Elle ♡

ateez & xikers writer ♡ 20 ♡ status: 🌺 ♡

[lil-elle]

Elle's Garden ~

♡ 20

♡ ateez and xikers writer + more!

♡ disappeared for like 2 years but I floated back 🫧

♡ i write way too much

♡ i swear I can't write without comedy

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

♡ requests: [ open ~ 🌺 / closed ~ 🎐 ]

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

♡ masterlist ~

♡ elle's favs ~

[twinklingstar1ights]

A Love That Grows

✧Junmin✧ Summary:What happens when you come to the realization that you have fallen for your childhood friend, Junmin. WC:649 Warning:none

Help! You’ve fallen and you can’t get up. That’s how you initially felt when you realized that you had fallen for your long-time, childhood friend, Park Junmin. The realization hit you like a slap in the face and it also made you feel dumb, because how did you not realize that your heart was always different when it came to Junmin?

You know that you’ll never forget the moment you realized your true feelings for him. Even if the moment itself was actually quite simple.

“Look I saw this cat on my way over.” He pulled out his phone and unlocked it. He opened up his photos and began to show you pictures of the calico cat he came across. 

“Aww it’s so cute,” you cooed at the cat in the photos. 

“Yeah, it was really cute,” he smiled at you.

Boom! You took note of the sparkles in his eyes and your heart melted. You wanted to hug him, you wanted to kiss him, in a way that definitely wasn’t platonic. Oh my god you were in love Junmin, your life long friend.

You don’t know when it happened. Maybe you’ve loved him since he dried your tears after you lost your favorite stuffed animal when you were five. Or maybe it happened later in life. Maybe it happened when he picked you up after a disastrous first date when you were seventeen. Maybe it happened on one of the nights you two would stay up talking to each other on the phone. Feeling like you two were the only ones in the world still awake and nothing else mattered. Or did it happen after the drunken kiss you two shared. Okay maybe it wasn’t really a kiss. More like both of you fell, landing on top of one another and lips just so happened to touch in the process, but your lips did touch and though neither of you ever talked about it. Neither of you forgot about it either. Or maybe Junmin has simply always been your person from the moment you two met. 

Though, as you look at the twinkles shining in his eyes you supposed it doesn’t matter when or how your feelings for him began.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked as a pink color dusted over his cheeks. 

“Like what?” You couldn’t stop yourself from brushing your fingers through the hair that sat right over his ear, letting your fingers slide delicately over the curved cartilage. Leaving a burning red hue in their wake.

“Like you love me.” His voice is gentle, raw, maybe a little scared.

“I do love you. You know that.” You let your hand hang right beside his, backsides ghosting against one another's.

“I know, and I love you too, but this right now, it feels more…intimate,” he whispered the last word.

“Maybe it is.” You knock your hand against his. “I think I’m in love with you.” You gently brush your pointer finger across the back of his hand.

“I’ve been in love with you…” He wraps his pinky finger around yours. “Ever since you made me pinky swear not to tell anyone that you cried while watching Land Before Time.” Neither of you could contain your smiles and chuckles at the memory of that. It happened when you were fifteen and you were convinced you were far too old to be crying over cartoon dinosaurs.

“Can I ask you to make me a new pinky swear then?” You curled your pinky finger further around his. 

“What?” he asked.

“To stay with me the rest of our lives?” you proposed.

“I was never going to go anywhere anyway.” He used your linked links to pull you in closer and pressed his lips against yours, sealing the promise. Junmin would always be your person and you would always be his. From childhood to forever.

[writtenbyatiny]

GIRL’S NIGHT OUT | ATEEZ SMAU

ꨄ︎ staring: hongjoong, seonghwa, yunho, yeosang, san, mingi, wooyoung, jongho

ꨄ︎ warnings: none, lowkey drunk!reader??

ꨄ︎ a/n: hii! my first post here, hope you enjoy ❤️

⚓️requests are open⚓️

🚨ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE🚨

divider by @lariesographic

[twinklingstar1ights]

A Love That Grows

✧Junmin✧ Summary:What happens when you come to the realization that you have fallen for your childhood friend, Junmin. WC:649 Warning:none

Help! You’ve fallen and you can’t get up. That’s how you initially felt when you realized that you had fallen for your long-time, childhood friend, Park Junmin. The realization hit you like a slap in the face and it also made you feel dumb, because how did you not realize that your heart was always different when it came to Junmin?

You know that you’ll never forget the moment you realized your true feelings for him. Even if the moment itself was actually quite simple.

“Look I saw this cat on my way over.” He pulled out his phone and unlocked it. He opened up his photos and began to show you pictures of the calico cat he came across. 

“Aww it’s so cute,” you cooed at the cat in the photos. 

“Yeah, it was really cute,” he smiled at you.

Boom! You took note of the sparkles in his eyes and your heart melted. You wanted to hug him, you wanted to kiss him, in a way that definitely wasn’t platonic. Oh my god you were in love Junmin, your life long friend.

You don’t know when it happened. Maybe you’ve loved him since he dried your tears after you lost your favorite stuffed animal when you were five. Or maybe it happened later in life. Maybe it happened when he picked you up after a disastrous first date when you were seventeen. Maybe it happened on one of the nights you two would stay up talking to each other on the phone. Feeling like you two were the only ones in the world still awake and nothing else mattered. Or did it happen after the drunken kiss you two shared. Okay maybe it wasn’t really a kiss. More like both of you fell, landing on top of one another and lips just so happened to touch in the process, but your lips did touch and though neither of you ever talked about it. Neither of you forgot about it either. Or maybe Junmin has simply always been your person from the moment you two met. 

Though, as you look at the twinkles shining in his eyes you supposed it doesn’t matter when or how your feelings for him began.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked as a pink color dusted over his cheeks. 

“Like what?” You couldn’t stop yourself from brushing your fingers through the hair that sat right over his ear, letting your fingers slide delicately over the curved cartilage. Leaving a burning red hue in their wake.

“Like you love me.” His voice is gentle, raw, maybe a little scared.

“I do love you. You know that.” You let your hand hang right beside his, backsides ghosting against one another's.

“I know, and I love you too, but this right now, it feels more…intimate,” he whispered the last word.

“Maybe it is.” You knock your hand against his. “I think I’m in love with you.” You gently brush your pointer finger across the back of his hand.

“I’ve been in love with you…” He wraps his pinky finger around yours. “Ever since you made me pinky swear not to tell anyone that you cried while watching Land Before Time.” Neither of you could contain your smiles and chuckles at the memory of that. It happened when you were fifteen and you were convinced you were far too old to be crying over cartoon dinosaurs.

“Can I ask you to make me a new pinky swear then?” You curled your pinky finger further around his. 

“What?” he asked.

“To stay with me the rest of our lives?” you proposed.

“I was never going to go anywhere anyway.” He used your linked links to pull you in closer and pressed his lips against yours, sealing the promise. Junmin would always be your person and you would always be his. From childhood to forever.

[lil-elle]

In Your Tabletop Fantasy (masterlist)

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

♡ geek!yunho x fem!reader x geek!mingi

♡ synopsis: you always listened to your friend, mingi, talk about the dnd campaign he was running with such excitement that you couldn't help but to be interested. he was instantly down with adding you in even though the party was already a few sessions deep. in the whirlwind of learning how the game even worked, the fantasy world you'd become apart of started to change your real world as well.

♡ content: mingi falls first but yunho falls harder, FLUFF, love triangle, heavy fantasy

♡ warnings: cursing, suggestive content, eventual smut

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

♡ part 1

♡ part 2

♡ part 3

♡ part 4 (coming soon!)

~

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

♡ a/n: let me know if you want to be on the taglist for this series or my general tag list!

[kiii2hearts127]

𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐖/ 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠

𝐚/𝐧: this was originally gonna be a yunho messaging story, but i felt like the text i wrote fit wooyoung more so i switched it last minute 😭😭 but i hope you all enjoy!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: sex, teasing, use of the word “mommy”, praises

divider by Chrissiren

© KIII2HEARTS127 please do not copy, repost, or change my work, thank you

[dailydoseyunho]

🐶 Your daily dose of Yunho 🐶

[yungistiny]

this was literally the look I used for him in the wedding in match made in hell so im spiraling 😩

[03jyh23]

03JYH23 Presents: The Ateez Diaries, a 2k followers Vampire Special 🩸

Seonghwa has lived too long. He’s weary, detached, and drifting through the decades with the quiet grace of a bygone era, speaking in the polite, formal cadence of the old world. Sitting in a dim New Orleans jazz club, swirling his bourbon, he’s merely existing—until you walk through the door. In a world full of noise, you are the first thing in a century that makes his immortal, tired heart actually want to beat again.

➢ vampire!seonghwa x human!reader | ➢ supernatural au, vampire au, angst, love at first sight | ➢ compulsion, loneliness, references to death/mortality | ➢ 8k | ➢ master list | ➢ i was writing it with my window open wide and raindrops banging on my windowsill; summer turned a little rainy on my part of the earth. this one is a little different, it focuses more on seonghwa than the reader, but i hope you'll like it 🌧️🖤

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤThe bourbon was older than the young man who poured it.

Seonghwa turned the crystal tumbler between his fingers, watching amber liquor catch the low light of the brass lamps. It moved lazily, painting gold against cut glass before settling once more into perfect stillness. He found himself envying it.

Even whiskey, eventually, reached the bottom of the glass.

The jazz club had changed names three times since he first discovered it. The wallpaper was new. The velvet had been replaced. Smoking had become a memory rather than a haze that lingered beneath the chandeliers. Yet it still smelled the same. Mahogany polished until it gleamed beneath dim light. Bourbon rich enough to burn sweetly. Expensive perfume woven through the room like invisible silk. Rain carried in on tailored coats each time the front door opened.

New Orleans had always smelled alive.

He supposed that was why he’d returned. Not for nostalgia. Not for absolution, simply because endings ought to know where they belong. His had begun here. Nearly three centuries ago, beneath a sky swollen with summer storms, in a city that welcomed monsters as easily as saints. He had arrived a frightened young man with a beating heart. He had left with neither.

A quiet melody drifted from the stage as the pianist surrendered to the saxophone. Applause rose, polite and restrained, before dissolving into murmured conversation, crystal clinked against crystal.

Seonghwa inclined his head in silent thanks as his drink was served. “Much obliged.”

The bartender smiled, unaware that the gentleman thanking him had witnessed Napoleon’s empire rise and fall before his great-grandfather had drawn his first breath. People rarely looked twice at old manners, they simply assumed old money… if only wealth were the strangest thing he possessed.

Seonghwa lifted the glass, more from habit than desire, the bourbon no longer intoxicated him. Neither did music. Nor beauty. Nor the passing of seasons. Time had sanded every sharp edge from existence until centuries blurred into one another with exhausting grace. Faces faded, cities transformed, empires crumbled into museum exhibits, lovers became names carved into stone.

For fifty-three years, one thought had accompanied Seonghwa with unwavering devotion.

Enough.

Not desperation, not grief. Merely certainty that he had lived long enough to become a relic wandering through a world that no longer required remembering.

Outside, thunder rolled somewhere beyond the Mississippi. Inside, a woman laughed three tables away. She was young, perhaps twenty-five. She threw her head back with the careless abandon reserved for those who had not yet learned how quickly years accumulated. Seonghwa watched her for a moment, not because she fascinated him but because once upon a time he had believed laughter sounded eternal. Now he knew better. Give it twenty years, the corners of her eyes would soften first. Another ten, perhaps fifteen, and silver would begin collecting discreetly at her temples.

Then, inevitably… Someone would attend her funeral.

He lowered his gaze to the bourbon. Everyone became a memory eventually, Seonghwa simply remained long enough to remember them. Grief had once been a violent thing, he remembered weeping until sunrise over faces whose names he could no longer recall. Now grief resembled old velvet: it was soft, heavy, constant enough that he only noticed its absence.

The quartet played beautifully, Seonghwa knew because he remembered when the song had first been written. He remembered hearing it played badly in crowded rooms thick with cigar smoke. He remembered the man who had once claimed, with complete confidence, that jazz would never survive another decade. He had been buried for almost a century. The music remained. As did Seonghwa. Against both their wishes.

“Another bourbon, sir?” The young man could not have been more than thirty. Crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to the forearms, a smile practiced enough to appear effortless. There was youth in his face—not merely in smooth skin, but in certainty that tomorrow would arrive because it always had.

“If you would be so kind.”

The bartender inclined his head and reached for the bottle, “You’ve hardly touched this one.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth. “No,” his voice was soft, warm despite the years it carried. “I seldom do.” The explanation seemed enough, the bartender simply nodded before replacing the bottle and drifting toward another patron. People rarely questioned peculiarities when accompanied by impeccable manners. They invented explanations kinder than the truth: old money, an eccentric collector, a lonely widower. Any of those fit more comfortably than monster. Seonghwa rested two fingers against the cool crystal once more. The bourbon smelled of oak, vanilla, and smoke. He remembered when whiskey had been harsher, remembered when it had been poured into rough clay cups by men with dirt beneath their fingernails and hope in their eyes. He remembered the first distillery he’d ever visited, the owner had insisted his son would inherit it. Neither man survived the fever that winter. The distillery did, and it still produced award-winning bottles.

Time had a peculiar sense of humor.

Seonghwa’s eyes wandered lazily across the room, the club breathed around him. Conversation rose and fell, never loud enough to intrude upon the quartet tucked into the corner beneath crimson curtains. Couples leaned close enough to become silhouettes rather than individuals. A businessman loosened his tie as he laughed, an elderly woman, draped in emerald silk and pearls, tapped one gloved finger against her glass in perfect rhythm with the music.

Life.

Everywhere.

Ordinary.

Fragile.

Beautiful.

