Breaking The Rules 2 ்⋆ ˖ ࣪ ˒
Breaking the rules 2 ்⋆ ˖ ࣪ ˒
part 1 here! gong yoo/salesman x f!reader
꣑୧ — 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you felt regretful after everything that happen, even after making up with your boyfriend. Maybe going with your parents to a business party their coworkers were hosting would ease your mind up right? But what you didn’t know Is that your dad was inviting him.
🝮 underage drinking, getting drunk, sweet talk, female reader, SLOWburn, clothed thigh riding, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing, teasing, being rough, forcing, also using actors real name since saying mr salesman is weird. Sorry if it ain’t a lot, smut isn’t my best thing and I don’t like writing it a lot. Sorry if you don’t like it!, lmk if I missed anything.
You hadn’t answered his texts all day. The guilt sitting heavy in your chest, twisting with the anger you still hadn’t let go of. Every time his name lit up your phone, you felt that same rush of frustration, and something far worse underneath it. Shame.
But the worst part? You still weren’t sure if you regretted it.
Your fingers hovered over his latest message: “Can we just talk? Please.” You stared at the words until they blurred, your chest tightening. She wanted to talk, she did, but how could you face him when every time you closed her eyes, you remembered the feel of someone else’s hands on your skin? Even worse, his dad.
You turned your phone off and tossed it onto the bed like it had burned you. The room felt too quiet, too still, and your mind wouldn’t shut up. The guilt, the anger, the way your body still reacted when you thought about his father, it was too much. Maybe it was because your parents were currently out right now at the store, buying some stuff for a party later. It felt lonelier then it should be.
But a sudden knock at the window startled you. Your heart leapt as you quickly turned, and there he was. Your boyfriend, standing outside with that same desperate, frustrated look you knew too well.
“Can we talk?” he asked through the glass, his voice muffled but clear.
Your stomach twisted. You wanted to open it, wanted to let him in… but you weren’t sure you could look him in the eye without everything falling apart. You didn’t dare looking out the window. Maybe he would think you weren’t home?
But before you could even decide to open it, another knock sounded, this time at the front door.
And you knew, without even checking, exactly who it was.
Your breath catches, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest. For a second, you think it might be him. but then you hear his voice.
“open the door.”
It’s your boyfriend.
You stare at the window where he’d been just a minute ago, your pulse still racing. He must’ve gone around the house, determined not to let you ignore him. The guilt in your chest tightens but so does the frustration. You’re still mad. You should be mad. But the shame of what you did won’t let you breathe.
He knocks again, harder this time. “Come on, baby. Please.” His voice cracks on the last word, and you hate the way it pulls at your heart. Then your heart skips a beat.. hearing that word. Baby, you sighed as you couldn’t help but remember the way he was saying it to you last night. There was no point in staying mad at your boyfriend knowing what you did was worst. But you would never tell him you did that.. never..
You stand there, frozen, unsure whether to open it or let him keep waiting. The silence stretches, and you wonder if he’ll leave, but you should’ve known better.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, softer now. “Not until we talk.”
You close your eyes, taking a shaky breath. You know you can’t avoid this forever. But facing him? Knowing what you’ve done? That’s a whole different kind of impossible. Your hand shakes as you reach for the doorknob. Every part of you wants to keep that barrier between you, to stay hidden in the silence where you don’t have to face what you’ve done. But you know you can’t avoid him forever.
When you finally pull the door open, he’s standing there, his eyes immediately searching yours. He looks… tired. Hurt. And the sight of it makes your heart ache in a way you weren’t ready for.
“Hey,” he says softly, his voice careful, like he’s afraid you might slam the door in his face.
You swallow the lump in your throat and step aside, letting him in without a word. He walks past you, hands stuffed into his pockets, his shoulders tense. You close the door and lean against it, trying to steady yourself, but the room already feels too small.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The air is heavy with everything you haven’t said, and you know one of you has to break first.
“I’m sorry,” he says, turning to face you. His voice is quiet, but there’s no mistaking the sincerity in it. “For everything. I was an ass, and I shouldn’t have—” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to walk away just to get my attention.”
You blink, his words hitting harder than you expect. You were mad at him, you had every right to be, but hearing him own up to it takes some of the fight out of you. Still, the guilt lingers, a sharp reminder of what you haven’t confessed.
“I… I was mad,” you say quietly, your arms crossing over your chest. “But you weren’t the only one who messed up.”
He takes a step closer, his eyes softening. “Then let’s fix it. Please. I don’t want to keep fighting with you.”
You feel your resolve cracking, the warmth in his voice breaking through the wall you’ve been trying so hard to hold up. And when he reaches for your hand, his fingers lacing through yours, the familiar comfort of his touch makes your throat tighten.
“I miss you,” he whispers. “And I love you. Please?”
Your heart aches at the words, at how easy it would be to say yes and pretend like nothing happened. And maybe you’re selfish for wanting that. But right now, with his hand in yours and that soft, pleading look in his eyes… you can’t help but nod.
“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s start over.”
He pulls you into his arms without hesitation, holding you like he’s afraid to let go. And for just a moment, you let yourself forget the weight of your guilt, and the secret still hanging between you.
-
The sound of the front door opening pulls you out of your thoughts. Your boyfriend had left not that long ago. You hear your mom’s familiar voice first, calling out as bags rustle and footsteps shuffle into the house.
“We’re home!”
You take a deep breath, smoothing your shirt as if that’ll do anything to calm the nerves still twisting in your stomach. The conversation with your boyfriend had left you all jittery from the nerves, and the weight of what you were keeping from him hadn’t eased one bit.
You had been too distracted in your thoughts you didn’t even hear your mom call your name. Until you heard her call your name again. “Can you come help with the bags?”
You force yourself to move, pushing everything else aside. When you step into the kitchen, your parents are surrounded by a mountain of grocery bags, your dad unloading bottles of wine while your mom sorts through fresh produce. The air smells faintly of the bakery down the street, and there’s a calmness here that you wish you could hold onto.
“Hey, sweetheart,” your dad greets you with a tired smile. “You doing okay?”
You nod quickly, hoping your face doesn’t give you away. “Yeah, I’m fine. Need help?”
Your mom waves you over, and you start pulling things from the bags. fruits, vegetables, fancy cheeses you know are only for one of their big business parties. The quiet routine soothes you for a moment, the normalcy grounding you.
“Don’t forget, we need to be ready by seven,” your mom reminds you, glancing at the clock. “This party’s important, and I don’t want to be late.”
“Right,” you mumble, carefully stacking cans in the pantry. “Who’s coming again?”
Your dad hums thoughtfully. “A lot of people from work. Investors, a few partners… oh, and I invited-“ you froze. Heart stopping as you stood there. “I thought it’d be good to finally introduce him to everyone.”
The can in your hand slips. It hits the shelf with a loud clunk before you manage to catch it, your heart slamming against your ribs.
“Wait — what?” Your voice comes out too sharp, and when you turn, your dad’s watching you with a frown.
He repeated his name again. You stood there blankly, like a deer in a headlights. Your dad thinking you were stupid; he repeated. “Your boyfriend’s dad. I ran into him last week and figured it’d be a good chance to network.” He pauses, raising an eyebrow. “Why? Something wrong?”
“No,” you say quickly, but your palms are already sweating. “No, I just… didn’t know he was coming.”
Your mom gives you a curious look but doesn’t push it. “Well, he seemed excited. It’s nice when business and family overlap like this, isn’t it?”
You had asked if your boyfriend was going aswell, but maybe you should’ve just waited to text him when you went back up to your room. “Oh.. no. His father said he was busy with catching up on work for school since he’s fallen behind” you mother said, putting up grocery bags in the cabinets. “But it’s nice he’s getting his work done. Sweet kid.” Your mother said with a smile. Looking at you.
You force a smile, but it feels tight, uncomfortable. Because the last thing you wanted was to see him again, not here, not after last night. Maybe you should lie and try to make up some excuse to stay home. Pretend to be sick?
Your dad keeps talking, but you can’t hear much over the blood rushing in your ears. All you can think about is how you’re going to get through this party without falling apart.
-
The hours slip by faster than you’d like. Before you know it, the sun’s already going down, casting warm streaks of orange through your bedroom window. The quiet hum of the house is broken by the sound of your parents moving around, getting ready. Your mom walking down the hall as she fusses about last minute details.
But in your room, it’s just you. And the weight of what’s coming.
You stand in front of the mirror, smoothing your hands over the soft fabric of your dress. It’s simple but elegant. black, slightly flowy, falling just above your knees. The open back leaves a stretch of your upper back bare, cool air brushing against your skin as you shift.
You should feel good in it. And you do, mostly. But there’s a tightness in your chest that no amount of makeup or pretty dresses can fix.
You sigh, reaching for your earrings as you try to push it down. Maybe you’re overreacting. Maybe he won’t even show up. Or if he does, maybe he’ll keep his distance. Act like nothing happened.
You hope he acts like nothing happened.
The memory of his hands on you flashes through your mind.. warm and sure. You grip the end of the dresser. Shaking your head trying to will the thoughts away. You can’t think about that, not tonight
A knock at your door startles you. “You almost ready?” your mom’s voice calls.
“Yeah!” you call back, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Just a minute!”
You take one last look in the mirror, adjusting your hair so it falls just right against your shoulders. The dress fits perfectly, elegant but understated. But even as you smooth your hands over it again, your stomach won’t stop twisting. You were about to walk out before forgetting your bow. You quickly went over to clip the black soft bow in the back of your hair, all complete.
The night hasn’t even started yet, and already, you know it’s going to be a long one.
-
The drive to the venue feels too short. You’re still wound up, still trying to settle the nerves swirling in your stomach, but before you’re ready, your dad’s pulling up to the valet and your mom’s already stepping out into the warm evening air.
You smooth your dress one last time. not that it helps, and follow them inside. The venue is beautiful, the kind of place your parents always choose for these events. Marble floors gleam under soft golden lighting, and the room hums with quiet conversations and the occasional clink of glasses. It should feel elegant, maybe even exciting, but all you feel is that familiar tightness in your chest.
You try to focus on anything else. Familiar faces drift past, your dad’s coworkers, distant family friends. you keep your smile polite, your small talk brief. You tell yourself you’re fine. That this is just another business party and you have no reason to be this tense.
But the minutes crawl by slowly. You’re trying to keep track of every person who walks in, your eyes flicking toward the entrance too often, your heart jumping at every familiar figure. It’s ridiculous, you know, you don’t even know if he’ll show up.
But the thought of him does nothing to calm you.
“Why don’t you grab a drink?” your mom suggests at one point, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “You’re so quiet tonight.”
You shake your head quickly, your throat too tight at the thought of walking anywhere near the bar. “I’m okay,” you manage. “I think I’ll just sit down for a bit.”
Your mom gives you a curious look but doesn’t press. You slip away from the crowd, finding the table reserved for you and your parents. But knowing them they probably would be up all night. The chair is cold against your skin when you sit, and you rest your hands in your lap, fingers twisting together as you try to calm the anxious flutter in your stomach.
Maybe you’re overreacting. Maybe you’ll get through this night without any—
Your heart drops when you hear your dad’s voice from across the room.
“Ah, there he is! Mr. Gong yoo! glad you could make it!”
Your back goes stiff.
You don’t turn around. You can’t turn around. You can already feel your pulse racing, your skin prickling with the awareness that he’s here. And when his deep, familiar voice carries across the room in response, your fingers tighten in your lap.
You need to stay out of his sight.
But you also know you won’t be able to avoid him forever.
The sound of his voice rolls through the room , smooth, warm, and far too familiar. You freeze, your breath catching as you hear him greet your dad like they’ve known each other for years. And they have, but after last night, everything feels different. Wrong.
You keep your eyes on the table, heart pounding so hard it drowns out most of the chatter around you. But it doesn’t matter. You know he’s here now. You can feel it. That same magnetic pull that had gotten you into trouble in the first place.
“Sweetheart?”
Your head jerks up at your dad’s voice, panic flaring for a split second. “Come say hello,” he urges. “It’s rude to sit off by yourself.”
Your throat tightens. “I—I’m okay,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “I just needed a minute.”
But it’s too late. You hear footsteps approaching. slow, measured , and the air around you seems to shift. Even without looking, you know exactly who it is.
“Ah, no need for introductions,” your dad says cheerfully.
You finally force yourself to look up, and there he is.
He’s perfectly composed, dressed in a sleek black suit that fits him so well it’s unfair. His expression is calm, polite, not even the slightest hint of the night before reflected in his face. But his eyes.. dark and steady, meet yours, and you swear you see something flicker there. Amusement, maybe.
“Good to see you again,” he says smoothly, his voice warm and collected. Like nothing happened. Like his hands hadn’t been all over you just last night.
Your skin prickles, face heating as you struggle to find your voice. “Y-You too,” you manage, but it comes out too soft. Too shaky.
You think you see the corner of his mouth twitch. like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind. And that only makes it worse.
Your dad doesn’t notice a thing, already launching into some conversation about business. But you can’t focus. Not when you still feel his eyes on you.
