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crushmeeren · 2 months

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Bakugou/Fem Reader/Kirishima

Gym Scenario

NSFW one shot — all characters aged up/18+. Move on or block if that bothers you.

Warnings; dirty talk, pussy eating, blowjobs, fingering, squirting, vaginal sex, Eijirou cums inside reader

I was VERY excited to write this and for some reason it became so fucking hard to write. It took FOREVER — I edited, re-edited and re-edited it some more until it became something I’m semi happy with. Cuz fuck me LOL.

Anywho, hope you all enjoy!

•••••••••

“Don’t be such a pussy. You know you can fucking do it, so do it,” Katsuki demands, jaw clenched. Irritation laces his voice.

Unfortunately, the harsh pep talk doesn’t quite motivate you the way he wants.

You know it’s his way of being encouraging, but his efforts fall flat.

“Fuck off Kat,” you bite, panting heavily. “God! I wish Ei was here,” you hiss crossly, gritting your teeth.

Your sweat covered palms slip over your bare knees as you bend in half, desperately gulping down air, heart rate erratic.

Katsuki clicks his tongue behind his teeth, laughing — which sounds more like he’s mocking you, tapping his foot impatiently.

Clearly he’s not offended.

“Why? So he can baby your ass?” He taunts, lifting his chin up. He crosses his arms over his tank top clad chest.

He sits up straight on the workout bench across from you, one leg stretched out in front of him.

You throw him an icy glare, choosing to ignore his jab.

Standing upright, you use the bottom of your muscle tank to wipe off the metric ton of sweat pouring down your face.

The scent of your shirt is overwhelming and gross. Your nose wrinkles in distaste.

You’ve been at the gym with Katsuki for two hours. Two grueling, lactic acid filled hours.

The gym at Eijirou and Katsuki’s agency is relatively quiet and secluded. With all the equipment you could ever hope for.

Naturally, Katsuki woke up deciding today was the mother of all days to work on one rep maxes.

You’re both off work. Ei is out on patrol — so Katsuki can push, bully you into lifting as much weight as he wants.

Katsuki swears it’s so you can’t run to Eijirou with “big ass doe eyes” and a pout whenever you get tired and want to go home.

So, here you are, stuck with Katsuki. He’s already hit a new PR and you’re working on yours. You’ve failed this weight three times already.

You could put your fist through a wall you’re so pissed off.

Your glutes are on fire. Your hamstrings are on fire. Your lower back is on fucking fire.

Still, your boyfriend is ruthless. You’re reaching a boiling point.

“Kaaaat,” you whine, dragging out the A in his name. “I can’t do this today. Please, I just - I wanna go home. I wanna see Ei.”

Tears of frustration start to sting and well up in your eyes.

You sniff, adjusting the strap of your lifting belt tighter, avoiding Katsuki’s gaze.

An exasperated albeit fond sigh hits your ears. You take to fiddling with the hem of your stretchy biker shorts, irritated in your own lack of ability.

It sits in your chest like a lead balloon.

The bench protests as Katsuki rises from his seat. You adamantly stare at a crack in the black mats that make up the floor, shifting from foot to foot.

You listen to his quiet footsteps approaching until suddenly black lifting shoes fill your vision.

Gently, a thumb and forefinger grip your chin. Katsuki tilts your head until you’re meeting his warm yet intense ruby red stare.

You deflate, becoming putty in his hold.

“Baby,” he begins, rough voice infinitely softer now. “You are going to fucking lift this weight. You’re stronger than you know.” He’s overly confident, as normal.

Your lower lip wobbles, heat creeping up your neck and burrowing into your cheeks.

As infuriating as he can be, he’s no doubt your biggest supporter, fan, etc. Not counting Eijirou.

Katsuki’s unwavering belief in you sends goosebumps crawling up your sweat soaked arms. It ultimately convinces you to try again.

Wrapping your fingers around the wrist helping support your chin, you feel his steady pulse thudding.

“One more time and then we can go home?” You ask reluctantly. His lips curl into a smug grin realizing he’s won you over.

Playfully, Katsuki shakes your head side to side, grip tightening on your chin.

“Yeah whatever,” he relents, rolling his eyes. “Ya know, if you hit this, I’ll give you a reward,” he says nonchalantly, trailing his hand down to snake around your throat with a barely there pressure.

“What kind of reward?” You eye him suspiciously. Although, you’d be remiss to deny the anticipation his words bring.

He leans into your personal space, smirking like the Cheshire cat. It gives you a close up of the golden brown freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose.

The air between you sparks dangerously. Warm like the left over embers of a bonfire.

“How bout, I eat that cunt till you’re squirting all over my face, yeah?” He purrs, squeezing your throat a bit harsher.

You grab his tank top with both hands, inhaling sharply. Katsuki’s tone of voice, his words - your entire body flashes hot within the second.

“Oh?” You squeak out, trying to ground yourself while you’re this close to him.

Katsuki pushes in until his soft lips brush your ear lobe. It tickles pleasantly.

He slips two fingers into the top of your lifting belt, tugging you to his chest.

“Fuck yes. I’ll get you so soft, so goddamn pliant, that Ei will just slip right into your pussy when he gets home,” he whispers, voice low and gravelly.

“Oh god,” you groan, letting your forehead thump onto his collar bone. You fist his shirt until your knuckles are white, a blistering heat gathering in your belly.

Katsuki snickers, placing a kiss to your jaw and pulling back to force your head up, leveling his gaze with yours.

“C’mon baby, you know how much Ei loves that. So, why don’t you be a good girl, hit this lift and let me take your ass home.”

With that he’s gone. Leaving you to soak in the offer, causally making his way back to the bench.

Your hands linger mid air where they held his tank top. Blinking rapidly you watch him — mind blown, shattered, melted.

He sends you a pointed look to say “hurry the hell up”, resting his left hand on the seat to hold his weight.

You breeze through your personal record the very next try.

•••

One steamy, rushed shower later — you’re spread open wide, entirely bare and resting on your back.

The cool sheets on your bed help soothe your sweltering skin.

You’re not alone. Katsuki’s naked too. Comfortably laid out on his belly between your thighs.

He’s lazily pumping two fingers in and out of your drooling pussy. Paying close attention to the lewd way you suck him in.

Yearning, insatiable. Cunt strangling every coherent thought from his head besides the stunning view in front of him.

Katsuki reaches up to take hold of your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. He runs his thumb over your palm, keeping you focused on him.

He casually rests your conjoined hands on the mattress near your hip.

Your low moans pierce the air when Katsuki sinks his canines into the delicate area of your inner thighs.

Katsuki gazes up at you through his long lashes while he marks you with dark reddish purple hickeys over and over.

They ache and sting, pulsating dully. Each new bite causes your pussy to flutter. It steals your breath away — the way he’s taking you apart.

Yet, you’re getting restless, squirming in the blonde’s hold. By now, you’ve already sent a salacious video of you deep throating Katsuki’s cock to Eijirou.

Drool and precum dripping down your chin, cheeks flushed and eyes half lidded for the camera. Katsuki’s husky moans decorating the background.

Anything to seduce Eijirou, to tempt him into getting home quicker. You’re proud to admit it works almost too well.

He instantly replies he’ll be home in 20 minutes.

That was about 15 ish minutes ago. You’ve already been made to cum twice since then.

Katsuki had let his release spill down your throat right after he clicked send on the video. Now he’s currently inching you towards a third orgasm.

You’re aware Katsuki’s going to make you squirt this time. The slight fullness and pressure building in your bladder is a telling indicator.

He’s also trying to his damndest to stretch this out until Eijirou gets home. Craving for the red head to be his captive audience.

You share his desire. Longing for your currently absent boyfriend to just be here already. You desperately want Eijirou to turn you into a pretzel.

Nevertheless, it’s exhilarating how sweetly Katsuki’s treating you for the time being. He’s normally a bit rougher so this tender side of his is turning you to a pile of mush.

Slim fingers curl up into your sweet spot, stroking it lovingly, sending a warm shiver snaking down your spine.

Your back bows off the bed with something similar to a keen falling from your lips.

“Katsuki!” You cry out his name. It sounds as sinful as a curse and as holy as a prayer.

You free hand bunches the silky sheets up in pleasure, skull digging into the mattress below.

“Yeah that’s right. Your pussy feels fucking amazing, doesn’t it princess?” He purrs, tone almost patronizing.

But he can’t hide the underlying simmering heat coloring his voice.

His soft lips plant a kiss over your swollen clit and it gets your blood buzzing.

“So — ah! So f-fucking good Kat,” you babble, eyes falling shut. It’s irresistible, the pull you feel to roll your hips in time with his thrusts.

You’re almost feverish from it all, cheeks so scalding steam may as well rise from them.

You cling to Katsuki’s hand even more while he edges your orgasm to the surface, intermittently kitten licking your puffy clit.

You tilt your head, glancing down at Katsuki with half lidded eyes, slack jawed. He keeps his leisure pace, stretching the rubber band of your climax to its limit.

The blonde’s expression mirrors yours. Dilated pupils, red blossoming brightly over his cheeks and down his throat — lids so heavy they’re almost closing.

His stare is laced with a rabid want that you recognize all too well.

The sight of him occasionally rocking his hips down into the mattress sets your nerve endings alight.

It’s obscene, the way he chases relief for his obviously aching, full cock. You think he’s more than likely smearing precum along the sheets below.

He never fails to become drenched when he’s so badly turned on.

You stare briefly at the ceiling, knowing it’ll be over immediately if you keep leering at him.

You’re already on the cusp of cumming. The slow, sweet buildup of it making your heart pound brutally behind your rib cage.

Katsuki rips a high pitched wounded noise from your throat when he suckles on your clit again. Your free hand shoots out to tangle and twist his soft blonde hair.

A fresh wave of goosebumps light up over your arms, a thrill racing through you as he devours you. Instinctively you cross your ankles over Katsuki’s upper back.

You’re huffing, tits heaving with the rise and fall of your breathing.

You try to warn him, open your mouth to tell him you’re about to cum — but you’re interrupted by your bedroom door swinging open.

Katsuki halts his movement, your orgasm fading into the background as both your heads snap towards the direction of the door.

You don’t have time to be upset about it because finally your other boyfriend is home.

Eijirou stands there in street clothes, broad shoulders filling up most the doorframe.

His red strands hang loosely, framing his face. The ends are dripping, remnants of a quick shower he must have taken at the agency.

Eijirou wolf whistles.

“Well damn! What did I do to deserve walking in on a sweet treat like this?” Eijirou teases, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder on the doorframe.

“Ei! You’re ho—oh fuck!” You begin to greet him but cry out when Katsuki brushes the pads of his fingers over your sweet spot intentionally, startling you.

You untangle yourself completely from the blonde, leaning up and bracing your weight on your elbows.

You shove at the blonde’s shoulder with your heel, half heartedly scowling at him.

Katsuki snickers, pillowing his cheek on your squishy thigh and slyly looking over to Eijirou. He looks quite seductive, red eyes full of mirth.

Eijirou laughs delightedly at the playful display. The sides of his eyes crinkle when he beams at you both.

“Oi, quit fucking around Ei. Take your damn clothes off and get your ass over here.” You smoothly join Katsuki in egging the other on.

“Yeah Eijirou, been waiting a lifetime for you to come home. Katsuki wants to put on a show for you.”

Katsuki barks out a laugh, wanting to deny it, but he can’t.

“Okay! Okay, I’m hurrying,” Eijirou giggles, cheeks turning a soft peachy pink.

He wastes no time, disrobing quickly. Pulling down the zipper of his hoodie to reveal he’s wearing nothing underneath.

Eijirou ignores the over the top catcalls you both throw his way. Mumbling under his breath, pretending he doesn’t love it.

He sheds the jacket, dropping it carelessly to the floor as he makes his way to the side of the bed. He slips out of his sweats just as shamelessly.

You watch Eijirou’s already half hard cock twitch when you reach out for him. He eagerly accepts it, kneeling on the bed next to your head.

You look up at him adoringly, lips turning up into a smile that makes the apples of your cheeks twinge.

“Hi Ei, we missed you,” you croon, affectionately squeezing his hand.

In response, he bends down to give you a sweet kiss in greeting. It’s brief, but makes you feel like you’re bathed in sunshine either way. He pulls back, a question clearly on his lips.

“Wanna sit in my lap baby? I’ll get the best view of you that way,” Eijirou says, entirely serious. He shuffles until he can sit behind your head, bracing his back on pillows and the headboard.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” you reply. Scooting yourself backwards until you’re able to slot in between his wide spread thighs, resting your own sticky back along his chest.

As you do so, Katsuki chases you, inching forward. He never lets his fingers leave the searing heat of your pussy.

“Oh fuck,” you laugh breathlessly, taking note of their presence. You tighten around him greedily, desire burning you to ash.

“Oh princess, look at you. Even more fucking needy now that Ei is home,” Katsuki comments meanly, digging his thumb into your puffy clit as he settles in his new spot.

A weak yelp leaves you at how sharp the sensation becomes.

You feel the rumble of Eijirou’s laughter as it vibrates throughout his chest.

“Maybe I just want to cum,” you chide him. “You’ve been edging me forever.”

Katsuki doesn’t respond. Just grins like he’s won the lottery, a bit manic, and sets an borderline violent and relentless pace.

The howl you produce is ear splitting. The sudden dynamic shift begging your spine to bend but Eijirou quickly keeps you caged in.

He wraps his thick biceps around your stomach, hooking his chin into the muscle just behind your collarbone.

“Be good,” Eijirou warns. “You wanted this yeah? Then let Kat do what he wants.”

You scramble to lock onto his forearms, nails dragging angry lines over his skin.

You obediently nod along with what he tells you, starting to get the impression your skin is too tight to fit over your bones.

Your body bounces in time with Katsuki’s motions and the razor sharp points of Eijirou’s teeth threaten to pierce the delicate flesh of your shoulder.

Mercifully, your orgasm comes on like a freight train. In less than a minute to be exact.

Katsuki bullies your sweet spot with a precision only he could possess. Flicking his tongue over your clit in a steady up and down rhythm.

Pleasure pulses white hot in your pelvis, threatening to prickle out all over your waiting body.

“Oh. Oh, I’m gonna cum Kat! Ei, please, shit!” you curse, head spinning, not even sure what you’re begging them for.

“That’s it babygirl, we’ve got you,” Eijirou coos, tone a 180 from a couple minutes prior.

You’re wiggling in his iron clad grip, on the edge of exploding. One more push is all you need.

The stifling heat of Katsuki’s mouth envelops your clit once more, sucking.

Then, your toes curl into the sheets, all the muscles in your lower half tensing as your climax rips you apart.

You hold onto Eijirou’s forearms for dear life, molten lava gushing through your veins like a busted dam.

Katsuki pulls his mouth away with a wet pop, punishing you with each slippery glide of his fingers. You don’t think you can take much more, crossing into over sensitive territory.

Yet, it doesn’t matter, the looming pressure on your bladder gives without your permission.

“You’re so hot like this baby. Now fucking squirt for me,” Katsuki snarls. Eijirou’s cock kicks where it’s trapped against your lower back.

It’s too easy to bend to his will.

You’re soaking the blondes chin and wrist before you know what’s happening, liquid running down to your ass.

His head jerks back, briefly startled, before his eyes get wide.

Katsuki slows, lolling his tongue out to lick his drenched lips for a taste. He moans, flush traveling down to his chest.

“No more,” you complain, hips stuttering as you push at his forehead.