Seonghwa had once believed beauty could become ordinary only through abundance. He had been wrong. It became ordinary through repetition. The first sunrise after his turning had stolen every word from his mouth, three centuries later he scarcely looked toward the horizon. He had witnessed cathedrals rise stone by stone, wars begin over pride and end in silence. He had danced in ballrooms illuminated by thousands of candles, crossed oceans beneath sails, watched electricity replace fire, watched horse-drawn carriages surrender to automobiles, telegrams to telephones, letters to glowing screens small enough to fit within a pocket.

Humanity insisted upon moving forward. Only he remained. Always arriving. Never belonging.

Another woman laughed somewhere behind him, bright and unrestrained. Laughter had become strangely predictable over the centuries, Seonghwa could hear affection in its cadence. Hear uncertainty, the careful politeness reserved for strangers and the careless joy shared between old friends. There had been a time when he memorised voices. There had been lovers whose laughter alone could draw him from another room.

Now...

Now voices dissolved together, becoming part of the same endless symphony that accompanied every city, every century. He could scarcely remember the sound of the first woman he’d ever loved. He remembered her eyes, remembered the warmth of her hand. He remembered the way grief had hollowed him when the war took her away from him.

Her laugh… time had stolen that.

Perhaps that had been its cruelest theft, not lives but memories. A mortal lost someone and mourned them for decades, an immortal mourned until memory itself began to fray.

What remained after three hundred years?

Seonghwa closed his eyes briefly.

There had been so many names, perhaps too many. If he allowed himself, he could still recite them, not because he wished to remember but because he feared the day he no longer could. His maker, his first friend after the turning, the pianist who had hidden him during a fever epidemic, the child who had insisted he looked lonely and offered him half of her sugared pastry before running back to her mother. Soldiers, artists, priests, sinners, lovers, enemies. Every one of them beneath the earth, reduced to dates carved into stone. Except him. The realisation no longer hurt, pain required sharpness, and his had long ago worn smooth. It settled inside him instead, constant enough that he noticed only when, for the briefest of moments, it lifted. Seonghwa could not remember the last time that had happened. Perhaps fifty years, perhaps longer, the decades had begun bleeding into one another sometime before the twentieth century. He marked them now not by calendars, but by funerals, by the buildings that vanished from familiar streets, by the faces that stopped appearing. He had become intimately acquainted with disappearance.

It was why New Orleans had called him back. The city had taken almost everything from him. It had also given him eternity.

How strange that the two should prove inseparable.

His gaze drifted toward the rain-speckled window. Beyond the glass, the streets shimmered beneath gaslight-shaped electric lamps, reflections trembling in puddles left by an evening storm. The French Quarter wore time differently than other places. It accepted change the way old aristocrats accepted wrinkles—with dignity and no expectation of reclaiming youth. Some cities forgot, New Orleans remembered. Perhaps that was why he had returned, not to relive the beginning but  simply to decide whether he wished to witness another ending. His time has come. He had seen everything he had once longed to see, loved more deeply than he believed possible, buried everyone he had ever sworn never to lose.

If eternity was a gift, it had become one left unopened. No. That wasn't true. It had been opened.

Admired.

Treasured.

And, eventually, outlived.

Seonghwa wondered—not for the first time—whether the heart could simply grow tired in ways the body never would.

The quartet drifted into another song, someone near the stage applauded softly, rain whispered against the windows. And Seonghwa, elegant as a portrait left hanging in a house that no longer belonged to its owners, sat alone with a drink he would never finish, waiting for nothing at all.

Or so he believed.

The resolve he needed to end it all felt closer tonight than it had in decades. He could simply leave his daylight ring, walk out and wait on a secluded balcony for the unforgiving New Orleans sun to burn away the centuries. It would be a quiet conclusion to a loud existence.

The old oak door groaned on its hinges, a draft slipped into the room, cool with rain, carrying the scent of wet pavement. Someone laughed near the entrance, someone apologised for dripping water onto the hardwood floor, the quartet never missed a note. Nothing remarkable had happened.

And yet—

Seonghwa frowned.

It was... quiet.

No.

Not the room.

Himself.

For the first time in longer than he cared to calculate, the incessant drone inside his mind—the endless procession of memory and melancholy—had fallen still. The silence was so unfamiliar that he found himself searching for its cause. His fingers loosened around the crystal glass. An odd sensation unfurled beneath his ribs, not pain, nor hunger. Something... remembered. His brow knit almost imperceptibly.

Impossible.

He had not possessed a heartbeat in nearly three centuries. Yet, for the briefest instant, he could have sworn he felt the phantom echo of one.

Once.

Slow.

Heavy.

Then nothing.

His hand stilled entirely.

“...Sir?”

The bartender stood beside him, a bottle poised politely in one hand.

“Pardon?”

“You were saying something.”

Seonghwa blinked.

Had he?

“I beg your pardon,” he replied, smoothing invisible creases from his cuff. “I fear my thoughts wandered.”

“They’ll do that in this place,” the bartender smiled before moving on, Seonghwa remained motionless. That...

...had never happened before.

He had mistaken many things across the centuries: grief for love, loneliness for desire, habit for purpose. But never this, his body did not forget itself. It did not invent sensations, and it certainly did not… he almost laughed.

Heartbeat.

How absurd that he was allowing nostalgia to masquerade as memory. New Orleans had always been dangerous in that regard. He was simply tired, that was all.

He lifted the glass, the bourbon reaching his lips yet he didn’t drink. Someone had entered his peripheral vision, he paid them no mind. A woman removed her raincoat near the entrance, shaking droplets from the dark fabric before offering an apologetic smile to the hostess. She laughed at something the older woman said, warm and unforced. The sound drifted across the room with impossible clarity, threading effortlessly between the saxophone and the murmured conversations. Seonghwa’s fingers tightened around the crystal.

No, not the laugh.

The feeling.

There it was again, that impossible pressure beneath his ribs.

A second phantom heartbeat.

Then another.

Slow.

Measured.

His eyes lifted before permission could be granted.

The movement startled him, it was instinct, his gaze crossed the room and it found you immediately. Not because you demanded attention,  quite the opposite. You weren’t trying, you stood beneath the warm glow of the entrance lamps, one hand tucked into the belt of your coat while the hostess spoke animatedly to you. Rain had kissed loose strands of hair that framed your face animated by easy expressions—curious eyes, a crooked smile offered without calculation, the sort of smile that belonged to someone who still believed strangers might become friends before the evening was over.

There was nothing theatrical about you, nothing that should have undone three centuries of impeccable composure. You were simply… Alive. Not in the way every mortal was alive. There was a peculiar brightness to you, as though the world had not yet succeeded in convincing you to dull yourself for its comfort. You looked at people when they spoke as if every story mattered, as if every passing moment deserved to be witnessed. Seonghwa had forgotten such people existed. The realisation struck him because he had once been one of them. Long before hunger, long before blood, long before eternity had taught him that every bright thing was destined to fade. You thanked the hostess with a touch to the older woman’s arm.

Such a small gesture.

So inconsequential.

And Seonghwa felt something inside him fracture, not painfully. Quietly, like ice surrendering to the first warmth of spring. His immortal existence had been defined by one unwavering truth. Everything ended: cities, kingdoms, families, love. Even grief, if given enough centuries. Yet as he watched you smile at a stranger… A thought entered his mind that had not visited him in over fifty years.

Perhaps not tonight.

His fingers slowly released the glass.

For the first time in decades tomorrow did not feel like a sentence.

Seonghwa did not realize he was watching until you began walking toward him, well not toward him. Toward the empty seat beside him.

Of course.

The rest of the bar had filled sometime during the evening, every velvet stool occupied save the one at his right. You slowed, glancing first at the vacant chair before turning those impossibly attentive eyes upon him. “Excuse me,” your voice was softer than he’d expected. “Is this seat taken?”

For the briefest moment, Seonghwa forgot language, a ridiculous thing. He spoke six languages with varying degrees of fluency. Yet a simple question seemed to catch somewhere between thought and speech. He rose instinctively, one hand resting lightly against the back of the chair. “It is not,” his voice emerged calm, and measured. “If it would please you.”

A smile, small and grateful. “Thank you.”

The bartender appeared almost immediately. “What can I get you?”

“A dirty martini,” you paused, “...extra olives.”

“Coming right up.” 

The exchange lasted mere seconds. Seonghwa stared fixedly ahead, he had perfected stillness centuries ago, he would not be discourteous enough to stare. Nor discourteous enough to acknowledge the peculiar awareness that now occupied every one of his senses. Coldness reached him first, not unpleasant, not the biting chill of winter, rather the lingering coolness left behind by rain, clinging to damp skin and fabric. It radiated gently from you, dissolving against the warmth of the crowded room.

Then—

Your scent.

His eyes closed,  only for an instant. Rainwater,  jasmine. Something impossibly soft... vanilla, perhaps.

No.

Not vanilla.

Books, old paper. The faint sweetness of aging pages. 

Beneath it all… you. Every mortal carried a scent no perfume could disguise Blood, life, and warmth. His kind often described it crudely: hunger. Seonghwa had always found that description lacking, blood did not merely smell of sustenance. It smelled of memory. Of childhood scraped knees, of racing hearts before first kisses, of laughter that stole one’s breath, of tears, of fear. Of every beautiful, fleeting thing reserved for those destined to die.

Yours...

God.

He had never encountered anything quite like it. Not sweeter, not stronger. Simply… familiar. Like hearing a melody one had loved long ago without remembering where. Something inside him leaned toward it before his body could object, his fingers tightened against the crystal tumbler.

No.

Absolutely not.

He had spent nearly three centuries mastering every instinct that separated predator from gentleman. He would not falter now, not over one woman, not over a scent. He lowered the bourbon to the polished wood with deliberate care, the glass did not tremble. His hands never did, only his thoughts.

Beside him, you thanked the bartender as your martini was set upon its coaster. “Perfect,” you plucked one olive free with the little silver pick, smiling to yourself before taking a sip. “...Mmm.” The quiet sound of satisfaction drew his attention despite every effort to remain detached. Seonghwa looked, just once. You caught him. There was no accusation in your expression, no embarrassment, only amused curiosity. “Good bourbon?” The question arrived lightly, conversationally.

Seonghwa regarded his untouched glass. “I could not honestly say.” 

One elegant brow lifted. “No?”

“I’ve yet to drink it.”

You looked from the nearly full bourbon...

...to him.

“...Then why order it?”

For the first time that evening—

for the first time in what felt like an age—

the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t merely polite. It was small and almost imperceptible, but real. “I’m beginning to suspect,” he said quietly, “that was the question all along.”

You blinked. Then laughed. It was nothing like the laughter echoing from the tables behind you. Yours came quietly, escaping before you could stop it, accompanied by the smallest shake of your head. “That’s... incredibly cryptic.”

“I’ve been told as much.”

“Frequently?”

“Once or twice,” the answer was delivered with such unwavering sincerity that you couldn’t tell whether he was joking. You studied him from the corner of her eye. Everything about him felt... curated. Not artificial, rather intentional. His suit fit as though it had been tailored for him alone, silver cufflinks caught the warm light whenever he moved his hands, though he scarcely moved at all. His posture remained impossibly straight without seeming rigid, shoulders relaxed, one hand resting lightly beside the untouched tumbler. Even the way he occupied silence felt practiced, comfortable. Most people rushed to fill it. He simply... existed within it.

“You know,” you said after another sip of your martini, “I almost didn’t come tonight.”

“Indeed?” 

“Mhm,” you rolled the olive between your teeth before setting the pick back down. “I've had one of those weeks where staying home in pyjamas sounds infinitely more appealing than putting on heels.”

“I confess I know very little of high heels.”

Another smile threatened on your face, “I would’ve never guessed.”

“No.”

You glanced at him fully this time, his expression remained composed, yet there was something so perfectly dry in his delivery that you laughed again. “You’re funnier than you let on.”

“I assure you, that was not my intention.”

“Oh, I think it was.”

Seonghwa inclined his head ever so slightly. “You are entitled to your suspicions.”

God.

Who talked like that?

Not in an affected way, not like someone performing sophistication. It sounded... natural. As though every sentence had been assembled with care before it ever reached his lips. You wondered how old he was. Mid-thirties, perhaps. Older? It was impossible to tell. There wasn’t a single line on his face, yet there was something profoundly settled about him. A patience you’d only ever seen in elderly professors or grandparents who had nothing left to prove.

“You aren’t from around here.”

His gaze drifted toward the quartet, “I was.”

“Were?”

“A very long time ago.”

You smiled, “So... college?”

A pause.

“...Something like that.”

Seonghwa hated lying but it had become necessary centuries ago. Not because he feared discovery but because the truth burdened others more than falsehood burdened him.

How old are you?

Three hundred and eight.

Where are you from?

A country whose borders no longer exist.

Do you have family?

Not anymore.

The answers had only ever invited pity or disbelief. Tonight… he found himself wishing he could answer honestly. He could not understand why.

“I come here every Thursday,” you said, swirling your martini absentmindedly. “Well... almost every Thursday.”

“A habit?”

“I like routines,” you shrugged, taking another sip of the liquor from the crystal glass. “They make life feel less chaotic.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes settled on you once more. “What an extraordinary privilege.”

You frowned. “...Routine?”

“To believe there shall be enough tomorrows to justify one,” the words escaped before he could stop them. Silence followed but not awkwardly.

You looked down into the clear liquid of your drink. “...That’s a sad way of looking at it.”

“Is it?”

“I think so.”

“Why?”

You rested your elbow against the bar. “Because tomorrow isn’t promised.”

“No.”

“So I’d rather have a Thursday tradition than spend every Thursday wondering whether there’s any point.” His gaze remained fixed upon you. You continued, unaware that every word was lodging somewhere deep inside him. “I mean…” You smiled sheepishly. “Maybe that’s naive.” 

“No,” his answer came immediately. “...It is not."

You looked surprised by the certainty in his voice. “I think people overcomplicate happiness,” you went on. “Everyone’s chasing these huge life-changing moments,” you gestured vaguely around the room before continuing. “But sometimes...” Your eyes wandered toward the stage, where the saxophonist had begun a slow, aching solo. “...Sometimes it’s just this.”