And when you risk a glance up, your breath catches.
Because he isn’t watching your dad.
He’s watching you.
You try to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible with the weight of his gaze on you. Your palms feel clammy in your lap, and you force yourself to keep your hands still, not wanting to give away how nervous you are.
But you know he sees it. You can feel it, the way his eyes linger a second too long, like he’s amused by your discomfort. Like he’s waiting for you to slip up.
“And how’s your son?” your dad asks, and your stomach twists painfully.
You don’t dare look at him. But you can still hear the ease in his voice when he answers. “He’s doing well,” he says smoothly. “He mentioned there was a little… disagreement yesterday, but I’m sure that’s been worked out?”
Your breath catches. You do look up then, your eyes snapping to his face. but there’s no sign of the man from last night. Just calm, polite curiosity. The perfect image of a concerned father.
And yet, when his eyes meet yours, there’s something else there. A glint of knowing.
Your throat goes dry. “Y-Yeah,” you say quickly. “We… talked. Everything’s fine.”
“Glad to hear it,” he says, his voice soft and warm. But there’s something in the way he says it. the slight lift of his brow, the hint of a smile that tugs at his lips, that makes your skin burn. Cause he knows exactly what happen, and what he did.
Your dad gives a satisfied nod, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good, good. Why don’t I introduce you to a few people? You two can talk later.”
You don’t miss the flicker of disappointment that crosses his face. so quick you might’ve imagined it. But when your dad leads him away, his eyes meet yours one last time.
And that look, steady, knowing, amused. makes your stomach flip.
As soon as they disappear into the small crowd of people, you let out a shaky breath, slumping slightly in your chair. But the relief is short-lived. Because now you know he’s here.
And there’s no telling when he’ll come back.
-
The night goes on, and the soft buzz of conversation and laughter starts to blur together. You stay at the table, your fingers tracing the rim of your water glass as your parents drift further into the crowd, chatting, laughing, toasting drinks with old friends.
The room feels warmer now, the golden light softer, and your eyelids grow heavier with every passing minute. You glance around, hoping for a distraction, but there’s nothing. Just groups of adults lost in their conversations and the occasional clink of glasses.
You stifle a yawn, resting your chin on your hand. It’s late, and you’re starting to wonder how much longer you’ll have to sit here alone — then the chair beside you slightly shifts.
You blink, startled, and when you glance up. your heart jumps.
It’s him.
He settles into the seat like he belongs there, his movements slow and relaxed. His black bow tie standing out, and there’s an ease to him that makes your stomach flutter.
“Not having fun?” His voice is low, smooth, the same voice that had whispered far more dangerous things just last night.
You sit up straighter, your pulse picking up. “I—um… I’m fine,” you mumble, suddenly very aware of how quiet and small your voice sounds.
He watches you, his head tilting slightly. “You don’t seem fine,” he says, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You look… tired.”
You swallow, your face heating under his attention. “It’s just… getting late,” you say softly. “That’s all.”
He hums thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. “Your parents seem to be enjoying themselves,” he observes, glancing toward them across the room. “They might be here a while.”
You follow his gaze, your dad’s laughing loudly with a group of his friends, and your mom’s deep in conversation, wine glass in hand. He’s right. You’re not leaving anytime soon.
“Would you like some company while you wait?” His voice draws your attention back to him, and the way he’s watching you makes your breath catch. Calm, polite… but there’s something else beneath the surface. Something that makes your skin tingle.
You hesitate, your fingers tightening around your glass. “You don’t have to—”
“But I want to,” he cuts in gently. “You look like you could use someone to keep you awake.”
The teasing edge in his voice makes your cheeks burn. You drop your eyes to your lap, suddenly too shy to meet his gaze. “Okay,” you whisper.
For a few moments, there’s only silence between you. But you can feel his presence. the warmth of it, the way it makes your skin prickle and your heart race. And when you finally risk a glance up, you find him still watching you. His eyes dark, unreadable. And his mouth, just barely curved into that same knowing smile.
The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, and you’re too aware of every little thing, the warmth of him so close, the quiet hum of his breathing, the way his eyes seem to linger on you just a second too long
“You always this quiet?” he asks after a moment, his voice low and smooth.
Your fingers toy with the hem of your dress as you force yourself to meet his gaze. “Not always,” you say softly.
He hums, amused. “Just around me, then?” That teasing edge to his voice. You weren’t quiet, not at all. He knew that all from the other night.
Your face flushes instantly. “N-No, I—”
“Don’t be all shy again..” he interrupts, his tone gentle but teasing. “You were doing perfectly fine with talking the other day.”
Your heart skips a beat. He says it so casually, like the weight of last night isn’t still sitting heavily between you, making it hard to breathe.
“I—” You start, but the words catch in your throat. You look down, biting your lip. “I guess.”
He chuckles, the sound warm and soft. “Relax,” he says, his voice dipping lower. “I don’t bite… unless you ask me to.”
Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and when you see the slight curve of his lips, your stomach flips.
He’s teasing you. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the worst part is it’s working.
You glance away quickly, your face burning. “You—You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” you mumble.
“Why not?” he asks, feigning innocence. “You seem a little tense… I’m just trying to help you loosen up.”
You stay quiet, too flustered to answer. But when you shift in your seat, his eyes flick downward, and that quiet, knowing look returns. Like he remembers every little detail of how you reacted to him last night.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asks softly, and the way his voice drops sends a shiver down your spine.
You freeze. “I—No, I’m not—”
He leans in just slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Liar.”
Your breath catches, and you stare at him, wide-eyed, heart pounding. You know you should say something, push back, deny it again but the word just hangs there between you.
Liar.
And the worst part is… he’s right.
You drop your gaze, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap. The heat crawling up your neck makes it impossible to breathe right, and you’re sure your face is giving you away.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you, letting the silence stretch long enough for your nerves to tighten. You can feel the corner of his mouth lifting, like he’s waiting for you to squirm.
But when you don’t answer, his voice comes again, soft, teasing. “You know… you’re not very good at hiding things.”
You swallow hard. “I—I’m not hiding anything,” you mumble, even though you know it’s useless.
“Mm.” He makes a thoughtful noise, but there’s still that glint of amusement in his eyes. “If you say so.”
He leans in just a little closer, his voice dropping lower. “You’ve been avoiding my eyes all night. Getting all quiet and shy… Makes me wonder what you’re thinking about.”
You know he knows. You can see it in the slight curve of his lips, in the way his eyes flicker over your face. Like he’s taking in every tiny reaction.
But you can’t answer him. You’re too flustered, too overwhelmed by the warmth of his attention.
So you stay quiet.
After a moment, his smile softens, just a little. The teasing edge fades, and when he speaks again, his voice is gentler. “Relax,” he murmurs. “I’m only teasing you.”
You finally risk a glance up at him, your face still warm. “You’re not making it very easy,” you mumble.
That earns you a quiet chuckle. but this time, it’s softer. “Maybe not,” he admits. “But you’re cute when you’re nervous.”
Your stomach flips, and you have to look away again before your face burns any hotter. This was so wrong, you made up with your boyfriend. He’s suppose to be here with you, not his father with you. You still felt so guilty and terrible.. but he never put in any effort. Not like his father did. You quickly snapped out of your thoughts from him speaking again.
He watches you for a moment longer before finally sitting back in his chair, giving you a little space. “I’ll stop,” he says, his tone gentler now. The way he says it, light, playful, but with a promise behind its makes your pulse skip.
The two of you sit there in a strange kind of silence, not uncomfortable, but heavy in a way you can’t quite shake. You try not to fidget under his gaze, but you can feel it every so often, his eyes flicking toward you like he’s waiting for you to speak.
But you don’t. You’re not sure you even can.
After a moment, he breaks the quiet. “You look like you could use a drink,” he says, his voice light and easy.
You blink, turning toward him. “I—I can’t,” you say quickly. “I’m only eighteen.”
He raises a brow, clearly amused by your sudden nervousness. “And?”
You shift in your seat, glancing around the room. “And… my parents are here,” you say in a low voice. “If they saw—
“They won’t,” he interrupts gently, his voice smooth and calm. “No one will. It’ll be our little secret.”
Before you can argue, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a sleek silver flask. Your eyes widen as you watch him unscrew the cap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Relax,” he says again, his voice soft. “Just a little. You seem… tense.”
“I—I don’t know…” you trail off, your heart pounding as you watch him.
He glances around the room, his eyes scanning the crowd, then leans in slightly, his movements slow, deliberate, and pours a splash of whatever’s in the flask into your empty water glass. The clear liquid darkens just a bit, the faint scent of alcohol drifting up.
When he looks back at you, there’s something almost gentle in his expression. “It’ll be fine,” he murmurs, his voice quiet enough that only you can hear. “No one’s paying attention. You won’t get in trouble.”
You hesitate, your fingers brushing the cool glass. “Are you sure…?”
“I promise.” The words are soft, almost soothing. “But if you don’t want to, I won’t push you.”
That makes it worse somehow, the way he’s so patient, so calm about it. Like he knows you’ll say yes eventually.
And maybe that’s why you finally pick up the glass, your heart thudding in your chest.
“It’s just one sip,” you whisper, half to convince yourself.
His eyes stay on you, dark and steady. “Just one.”
You bring the glass to your lips, heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. The smell alone makes you hesitate, but his eyes stay on you. calm, patient, and just a little bit amused.
You take a small sip.
The burn hits you immediately, sharp and bitter, and you barely manage to swallow it down without coughing. Your face scrunches up as the warmth spreads down your throat.
“Ew,” you whisper, setting the glass down quickly. “That’s… awful.”
He laughs. low and warm, clearly finding your reaction way too amusing. “It’s an acquired taste,” he says, still smiling. “But I think you handled that pretty well.”
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still wincing. “I don’t think I want to ‘acquire’ it,” you mumble, making him chuckle again.
But you notice the way his eyes soften just a bit when he looks at you. like he’s enjoying this more than he should.
And then, a few minutes later, he nudges your glass toward you again. “One more sip,” he says, his voice smooth and gentle. “It gets better. I promise.”
You hesitate, but he’s watching you with that same calm patience, and something about the way he says it makes it hard to say no.
So you take another sip. It still burns, but the taste doesn’t seem as bad this time.
“See?” he murmurs, smiling. “Told you.”
~
Throughout the night, it keeps happening. Every time you think you’re done, he coaxes you into one more sip. Just one more. until the bitterness doesn’t seem as sharp, and the warmth spreading through you feels kind of nice.
You’re not even sure when you started relaxing. but the room feels softer somehow, and your nerves aren’t quite so tight anymore.
And every time your eyes meet his, you swear his smile grows just a little more satisfied.
Your head feels heavy, the room warm and hazy as you sink deeper into your chair. You blink slowly, the soft hum of conversation around you blurring together now. and the glass in your hand feels heavier than it should.
You hadn’t even realized how many times you’d listened to him. Just one more sip, he’d say, and you’d take it without thinking. And now everything feels slow and warm, your limbs loose and your thoughts fuzzy.
You let out a soft, tired sigh, your head tilting to the side. “I’m sleepy…” you mumble, your words slurring just a little.
He’s still there, sitting close . his eyes never really leaving you. The slight curve of his mouth hasn’t faded, but there’s something softer about his expression now. Amused, maybe. Or patient.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.
You nod, though the movement makes your head feel even heavier. “Jus’… tired…”
He watches you for a moment, his eyes flicking over your face. Then, his voice dips lower. “I told you it’d get better,” he teases lightly.
You pout, your lips pressing into a soft little frown. “S’not better… it’s jus… weird…”
That makes him chuckle. a warm, quiet sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “You’re not used to it,” he says. “It takes time.”
But you’re too sleepy to care about that now. You shift in your chair, your eyes fluttering closed for just a second before you force them back open.
“Wanna go home…” you whisper, your voice soft and almost pleading. “I Wanna go to bed…”
His eyes stay on you, quiet and unreadable. “Your parents don’t seem ready to leave,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking toward them across the room. “They’re still having fun.”
You let out a soft, frustrated whine, sinking deeper into your chair. “I Don’t care… wanna go home…”
For a moment, he just watches you. and then you feel the lightest brush of his fingers against your wrist. “Why don’t we get you some air?” he suggests softly. “Might help you feel a little better.”
But you just shake your head, your body feeling too heavy and warm to move. “Jus’ wanna sleep…” you mumble again, your eyes slipping closed despite your best efforts.
And the last thing you hear is his voice, quiet and soft . as he murmurs, “Alright… just rest for a bit. I’ve got you.”
You shift in your seat, your body feeling so heavy and warm you can barely hold yourself up. Your head droops a little, and you let out a soft, sleepy whine.
“I Wanna go home…” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. “I Wanna sleep… not here…”
He watches you for a moment, his eyes steady and calm, but there’s a flicker of something else there. something thoughtful. Then he leans in a little closer, his voice soft and soothing.
“Alright,” he says quietly. “I’ll take you home.”
You blink up at him, your vision a little blurry. “But… my parents…”
“I’ll talk to them,” he reassures you, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
Before you can argue, not that you have the energy to , he stands up. You watch him through half-lidded eyes as he adjusts his jacket, casting one more glance your way.
