Hiii can i request nct wish reaction of them being jealous/protective towards their gf? Thank u so muchh 🫶🏻🫶🏻
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ PROTECTIVE/JEALOUS WISHIES 🧸ྀི - wc 1075 (in total)
[ extras ] kinda creepy man in yushi's. some members' parts r longer, some shorter. sorry!
ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! i hope u enjoy this! sorry u had to wait for so long :(
@kstrucknet ˙ . ꒷ 🪽 . 𖦹˙— @neocity-net
┆彡 SION [ 시온 ]
go get them shy boy!
when he’s jealous, he won’t say much: just observe and sulk
protective, though, he’s not afraid to step in!!! will simply tell them to go away, sometimes even grab your hand <3
you were chatting with a cashier, the coffee you ordered slowly becoming cold. you’ve been trying to go back to sion for the past ten minutes but the guy just kept talking.
out of a sudden, you felt a hand sneaking down and connecting with yours. you saw sion and smiled at him.
“i believe there’s a queue to be taken care of” he muttered and glared at the cashier. he just huffed something incoherent and left.
“sorry. i just didn’t have the opportunity to leave” you sighed and sion squeezed your hand with reassurance.
“don’t worry. the coffee better be good or i’ll beat him up” your boyfriend scoffed. you just giggled, knowing too well he wouldn’t even be able to hurt a fly.
┆彡 RIKU [ 前田 陸 ]
truly black cat behavior
he will keep his eyes on you and step in if he senses he’s needed
but when he’s jealous, he will definitely walk up and grab your waist with a small smirk (and if they don’t get the signal, he’ll even sneak a kiss or two)
“yeah but i’m not alone here” you said, for like tenth time this night. yet, the weirdo kept on trying to get your number.
“vouch”
before you saw riku, you felt his warm hand on your hip. he slid it to the back pocket of your jeans.
“everything okay? the line to the bathroom was crazy” riku asked, starting down at the guy coldly.
“yes, i was just, uh, going” the man said. your boyfriend pressed a kiss onto your cheek and watched the stranger leave.
“and you? are you okay?” he asked. you grinned, nodding. now that he was here, you were.
┆彡 YUSHI [ 得能勇志 ]
shy observer v2
he trusts you. sometimes he’ll get pouty afterwards (no worries, kisses fix him!)
and if there’s a situation when he has to intervene, he will. calmly… intimidatingly so.
you were simply grocery shopping, you and yushi split up to make it quicker. but you’ve been stuck at the vegetable section for fifteen minutes now. you met an old friend but he seemed to be more interested if you’re single. and you kept saying you’re not.
“i really need to go. my boyfriend and i are in a hurry–“ you said.
“i don’t see him” he shrugged. just when you wanted to leave, the man grabbed your wrist.
“sir, she’s clearly uncomfortable” yushi’s voice sounded from behind you and you let out a sigh of relief.
“and you are…?” your old friend asked.
“yushi. y/n’s boyfriend. now please let her go or i’ll have to call the security” yushi said with a straight face, dead serious. the guy gave up and left quickly. you grabbed yushi’s hand and he just placed a soft kiss on your head “sorry it took so long”
┆彡 JAEHEE [ 재희 ]
in both cases he will walk up to you and the person
hand on your arm, joining the conversation and making it very clear by his cold gaze that he’s not liking the way you’re being talked to
might get shy if you tease him about it later tho >:P
you could feel jaehee’s gaze burning holes through you. the waiter at the check out clearly didn’t, though. and didn’t mind the line forming behind you, apparently.
“extra sugar in your coffee? because you’re so sweet, hm?” he winked.
“well, that one is for my boyfriend–“ you started and were startled by jaehee’s hand suddenly on your arm.
“why is it taking so long? did the card decline?” he asked coldly, staring at the worker. his jaw was clenched, clearly not in the mood. he just wanted to share a coffee with his partner.
“no, sir. just the receipt, here you go”
┆彡 RYO [ 廣瀬遼 ]
depends in which mood he’s in 😭
bc ryo can either act all silly and just … walk up and tell a fun fact abt you (“she snores so loudly in her sleep… yeah… it’s awful if you ask me”)
OR he can full on just tell them to go away
you were flattered that someone tried to flirt with you but you really had enough. you just wanted to buy a perfume for your aunt and not…
“now this floral scent would perfectly match a lovely lady like you–“ the employee furrowed their brows when they saw ryo.