“The music?”

You nodded. “And the rain outside. A martini,” you lifted your glass. “The extra olives,” a grin tugged at the corner of your mouth. “And accidentally making conversation with the mysterious bourbon guy who apparently buys drinks for decorative purposes.”

For a heartbeat—

a real one, or the phantom of one—

Seonghwa forgot to breathe.

Not because of the joke. Because of the ease with which you occupied the moment. That was what unsettled him most. Not your smile, not your warmth, not even the strange, impossible pull that seemed to draw him toward you despite every instinct he had spent centuries mastering. It was the simplicity of it. You had entered his evening as naturally as the rain had entered the streets outside. You had taken a place beside him as though you belonged there, as though his silence was not something to be feared or filled, but merely something that could exist beside another person.

As though loneliness was not an inevitable fate.

As though it could simply...

be interrupted.

The thought was absurd. And yet, his gaze drifted toward the untouched bourbon resting before him. For decades, he had ordered drinks he never intended to finish. A glass in his hand made him appear human enough; a small performance of normalcy he had perfected long ago. But tonight—

Tonight, he reached for it.

The crystal was cool beneath his fingers. Slowly, almost cautiously, Seonghwa lifted the glass to his lips. The bourbon was familiar, he knew every note of it before it even touched his tongue. The richness of oak, the faint sweetness of vanilla, the sharp warmth of alcohol that lingered afterward. But memory was not the same as experience. For so long, everything had simply passed through him. Music, food, seasons, years. Beautiful things had become distant reflections, things he remembered enjoying rather than things he could still enjoy. But this—

This was different. The burn was real, the warmth was real. For one brief moment, the world reached him. 

Beside him, you watched the amber liquid disappear past his lips, your expression brightening with satisfaction. “Look at that,” your smile turned teasing. “The spell is broken.”

Seonghwa lowered the glass, placing it carefully against the dark mahogany. “It would appear so.” 

You rested your chin in your hand, looking at him with amusement. “And who, exactly, deserves credit for such a miraculous achievement?”

His gaze moved toward you. For a moment, he had no answer. Not because he did not know but because the truth felt far too vulnerable to say. “My companion.”

Your brows lifted. “Oh?”

“Indeed.”

“And what did I do?”

The question was asked lightly but Seonghwa found himself considering it with more seriousness than it deserved. You had not done anything extraordinary, you had not performed some impossible feat. You had simply sat beside him. You had spoken. You had laughed. You had treated him as though he were not something separate from the world.

“You reminded me,” he said quietly, “of the value of an evening.” His fingers rested against the edge of the glass. “An art I fear I had entirely forgotten.”

For once, you did not immediately tease him, you only watched him. Then, slowly, a smile appeared. “Are you always this formal?”

Seonghwa inclined his head slightly. “I was taught it was discourteous to be otherwise.”

A soft laugh escaped you, a simple sound, human sound. And once again, that strange phantom sensation stirred beneath his ribs.

A heartbeat that did not exist.

A memory of something he had lost.

“Well…” You leaned closer, only slightly. “Don’t stop.”

His eyes found yours. “Excuse me?”

“It’s charming.”

The word struck him with a quiet force he had not expected.

Charming.

For centuries, he had been called many things. Elegant. Beautiful. Intimidating. Mysterious. Cold. Dangerous. People looked at him and saw old wealth, old power, old secrets. They saw something distant. Something untouchable. But charming? No. That was different. That was a word belonging to ordinary moments, to warm conversations, to someone you enjoyed sitting beside. It was not a word reserved for legends or monsters. It was a word reserved for people. And somehow, impossibly, you had looked at him and found one.

Time, which had dragged behind him for decades like a chain he could never break, seemed to loosen its grip. The quartet shifted into another song. The saxophone fell quiet, replaced by the smooth trumpet. The bartender polished the counter once, then twice, never interrupting the quiet corner you had claimed together. Your martini disappeared and was replaced with another, the silver pick holding three fresh olives. Seonghwa’s bourbon remained mostly untouched. And yet, for the first time in longer than he could remember, he was not counting. Not the exits, not the footsteps around him, not the heartbeats filling the room, not the endless years ahead of him. He was simply… there. Talking.

You spoke of books first. Not simply stories, but the feeling of them. The smell of old pages, the worn edges of a beloved novel, the strange comfort of returning to a world that had waited patiently for you. “Old books are the closest thing humans have to time travel,” you said.

Seonghwa found himself smiling faintly. “An interesting perspective.”

“It’s true,” you turned your glass slowly between your fingers. “Someone held that book before you. Someone loved it before you. Maybe someone read the same sentence and felt the same thing you did,” your eyes drifted around the room. “You can feel when something has lived.”

The words lingered.

You spoke of the French Quarter next. The architecture, and history. The way the city carried pieces of every person who had passed through it. “I love things that have survived,” you said softly, your voice lowered, almost reverent. “Antiques. Old buildings. Jazz. They have stories. They’ve seen thousands of lives, and they carry those secrets with them.”

Seonghwa looked at you and he wondered if you understood the irony of your own words. You admired things that survived, yet you had no idea you were sitting beside one. He was older than every object in this room. Older than most of the stories hidden within these walls. He carried too many memories. Too many names. Too many ghosts. Then your gaze returned to him. Bright, and curious, unburdened by the centuries he carried.

“What’s the oldest thing you’ve ever seen?”

The question was innocent, and that was why it was dangerous. Because Seonghwa answered before caution could stop him. “The construction of the—” he stopped, the words froze.

A mistake. But after centuries of silence, even the smallest crack could become an opening.

You blinked.

“Construction of what?”

The construction of the French Opera House.

Seonghwa lowered his gaze to the bourbon. He had spent his entire existence guarding this truth not because he feared what others would think but because he knew what would come after. Fear. Questions. Distance. People did not know how to love something that could outlive them. And yet, looking at you now, he found himself too tired to build another wall. He was tired of pretending, tired of weaving careful lies around a truth that had become heavier with every passing century. For just a moment… he wanted to stop. “I’m very old.”

The confession was not dramatic, there was no grand revelation, only a quiet truth spoken by a man who had carried it for far too long.

You gave a small laugh, assuming it was another piece of his dry humour. “I figured.”

His eyes remained on the glass. “You did not.”

That made you pause.

Slowly, Seonghwa lifted his gaze. “I am older than this country.”

Your smile faded, and your eyes searched his face for amusement. For any sign that he was playing some elaborate game. There was none.

The silence stretched.

Then you laughed again. But this time it was uncertain. “...You’re serious.”

“I have not lied to you this evening,” and that was when he heard it. The change in your heartbeat, the subtle shift in your breathing, the sudden rush of fear. He smelled the adrenaline before he saw the colour leave your face. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the bar, and immediately, instinct overcame everything else. Not hunger. Not self-preservation. Concern. “Look at me.”

You did.

Seonghwa softened his voice.

“You needn’t be afraid.”

The command was gentle.

The panic loosened its hold. Your heartbeat slowed, shoulders relaxed, mind remained clear. You drew in a slow breath. “...Did you just do something?” 

Seonghwa looked away, “Yes.”

“What?”

A pause. Then, quietly: “I allowed you to remain calm.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, “You can do that?”

“I can.”

It should have frightened you. Instead, you studied him. Then, somehow: “Do you sleep in coffins?”

Seonghwa stared. “...Good heavens, no.” 

A tiny smile appeared, “Can you go in the sun?” 

“I find it highly unpleasant.”

“So...” You tilted your head. “Sunscreen?”

For a moment, he simply looked at you. Then he sighed softly. “In rather excessive quantities, yes.”

The absurdity of the conversation settled over both of you.

And somehow—

impossibly—

you laughed.

So did he.

Quietly. Briefly. But genuinely. The sound echoed through the shadowed corner of the club. And that was what finally destroyed him. Not the fact that you knew. Not the fact that you were sitting beside a creature that should have terrified you. But that you knew exactly what he was… and you were still smiling. For the first time in decades, Seonghwa did not feel like a relic. Not a monster. Not a ghost. Just a man sitting beside someone who made the world feel alive again. The laughter faded slowly, not because either of you wanted it to. Because all laughter eventually ends, that was something Seonghwa knew better than anyone. His smile remained for a moment longer than it should have. Then reality returned. The woman beside him knew. Not everything but enough. You knew the impossible, the truth hidden beneath three centuries.

“I am weirdly calm about this,” you glanced at him.

“I told you to be.”

A pause. Then the faintest hint of amusement returned to your face. “Although I do have some questions.”

“I imagined you might.”

“First…” You lifted one finger. “Do you have fangs?” 

The question was so unexpectedly ordinary that he almost forgot how to respond. “Yes.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

“That is typically considered one of the more recognizable characteristics.”

“Can I see?”

“No,” it came immediately.

You laughed, “That was suspiciously fast.”

“It was also necessary.”

“Why?”

His expression softened. “Because you are still human.”

The teasing faded slightly, not entirely. There it was again, that small, inconvenient reminder: You were temporary. He was not. Every moment he spent with you was a moment he would eventually remember alone. 

“I have to admit something,” your voice pulled him from his thoughts. “I am not sure if I should be terrified or fascinated.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Most would choose the former.”

“Most people aren’t sitting next to a vampire in a jazz club at midnight.”

“A reasonable observation.”

“Do you always answer like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve stepped out of a century-old novel.”

He lowered his gaze. “Perhaps I have simply remained in one.”

The answer should have been sad, you heard the sadness and that was what frightened him. Because you heard the things he did not say. 

“How long have you been alone?”

He looked at you. Silence, a dangerous one. Because that question was far more terrifying than any question about his immortality. He could answer how old he was. He could explain what he was. But loneliness? That required admitting something was missing. His fingers tightened slightly around the glass. “I do not remember.”

Your expression changed. Not into pity, something gentler. And somehow that was worse. The room had grown quieter. The musicians had begun packing away their instruments. The last notes of the evening lingered in the air, soft and fading. 

A goodbye. Everything eventually became one, Seonghwa knew that better than anyone. “I should go,” the words came automatically, the old instinct, old escape.

You tilted your head. “Do you want to?”

The question stopped him because the answer came too quickly.

No. He did not want to.

And that terrified him.

“You make things very difficult.”

A small smile appeared on your lips. “Do I?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

He looked at you for a long moment. Because you make me remember. Because you make me want. Because I had finally accepted the end, and then you walked through the door.

Before Seonghwa could answer, you closed the distance. Not dramatically, nor seductively. Your fingers brushed his. The contact was brief, barely there. Yet Seonghwa went completely still because every instinct told him to pull away. Every reason he had built over centuries rose at once. You were mortal. You would age. You would die. And Seonghwa? He would remain. He knew this ending. He had lived it countless times.

“Don’t,” the plea left him before he could stop it.

You paused, eyes searching his. “Don't what?”

He had no answer.

Don’t make me want this. Don’t make me remember what it feels like to be alive. Don’t give me something I cannot keep.

But you were already too close. “I don’t think you actually want to leave.” His breath caught, a human would have inhaled, he did not need to. But for a moment, he almost did. Your lips touched his for a brief moment, and Seonghwa forgot every language he had ever learned. For one impossible second, there was no history, no centuries, no graves, no inevitable ending waiting patiently in the distance.

Only warmth.

You.

The unbearable softness of being wanted.

His hands remained at his sides, he did not move because moving meant admitting that he wanted this. That he had wanted this from the moment you walked through the door. Then you pulled back slightly, enough to look at him, and that was when he realized something. You were giving him the choice: you were not asking him to take, you were asking him to stay. The realisation broke whatever remained of his restraint.

Slowly—

carefully—

as though approaching something fragile enough to disappear—

his hand lifted.

His fingers touched your cheek, cold against your warmth and for the first time in decades… he allowed himself to want. Only for a moment. He had spent so long measuring his existence in losses that he had forgotten what it meant to desire something without immediately mourning its ending. He knew better. He knew exactly what stood between you. He knew how this story ended. He had watched it happen before. So he should have stepped away, he should have thanked you for the evening, offered some elegant farewell, and disappeared into the night before this fragile warmth became something he could no longer bear to lose. That would have been the kind thing, the honourable thing, the thing he had always done. But then you looked at him and Seonghwa found himself making a terrible, selfish bargain. Just this once. One moment. One breath. He would allow himself this. He would not think of tomorrow. He would not think of the inevitable grief waiting patiently at the end of every human connection. He would simply exist here. With you. For one moment more.

The movement felt unfamiliar, almost impossible. As though his body remembered something his heart had long forgotten. His fingertips brushed your cheek, warm and alive. The contrast should have been unbearable. Instead, it was the most beautiful thing he had felt in decades. Your breath caught softly, not in fear but in surprise. And Seonghwa closed his eyes for the briefest moment. He should stop. He should stop now. Before there was more to regret. Before he crossed the final distance. But he had already crossed the most dangerous distance of all. He had let himself hope. Your eyes met his and in that quiet space between one heartbeat and the next, Seonghwa made the choice. Not forever, he was not foolish enough to believe in forever. Just now. Just this. His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, an almost reverent gesture, memorising something he already knew he would lose. Then he leaned closer. Slowly, giving you every opportunity to change your mind. You did not.

The kiss was gentle. Not the desperate hunger of a creature starved for centuries. Not possession nor taking. Something far more dangerous.

Tenderness.

For a moment, Seonghwa forgot what he was. Forgot what he would eventually have to do. There was only the warmth of you beneath his hand. The softness of your lips. The quiet sound of your breath. The impossible miracle of being close to someone who knew the truth. He had forgotten that he could feel this. That he could want this. That there was still some part of him capable of reaching for something instead of simply letting it pass. And that was the cruelest part. Because the moment it ended, he knew. He knew he would remember it forever. A mortal moment. A fleeting moment. A single evening in a New Orleans jazz club. And somehow, it would become one of the most permanent things he had ever known.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested lightly against yours. His eyes remained closed. For one final second, he allowed himself to pretend. That this was possible. That he could stay. That he had not spent centuries preparing himself for goodbye. Then reality returned, and with it came the terrible knowledge that he had broken the one rule he had never allowed himself to break.