You try to catch your breath, coming down from the high — becoming boneless on Eijirou’s chest.

“Good job sweet girl, you did so well my love,” Eijirou murmurs in your ear. His breath tickles your cheek and you lean into him. The red head smoothes his palm over your belly.

Katsuki slips his fingers free, biting the inside of his cheek when your pussy desperately tries to keep him from leaving you empty.

He rises up, settling back on his calves. He admires how drenched his hand has become.

He arches one pretty blonde eyebrow, smirking at his boyfriend.

“Want a taste of her Ei?” Katsuki asks teasingly, wiggling his fingers at the red head.

Eijirou hums his agreement.

Katsuki surges forward, leaning over you, dangling his dripping hand in front of Eijirou.

Katsuki’s cock, hot and heavy, brushes your lower belly. God, you just want to drag him down by his slim hips, flip him over and ride him until he sees stars.

But you don’t. The deep seated desire for Eijirou to fold you in half wins out.

You tilt your head up just in time to witness Eijirou’s pink tongue dart out for a taste.

He trails his tongue up Katsuki’s fingers, dipping into the grooves between.

You shudder, simultaneously moaning with the blonde.

“Ei,” you interject brokenly. “I need you to fuck me, now please.” Eijirou’s boner jumps against your lower back.

“I can totally do that,” Eijirou responds quickly, playfully pushing at your back. You laugh, looking up at Katsuki expectantly.

He’s still hovering over you.

“Yeah whatever I just wanna watch Eijirou fuck you silly.” He winks at you. You swallow and it’s like your throat’s lined with cotton balls.

Katsuki retreats, loosely circling his fingers at the base of his cock and squeezing.

“C’mon Ei, I’ve been waiting for you all day,” you giggle, sliding down until you’re flat on your back again.

You plant your feet on the bed, allowing your legs to fall open as wide as they’ll go.

“I won’t make you wait any longer baby,” Eijirou assures. He crawls down as Katsuki moves upwards, effortlessly switching places.

Katsuki’s knees bracket your head as he maneuvers until he’s comfortable. If you glance backwards you’ll be met with the view of the blonde’s cock and his partially obscured face.

“Ready pretty girl?” Eijirou asks, pawing at the squishy spots of your thighs, inching close enough until he can part the lips of your pussy with his shaft. Pink head bumping into your clit.

You nod, biting into your lower lip.

Eijirou uses his thumb to angle his cock down where your warmth waits to greet him. To suck him in like a vice. To clamp down around him until his brain is fuzzy.

He barely dips the head of his cock in once, twice — before finally applying enough pressure his tip fully pops in.

The initial stretch makes you shiver. As he fills you with the rest of his cock, you start to tremble.

Your pussy doesn’t offer even a hint of resistance.

You wheeze out his name, when he bottoms out. Eijirou’s blunt nails leave indentations on the backs of your thighs as he pushes them a bit towards your chest.

His grip is bruising, licking his lips as he concentrates on being still so you can adjust.

You look down to where you’re connected, fists clenched in the sheets by your sides. Your pelvis throbs briefly from just how big his cock is.

Eijirou grabs your attention with a strangled sound. Your gaze flickers back to him and his expression is pleading, impatient.

You snort, giving him the go ahead.

He runs with it, proceeding to carve out a space inside you for himself. His eyes flutter shut as your pussy pulses, choking his cock.

His lips part slightly, eyes glued to where you’re swallowing him just right.

He rolls his hips, pulling back and thrusting in with a singular fluid motion. Slowly working up to a rougher, faster pace.

Katsuki’s curses from somewhere behind you. Voice low and ragged as he tells you just how fucking pretty you look taking Ei’s cock.

You echo the sentiment, praising the red head as he shifts around on his knees and thrusts harder.

Eijirou whimpers, taking your ankles, lifting until your knees hook over his shoulders. He bends you in half, placing his hands by your head.

A moan is punched out of your chest and you cling to his shoulders. It feels like his cock is in your belly.

“Eijirou, holy shit! Please — don’t stop!” you beg, voice edging on a sob. Katsuki hisses in pleasure behind you. The slick, wet sound of him jerking his cock burned into your ears.

“Anything baby, whatever you want,” Eijirou says with a breathy sigh, fucking you hard enough to bounce your body with each thrust. The smack of his skin against yours spurs him on even further.

Your pussy chases his cock every time he pulls back, not letting him go for a second. He fucks you until you feel high, and when you get impossibly tighter — he knows you’re cumming.

Eijirou talks you through it, because of course he does.

He makes sure to drag out your orgasm as long as he can.

A drop of sweat falls from the tip of his nose into the valley between your tits, admiring the way your body releases all its tension as you come down from the high.

“Good girl, you cum so beautifully for me,” Eijirou praises. “I’m gonna cum inside you okay?” He’s panting as he moves, clearly hanging on by a thread.

“Cum for me Ei,” you murmur, trailing your hands up and wrapping your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Eijirou whines as you pull him down into a hungry kiss, attempting to eat him alive.

He whimpers into your mouth, shoving his cock to the hilt in your pussy. A new warmth blooms inside you as your boyfriend cums.

Eijirou wrenches his mouth from yours to gasp, jaw falling open as he rides out the last few pulses of his orgasm.

A high pitched whine slices through the gooey atmosphere and you look backwards just in time to watch Katsuki’s gorgeous face as he cums.

Eyes pinched shut, the muscles of his neck straining as he tosses his head back on the headboard with a thump.

He traps the tip of his tongue between his teeth, partially muffling the next moan he can’t control.

Eijirou hisses when your pussy involuntarily flutters around him as you watch the blonde squirm with pleasure.

Katsuki’s shoulders drop as he relaxes, chest heaving. His stomach is covered in cum. As is his chest — there’s even some on his cheek.

Reluctantly, your attention snaps back to Eijirou when he gingerly pulls his softening cock free. Taking a moment to track the way his release sluggishly flows from you.

“Enjoying the view?” You ask coyly. Eijirou glances at you in surprise, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous laugh.

“I always do.” He’s giggling now.

“Fucking sap,” Katsuki snorts.

“Hey!” Eijirou protests. You laugh, reaching backwards to slap Katsuki’s ankle.

“Don’t listen to him Ei, he’s just as bad.”

Playful banter consumes the three of you as you enjoy the relaxing and affectionate atmosphere.

Eventually, you manage to clean yourselves up.

You and Eijirou easily convince Katsuki to cook and fill your bellies with food.

As you wait, you sit at island in your kitchen.

Happily retelling Eijirou how you got a new PR today at the gym.

Not leaving out the way Katsuki used dirty tricks and promises of sex to persuade you, which makes Eijirou laugh out loud.

Katsuki just raises his middle finger over his shoulder in return, taking all the credit for your lift either way.

#bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #mha x reader #kirishima smut #mha smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bakugou x reader x kirishima #kirishima eijirou smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou x kirishima

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daisynik7 · 4 months

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Make Me Sweat

Pairing: Aoi Todo x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~2.5k

cw: written with a curvy reader in mind, canon-divergent (post-Shibuya but a happy one), all characters are 18+, explicit language, smut – cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, spit play, PIV sex (cowgirl position, mating press), breeding kink, praise kink, pet names (sweetie, sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, good girl), creampie

Summary: With the start of the new year, you make it one of your resolutions to become more active. You begin at your apartment's fitness center, where you run into your muscle head, loud-mouth next-door neighbor, Aoi Todo. He offers his gratuitous advice, annoying you at first. But when he suggests a particular kind of workout, it piques your interest enough that you can't refuse.

Author’s Note: I used metric units (kg) to describe the weights. Also, I am no expert in lifting so please take all of this with a grain of salt LOL. I just know that canonically, these characters are fucking STRONG. I stopped with the tag list on this one bc technically this was a bonus fic and I wasn't sure if anyone wanted to be tagged in these. With that, please enjoy some shameless smut about our favorite JJK himbo! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

part 6 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

When you said you wanted to start exercising more, you weren’t expecting this: being bounced up and down your next-door neighbor’s impressively huge cock. Yet, here you are, getting pounded with your ass slapping lewdly on his thighs. His big hands dig into the sides of your belly, his lips on the skin of your neck, voice gruff and husky. “Told you, didn’t I?”

Let’s rewind to a few hours earlier.

You haven’t been prioritizing yourself lately; your obligations during the day drain all the energy from you and your bed is always so enticing for a nap. When the new year approaches, you make it one of your resolutions to be more active. The gym in your apartment complex is finally open after being renovated the past three months and now, there’s really no excuses when the opportunity is just five floors below you. Your forego your usual nap and suit up in your favorite workout clothes, heading down the elevator to the fitness center.

Luckily, it isn’t crowded; the only other people inside are Aoi Todo, your neighbor, and his pink-haired buddy, Yuji. They’re both at the weights section, Yuji doing squats with the barbell while Todo spots him, yelling at him encouragingly. “Come on, brother. Hold it, hold it! You got this!”

Yuji grunts, holding the deadlift for as long as possible, eventually dropping it to the floor with a loud thud. Todo claps emphatically, beaming at him. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

You smile to yourself, amused at Todo’s contagious enthusiasm. When he notices you, he gives you a nod, which you return, slightly embarrassed for being caught watching.

Have you mentioned yet how fucking ripped he is? Today, he wears a loose tank, arm holes cut low to show off his extraordinary physique. Arms bulging with muscles, an incredibly large chest, a well-defined eight-pack. He’s built like a Spartan warrior, ready for battle, destined for victory. It’s impossible to ignore a body like his, even more impossible to ignore his eccentric attitude, which gets on your nerves when you have to listen to his noisy demeanor on the opposite side of the wall.

The cardio section is on the other side of room, so you make your way to one of the treadmills, setting the level to a walking pace for a quick warm-up. Before you put your headphones in to listen to music, you eavesdrop of their conversation, observing them from your peripheral.

“Good shit, brother,” Todo says, massaging his shoulders affectionately.

Yuji scratches his head, grinning. “Still got work to do to match my PR. After Shibuya, my strength hasn’t been the same.”

“You’re still the strongest fucker I know. Besides me, of course,” Todo adds, chuckling. “Spot me before you go.”

They replace the already notable weights with what you suspect are heavier ones. Yuji whistles through his teeth. “300. You’re losing your touch, don’t you think?” he teases, nudging him in the ribs.

Todo digs into a container of powdered chalk, coating his fingers with it. “I’m taking it easy today. Don’t want to over-exert myself in case something exciting happens later.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grabs on to the barbell, smirking. “I don’t know yet. We’ll see.” Maybe it’s your imagination, but you can almost swear that his eyes meet yours for a split second in the reflection of the mirror.

You continue to observe as Todo easily deadlifts 300 kg, as if it weighs nothing to him, repeating this ten times without breaking a sweat.

Yuji laughs, helping him rerack. “That’s crazy.”

Todo pats his back. “You’ll get there soon, brother. Once you’re fully recovered, you’ll be lifting more than me, I’ll make sure of that.” His unwavering support is actually endearing. Sure, he can be obnoxious, but this side of him is charming.

Unfortunately, this sentiment doesn’t last long. Once Yuji leaves, Todo decides to choose the treadmill right beside you, purposefully neglecting the surrounding unoccupied cardio machines. You’re still at a walking pace, eyeing him suspiciously as he stands there, blatantly watching you with a cocky grin. “Did you enjoy the show?”

Avoiding his gaze, staring at the console in front of you, you mutter, “Excuse me, but I’m trying to focus here.”

“Focus on what? Walking?” he scoffs, leaning on the handrail nearest to you. “You’re not going to get far if you keep going at a snail’s pace.”

You roll your eyes, finally looking at him. “So what do you suggest, Oh-Wise-One?”

It’s meant to be sarcastic, but of course, he thinks you’re genuinely asking. “You’ve got to alternate between high intensity and low intensity. Sprint for thirty seconds, then walk for a minute to cool off. Then repeat. Simple as that.”

As much as you appreciate the gratuitous advice, you’re already familiar with high intensity interval training. You’re just nervous to actually do it, not confident in your running abilities. “I’m not a good runner,” you admit.

“I’m sure that’s not true. Come on, show me what you got.” He crosses his arms over his pecs, waiting.

Deciding it’s better to relent to him rather than argue, you brace yourself, upping the speed so that you’re doing an easy jog.

“You can do better than that!” he hollers, reaching for the controls to increase the level, making the track move faster and faster. You’re sprinting full speed now, lasting about thirty seconds before you swat him away, tugging at the emergency shut off cord to stop it.

You catch your breath, glaring at him, sweat starting to bead on your forehead. "What the fuck, are you trying to kill me?!"

He’s unfazed by your outburst and oblivious to the asshole move he made. “Don’t be so dramatic. You did great. You have really nice form.”

You don’t let his compliments dissuade you from being angry at him. “You can’t just do that without any warning. I’m still getting used to all this.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I won’t do that again.” He watches you take long sips from your water bottle, scanning your figure up and down. A coy smirk spreads across his face. "You know, if running ain't your thing, there are other workouts we can try that might suit you better."

You continue to drink, gradually regaining your composure. "Like what?"

He leans in close to you, breath hot on your ear. "Sex."

You choke on your water, using your towel to wipe the mess. Ready to give him an earful, he hops off the track, walking towards the exit. "If you want to work up a real sweat, you know where to find me. I promise to make it worth your while.”