“this lovely lady is a very messy eater, by the way. like, the chaos after dinner… all the food somehow ends up everywhere but the plate” ryo said, not looking away from a perfume he was testing “not the mention her face. always gotta clean it up. like a baby.”
“ryo, what are you…” you frowned, confused.
“yeah. anyway, this smells like something that an old lady would wear. so perfect” ryo pointed and smiled “she mentioned it that it’s not for her”
the employee’s face turned red - not sure if it was because of ryo’s bluntness or the fact that he failed to get your number.
┆彡 SAKUYA [ 藤永咲哉 ]
this lil motherfucker (lovingly)
you’re not gonna hear the end of it if he’s jealous 😭 but he somehow manages to make it your fault ?!
and when he gets protective, he’s ready to throw hands (usually you have to stop him. other times the other guy gets confused by the combination of saku’s cute face and aggressive tendencies)
sakuya has been watching the way the employee at the stationary store kept flirting with you shamelessly. and he didn’t like it.
he stepped in, carrying a bunch of pens.
“do you work here? can you help me instead of flirting with my pretty partner? we were just going to draw something for each other but you…” sakuya started nonchalantly and your eyes widened.
“actually, he just helped me pick the best markers” you said and sakuya shrugged.
“i have markers at home, the one you bought for me. you know, we’ve been dating for like half a year and y/n is a very lovely partner. for example…” sakuya started babbling, flustering the employee.
“there’s um, self check out. if you’re in a hurry” they said and walked away, approaching another customer. sakuya just send you a devilish grin.
pairings: park jisung x fem! idol reader genre: fluff wc: 0.9k warnings: jealousy (it's cute tho I promise!) + they makeout notes : found this hidden away in the drafts guys.. no idea if it's proofread 🧍♀️| LIBRARY
EDIT!! if you saw the drama mentioned in the notes... no you didn't I DO NOT SUPPORT yk who's behaviour and COMPLETELY forgot to take it out before posting, im very sorry gang 🙏
Jisung is confused. Beyond it in fact.
"Just tell me what it is," his voice echoes, earning a few too many unwanted stares as he runs down the hall.
Oh, the things he does for you
You're not letting up, and he's been trailing after you ever since you decided that running through the multiple empty dressing rooms backstage was a good idea, for whatever reason.
Well, you weren't really running, more so speed walking away from him, weaving in and out of hallways and doors.
Had it not been for your practically fluorescent outfit from the stage you'd just performed, he'd barely have been able to catch sight of you bolting away from him in the first place.
Jisung's certain you'd never been this fast before, practically out of breath from following after you.
Combined with the fatigue from his performance a few minutes ago and trailing after you like a lost puppy, Jisung begins to grow tired
Again he's not entirely sure why you're doing it, or what you're doing really, but if it has anything to do with the small pout on your lips and the slightly puffed out cheeks you wear then maybe Jisung has a few ideas
it doesn't take a genius to figure out something has you upset, not upset in a heartbroken way, or else Jisung would have noticed any tears threatening to spill from your eyes, but more in a way that somethings bothering you.
Though it doesn't matter much to Jisung just how upset you are, clearly not very, all that does matter is that you are.
And usually Jisung was an expert at reading you, knowing what was wrong like some psychic mind reader with a purple globe in his palms with one single glance at you— if you'd just look at him— which you hadn't since the good luck kiss he'd planted on your cheek before you went up on stage exactly an hour ago.
When he stepped off stage today, ready to pull you into his arms and let himself bask in the sweetness of your praise, telling him how well he did on stage, you weren't there and Jisung's big gummy smile dropped at the sight of you, straight faced lying across the couch in his dressing room instead.
Honestly speaking, he had no idea what could have possibly gone wrong in the last hour, but he was certainly determined to find out.
"You guys did great out there" you smiled as the group of 7 piled into the room, genuine but small, congratulating all of his members, as you usually did, only you didn't spend any time gushing over him.
Safe to say your boyfriend had noticed, and now, as you find yourself reaching a dead end with no escape, you know you're going to have to come face to face with Jisung, and the ugly green feeling bubbling inside of you
His arms hang low at your waist when he finally catches you in the middle of your dressing room, a slight smirk across his lips at the victory of stopping you from running away.
"Look at me baby" his two fingers hold your chin to guide your head so it would tilt upwards and face him.
"What's up?"