“Just stay right here,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right back.”
You nod slowly, your body too heavy to do much else, and he walks off toward the crowd.
He finds your parents easily. still laughing and chatting with their friends, glasses of wine in hand. The last thing they’d notice is their daughter sitting off to the side, barely keeping her eyes open.
He approaches them smoothly, his voice warm and polite. “Hey, I just wanted to let you know, your daughter’s feeling a little tired. She asked if I could take her home so she could rest.”
Your mom frowns slightly. “Oh, is she okay?”
“Just worn out, I think,” he says easily, his tone reassuring. “It’s been a long day for her.”
Your dad glances toward where you’re sitting but can’t quite see you through the crowd. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”
“Not at all,” he says, his smile calm and convincing. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”
Your mom hesitates, but the easy charm in his voice seems to put her at ease. “Alright… just tell her we’ll be home soon.”
“Of course,” he nods, already turning back toward you.
And as he walks through the room, there’s a quiet, satisfied curve to his lips.
You barely register the sound of his footsteps returning, but then his hand is on your shoulder, warm and steady. “Come on,” he murmurs softly. “Let’s get you home.
You blink up at him, your vision still fuzzy, and nod slowly. But when you try to stand, your legs feel wobbly and weak, and you sway a little. His hand moves to your waist immediately, steadying you.
“Easy,” he says, his voice low and gentle. “Just lean on me.”
You do. because you don’t really have a choice. The room tilts slightly around you, and the warmth of his hand fully around your waist is the only thing keeping you grounded.
“Try to act normal, okay?” he whispers, his mouth close to your ear. “We don’t want anyone asking questions.”
You nod again, your head bobbing against his shoulder, but you can’t stop the soft whine that escapes your lips as you cling to his arm. “I’m tired…” you mumble, your words slurring together.
“I know,” he soothes, guiding you through the room. “We’re almost there.”
You try to keep your head down, but it’s hard when everything feels so heavy and warm. You don’t even know how you make it outside without stumbling, or how no one notices the way you’re leaning so heavily against him.
The cool night air hits you, making you shiver a little. He tightens his grip just slightly, his hand firm against your waist as he leads you to his car. When he opens the door, you practically melt into the seat, your head falling back with a soft sigh.
The seatbelt clicks into place, and then he’s sliding into the driver’s side. But before he even starts the engine, your voice breaks the quiet.
“I Wanna go home…” you whisper again, your eyes barely open.
“I know,” he says softly, but there’s something in his voice, something darker, rougher.
And when his eyes flick over to you, watching the way you shift and squirm in the seat, still whining softly, you don’t see the way his jaw tightens, or the way his fingers flex against the steering wheel
Because that feeling from last night?
It’s back.
But this time he’s trying to hide it.
The drive is quiet except for your soft, sleepy murmurs. You shift in the seat, your head leaning to the side, and every so often you let out a little whine, still half-awake, still wanting to go home.
And he listens, his knuckles white against the steering wheel, but his face stays calm. Steady. Even though that strange, familiar feeling is still tugging at him, he pushes it down. He tells himself it’s nothing. Even after saying all these little things to you throughout the night, right now you were drunk and it was wrong. Last night it was completely up to the two of you, but now your vulnerable. Not even knowing what was going on.
When the car finally pulls into your driveway, you’re already half-asleep. He steps out first, walking around to your side and opening the door.
“Come on,” he murmurs, his hand warm on your arm as he helps you out. “We’re home.”
But your legs are just as wobbly as before, maybe worse, and you stumble into him with a soft noise, your forehead brushing against his chest.
“Sorry…” you mumble, your voice muffled against him.
“It’s okay,” he says quietly, his arm slipping around your waist again. “Gonna pick you up, okay?.” You huff shakily. “mkay..” you whispered softly out. Feeling as his strong arms suddenly picked you up. Your arms instantly wrapped around his neck as his arm was tucked under your legs. Holding you in a bridal style way. And the way you wrapped your arms straight around his neck, just reminded him even more of last night.
The way your arms were wrapped around his neck, the way your legs wrapped around his torso. His lips on yours.
He shook his head, stop it. He thought to himself. He stepped inside. The house is quiet when he unlocks the door, your parents still at the party. He guides you inside, careful and patient as you shuffle toward the stairs. You cling to him without even thinking, your body too heavy and your thoughts too fuzzy.
By the time you reach your room, you’re barely standing. He eases you down onto the edge of your bed, crouching in front of you to slip off your shoes.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs again, his voice softer now. “You just need some rest.”
You nod, your eyelids fluttering shut. “Thank you…” you whisper, your words slow and drowsy.
He watches you for a moment. the way your face softens as sleep tugs at you, the way your body sways just slightly before you catch yourself. That feeling pulls at him again, but he pushes it back. He tells himself this isn’t the time.
Not yet.
“Get some sleep,” he says gently, standing up. “I’ll let your parents know you’re home safe.”
But as he turns to leave, your hand catches his wrist, your fingers soft and warm against his skin.
“Stay…?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.
And for a long moment, he just stands there. watching you, his face unreadable. He didn’t want to stay, because he knew if he did he wouldn’t be able to control himself.
But he hesitates for a moment, the quiet in the room settling between you. His eyes flicker to yours, soft but unreadable, as if he’s unsure whether he should give in.
“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “Just for a little while.”
He sits down beside you on the bed, his presence calm but steady. You can feel his warmth next to you, and even though his demeanor is composed, there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel both safe and vulnerable.
“You should rest,” he murmurs, but his voice doesn’t sound like an order, more like a quiet suggestion. He watches you for a moment as you sit up, the softness in your eyes drawing him in.
And for a while, the two of you just sit there in silence, until you find yourself swaying slightly, your head eventually coming to rest against his shoulder. The warmth of the alcohol in your system makes everything feel soft and hazy, and before you can stop yourself, your fingers are curling loosely into the fabric of his sleeve.
"Don't go yet," you mumble, your words slightly slurred but gentle. "Just... stay here for a bit longer." You nestle closer, seeking his warmth, too tipsy to be self-conscious about your need for comfort.
With a surge of boldness, you shift slightly, lifting your head from his shoulder. The world spins just a little as you move, but you manage to steady yourself. Your hand trails up his arm, coming to rest gently against his cheek, turning his face toward yours.
Your lips brush against his other cheek, soft and fleeting like a whisper. The contact sends a small shiver through you, and you linger there for just a moment, breathing in the subtle scent of his cologne. When you pull back, your faces are close enough that you can see the subtle shift in his expression, the way his eyes soften at the edges.
His breath catches slightly at your touch, and you feel the way his jaw tenses beneath your fingertips. There's a moment of hesitation where neither of you moves, the air between you charged with unspoken tension.
His eyes meet yours, dark and questioning. Even through your alcohol-induced haze, you can see the conflict there. the way he's struggling between what he wants and what he thinks he should do. His hand comes up to cover yours, but he doesn't pull it away from his face. Instead, his thumb traces gentle circles against your skin.
"You're drunk," he whispers, but he doesn't move away. If anything, he leans slightly into your touch, betraying his own desires despite his words of caution.
"okay.. but-" you admit softly, "i- I know what I want." Your fingers curl slightly against his cheek, and you feel rather than hear the sharp intake of his breath.
He didn’t say anything. Sitting there, letting you do as you pleased. So soft like he was and used by it. Your eyes looked at him all hazy and sift. But a hint of confusion to why there was a skein plastered on his lips. Your head tilted gently. His hand reaching to gently brush a piece of hair out your face. His fingers lingered on skin for a moment, softly brushing down the side of your neck, causing you to shiver slightly. He chuckled lightly. “pretty.” He said quietly. Almost like he was egging you on. Wanting you to do something.
Your breath hitched slightly at his touch, the warmth of his fingers leaving a faint trail of goosebumps down your neck. You weren’t sure if it was the way he was looking at you, calm, unreadable, but still somehow expectant. or if it was just the way your heart felt heavy in your chest, the alcohol still making your thoughts feel slow and unsteady.
Your lips parted, but you didn’t know what to say. There was something in the way he said pretty. like he was testing you, waiting for a reaction.
Your fingers curled against the fabric of your dress, gripping it lightly as you tried to steady yourself. “Y-You keep looking at me like that,” you murmured, your voice soft and slow, “but I don’t know what you want.”
His smile didn’t falter, but something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? He tilted his head slightly, his thumb brushing along his own fingers as he rested his hand on his knee.
“I don’t want anything,” he said smoothly, but there was a teasing lilt to his voice, like he enjoyed seeing you this way. uncertain, flustered, clinging onto every little thing he did.
You swallowed, shifting slightly where you sat. The air between you was thick, heavy with something unspoken.
He leaned back slightly, his gaze still locked onto you, unreadable yet somehow still drawing you in. “You’re tired,” he finally murmured, his tone softer now, almost coaxing. “You should rest.”
It wasn’t a dismissal. But it also wasn’t an invitation. It was something in between, and it left you unsure of what to do next. He knew he wanted it as badly as you did. But figuring it’d be fun playing around with you, knowing how drunk you were.
A flicker of annoyance sparked in your chest. His tone was so calm, so controlled, while you felt like a mess, warm, restless, and still buzzing from everything that had happened. He was toying with you, wasn’t he? Letting you get worked up, watching as you sat there all dazed and unsteady, hanging onto his every word.
Your fingers curled against the fabric of your dress, gripping it tighter. “You’re so… f-frustrating,” you muttered, your voice slightly slurred from exhaustion and the alcohol still clouding your thoughts. Your brows furrowed as you stared at him, eyes hazy but sharp with irritation.
He only smiled, unbothered. “Am I?” His voice was smooth, teasing, like he found amusement in your frustration.
That only made it worse.
Without another thought, you leaned forward, closing the space between you. You weren’t thinking, weren’t weighing the consequences, weren’t questioning whether this was right or wrong. You just wanted to shut him up, to break through that irritating composure of his, to see if he’d finally react.
Your lips brushed against his, quick, unsteady, and impulsive.
For a second, everything stilled.
His body didn’t move, didn’t tense. He just sat there, letting you do as you pleased, just like before. The warmth of his lips lingered against yours for a brief moment before you pulled back, your breath uneven, heart hammering in your chest.
You expected some kind of reaction. shock, amusement, maybe even scolding. But instead, he just looked at you, still unreadable, his expression frustratingly calm.
And then, slowly, he exhaled a quiet chuckle. “Was that supposed to prove something?”
His voice was low, steady, but there was something different in his gaze now. Something unreadable, yet undeniably focused on you.
His eyes flickered over your face, watching the way your breath hitched, the way frustration and something deeper swirled behind your gaze. The bravado you had just seconds ago was already slipping, replaced with something softer, something needy.
For a moment, he just let the silence stretch between you. Then, finally, he exhaled, his shoulders relaxing just the slightest bit.
“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” he murmured, almost to himself. But there was no edge to his voice anymore, no teasing. Just quiet understanding.
Your lips parted as if to protest, but before you could get a single word out, he moved.
Slowly, deliberately, his hand lifted, fingers brushing along your jaw before settling against the side of your face. His touch was warm, steady, and this time, he wasn’t testing you. He wasn’t waiting for you to make the move.
He was giving in.
He leaned in, closing the space between you, his lips pressing against yours. not rushed, not hesitant, but familiar. Like last night. Except now, you weren’t in the haze of anger or reckless defiance. Now, it was just the two of you, in the quiet comfort of your room.
Your breath trembled against his mouth as you melted into him, your body instinctively leaning closer, like it had been waiting for this. His other hand came to rest against your waist, grounding you, holding you steady.
This time, he wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t holding back.
And neither were you.
His lips pressed against yours, slightly rougher than before, hands gripping your hips the same way they did last night. You were needier this time, your head buzzed. Though thoughts were cloudy, you knew you wanted this as much as he did. His hands grasped your hips as he tugged you into his lap. At the headboard of your bed, his back pressed against it while he helped your legs straddle him, lips still pressed to yours. His tongue brushed softly against your lip, making you sigh.
You parted your lips, allowing his tongue to slip in with ease, brushing against yours and causing a soft whimper to escape. It was like music to his ears, bringing a slight grin to his lips. His hands ran down your thighs gently. Your dress bunched around your thighs and hips from the position. Your hands rested on his chest.
The room was dim, filled only with the sounds of your kisses, hands brushing against one another, and the slight buzz of your phone. You were too absorbed to notice. His lips broke from yours to press soft, rapid kisses down your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut, mouth parting slightly as soft sighs and subtle whimpers escaped. Eyes opening hazily, you noticed your phone light up in your peripheral vision.
He glanced up, following your gaze, and saw your phone lighting up with texts and calls from his son. "Wha—who's that?" you whispered, not seeing the name. He stopped kissing your neck, reaching over to shut the phone off and flip it face-down on the bed. "No one, baby. Don't worry about it," he whispered tenderly. You listened easily, quickly forgetting as his lips returned to your neck. Growing impatient again, eager just like yesterday, you shifted. He sensed it, smirking—you could feel the curve of his smile against your neck.