And with that, he's gone, leaving you speechless. And intrigued.

~~~

After dinner, you take a long shower, Todo’s unconventional suggestion replaying continuously in your mind. You’re almost certain it’s a ridiculous joke, though the more you analyze it, the less ridiculous it seems. In fact, by the time you’re drying off in front of the mirror, checking your reflection carefully, you’re seriously considering it. You’re not particularly tired from earlier, so maybe you have room for one more workout. And hey, if the offer still stands, why not take it?

You slide into a different pair of leggings, one that shows off your curves, and slip on a t-shirt, fulling prepared to exercise. In your running shoes, you walk the few steps next door and knock twice. When he doesn’t answer within the first ten seconds, panic sets in and you’re tempted to turn on your heel to retreat. Before you can, the door swings open and you’re greeted by Todo’s bare bust. He smirks, not at all surprised to see you standing in front of him. “Hey.”

Swallowing the thick saliva gathering on your tongue, you let out a meek, “Hello.” His enormous frame towers over you and you can’t help but salivate at the sight of him. You always assumed he’d be the type of guy to walk around shirtless in his apartment. Not that you’re complaining.

He beckons you inside, closing and locking the door shut behind him. “Can’t stop thinking about it, huh?”

You roll your eyes at him, cracking a smile simultaneously. “Well, it’d be rude to turn down such a generous offer, right?”

He lets out a small laugh, stepping towards you, gripping at your hips to pull you into him. “I knew you were a smart girl.”

You’ve severely underestimated how much bigger he is than you until this moment, as you peer up at him eagerly. “Todo.”

He bows his head down, mouth grazing your ear. “Aoi.”

“Aoi,” you repeat, breath hitching.

“Good girl,” he praises, making you shudder with anticipation. “Tell me exactly what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You paw at his chest, admiring his sculpted muscles, pressing your fingers into them without even making a dent. “I want you to give me that workout you promised me.”

“Yeah?” he croons, his noticeable erection strained in his sweatpants. “You want this fat fucking cock, don’t you?”

He’s as vulgar as you imagined he’d be and it only spurs you on. You link your arms around his neck, on your tippy-toes to meet him for a kiss. Instead, he hoists you up, holding you with his hands below your ass, your legs wrapped around his waist. His boner throbs as you buck your hips on him, desperate for friction on your aching clit. “You feel it, don’t you?” he purrs, grinding you against him. “That’s all for you.”

He carries you into the bedroom, kissing you sloppily with his massive tongue invading your mouth. When he can’t take it anymore, he tosses you onto the mattress, stripping his clothes off swiftly, you doing the same. He crawls on top of you, ogling your naked body, a lustful gleam in his expression. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“You’re so fucking big,” you blurt out in response, not knowing a better word to describe him. Because everywhere you look, Aoi Todo is big. Big biceps, a tremendous torso, a huge fucking cock ready to fill you the fuck up. You spread your legs open for him, practically begging for him to fuck you.

“Look at this perfect pussy,” he coos, face inching closer to your cunt. He hocks a thick wad of spit directly onto your clit, smearing it with his tongue. “So wet for me.”

You squirm beneath him, unable to control yourself. “Fuck, Aoi,” you swear, toes already curling from the sensation.

“I’m going to make you come first. Make this pussy extra creamy for my dick. Is that okay, sweetheart?” He massages circles into your clit with his thumb, looking up at you from between your thighs.

“Yes,” you whine, trembling with arousal.

“Good girl,” he says again, and you realize how fucking sexy it is when he praises you like this. “Can I finger you too?”

“Oh god, yes,” you moan, growing impatient, needy for whatever he’s willing to offer you.

With his lips latched to your clit, he teases your entrance with his middle finger, slowly sliding deeper until he bottoms out. He adds another digit, pumping inside you while he sucks on your bud, tongue swirling around it. You rock your hips against his face, greedy for more. Todo hums, encouraging you, the vibrations spurring you on until it’s too much. You come for him after a few more strokes, gushing all over his face. You reach down to grab his hair, trying to pry him off you, but he’s obviously way stronger and more resilient. “One more,” he muffles, chin shiny with your slick, his tongue flicking your clit. “For me.” He flashes you a cocky smirk that makes him even more impossible to deny.

You throw your head back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, hazy-eyed from the pleasure. The squelch of his fingers in and out of your wet cunt is obscene, combined with the shameless moans pouring out of you. After your second climax, or maybe it’s the third (you’ve lost count), he finally eases off you, slurping his digits clean to swallow up your juices. “You’re doing so good for me, pretty girl.” He strokes his cock in his fist, tapping the glistening head on your swollen clit. “It’s going to feel fucking amazing.”

You hum, the only response you can muster in this fucked-out state.

“How do you want it, sweetie?” He lifts you off the bed, having you straddle his lap. “You want to ride me?”

You nod, resting your head on his shoulder, yearning for anything. “Yes.”

“Fuck yeah,” he growls, slapping your ass before guiding his cock into your slippery cunt. You gasp, astonished by the extraordinary girth of him filling you up to the hilt. “You’re swallowing me up.” He spreads your cheeks apart, squeezing your ass in his grip. “That’s my girl.”

You gaze at him, pressing your forehead to his, sticky with sweat. “Fuck me,” you whimper, kissing him fiercely, completely enraptured by him.

He does, bouncing you on his lap, hitting your sweet spot over and over until you’re unraveling for him once more. “Told you, didn’t I? Told you I’d make it worth your while.”

Whatever semblance of rationale you had is gone. All you can think of is Todo’s manhandling you like a fucking rag doll, pliable and yielding to his every touch. Before you reconsider it, you spout the words, “Breed me,” wishing nothing more but to have his hot load leaking out of your cunt.

As if he wasn’t already feral enough, he most certainly is now, planting his feet on the bed to fuck up into you faster and harder. “That’s what you really want? You want my fucking seed in you? Oh fuck. I’ll give it to you, then. I’ll give it to you so fucking good.”

It happens quickly; you’re on your back again, folded nearly in half, knees to your chest, Todo fucking you in a mating press like his goddamn life depends on it. The mattress creaks noisily with each savage thrust he delivers. Sweat drips from his face onto yours as you kiss each other passionately, his massive body surrounding you as he floods your womb with his cum. “Fuck, milk it all out of me baby. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You stay like this for a moment, allowing yourselves to catch you breaths and cool down. This really was a workout. Todo takes his time, reluctantly pulling out and watching his cum ooze out of you.

“I can’t believe we did that,” you sigh, hiding your face in the pillow.

He gets comfortable beside you, giving you a smooch on the forehead. “Honestly, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“Really?” You look at him, cupping his cheek gently, wiping the perspiration off his brow with your thumb.

He smiles, nuzzling into your palm. “Yeah.”

“Then maybe we should make this a regular thing,” you suggest as you snuggle into his arms.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he agrees, embracing you.

And just like that, you have yourself a new and very, very personal trainer.

#todo aoi #todo x reader #todo jjk #todo smut #todo aoi x reader #todo aoi smut #aoi todo #aoi todo x reader #aoi todo smut #aoi todo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #to all the boys who live next door #todo x you

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dirtyvulture · 11 months

Text

Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Sergeant!Reader

18+ only read at your own risk

Summary: Natasha calls you to her office for a performance evaluation.

Word count: 1414

AN: I’ve had this idea forever, but it wasn’t until I got some military requests (which I kind of tried to incorporate) that I finally sat down to write this. Enjoy!

Reader has a penis. No pronouns used.

"I want to see you in my office after briefing, Sergeant,” your superior, Natasha Romanoff, says to you when you pass her in the hallway.

“Yes, ma’am.” You dip your head in respect, not pausing in your rapid pace to get to your next location. You don’t think anything of her request, feeling your performance in your new role has gone smoothly so far. But you also knew that Romanoff had very high standards, and was one of the few who had been against your promotion initially.

You attend your meeting without issue, getting up and almost heading to the chow hall with your comrades, when you remember you’re supposed to see Staff Sergeant Romanoff first. You make a quick U-turn and head back to her office, knocking forcefully and announcing yourself.

“Sergeant Romanoff? It’s Sergeant Y/N like you requested.”

“Come in and close the door.”

You heed her instruction, finding her lounging behind her desk. She’s not in her uniform, making you feel strangely out of place and like you shouldn’t be seeing her like this. Instead, she’s wearing the standard issued workout shirt, with her last name stamped across her left breast.

“What can I do for you, ma’am?” you ask, standing at attention and staring at the wall behind her.

“At ease,” she says, and you shift your legs into a shoulder-wide stance, holding your hands behind your back. But you still don’t make eye contact with her.

“So tell me, Sergeant, how is training with the new recruits going?” Natasha asks.

“Very well,” you answer.

“You think so?” Natasha leans forward and taps her perfectly-manicured nails along the wood of her desk.

“Uh,” you hesitate, not sure what her intentions are now. “Yes. Yes, ma’am.”

“Because that’s not what I heard from Captain Rogers.”

You press your lips into a flat line, trying to hide your grimace. Captain Steve Rogers had been your other long-time adversary, and the other person alongside Romanoff who had opposed your promotion. You still weren’t sure why he was so hostile with you, perhaps he was jealous of your skills, or the fact that Romanoff gave you much more of her attention than him.

“Captain Rogers said three of your recruits failed their most recent written exam,” Romanoff goes on.

“A lot of recruits fail the written exams,” you defend. “So, I’m personally working with them to make sure they pass their retake--”

“Your fail rate needs to be zero, Sergeant Y/N,” Romanoff says through her teeth.

“That’s not completely in my control, ma’am--”

“Are you making excuses for your poor display of leadership?” Romanoff snaps.

“I, no--that’s not it at all--”

“Atten-SHUN!” she barks suddenly and you scramble to snap your arms to your sides and your legs together. “Half-right, face!” You barely have time to process her demand before she’s yelling out another one. You turn your feet at a 45-degree angle to the right, facing the corner of her office now. “Front leaning rest position. MOVE!”

It’s almost humiliating to be asked of such a request at your rank, but you know better than to argue. You drop to the floor into a pushup position, keeping your back perfectly straight, your arms almost locked out to hold yourself up.

“Down!” she commands, and you bend your elbows until your chest almost touches the floor. “Up!”

“One, Sergeant Romanoff!” you respond, pushing yourself back into the resting position.

“Down. Up!”

“Two, Sergeant Romanoff!”

She keeps you going at a steady pace and you hardly notice her get up from behind her desk and stand next to her, her shadow casting over your body. By the 30th pushup, you feel the slight burn in your chest and arms, but you know you have the stamina to go well into the hundreds without faltering. However, you also know that Romanoff is one of the most notoriously punishing staff sergeants, so you don’t want to get ahead of yourself.

“Down. Up!”

“Fifty, Sergeant Romanoff,” your voice cracks and you shake your head to not think much of it.

“Tired yet, Sergeant Y/N?” Romanoff asks, squatting down to your level. The collar of your uniform is dampened with sweat and you feel it collecting on your forehead.

“No, ma’am!” you lie.

“Good. Because I don’t plan on stopping you anytime soon,” Romanoff says, and you feel your arms quiver in the slightest at her threat. “Down. Up!”

“Fifty-one, Sergeant Romanoff!” you grunt.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Natasha lie down flat on the floor and slide herself under you. She positions herself right underneath your crotch and embarrassingly, you feel yourself harden at the thought of your cock being so close to her face.

“Sergeant?” you ask.

“I did not give you permission to speak,” Romanoff says, reaching up and pulling your tucked in shirt out of the waistband of your pants. She undoes a few of the buttons on the bottom, slipping her hand inside and running it across the soaked skin of your flexed abs. “I’ve always admired your dedication to physical fitness, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” you respond, your arms shaking as you try to keep yourself upright.

Romanoff traces her fingers lower and unbuckles your belt, pulling down your zipper. Her fingers purposely brush over your clothed bulge and your body jolts. You suck in a breath, but now with all the blood in your body going down to your groin, your collapse is inevitable.

“Down.”

You don’t know if you should keep your hips straight or arch them up, but your body has a mind of its own now and you lower yourself, your bulge bumping against Romanoff’s nose. She doesn’t give you the command to push back up, so you wait in that position, shaking from the effort.

Romanoff peels down your boxers, freeing your hard cock, and licks at it tentatively. You grunt at the contact, now wanting to press down harder into her, but you resist.

“Up.”

You groan as you find the strength to push yourself away from her mouth.

“Uh...fifty...fifty-two, Sergeant Romanoff.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve already lost count,” Romanoff teases, reaching up and wrapping her warm hand around you, pumping it slowly. Your thighs quiver from the stimulation and you feel pre-cum shuttle out of the tip. “Down.”

This time when you lower yourself, Romanoff guides you into her mouth. She takes almost your entire length, nestling your head in the back of her throat and your eyes roll in pleasure.

Instead of telling you to go back up (since her mouth is full of your dick), she pushes against your thighs and you begrudgingly obey.

“F-Fifty-three, Sergeant Romanoff,” you whimper when your cock is exposed to the cool air once again. All you want is to be buried down the warmth of her throat until you lose your load.

“How many more do you think you can last?” Romanoff asks. “Two? Three?”

Privately, you don’t think you’ll last another one, with the fact that you’re on top of her but she’s in control of you making your head spin.

“Down.”

You moan in relief when she takes you again, this time sealing her lips around the base of your cock and sucking rhythmically. Your hips start to jerk on their own, breaking your perfect form, but you don’t care anymore and you can tell your sergeant doesn’t, either.

“Fuck, Sergeant,” you splutter, her tongue teasing the veins on your cock finally sending you over the edge without warning. Your thighs flex and your arms shake as you struggle to keep yourself from falling on top of Romanoff completely. Her throat milks you to swallow your entire load and she doesn’t stop until you’re begging to pull back out.

“You tasted better than I thought you would, Sergeant,” Romanoff says, sliding out from under you. “Recover.” You scramble to stand up, resuming the position of attention and humiliated to notice your now-limp cock hanging out of your pants. Your chest heaves from the exertion of over 50 pushups and you know Romanoff isn’t done with you yet.

She moves to stand in front of you. She wipes her lips with the back of her hand and leans against you, putting her hand on your cock once more, massaging it back to hardness. “I hope you have good stamina here too,” she whispers, before pushing you onto her desk and riding you until neither of you can walk.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

Click here for Part 2!

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

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captainfern · 11 months

Text

Give It To Me

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!reader

["Give It To Me" by Timbaland]

[18+]

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

• summary - you've always had a crush on your best friends older brother. looks like he has a crush on you too lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 4.7k • warnings - fem!reader, best friend's older brother!gaz, unprotected piv, oral [f!receiving], fingering, praise, alcohol consumption, you smoke weed with gaz, you fuck while you're high too, strong language

ok ok there are not enough fanfics of gaz on this bloody app and enough is enough i say. proud gaz whore right here 🙏 gaz nation rise up !!! also i LOVE timbaland like early 2000s music has no right to slap that hard.

this wasn't requested at all lol but hey maybe it's just a 1k special. lots of luv x

the hat stays on while we fucking— yoooo who said that that's crazy ????

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

You had always had this stupid crush on your best friend's older brother.

How could you not? Just look at him.

He was nice, funny, a bit shy but yet still such a social butterfly. He was ridiculously attractive, too, obviously. Pretty dark eyes, a perfect smile and— good lord— abs that you could see whenever he wore that tight compression shirt during his morning workouts.

Spending the night at your best friend's house was always so much fun. Yeah, your friend was the best and you always had such a good time with her. But, if you woke up at just the right time and, conveniently, went downstairs to get a glass of water, you'd run into Gaz. Compression shirt on, dampened slightly with sweat, as he stirred up his protein shake at the kitchen counter.

You'd feign innocence. Hi Gaz, what brings you up at this hour? Real subtle, you thought, considering you'd found yourself in this exact situation four times. But hey, you can't blame yourself. He just looked... so good.