You shake your head, gaze darting left and right to avoid his eyes. Jisung chuckles to himself
"Tell me what's wrong, come on, please?" he follows your eyes as they change direction, shifting so he's the only thing in your line of sight.
You sigh, crossing your arms, lips protruding outwards, "You'll laugh, Sung."
Gosh, Jisung just wants to smash his lips against yours— but there are bigger problems at hand– like his awfully pouty girlfriend standing sulking in front of him.
"You know I'll never laugh at you," he says, soft and kind. You hate that it makes the ugly feeling inside of you grow stronger.
Why did he have to be so damn sweet?
"Well, uh-" you hesitate "it's nothing, I was just being silly Sung" you nod your head, as if to convince yourself but Jisung pulls you back before you can even attempt to walk away
"If it made you upset its not silly okay, now tell me, what's got my girl like this hmm?"
"Next time you're on stage," you sigh, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. "Roll your sleeves down." Your eyes meet the floor at the request, Jisung staring down at his arms
"That's it?" he holds back a laugh, though his lips can't help but curve upwards, and his eyes fill with adoration at the sight of you so shy.
"Well I don't exactly want everyone staring at my boyfriend and his pretty arms, you're already perfect as it is" you protest, tone completely sincere "you don't need to be perfect for anyone but me" you huff, crossing your arms as you decide you've said enough.
Apparently not.
"You should've heard the girls backstage checking you out every time your muscles flexed." Your eyes roll, and Jisung can't help but find it cute, the disgusted scrunch of your nose.
He extends his forearm out to you, smiling.
"These arms are all for you, okay? so you can roll my sleeves down just as far as you'd like."
"Don't have to ask me twice," you mutter under your breath, just loud enough that he hears, tugging at the material that rested mid way up his arm.
"Yeah?" he chuckles again, "well, next time, tell the girls backstage too, " he smiles. "I'm all yours"
You hum, you could do one better, "let's show them instead."
You practically eating his lips off in the music bank hallway was not part of Jisung's agenda tonight, but he can't help the feeling of content that washes over him as you roughly move your lips over his, fingers interlaced with his, putting on an absolute show for everyone who'd walk past. With his sleeves rolled all the way down, of course.
Couldn't put too much of a show on now, could you?
God Jisung loves when you get all jealous over him
SYNOPSIS: jaemin — gangster, but also your husband — really wants to have children, but you're not ready to become the perfect housewife and raise the family he wants to build with you. so, it becomes clear to him that he has to make a compromise and retire from the criminal world and, consequently, become your perfect househusband.
PAIRING: husband!jaemin x female!reader
GENRE: fluff, domesticity, established relationship, suggestive at times
CONTAINS: mentions of jaemin being a gangster, husband and father jaemin. dreamies and other idols' appearances. jaemin is a (dedicated) father of two. fluff, domestic scenarios, suggestive content. the kids don't have official names but jaemin calls his daughter "angel", and his son "bub/bubble". more warnings to be added for each part.
PARTS: part 1 .ᐟ part 2 .ᐟ part 3 .ᐟ part 4 .ᐟ part 5 .ᐟ part 6 .ᐟ part 7 .ᐟ part 8 .ᐟ part 9 .ᐟ part 10 .ᐟ (+ more parts could be added with time)
TAGLIST: CLOSED.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: jaemin is the most husband material out of all dreamies, and we all know that. girl!dad jaemin... it just makes so much sense???? the way he seems written by a woman (im wailing on the streets as i write this) he'd be such a good husband and father. this is a mini series and chapters will not necessarily be related to each other, and will not be in chronological order. inspired by the manga/anime of the same name. enjoy! <3
synopsis: no amount of stress and writer's blocks can stop mark from welcoming his daughter in his arms if she needs her daddy to lull her to sleep.
pairing: girl dad!mark x female!reader
genre: fluff, domesticity, established relationship
word count: 2.8k words
contains: writer mark, very loving husband and father mark. mark is burnt out and faces writer's block. daughter doesn't have a name, but he calls her "cookie". fluff galore.
author's note: mark as a girl dad </3 he'd be so open minded and so responsible, his daughter would feel so loved and understood :(( if you hear someone screaming on the streets do not panic! that's just me thinking about mark as a girl dad. also meelings are open (always) (so feel free to discuss anything mark related with me <3)
Mark plays with his pen, clicks it open and then back to closing it for what feels like hours, and he can’t seem to be able to use the item to do what it is supposed to do — to write. He’s spent the entire day filled with dread, just a look thrown to the blank page on his computer’s screen and he can feel the skin of his neck prickle with anger and disappointment. Another look at the blank paper sitting under his wrist and hand and he wants to scream his lungs out. He’s never experienced such bad and horrific writer’s block, not since his university years when he felt like he was his professors’ writing monkey — writing all sorts of crap just for the sake of a high grade, not caring about the stupid topic whatsoever. So he starts writing some words down with his black pen, random words, key words, anything that could help him get out of the block he’s been in all day long.