He had given his dead heart something to lose.

The rain had stopped. New Orleans shimmered beneath the streetlights, the pavement dark and gleaming. Seonghwa had walked these streets for longer than most buildings had stood. He knew every turn, every shadow, every place where history had left its mark. And yet, tonight, the city felt unfamiliar. Because you were beside him.

“You are quiet,” your voice pulled him from his thoughts,  he looked at you.

“I am thinking.”

“About what?” 

“About how strange it is.”

You tilted your head, “What is?”

“That after all this time…” His voice softened. “I had convinced myself I wanted nothing,” the honesty of the confession lingered between you.

“And now?”

His gaze moved over your face.

Now.

A dangerous word. 

“Now I find myself wishing for things I have no right to ask for.”

“Who decides what you have a right to?”

He almost smiled, “If only it were that simple.”

“Maybe it is.”

And for one impossible moment, Seonghwa believed you. That was the tragedy. He believed you. The thought was so simple, so impossibly human. Maybe it could be that easy. Maybe a person did not need permission to want something beautiful. Maybe he was not destined only to watch life pass him by. Maybe, after centuries of saying goodbye, he could finally allow himself to stay. The hope was fragile and terrifying. And yet, for one fleeting moment, it was enough. His hand remained against your cheek, his thumb barely moving, as though he feared that even the slightest motion would break the illusion. You looked at him with such certainty that it almost hurt. As though you did not see the years behind his eyes. As though you did not see the graves. The names. The endless procession of people he had loved and lost. You only saw him.

And he had to let you go.

Not because he wanted to. Because the thought of you carrying the weight of him—the fear, the danger, the inevitable grief—was unbearable. He had spent centuries taking from life. Taking moments. Taking memories. Taking whatever little pieces of humanity he could hold onto. He would not take your future too. Slowly, he lowered his hand. The loss of warmth was immediate. And somehow, it was worse than any wound. “I am sorry.”

Your brows drew together. “For what?”

He looked at you, memorising everything he had no right to keep. The softness of your expression, the curiosity in your eyes. “I should not have allowed this evening to happen.”

You went quiet.

He hated that he was asking for something, he hated even more that you would give it. “I have lived long enough to know the consequences of wanting something I cannot keep.”

Your expression softened. “And what if I don’t care about the consequences?”

For a moment, Seonghwa saw another path. A different life, one where he stayed. One where he saw your smile again. One where he walked beside you through the years instead of watching you disappear from them. But he had seen that story before. He knew how it ended. The mortal heart was not built for eternity. Only moments. And perhaps that was what made them precious.

“You deserve a life untouched by my sorrow.”

“Is that what you think you are?” The question caught him off guard. “A sorrow?” 

For a moment, he had no answer. Because once, long ago, he had been a man. Then he had become something else. Something caught between existence and absence, something that survived. “Sometimes,” he admitted quietly, “I think that is all I have been for a very long time.”

“You don’t have to be.”

His eyes closed, only briefly because if he looked at you too long, he would fail. He knew it. He would choose selfishness, he would choose one more night. One more conversation. One more morning he had no right to hope for. And he could not do that. Not to you. Not when you had given him the greatest gift anyone had given him in decades. You had reminded him he was still capable of feeling. He would not punish you for it. His eyes opened. The decision was made. “Look at me.”

Your gaze met his.

The command was softer this time, not an order but a farewell. The world seemed to quiet around you. Everything faded. “I want you to listen carefully,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “You will remember tonight. You will remember the music,” a pause, “the rain against the windows,” another, “the taste of your drink,” his gaze never left yours. “You will remember that you had a wonderful evening,” the smallest fracture appeared in his composure. “But…” His voice softened. “You will not remember me,” the words hurt more coming out than he had imagined.

“Why?”

The question was so simple yet his throat tightened. Because you had asked the one thing he could not answer without breaking.

Because I love you. Because you are the first person in half a century who made me wish for another day. Because I would rather disappear from your memory than become the reason your life changes forever. 

His thumb brushed once against your cheek, the last touch, last thing he would allow himself. “I am sorry.”

“You will continue living, you will see places you have never seen, walk streets in cities you have yet to discover.”

The words became harder to say.

“You will meet people who will change your life,” but he continued. “You will fall in love,” his expression softened. “More than once, perhaps,” a tiny, sorrowful smile. “You will be loved in return,” his fingers brushed gently against your hand. “You will grow old surrounded by people you love.” The ache in his chest was unbearable but he endured it. Because this was what love was supposed to be. Not possession, not keeping. Letting someone go where they could be happiest. “You will have a long life,” his voice almost broke, “a beautiful one.” The final words left him barely above a whisper. “One that you will cherish.”

The compulsion settled gently, not like a command but like falling asleep. Your eyes softened, the tension left your shoulders, and Seonghwa watched the impossible happen. The evening remained. The memories remained. Everything remained. Except him. He stepped back and for a moment, you simply looked at him. Not knowing why your heart hurt. Not knowing why saying goodbye to a stranger felt like mourning something you had lost. Then you smiled and Seonghwa knew he had made the right choice.

You deserved every beautiful thing waiting for you.

Even if none of those things included him.

“Goodbye,” the word was barely audible but he knew you heard it even if you would never remember.

And as the city swallowed the last trace of your footsteps, Seonghwa finally understood that immortality was not the curse of never dying—it was the curse of remembering everything worth living for. 

He had spent a century longing for the end, never knowing the cruelest punishment would be finding a reason to remain.

[lil-elle]

Why am I sobbing

[wooyos]

SEONGHWA SONGZIO 26A/W Collection: 'Crushed Cast Constructed'

[kangsyeosang]

seeun calling himself flat 💀

[lil-elle]

PARK SEEUN HELLO!?!??! CAN U NOT

[yunhodaily]

[lil-elle]

Wheels and Meals

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

♡ chef!wooyoung x biker!reader (fem)

♡ synopsis: wooyoung runs his own korean street food truck, parked in the same corner of the same little parking lot every night along with a few other specialty trucks. after a particularly lively night, wooyoung is the last one left cleaning up before being able to lock up and leave for the night, when you pull up on your motorcycle and practically beg him to whip you something up. he does, dirtying his already clean space just for you. slowly but surely, you become his favourite regular, both during and after hours.

♡ wc: 13.3k

♡ content: smut with plot, fluff, two doms fighting it out, bitchass fox wooyoung :3, chef woo is a MUNCH

♡ warnings: MDNI!! 18+, smut, cursing, suggestive talk, smoking, oral f!receiving, edging, fingering, unprotected sex (DON'T DO THIS!), hickeys, brief 'predator' 'prey' talk (but not in a weird way), THE L WORD

♡ song rec: kiss it better ~ rihanna

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The glittering, blurring colours of traffic lights as they flew past you. The gradient of the setting evening sun. The warm, summer wind whipping your braids that hung out under your helmet, snapping against the leather of the back of your jacket. The slow, sexy electric guitar filtering into your ears through your airpods, mixing beautifully with the growl and cry of the engine as your bike traces along the streets of the city outskirts. It was everything you loved and needed after a long, tiring week of pushing paper.

Stopped at a red light, the Friday evening traffic perfectly heavy and lively, your favourite girl rumbling beneath you, you finally felt relaxed for the first time since Monday morning.

But with that relaxation came the hollowing pain of your empty stomach, groaning for something greasy and delicious. The light flickered green and you sped off with a violent rev, splitting the lanes, making many other blue-collar workers in their cars pissy. The scenery melting together into an artful mix of colours as you picked up speed caught all your attention once more and you rode aimlessly until the splashes of pink and orange in the sky had been replaced by a deep, mesmerising, and flawless blue, and the roads your were traversing cleared out to become your own personal playground.

You pulled off the freeway you'd ended up on and felt your stomach dip with gravity as the exit took you off of the suspended overpass and back onto level ground. An angry roar immediately followed that, reminding you of the once forgotten, and now much worse, hunger you carried. Though, just as the thought crossed your mind, a free-standing chalkboard came into view. You slowed and pulled over to the curb, close enough to read the colourful chalk scrawled onto it: 'Tiger Woo's Classic Korean!' with a large arrow that pointed into an almost completely empty parking lot with a single food-truck standing in the corner, the silhouette of someone fluttering about in the small space, back-lit by a warm orange light inside. Curiosity and the fervent protesting of your stomach got the better of you and you kicked you foot back onto the rest of your bike and brought yourself into the lot.

There was obvious evidence of a fair few number of people that must've been there earlier in the night: public bins full to the brim with different coloured food wrappings and packaging, some pieces of litter scattered here and there, and unidentifiable foodstuffs smushed into the concrete in various places.

The gentle rumble of your bike as you pulled up to the lone truck caught the attention of the man inside, who had been wiping down the counter that sat at the back of the truck. You pulled to a stop parallel to the truck itself, tugged your helmet off, and finally got an actual look at him. For some reason, you assumed he'd be an older Korean man that everyone called 'uncle', not a devilishly handsome man in his 20's, long-ish black hair that was longer at the back, button up shirt under his apron that had a few of the top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to reveal a large and beautifully intricate lineart tattoo along his forearm.

You kicked the stand out for your bike and hopped off, leaving the helmet on the seat, and sauntered up as you smoothed out all the fly-aways that'd escaped from your french braids.

He turned his body a bit, hand with a damp cloth in it still on the counter even as he looked down at you. "Sorry, I'm shutting up shop right now."

You sighed and crossed your arms onto the counter that protuded from the window, plastering a pout on your face.

"Awww what? No way."

He smiled and turned the rest of his body to face you, crossing his own arms as he leant back against the surface he was just wiping.

"Mhmm. Sorry, love." He drawled, clearly amused by your dramatic display. Your pout dissipated into a smile of your own, a subtle flutter in your stomach telling you what your brain already recognised: this man was hot.

"Really? You can't whip something up for me really quick. I'm starving." You reciprocated his air of playful flirtiness in your tone, but you didn't actually expect anything. You definitely didn't expect him to seriously look around the already mostly tidied up kitchen with a hum, before twisting his body to peek into a fridge that stood tall on the very right ride of the truck. He nodded and shut it before turning back and leaning out of the window a bit, giving you a better view of him. He had a black string hanging from his neck, two silver rings threaded through it that glinted in the light just above him. His ear lobes were pierced at least twice on each side, with an indutsrial bar on the right ear and a cuff on the left. You even caught a glimpse of metal at his eyebrow, hiding under his long bangs. Tatted and pierced? Lucky you.

"I think I can fry up some quick Bindaetteok." His otherwise perfect American accent gave way to a heavy Korean pronunciation of the word, one you'd obviously never heard before, not like you cared as all of your focus was on how sexily it fell from his tongue.

"You're gonna have to tell me what that is." You smiled innocently, earning a chuckle from the man as he started to pull out a cutting board and knife from cupboards above the window, and various containers of veggies, kimchi, eggs, and some beige-looking paste from the aforementioned fridge. He placed them all down on the counter on the inside of the window, as if intentionally giving you a little cooking show along with your order.

"Mung bean pancakes." He stated as he positioned some shoots of green onion on the chopping board before going to town on them with the knife. His movements were quick and practiced, forearm slightly tensed and eyes focused as he sped through the onion, having it completely diced within a few seconds.

"Pancakes? Are they sweet?"

He looked up at you, then down at the green onion he was chopping, and then back at you, a smirk now painting his lips. You smiled, the back of your neck feeling a bit warm.

"Stupid question." You followed the statement up with a giggle and he showed his teeth for a second before going back into focus mode. He pulled out a large metal bowl and transported the chopped onions into it, then throwing in a handful of what looked like sprouts, a spoonful of kimchi, an egg, a clove of garlic he'd quickly minced, the rest of what he had left of that creamy beige mixture in the disposable tupperware container, followed by seasonings and a swirl of sesame oil. He moved like a bartender, actions fluid and attractive, except instead of mixing up an intricate drink you'd never heard of, he was putting together some hopefully delicious dish you couldn't pronounce.

With a wooden spoon, he held the bowl close to his body and stirred the mixture, letting you notice how likely toned he was under his clothing, which correlated with how much strength his arm was putting in to simply mix everything together.

He placed the now incorporated bowl of batter back down and smiled at you, leaning against the counter again to catch his breath. "Liking the show?" The question confirmed what you had already suspected: he was purposefully putting on a performance for you. The idea made your pulse jump.

"Absolutely." You responded unashamedly, and he chuckled.

He flicked on the gas he'd already turned off and heated up a cleaned pan to make the pancakes, just for you. You watched as he suavely swirled more oil into the pan, then dumped and spread two spoonfuls of the batter on, the heated surface responding with a loud sizzle. The smell immediately hit your nose: savoury, aromatic, and nutty. Your mouth was positively watering by the time he had cooked up four beautifully golden and crispy pancakes, placed them on a paper plate, and slid them towards you with a small pot of soy sauce mixed with honey, vinegar, and a bit more oil.

The crispy, oily cakes steamed enticingly, and you immediately reached for one with your fingers. He leaned down, chin perched in his hands, as he watched you with a smile.

"Careful. They're hot." He stated, and you rolled your eyes with a smile, not even flinching as you pinched the cake between your fingers. He held his hands up in defense with a chuckle before returning to his previous position again.

You chowed down with no time to waste, desperately needing to satiate your raging stomach, and immediately melted. It tasted just as it smelled: warm and greasy, nutty and fragrant, hearty and starchy. It was everything you needed in that moment. An audible hum of satisfaction carried from your throat and he chuckled again before standing up straight and starting to pack up his truck again. You finished the first one and sighed, taking a moment to appreciate the blessing the man had granted you.