So, for the longest time, it was always a stupid crush. Nothing more than that.

Until it was more than that.

The ball began to roll the day he returned home from deployment a month or so ago.

You were lounging on the couch, your best friend in the shower, when he stumbled into the house, looking absolutely beat. He saw you first as he closed the front door.

"Hey." He smiled.

"Hey, Gaz," you smiled back. "Welcome back."

"Thanks," he laughed breathlessly. "I'm so happy to be home."

He looked around the quiet, empty house. You could only just hear the shower upstairs running. Gaz exhaled through a laugh, shaking his head slowly.

"So much for a welcome committee." He joked.

"Hah, were you expecting one?" You asked, smiling.

He shrugged. "I mean, it would've been nice. I've been gone for three and a half weeks, you know, risking my life and all."

"Oh, I'm sorry, thank you for your service," you mock saluted from the couch, much to his amusement. He smiled at you, finally dumping his duffel bags in the hallway near the door. You cocked your head at him, jokingly saying: "Would you like me to be your welcome home committee?"

He faked appreciation, placing a hand to his chest and pouting. "I would be honoured. Thank you."

"Oh my god." You rolled your eyes, and the both of you laughed while you got off the couch.

You crossed the room, clearing your throat as you stretched your arms wide. "Sergeant Garrick! It's so great to have you home!"

He laughed again, smile stretching wider as he wrapped his arms around your middle, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. He leaned back, your feet leaving the ground and making you release a noise of surprise. After hugging you tight, he gently lowered you back to the floor.

"Thank you." He smiled.

You pat his chest. "Of course. Thank you for your service."

He still had his hands on your waist when you said that.

And that was only the beginning.

The ball was rolling slowly, but steadily. A few weeks later, after days of joking with one another— flirting? you weren't sure— and throwing banter back and forth, it happened again. A moment between you two that contributed to the shift in your dynamic.

He stumbled into the house in the early hours of the morning, drunk as fuck. You and your friend had been up all night watching movies, and she had only just fallen asleep upstairs. You told her you were going to get a drink of water so, as Gaz staggered into the house, you were at the kitchen sink, a half-drunk glass of water in your hand.

He was tripping over his feet, muttering something, laughing to himself. You watched him silently, as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He dropped to his knees, failing to crawl up them. He gave up, and slouched against the bannister.

"Rough night?" You asked him, placing the cup in the sink.

"Mhm," he muttered, pulling himself away from the stairs and into the kitchen. "V-very rough."

He sank onto one of the barstools, swaying slightly.

You shook your head at him, grabbing a fresh glass and filling it with water. You slid it to him, and he happily accepted.

"Thanks," He slurred, and chugged the whole glass. He pushed the empty glass back towards you. "More?"

You gave him a look as you took the glass. It was meant to be a “slow down” kind of look, but he clearly took it a different way.

"More, please, love." He said, resting his head on his arms, watching you with hooded eyes as you refilled his glass.

"Drink this one slowly," you said, giving it to him. He did, sipping at the water as you watched. "Special occasion, was it?"

He swallowed his mouthful. "Not really, but Soap's in town. He... he can drink me under the t-table, Jesus Christ. He had like... f-five hundred more pints than... than me and he walked outta there fine."

You laughed quietly. "Your fault for taking him on."

He hummed, finishing his glass. When he passed it back to you, he gave you a lazy smile. "Thanks, love."

"Sure." You said calmly. Your stomach was doing fucking backflips.

He hummed again, watching you place the glass in the sink. When you turned back around, his eyes dropped for just a moment. Not enough to make you uncomfortable, but long enough to make you say—

"My eyes are up here, Garrick."

His lips quirked further, smirk unfaltering. "I like your pyjamas."

You rolled your eyes. Short shorts, a loose fitting tee that you have no idea where it came from, fuzzy slippers.

"Whatever." You scoffed.

"No, I do," he said, still smiling. "That's my shirt."

Your body went hot.

"Seriously?"

"Mhm..." He chewed at his bottom lip.

Your best friend had loaned it to you. That bitch—

"I'm so sorry. Do you want it back?"

"Oh my god, no, don't even worry," he sounded sincere for just a moment, before: "It suits you better, anyway."

Moments like these continued to happen.

And eventually, the ball rolled to it's final destination: today, your best friends birthday.

She was pretty popular, considering she did a whole bunch of extra-curricular activities and made friends with quite literally everyone she met. So her house was packed full of people, most of whom you knew, drinking and dancing to music that would most likely cause a noise complaint further into the night.

You had had a fair bit to drink. Not enough to be absolutely pissed, but enough to have your body buzzing and your eyelids fluttering if you sat down for a bit too long. Your best friend, on the other hand, was drunk as hell. You spent half the night making sure she didn't somehow end up on the roof like last year. But that was a whole other story.

Later into the night, your friend had wandered off— safely, thank god— to join a game of beer pong in the dining room. You needed some fresh air, so you made your way onto the front porch, devoid of any people.

You could still hear the people and music pulsing together inside, and you took a deep breath, cool air filling your lungs. You felt yourself sobering up as the chilled air hit your bare skin. Probably for the best, anyway.

"Had enough, eh?"

You recognised the voice. The voice you were weirdly attracted too. Was it weird to be attracted to a voice? Probably. Maybe you were over thinking—

Gaz sat down beside you on the front step, your knees brushing.

"Yeah, just wanted to chill for a bit." You told him, the warmth of his body beside yours really making the alcohol clear out of your head.

"Fair enough," he said. "Birthday girl's had a bit to drink, hasn't she?"

You bit out a laugh. "You have no idea. I don't think I've seen her touch anything other than alcohol all night. She's gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow."

"Her fault." He said, humour in his words.

He looked over at you, taking in your face for a second. You met his eyes, head cocked slightly as he smiled at you.

"What?" You smiled.

"You smoke?" He asked.

You shrugged. "Depends."

Gaz laughed. "Depends on what?"

"Depends who I smoke with," you replied. "By myself? Sure. With your sister? Sure."

"What about with me?" Gaz asked, patting his jacket pocket.

"Sure." You said simply, the two of you fighting smiles.

•º•

A little while later, you were sitting on Gaz's bed, right beside the semi-open window. You'd never been inside his room before, so you were intent on playing it cool. It was much how you expected it to be. Simple, but him. Photos from his high school days, from his days in the military. A punching bag in the corner— which, on any other day, would have been a red flag if it wasn't Gaz we were talking about here.

He passed you the joint, fingers brushing yours. He was slouched against the bed, too, head resting on the windowsill, peering out the window. Wisps of smoke furled from his lips, disappearing into the night.

You giggled at the sight before inhaling, taking a couple of hits before rolling the joint mindlessly between your fingers. Your slightly hooded eyes watched Gaz and the way his own eyes darted across the sky, looking at the stars. Then, as you put your lips around the tip of the blunt again, his eyes fell on you.

"You good?" He asked, sitting up as you passed the joint to him.

You smiled at him. "Mhm."

The music was loud downstairs. You could feel the vibrations coursing through the walls as you leaned your head against it. You had butterflies in your stomach, a warm, fuzzy sensation in your brain and your cheeks were beginning to hurt from the strength of your smile.

Gaz took a few lazy hits from the blunt over the span of a couple of minutes. You watched him in silence, chewing at your bottom lip. You watched the way his eyelashes fluttered, how his pupils had expanded in the moonlight, and how he wet his lips with his tongue after every inhale. You now had a second heartbeat deep in your core, and you released a shaky exhale.

"You're so pretty..." You sighed, watching the way he twisted the narrow joint between the knuckles of his index and middle finger.

He hummed, eyes darting across your face. "I think that's supposed to be my line."

You giggled behind your hand, body heating up more than it already was. You shifted against the mattress of his bed, blankets bunching beneath you, smelling of him.

"You think I'm pretty?" You asked in a whisper, reaching over and plucking the blunt from Gaz's fingers. He watched you take a hit, his tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth in concentration.

He nodded as the joint tip glowed. He kept nodding, slowly, lazily, until you passed it back to him. You held it out to him, fighting a smile, wiggling it in front of his face, fresh embers flickering.

Instead, he gently grabbed your wrist— as though you were the most fragile being on earth— and pulled you closer to him. You obliged, shuffling along the bed on your knees until they knocked against his own, your silhouettes framed by the moonlight streaming in from the partially opened window.

Still holding your wrist, Gaz lowered his mouth and took a deep hit, eyes locked to yours. Your stomach flipped, brain feeling extra fuzzy and warm as you locked your eyes onto his glossy brown ones. Then, without exhaling, he gently pried the rest of the blunt from your fingers and placed it on the ashtray on the windowsill.

He pulled you closer until you were straddling his lap, thighs beneath yours. He placed one hand on the small of your back, the other cupping the side of your head. He guided your face down to his and you parted your lips in a small gasp. When your lips brushed— not quite a kiss— he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, tendrils of ghostly white passing between your mouths. You released a sound, low in your throat, as you felt the smoke swirl, bitter, into your mouth, your eyes fluttering while you struggled to maintain eye contact. Gaz responded to the sound, pulling your hips closer to his own.

You were the first to pull a way a bit. He watched you closely, eyes moving all over your face.

Your core was pulsing, your body was warm.

"Jesus..." Gaz whispered, hand rubbing carefully along the side of your face, along your jaw. "M'gonna... m'gonna kiss you, okay? Is... is that okay?"

It was your turn to nod slowly, wetting your lips.

"Mhm." You hummed, trying to hold a poorly timed giggle at bay.

He exhaled deeply, breath fanning across your face before he leaned in and captured your lips with his own. It was tame, in the beginning. Then, he licked his tongue along the seam of your mouth and you opened for him, letting him explore. You and him both moaned in unison when your tongues connected, warm and solid, tasting both bitter from the weed and sweet from the cheap alcohol. His hand moved to the back of your head, bringing you closer, tilting you in a way that he could sink his tongue deeper.

The kiss was now the furthest from tame— all tongue, teeth and spit. The wet sounds, combined with his soft whimpering and your low whines, made the kiss much more pornographic than intended. You pressed your hands down his strong shoulders, feeling the muscle, scratching your nails against the cotton of his shirt.

The hand Gaz had on your lower back moved southward, brushing along the curve of your arse and squeezing the flesh there gently. He kneaded it through the material of your skirt while you ground yourself onto his lap.

You tried to pull away from the kiss, but he chased it; eyes still closed, seeking the heat of your mouth. You let him as he whined into your mouth, the hand on your arse moving back to your lower spine.

"Gaz..." you whispered once you finally broke your lips away from his. He blinked up at you, lips wet with your shared saliva, breath coming in shallow pants.

Wordlessly, you reached around and grabbed the hand that he had on your back. You moved it between the two of you, urging him beneath the front of your skirt. His eyes grew wide in excitement, letting you guide his hand to your underwear. He cupped your core, and, for the second time that night, you moaned in unison. You were wet and warm against the skin of his palm, even through the material of your underwear.

"Bloody hell..." He muttered, dipping his fingers past your underwear, dragging them lightly against you. His eyes flicked up to yours, trying to gauge your facial expressions as he made his touch firmer, sliding two fingers through your slicked folds.

Is this okay?, his deep brown eyes asked.

You hummed a moan, your eyes finding his, replying; obviously.

His two fingers languidly sunk into your cunt without resistance, your core slick and dripping, still maintaining a steady heartbeat, which made you squirm in his lap. He sunk his fingers to the knuckle and he let out a low whine before pulling them out and repeating his actions. You keened into him, chest flushed with his, tossing your head back as his fingers began a steady pace.

His thumb crept up your core and pressed against your clit, already puffy and swollen with your arousal. Gaz moved in slow circles, listening to your body, listening to your sounds. Much like your kiss, the sound of his fingers entering your hole were loud, even over the bass of the music. Wet. So fucking wet. You could feel the glide of his fingers, the arousal that leaked into your underwear.

Gaz had his mouth agape, watching raptly as you breathed out whine after whine, face inclined towards his ceiling. He kept you firmly in his lap, having moved a hand down to your hip to keep you steady. His other hand, knuckle deep in your sopping cunt, searched for the spot inside you that'd have you seeing stars.

He found it.

He knew he did when you choked on a gasp, a beautiful moan falling from your kiss-bruised lips. You tilted your head forward to look at him, and you whined a sickly sweet "Gaz" that had his pace increasing and his cock hardening.

"S-so good, Gaz, oh my god..." you whimpered, his fingers hitting that spongey spot within you that caused your tummy to tighten, thighs beginning to quiver against his.

He applied further pressure to your clit as the blunt force of his fingers nudged you closer to climax. He was still looking at you— admiring you— basking in how pretty you looked all for him.

"Cum on my fingers, baby, that's it," Gaz whispered, leaning forward to kiss you. It was gentle, and lasted for less than five seconds, before he was pulling away to suck a hickey onto your neck. "That's it, come on. Know you can do it... know you can, love, come on. Give it to me."

You fucking gave it to him alright.

"Mmm—Gaz—!" You moaned as you hurtled over the edge, your orgasm hitting you hard and hot. Your hole clamped around his fingers, making him grunt into your neck as he fucked your through it.

He pulled off of your neck. "That's it, good girl, there you go..."

He sounded equally as fucked as you as he thrusted his fingers into you once more, then retreated. You kissed him, your mouths moving without real intent, just swapping spit with weed-tainted tongues. While you did that, he pushed you backwards onto his bed, shifting you so your head rested on his satin pillow. He crawled over top of you, only breaking the kiss to drag his mouth down your neck.

"More." You whispered to him, a smile creeping along your face as you clamped your legs around his hips.

"Yeah?" Gaz leaned back on his heels. "More?"

"Pleaseeeee." You dragged out, ripping your shirt over your head as impatience bubbled inside you. He laughed when you tossed it across the room, then quickly unclasped your bra, also throwing it away.

Tits exposed, his eyes dropped from your face, jaw slackening.

"My eyes are up here, Garrick." You laughed.

The familiar words struck Gaz across the face. He smiled at you, leaning down without words to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You exhaled a pleasured sigh, holding his head carefully as he kissed and sucked along your left tit, before moving to the other. He rubbed your waist and hips as he did so, fingers skimming the band of your skirt.

Eventually, the pleasure mounting in your core was making you impatient, so you pushed him away with as much strength in your shaky arms as you could. Gaz just chuckled. He flipped your skirt up and slipped your drenched underwear down your legs, untangling them from your ankles and flinging them across the room.

He blew out a breath, catching sight of your cunt, slick folds fucking glistening in the moonlight.

He couldn't resist. He didn't even give you a warning.

He slid his head between your thighs and licked a stripe up your cunt, sucking briefly on your clit before dragging his tongue down your folds and thrusting into your leaking hole. You cried out, hand immediately coming to clasp the back of his head, hips bucking. His nose pressed to your clit as you did that, making you whine deeply. Your thighs fastened firm around his head. He groaned, continuing to fuck his tongue deeper into you.

Your mind was warm and full of Gaz, Gaz, Ga—

He moaned into your cunt, the vibrations making your tummy tighten.

"Fucking hell," he moaned again, and you gasped in return. "So fucking good, baby, holy—"

His tongue cut him off, stuffing back into your cunt, lapping up as much of your arousal as he could with messy slurps that made your cheeks sting with pleasure. You were far too gone to be embarrassed.

His hands gripped your thighs, indenting the soft flesh. He quickly swiped his tongue upwards, circling your clit and skimming his teeth across it.

"Fuck, Gaz," You keened. "M'not gonna last, please—"

"S'okay, love, s'okay, come on," he groaned into your cunt, tongue sliding back into your leaking hole. "Come on, baby, wanna taste more. Let me— f-fuck, baby— let me h-have more."

Your second orgasm, much like the first, hit you like a fucking freight train. As the chorus of whatever song it was downstairs reached it's tempo, you came in his mouth. Your thighs trapped him to your cunt as you rode the continuous waves of pleasure, his tongue solid inside you. You bucked against his face, orgasm simmering, his nose nudging your overstimulated bundle of nerves.