His deadline is just around the corner, and it’s imperative to have the first draft of the book ready to hand over for his editor to look over. He’s never missed a deadline since his third year of university — and it’s been quite a few good years since, so it’s important to get it done on time to keep his streak of successful works intact. This obsession of his, of keeping his productivity high and success rate perfect, you’ve always told him that it’s nonsense. He puts too much pressure on himself, overworking himself to the point he has days when he’s totally unproductive. Like today.
He feels so conflicted right now. He knows it’s late and that he should probably go to bed, but instead he’s here in his pyjamas, glued to the desk in his home office trying to come up with a few lines that he’ll find unsatisfying work anyway.
You’ve already kissed him goodnight, tucked your daughter into bed, and left him to do his work — knowing damn well there’s no way you can change his mind once he wants to do something. And he feels a bit guilty knowing that you can’t sleep unless he’s in bed with you, and everyone in the house is already asleep. So he knows that you are watching Netflix while waiting for him to make up his mind and call it a night.
He’s pulled out of his own thoughts when he hears some light steps just outside his office door, and he knows exactly who it is.
“Daddy?” The door creeps open just slightly, and Mark puts his pen down before pushing his chair back a bit to get a better view of the door.
Your daughter is hanging off the door handle by one hand, standing on her tippy toes while trying to keep her balance. She’s in her pink, hello kitty pyjamas, holding her old plushie in her other hand.
“Come here,” he says back softly, opening his arms to get her to get into his embrace, “what is it, cookie?” He picks her up, setting her onto his lap, both of her legs hanging off the chair while she makes herself comfortable.
“Can’t sleep,” she mumbles while resting her head on Mark’s shoulder.
“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, looking down to see her already looking up at him. “So you came to hang with daddy and Sugar?” He looks at Sugar, the white teddy bear that looks like it’s been through tough times — because it has. Sugar has been your daughter’s favourite toy ever since her uncle Jaemin gave it to her as a gift for her first birthday, three years ago. It has been dragged across many, many floors, has seen many drinks and foods being spilled on itself; has been through many baths in the washing machine and has had many field days in the tumble dryer.
His daughter nods, resting her head against his chest, and Mark picks up his pen again, trying to get back to work. It’s something that occurs every time he decides he wants to work late from home and his daughter feels like they haven’t been spending enough time together.
“Daddy,” she mumbles softly, “Pick up that pen!” She instructs, pointing at his huge pen holder sitting on the desk.
“What?” Mark’s voice is high in pitch, her instructions interrupting his thinking process. “Which pen, cookie?”
“The pink one!” She points at the only coloured pen in his holder, a pink glittered pen that she gave him some time ago.
“Wanna work with daddy? Should I give you a piece of paper?” Mark is already looking around for some spare paper sheets to give your daughter, but she stops him by grabbing his t-shirt.
“Don’t wanna,” she whines, “you use it,” she brings her thumb up to her lips, a habit that Mark finds to be incredibly adorable, and he doesn’t have the heart to take it away from her. You on the other hand, you’ve always worried about your daughter’s teeth and other problems that sucking on her thumb would cause her, but Mark doesn’t mind that much because, after all, she’s still just a child. And he’s a pretty permissive dad.
He looks down at her, recognising her big eyes are getting heavy and tired, and that maybe all she needed was to be with her daddy before she could fall asleep. She wiggles her toes, and it catches Mark’s eyes immediately. He throws his pen once again, moving his hand to cover her barefoot feet, tsking as soon as he feels how cold they are.
As a permissive, fun dad, Mark never forced your daughter to do anything that could cause her distress in any kind of way. If she didn’t feel like eating peas for dinner he’d gently ask you not to force her just for the sake of having something in her tummy. Or, if she didn’t feel like wearing socks or slippers around the house he was not going to desperately run behind her with a pair of socks in his hands.