"Be patient now..." he whispered teasingly but quiet. You huffed, annoyed, still droopy and hazy from the buzz. Lifting your head to meet his, you pressed your lips back to his, eager and slightly sloppy. He smiled, letting you do as you pleased, kissing back lightly, amused by your attempts to take control and hurry him along. But he wouldn't, not yet. As you kissed him, he positioned you onto his thigh, your sweet spot pressed right against it. You didn't notice until you shifted slightly, trying to sit up, only to move against him.
A light whimper left your mouth as he parted your lips from his. Your lips were slightly swollen and shiny with mixed saliva, eyes big and woozy. He grinned. "Hm?" he hummed, acting as if he didn’t do anything. "What is it?" "R-that—" you mumbled softly, barely able to speak. His hand brushed a fallen strand of hair from your face before he leaned down, nuzzling your neck. You huffed shakily, eyes closing again. Now was his chance. His hands slipped back to your hips, slightly moving them, causing you to rub against his thigh. You whined softly. "Mm—" you hummed. "You like that?" he whispered, his hot breath tickling your neck. "Mhm," you hummed once more. He didn't say anything. He just continued. He lightly moved your dress up, causing it to bunch around your hips. His Hands gripping your hips as he began to gently move them again. Causing you to move against his clothed thigh again.
He slid his hands down your thighs once more, gripping them firmly as he guided your movements. Your breathing grew heavier, mixing with soft whimpers that escaped your lips. His mouth found your neck again, trailing hot kisses down to your collarbone. The friction against his thigh made your head spin even more, clouding your thoughts further.
"Such pretty sounds you make," he murmured against your skin, one hand moving to cup your face. His thumb traced your bottom lip gently, his dark eyes watching you intently. You could barely focus, lost in the sensations as he continued to guide your hips in a steady rhythm.
Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, nails digging in slightly through his shirt. He groaned quietly at the feeling, his free hand squeezing your hip in response. The room felt impossibly hot now, making your dress cling to your skin. You wanted more - needed more - but he kept you there, working you up slowly with deliberate movements.
More frequent whimpers began to leave your lips, making him more and more aroused. God, now he needed something now. Hands loosening slightly on your hips as he let you do as you wanted now. Your hands gripped his shoulders. Feeling yourself lost in the pleasure.
His breath grew ragged as he watched you chase your pleasure, your movements becoming more desperate and erratic. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as waves of pleasure coursed through you. He groaned at the sensation, his hands sliding up your back under your dress.
"That's it.” he whispered softly, his lips brushing against your ear. "Cmon.." His words sent shivers down your spine, making your movements falter slightly. He steadied you with his hands on your waist, guiding you back into rhythm.
Your forehead pressed against his as your breathing became more labored. His eyes watching your closed ones, dark with desire, watching every expression that crossed your face. You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension building with each movement against his thigh.
He had you gasping, your fingers gripping his shoulders as the wave of pleasure washed over you. It left you breathless, your body still trembling as you sat on his lap, vulnerable and lightheaded.
The dizziness lingered, making your head spin, and you let it rest against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. His hand traced slow, soothing circles on your back through the soft fabric of your black dress. Yet, despite your exhaustion, his dark eyes remained hungry. He knew you were tired—but he couldn’t help himself. He needed more. After giving you so much, it was his turn to take.
Now, you were at your most vulnerable.
“Can you do something for me, honey?” he whispered, his voice low and smooth.
Your eyes fluttered open, still hazy from the lingering buzz. Your mind felt sluggish, barely processing his words.
“Hm… yeah,” you mumbled, your speech slightly slurred.
He smirked. “Yeah?” he echoed, double-checking, not because he needed to, but because he liked hearing you say it.
You lifted your head from his shoulder, nodding slowly as your gaze met his. His hands slid to your hips, guiding you off his lap. You let out a small yawn as you crawled off him, flopping onto the soft comforter of your bed. All you wanted was to curl up and sleep.
A soft sigh escaped your lips as you turned onto your side, eyes already closing—
“Nuh-uh,” he murmured, his hands finding your waist to pull you upright again.
You groaned, rubbing your eyes. “C-Can we just do it tomorrow?” you mumbled, oblivious to what he wanted.
His gaze was dark, hungry, far from sweet and patient. He wasn’t going to wait anymore.
“No. Sit up,” he commanded firmly. But as he took in your tired, dazed expression, his eyes softened. Just a little.
He exhaled slowly, his grip on your waist loosening just a bit. You blinked up at him, still groggy, barely aware of the way his gaze roamed over you.
“Come on, just for a little,” he coaxed, voice softer now, though the edge of impatience still lingered beneath it.
You sighed, sitting up reluctantly, your body still heavy with exhaustion. “What- i-is it?” you murmured, rubbing at your eyes.
His fingers trailed up your arm, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver through your already tired body. “Just stay awake for me,” he said. “I need you for a little longer.”
You swallowed, sensing the shift in his tone. It wasn’t a request.
His hands found your wrists, thumbs stroking over your pulse as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”
Your breath hitched. Even through the haze of exhaustion, there was something in his voice that made it impossible to say no.
He saw the hesitation in her eyes—that soft, uncertain look. But he knew she’d give in anyway.
Tilting his head slightly, he studied her, waiting. And then, slowly, she nodded.
“Good,” he murmured, a satisfied hum slipping from his lips.
His fingers curled around her hand, guiding her upright. With a gentle but deliberate tug, he pulled her off the bed. His hands slid to her shoulders, coaxing her down until she was kneeling on the wooden floor in front of him. Exactly where he wanted her.
Your head was swimming, vision slightly blurred as you looked up at him. He reached down, fingers threading through your hair as he observed you with dark, hungry eyes. Despite your exhaustion, something about his gaze sent a shiver down your spine.
"That's my girl," he purred, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. You parted them instinctively, earning a low chuckle from above. "So good, even when you're tired."
His other hand moved to cup your jaw, tilting your face up further. You blinked slowly, trying to focus through the haze. The room seemed to spin slightly, but his firm grip kept you steady, anchored to the moment.
His hands moved to the buttons of his pants, undoing them with calm, deliberate ease. But beneath that controlled exterior, he was eager—craving the warmth of your lips, the touch of your hands. And the way you watched him the entire time, eyes fixed on him with that quiet anticipation. It only made him harder.
He let out a slow breath, his gaze locked onto yours as he pushed his pants down just enough. Black boxers visible, but he tugged those down too. He hard length visible now, your eyes all fuzzy and fixated on it. And god, he loved it. His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up to him.
“Open,” he murmured, voice thick with desire.
Your lips parted instinctively, your breath warm against the skin of his rough hand. His thumb traced over your lower lip, watching the way you shivered under his touch.
“Good girl,” he praised, his tone laced with both patience and hunger.
His other hand tangled into your hair, guiding you closer.
Your lips parted as you felt the tip of his cock slip into your mouth. A low sultry groan leaving his lips. Finally, feeling you on him. His eyes looking down at you. Dark and filled with lust. “Hm” he hummed quietly. His larger hands went to tangle in your hair. Your bow that was once in your hair now slipped out and on the floor beside you. Your dress bunched up around your thighs. He was big.
Your lips parted as he tip pressed against them, slipping into the wetness of your mouth. a deep, sultry groan slipping from his throat the moment he finally felt your warmth. His dark, hooded eyes stayed locked onto you, heavy with hunger.
“Hm,” he hummed, low and satisfied.
His fingers threaded through your hair, his grip firm yet teasing. The ribbon that once held your hair neatly in place slipped free, forgotten on the floor beside you. Your dress had ridden up around your thighs, the fabric pooling as you shifted.
He was big—his presence overwhelming, intoxicating. And he knew it.
His hand tightened in your hair as he guided you further, watching with dark satisfaction as more of his length disappeared between your parted lips. Your eyes fluttered, struggling to stay focused as the combination of alcohol and exhaustion made everything hazy. Eyes blurring with tears as you softly gagged. Feeling the tip of his cock hit a he back of your mouth endlessly.
"Look at me," he commanded softly, waiting until your bleary gaze met his. "mmh good."
His hips moved slowly at first, careful, measured thrusts that let you adjust to his size in your mouth. But his patience was wearing thin. Each wet sound, each small groan that vibrated around him, pushed him closer to the edge of his control.
Your hands rested weakly on his thighs, trying to steady yourself as he began to pick up his pace. The room spun slightly, but his firm grip in your hair kept you grounded, focused on the task at hand.
"That's it. " he groaned, watching your lips stretch around him. Teary eyes looking up at him. His sons girlfriend, all pretty like this below him.
His hands gripped your hair as he forced himself down your throat, making your eyes shut tightly. Tears poured down your face between desperate gags. Your hands clutched his thighs. One of his hands held your hair back from your face while the other gently wiped tears from your cheek. With a final thrust of his hips, he let out a deep groan, his head falling back. You felt his member twitch in your mouth before slipping out. A shaky gasp escaped your lips as you tried to catch your breath, eyes blinking rapidly. But he wasn't done, not yet.
Your wide, teary eyes gazed up at him before dropping to his hand. "Open," he instructed firmly. You obeyed immediately, your cheeks stained with tears and hair disheveled from his grip. Your lips parted, tongue extended, and your eyes fluttered as warm liquid spilled onto your tongue and face. You flinched slightly, your body burning and breath ragged. "Swallow," he whispered strictly. You complied, closing your mouth and swallowing everything. He adjusted himself, pulling his boxers and pants back on. A gentle chuckle escaped him—the sight of you like this, eyes teary and face a mess. Mixed with his come and tears, amused him. With a smile playing on his lips, he helped brush away your stray tears and cleaned your face with gentle strokes. His fingers gathered the remnants, then pressed them to your lips. You whimpered softly, understanding his intent, and sucked his fingers clean.
“So good.”
This feels so rushed HELLO IM SORRY
IT WILL NOT LET ME TAG ANYBODY HELLO IM SO SORRU OMG💔
More Posts from Moonlitsmile and Others
Guys how much aura did I lose be honest 💔
So basically it was my last home soccer game, yes I’m a minor. Anyway, I was starting and straight COOKING, and mind you I was on injury break all season and a manager but I could finally play the last home game. So I was out there, and then I saw my ex that I was literally in love with for 2 years with his friends. We stopped talking like the day before new years, I started panicking and then crying telling this girl to tell my coach to take me out. And then I didn’t play rest of the game, I feel stupid 🥀🥀
Please help me i feel like i can vent on here 💖✌️ or more backstory first 😔 oh yeah and we LOST TOO
Can you write headcannons how Joel miller Would be with his younger girlfriend, thansk! 💗
How he would be with his younger partner ୨୧
joel miller x f!reader
nsfw under cut ❣︎
- He might not say much at first, but he’s always watching out for you. He keeps a hand at the small of your back in crowded areas, walks on the outside of the sidewalk, and checks the locks twice when you stay over. It’s his way of saying I love you without the words.
- He acts of service king. like he’s constantly doing little things. Like changing the oil in your car, fixing your leaky faucet, or carrying heavy bags for you without you even asking.
- Sometimes he’ll get quiet and just look at you like he can’t believe you’re his. He’ll brush a strand of hair behind your ear and mumble something like, “Don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He really believes you’re this bright, soft light he stumbled into.
- In public, he’s tough and a little gruff, but behind closed doors I feel like he’d be gentle. Thumb rubbing over your knuckles, forehead kisses, slow back rubs when you’re tired. He holds you like you’re breakable, even though you’ve seen him at his roughest.
- He’ll grumble when you playfully poke fun at his age. “Old man? I’ll show you an old man.” But you can see the smirk fighting to stay hidden. He secretly loves how much you tease him, especially when you do that little smile that melts him.
- When he sleeps next to you, he always pulls you close, even if he passed out angry or tired. You’ll wake up tangled in his arms, his face buried in your hair, mumbling half-asleep things like “Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”
- He respects your independence, even if it kills him not to step in sometimes. He’ll ask, not demand. “You sure you’re okay goin’ alone?” and if you say yes, he won’t fight it, but you will find a weapon mysteriously tucked into your bag later.
- He’s not poetic, but every now and then he’ll hit you with a line like, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” Or “You look real pretty today.” And it always feels 10x more powerful because of how rare and sincere it is.
- Occasionally he’ll lean into the “old guy” thing and tell a dumb dad joke just to make you laugh. He’s so smug when you groan and roll your eyes. “Told ya I was funny.”
- Joel’s been through hell and survived more than anyone should. But loving you gives him something to live for again. A future. A hope. And he guards that fiercely. (HES ALIVE.)
Nsfw ೀ
- Joel isn’t in a rush. He takes his time with you, kissing your neck until you’re squirming, running his hands over every inch of your skin like he’s memorizing it. He needs you to feel worshiped.
- He’s always telling you how good you are, how pretty you look, how tight you feel. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.” His voice drops to that low, gravelly tone that makes your knees weak every time.
- I feel like he’d leaves marks, hickeys on your neck, bites on your thighs, bruises on your hips from how hard he grips you. He doesn’t mean to be rough, but when you moan his name like that? He wants to ruin you for anyone else. “You’re mine. Say it.”