When you finally loosened your hold on him, he placed one last wet kiss to your swollen clit, before literally lunging over your body and slamming his mouth onto yours. Hastily, and with little words exchanged between the pair of you except for moaned curses, Gaz stripped. His clothes meshed with yours on the floor, and soon, the solid weight of his cock was in your hand as you helped guide it to your cunt, your legs parted for him.

He watched you stroke him, notching his cockhead at your dripping entrance with a soft giggle-turned whimper. He smiled, fucked out, as he took your hand and brought it back to your face. He made you lick it, before wrapping it back round his cock and moaning loudly. He used your hand to pump himself, his own fingers large over yours. Pearls of pre rolled from his tip, smearing against your fluttering hole.

His other hand adjusted the way your skirt was still flipped up over your lower tummy. He played with the material of it while you pumped his cock.

"Pretty..." he remarked, tugging at the soft fabric.

"Mmm... wore it for you." You drawled, nudging his sensitive tip through your slick folds.

He whined a fuck. "Did you now?"

"Mhm..."

He removed your hand from his cock, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. He wrapped his own hand around the base, languidly pushing the tip to your cunt. He slowly pushed in, and you whined, wrapping your arms around him and dragging your nails down his back. He moaned through gritted teeth as you sucked him in. His hips soon came flush to yours as he bottomed out with a deep utter of your name.

"C-can't believe I didn't... fucking hell... didn't do this sooner," he pulled out of you, slowly pushing back in. "Waited s-so long for this pretty cunt. So... so long."

He was taking his time fucking his cock into you. Your gummy walls tightened around him, your arousal easing the glide. He huffed each time the head of his cock reached far enough inside you that a small bulge appeared in the soft mound of you lower tummy.

"You feel so good, oh my god—" He whimpered.

"Please, Gaz, need more—" You whined. "Please, faster—"

His pace increased instantly. It wasn't the most graceful and rhythmic— possibly a factor of weed and alcohol, making you fight off a grin— but it was fucking good. He nailed that spot inside you with each thrust. You moaned his name, over and over, throat beginning to become sore. He fucked you to the drumming of the music downstairs, bed creaking. The room smelt of weed, sex, you and him. You could get high off that combination alone.

He was breathing hard, whimpering into your neck as he sucked another hickey. Your best friend's older brother. A moan slipped out of your mouth at that thought alone. What were you doing?

Whatever it was, you were fucking loving it.

"So good, Gaz. Feels so good." You told him through a whine, his cock slamming repeatedly into the plug of your womb, balls slapping against the curve of your arse.

He moved away from your neck, focusing now on your pretty face as he fucked you.

"Yeah? Feels good, love?" He asked, snaking a hand away from your hip to toy a finger against your puffy clit.

"S-so good, fuck—!" You almost screamed at the sensation, your nerves on fire.

He rutted into you, again and again, hooded eyes raking down your body with each arch of your back and buck of your hips. He loved how pretty you looked right now. All for him. His imagination these past few weeks had nothing on what he was looking at right now.

"Mmm that's it, good girl," he said lowly as he felt your cunt begin to pulse around him. He pulled all the way out and slammed back in, making you toss your head back and moan. He moaned too, your silk walls clinging too him. So needy. "Want you to cum, please, baby. You can do it. Want you to cum 'round my cock. Come on, give it to me."

Gladly, you came a third time.

"Gaz!" You moaned, pulling him tighter over you as your entire lower body spasmed, legs clamping around his waist and cunt squeezing around his cock. He groaned at the sight of you, at the feel of you, as your climax rocked through you, amplified by the swimming warmth in your brain. Cosy. Safe.

"Gaz..." You finished with a whimper, soft and barely audible. He kissed you, passionate and slow, continuing his pace, removing his finger from your sensitive clit.

"I know, I know, good girl, baby," he whispered, cooing. "Did so good. Almost there... almost there... good— girl—" he punctuated the good girl with heavy thrusts, making your mouth drop open.

It seemed like it had been mere seconds since your third orgasm when your fourth crept into your lower abdomen, coiling tight. You don't think a man has ever made you cum this many times.

You couldn't help it. It was so sudden that you had no time to warn him. You gushed around him, fourth orgasm leaking out of you with each rut of his cock. He groaned, deep and breathy, feeling the slick escaping from your cunt as he pounded into you, his thrusts only just beginning to falter.

"That's a good girl, there you go, feels so fucking good," he rambled. "M'gonna cum, holy fuck, m'gonna cum—"

He sounded so desperate. You kissed him.

He buried his cock to the hilt inside you, hips flushed with yours. As you kissed him, he came, moaning into your mouth. Warmth filled you deep, the sensation making you arch against him. Warm dribbles of his cum slowly seeped out of you as he softened, still buried inside you while his body dropped onto yours, face buried in your neck. He kissed you there as you kissed his forehead.

After a while of just holding each other and listening to the music downstairs, Gaz got up. The joint was basically lying dead in the ashtray, but he still ground away the remnants of live embers. He closed the window.

"You reckon someone heard us?" You asked lazily as he dipped into his bathroom, remerging a few moments later with a cloth.

"Doubt it," he said, dabbing the warm, wet cloth to your core, cleaning you gently. "They're too pissed to even notice we're gone."

He cleaned you, then discarded the cloth. Soon, he was shimmying a pair of his clean boxers up your legs, then grabbing a fresh tee and helping you into it. Then, boxers on, he slipped into bed beside you and pulled the covers up. He placed a kiss to your forehead, cheek, then finally your lips.

"Need anything?" He asked, rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone before kissing you softly again.

"Just you," you smiled at him. "All I need is you."

"Perfect," he smiled back. "All I need is you, too."

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

lol x

#captainfern #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #fem reader #cod gaz #gaz #gaz mw2 #gaz smut #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x female reader #cod smut #kyle garrick #gaz x you #captain'stimbaland

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turtletaubwrites · 6 months

Text

We've All Got Needs ~ Part 1

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,133

This is part 1 of the Series 'We've All Got Needs,' linked below:

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

Ao3 Series Link

Summary: The crew's out for the day so you decide to take advantage of unlimited shower time. Too bad a certain swordsman finished his workout early. Guess you should have locked the door.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Reader Insert, Fem!Reader, 18+ Only, MDNI, Smut, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Casual Sex, Accidental Voyeurism, Mildly Dubious Consent, Condoms, Penis In Vagina Sex, Cunnilingus, Biting, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Hair-pulling, Aftercare, Swearing, No Foreplay, Zoro's a straight to the point kinda guy and we love that, Shameless Smut, Friends With Benefits, crewmates with benefits

A/N: This is my first smut with absolutely zero plot! I want to practice writing shorter pieces while I'm working on my next bigger story. I hope you like it!

Docked at a new town, you decided to take advantage of the privacy on the ship while the rest of the crew went shopping, and scoped things out. It seemed like a boring place, but knowing Luffy, you would all end up fighting a dragon or something.

So you might as well enjoy the bathing room uninterrupted for once while you had the chance.

Groaning, you massaged your neck and shoulders under the almost scalding water. Normally there would be someone banging on the door to get in by now, and you sighed as you rinsed the last of the soap away. Steam tickled up around you as you shut off the water.

“Damn.”

You let out an embarrassing high pitched noise, and grabbed your towel before turning toward the owner of that deep voice.

Zoro stood inside the stupidly unlocked door, already pulling out of his shirt. He was dripping with sweat, green hair clinging to his forehead. His chest was fucking glistening. You realized you’d been staring while you stood there dripping in your towel.

“Sorry, Y/N.”

He didn’t look sorry as he walked toward you.

Zoro had dropped his shirt on the floor and was reaching for his pants. You tried to excuse yourself, but couldn’t stop watching him.

He tilted his head with a smirk, and you felt trapped.

“We should fuck.”

Your brain stopped working.

“Wha-what?”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. But we’ve all got needs. I’ve seen how you look at me.”

Zoro had stopped before removing his pants, but he walked toward you. You almost felt the look in his eyes on your skin.

“Uhh, I..”

“I like what I see too,” he said, in a raspy voice you’d never heard him use before.

He reached out to hold your jaw, tilting your face to his. His thumb smoothed along your skin until it rubbed over your lips.

A shiver of pleasure prickled your skin. Your lips parted in a soft gasp, and you had to close your eyes for a second.

When they opened, Zoro was so close to you, looking almost smug, but reserved.

“Is that a yes, Y/N?”

You were not expecting this at all. Zoro is fucking gorgeous, but you didn’t think he saw you that way. This way. Now he’s got his thumb on your mouth, asking if you’d like more.

You felt your smile curve under his thumb,

“We’ve all got needs.”

You dropped your towel as you let those words out, and Zoro looked so fucking pleased with himself. You almost wanted to punish him for it. You watched his eyes darken, his pupils dilated, and you had a feeling that you might be the one about to get punished.

Breathless, you stood naked, waiting for him.

His eyes burned into you. Zoro shifted the hand on your jaw to twist into the hair at the back of your neck. He didn’t pull, but your blood sped through you as you felt how much control he had just taken with that expert grip.

“What kind of needs could you have, Y/N?”

Zoro had completely floored you, all of this coming at you out of nowhere. You couldn’t believe how speechless he was making you, how flustered. You couldn’t get a sentence out.

“Mm, mind if I take a look?”

You gave a soft moan of consent as he traced the fingers of his other hand along your hip, back and forth as it got closer and closer.

His eyes were intense, almost territorial as he stared into yours. He kept his gaze on your face as his fingers slipped into your folds. You writhed and cried out, but Zoro pulled that grip in your hair firm. Just firm enough to make you moan and look at him again.

“You’ve been carrying all this need around, hm?”

Your mouth fell open at the sight of his fingers, thick strands of slick dripping between them. Zoro had hardly done a thing to you, but your body was aching for him now.

“I should've taken care of you sooner,” he said with a chuckle, removing the grip from your hair.

He looked around the room, the same way he does when scoping out a place for a fight. He locked the door, then began rummaging through the cubbies. You caught him digging through Sanji’s, mumbling to himself. You started to feel a bit awkward standing there naked, but then he smiled and pulled a condom out of Sanji’s things. Of course Sanji would have condoms.

You wet your lips with your tongue as Zoro stripped, tossing his pants across the room. You stood there staring at each other, and your breath caught when you saw his long, heavy cock twitch for you. He held the condom up by his face before ripping it open.

“I’ll go pick some up in town if you end up liking what my cock can do to you.”

You nodded as you stared, mouth watering as he placed the condom on the tip, fisting it down his length. He smirked before charging toward you.

He placed his hand on your shoulder with his thumb along your throat, and shoved you back against the wall.

Zoro kissed you then, his lips and tongue surprisingly gentle. At first.

You moaned into his mouth as he rubbed his length along your entrance, making you twitch under his hold while he circled it on your clit.

His kisses became more intense, and then he licked and bit along your lips, jaw, and down to your neck.

You traced your hands along his beautiful chest, still covered in sweat. He twitched slightly when you ran your thumbs over his nipples. You went to lick and bite at his ear, but Zoro took that moment to lift one of your legs, holding it up over his arm, then plunged into you.

You screamed. The abrupt entrance was overwhelming, but Zoro kept pumping into you, pushing and pushing to fill you completely.

You grasped for something to keep you steady, and a very useful stability bar for the shower worked perfectly.

You hung onto it for dear life as Zoro pulled back from your neck to watch your face.

“You haven’t even had it all yet, Y/N. Is my cock giving you what you needed? Can you take it?”

“Fuck yes, Zoro. Please. I can take it!”

You didn’t recognize your desperate voice. You’d had no build up, just straight to him fucking you with so much strength. But it was so fucking good. You could feel yourself close already, and the thought of more of him filling you made your eyes roll back.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good, Y/N. Fuuuck. You’re gonna take my cock so well, aren’t you?”

“Yes, please. I need it, please.”

Zoro groaned as you begged. He adjusted your leg, then tilted himself slightly.

He leaned over you to growl against your ear.

“You’d better hold on, Y/N. Be a good girl and take my cock, and I’ll give you what you need whenever you want it.”

You cried out for him, grasping onto the shower bar as your eyes started watering from the brutal thrusts he was already hitting into you.

Zoro groaned loudly as he shoved into you, so fucking deep, until you held all of him. He’d taken the hand off your shoulder to circle its thumb over your clit. You came on his cock, screaming.

“So fucking good Y/N, your pussy’s so perfect. Keep coming for me, baby.”

You couldn’t form words, the twist of pleasure and pain riding you hard.

Zoro kept fucking into you until you were begging him.

“Please, Zoro.”

“You want me to keep giving you what you need after tonight?”

You whimpered your yes for him, twitching, your body starting to go limp.

“Come on, you’ve been so good. Let me give you a break.”

Gasping, you clung to Zoro’s shoulders as he picked you up from the wall, and laid you out on the shower floor. He’d left your cunt, dripping and aching as he set you down gently.

You looked in his eyes, and you knew he wasn’t done with you yet. You braced your hands on the wall, and arched your back at the pleased rumble of laughter that he gave at the sight. He leaned over, and spread your thighs wide, trailing his fingers along your twitching skin.

“Look at this pretty pussy. Mm, just what I needed.”

Zoro laid between your legs, and you screamed as he attacked your clit with kisses, licks, and sucks, pulling it softly between his teeth.

“Fuck, Zoro, i-it’s too much!”

He leaned away, face dripping.

“Already? Well, let’s see if you can earn my cock then.”

Zoro wrapped his fingers around his length, and you writhed at the sight. He brought himself closer to you, and you whimpered with need. He played with your clit with his tip again, and you arched your back.

“Perfect,” he growled as he snaked one of his arms under your lower back.

Then he lined himself up with your entrance, and you screamed. He filled you up so much, and the angle was intense, but exactly right.

Zoro grunted as his thrusts tore you apart. He held your lower back in position, using that arm to help fuck into your body harder. He stayed steady with the other arm, his hand planted by your face. He brought his eyes to yours, and your body clenched around him as you watched his mouth hanging wide with his tongue loose. He looked so fucking feral, it made you come on his cock again.

His thrusts became even more frenzied as your voice got hoarse from screaming.

“Fuck yeah, Y/N. You’re so fucking needy for my cock, aren’t you.”

“Fuck yes, Zoro.”

You barely managed to form those words as you felt him hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over, so fucking deep.

“That’s right, your hot little pussy can have this every day if you can take it like this.”

You moaned, hands scrambling along the wall as he fucked you further across the floor.

Zoro shifted, lifting himself onto his knees now. He lifted your hips further with him, leaving your upper back on the floor while he shoved himself into you from a punishing, phenomenal angle.

You lost your fucking mind, screaming, scratching at yourself, scratching at him. He played with your clit with his thumb, and you almost slammed your head into the tile floor from how hard you came for him.

“Fuuuck yes, Y/N, fuck. Just. Like.That.”

You’d never come that hard in your life. Your aching cunt was milking him so hard, and your orgasm kept fucking coming when you felt his cock pulsing inside you. Zoro groaned, his thrusts losing rhythm as he bit into your neck. You were spasming underneath him as you felt his release.

You didn’t know how long had passed as you lay twitching on the floor. Zoro released your neck from his teeth, only to lick and kiss along your shoulder until you whimpered, your pussy still clenching around him.

He leaned back from you, holding your chin to face him. He gave you a dangerous smile before pulling away from your body, leaving you empty and gasping.

You couldn’t even lift your head to watch him. You winced as the shower turned on, the water splashing up your legs.

Zoro knelt over you, pulling you onto his lap while the water washed over your lower body.

You didn’t know if you could talk, let alone what to say, as Zoro started to clean your body along with his. You gasped when his hand reached your center, still dripping and slick with all he’d done.

He was gentle, just cleaning, but you twitched in his arms. He chuckled and kissed your temple.

“So, Y/N, should I head down to the town, and pick up some more condoms?”

You choked, sputtering as he laughed at you. He continued to wash up your body, and you shivered and gasped under his hands.

“Go buy me some new legs while you’re at it.”

His surprised laugh at your words made you laugh too, which made all your parts ache, in such a good, but still painful way.

Zoro had fucking wrecked you, but you’d never felt so much pleasure. Even that thought made your back arch against his chest, and he stopped laughing long enough to stroke his hand along your chest while he hummed against your ear.