Hearing Mark speaking softly from the other room, you become aware of the fact that he can’t be talking to himself, and he certainly isn’t talking on the phone with anybody while his office door is open because he’s always too loud, and you always have to remind him to take it down a notch.
You get out of bed, your barefoot feet stepping lightly on the hardwood floors towards his office, noticing how your daughter’s bedroom door is wide open, confirming your suspicions. You feel sorry for Mark, because while he has good nights during which he can be very productive, your daughter can’t stay away from him for too long. She’s such a daddy’s girl, Mark’s unwavering attention towards her — and maybe the fact that he’s more lenient, only strengthens their bond. So you’d feel bad if this was one of Mark’s productive nights, and your daughter decided to interrupt it.
Mark’s head snaps in your direction as soon as he feels you stepping carefully through the door, reaching lightly behind both him and your daughter who was nested in her father’s arms, looking comfortable and protected. Mark never denied her anything, spoiling her and enabling her to do all sort of things as long as they were harmless and innocent, and somehow, when she did something bad and he’d be the one to scold her and explain what she did wrong, she’d understand faster as opposed to when you did the job.
And Mark never refused her staying up until late hours of the night, whenever she couldn’t sleep she’d be with him in his office, or on the couch watching a film that he was interested in — which, by the way, was totally inappropriate for a four year old. It’s like she’s his shadow, always with him anywhere he goes. So this late night hangout in Mark’s home office is not something out of the ordinary, she could even fall asleep in his arms and he’d keep her there for a few hours before deciding to call it a night for himself too and go to sleep.
You touch your husband’s shoulders, gently squeezing them, knowing how much he loves it when you massage his tensed muscles. You bend down, your right arm flowing around his neck towards his chest, while your left hand pats your daughter’s head, noticing how she’s sucking on her thumb while she’s nested against her father’s body. Must be out of comfort and feeling safe with him, because she doesn’t suck her thumb if there are strangers or even relatives around the house, or if it’s not for going to bed.
“You want me to take her back to bed?” You whisper in his ear before kissing him, and he slightly moves his head in disapproval, tightening his grip around your daughter’s figure.
“I got it,” he whispers back to you, turning his head back to look at you, gently asking for another kiss before you go back to your shared bedroom. So you bend down to his level once again and satisfy his wish.
Out of instinct, Mark checks your daughter’s feet temperature. Although he’s not one to force her to wear socks, especially because he knows how much she hates wearing socks to bed, if he feels like she might be cold in any kind of way, there’s no room for bargaining.
His fingers reach her little toes, massaging them one by one, wiggling them from left to right and squeezing them. It’s a gesture that your daughter likes, especially if he comes up with some made up stories about her “little piggies”.
She wiggles her toes as soon as she senses him stopping, and Mark looks down at her, her eyes heavy and tired but she’s determined to stay up for the sake of being with him a little longer. And seeing his daughter so tired has Mark trying to stifle a yawn, a clear sign that maybe it’s time for everyone to go to bed.
“Aren’t you tired, cookie?” He asks, resuming his playing with her toes. “I sense this little piggie,” he squeezes her big toe, “is getting kind of tired,” he moves to the next toe, “And so is daddy,” he explains, giving a final squeeze to her small and delicate feet before patting her head.
Seeing how she doesn’t respond, he knows that she will not want to go to bed now, and as an unofficial tradition he feels obligated to propose something else before convincing her to get to bed. “Wanna have some milk with daddy?” He asks, but stands to his feet before she can answer him.
Mark has always liked milk, but ever since he became an adult he had to trade it for caffeine for the sake of being alert and productive all day, so every time he has these late night father-daughter hangouts with his little girl he always indulges in a glass too.
He puts her on the kitchen counter just between the fridge and the stove, and he can feel her keeping her eyes glued to his figure. “Mug or baby bottle, cookie?” He asks, looking through the kitchen cabinets for her favourite mugs to use.
“Baby bottle,” she points at the cabinet next to the one Mark’s so thoroughly inspecting, and of course she already knows better than him where everything is in this kitchen. “Daddy,” your daughter calls out for him while he checks the milk on the stove so it doesn’t reach boiling temperature, “Kiss?” She asks once Mark’s attention is back to her, throwing grabby hands at him.