"Good?" He called over his shoulder with a prideful smile as he started to fill a sink in the back to wash all the fresh dishes he'd created.

"Delicious." You replied with an exaggeratedly heavy breath, like it was the first water you'd had in days. He smiled and huffed, turning away and speedily washing up before bringing his attention back to you, who'd already gotten to the third cake.

"Why are you out so late anyway?" He asked, leaning on his hands again and showing off those forearms, giving you two things to drool over.

"Just...taking my girl for a ride."

He raised an eyebrow and you gestured back to your motorcyle, making him nod with understanding.

"Been a long week," you continued, "It's the best way to unwind." You took another large bite of the cake and he scooped up the last one for himself.

"Yeah? Did I help?" He took a small bite of his portion and smiled so sweetly, a contrast to how he'd been acting up to that point. You nodded happily and finished your meal with one last hum.

"So much. I really was starving, y'know? How do I pay you?"

You'd already tugged your phone out to pay but he popped the last bite into his mouth and covered it with his hand as he chewed, shaking his head. He swallowed and wiped his fingers off on his apron.

"No need."

You blinked, a little stunned that this guy who'd stayed out longer and made a mess of his freshly cleaned truck because of you, was now refusing payment.

"Then...," you slipped your phone into the back pocket of your jeans and stood on your toes to lean over and observed the slight mess still scattered about his counter, "let me help you clean, at least."

He smiled and put a hand up in defense. "Not a chance."

You pouted, letting your feet fall back flat on the ground. "But..."

"Just come back again."

Those words sent a thrill through you, not only at the idea of eating such delicious food again, but at the excitement of seeing the sexy chef that provided it to you. You nodded immediately, stepping back towards your bike with a smile.

"Deal!"

"And it better be during normal hours!" He called back. "When I have the facilities to make you something even better!"

You giggled, loosening the strap on your helmet. "I don't know how you're going to top those bin...those pancakes!"

He laughed at how you instantly gave up on the pronunciation before leaning forward and cupping his hands to yell back just as you slipped your heavy helmet on.

"Don't worry, I'm great at topping!"

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

What stayed in your head that whole weekend was the thought of seeing him again, eating his food again, the fact you never even got his name, and those last words he said before you sped off. The engine of your bike wasn't the only thing purring between your thighs that night, but you had no idea if he even meant it the way it sounded.

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Monday came fast but the day went slow. When you were finally freed from that place you used only for the money, you slipped your leather jacket and helmet on, and you were on the road faster than ever. The sun had only just begun to set and you retraced in your head exactly where you went to get to that beautifully quaint parking lot. Luckily, you knew those outskirt streets like you knew the inside of your own bike, and you were pulling up to the much more lively lot in just about 10 minutes.

You parked at the edge of the lot and hung your helmet on your handlebars. The crowds you'd assumed gathered there were real, groups of people fluttering about, grabbing food and drinks from many different trucks you hadn't seen on Friday night, talking and laughing in circles. Someone even had a large, loud, standing speaker (one of the truck owners, you assumed), and they were blasting music to mix with the sizzling and chopping sounds coming from each truck. None of the other ones interested you, though.

You strolled up to 'Tiger Woo's Classic Korean' with a smile, your eyes locking on the familiar man behind the counter, handing someone a cardboard tray with a cute fish-shaped pastry on it. When the person walked away and his eyes landed on you, recognition flooding them, your stomach did a flip.

"Hey beautiful stranger." He smirked, leaning down with a tilt of his head. You immediately matched his energy, putting your weight on the protruding counter with a smirk of your own and a bitten lip.

"Y/n." You stated. "Now I'm not a stranger."

"Still beautiful though." His eyes ran over your face, sending a thrill through you, before he stood up straight again.

"And you're...," you stepped back to look at the sign above the window, "Woo?" You leaned forward again, smile wide and cheeks pink. His mouth matched yours immediately.

"Wooyoung," he clarified, and you nodded.

"Why are you 'Tiger'?" You asked curiously with a bite to your lip, something that was becoming an involuntary habit specifically around him.

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Because I'm Korean." You tilted your head, smile falling in confusion. His cheeks grew a bit red at that. "Because, like...the peninsula of Korea is said to look like a tiger...? I don't know, I just thought it sounded cool."

His suddenly bashful smile endeared you and you nodded, leaning your cheek on your hand.

"Ohhh. Like how Italy looks like a boot?"

He snapped his fingers at you with a smile.

"Exactly." The two of you giggled before he leaned forward on the counter again with that same charming smirk. "Okay, anyways. Ready for me to rock your world?"

There it was again. The man was purposefully driving you insane with innuendos. It was even worse that time too as he was in the peak of the evening, red climbing up his neck from the heat and skin shiny with a layer of sweat that made him look sexier than usual. You had to bite back.

"Depends what part of my world you're rocking." You let your own eyes run over him, slow and deliberate, and you could've sworn he let out an affected huff in response. When he replied, his voice was just a bit more gravelly.

"Whatever part you want."

The silence that came after was tense, eyes locked together, your lip bitten. He smirked and stepped back again, straightening out his apron.

"But, let's keep it to your taste buds for tonight."

He started pulling things from the fridge like he'd already decided what was being made, and you peeked over nosily.

"I don't get to decide what I want?"

He plopped his supplies down on the counter and shook his head.

"Mm-mm. I'm making you the best thing on the menu."

The feminine urge to say 'I wish you were on the menu' almost got the better of you, but you decided to rein it in when he put his focusing face on.

"And what would that be?" You settled for a much tamer response.

He thought for a moment, pushing his lips out in a purse before leaning onto his elbows on the counter.

"Okay, I'll give you one choice. Savoury or sweet?"

Something hearty and savoury sounded like heaven after another long day with an empty stomach, but you couldn't deny yourself the craving for a sweet treat. After a bit of thinking, you smiled and shot back with, "Sweet!"

His own smile widened and he nodded, returning the ingredients he'd already brought out back to the fridge, and then brought out a large jar of batter and smaller container of red paste.

"You don't make all these ingredients here, do you?" You inquired curiously, thinking back to how everything was in containers the last time you were there as well. He shook his head as he placed the two ingredients on the counter and flipped open the heavy lid of what looked like a panini press, but it had little shaped molds indented into it.

"Not usually. I only come out here in the evening so I spend the morning preparing as much as I can at home. It's just quicker and easier that way."

You nodded in understanding, watching with mesmerised eyes as he filled a piping bag with a small amount of the batter before tucking the larger jar back in the fridge safely. With precision and strong hands, he filled the hot molds in the press halfway with the batter, let it cook for a second, then spooned some of that red paste right into the centre, before topping it off with some more batter. He closed the press tightly, the batter letting out a light squeal in protest.

"So...gonna tell me what it is?"

He smirked, already grabbing a paper plate and some napkins. "Bungeoppang."

You stared at him, half clueless but half just completely struck with attraction again at the sudden expression of his Korean speech. He chuckled lightly.

"Basically, fish shaped bread. It's like a sweet pastry filled with red bean paste."

"Beans??"

"They're sweet." He laughed softly and lifted the lid of the press, previously liquid batter now crispy and golden. It was what you'd seen him handing the last customer he'd served before you approached.

"I'll take your word for it."

He used a skewer to pop the two pastries he'd made out of the mold and settle them on the plate, sliding it to you. They looked so deliciously warm, steamy, and fluffy, and you already felt your mouth watering. Without hesitation, you reached to grab one of the steaming pastries with your fingers, only to be met by his hand on yours, pushing it away. The contact sent little shivers over your skin, and his other hand brought one of the napkins over to hand it to you.

"They're hot. Grab it with this."

You took the napkin but smirked up at him and sighed.

"The fresh-off-the-pan pancakes didn't hurt me last time. I think I'll be okay." You teased.

"Still." He responded completely serious, his firm eye contact making your heart do a little jump.

You were careful with how you grabbed the little fish, pinching it by the tail as the napkin acted like a barrier between you and heat exuding from the crispy dough. You giggled as you held it up, wiggling it around in a motion that mimicked an actual fish jumping out of the water, and he laughed with an amused exasperation. You gave one last smile before chowing down, immediately huffing out the steam that filled your mouth like a puff of a cigarette. Then the delicious delicate sweetness of the treat hit your tongue: a perfectly crispy yet fluffy bread similar to a waffle, with a smooth, sweet, and slightly sticky filling which you assumed were the beans. You hummed happily, closing your eyes.

"They are sweet!"

He laughed, picking up the other one for himself. "It's not like I'd lie to you."

You giggled, covering your mouth with your hand, before swallowing and feeling comfortable to talk and laugh freely without grossing out the insanely hot man in front of you.

"I don't know! I don't know you!" You laughed, leaning forward. He chuckled, tearing a small piece of the tail off of his own pastry.

"I'd like you to." He stated so casually, and popped the piece of the treat in his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. You could only stare at him, smiling with sparkling eyes. He finished chewing and swallowed, adams apple bobbing enticingly. "I hope I've made that clear enough to you, y/n."

He was so confident and bold, unlike anyone you'd met; someone that wasn't shy about what he wanted. Needless to say, you really liked that.

"You have, Wooyoung. And I came back, didn't I? What do you think that means?" You tilted your head, your lips curled up in playful grin. His smile widened, showing all his teeth like the self-proclaimed tiger he was.

"You want to know me too?" He was leant forward out of the window, one elbow on the counter, chin in his palm, other hand dangling the bungeoppang like it was prey he'd caught himself. In that sense, maybe he thought you were the fish in the scenario, but you weren't that easy. You shrugged and took another bite of your pastry, turning your head away in a coy manner that made his sharp eyes follow. The game had begun.

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You'd made that quaint but lively little spot your regular dinner spot for the rest of the week, the beautiful man in the Korean street food truck making you something new every night; dishes that always blew you away. Idle chatter mixed with playful banter, dashed with tantalising flirtation and seduction. Each night with him felt like you were a pot of water slowly boiling, and every word that fell from his lips was his way of turning up the heat to make you bubble over faster. But you were stubborn and you tried just as hard to break the man as he did you.

Late Friday night, you'd stayed with him until every other person and truck had peeled out of the lot, leaving you idly chatting to him as he cleaned. You gazed around the streelight-lit space and smiled.

"Deja vu."

He chuckled as he finished tucking away all his clean dishes.

"At least you're letting me clean my truck up in peace this time." He joked, making you huff and roll your eyes.

"Excuse me. I didn't force you to cook for me."

"You basically did." He popped up from where he was bent down under the window, closing the cabinet there. "Those eyes bewitched me." He crossed his arms on the window frame and leaned his head on them, smiling with teeth. You leaned in a bit yourself.

"You seem pretty happy for someone so 'bewitched'." You laughed, your stomach tingling as you held his gaze.

"I am." He said, straight forward, and you bit your lip. His eyes immediately fell to where your teeth sunk in, unashamed, bringing that tingling sensation in your belly even lower. He sighed and stood up to his full height again. "Let me finish cleaning up. Wait for me?"

He purposefully widened his eyes like a pleading puppy, to which you laughed and nodded as heat covered your cheeks.

He quickly wiped everything down before shutting up the window, stepping out, and locking up the door to the truck. It was the first time you weren't looking up at him through that window - the first time there was nothing between you and him. You found your own pulse picking up excitedly as he leaned against the side of the truck next to you. You watched, enraptured, as he undid his apron and slung it over his shoulder, before tugging a single cigarette out of the pocket of his jeans and placing it delicately between his lips. His hands patted around his different pockets as if looking for something, and he cursed softly. In a swift move, you presented your own light and flicked the cap off, igniting the flame and bringing it up to the end of the cigarette in his mouth. His narrowed eyes landed on yours, the flame reflected in them, and for a moment it felt as if that flame was coming from his soul as opposed to your own lighter.

When the cigarette crackled gently, you pulled your lighter away and buried it back into the pocket of your leather jacket. He took a long puff with closed eyes before blowing it out into the warm night air. His lips then curled into a smile and he plucked the cigarette from his lips, eyes opening to shift to you again.

"Should've known by the look of you and that bike that you smoked."

"Are you stereotyping me right now?" You teased, turning your body to face him, shoulder leant against the cool metal of the truck.

"Yeah." He chuckled and popped the smoke back between his lips, to which you smoothly plucked out and brought to your own mouth. You made sure his eyes stayed trained on you as you took a long drag of his cigarette, his pupils dilating, the blackness of them reflecting the smouldering orange end of the paper tube. You took it between two fingers and blew the smoke into his face, to which his gaze didn't waver. It made your stomach feel pleasantly heavy and the space between your thighs extra warm.

You smiled sweetly, the expression contrasting your obviously seductive actions, and handed the cigarette back to him. He took a breath before chuckling and taking another drag for himself.

"You are something else." He said as he sighed out the nicotine, tapping the smoke with one finger to dust off the ash at the end. You giggled happily, a proud smile on your face.

He sighed and gazed up at the sky, clear and dark, an uninterrupted blue with not a single visible star - the cost of city living.

"I'm usually exhausted after these busy Fridays...," he started, then smiled, "but I'm wide awake right now."

You hummed and followed his gaze up into the sky. An idea struck you and a scheming grin spread across your lips, chest ticklish with excitement and nerves.

"Wanna go for a ride?" You nodded your head towards your bike standing peacefully on the other side of the lot. His smirk immediately matched yours and he flicked his cigarette into the asphalt to stomp it with his foot.

"Anything that involves you and 'riding' excites me."

It wasn't like his other innuendoes that could be excused away or be the fault of your own dirty mind. It was blatant and vulgar, the nature of it making the air that blew between you feel charged.

"Dirty." You drawled with a smile, followed by a bite to your bottom lip.

"Just being honest." He waved a hand and turned away to walk over to your bike. It was all the answer you needed.

You jogged up after him, getting ahead to reach your beauty before he did. You eagerly grabbed the helmet and shoved it into his hands.

"Wear this."

He obeyed, undoing the strap.

