed. Y/N had not gained her complete composure, but her breathing evened out, and her muscles relaxed enough that Alex had to reposition himself to support her as she leaned into him slightly.

"Thank you." It was audible though her chin was still tucked to her chest.

"It's alright...I can't cook either."

She laughed a short laugh. "You were lying earlier?"

"I know, pretty believable."

Sammy walked in from the master bedroom: shirtless with his wet hair dripping water onto the floor: and his eyebrows knit together in immediate confusion and concern. Set in action, he rushed over to the kitchen and pulled Alex off Y/N (sending him stumbling over himself to regain balance). At Y/N's side, he turned off the sink and took hold of her hands, avoiding the burned fingers.

"Red. What did you do?" he asked.

"It's alright," she assured, and it was, as most minor burns are after a few seconds under cold water.

Alex was frozen in place – watching them – reconciling his protective instincts with his disorientation. And despite where his eyes landed in physical space, he was far off in another place in his mind.

Staring at him with a skewed frown, Sammy asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm– I was going to pick you up to film."

"Right." He straightened Y/N and himself up to be standing. "I'll be up in a bit."

It took a moment for the command from Alex's brain (move) to reach his legs. In that time, he stole a glance at Y/N whose face canvased a flustered blush. She smiled. A metaphorical dart whizzed around his head, striking a metaphorical bullseye, and producing a singular thought.™

He wished he could go back to about twenty-three lines ago. To when she was leaning on him.

Alex smiled a reassuring smile in return and shuffled out of the apartment. Two steps from the closed door, he heard Sammy say to Y/N in a hushed voice, "I’m here for you, Red, but you should have known better."