“So you’re good with this? With helping each other out.”

His whisper sent chills through you, and you smiled.

“We’ve all got needs”

Thank you for reading! 💜

TurtleTaub Fanfic Masterlist

Part 2: Don't Get Lost

Buy me a coffee ☕🙏🏼

#zoro smut #zoro x reader #Reader Insert #Fem!Reader #Smut #mine #One Piece smut #Opla smut #opla zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro fanfic #zoro fanfiction #x reader #turtletaub fics

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miraclewoozi · 1 year

Text

DON'T SWEAT IT. - l.jh

Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you.

pairing; lee jihoon x fem!reader. content; fluff / gym crush au / strangers to lovers / kinda idiots to lovers / smut towards the end (MINORS DNI). w/c; just a breezy 18k- and some change? warnings; swearing, this is only proof read once because if i read it again i was going to lose my mind. please let me know if i've forgotten any. smut tags under the cut ( not sure that this counts as a warning but a heads up: the gym weight units, whenever mentioned, are in kilograms not lbs because i’m british and the metric system, am i right? sorry if there are any other british-isms, i try really hard to avoid them/catch them on a proofread but there are inevitably some that have slipped through the net. )

note; gym-selfie jihoon, you will never not own my ass. ( screaming internally this is the first fic i've written since my dan + phil youtube era. i don't know what i'm doing. this has been in my wips for about two months. it's a bit all over the place. that's. literally just me. bon appetite. <3 )

smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering (f rec), oral (f rec), blowjob started/implied (at the end), protected sex (be safe out there gang), little bit of biting, no huge power dynamics? reader & jihoon are both switches (and simps), some use of pet-names (good girl/baby).

—————

He first sees you around lunchtime on an otherwise unassuming Sunday.

As you walk in, the gym is wonderfully quiet. A handful of regulars mill about, making full use of the rare freedom of the machinery. One of the club’s personal trainers is marching an impossibly steep incline on a treadmill. It could just be any other weekend session in this criminally over-equipped and under-used gym: the town’s worst kept secret. But when the door slams shut behind you, his head jerks up; it, in this moment, is the loudest sound in the room. It’s sort of the only one he hears at all.

Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you as he sits with dumbbells rested against his thighs. He catches his breath as he wonders who you are, if you’ve ever been to this gym before, why he doesn’t recognise you. Are you a new potential regular, maybe? Or just visiting the area and making good use of the cheap pay-as-you-go rates? Maybe, he considers, lips turning downwards in thought… maybe you’ve been coming here for a long time and he’s somehow just always been so in his own head that he’s never noticed.

The last, he thinks, is sort of unlikely. No. He would definitely remember a face like yours.

His heart rate slows more than he usually lets it as he finds himself watching you fill up your water bottle at the fountain, taking a long sip on your way over to one of the stairmasters. His brain blanks out when he realises that he’s not just looking anymore, he’s sort of staring, and swallows the saliva on his tongue hard, looking back at the mirror. He doesn’t want to be that guy. He isn’t that guy – he just got distracted by the loud noise, and this is exactly why he checks the damn battery on his headphones before he leaves the house.

The only problem is that now, he can’t remember how many sets he’s done. He lies back and stares straight into a slightly sketchy light-fixture, neglecting to pick up the dumbbells that he put aside for his next set of pushes. Jihoon adjusts the position of his shoulders against the bench, arches his back off it slightly, digs his heels into the spongy floor beneath them and pushes the ones still in his hands until failure.

Today, he finishes his routine and leaves the gym without allowing himself so much as another glance your way.

He neglects to notice that your eyes are avoiding him right back.

—————

You smile at him for the first time on a Tuesday. Not the following one – a week and a bit later.

Seungcheol is with him tonight. Jihoon prefers to train alone nine times out of ten: this is a truth widely acknowledged, accepted and respected among his friends. Gym time is his down time, his equivalent of movie marathons and comfort food, of face masks and glasses of wine. But it’s not a hard rule: occasionally, someone will ask to tag along and use one of his guest passes, and Jihoon very rarely says no. There are two reasons. One, he isn’t actually rude, contrary to approximately eighteen running jokes in the group-chat. But also, it adds a little bit of variety to his otherwise very set-in-stone regimen, and mixing it up doesn’t hurt. Like tonight, for example. Seungcheol is pulling him into the studio off the main gym floor, his own gym bag packed with boxing pads and gloves for them to play with.

Variety.

Jihoon grumbles a little at the idea, at first. He has a very love-hate relationship with cardio, favouring a simple steady-state run over everything else, and it just feels a bit against his moral code to use gym time for something like this. However, he comes to discover very quickly that smacking Seungcheol’s hands is very therapeutic; Jihoon knows he’s maybe getting a little too into it when his friend asks if they can switch around, grimacing and shaking out his wrist after a particularly beefy punch.

He agrees, albeit reluctantly, tugging off the gloves he’s wearing and pulling on the pads instead.

This half of the activity is considerably less enjoyable for Jihoon; he starts to cool down and loses his flow almost straight away and after about thirty seconds, his breathing is back to normal and he feels ready to go again. Even so, he does what he needs to do to be a good workout partner, and goes one step further into ‘good friend’ territory as he allows Seungcheol to vent about the bad day he had at work in-between hits, offering murmurs and looks of disgust when it feels appropriate. Suddenly, the impromptu request to come to the gym tonight makes much more sense, as does the slightly bizarre choice of activity, but Jihoon tries not to ask about it in too much detail.

They swing at each other for a few more rounds apiece, working up a healthy sweat and getting out a few frustrations as the hour wears on. On the last set, Jihoon switches out Seungcheol’s hands for a punching bag, putting a lot more of his weight behind every hit and really tiring himself out. By the end, his hair sticks to his forehead and his cheeks have flushed bright red; he only stops when he gets that weird, metallic taste in the back of his mouth that says he’s probably overdone it. Again.

“Hit the shower?” Seungcheol asks breathlessly as he finishes his last set of Russian twists and lies down flat on the floor, equally sticky and flushed all over.

Jihoon pats his face dry with his towel, shaking his head. “You go ahead. I’ll have one at home.”

He doesn’t give Seungcheol much of a chance to respond, already cleaning down anything he’s touched or managed to sweat on and riding out the high of the endorphins flooding his veins. Secretly, he hasn’t had a cardio session this high energy or this satisfying in a long time. He isn’t going to readily admit to that though.

“Nah, I’ll do the same,” Seungcheol agrees. He starts packing the gear he brought with him into his bag and they leave together after, heading towards the exit.

That’s when he sees you again.

He doesn’t notice at first; you’re stowing your things into one of the higher lockers, and you have your headphones slung around your neck as he walks past. It’s the sound of a song he vaguely recognises through your speakers that makes his head snap over from the conversation he’s in the middle of. They walk past at the moment you drop down from your tiptoes, and you flash a small (but insanely pretty) smile at Jihoon.

By the time he manages to process this fact, he’s already walked past you and you’re headed over into the main gym area, so even though he turns around to try and catch your eye, all he sees is your retreating figure. He stumbles over his own feet, not looking where he’s going, and just barely catches himself on Seungcheol’s upper arm before he actually does fall over. His older friend glances down at his bicep before he adopts a look that Jihoon has seen many, many times before: just never directed at him. His cheeks heat up further and he looks away.

“What was that?” Seungcheol asks, one eyebrow so far up his forehead that it’s disappeared almost entirely under his soggy hair. He looks so smug, so incredibly entertained. Jihoon wants to smack that expression off his face, immediately.

“Nothing,” Jihoon rushes, managing not to act on the violent thought even though he wants to. He clears his throat. “No-one. I-... they’re new, I think. I don’t know.”

Seungcheol lets out a soft laugh, pushing the door open for them both to leave through. “Yeah,” he scoffs, eyes glimmering with something Jihoon doesn’t think he likes the look of. “Nothing, my ass.”

—————

Three days later, he hears you speak for the first time.

Granted, you aren’t speaking to him – at least, not at first. But that’s not really what matters.

It’s late, and it’s a Friday night. Fridays are usually Jihoon’s days rest days, but sitting around his apartment had him feeling impossibly twitchy, with far too much energy to burn and no way to do so without leaving the house. And he knows that he needs to take days off, now and again. He knows that they’re good for recovery and that it’s healthy to take time to himself that involves not lifting weights. But what he also knows is that if he doesn’t manage to shake the weird buzzing feeling in his muscles, in his joints, in his veins, he’s never going to get to sleep. So, here he finds himself at almost 10PM, walking down the street to get to the gym.

To begin with, he doesn’t know (or really care) who it is that’s coming up behind him. He can hear quite clearly that the mystery person is on the phone, and that they’re in the middle of what seems to be a rather heated argument: his brain latches onto occasional words, phrases, curses. Every now and again, their voice drops to a deep, frustrated mutter and he cringes slightly, making a point to keep his eyes forward and down so as not to draw attention to the fact that this presumably private conversation has become everything but.

He touches his entry fob to the sensor on the door as he arrives and pushes it open. Jihoon uses the opportunity to stand still, to glance back at whoever it is that’s walked behind him for the past four and a half minutes, and his eyes come to land on you. He falters, noting how your eyes are a bit glassy and your cheeks are stained with what he can safely assume are tear-tracks. In this moment, he wants to run; he doesn’t want anything to do with that, and he certainly doesn’t want to hear any more of your call. It’s none of his business, and he feels plenty weird enough already with what he has overheard. But, for some unknown reason, he stays in place.

“No – no, you don’t get to-...” you hiss into your phone. “It was our fucking anniversary, you asshole.” Jihoon’s face tightens at that, lips drawn between his teeth and his eyes blowing slightly wide. You pass through the door in front of him, flashing a small smile as you go. Another smile, he thinks to himself, but he’d be an idiot to compare them in any way; this one is so dramatically dissimilar to the first, he thinks it could almost have come from a totally different person.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing ‘insanely pretty’ about it this time. Your smile is tight-lipped and exhausted, slightly apologetic. Maybe even forced. He does try to return a warmer one to you, but he doesn’t know if you notice.

“Look, I’m at the gym – we’re not doing this right now. I’ll call you later.” You hang up the phone with the kind of sigh that groans in the back of your throat.

A small part of him wants to take this moment and use it to ask if you’re all right, but an even larger part of him doesn’t. It isn’t because he doesn’t care. In a weird way, considering this is only the first time he’s clearly heard your voice and he knows absolutely nothing about you, he does care. But there are a few things that stop him. Not only are you a near-complete stranger, not only would he have no idea what to say to you if the answer happened to come out as a ‘no’, not only is he already coming over a little bit clammy at the thought of having a conversation with you… Jihoon isn’t stupid. He knows from the sound of your voice and the way you’re rather aggressively typing a message into your phone that it’s a ridiculous question.

You’re walking into the gym at 10 o’clock on a Friday night, your eyes literally brimming with tears. Of course you’re not all right.

He’s still standing in the open doorway mulling all this over, but Jihoon only realises when a gust of wind slaps over his calves and sends a draught not only through the reception area, but up the length of his spine. He comes inside fully as you close the locker you’re using – he notices, but he isn’t sure why, that it’s the same one as last time – and throws his things into the one he always uses. Two below and one to the left of yours.

It’s quiet tonight: just the pair of you and one middle-aged guy. Jihoon recognises him as the friendly man who seemingly knows everyone who comes in here – including you, apparently, judging by the way he strikes up a short but energetic conversation. When the other guy walks away, you clamp your headphones back over your ears and return to what you were doing before, occasionally bobbing your head or moving your lips in time with whatever it is that you’re listening to. Jihoon steals little glances at you now and again when you’re in-between sets, watching how you breathe deeper, how your skin glows with sweat as you tap your fingertips against your thighs.

He almost drops the bar he’s holding when you catch his eyes in the long line of mirrors. He turns away, swallowing hard, completely missing how your own gaze lingers.

Jihoon becomes so obsessed with not being caught looking at you again that he doesn’t even notice when you disappear off the gym floor completely. It’s only when he pulls his headphones off at the end of his session and glances around that he registers your absence: your third companion is long gone, and he assumes you must have snuck out without him noticing too. He settles the speakers back over his ears before pulling on an old zip-up, flicking the hood over his head to shelter him a little better once he gets outside. But he’s in no rush to get home so he takes his time, resting his bag between his abdomen and the lockers, replying to a few messages and clicking his tongue at some of the nonsense being spewed into the group-chat.

He isn’t sure exactly how long he’s standing there for, but he does know precisely what pulls him back to the world outside of the device in his hands.

To begin with, he doesn’t notice you approach, lost completely in his screen. He doesn’t hear your footsteps, or the way you politely clear your throat to announce your presence so he can move out of the way. He misses your moment of realisation that he’s listening to music and has no idea that you’re standing three feet behind him. He doesn’t even see you walk up next to him, your hair still damp from your shower and sitting loose over your shoulders.

It’s only when you try to reach over him to grab the last of your things that he snaps out of his trance. The fragrance of your body wash hits him first, and oh boy, does it hit him. Sweet, and delicate. Then, he gets something beautifully fruity: it’s not a perfume (it doesn’t smell like a perfume), but it’s you. Your shampoo, maybe? A conditioner? He can’t tell. Whatever it is, the combination of fragrances has him feeling like he’s been slammed into by a damn freight train. He drops his bag to the floor, freezing for a second, and then finally moves away just as the little door swings open.

“I’m so sorry,” he says hurriedly, tugging his hood down and pulling his headphones off completely. “I didn’t even think you were still here.” He can’t shake the smell of you, nor the feeling of your warm frame leaning so close to his own. God, why is his heart pounding like he’s just finished a round of sprints? Why can’t he breathe?

“No – hey, no, don’t be,” you rush, shaking your head. You finally succeed in pulling your coat free and start trying to get it on; Jihoon wonders if you often struggle to find your sleeves like this, if you’re always chasing them around like a puppy after its own tail. He does it too, sometimes. He gets it. It’s cute. “It’s okay. I was trying not to disturb-... I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he tells you. For the first time, he’s able to smile back at you properly.

Why is it so hot in here, all of a sudden? Do they shut off the air conditioning after hours or something? He’s breaking out in a sweat.

“Call it even?” you suggest shyly, extending out a hand now you’ve managed to get both arms through your sleeves. He looks down at your fingers for a second before reaching to shake your hand once, a semi-firm grip securing the ‘deal’. (He feels a bit like he’s been electrocuted after, but he tries not to make that too obvious).

It goes awkwardly quiet for a moment then, and Jihoon wishes deeply that he had it in him to say something. Anything. But his brain has gone completely empty and apparently, all he knows how to do is stand completely still like a fucking statue. He shifts his gaze from you, to the wall behind you, to the carpet beneath his shoes, all the while tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt as if it might bring him a tiny breath of fresh air. The gentle sound of you clearing your throat has him looking back at your face again though; he assumes for a second that this is maybe you about to announce taking your leave. All the while, he’s cursing himself out in his own head for being totally inept, and he’s not entirely sure that it isn’t written all over his face.

“Alone, today?” you ask, idly fiddling with your zipper and succeeding in taking him by surprise. He really didn’t think you were going to continue this. And yet…

“Hm?” he questions.

You swallow before answering. “You… the last time, you were with a friend?” you explain, and now it’s your turn to look away. He wonders if you’re a little warm too, if he’s right in what he was thinking about the air-conditioning.

“Oh. Right.”