Mark giggles tiredly, but brings her back into his arms before giving her a small kiss. “Should daddy add some honey in your milk? Would you like that?” He asks still holding her in his arms, moving around the kitchen towards the pantry where the honey jar is.
His grandmother always added a bit of honey to his milk when he was a child, and it sweetened it just the right way. He’s always slept better too, after drinking it this way.
He puts her back on the kitchen counter, her legs and small feet hanging off the furniture. He fixes her baby bottle with the milk, scooping just a small amount of honey before mixing everything together and giving the bottle for her to hold, before he gets her back into his arms.
“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” He says, but it’s not a question. And your daughter knows it.
“Can you tell me a story?” She asks as soon as he sets her down on the bed. Mark has to stifle a yawn before looking at the small bookshelf full of children’s book. Understanding where her father’s gaze is pointed, she sits up straight and pulls his t-shirt, “No daddy! No book!”
“Alright, cookie,” he replies, setting himself more comfortably on the edge of the bed, his head hitting her small pink pillow. Everything your daughter owns is pink. And he doesn’t mind, he came to the conclusion that it is a cute and beautiful colour when he had to see it around the house more often, and especially in your daughter’s bedroom.
“What should this story be about?” He asks, instructing the little girl to bring her bottle to her mouth. There’s this thing that she started doing every time she would stay up with her dad, like some sort of tradition. She puts Mark’s mind to work all the time by asking all sorts of strange stories that only Mark, with the mind of a writer, would be able to come up with.
“A princess,” she pauses, thinking for a few more seconds, “and a bunny,” she concludes, going back to drinking her milk.
Mark nods, looking around the room for some sort of inspiration. “Once upon a time, there was this princess and she-”
“Banana,” she interrupts, her baby bottle making a sound as soon as she stops drinking from it.
“She likes bananas?” He asks, turning his head towards your daughter to make sure that’s what she wants in her story.
“No daddy!” She giggles as if saying that he’s being silly. “Her name is Banana,” she concludes, getting back to her milk and expecting her father to get back to the story.
“Yes, right,” he gets comfortable on her pink, soft pillow once again, “Once upon a time, there was this princess called Banana. She spent her days with her pet bunny, and they liked going for long walks around the forest. One day-”
“Helicopter,” she interrupts him once again, stretching a leg to lay it on her father’s stomach.
“Helicopter?” Mark asks in disbelief, looking back at your daughter to make sure he heard her right.
She nods, serious as ever, playing with her teddy bear’s ears while still drinking from her baby bottle.
“One day, while picking up some flowers to take back to the castle, princess Banana hears a loud and strange sound, so loud that it scares the birds sitting in the trees and the deers and bunnies she’s met along the way,” he touches her leg, massaging it softly, “and after looking up to the sky, she sees an helicopter flying just above her head. It lands on a soft flower field full of pink flowers and,” nice touch, he thinks to himself, knowing just how much his daughter loves the colour.
His storytelling is briefly interrupted by a thought, a thought so great that he hopes he’d be able to remember later in the morning when he’ll get back to working, or maybe he should just write it down in his notes app. A thought that he’s been waiting for all day. Not sensing or hearing your daughter complaining about him stopping, he takes a quick look at her, seeing her fast asleep, baby bottle still in her mouth, not even halfway done.
He gets up from the bed, as gently as he can, and he tries his best not to make any kind of noise, knowing how clumsy he can be at times, unintentionally. He tucks her into bed, combing his fingers through her hair, making sure she’s asleep for good, and kisses her cheek before turning her lights off and walking towards your shared bedroom.
Spending time with his daughter is never a burden for him, but these are the times when he gets to really appreciate it all. Maybe spending time making up stories for his daughter is not always about princesses named Banana, but about how she challenges his imagination and puts his brain to work. And he’s convinced he should do it more often.
pairing : nakamoto yuta x gn!reader
genre : office au, fluff, drabble
wc : 0.78k
the office christmas party is in full swing. at least, you declared that it was the second a very drunk johnny started dancing on top of the conference room tables with jaehyun and doyoung egging him on. you shake your head at the sight before moving to the refreshments table, where you find yuta leaning haphazardly on the wall, red solo cup in hand.
his eyes seemed to follow you as you made your way towards him, trailing up and down the entirety of your figure without a single hint of reluctance.