- He seems like the type of person that loves when your ride him. There’s something about you on top, your hands on his chest, his big hands guiding your hips, eyes locked on yours. He’ll just sit back and groan, watching you fall apart. But he will take over when he’s had enough teasing.
- mm I think he’d have a daddy kink (but it’s soft). Like you call him “daddy” and his whole body reacts. He doesn’t even ask for it, it just happens and it wrecks him. But he’s not degrading. it’s all about taking care of you, owning every sound you make. “That’s my good girl. You need daddy’s cock, huh?”
- He a aftercare king. He’s so gentle after. Wipes you down, runs a warm bath if you need it, holds you close and rubs your back while murmuring things like “Did so good for me, baby.” He’ll get you water—he won’t even let you lift a finger.
- He has that voice. The low, broken groans, the way he growls “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby” right in your ear, it’s almost too much.
- Joel has a sixth sense for what you need. Fingers, tongue, cock, he knows just how to use them. He’ll edge you for fun, hold your wrists down, whisper sweet things while your thighs shake. “Not yet, baby. I’ll tell you when.”
Joel miller request pls 💔💔💔💔💔anything pls💔💔😞
✞ 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 ✞
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐰ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ
𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 | reader is happily married to Charlie, who was a priest before they wed. But working at the diner where he and Megan eat, she can’t stand the way Megan drools over him.
burning desire 3
꣑୧ — 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑/ 𝟑 : after mingle they go back to their beds. About a day after that, the chaos broke out, the war starting. y/n stuck in the middle of it going with in-ho to find gi-hun and Jung-bae. But little did she know in-ho was behind it all.
꣑୧- lil warning but not for much. aggressive angry in-ho but getting gentler. crying, dacryphillia, making out, thigh riding, risk of getting caught, nsfw, mentions of blood, guns, and just mean in-ho. lmk if I missed anything ❣︎ oh and plus it’s a long ahh chapter
Reader sat in her bunk, her bread still untouched laying in her lap, the unions milk carton beside it. She stared down at it, still a little shooken up from the mingle game. Shooken up from young-ill. And he noticed it, he decided not to say much. Leave her as that, not wanting to bother her and decided to give her some space. Part of him felt a bit bad doing it in front of her, but another part of him mainly thought she was just pathetic. Cmon, he had to do it. What else could he have done?
She had to understand that. And she somewhat did, but it still was just a little crazy. Sitting in the bottom bunk a little away from the rest of the group, her food layed still wrapped up in front of her, not bothering to touch it. She didn’t really feel like it, but also didn’t have the appetite after seeing all those people dead and dying in front of her eyes a minute ago. It was around evening time now, maybe 8. Not too long before lights out. She was a bit scared, what if something happen tonight? But nothing ever did the other nights. She sat there for a couple more minutes fiddling with the end of her jacket sleeves.
Seeing the dried blood. Still feeling chills. She was zoned out for a moment before she heard his voice. Young-ill. Her eyes softened, almost as if she could still see the cold look in his eyes from earlier when he snapped that man’s neck. “Why aren’t you eating?” He asked lightly. Deciding it was time to talk to her now. He wanted her to talk to him. Not ignore him. He hated when people ignored him. He gently sat down on the matress next to her. “I’m not hungry..” she mumbled quietly. She knew she was. She just didn’t have the appetite to eat.
Looking down at the bread still fresh in the plastic package. His eyes watched her intently. “yes you are.” He said gently. She slowly glanced up at him. Not saying much. He huffed lightly. “Cmon you gotta eat something.” He said. His voice was softer, gentler. Trying to somewhat comfort her, manipulate her into being okay. Make her go back to normal and not see him for the cold and harsh person he was earlier. Even though that’s who he was, he was a bad person.
She couldn’t know that, not yet. Well she already somewhat did, but that wasn’t anything compared to who he really was. He watched as she looked back down. His eyes were still on her. “look at me.. please.” He said. His voice was quiet, light. Almost as a gentle command. He wanted her to listen to him, to stop being dramatic. But part of him loved seeing her like this. She sighed, looking back up at him. Her soft eyes looking into his. “Eat.. just a little yeah?” Taking the bread gently from her lap as he opened it. “It’s good.. try it.” He said gently. Handing it to her. She decided to just take it, so he would stop. But part of her didn’t want him to stop.
She wanted to keep talking to him.. “okay..” she said quietly. Gently taking a bite of the bread. He smiled lightly. His eyes still watching her, god how sweet she looked. How nice she looked doing anything. “see.. good hm?” He said. His voice still gentle, barely above a whisper. They were towards the corner. Some other empty beds around them, no one really paying attention to them. “yeah..” she said gently. Glancing up at him softly before back down at her bread. Gentle lullaby music beginning to lightly play on the speakers. “Players, lights out in 30 minutes.” The woman’s voice on the speaker spoke. She sighed quietly.
“Now tell me why you look so sad.. I hate seeing you like that.” He said gently. Fake act of pity in his deep voice. He was lying, he loved seeing her like this. So vulnerable and weak. All sad and pathetic. He couldn’t stand it. Knowing that it was all his fault making it even better.
She hesitated for a moment, playing with the edge of her bread wrapper. "I just... I've never seen someone die like that before," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes remained fixed on her lap, unable to meet his gaze.
"It's part of the game," he replied smoothly, reaching out to touch her arm gently. "Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do to survive." His voice was honey-sweet, masking the darkness that lurked beneath. He watched as she visibly tensed at his touch, but didn't pull away.
"I know that," she said, finally looking up at him. "But it doesn't make it any easier to watch." Her eyes held a mix of fear and something else – a hint of curiosity, perhaps even attraction, that she couldn't quite suppress despite what she'd witnessed.
Young-ill leaned in closer, his presence both comforting and threatening at once. "yeah.. but it gets better eventually," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "We’ll all have to do it eventually." His fingers traced small circles on her soft arm, a gesture that seemed caring but held an underlying possessiveness that made her shiver. By doing it.. did he mean killing someone..?
She wanted to believe his gentle facade, wanted to trust in the softness of his voice and the warmth of his touch. But the memory of his cold eyes as he took that man's life kept flashing in her mind, a stark reminder of what he was capable of. Still, she found herself drawn to him, like a moth to a flame that would surely burn her.
"you okay now?" he whispered, his dark eyes locked onto hers. The words sent a chill down her spine – not entirely from fear. “mhm..” she hummed softly. Her eyes locked onto his now.. hypnotized by him again. He knew what he was doing, he smiled gently. The innocent fake smile. His hand moved to brush a piece of her hair behind her ear, thumb brushing softly against her skin.
She found herself leaning into his touch despite her better judgment. Deciding if she should even say it, but it was too late now. “How can you be so gentle now, after..." she trailed off, unable to finish the thought. The contrast between his tenderness and his capacity for violence was dizzying.
Young-ill's expression darkened slightly, though his touch remained soft. "Everything I do, I do for a reason," he said, voice low and gentle. "You understand that, don't you?" His eyes searched hers, seeking not just understanding but acceptance. Acceptance of who he was, of what he could do. Warming her up a bit, just for what was gonna happen tomorrow.
She swallowed hard, caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to move closer. "I understand," she whispered, though she wasn't sure if she truly did. Or if she even wanted to. The bread lay forgotten in her lap as she sat there, trapped in the magnetic pull of his presence.
His lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. It was the kind of smile that made her wonder if she'd just given him exactly what he wanted – though what that was, she couldn't be sure.
The lights dimmed gradually until the room was bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. As darkness settled in for lights out, she remained motionless, aware of Young-ill's presence beside her. His body radiated warmth in the small space between them, his steady breathing matching the rhythm of her quickening heartbeat. Their faces were mere inches apart, close enough that she could feel the gentle whisper of his breath against her skin. The tension built like electricity in the air until he could no longer resist the magnetic pull between them.
His lips found hers in the darkness, gentle at first. She released a shaky, quiet sigh that seemed to echo in the stillness, her body melting into the kiss as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As she responded to his touch, he carefully guided her back onto the mattress, making sure her head rested comfortably against the pillow. Her delicate hands found their way to him instinctively - one settling on his broad shoulder while the other pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt.
A low, quiet groan escaped him as he deepened the kiss, his movements becoming more insistent but still carefully controlled. They remained hidden in their corner of the room, shrouded in shadows and relative privacy. Though anxiety flickered at the edges of her consciousness about being discovered, Young-ill seemed to sense her unease. Drawing back slightly, he gazed down at her, his features softened by the dim blue circle light that cast everything in an otherworldly glow.
"Stop that... you're okay," he whispered, his voice impossibly gentle yet commanding, wanting her to forget everything except this moment, except him. His words washed over her like a spell, trying to ease away her concerns about discovery and draw her completely into his world.
He pressed his lips back onto hers, a quiet soft whimper escaping from between her parted lips at the gentle contact. He pulled back immediately, his dark eyes meeting hers with gentle warning. "shh," he shushed tenderly, reminding her of the need for discretion in their hidden corner. The last thing they needed was to draw unwanted attention. His lips found their way to the delicate curve of her neck, causing her eyes to flutter closed at the sensation. She fought to contain a sigh that threatened to escape as he traced featherlight kisses along her sensitive skin, deliberately careful not to mark her. At least not yet, he thought to himself.
Her fingers curled into his shoulders, applying gentle pressure that increased and decreased with each tender kiss. His hands moved with practiced care - one splayed across her chest while the other cradled the back of her head, fingers tangled in her soft hair. The intoxicating feel of her beneath his touch was overwhelming; he couldn't seem to get enough. A breathless sigh escaped him as he gradually guided her to sit up, following her movement to maintain their intimate connection.
She crawled toward him instinctively, closing what little distance remained between them as her lips sought his once more. His hands found her waist, fingers pressing into the soft fabric as he guided her onto his lap until she straddled him.
Her palms came to rest against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat beneath them, while his hands explored the curve of her waist before trailing down to the small of her back. In one fluid motion, his fingers moved up to her jacket, carefully slipping it from her shoulders to reveal the white T-shirt beneath, her assigned number stark against the fabric. His eyes caught on the faint remnants of dried blood still visible on the material, a harsh reminder of their reality even in this tender moment.
But he pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the warmth of her body against his. His hands slid up her sides, fingers ghosting along the thin material of her shirt as he drew her closer. She shivered at his touch, her breath catching in her throat as his lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear.
"hm" he hummed against her skin. His hands continued their gentle exploration, one moving to cup the back of her neck while the other remained firmly at her waist. She melted into his touch, her head falling back slightly to give him better access.
The soft blue glow of the circle light cast shadows across their faces as they moved together in the darkness. His lips traced a path down her neck, each kiss more insistent than the last, though still carefully controlled. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
Young-ill pulled back slightly, his dark eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. There was something dangerous in that gaze, something that should have made her want to run. Instead, she found herself drawn closer, like a moth to a flame, knowing she might get burned but unable to resist.
Her eyes softly looked into his. His eyes were dark, filled with lust but affection. His hand reached to gently move her hair off her shoulder. “mm you’re so pretty.” He whispered quietly. Leaving no room for talking before pressing his lips back onto hers. Her cheeks were flushed, hands pressed against his chest before moving to his shoulders once more. Getting needier and needier by the second, and he could tell. He slightly shifted his thigh, lips pressing onto hers as his tongue slipped into her soft warm mouth, causing a quiet whimper to escape her lips.
His larger, rough, but gentle hands on her hips as he shifted them. Positioning her so her sweet spot pressed deliberately onto his thigh. Her eyes squeezing slightly. Lips parting from his for a second, her lips all swollen and dark pink from the intense kisses. Her eyes locked onto his nervously, but full of want just like him. His lips pressing back against her neck. “cmon now…” he mumbled quietly against her soft skin he couldn’t get enough of. Hands on her hips as he began to gently move her, a light gentle rocking movement against his leg.
His lips trailed up to her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. "good girl.." he praised quietly, voice barely above a whisper. His hands guided her movements, keeping her steady as she rocked against him. She buried her face in his neck to muffle the soft sounds threatening to escape her lips, her breathing becoming more ragged with each movement.
Young-ill's grip tightened slightly on her hips, controlling her pace as she moved against him. Her fingers clutched his shoulders tighter, her body trembling slightly. He could feel her getting closer, her movements becoming more desperate. "that's it.." he whispered, one hand moving to tangle in her hair, gently pulling her head back so he could see her face.
Her eyes met his, glazed with desire, lips parted slightly as she tried to control her breathing. He pressed his lips to hers again, swallowing the quiet whimper that escaped her as she reached her peak. Her body shuddered against him as waves of pleasure washed over her, his hands holding her steady as she came down from her high.
As her breathing slowly returned to normal, Young-ill pressed gentle kisses along her jaw, up to her ear. "such a good girl for me," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. She melted against him, completely under his spell, exactly where he wanted her.
-
The next morning she awoke once again, the light music playing on the speakers welcoming a new day. Laying back in her own bed. She sat up, yawning softly, she slept well last night. Sitting in bed for a moment, looking down at her lap. Her cheeks turning a faint hue of pink as she smiled to herself, remembering last night with young-ill. Their group was already up sitting down and eating their breakbeats.