"Do you have another one?" He asked with a raised brow, earning a guilty hum and smile from you.

"Nooo...but it's fine! I'll go slow and it'll just be around the block."

He sighed, brows furrowed as he chewed the inside of his cheek. The way his eyes were trained on you, concerned and unconvinced, had you really considering what he said about 'riding'. You put your own pouty eyes on and leaned close to him.

"I promise it'll be okay. Please...?" You fluttered your lashes up at him and watched happily as his adams apple bobbed in response.

"...You make a compelling argument."

You giggled, pushing the helmet in his hands to his chest. He finally smiled wryly and gave in, sweeping his hair back to slot it onto his head.

You swung your leg over the bike and turned the key, the beast purring to life beneath you - your favourite feeling. That is until he got on behind you and his larger thighs bracketed your hips, the warmth of his chest against your back quickly jumping to the top of your 'favourite feelings' list.

"This feels a bit backwards." He chuckled, the sound muffled under the helmet. You giggled and looked over your shoulder, squinting your eyes to meet his through the tinted visor.

"Feeling emasculated, Tiger?" You smirked, only to feel your heart jump into your throat when his large, warm hands unashamedly slipped under your jacket to wrap around your waist.

"Not at all." He said casually as you whipped your head back around to stare forward, too stubborn to let him see the way your cheeks bloomed with colour. He leaned down to nuzzle his chin against your shoulder, hands squeezing at your torso, rumpling the thin black blouse you wore under your jacket. "What's this?"

His hands moved up and down your waist, feeling the fabric and, simultaneously, feeling you.

"My work shirt. I always come straight from the office, y'know?"

He nodded and pinched at the fabric, making you shiver lightly.

"Feels pretty..." He mumbled with a tone that sounded like a deep purr, a fitting sound for the Tiger, and a melody that made your body feel like jelly in his hands. You wouldn't let him get away with melting you that easily. You twisted back towards him and placed a hand on his chest, leaning right up to the helmet on his head to murmur.

"Maybe I'll let you take it off me sometime..."

His fingers on your waist noticably twitched and, although you couldn't really see his face, you could at least hear the way he huffed 'jesus fucking christ...' under his breath. You faced forward once more and finally kicked up the stand of your bike, satisfied. His hands that had been wrapped so intimately around you quickly let go so he could properly strap his arms around your middle and pull you tight to his front as you peeled out of the lot and onto the mostly empty road.

It was exhilarating, as speeding through the beautifully colourful outer-city streets at night usually was, but even moreso with the body heat of a man that spiked your resting heart rate with ease right behind you. Every sharp turn was punctuated by a stronger hold of his arms and an obvious tightening of his core, and you simultaneously cursed and thanked the thickness of your leather jacket keeping you from really feeling the muscles you knew he had pressing against you.

You decided to kick it up a notch, revving your beauty to speed up as you reached a long, continuous stretch of empty road. It was rare you rode without your helmet, but you revelled in it every single time. Being able to feel the wind on your face, your braids whipping - unrestricted, being able to hear and see everything so much better. You let out a long, loud whoop as you raced down the road, earning what felt like a chuckle from the man behind you based on the way his chest vibrated.

By the time you'd rounded the block and arrived back where you started, your adrenaline was through the roof. You let him get off and free himself of his helmet before you jumped off with an exhilarated laugh. It was contagious, and he started to chuckle. As he placed the helmet back onto the seat of your still-warm bike, his deep chuckle slowly morphed, jumping up many octaves, until he was doubled over and properly cackling. Your eyes widened and you felt a genuine thump deep in your chest, the feeling mixing with the hormones already running rampant inside, and forcing a wide and amused smile on your lips.

You stared, watching as he slowly caught his breath again. His eyes met yours, seeing how absolutely enamoured they were, how endeared your smile was.

"What?" He questioned, cheeks red from laughing. Your smile only opened up into a grin.

"You're so cute."

He stood up straighter and scoffed, his breathing still a little short. He placed a hand on his hip and ran the other through his hair, as if intentionally trying to make himself look more masculine in your eyes.

"I am not."

You giggled and stepped closer to him, playfully nudging his shoulder.

"You so are."

He pursed his lips and knotted his eyebrows together in irritation - a sight you desperately wanted to see more of.

"Your voice went so high!" You continued, giggling. "That laugh was sooo cute, Wooyoung. Wooyoungie~"

He huffed and, suddenly, his hands were gripping your waist. He moved you easily, pressing you against your own bike, your ass against the seat as he leaned over with a knee slotted between your legs.

"You get a lot of pleasure out of winding me up, don't you?" His voice was deep and gravelly, eyes sharp and trained on yours. You words died in your throat as your pulse throbbed right where his knee was pressed. "Every single day. You say things. Do things...you drive me fucking nuts."

You let out a hot breath between your lips, warming the minimal space between you even further. Your own eyes narrowed, matching his, and your voice was smooth yet low and quiet.

"In an angry way?" You asked, though you knew that wasn't really it.

"In a 'I want to make you scream my name' way..." He clarified, even though you already knew, and it still made a hot spark run down your spine and settle between your legs.

"...Fuck me..."

You mumbled the expression exasperatedly, eyes shut, and he breathed a chuckle as one hand left your waist to cup your jaw.

"I'm trying." He joked with that charming smile plastered on his mouth. You couldn't help but laugh despite being breathless, and what little breath you did have hitched as soon as his lips brushed your jawline. You pressed your hands to his chest, not pushing but simply grounding yourself. His lips trailed down your neck, as far as he could reach before being blocked by the collar of your leather jacket. His hot breath wafted over your skin as he went back up, thumb tilting your chin upwards so he could lay his lips on the underside of it, making you shiver with each contact. You sighed, eyes still shut blissfully.

"...Keep touching and kissing me like that and you won't have to keep trying for much longer...."

You could feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin, and he peppered a few more kisses up your cheek to near your ear.

"I like the chase..."

You giggled softly and buried a hand in his hair, pulling back to gaze into his eyes - which had softened out significantly. You tilted your head and grinned.

"Didn't sound like that a minute ago."

Slowly, you traced your finger along the shell of his ear, brushing against all his piercings along the way. He shivered hard and dropped his head against your shoulder, letting out a sound dangerously close to a moan.

"What do you want from me, woman?"

You couldn't help but laugh as your ran your hand in soothing circles through his hair. He stayed in that position, just holding you and breathing you in as the two of you let the slightly cooler evening air dampen the sizzling tension. Eventually, he pulled himself back up from your embrace.

"We should both get home..." He murmured as he cupped your cheeks with both of his hands, thumbs tracing circles on your skin. You responded simply with a hum, knowing he was right but honestly reluctant to agree. He could see your hesitation clear as day and it made a smile pull at his lips. So softly, he swiped a thumb over your plump bottom lip, making it part with the top one. Then, without any more fanfare, he pressed his lips firmly to yours, warm and plump and tasting of spices. It was painfully brief, and you found yourself chasing those comforting pillows as soon as they lifted off of yours. He ran a thumb over one of your eyelids and the stepped back.

"Get home safely. I better see you on Monday."

You giggled, staying leaned against your bike as he walked backwards away from you with a smirk.

"If you're lucky." You teased, and he bit his own lip before calling back.

"I'll be praying!" He clasped his hands together in a prayer gesture to further emphasise his point and you barked out a laugh that only made him flash more teeth.

The ride home that evening was the first time you could barely focus on the road stretched out ahead of you. Everything about him had completely infiltrated your being: his eyes, his laugh, his touch, his kiss, how he made you feel. You could hardly wait to see him again.

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Monday didn't come fast enough and the work day itself snailed on just the same. Your eyes drifted to the little clock in the corner of the computer screen about every thirty seconds, a sigh peeling from your lips every single time. When your boss finally dismissed you for your break, freeing you from the shackles that held you to that chair, you shot up and were out the door and in the parking lot in record time. You didn't even know if he'd be there yet, the sun still high in the sky, but you couldn't wait. You practically threw your jacket and helmet on and sped off down that route that had become so familiar to you.

The lot was quite full that day, but not of people - of cars. Cars of whoever worked in the surrounding buildings during the day. It made the whole area almost unrecognisable, but the top of a tall, signed truck in the very corner of the lot acted like a beacon in the ocean of vehicles. With a huff, you pulled your jacket off and left it with your helmet on the seat of your bike, the summer sun scorching down on you. Your smile as you hurried over to that corner was uncontained, your heart banging in a way thay adrenaline had never caused.

The truck itself even looked different, however, with the door and window shut, and menu board not yet placed on the outside, but you could still hear the gentle clanging inside of the man you yearned for. You strolled up to the shut door with an excited smile, like someone about to jump out and surprise a loved one, and tapped your fist a few times against the metal. You heard a sigh, something being placed down on the counter, and only two heavy footsteps before the door opened. You stood with your hands folded behind your back and a grin - one that widened the instant his eyes fell on your face. They expanded, then softened immediately with recognition.

"Hey, beautiful. What are you doing here?"

There it was: that hit of shivers all over your body that you'd been craving all weekend. You bit your lip, smile still stubbornly pulling your mouth up, and his own immediately followed suit.

"I'm on break. Thought I'd come and...see you."

He hummed and his eyes fell to your torso, your blouse, for once not covered by a thick layer of leather.

"God," he sighed, "it is pretty."

You giggled and his grin widened.

"Well..." he started, extending a hand out, "get in here so I can kiss you."

He didn't have to tell you twice. You took his hand and he tugged you up the little stairs and into the truck you'd gotten used to staring into. With an arm strapped around your waist, the other reached to pull the door shut again, making your two completely alone in the cramped space.

He immediately did as he said; his hand that was on the door moved to your cheek to keep you still as his mouth descended on yours. You hummed and ran your hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and into his hair. A pleased purr escaped from his lips as your fingers threaded through his smooth locks - something you'd realised he must like.

Again, even with his lips actively moving against yours, the corners of your mouth pulled up happily. He pulled back and used his hand on your cheek to fix up some hair that had fallen into your face.

"What's made you all sunshine and rainbows?" His voice was gruff from kissing, creating a heavy knot low in your stomach.

"You..." You whispered, and watched his pupils dilate in response.

He didn't answer with words, instead crashing his lips back onto yours with a fervour that made your knees weak. He backed you up against the fridge, the hand on your cheek flying down to your thigh, gripping and hooking it up over his hip for leverage. His tongue pressed into your mouth simultaneously as his knee pressed between your thighs right where you were starting to need the friction, a combination made solely to turn you into putty in his hands. But you'd never go down without a fight.

One of your hands trailed it's way back down his chest, tracing the lines you could feel through the fabric of his button up as you went down his torso, to reach the hem at the bottom. Your precise fingers pushed up under the fabric, finally really feeling that toned skin you'd desperately wanted to since the day you met him. A puff of hot air from his nose told you that your touch wasn't going unnoticed, and your chest swelled with pride. Until his own hand on your waist copied, stronger fingers meeting skin under your top. The soft moan that bubbled up against your will clearly spurred him on, as he didn't stop at your waist. His aggressive hand pushed the fabric up, goosebumps on your skin climbing as did his touch, until your whole side was exposed to air. His hand was toying with the lace trim of your bra, touch barely brushing the underside of your breast.

He revelled in teasing you; the sounds you made, the way your muscles twitched under his touch, your heavy breathing. He was addicted. His hand went even higher, and your breath hitched hard in your throat when the rough skin of his thumb circled over your hardened peak. Your legs were just decoration at that point and you clung to his shoulder as you put all your weight onto his knee at your centre. The pressure there made your hips twitch, a barely-there grind outside of your control. With one last lick, he pulled his mouth away from yours and, one by one, took away every touch from your aroused body. His hand left your breast and kindly tugged your shirt back down, smoothing it out. His hand on your thigh put your leg back down before removing his knee, and you stubbornly bit back a whimper.

With one hand innocently on your waist, the other free to wipe his own swollen mouth with the back of his hand, you couldn't help but glare up at him. He dropped the busy hand back down to the other side of your waist, lips curled up in a devious smile.

"You should get back to work, shouldn't you, love?" His voice was teasing with an unmistakable coarse undertone - something you'd done to him.

"Asshole..." you murmed, and his smirk widened. "I'm gonna be worked up all day now."

You confessed without an ounce of shame, sharp eyes still locked on his. He huffed a laugh and squeezed at your waist.

"Awww...sorry, pretty."

His tone only turned you on more while also fueling your annoyance. Without even needing to think about it, your hand that was still on his stomach quickly trailed down past his belt, palm pressing against the half-hard problem of his own. He hissed, and you could physically feel it stiffening further under your touch despite the fabric barrier. It was incredibly erotic.

"...Sorry now?" You matched your tone to his as you stared into his eyes, now narrowed, eyebrows pulled tight, and jaw clenched hard. The voice he pushed out from that taut expression was deep and harsh.

"Oh, you're really getting it tonight."

The sheer excitement from that statement made your core flutter like crazy and a wicked grin overtake your face. You removed your hand, with a twitch and a huff from him, and stepped out of his grasp to go for the door.

"I'll see you then, Woo~"

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

For both of you, the day was wittled away at by dirty fantasies spinning in either of your minds - things you knew would and could happen that night. As you typed on your computer, you thought about how those strong hands would feel between your legs; as he chatted to and served the first customers of the evening, he thought about bending you over that bike of yours.

The time it took for you to get from work to where his truck stood was practically a blip in your mind with how fast you got there. With your bike parked up, you tossed you leather jacket off over the seat and pulled your hair up into a high ponytail, little wavy pieces falling to frame your face. You sighed and smoothed out the blouse he'd rumpled hours earlier as you made your way over. He was turned and looking in the fridge, and you used the opportunity to slide up to the window smoothly, arms cross on the counter there. Those back muscles of his looked so grabbable.

He spun back around with a jar of some deep red paste in one hand and jumped a little at the sight of you. He breathed a chuckle at your pose and smirk, placing the jar on the counter beside him.