“hey yuta…” you greet him, extending the very last syllable of his name with a nervous tone of voice.
he smiles at you, the corners of his mouth lazily spreading outwards as he drapes an arm around your shoulders, “yn! if it isn’t my favorite person in the office- wait no, the building- wait no, the entire world!”
yuta’s voice is loud, booming across the entirety of the room; if it weren’t for the cheesy holiday remixes that played over the speakers, everyone would have heard him. it doesn’t take long for you to register the way some of his words slurred, or the way his breath reeked of alcohol.
mark who still maintains his insane working hours and practicing late into the night even when he has his two favorite girls waiting back home (and it makes him feel terrible). he comes home when it's way past your daughter's bedtime and you're always still waiting for him even when it's three am in the morning. when the day breaks his daughter thinks she's being very quiet but she's quite clumsy as she steps all over his legs while she climbs onto the bed to wake him up. he blows raspberries onto the baby's cheeks as he trudges into the kitchen, pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder as a thank you for the pancakes.
renjun who simply cannot contain his excitement when his daughter's painting is selected for an award in the school art competition. he brags about her drawings all the time to his parents, his friends, the elderly woman who bags his groceries. he says she got it from him. it's quite right. he cheers the loudest when her name is called, even blinks some pesky tears away (something you make sure to make fun of when you're in the car later on) when his sweet girl comes up on stage to accept her certificate and take a picture, in the dress she picked out with his help because it's a very special day.
if you ever asked jeno what he kept in his bag then you would (or would not) be surprised at the endless amount of candy and sugary treats he pulls out of it that he keeps for both himself and your daughter. it's clear where she got her sweet tooth from. usagi transforms into sailor moon on the television screen, your daughter astrode on his lap, each of them holding a pink spoon and taking turns scooping bites of cookies 'n cream and macademia into their mouths. you collapse onto the sofa with an exaggerated sigh once you finish dishes duty, your head falling into the unoccupied crook of jeno's neck. your daughter swings a spoonful of ice cream towards your mouth, calling it a reward for working hard "because daddy always does it" and you accept with a giggle.
donghyuck drums his fingers on the steering wheel to the soundtrack of moana, occasionally peeking to the back to check on his sleeping girl tucked into the car seat. he keeps a hand nestled into her soft locks as he steers her towards where you said you'd be waiting at the department store, making a very important decision on whether you should get the white or sage green kitten heels for your cousin's wedding in jeju next month. your daughter then pops on a pair of oversized celine sunglasses, and it's too funny and adorable that the salesgirl was giving the three of you the stink eye for making such a ruckus in the store. he pays for it anyways, because he'll probably steal it for himself for when he has to be at the airport at early hours to leave for an overseas schedule or concert.
jaemin tries his best, really. he just can't help it when he sees luke sitting by his son as he draws on the coffee table. you can't expect him to bake the chocolate chip cookies, watch for stains on the oak from your son's oil pastels and feed all three cats at once. he doesn't know how you do it. luckily the cookies don't burn in the oven, he puts down parchment so the oak table is safe, and all cats are soothed by your son's magic touch and gentle pressing hand. when you notice a speck of oil pastel in their furs later on you only sigh and make a call to the salon to get them a bath, noticing their claws have been getting too long to the point they can mar your precious boys' skin.
you raise a hand to shield your eyes from the blaring sunlight, the piercing rays making chenle and your son look like mere sillhouettes as they zip around the court, the boinking sound of the basketball echoing in the park that's not too crowded for a friday morning. you can tell he's being much more gentle and a lot slower than he usually does for your son, fixing his stances and the grip of his fingers on the ball as he demonstrates a three pointer. your son joyfully claps everytime he shoots, and he ruffles his hair as a thank you. he calls out to you, demanding his congratulations kiss, but there is no way you're even going to come close to two very sweaty boys under the sweltering august heat.
your son actually prefers jisung to read him the bedtime stories he keeps in his shelf. he tucks him into the crook of his arm, whispering gently of the boy who discovers a treasure box in the forest and goes on an adventure with his pet hamster. his voice is too low to catch over the running of the sink as you remove your makeup, secretly wishing your son would fall asleep faster so that you can brush your teeth together. you watch from the doorway as he very carefully detaches himself from your son's side to slip the book back into its place on the bookshelf, tuck the sheets up to his chin, and place a gentle kiss to his forehead before he clicks the star shaped light off and his arm comes up to circle around your waist, pressing you against the wall to collect his kiss that tastes like peppermint toothpaste and your scent he can never get enough of.