She made her way over to the group, her eyes immediately scanning for Young-ill. He was already there, casually eating his breakfast while chatting with others. Their eyes met briefly, and she caught the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips before he turned back to his conversation.
The food today was simple - not a big variety. She picked at it absently, her mind still clouded with memories from the night before. The way his hands had felt, his whispered words, the intensity in his dark eyes...
"Hey, you okay?" dae-ho asked beside her, snapping her out of her thoughts. "You're barely touching your food."
"Oh, yeah," she replied quickly, forcing herself to take a bite. "Just... didn't sleep well." The lie felt clumsy on her tongue, especially when she caught Young-ill's knowing glance.
-
Later that evening it was another round of voting. But this time it was tied between the X’s and O’s. Reader sighed in belief. As long it was tied, not the o’s winning again. She couldn’t wait to get out of this hell hole, she believed she would. Later on the dinner was gave out. they gave out some simple kimbap, the group ate. They all sat together. Reader was sitting next to Jung-bae at the end.
Across from her sitting was young-ill. Looking down at her food as she used the metal fork to pick a piece of kimbap up and eat it. “You know, young-ill” dae-ho began. His mouth stuff with food before swallowing it. “I thought you might vote in favor, like on day one.” He said. “I was so nervous i couldn’t watch” he said once more. This time young-Ill voted X to go home. But last time he voted yes. She still wondered why he did, but now he seemed nice. Teaming up with the X to go home.
Later that evening, the atmosphere was thick with tension as the group prepared for yet another round of voting. This time, however, the results were far from clear-cut; they found themselves in a deadlock, with the votes split evenly between the X’s and O’s. Reader let out a deep sigh, a mixture of frustration and resignation washing over her. At least the situation was relatively stable for now, and she was relieved that the O's weren't winning again—at least not yet.
The oppressive feeling of being trapped in this hellhole began to weigh heavily on her, but she clung to the hope that one day she would find a way to escape. As the evening wore on, the group was served dinner, a simple yet comforting meal of kimbap, reader found herself sitting next to Jung-bae, who had quietly observed the unfolding drama, while directly across from her was Young-ill, his expression low as he focused on his food.
She glanced down at her own plate, using a metal fork to pick up a piece of kimbap, its flavors a welcome distraction. Suddenly, Dae-ho broke the silence, his mouth half-full as he spoke, “You know, Young-ill,” he began, pausing to swallow his bite before continuing, “I thought you might vote in favor, just like you did on day one.” His voice was a mix of curiosity and disbelief, as if he couldn't quite wrap his head around Young-ill's shift in stance. “I was so nervous I couldn’t watch,” he added, his tone lightening a bit,
but reader could sense the underlying tension in his words. It struck her as peculiar that Young-ill, who had voted in favor of the O's last time, had now switched to casting his lot with the X’s, yearning for a way out. She couldn't help but wonder the reasons behind his change of heart, yet she also noticed a subtle shift in his demeanor; he seemed more calm now, as if teaming up with the X’s had softened his edges.
-
After the chaos between the X’s and O’s stopped, it was bathroom time. People heading to the bathroom while the others who didn’t have to stayed back in the room. Reader sat on one of the mattresses. Talking with 222. About how she wanted to get out of here. But not once did she mention anything about young-ill and what they did last night. She liked him.. a lot. Young-ill was sitting with gi-hun and the others.
A couple minutes passed before she heard the speaker come on. Everybody glancing in confusion. “The following players have been eliminated. Players 230, 268, 299, 331, and 401. End of list” reader gasped softly. All of those people dead.. now? It must’ve been the X’s and O’s fighting in the bathroom. But thank goodness young-ill didn’t go in there, or any of the others. But knowing young-ill, if he was in there he’d survive.
She sat there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. The reality of their situation hit her harder than ever - people were dying, and they were dying fast. Her eyes drifted to Young-ill across the room, watching as he spoke quietly with the others. Despite everything happening around them, she felt a strange sense of safety when he was near.
222 noticed her distraction and followed her gaze. "You okay?" she asked softly, genuine concern in her voice. Reader nodded quickly, forcing her attention back to their conversation. But her mind kept wandering to the bathroom, to the violence that must have unfolded there. Five more people gone, just like that.
The sound of footsteps drew everyone's attention as the survivors from the bathroom began filtering back into the room. Their faces were grim, some spattered with blood, others looking haunted by what they'd witnessed. Nobody spoke about what happened - they didn't need to. The empty spaces where five players should have been told the story clearly enough.
Young-ill's eyes met hers across the room, and she could see the tension in his jaw, the calculating look in his dark eyes as he assessed the situation. He gave her a subtle nod, a silent reassurance that seemed to say "stay close, stay safe." She returned the gesture, grateful for his presence, even from afar.
-
Chaos is what it was. What was happening was straight chaos and mayhem. Who in their right mind came up with the idea? Oh... it was Gi-hun. Their group had fought back the guards and stolen the guns. So now what? They were going to find the control room to find the Front Man. Reader had gone with them, staying with In-ho and the others while Gi-hun and Jung-bae went off to the control room. In-ho had insisted she stay back... but she persisted. He couldn't help but get slightly frustrated—she'd distract him from his plan.
But he couldn't let her get in the way, even if that meant she found out he was the Front Man. The sounds of the guns blaring made reader flinch, shaking as her breath grew heavy and shaky. Why did she do this? But she had to be tough. She knew how to somewhat use a gun, so she was helping out some, until the ammo ran out. The light clicking sound of the empty gun. She stared down at the gun, blood splattered on her jacket and shirt. The others must've been running out of ammo too, and Gi-hun and Jung-bae were taking too long at the control room.
"This isn't getting us anywhere! Let's follow them to the upper level!" the man yelled, gun in his hand. She was crouched behind the pink wall as all the guards were on the other side of the large room with staircases and rooms. In-ho glared intensely at the man before replying, "We might get surrounded if we move together without a plan."
Reader shakily huffed. She was out of ammo, and the last thing they could do was follow them to the control room while someone else went to fetch more ammo from the pockets of the dead guards. "Let's—let's just go! There's nothing else we can do," reader said, her voice yelling over the gunshots.
"No," he said, glancing at her before turning to shoot at the guards once again before quickly hiding behind the wall. "Let's wait until they find the control room," he said, his breathing shaky but concentrated. Suddenly gunshots grew closer, and one of their teammates was shot right in front of their eyes. She gasped. Two guards came around the corner shooting before quickly getting shot by 246 and 120. He saw reader crouched there vulnerably. No ammo. He huffed—why did she come along?
"Get over here," he said firmly. He needed to protect her, make sure she'd stay safe. She quickly crawled over to where he was, sitting beside him, her knees bunched up to her chest.
"Don't move," he said strictly, going back to shoot at the guards.
"Everyone! Check your magazines!" 120 said, everybody quickly checking their ammo.
“I’m down to half.” 246 said. “I’ve got less than half” “Same!” The other players yelled over the gunshots, “I’ve for two-thirds left!” Player 15 yelled. “I’m almost out!” Another said. “Mine is empty!” Dae-ho said shakily. His voice was filled with fear. Glad to know she wasn’t the onto one out.. but she was freaking out as much as dae-ho. Feeling somewhat safe next to young-il. “I’m almost out too!” Young-ill said. Her eyes glanced up at him nervously. Seeing him so concentrated, the dried blood on his clothes and some on his neck.
It gave her flashbacks from earlier mingle game, his eyes filled with coldness and despair. “Young-il, Dae-ho can you hear me!” Jung-baes voice ringing out on the walkie talkie. “Go ahead.” “I think we’re right below the control room, but we need backup and more ammo” “we’re running out of ammo too!” “There should be spare magazines in the soldiers pockets in our quarters. Go get them!” Gi-hun said frantically over the mic. “Got it.” In-ho said. Reader looked at him, her gaze with with anticipation and still fear. “Did you hear that? They need backup.” In-ho said to the others. “Three of us will go, and the rest of us stay.” He said. “Who wants to go with me?” “I’ll go!” “Me too” 2 of the players said. Reader glanced at young-ill. “M-me too” she said. Her voice was filled with emotion. She didn’t want to be left behind. She had no ammo, what was any good being here. “No you stay here.” He said firmly to her. His cold eyes looking down at her.
She shook her head frantically. “I’m going.” She said, she needed to. She needed to be with young-il. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He knew better than to try and reason with her so he agreed. “Fine.. let’s go.” He said firmly to her and the others. Quickly scurrying out the space and to the stairs.
-
They made their way cautiously down a dimly lit purple hallway, with Reader staying closely behind Young-il, her trembling hand resting gently against his back. Though there was no real risk of losing him in the narrow corridor, she found herself drawn to maintain that physical connection, seeking whatever small comfort it could provide in their dire situation. Her nerves were clearly visible in the slight tremor of her fingers and the way she startled at every echo of their footsteps, though Young-il appeared unfazed by her proximity. His mind seemed elsewhere, focused intently on whatever plan was forming behind those calculating eyes.
As they ascended the stairwell, the harsh glare of a security camera caught their attention from its perch in the corner. The rest of their group moved ahead, but Reader remained steadfast in her position behind Young-il, who paused briefly to study the camera before continuing their advance. There was something almost familiar in the way he navigated these corridors, Reader noticed, as if he'd walked them a hundred times before. She quickly dismissed the thought as paranoia born from stress.
Rounding the next corner, they encountered Gi-hun and Jung-bae positioned strategically against the wall. "Gi-hun! Did you find the control room?" Young-il called out in a hushed but urgent tone. "I think it's right up there but we can't go this way. I want you to find another way," Gi-hun responded, gesturing upward. Reader listened intently, unconsciously pressing closer to Young-il as she absorbed every detail of their exchange.
"I did a quick scan of the layout here. I'm sure there's a way to go around them. I want you guys to keep their focus on you. We'll hit them from behind," Young-il explained, his voice carrying the quiet authority of someone used to giving orders. "Okay... wait. Here take this. You're gonna need it," Gi-hun offered, extending extra ammunition. "Are you sure?" Young-il questioned. "Dae-ho will be back with more," came the confident reply.
While Gi-hun and Jung-bae created a diversion, engaging the guards with sustained fire from their position, Young-il seized the opportunity to lead their small group past the danger zone. Reader stayed right on his heels, her breathing coming in short, shallow gasps that she struggled to keep silent.
Sensing her distress, Young-il turned to her with an unexpected gentleness in his voice. "It's okay. You'll be okay," he murmured, his eyes meeting hers with an enigmatic mix of emotions - there was softness there, but also something darker, more intense, like barely contained hunger mingled with unwavering focus. She managed a small nod in response, continuing to follow his lead through the treacherous facility.
-
They had finally reached the other side of the hallway, their footsteps carefully measured as they ascended the steps in formation behind Young-il. With practiced precision, they positioned themselves against the two walls before continuing up the dimly lit corridor. Reader found herself positioned beside In-ho, her heart pounding in her chest. The absence of a weapon left her feeling particularly vulnerable, and she couldn't help but cast anxious glances at her companion standing tall beside her.
"Gi-hun, we found it . Start attacking and draw their attention, then we'll hit from behind," Young-il spoke into the walkie-talkie, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying unmistakable authority. "Okay got it!" came Gi-hun's determined reply through the static. Within moments, the hallway erupted with the deafening sound of gunfire as Gi-hun and Jung-bae engaged the guards, who remained oblivious to the threat lurking behind them.
Young-il gestured silently to the two team members who had accompanied them, directing them to advance and attack the guards from behind while he maintained his position. Reader observed his unusual hesitation, her brow furrowing with concern. "Why aren't you moving forward with them?" she whispered, searching his face for answers. But Young-il remained silent, his expression unreadable as he deliberately ignored her question, instead slowly ascending the stairs behind his teammates.
What happened next occurred with devastating swiftness - just as their teammates prepared to engage the guards, Young-il's weapon suddenly turned on them instead. The sound of his gunshots echoed through the space, and she couldn't suppress her horrified gasp, her hand flying to her mouth in shock and disbelief. "What is wrong with y-" she cried out, her voice breaking with raw emotion and terror. Her eyes began to sting with tears as the reality of what she'd witnessed sank in - he had murdered his own teammates in cold blood.
"Don't move." His command cut through the air like ice, his voice hard and unyielding, filled with a dangerous mixture of frustration and intense focus. He turned to face her, his weapon now trained directly on her trembling form at the bottom of the stairs. She flinched involuntarily, knowing she had no choice but to comply. Tears streamed down her face as she watched him methodically reload his weapon and fire additional shots into his fallen comrades, ensuring their deaths were certain. With chilling composure, he then used the walkie-talkie to fabricate a story of his own demise to Gi-hun.
The moment his back was turned, something in her snapped. She rushed up the stairs toward the fallen men, dropping to her knees beside them. Her hands shook violently as she tried to rouse them, though she knew it was futile. "I told you to stay there," he growled, his patience clearly wearing thin. But she couldn't stop herself, her grief overwhelming any sense of self-preservation. "How could you do this?" she sobbed, her voice trembling with betrayal and anguish. The trust she had carefully built with him lay shattered like glass at her feet.