He nods. An annoying train of doubt in his mind wants to know why you’re asking about Seungcheol; if maybe it was him that you smiled at the other night, even though he knows your eyes weren’t looking up at the man he brought with him. He thinks maybe he should be used to these turns in conversation by now – you certainly wouldn’t be the first person to ask if one of his friends is available, after all – but somehow, he isn’t, and he has a slightly bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he goes on.

He really didn’t have ‘you being interested in one of his best friends’ on his bingo card for tonight, that’s for sure.

“Yeah. I think he’s with his partner, or… I don’t know. I don’t really bring other people, often. That was a one-off.”

You nod silently and Jihoon can’t quite get a read on what that means. He wonders if you’re upset at the revelation of Seungcheol’s partner, or maybe that he doesn’t tag along to every session. Or maybe, maybe, you were just being polite, and you don’t really care what his friend is up to that means he isn’t here. But whatever it is that you’re feeling, you do far too good a job at hiding it; he’s suddenly very overcome with the desire to run, again, except this time he might just bury his head in the sand too for good measure.

“How much were you deadlifting, just then?” you ask in the lull, just as he thinks he might have perfected the best way to say goodbye that doesn’t make him come across as even more of a tool than he probably already has. It throws him off kilter, but somehow, he manages to answer you in reasonable time.

“Oh, God… uh, one… 160?” He says uncertainly. “That’s not… I can do heavier-...” In his mind, he slaps his forehead. “Wait, no, that’s-... I mean, it’s true, but I didn’t mean-...”

You bite back your smile as he talks himself in a circle but Jihoon is too flustered to notice, convinced that he now sounds like every arrogant gym rat on the planet. God, he’s given himself the ick.

“I guessed you could,” you say.

Oh boy, this freezes him. Mid-thought, mid blink, mid-breath: he’s completely stuck. What does that mean? What does that mean? He only just manages to unstick his now suddenly dry tongue from the roof of his mouth, looking at you with surprised, confused eyes and parted lips. There aren’t any words on them, though. Like a deer in headlights, he just… stares.

“I mean, okay. Come on.” Your eyes visibly drop as you look him over, gaze lingering at his shoulders, his biceps, his waist. “You can get another twenty on that at least, right?”

He doesn’t know how to explain what’s happening to him, but if he thought he was burning up before? It was nothing compared to this, now. And there’s no way you haven’t noticed how everything from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears has suddenly started staining scarlet. He bows his head and pinches his lips tight, wrestling away the train of thought that appears as you drag your bottom lip between your teeth momentarily, still eyeing his arms. God, he’s never felt so overwhelmed in his life.

“Something like that, yeah,” he strains. He’s trying so hard to be nonchalant, even though he knows all of his personal bests by heart. Deadlift, 195kg. He hit it a few weeks ago: a couple of days before he first saw you.

“Mm. You can tell.”

Jihoon tries to shake off the compliment, but he fails. In equal measure he wishes you’d stop (he doesn’t know how much more blood can rush to his cheeks before he keels over) and never wants you to stop talking. It’s all going straight to his stomach, though, and he doesn’t remember having felt this specific brand of nervous and excited and stupidly shy since he was in high school.

He can hardly keep up. This is the danger zone.

Maybe it’s a bad idea that he says the next thing that comes into his head in a desperate attempt to change the conversation away from how much he can pull. But somehow, his voice doesn’t break when he asks, “are you parked far away?”

What? It’s dark outside, and this part of town isn’t exactly known for its upstanding citizens and pretty flowerbeds.

“Oh,” you say, eyes a little wide. “I’m-... just staying close-by. I walked here.” The space between his eyebrows must crease a little too quickly because you immediately hurry to speak again. “Really. It’s like… not even ten minutes. All main streets. It’s nothing.”

“Ten minutes longer than I’d walk around here at night on my own,” he says lightheartedly. In tone, at least. He’s actually completely serious.

You laugh at that; he lets out a chuckle, too. Now, Jihoon doesn’t believe in fairies but he thinks that if they were real, they’d giggle just like you do.

With a smile still on your face, you say, “what? A strong guy like you? Come on, now.”

Do you have to keep doing that? Fuck, he’s absolutely done for.

He tilts his head forwards, eyes closed, trying so hard to stop the muscles in his cheeks from lifting in a grin that it becomes a workout in and of itself.

“I mean it,” he says, taking what he hopes is a subtle breath to settle the fluttering in his chest. The next thing he knows, he’s leaning one shoulder against the lockers, a little reminiscent of every douchebag in every teen movie ever made. If he doesn’t think about it too much, he won’t cringe into oblivion until he gets home and replays this interaction over and over in his head instead of going to sleep. “Maybe I’ve just lived here too long. I might be jaded, but it’s still true.”

“How long is too long?” you ask.

“All my life,” he tells you.

“No way?”

“Mm.” A beat. “What about you?”

“I’m just staying with a friend, right now.”

“Oh, right.” He falls quiet again as he remembers the first time he saw you, remembers making the list in his head of all the possible reasons he hadn’t seen you before. The second was true, then.

Why does that feel like the worst possible scenario? He decides not to unpack that here.

“Maybe-...” you start, glancing down at your hands, which have been twisting in front of you for a few seconds now. Your chest inflates, filled with the words you’re about to speak, but only a breath comes out when you shake your head instead of saying them. “No, don’t worry. Scratch that.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, because he thinks that whatever you were about to suggest, there’s not much he would have said no to. He feels like it’s only fair to give you another chance to say it.

But you don’t.

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” You pause. “I… should probably get going.” He glances over your shoulder at the clock mounted on the far wall, squinting to see the time. 11:45.

“Shit. Yeah, me too,” Jihoon agrees. He didn’t realise it had gotten so late, so fast: he’s hardly ever out at this time. Lord, he already knows it’s going to be an open inquisition when he gets back to his apartment. His neighbours, Soonyoung and Seokmin, are about to have a fucking field day.

But it’s already long past the time he usually goes to bed, so he asks his next question anyway. He still can’t shake the thought of you walking back on your own at this hour. “Do-… you need a ride?”

He’s not sure if you actually consider it, or just wait a moment before you answer just to be polite. Either way, you end up shaking your head.

“It’s okay. I’ve-… got a call to make, so.” Your voice is a little quieter, lips tweaking up into a regretful half-smile, and Jihoon curses in his own head. How had he forgotten about that? “Thank you, though. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “Just… get back safe.”

You smile and nod, taking a step towards the door and Jihoon does the same. He reaches the exit first and holds it open for you; when you’re both out in the street, he suppresses a shiver and looks in the direction of where he left his car earlier. Feeling the full force of the cold, it crosses his mind to ask again if you’re sure about walking home, but you’re already pulling a beanie down over your still damp hair and tapping something into your phone, so he doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll see you around, uh-…” you start to say, only looking back up when you falter, realising that this is the first time you’re about to use his name and it occurs to you both, at the same time, that you haven’t done this part, yet.

“Jihoon,” he introduces himself, lips quirking into a side-smile. His gaze is expectant and you respond to it perfectly.

“Y/n,” you introduce yourself.

“See you around, y/n.”

You split off in the opposite direction to where he’s heading. Before he clamps his headphones over his ears for the short walk up to his car, the last thing he hears is the retreating sound of a dial-tone.

—————

He doesn’t see you then for two whole weeks.

For the first couple of days, he only idly notices; it’s not a big deal — it’s not like you’re always there when he is, and he’s sure it’s the same vice versa. But he notices your absence, nonetheless. By the end of the first week, he casually wonders if you’ve had a change in schedule. Maybe you’re on a different working pattern, something that means you can’t be there on Monday and Thursday evenings and at 11:45am on Sundays.

It’s not weird. He only knows this because prior to that first conversation, acknowledging you as you crossed paths by the free-weights became part of his routine. It’s fine that he sort of misses those little interactions, isn’t it?

Maybe you’ve decided to start training ridiculously early in the morning instead? He tried that once. Never again. It then occurs to him, in the middle of a self-enforced rest day as he sits in the dark nursing a headache, that perhaps you’re not well. He sort of wishes he’d had the guts to ask for your number the last time he saw you, now: he thinks he’d check in, see if you were okay, ask how work was going or something.

Deep down he knows he’d probably actually just be staring at a blank text thread with a ‘casual’ message typed, tweaked a few hundred times, and ultimately unsent. But that’s fine. It’s the thought that counts.

The next time he sees you isn’t even in the gym, at all. It’s a Sunday afternoon — he finished his morning session, went home, showered, and headed back out into town after some lunch with a few errands to run. He finds himself spoiled with the luxury of a spare few hours to kill and dips into his favourite coffee place, thrilled beyond belief to find that it’s not obnoxiously busy and that there’s only one other person in the queue waiting to be served.

Oh, he thinks when he looks up from his phone and sees a vaguely familiar set of headphones sitting on top of a definitely familiar mane of hair, standing right in front of him. Oh, shit. It’s you.

Jihoon goes back and forth with himself over it but ultimately decides he probably doesn’t know you well enough to just say hello out in the wild like this, so even though the urge to do so strikes, he holds himself back. It’s agonising, though. He really wants to.

You step forward to order and he’s typing out a reply to a message in his, Seokmin and Soonyoung’s three-way group chat, in which he’s literally been fighting for his life as of late. He made the mistake of mentioning you in passing a few days ago and ever since, he’s had to vehemently deny that he has developed his first gym crush, insisting that actually, he’s just made a friend. They don’t believe him, because of course they don’t. That would be far too reasonable. Seokmin says that Jihoon wouldn’t be blushing just from saying your name if you were really ‘just a friend’. Soonyoung argues Jihoon wouldn’t have mentioned you at all.

“I’m so sorry — bear with me, just-…” your voice is quiet but Jihoon hears you apologising to the cashier in front of you, and it snaps him clean away from the tiff he’s having with the men who live in his building. He glances up and you’re elbow-deep in the bag over your shoulder, red in the face with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. He turns his head slightly and sees the small hand-written sign that says the card machine isn’t working, and they’re cash only, today.

He can hazard a guess at your predicament.

After another few seconds of you trying to find whatever it is you’re looking for in your bag, he starts feeling bad for you. This, right here, is his own worst nightmare. Should the roles be reversed, he thinks he would’ve just turned around and walked out. It’s exactly why he doesn’t bother with backpacks and satchels day-to-day: if it doesn’t fit in his pockets, he doesn’t take it out with him. The system isn’t perfect but it has saved Jihoon a decent amount of public distress.

But the roles aren’t reversed, and he has his wallet already in his hand, so… he only gives himself a few seconds to wonder if it’s appropriate before he does the stupid thing anyway.

“Don’t worry — I’ve got it,” he says, stepping around you, pulling out the cash to pay for your order. You’re dumbstruck when you look at him, head tilted to the side. The person stood behind the counter glances at you, then at him, and back at you; you don’t see this, however, because your eyes haven’t left Jihoon’s face since he appeared — as far as you’re concerned — out of thin air.

“I can’t ask you to…” you start to protest, but your hands have stopped fishing around and he’s moving the cash further towards the barista, who hesitates just a second longer.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. I’ve got you.” He says this with such finality that you quite literally can’t argue with him. The lady behind the counter accepts the cash and you nod, shyly, mouthing a thank you. He orders his own drink — an Americano, nothing exciting — and you both go to stand at the other end of the counter while you wait.

“Hi,” you finally say, and Jihoon can’t help but give a small chuckle.

He doesn’t have anything hugely witty or creative in his arsenal, though, so he comes back with a matching, “hey.”

“How… have you been?” you ask.

“Can’t complain, really,” he says. “Are you okay? I haven’t seen you around for a few weeks.” Oh, God — the second the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he could take them back. Why did he have to add that last part? Why didn’t he just leave it at the question?

“Yeah — about that,” you breathe, ducking your head to conceal the heat that’s spreading over your cheeks. “You know how I said I was staying with that friend?” He nods, and you continue. “I was waiting for some stuff to get sorted out with an apartment and it all finally got resolved, so… I’ve been moving my stuff over to a new place.”

Jihoon feels his heart sink for a moment, but he keeps his expression pleasant and engaged. His fingers threaten to give him away as they fiddle with the aglet on the drawstring of his sweatpants.

“Sounds tiring,” he says lightly, and you laugh again, nodding. It’s odd, having his heart taking residence low in his stomach and somehow also in his throat, all while hammering away at a mile a minute. All the caffeine in the world couldn’t have this effect on him. “Is it going okay so far?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “It’s a process, but… it’ll be worth it.”

The barista behind the counter announces herself by clearing her throat and slides your drinks across the marble surface with a little glimmer in her eye. Jihoon picks them both up, extending yours out to you. There’s a pause (in which he swallows a large helping of self-doubt) as he glances to the door, working through several combinations of his next words in his mind before he looks back at you.

“Do you… maybe have ten minutes to sit with these?” He asks. You light up immediately, not even checking the time on any of your devices, nor the wall clock behind your head. He doesn’t let himself think about why it makes him giddy that you’re accepting the offer, just like that.

“Yeah — yeah, sure.” You smile, walking through the lines of tables and sliding into one of the big, comfy chairs by the window. He unzips his jacket and slings it over the arm of the other chair before settling in himself, his long fingers wrapping around the to-go cup. The drink warms his perpetually cold palms and he sighs sweetly.

“You must be excited to get into the new place, then?” he asks after taking a sip, letting it heat him up from the inside. It could be argued that this job is already being taken care of, but Jihoon is not about to go there.

“Oh, God yes.” You nod, relaxing back in the seat with your own cup. Jihoon subconsciously leans a little forward in tandem. “It’s been fun staying with my friend, but…” You pause, lips slightly parted, before going on. “Okay, a warning: I’m a terrible person for this, I know. She’s done me a huge favour, letting me stay there — but I can’t deal with how untidy she is. It’s driving me nuts.”

A chuckle bubbles in Jihoon’s chest, cheeks starting to ache as his smile grows and grows. It hasn’t fallen since he sat down opposite you, and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, any time soon. “That bad?” he asks.

“You have no idea,” you groan, covering your face with one hand. He wishes you hadn’t — he thinks you look quite lovely when you’re all lit up like this. “She doesn’t clean her dishes after she eats — she piles them up in the sink for like, three days. I don’t think she’s used the vacuum the entire time I’ve been there. I keep finding wrappers and packets and mismatched socks everywhere —”

His snort of laughter rolls off the back of his throat rather ungraciously and he settles back into his chair. You gently bump his ankle under the table with your foot, beaming at him. “I’m serious! I can’t live like this, Jihoon. I can’t!”

The more you speak, the less he can control the fits he’s descended into, and his abs start to ache after a while; there’s desperation in your voice but it’s just wrapped up so cutely in your lighthearted frustration and decoratively tied together with your sunshine smile… he can’t help it — he’s in pieces. It’s okay though, because you’re laughing too: it makes him think of fairies again, and he can picture you with dainty, intricately patterned wings under the soft lighting in the café. He wipes the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand as he starts to calm down, taking a few deep breaths all the way into his stomach.

“You’re so much stronger than I am,” he says.. “I couldn’t deal with that.”

“You know, I had a feeling you’d be a clean person, too,” you say, sipping at your coffee again. “I mean… I’ve never seen you use the gym showers, so I wasn’t sure, but…”

“Hey,” he says, mock-defensively. “I don’t trust the locks, okay? I shower at home!”

Your cup is lifted to your mouth and he can only see you from the nose upwards, but by the creases at the corners of your eyes, he knows you’re concealing a smile behind it as you nod back at him.

Ten minutes turns to twenty and then somehow becomes thirty — Jihoon starts feeling like you’re someone he’s known for years, and not just the person he accidentally ended up paying attention to in the gym just a couple of weeks ago. He bounces off you and you bounce off him. Both of you have long-since finished your drinks, too: there’s no real reason for either of you to still be here.

Except the obvious.