"Hey, you." He said before going back to the fridge, rummaging for more ingredients. You stood on your toes to lean further in, curious.

"How's service?" You asked earnestly, and he shut the fridge with a sigh.

"A little slow but...it's a Monday." He shrugged, placing everything he'd gathered in a group on the counter. "How was work? Get anything done?" He shot a smirk over his shoulder and you rolled your eyes.

"Barely. Dickhead."

He laughed and turned fully to face you, putting his weight on his hands flat on the counter so he could lean in a bit.

"I'm surprised you're any better off than me." You added, eyes flickering down his body then up again, the implication of how you'd touched him earlier obviously hanging there. His grin only widened.

"I'm not. I'm rock hard under this apron, y'know?"

Your eyes widened, heat prickling at the back of your neck.

"Actually?"

He snorted, standing up straight again with arms crossed over his chest.

"No. It's been hours. I'd have taken myself to the hospital already if I still had a hard-on."

You scoffed and turned your head away, mostly embarrassed you'd revealed yourself to be so unknowledgable on male anatomy.

"Aww. Disappointed?" He teased, that same tone that always made you want to bring him to his knees.

"Hell no." You laughed, turning back to gaze at him. "That would ruin the fun of getting to work you up again."

His grin rose on one side, clearly amused.

"Well...," he stepped back, gathering the jars of ingredients he'd retrieved and bringing them to the counter in front of you so he could keep talking to you while cooking, "that ponytail is already doing something fierce to me, love."

You giggled giddily, making his eyes soften.

"Okay." He placed a deep pan on the stove to his left and flickered the flame to life. "Enough flirting. I'm cooking you something." He stated, determined and sincere. It made you laugh.

"You're so hot when you get serious, Wooyoung." You leaned your cheek on one hand, watching him. He stuck a finger out at you.

"What did I just say?"

You snorted, dropping your head against the counter before lifting it again and putting on you best serious face despite the grin you couldn't quite keep down.

"Okay, okay...what are you making me today, chef?"

He preened at the title, puffing out his chest a bit as he cracked open a jar of what looked like some kind of broth.

"Something warm and heavy. You'll need your energy for later." He said it so seriously, as if he wasn't reminding you that he'd be going to town on your body in a few hours. "Tteokbokki."

His accented speech pulled you right from the dirty fantasy he'd just plunged you into, but more importantly-

"I know that one!" You perked up in recognition, having gone to Korean BBQ places once or twice in the past with friends. What you knew for certain, however, is that his tteokbokki would blow those places out of the water.

He chuckled, eyes soft with genuine endearment at your excitement. "Smart girl."

Your stomach immediately twisted and fluttered. Coming from any other man, you'd smack them upside the head for talking down to you in such a way, but when it was him...damn.

You watched, intrigued, as he poured the broth from the jar into the now hot pan, followed by a healthy spoon of that deep red paste he'd pulled out first, and then a generous heaping of sugar. He stirred it before gently emptying in a portion of rice cakes, which he let simmer as he chopped up a few sprouts of green onion. They went into the pot next, followed by cute flower-shaped fish cakes and a couple strangely tiny and round boiled eggs. Your stomach growled as you watched the whole thing bubble, the pungent spice carrying to your nose as if to tease you.

"Damn, I wish you drooled at me like that." His voice cut through the thick aroma and you eyes darted to him, watching you as he stirred the tteokbokki. You laughed, cheeks going pink, expression bashful.

"Shut it. I'm hungry."

"Well," he sighed, "it'll have to boil down for a good 10 minutes, so practice your patience, my dear."

You groaned and dropped your head dramatically, earning a laugh from him (even if doing that wasn't very difficult).

"Guess you'll have to talk to me to pass the time." He added and, with your head still on the counter, you let loose an even louder and more dramatised groan. He laughed again, loud, with a little of that high pitched cackle you'd decided you loved slipping through. It made you smile against the cool wood of the counter.

Despite your theatrical indignation, talk to him was exactly what you did. You'd been continuosly chatting night after night for over a week, and yet you never ran out of topics to pull up. Everything with him was easy: talking, joking, flirting, just being yourself. You never felt awkward, scared, or anxious. You felt...seen. Cared for. Special to him. And, although you had yet to put into words what was between the two of you, you prayed it never ended.

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

"Mas-issge deuseyo." He slid the container of steaming tteokbokki towards you before presenting you a skewer with a melodramatic flourish and a cat-like grin. You giggled and took it from him with a playful yet polite bow of your head. Without hesitation, you speared a chewy rice cake with your skewer and shoved it in your mouth. You could tell it was delicious, but all you could focus on for that first bite was the temperature.

"Awwaahh, haahhtt!" You breathed out the steam between your near-indecipherable words, and he cackled.

"The one time I don't warn you!" His voice itself was high between his cackles, the man doubled over against the counter in amusement and exasperation.

You quickly chewed through the offending rice cake and swallowed it before it could do any more damage, meanwhile Wooyoung was wiping at the entertained tears in his eyes. With a sigh, he retrieved his own water bottle and passed it to you, expression twisting into something more worried and somewhat guilty.

"You okay, baby?" He asked, a concerned smile on his lips. You didn't even process the term of endearment, glugging down the cold water and letting it coat your burnt tongue. It just felt that natural and right.

You took in a deep breath as you put the water bottle down, face portraying how sorry for yourself you felt. He sighed and gently placed a hand on your head before leaning down to blow on the dish before you. You gently pushed his hand away and back, letting out an embarrassed and wry laugh.

"Thanks, mom." You joked, making him smile as he leaned down, his chin in his palm.

"I just don't want you to hurt yourself again, cutie."

The butterflies in your stomach were practically rampaging; every word that spilled from the man's mouth made you want to simultaneously cuddle him and also give him the best head he'd ever felt.

"I won't." You reassured with a sigh as you stabbed another rice cake, making a show to blow on it, before popping it in your mouth. You instantly hummed and shut your eyes, nodding. He chuckled.

"You just love everything I make, don't you?"

You nodded eagerly, bringing his cackle out. You swallowed the bite and opened your eyes. "You're an amazing chef, Woo. Genuinely."

There wasn't a hint of deception or exaggeration to your words - you honestly thought that way about him. He sighed and grabbed a napkin, his smile soft as he wiped a tiny smudge of sauce from the corner of your mouth.

"God...I'm gonna go down on you like...crazy style."

He said it so seriously and without falter that you couldn't help but burst out laughing. His grin expanded, a little snicker slipping from his lips.

"Are you reading my mind!?" You exclaimed, and he blinked, lips pressing into a pout in confusion. You grabbed at his hand and explained between breaths. "I just thought that about you! God..."

You sighed and dropped your head against the counter, earning a soft chuckle from the man.

"We're just...tuned to the same frequency, my love."

My love. Not just 'love'. My.

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The rest of the evening was spent devouring the delicious tteokbokki he made and flirting relentlessly. You were so glad it was Monday, the slow service being bad for his profits but amazing for the time you could spend together.

You were there well into the night - until he eventually began to pack up and clean. He dumped all his dishes in the sink he had in the back of the truck and started on the counters, spraying and wiping them down in practiced motions. You leaned your face against the windowsill, eyes sparkling up at him.

"I can come in there and help you if you want?" You offered and he gave an exasperated huff.

"Baby, it's my job."

That term, again, so casual yet so sure, and you actually picked up on it that time. It made your stomach clench deliciously.

"Still. You'd be done faster..." It was obvious what you were implying as you teasingly traced shapes on the counter with an excited grin. That finally made him take pause, his gaze slowly shifting over to you. You quickly put on your pleading puppy-dog eyes, and you could basically see the shiver travel up his spine. He sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"...Get in here then." He mumbled, and you instantly perked up, quickly rounding the truck to the door and pulling it open. You hopped up the stairs and stuck your hands on your hips.

"What can I do, chef?"

His pupils dilated and his posture became straighter at that, like a dog hearing his favourite word. He gestured back to the piled up sink and you nodded with determination.

You were right, of course, and the two of you got the place tidied in no time. He'd tucked away the cleaning spray and tossed the cloth into a bin hidden in one of the cabinets just as you pulled the drain on the sink. You were watching the water spin hypnotically down the drain when his strong arms suddenly snaked around your waist from behind. You giggled.

"Woo...I still have to put these away." You laid your hand flat on the counter next to where the dish rack held the dripping dishes. He hummed and goosebumps spread over your skin from where his nose pressed into the crook of your neck.

"Later..."

He kissed the skin softly and you could already feel your legs weakening, the heat from his body pressed up right against your back soaking into you completely.

"Baby..." You reciprocated the endearing term, and a prideful purr slipped out from his lips right before they descended on your neck once more. They latched on, and you could feel the gentle pressure of suction under his warm mouth. Your core was already warming just at that. You sighed, the sound heavy and hot, before giving in.

You spun in his grasp, forcing his lips off from where he'd connected to you, just so you could lean the rest of your body against him and loop your arms around his neck. His eyes were deep and his cheeks were a splotchy red; he was clearly feeling the heat as much as you.

You bit your lip as the sudden urge to wind him up once more entered your brain. You slid your hands down to his chest and pushed until he was blocked between you and the bench behind him. One hand of his left your waist to reach back and shut the window, finally giving you complete privacy, while the other hand kneaded and caressed with the threat of slipping under the fabric of your blouse already looming.

"...So you really were thinking about me all day...?" He questioned, voice low and rich.

"Non-stop." You huffed, making a show to clench your thighs, which he felt clearly while being pressed against you. He almost groaned at that, instead going back to the spot on your neck already turning purple. He kissed over it, then up to right under your ear. You tilted your head just as his nose nudged the back of your ear, teeth clamping down on the pierced lobe.

"Fuck, you're beautiful...so gorgeous..." His words were reverent and yet simultaneously dipped in sin, and his fingers had finally started to push up your blouse.

Then, without any kind of warning, those hands on your waist tightened hard and he lifted you, spinning to place you on the part of the bench he was just leaning against. You gasped softly, hands gripping the edge. He didn't give you much time to think about it, however, as his hands parted your thighs to push himself between them. Saying you were turned on was an understatement.

His eyes were so intense, heavy-lidded and full of fire, your instinct was to make a joke to dampen that fire.

"This isn't very sanitary." You smiled, but his lips didn't copy and his eyes stayed serious. One hand slid under your shirt and up your back, forcing you to arch into him as he leaned further over you. The other buried itself confidently in your ponytail, gripping and tugging at the locks.

"I will spend the next week sanitising this place completely from top to bottom if it means I can fuck you right here, right now."

You were stunned, the only moving part of you being the throbbing of your core in response to that absolute filth. The next part to move was your legs, parting just a bit further as if begging. He smirked and slid his hand out from under your shirt and down to the underside of your thigh. He pushed it up, high on his side, while pulling your head back by the hair. His lips found your throat, all tongue and teeth from top to bottom, continuing past to the dip between your collarbones, and down further as far as the blouse would allow.

Although, unlike when he was kissing your neck with your leather jacket on, the hand in your hair simply moved to pop open each button with ease. His warm tongue trailed a path down between your breasts, down your ribs to your navel, kissing your belly button hard, before he was biting and pulling at the waistband of your jeans like an animal. Your blouse was completely open, the hand responsible for that wrapped back around your ponytail and pulling until the top of your head met the wall, practically flattening you out for him like a feast.

You watched with hazy eyes as he chewed and tugged on the metal button holding your jeans together, occasionally nipping at the skin above. His nose nudged the waistband down just a bit, exposing a tiny sliver of the lace hem of your panties, to which he eagerly snatched up between those active teeth and pulled at for fun. The whole time, his eyes went back and forth between being shut tight for complete focus, and being open and staring up into yours with a sultry heat.

At some point, one of your hands on the edge of the bench had nuzzled into the hair on the back of his head, encouraging. He licked a stripe up from your waistband to your belly button before switching it up completely and going all the way down. He almost dropped completely to his knees to bury his mouth and nose against your denim-clad core unabashedly, the sudden friction forcing a short moan up from your throat.

His breath was hot even through the thick fabric, nose nudging infuriatingly against the spot of denim that covered your clit, tongue flattening and pressing against where dampness had already begun to soak through. He groaned, the sound muffled. His eyes were now fully shut and his brows were knotted like they got when he cooked - in complete focus and fixation.

"Fuck, you're gonna taste so good."

You could only just make out his words with a mouthful of a fabric hindering their audibility, but it still made another spot of moisture leak out from your weeping hole.

Having a hand in his hair suddenly took less priority in comparison to getting his lips locked around your bare folds as soon as you could, so you untangled those fingers and used them to pop open the button that was still slightly wet from his mouth all over it just minutes before. His eyes immediately snapped open at the sound, like the big cat in hunt that he was. You pulled the zipper down slowly, seductively, even if it pained you to be so patient. But you weren't the only one.

He yanked at your jeans with such speed and force that he almost yanked you off the counter with them. You gasped and laughed, both hands gripping the bench hard, and his lips lifted on one side in a mischevious yet apologetic smile. He kissed your knee slowly before trying again and managing to have your pants on the floor without bringing you down with them. Then, his eyes met your core fully, thighs wide open. The way the wet, navy blue fabric perfectly cupped you, the colour just light enough that he could make out the creases of your folds in detail of how the fabric stuck to them. He wished he could simultaneously stare at the sight forever and yet also tear the delicate fabric to shreds with his teeth.

His hands slid reverently up your thighs to your ass cheeks, cupping them and gripping them to pull you closer to the edge of the bench and, in turn, closer to his mouth. He shut his eyes and nuzzled into the fabric, taking a long, slow breath. Sparks bloomed from your core and outwards, spreading across you body as he laid open-mouthed kiss after open-mouthed kiss on your soaked core, lips soft and eager. Your heels dug into his back and you dropped your head against the bench with a soft thump.

"Woo..."

He was pressed so close that you felt with perfect detail as he smirked, followed by a nip at your clothed folds. You flinched and gasped, pulling another chuckle from him.