"Step away from them." His voice had dropped to a dangerous low, his cold gaze boring into her as she continued to weep over the bodies. "No," she whispered, the word barely audible through her tears. His frustration manifested in a quiet huff. "Move away from them. Now." Each word was delivered with increasing menace, his tone brooking no argument.
She lifted her tear-stained face to meet his gaze, her eyes wide with fear and defiance. "You’re insufferable..." he muttered under his breath, and couldn’t help but chuckle. His eyes looking down at her as she cried and cried. God it was just so amazing to him. He loved seeing her like this, so vulnerable and alone. But at the same time he couldn’t stand it. So with a subtle nod of his head, he signaled to something - or someone - behind her. Before she could fully turn to look, darkness claimed her consciousness and the air was forcefully expelled from her lungs.
-
As consciousness slipped back in, clarity fought against the haze of confusion, snapping at her senses like the sharp edges of a memory she desperately wished to forget. She blinked into the dim light, slowly taking in her surroundings—an unfamiliar room that looked very modest. Black walls.. dim lighting and nice furniture. A soft blanket under her.. she was laying in a bed. Who’s bed? She was at these games.. not home. Until it all came rushing back to her. Getting knocked out, kneeling by a dead body, that young-ll killed.
Panic clawed at her throat as she sat up, the ache in her head shooting flashes of pain through her skull. Her hand instinctively reached for the bandage wrapped around her temple, remembering the betrayal that had knocked her into darkness.
And then she saw him.
A man Leaning against a wall, he wore all black clothing. And a black mask. Her eyes were filled with a hint of fear and confusion. Was this the frontman? The one gi-hun had told them about. He then slowly took the mask off. he looked both familiar and different. The man who once whispered sweet promises now bore the weight of quiet remorse on his features. His gaze met hers, an unspoken longing stretching between them, coated in memories she wasn't ready to relive. Her heart stopped. Young-il. Her young-il. Was behind all of this..
“You’re up.” he said, his voice thick with emotion, cutting through the silence like a knife.
She turned her head away, the churning of her heart conflicted. Love had flickered within her once, but now it was gone, in disbelief. “Why am I here?” she managed to ask, her voice steady despite the fear and sadness built up in her.
“Because I couldn’t let you go,” he replied, taking a step closer, the warmth of his presence both comforting and suffocating.
She shook her head, the very idea of his proximity igniting a spark of anger. “You don’t get to decide that for me.
He looked different. Not the same man who was saying sweet things to her and comforting her. His hair was still somewhat messy but also fixed more nicely now. And he was in different clothes. And a whole new person
His demeanor had shifted entirely - gone was the vulnerable soldier she'd known, replaced by someone who carried himself with an air of authority and control. The change was jarring, like looking at a photograph that had been altered just enough to feel wrong. His eyes, once filled with what she thought was warmth and protection, now held a calculated intensity that made her shiver. He looked different. Not the same man who was saying sweet things to her and comforting her. His hair was still somewhat messy but also fixed more nicely now. And he was in different clothes. And a whole new person
"You're afraid of me now," he stated matter-of-factly, taking another step closer. It wasn't a question. His movements were more deliberate now, almost predatory, lacking the hesitation she'd grown accustomed to during their time in the games.
"I trusted you," she whispered, her voice catching. "Everything... was it all just an act?"
A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Not everything," he replied, his voice softer than before, though still carrying that edge of authority. "My feelings for you... those were real. Are real. That's why you're here."
She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all - how could he speak of feelings while standing there in his carefully pressed clothes, looking every bit the mastermind behind their suffering? The contrast between the man she thought she knew and the one before her now was too stark to reconcile.
Her eyes began tearing up once more, beginning to cry again. And a soft groan left his lips. "Oh, don't cry," he cooed, but his tone held a note of dark satisfaction. He moved closer, reaching out to brush a tear from her cheek with his thumb. The cool material of his black glove on her cheek made her shudder. "Though I must admit, you look absolutely breathtaking when you cry."
She jerked away from his touch, which only seemed to amuse him more. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of desire and cruel entertainment.
"You can hate me all you want," he continued, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "But we both know you're not going anywhere. And honestly..." He tilted his head, studying her tear-stained face with fascination. "The more you cry, the more I want to keep you here forever."
His words sent a chill down her spine, but there was something in his gaze that told her he meant every word. He was enjoying this - her fear, her tears, her helplessness. It was all part of some twisted game he was playing, and she was trapped in it.
"Such pretty tears," he murmured, reaching for her face again. “Stop” she said shakily as she pulled away from him.
He chuckled darkly at her resistance, seeming to draw satisfaction from it. "You know," he mused, his voice taking on a contemplative tone, "I've been watching you since the beginning. The way you moved, the way you trusted so easily..." His eyes darkened with something predatory. "It was almost too perfect."
She felt her stomach turn at his words. "You're sick," she spat, though her voice trembled. "All those people... they died because of you."
"They died because they chose to play," he corrected smoothly, settling himself on the edge of the bed. The casual way he invaded her space made her press herself further against the headboard. "But you... you're different. Special."
"I'm not special," she protested, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm just another player you manipulated."
His laugh was soft but cruel. "oh is it now?" he purred, reaching out to trail a gloved finger along her jaw despite her attempt to flinch away. "You have no idea how special you are. The way you wear your heart on your sleeve, the way you care so deeply for others..." His grip suddenly tightened on her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "It's intoxicating."
"Let me go," she whispered, tears continuing to fall. "Please."
"Now why would I do that?" he asked, his thumb wiping away her tears with mock tenderness. "When I've worked so hard to have you all to myself?" His eyes gleamed with dark possession. "No, You're exactly where you belong now."
The finality in his voice made her blood run cold. She realized with growing horror that this wasn't just a temporary captivity - this was his endgame all along. And as his possessive gaze bore into her, she understood that her nightmare was only beginning.
Her heart raced as he stood up from the bed, towering over her with that same predatory smile. "Get some rest," he said softly, almost tenderly, but the command in his voice was unmistakable. "We have all the time in the world now." With that, he turned and walked towards the door, his footsteps echoing in the silence.
The sound of the lock clicking into place was deafening in the quiet room. She curled into herself, letting the tears fall freely now that she was alone. The reality of her situation crashed over her like a wave - she was trapped here, with a man who wore the face of someone she once trusted but harbored the soul of a monster. And the worst part? A small, traitorous part of her still remembered the gentle touches, the soft words, the moments when she thought she saw real humanity in his eyes. But now she understood - those moments were just another part of his calculated game, designed to draw her in, to make her trust him.
To make her his.
a/n- and with that it’s finished! FINALLY I know I know I’m sorry but maybe this will finally help me continue some other stories in my drafts. Tell me if you liked this, part 3 of this is lowk buns I’m so sorry I’m just so glad I got it done. But I have soccer and practices so that’s partly why too. SORRY I GOTCHU ILL DROP MORE TOMORROW (no I won’t)
Hi! Can you please do headcanons about how would be Sangwoo with her partner when she has the period?? 🫶🏻🩷
headcannons ⋆｡˚ ❀
Cho sang-woo x reader
he is the sweetest everrr
being gentler with you while your laying down resting, or knowing your cramping
His hand brushing your hair out your face while your sleeping, kissing your cheek softly.
gives the best cuddles when your on your period. His larger arms wrapped around you, your head nuzzled against his shoulder as his hands caress your arm lightly.
Need some pain killers or medicine? He’s quick to get it for you.
if you want to lay down and relax all day hes okay with that. But if you want to get up and go out still he won’t stop you. Just go along with it
you wanna be near him? hug and cuddle. He’ll try and make time for you, laying down with you and cuddling when he finishes his work.
procrastinates on his work to give you more attention, but if we’re being realistic. He’ll try getting all his work done before giving you his full attention since you want a lot of it.
Laying in his arms as your tummy hurts and cramps. Whimpering quietly and shuffling against him. “mm you okay?” He’d whisper gently, a slight hint of worry but mostly softness in his voice.
Tries and gets you most of the snacks or drinks you want, but not asking for a lot since you know hes so busy with his work.
“cmere..” he’d mumble. Once he finished all his work he’d climb into bed with you.
Cuddles and gentle kisses for the rest of the night since he has all the time to give you his attention now.
OF COURSE QUEEENNN 🙄💖💖
How to disappear | Chapter: one
Summary: after the passing of your mom, you and your dads best friend get close. You find comfort in him and he does the same because he also once lost something. While a relationship between you two sounds wrong and taboo, your feelings grow stronger. But Joel is an old man, guilt and the fear of losing you too, overwhelms him. So he leaves you.
Warnings: Angst, grief, heartbreak, lots of emotions, (fluff as a flashback), joels alcohol problems, dad that doesn’t care for his daughter, age gap! (23 and 61), crying, kind of depression, smut (as a flashback)
A/N: Okey Okey, I may said next week but I was already done with it so finally it’s here. Some dbf and Oldman!joel angst hehehe. Ngl I kinda hurt myself with this one.
Dear joel,
i‘m still thinking about the first time you kissed me, gentle, careful, caring.
I wish you‘d see how much I love you, how much I love being in your presence, how much I love our midnight talks.
We are both broken, something connected us. You made it a reason to leave me, I made it a reason to call you my soulmate.
I feel heartbreak. I cry myself to sleep, tell me..is that better than us comforting each other and having fun?
I miss our conversations, I miss your smile and your ability to comfort me.
Dad is asking why you are distancing yourself.
I love you, always.
Winter felt like forever.
A never ending cycle of dark and cold days, where the world stays still when snow falls. Lingering loneliness creeping up, as you fall for the hopelessness of it all and allowed the weather to dictate your mood while in the back of your mind the soft touches and whispers swam around of someone you where aching to be revolved around with once again.
Joel Miller.
Your last conversation stuck in your mind like the withering words only an enemy can say to you. Repeating itself over and over till there is only a echo of two words. We can‘t.
But there was no flicker of rejection in his eyes as he touched you, no regret as he cuddled you after his release, no shimmer of a different personality you weren‘t aware of, you knew him long enough. At least you thought so.
The aching in your heart and tummy was one that didn‘t go away no matter how much time had passed. The sadness clinged on you, wrapping tightly around your ribs, making it hard to breathe. It was one that grew each day for the past season, now coming to the point that you feel yourself getting sick from it. Flashes of memories startle you while you want to go on with your day. The glimpse of his brown eyes, landing on your face, soft and gentle the way you always knew him. Faints laughs of you two whenever it’s quiet.
And somehow underneath all of this it remembered you of your mom. The day she passed, the darkness that fell on you, the ability to not think straight as your eyes were hurting from crying. The shock not letting up, moving like a ghost trough life, pretending to function. Time would heal, but it didn’t. Time just showed you how to carry the pain without showing it.
You wanted to be small again, cradled by your mother’s hands, soothed by her voice.
“It feels like time has stopped for you and the people around you don’t care. You somehow have to function, but the person was your sole reason to function.” His eyes were emotionless.
Joel stopped crying after five months. He became a vessel of a man who once showed his kindness through actions and words and now someone who shuts everyone off. Grief is not predictable. It changes, buries itself deep beneath the skin and eats you alive. Joel never asked for comfort. But he gave it to you. He thought he didn’t deserve warmth, he thought he didn’t want to feel joy. But he let you feel all of those things.
The rough patch of his beard tickled your skin as you laid on top of him, nuzzling your face into his neck. The tears were dry on your cheeks, your eyes swollen and red as a headache started to form. His big hands rubbing circles on your back, soothing you to sleep.
“She is watching over you.”
The line that was crossed was blurred. The day you caught feelings was unknown. You just knew that there had been this silent connection between you two right after he decided to knock on your door to check on you.
“How y’doing, kiddo?”
Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t except it from him. Maybe it was the fact that your dad was distant after your mom’s passing. Maybe it was the fact that both of you lost something.
A man you should suddenly avoid because of his alcohol problems; your dad’s sayings. After his daughter’s passing he developed an alcohol problem, something that was clear whenever he was in your house, his eyes hazy, movements too unsteady. Your heart ached for him, never understanding how people do that to themselves. But after your mom, you did. His actions spoke louder than his words. He still helped your father around the house, with his job, with other things. He was there ,only his emotions were completely submerged, a veil placed over them so no one could recognize his true feelings.
That night, changed it all. He calmed your nerves, gave you the comfort you’ve been aching for the past eight months, and after that he finally let you in his heart. Told you what he was feeling. Guilt, anxiety and anger. His lips were quivering, eyes dark and swollen. Jaw clenched, as if he was trying to bite back the sob clawing up his throat. His breath shaky.
“I should’ve been there.” The only thing that he would murmur and then silence. A rather comfortable and understanding one. You don’t say anything, you just watch. Seeing the same emotions going through him as the day you lost your mom. His eyes would finally lift, and they would shine but not with kindness but with anger and sorrow. You could see it.
“An-and I feel selfish. For now coming in here and telling you this while you also lost someone.”