"You're addicting." He murmured, eyes gazing up your body before being drawn quickly back down to what he was most craving.

He kissed your inner thigh, then nipped, then licked the spot soothingly. He used that pattern as he made his way up and down either of your thighs, littering your skin with little red marks. His fingers hooked into the hem of your panties and peeled them down, eyes honed in on your slick centre. He licked his lips as he got the fabric fully untangled from your legs, slinging it onto his shoulder like a TV show chef would a kitchen towel. His hands went right back to gripping the soft flesh of your ass cheeks, eyes never leaving the tantalising sight of your pretty pink flower, delicate and shining.

With a final heavy breath in and out, he dived in with shut eyes. He flattened his tongue out and licked a long stripe from your hole up to your clit, placing a sloppy kiss on the sensitive nub. You gripped hard at the edge of the bench, closing your eyes so you could focus fully on the amazing sensations of his warm tongue tracing up and down your folds. He groaned, the vibration right againt your clit, and you whole body trembled.

"...Tastes so good..." He murmured, voice rough. His hands on your ass pushed your hips up firmer against his mouth, giving you no room to jerk or twitch, even when his nose prodded at your clit and sent tremors up into your belly. You were a panting mess under him as his tongue licked over and into your opening, occasionally sliding all the way up to circle around your bundle of nerves.

It was when he closed his lips around that bundle, tugging and sucking at it, that you felt a tight coil forming low in your belly.

"Wooyoung..." You panted, forearm thrown over your eyes. Your hips pulled and fidgeted, as if wanting to get away from the heavy feeling he was building inside you, but his strong fingers were digging so hard into the meat of your backside that you knew there'd be marks.

Your hole started to pulse and clench, and he flattened his tongue out over it to feel it while purposefully shaking his head left and right to rub his nose against your clit. Just as you teetered on that edge, he pulled it all back. His nose left your clit, tongue retreated back into his mouth, even pulled back far enough that his breath wasn't wafting over you. The explosion of pleasure that was so close to overtaking you frustratingly faded away, and you groaned.

"Ughhh...Wooyoung you...fuckface..."

He chuckled, and you moved your arm and opened your eyes to look down at him for the first time since he started eating you out. His chin and lips were drenched, tip of his nose glazed, and his grin wicked. He grabbed the panties he'd left on his shoulder and used them to wipe off his face, making a show of taking a deep breath into them before he shoved the pair into his pocket. The sight only exacerbated the sexual frustration he'd caused.

He sighed adoringly and placed his hands on either side of you, leaning down over you to whisper.

"So cute..."

You glared at him, chest still heaving. His eyes were glossy and hazy, pupils expanded madly, like a real tiger pinning down a gazelle.

He brought a hand back between your legs just to lightly and slowly stroke his thumb over your swollen clit, each gentle touch reigniting that pit in your belly and building it higher and higher once more, all while he stared into your eyes. You knew you should've just grabbed his wrist and pushed it away, knowing he was just going to do the same thing again, but you were putty in his hands. Your eyes fluttered shut and you let your lips part with breathless moans, a sight that made his grin fall and his gaze heavier. Seeing you like that, so willing and accepting of the pleasure he was giving despite the teasing...it made him painfully hard.

Again, like you thought, he pulled that hand away just as white sparks began to pop behind your eyelids. You groaned again, the sound coming out crackly and a bit whiny.

"Fucking hate you..." You murmured, eyes still shut and eyebrows pulled down. His eyes narrowed in genuine affection for you despite the situation and, before he could properly think about it, he had leaned down close to your ear to whisper to you again.

"I fucking love you..."

The instant those words left his mouth, two long fingers plunged inside you as if to distract from the heavy confession he just let slip from his lips. You gasped, leaning your head back and baring your throat. He took the invite with zero hesitation, kissing, licking, and biting at the beautiful skin of your neck as his fingers stroked at and explored your velvety inner walls. As if his mouth and one hand weren't enough stimulation, his second hand slithered under your back and effortlessly snapped open the clasp of your bra. He couldn't get it off with your blouse still on your arms, so he settled for simply shoving the lace cups up and out of his way.

That free hand got a fistful of your breast, squeezing and kneading, fingers tweaking and rolling the nub. You were moaning completely unabashedly at that point, unable to even hear yourself over the sensations.

His fingers eventually found that especially sensitive spot at the very front of your channel, making your hips jerk tellingly. He pulled the two fingers out before plunging them back in hard, aiming right for that spot with purpose and precision. He set a brutal pace immediately, the erotic squelch of each plunge filling the space and mixing with your moans and his heavy breaths like a dirty melody. It was the perfect recipe to have that knot in your belly back fast and with a vengeance. You clawed at his back with both hands, true to the wildlife documentary nature of the scene, and moaned out his name unashamedly. And yet, three times is a charm.

He yanked his hand out, stealing away that gorgeous orgasm you were miliseconds away from for the third time and leaving you clenching around nothing.

"Fucks sake, Wooyoung!" You cried out, but it was instantly cut off by his sloppy mouth on yours. He pulled back with a heavy huff, making just enough space to hurriedly untuck his button-up from his pants and clumsily undo them, shoving them down to pool at his ankles along with his already dampened boxers. He grabbed one of your hands and brought it down to touch him, a slight moan slipping through his lips despite them being pressed tight. Your own breath hitched and you swallowed, glassy eyes zeroing in on his erection.

He was violently hard, his cock twitching with any slight touch or stroke of the pads of your fingers. The tip was already leaking, and you couldn't help but to run your index finger up the shaft and over his slit. He dropped his head against your chest with a moan, trembling, and you suddenly realised how the roles had reversed. Despite how he'd been ravaging you like a wild animal with captured prey, his eyes now looked up at you, needy and pleading.

"Y/n...," the use of your actual name sent cascading shivers down your spine, "can I fuck you? Please?"

You felt even more moisture push out of your already soaked hole - if that were even possible. You wrapped your fingers around the girth of him and he groaned, nuzzling between your breasts again.

"That's literally all I want right now..." You whispered, a sort of smile pulling at your lips from just how absurd yet endearing you found it that he was still asking for your consent after all of that.

But he did not need any more clarification. His hands wrapped around your thighs and he yanked you close to the edge of the counter once more, the weight of his cock immediately settling in the folds on your core. You breathed heavy as he purposefully moved his hips back and forth, dragging the length of it along your pussy over and over, the thick head of him catching on your clit with each pass. Then, after a few more strokes, he let the head fall into the dip where your centre opened up to your entrance. You naturally attempted to clench your thighs, but they were still being held apart by his arms, and he responded by pushing your legs even higher and opening you up even more.

Your stomach tightened and a subtle whimper slipped from your lips, which faded into a moan as that thick head popped into your entrance, the rest of him slipping in deep with ease. You wanted something to grab but all you had was the countertop you were actively being plundered on. Your fingers curled hard around the edge of it as he slowly led into a rhythm. The slapping of skin on skin every time his pelvis met your ass blended erotically with the wet squelch of his cock driving in deep, angled so perfectly that it tightened your chest and stomach to a point where you almost thought you were dying.

His breathing picked up, and so did his pace. He leaned forward to lay over you again, incidentally pushing your legs up higher as his hips snapped harder and faster. Your hands immediately moved from the bench to his back the moment he was in range, digging into his flexed back muscles for dear life. He groaned into your breasts, one knee clumsily bumping against the cupboard below the benchtop as he drove into you with such urgency and demand.

For the fourth and hopefully final time, that stiff knot in your belly reared it's head.

"Woo- fuck- baby...!" You cried, panting desperately as a scorching heat climbed across every nerve in your body. His hips were now switching erratically between a hard and fast pump, and a grind that pressed his plevic bone against your clit just right, speeding you towards that ending. He let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a purr before huffing breathlessly.

"Baby girl...fuck...where...where do you- w-where should I...?"

It was scattered and broken and you were barely coherent yourself, but you knew what he was asking. Your hands on his back flew down to grab both his ass cheeks instead, nails digging in and earning a hiss from him.

"I'll deal with it tomorrow...!" You groaned, head falling back, and he nodded eagerly.

He bit down hard on the meat of one of your breasts as he pushed his hips as fast as he could with already shaky legs, finally sending you careening over the edge into bliss. The warmth of his own release filling you only extended your ecstacy, the two of you clinging to each other until the intense feeling mellowed out into a hazy, syrupy sweetness. He released your legs and let them fall to a more comfortable poisition. You did the same with your grip, instead bringing your hands up to card through his sweaty locks.

The moment you gathered some breath back, you knew what you had to say.

"...You love me?" You asked, voice quiet as if afraid you'd imagined it, but the way he picked himself up a bit to gaze down at you told you that you weren't crazy. His breathed out, a wry smile curling his lips.

"You heard that? I was hoping I could...," he ran a hand through your hair, pulling out what was left of your ponytail, "...fuck it out of that pretty brain of yours."

You frowned and your voice went watery.

"You didn't mean it?" There was clear disappointment in your tone and his eyes instantly went wide with a mix of shock, awe, and worry.

"No! Baby, no! I mean, yes! I-," he sighed, "I meant it, I just didn't mean to say it...y'know?" He cupped your cheek with his hand, letting his thumb trace over your still-flushed skin. "I was sure it was too early into our relationship."

Your frown morphed into a tiny, amused, yet endeared, smile.

"Well, can it really be 'too early into our relationship' if there never was one established to begin with?" You questioned, and his whole expression fell in bewilderment.

"...There wasn't?"

You laughed out loud at that, curling up into him with a snort before pulling back and cupping both his cheeks.

"No! We haven't even exchanged numbers, Wooyoung!"

He looked genuinely dumbfounded and adorably heartbroken as you giggled at his sweet display of innocence right after insanely sinful sex.

"Fuck...I'm so dumb, I'm sorry y/n." He dropped his head into your chest and your ran your hands through his hair soothingly.

"Hey...we can still start now." He huffed softly, pouting. You smiled and leaned down to whisper. "I love you, Wooyoung."

He immediately looked up at you, eyes shining with love and relief. Then, that beautiful grin cracked his pout, and he suddenly crushed you in his arms, smushing his face into your boobs. You giggled sweetly, your heart feeling all warm and fuzzy in the afterglow of everything. He lifted his head again, grinning with a cheek squished to your tit.

"So, I can have your number?"

You immediately burst into laughter, and his own high-pitched giggles followed suit. You nodded happliy, so insanely amused at how backwards the scenario felt, but you didn't care. He hummed and nuzzled into your chest again, making his voice muffled the next time he spoke.

"And you'll be my girlfriend? And come home with me tonight?"

They weren't even really questions. You loved the man in your arms. The bold and mischevious yet simultaneously clumsy enough man to forget to ask you to be his - to just assume you were in a relationship. The man you wanted to be able to talk to while you were at work, and see when he wasn't work. The man that fed you after closing time that one night, who continued feeding you delicious meals from his food truck, and rode on the back of your bike with you despite being worried for your safety.

Wooyoung was a man you wanted in every aspect of your life - it was a no-brainer.

⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

♡ a/n: I LOVED THIS. he has been wrecking me like CRAZY so this was so beautiful and perfect and I LOVEEE this dynamic more than anything. lemme know with a comment or dm or ask or wtv if u want to be on my tag list for fics :3, im not slowing down

[kiii2hearts127]

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐖/𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳 𝐏𝐭.𝟐

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐚/𝐧: sans was giving me cuteness aggression and i wrote it 😭😭 this is part two to the series i hope you enjoy!!

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: your boyfriend went out with his team members. After having a couple drinks, they start taking shots and he drunk text you asking if you can pick him up.

𝐒𝐚𝐧

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢

𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠

𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨

divider by Chrissiren

© KIII2HEARTS127 please do not copy, repost, or change my work, thank you

[yuyueater]

𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐃𝐚𝐝 — 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑆𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑤𝑎.

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ; Headcanons on how I think seonghwa would be as a girl dad.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ; Girldad!Seonghwa x Wife!Reader.

☆ — 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 264. ☆ — 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : Fluff + Smut. ☆ — 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Swearing, shower sex, biting, zero condom use, creampie, and aftercare.

♡ — 𝐕𝐢𝐩 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ; @kissmatz @eggielix @miisanthropology @mywonuverse send a ask to be added or removed!

A/N — Added a personal nickname in from my own childhood, it was because I was obsessed with bees as a kid..I still am!

Girldad!seonghwa who carries your daughter everywhere, even it’s just two feet away.

Girldad!seonghwa who always takes your daughter shopping, complimenting her with everything she wants to help boost her confidence.

Girldad!seonghwa who always braids your daughter’s hair, he says she looks the cutest in them.

Girldad!seonghwa who always refers to your daughter as ‘honey bee’ to others.

Girldad!seonghwa who wears those plastic high heels with your daughter because she said to. In reality he wanted to even before she said anything.

Girldad!seonghwa who takes things with him to work that his daughter swears would keep him safe, even if it’s something that would get him laughed at by the other members.

— “Put her down?” “No, she’s playing dress up.” “Seonghwa, what the fuck. It’s nine in the evening.”

Girldad!seonghwa who’s only alone time with you is in the shower.

Girldad!seonghwa who likes to cover your mouth to keep you quiet as he fucks you against the shower tiles.

Girldad!seonghwa who bites your shoulder as hard as he can to keep himself quiet, this is both of yours stress relief from being parents and work.

Girldad!seonghwa who doesn’t bother to wear a condom. You’re married.

Girldad!seonghwa who likes to cum inside, not really trying to get you pregnant but he’s not exactly being careful enough to not potentially do it again.

Girldad!seonghwa who always helps clean you up afterwards, being as gentle as possible because he knows how rough he gets with you and he doesn’t want you to get scared by that.

[lil-elle]

[randomagnes0210]

Yunho instagram update

260721

[yunhohohoho]

I guess god saved us ..

[lil-elle]

THANK GOD HE DIDNT DO IT OH MY HODDDD