“Hey, hey. No.” Your hand gently lands on his shoulder, slowly moving to his hair caressing through his curls, while looking at him. His eyes softened, suddenly filling full of worry, bottom lip pouting. Looking at you like a kicked puppy. You felt tears leaving your eyes, landing on your thighs, you wanted to hug him. You knew how he was feeling. You also wanted to give him comfort.
“Don’t even think like that. You’re not selfish for speaking it out. You’re human, joel.”
He tilts his head slightly, you doing the same. A flicker of something knowing passing through your gaze.
“And if you really think thats selfish, then i’m selfish too. For wanting to hear it. You should’t carry it alone.”
For the first time, joel let’s go of the breath he has been holding for a long time. It doesn’t fix anything— but in this quiet moment, something shifts.
A piece of his sorrow, no longer carried alone.
He came over more often. Opened your door, sneaked in your bed and cuddled you, whenever your father was at home, you went to his place. He didn’t care anyway. You two had small road trips, where he drove you to his favourite places, music in the background, your head out of the window, enjoying it. It felt safe, it felt right.
Every worry in your head disappearing when he put your head on his chest. Soft humming and fingertips caressing the skin. Your conversations were not only about loss. They were flowing easily, they were funny.
“This thing is gonna give me a heart attack one day, I swear.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, trying to find the right buttons to put it on silent.
“Ain’t working like that, wait—you have a nokia? Where the hell is your phone?” You asked widened eyes, after you snatched his supposed phone out of his hands.
He snatched it back, eyebrows furrowing.
“What about it? Tommy bought me one because they are easy to use.”
“No, no. S’nice.” You tried to suppress a giggle. And as you swallowed you looked around his house, he looked at you with a grumpy expression.
“What? I can’t keep up with your new generation shit.”
“Oh I bet, I bet. I just find it funny.” You finally giggled, laying back down on his couch, holding your tummy.
“Y’know what’s real funny? You don’t even know half of these movies that I showed you.”
You gasped, sitting up again. His face all smug, a smirk on his lips.
“What? They are cult classics c’mon now—“
“Yeah, for old people.” You rolled your eyes playfully, seeing his face all serious now.
Giggling, you stood up as he abruptly did so too, stretched out his arms to reach for you.
And you knew what that meant. You laughed just more, running around his coffee table and he followed you, trying to grab you. And suddenly he did, throwing you gently on the couch and began tickling you.
“J-joel” you couldn’t breathe from the laughter.
You thought your dad would comfort you and be there for you after what happened, you didn’t think it was going to be joel. But your dad locked himself up, ignoring his dad duties. Leaving you alone, not showing his emotions, not letting you show yours. His demeanour was cold, distant it felt like living with a stranger. You understood why. You understood that he also lost someone, but he never once asked how you are, never once opened the topic of Mom again. Deleted it from his life like it never existed. And while doing that he also deleted you slowly.
Your friends stopped texting, one didn’t know how to comfort you. The other one was acting like it wasn’t a big deal. So you also deleted that topic from them, from your father. Joel was the only one who heard you talking about your mom.
And then he left you. So now, you were completely alone.
But maybe you didn’t really love him. Maybe you just loved his comforting. Maybe you just needed someone and he was there. Would you love a man forty years older than you if your father acted like a father? The way he looked at you, worshipped you, made you feel good. Made you feel special. Took care of you. Something connected you two. Wasn’t those signs of love?
“Hurting?”
“No, think i’m good.” You whispered to him. The stretch was unusual, nothing that you haven’t had before but it felt different. It was with joel.
“S’good, real good.” He nodded his head to you. Under the covers, vulnerable, you two were naked. There were goosebumps all over your skin, and his too. Joel lets you adjust on his shaft, worried eyes scanning your face to see if you show any sign of discomfort.
The atmosphere in the room was calm, lights dimmed and if felt comfortable. The first time you really made out with him and laid your hands on his bulge he stopped you. “Wanna do it right.” He took his time, kissing every inch of your body, teasing you, loving on you. Calling you his pretty girl. Making your eyes almost tear up of how much love he was giving you.
He was extra careful as he started to thrust into you, little breaths leaving his mouth, your hands gripping his biceps. A little moan leaving your lips, feeling the pleasure in your belly slowly fill.
His gaze never left you, he noticed it all. The smile you give him, cheeks flushed, trying to breath right and suppress a loud moan. The way he handled you with gentle hands cupping your cheek, kissing your forehead.
“Joel—please.” A coo leaving his mouth, speeding his thrusts into you.
Joel would bite back a groan, his thrusts sometimes sloppy, sometimes losing the rhythm because it’s been so long. But you didn’t care. You loved feeling him all, you loved being with him.
And when he came his face would twist, you would gently touch his face. He would bury himself into you on last time and then hide into your neck, leaving wet kisses while catching his breath. While you didn’t come, you were still content and satisfied to have him on top of you. But of course he realised it and ate you out for one hour, taking his time, giving you the best orgasms of your life.
You never got an answer from the letter. You never got an answer on your countless texts and calls. He cut you out. And you were trying your best to be angry, you really were. But deep down, the sense of understanding was spreading. You knew how much trouble you two would be going through if your father or anyone in your family found out. Anyone in his family too.
The age gap would let everyone turn their heads in the streets.
Your friends, colleagues everyone would think he is a weirdo. That you are a weirdo.
But then you ask yourself why?
Why did he let you develop these feeling for him? Why did he give you a reason to think that he was in love with you? Why did he comfort you? why did he give you this feeling that everything is going to be fine? Why did he make you believe that there was a connection between you two?
A knock pulled you out of your thoughts.
“Can you help me set the table? Joel is also coming—oh and his girlfriend too, apparently.”
AAA this took so long, but i’m actually proud of this. Please if you see mistakes or want to give feedback, feel free to do so.
Thank you so so much for 900 followers, it’s truly unbelievable.🥹🥹
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could you do a jun ho (policeman squid game) fic: something like she's an officer as well and is good at her job but she's clumsy. like she can do a full on chase of a criminal and catch them, but she can't hold a cup coffee without dropping it.
and like jun ho has like a spidey sense for her and always just knows when she's gonna trip and just silently helps her.
(would to love them have an bubbly extrovert/calm introvert dynamic)
steady hands
hwang jun-ho x bubbly extrovert reader
꣑୧ — 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | reader is great at catching criminals but terrible at holding a coffee cup or anything in particular. Luckily, Jun-ho always seems to know when she’s about to slip up, silently stepping in to help her. Maybe it’s just good instincts—or maybe he just likes looking out for her.
no use of y/n !
she sprinted down the narrow alleyway, her breath steady despite the rapid pace. The suspect, some low-level thief who had decided to make a run for it instead of cooperating was fast, but not faster than her. Her boots pounded against the wet pavement as she closed the distance. The moment he tried to jump a chain-link fence, she lunged, grabbing the back of his jacket and yanking him down. They tumbled to the ground, but she was already twisting, pinning him down with a firm knee against his back.
“Bad ideaaa,” she muttered, putting the cuffs on him.
From the other end of the alley, Jun-ho ran down, his usual unreadable expression in place. “Fast as always,” he remarked.
She smiled, standing up. “Of course. What, did you think I’d let him get away?”
Jun-ho gave her a once-over, his gaze subtly flicking down to her feet. she blinked.
“What?”
Before she could process his reaction, her foot slipped on the same wet pavement she had just chased a criminal across. A yelp escaped her as she felt herself going down, but before she could hit the ground, a firm grip caught her wrist, steadying her.
She looked up to see Jun-ho sighing, his hold on her casual but practiced, like he’d been expecting it.
“You just arrested a guy, but standing still is what trips you up?” he asked dryly.
She groaned. “I hate you.”
“You say that, but this is the third time this week.”
She muttered something under her breath and dusted herself off as he let go, shaking his head before turning to haul their suspect to his feet. Jun-ho didn’t say anything else, but there was an amused glint in his eyes as they walked back toward the patrol car, one that told her he was keeping score.
And, knowing him, he always would.
-
Back at the station, she walked through the front doors, all bright energy and smiles as she greeted every single person she passed.
“Morning! Love the new tie!”
“Hey, Minji! Did your kid win his soccer game?”
“Ooh, Detective Park, I see you went for the new haircut! Bold choice!”
Jun-ho followed behind her, watching as she effortlessly spread sunshine through the grim station. It was a contrast to his own usual silence, but he’d grown used to her presence. It was like standing next to a small storm—unpredictable, clumsy, but somehow warm.
She swung by the break room to grab a cup of coffee, and the second Jun-ho saw her pick it up, he sighed.
“Careful—”
Too late.
The cup tilted in her grasp. He didn’t even think, just stepped forward, catching it right before the hot liquid could spill over her hands. With practiced ease, he steadied her grip and handed it back.
She let out an awkward laugh. “Wow, I am really on a roll today.”
Jun-ho raised an eyebrow. “Today?”
“Okay, okay, this week. Month. Year-whatever!” she huffed, taking a sip of her coffee like that would erase the evidence.
-
Later, when they were reviewing case files at her desk, she reached for a pen, only to accidentally knock over her entire stack of papers. scattering everywhere, and before she could even react, Jun-ho was already crouching down to gather them up.
“You must have a sixth sense for my disasters,” she mused, watching as he calmly handed the files back to her.
He gave her a look. “It’s called being prepared.”
She grinned. “Sure, Spidey-sense.”
He shook his head but didn’t deny it.
A few nights later, they were on patrol together when they stopped by a food stall for a quick break. She ordered two fish cakes, offering one to him despite knowing he’d say no. Jun-ho never ate much during shifts, but she liked offering anyway.
As expected, he shook his head, and she happily took a bite of hers, humming at the taste.
Then, just as they were about to head back to their car, her foot caught on a slightly uneven part of the sidewalk.
It happened so fast—one second she was standing, the next she was stumbling forward, fish cake in one hand, embarrassment in the other.
Jun-ho was there before she even had a chance to fall.
One hand caught her arm, the other braced her shoulder. He barely reacted, like stopping her from face-planting was the most normal thing in the world.
She blinked up at him.
“You good?” His voice was as calm as ever.
She let out a breathy laugh, standing up straight. “You’re gonna start charging me for this at some point, aren’t you?”
Jun-ho considered it for a moment. “Maybe.”
She nudged him. “Well, too bad, you’re stuck with me.”
He sighed, but there was a small, almost amused smile on his lips.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
-
It was supposed to be a simple stakeout.
A simple drug bust, nothing too flashy, a quick in-and-out operation. she had been sitting in the passenger seat of an unmarked car with Jun-ho, sipping on yet another cup of coffee -that he had silently repositioned in the cup holder to avoid potential disaster- She had been making small talk, trying to coax more than two word answers out of him, when everything went sideways. The suspect they were tailing suddenly bolted, sprinting down a dark alley. Instinct kicked in before orders could even be given, she was already throwing open the car door and chasing after him, her adrenaline kicking in.
Jun-ho was right behind her.
The chase was fast, her feet pounding against the pavement as she dodged stuff in the way. She caught up just as the suspect tried to climb over a fence. Without hesitation, she grabbed him, yanking him back- and then suddenly, pain.
The man lashed out blindly, a rusted metal pipe swinging toward her midsection. She barely had time to react before the pipe slammed into her ribs, knocking the air from her lungs.
Jun-ho saw it happen.
Before the suspect could raise the weapon again, Jun-ho was there, moving quickly. One swift hit sent the pipe clattering to the ground. The man barely had time to process what was happening before Jun-ho had him restrained, his jaw clenched, his movements tighter, sharper than usual. By the time backup arrived, the suspect was cuffed, and Jun-ho was already kneeling next to her.
“You okay?” His voice was low, steady. but his eyes scanned her with an intensity that made her stomach flip.
She wheezed out a laugh. “That… hurt. Ow.”
He frowned. That was not an answer.
His hands hovered near her side, hesitating. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine, really—”
He ignored her, gently pushing her jacket aside. Even through her shirt, she could feel the bruising forming along her ribs. His jaw tensed as he took in the damage.
“You’re not fine.”
She gave him a sheepish smile. “Well, not great either, but hey, I caught him, right?”
Jun-ho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You always catch them,” he muttered. “But you never think about yourself.”
Her smile faltered slightly. Jun-ho was always calm, so steady it was almost infuriating, but there was something about the way his voice dipped just then, something quieter, heavier.
Was he… worried?
Before she could dwell on it, he sighed, shifting back to offer his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up effortlessly, one hand still hovering near her side in case she wobbled.
“You’re going back to the station,” he stated firmly.
She groaned. “Ugh, come on. Just a bruise.”
Jun-ho gave her a look. “You’re going.”
She pouted but knew better than to argue.
As they walked back to the car, she winced, pressing a hand to her ribs.
Jun-ho didn’t say anything, but the next thing she knew, his hand was lightly resting against her back, guiding her forward. It was barely there, just the softest pressure, but steady. Unwavering.
Just like him.
And maybe, just maybe, she liked that more than she cared to admit.
like iiiittttt pllsssss tiktok- moonlitssmile
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