“So, the apartment,” Jihoon says, leaning forwards again with his elbows resting on his knees. “Is it…?” He makes a few circular gestures with his hands with which he tries to imply something to the effect of ‘local’, or ‘nearby’, but he can’t quite bring himself to say that out loud. You seem to catch on though. Somehow.

Then again, you did say — a few subject changes ago — that Jihoon is on your wavelength. Maybe that’s it.

“About… a fifteen minute walk from here? Give or take,” you say, and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead so fast it’s like they’re on strings, being controlled by someone else. He doesn’t realise for a few seconds, by which point he isn’t even sure how to relax them.

“No way?” he says, trying to feign nothing more than an idle interest. Obviously, he’s soaring.

“Yeah. I’ll want to get back training soon, too, so there’s some incentive to get this done quickly. I miss it,” you tell him.

Jihoon comes out with what he says next without thinking. His mouth is moving before fully engaging his brain. It’s the coffee jitters. Apparently.

“Well, if you need any help with anything, I’ve got a car.”

“You’re too sweet,” you say. “I really couldn’t put you out like that, but…”

“You wouldn’t be,” he assures you with a shrug. “If I’m not working or in the gym… I’m never really that busy. It’s up to you, but-… I’d be happy to.”

You bite the inside of your lip for a moment, apparently mulling this over, before wiggling in your seat to pull your phone out of the front pocket of your jeans. You unlock the device and hand it over on a ‘new contact’ screen.

Jihoon goes completely stupid: he thinks his brain stops functioning as he takes it to put his number in — for a moment, he’s staring dumbstruck, struggling to even remember the order of the digits now he’s under pressure, but it comes back to him eventually. His thumbs dart across the screen and he checks, double checks and triple checks that he’s typed it right before placing it back in your waiting palm.

His fingertips brush against yours and it tickles, sending small shockwaves up his arms and straight into his chest. You smile down at your phone before glancing up at him.

“You need an emoji,” you tell him, and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Huh?”

“Everyone in my contacts has one — I’ve been doing this since I was in high-school. You need to pick one, too.”

“Oh, uh-…” Jihoon swallows, and for some reason he’s completely forgotten every single little emoticon option there is. He draws a blank. “I can’t — you pick one for me. I don’t know.”

You narrow your eyes at him for a second, pouting your lips as you seem to scroll through the endless options. Now and again, you look up at him, as if trying to see what best fits him before you continue your search. He waits. And waits. And waits. He’s about to throw in an admittedly useless suggestion of some sort of boring animal when you turn your phone around to show him what you’ve chosen.

Jihoon, the contact name reads. And there’s the little angel face next to it.

“Oh, come on,” he says, blushing deeply. “You can’t be serious.”

“I totally am,” you say proudly, turning it back and pressing to save it. He hides his face in his hands. “If you won’t pick your own, you get what you’re given. You did this to yourself.”

“Wow,” he chuckles weakly, sliding his hands up into his hair and raking it back off his face. Your eyes move quickly across every inch and boy, does he notice. You shrug in response and test it, sending the same little emoticon to him. He blushes harder when it comes through and he saves your number into his own phone before placing it face-down on the table.

More than an hour after buying your coffee, Jihoon stretches his arms above his head and checks the time on his watch. He frowns slightly, not sure how the afternoon got away from him so fast, and lets out a sigh.

“I think I need to get going,” he says reluctantly. Leaving you is absolutely the opposite of what he wants to do, actually. Alas, “I have some friends coming over tonight.”

“Yeah — yeah, of course,” you smile, leaning to one side to pick your bag up off the floor. “No worries.”

You both move to stand up and he throws his coat over his arm, leading the way out. He holds open the door for you to leave first, then follows you outside into the afternoon sun.

“It was really nice to see you,” you say, turning to face him.

“You too,” he agrees. “Text me if you need anything, okay? But actually do. Don’t just say you will?”

You laugh sweetly. Fairies. His ears might have actually caught fire this time. “Okay, okay. I promise. I’ll text you — thank you.” There’s a pause, but only a tiny one. “And for the coffee, too.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, waving it off. You shake your head. He thinks your hands are twitching when you stuff them into your pockets but he can’t be sure. Your breath definitely stutters, though.

“No, really. Um… next one’s on me?”

He blinks, and blinks again. Next one? The next one? He feels like he’s malfunctioned and been forcibly rebooted. The next one?

“I-…” he starts, his throat dry. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” You nod, smiling with — what he doesn’t realise is — relief. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah — I’ll see you, y/n.”

—————

Jihoon has no choice but to admit defeat to the group chat that night when Seungcheol and Jeonghan come over for a takeout.

Within minutes, his oldest friend is asking about the girl from the gym — he’s been just as relentless as Seokmin and Soonyoung in quizzing Jihoon, except it’s slightly harder to deny to Seungcheol because he did witness, first-hand, the way you had his friend tripping over his own feet with a single smile. At first, Jihoon tries to shrug it off. Play it down. Change the subject. He doesn’t mention that he’s actually spoken to you since he and Cheol trained together, or that he accidentally bumped into you and paid for your coffee, or that you stayed talking with him for as long as you did. He definitely doesn’t say that you exchanged phone numbers.

He absolutely won’t confess to being smitten.

All Jihoon willingly admits to is that from what he’s seen of you around, you seem nice, and with a roll of his eyes he does agree that he thinks you’re attractive. He gets a bit of a glare later in the evening when Jeonghan asks if he’s thought about where he wants to take you on your first date, and Jihoon tells him to stop asking stupid questions and eat his chicken before he eats it for him. But all in all he thinks he evades the worst of it pretty well. For now, anyway — he knows their pestering isn’t going away any time soon.

Especially not when, on their way out, Seungcheol leans close and whispers that whatever is going on with his gym crush, it suits him. Jihoon jabs him on the arm and the two men leave, laughing brightly.

It’s about an hour after his friends have gone home, having washed the dishes and cleaned up his apartment that Jihoon is sitting on his living room floor doing a few lower body stretches before he turns in for the night. He finds himself tapping into your text thread — not for the first time this evening — and skimming over the short conversation you had earlier. You messaged him when you got back to your friend’s place to thank him for the third time, and Jihoon replied back telling you that if you didn’t stop being silly, he was never going to respond to you again. Your reply came in the form of a “:(“ and his was a simple “:)”. That was it, but he’s been thinking about the exchange ever since.

He’s not sure why. Nor is he certain what about that has him looking down at the messages and grinning like a fool in his apartment, alone, at 10:30pm on a Sunday night. He could probably take a stab in the dark at what it means, though. He rubs at the back of his neck with one hand as he changes conversations and types out a short message with the other.

jihoon: fine. you’re right.

seokmin: ?

soonyoung: probs true, does need context

jihoon: about the gym girl. you’re right.

soonyoung: OH

seokmin: Hahahahahaha

seokmin: Yeah, you’re definitely the last to know, dude

soonyoung: fr even chan and hansol know atp lmao

jihoon: they what?

jihoon: how do they know?

jihoon: they don’t go to my gym! i haven’t seen them in weeks!

soonyoung: because we told them?????

seokmin: So, we might have told everyone

jihoon: blocking both of your numbers immediately.

seokmin: Hey! We’re just glad you’ve accepted it

seokmin: When do we get to meet her?

jihoon: blocked.

Well, great, Jihoon thinks as he fights the urge to lay face down on the floor and let the laminate cool his searingly hot cheeks.

At least he’s admitted it now.

He’s vaguely confirmed in writing that maybe he has a bit of a thing for you — it’s out in the open and at minimum, two of his friends know that it’s real. Straight from the horse’s mouth. Fingers. Whatever. No doubt by morning, all of his friends will have found out. The point stands that he hasn’t confessed to something like this since he was approximately sixteen years old, so whatever you’re doing to him, whatever this… is, it matters.

So, he asks himself, standing up off the hardwood floor and stretching his spine, arms locked behind him and pushed back as far as they can go. He turns off all the lights, checks the front door, goes through the motions to get himself ready for bed. So… what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

—————

Come Monday evening, he’s about ready to hit the roof.

As far as bad days go, Jihoon thinks he’s in the running for one of the worst ever. He slept awfully, tossing and turning through the night despite the usual winning combination of freshly washed bed sheets and his white noise machine drowning out the occasional disturbance from the street below. He wakes up two minutes before his alarm is due to go off, only to discover he fell asleep before plugging his phone in to charge overnight, and it’s sitting at a very risky 13%. The gel he uses to keep his hair off his face at work has gone weird and only does half a job, strands tumbling back in front of his eyes the second he goes to leave his apartment, very nearly forgetting his keys. Then, to really put the cherry on top, he sees that — at some point between getting home yesterday and now — someone has scraped his car while parking up next to him. There’s a large scratch right down the passenger side, with no note nor reliable CCTV in his apartment’s parking lot to confirm who it was, and of course, the space is currently empty.

All this before he even gets to work.

He fundamentally knows that starting the week off with a bad attitude will only lead to a really shitty remainder, but when Vernon sends his routine ‘Monday Motivation’ booster message — “you’re going to have a great day, today!” — into the group chat, Jihoon responds with a crude photo of his middle finger, right in front of the massive scuff on the bodywork of his Hyundai. Jeonghan replies with an ‘oof’, Wonwoo with a ‘yikes’, and Joshua, ever the comedian, sends a picture of Garfield lying face-down captioned ‘Mondays’ that nobody replies to. All responses feel kind of appropriate. But he pockets his phone without sending anything else, sighing again; he locks the car and checks the handle just in case before he finally heads into the building.

It’s going to be a long day. He just has to get through it.

Things don’t necessarily improve. He ends up in and out of meetings all day, so when 5 o’clock rolls around and he’s on his way out the door, he’s feeling a bit like he’s done nothing of actual value. Just, for some reason, thinking about you and tapping out a catchy beat on the top of his desk as he pretends to pay attention to useless presentation after useless presentation. But it’s still somehow been exhausting on his brain and on the drive back to his apartment, Jihoon feels so drained that he contemplates skipping the gym altogether and going straight to bed. This internal argument takes up most of his journey, but it does keep him occupied during the rush-hour traffic if it does nothing else.

Nothing has ever been fixed by ruining a perfectly good routine, however — so no sooner than he’s back in his apartment, he changes out of his button-down and trousers and into his regular gym gear. His protein shaker is ready on the counter for when he’s home again, the lights are off, his bag is on his shoulder and the door is locked. He pushes against it a few times, checking out of habit, despite the fact that his only neighbours on this floor are Soonyoung, Seokmin and an elderly couple with a cat they’re not technically supposed to have. Nobody tells, though, because Boots has become everyone’s emotional support animal. The only actual security threat is Seokmin maybe stealing something from his fridge, but he’s only ever satisfied after the third test anyway.

A quick warmup and a few easy stretches later, Jihoon sets about his business. Mondays are for training legs (and often, as a result, incapacitating himself for the rest of the week), and these workouts are always some of his most intense.

So intense, in fact, that he’s sweating buckets and cherry red when he steps away from the squat rack, tugging up the hem of his t-shirt to dry his face, a brief flash of his toned abdomen on full view. He’s just about catching his breath when he glances in the mirror, and his knees nearly give out when he sees you walking in. You lock eyes and smile at him in the reflection as you start to walk towards him.

It’s not just any smile, but he’s way too flustered to notice.

He spins around to face you, mortally embarrassed that you definitely just saw that, but in a weird way… kind of elated? You drop your headphones to sit around the back of your neck to greet him as you get closer. He pushes his hair back off his forehead and tries to act as cool as he can, but Jihoon suddenly becomes incredibly aware of everything about himself in this moment: his posture, how his arms hang by his sides, the exact positioning of his feet. The fact that he’s breathing pretty deeply, that his pulse is so loud in his ears that he can see your lips moving but can’t quite hear what you’re saying.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit — you’re talking. Focus. He needs to focus.

“Sorry — what was that?” he asks, eliciting a soft laugh from you.

“I like your shirt,” you repeat, a fraction clearer. Jihoon glances down at himself, at the same sweatpants and tight black workout top he wears in here several times a week, and looks back at you with a raised eyebrow. God, he lets himself think for half a second, entertaining his own stupidity with the idea that you’re finding this as hard as he is, too. Maybe I’m not alone in this.

“Oh?” he says. “Um — thank you?”

“How’d it go with your friends last night?” you ask, hardly skipping a beat, and he’s a little thankful that you skim over his poor attempt at gratitude for a compliment he isn’t sure he deserves. Instead, his confusion wraps itself around the fact that you actually remembered what he was doing last night. Hell, even he’d forgotten in the heat of the day he’d had, but you remembered. He’s sweating over it a little and briefly wonders what the chances are of the gym floor opening up and swallowing him whole.

Slim, he decides. But not zero.

There’s hope.

“Yeah — yeah, it was nice,” he says, internally kicking himself for overthinking this so much that he’s apparently lost his ability to speak. In the space of 24 hours, he’s gone from giggling over coffee with you to completely weak just at the sound of your voice. It should be easier here, if anything — this is home turf for him. His comfort space. He supposes the tight fit of your gym clothes accentuating your hips and thighs isn’t helping matters, and neither is the wide neckline of your own t-shirt exposing your throat and a collarbone. But still. He’s not a teenager. He should be able to handle a little bit of skin.

He clears his throat, rolling his head side-to-side. Focus. “Sorry — I’m-… I just didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “I-… couldn’t stay away. Missed it a little too much.”

“I get that,” he concurs, willing his eyes not to drop down your frame to a newly exposed area of skin just around your waist, your t-shirt riding up as you adjust your bag on your shoulder. “It’s good to-… have you back, anyway.”

“Good to be back,” you agree. “Hey — can you leave that set up for me, when you’re done? I’m on legs today, too.”

Jihoon doesn’t want to say that he knows Mondays are your leg days, as well, so he doesn’t. Even if it is true. He wonders if you would find it odd that he’s remembered. “Sure,” he says with a small smile, which you return. Just as you’re about to walk off to drop your things into a locker, he pipes up again. “I mean — hey, if you wanted a spot, or to-… do, you know… anything…”

“Are you asking me to train with you?” you ask, eyes bright and smile wider than he thinks he’s ever seen it. This is torture. He’s not even lifting anything and his heart is about to burst out of his fucking chest — God, maybe this was a bad suggestion.

“I-…” he starts, but he lets the breath out of his lungs and shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah. I am.”

“Give me two minutes,” you agree, hurrying off to put your stuff away and fill up your bottle.

He manages to squeeze another set of squats in before you get back, which is sort of a miracle seeing as how his knees have gone completely weak ever since you arrived. He’s scrolling through his playlist as you cross the gym floor on your way back to him, but he looks up and smiles as you approach.

“You go ahead — I’ve just finished.”

He knows he’s really fucking done for when, after the first round, you add plates onto the bar to out-lift him. All before he’s even positioned himself behind you to be a good spotter.

Jihoon doesn’t go down without a fight though, and things get a little competitive from there. Both of you throw some of your favourite (see: most agonising) exercises into the mix over the course of the hour, taking it in turns on the equipment and creating a session that just about has him able to move by the time you’re finished. You talk to each other when you’ve got the breath to do so, otherwise focussing on your workout with more intensity than either of you remember training with for a long time.

And so what if he has to turn away from you once or twice to compose himself when breathless whines spill from between your lips on your last few reps, the sheer effort of the movements pushing your muscles to their absolute limit? So what if he feels his entire body run a thousand degrees every time you sweetly encourage him to manage just one more? So what if his palm stays tingling for fifteen seconds every time you high-five him for a set well done?

You slide out of the hamstring curl machine with a deep breath and legs like two sticks of jelly at the end of the session, and he holds a hand out to steady you as you regain your ability to weight-bear.

“You okay?” he asks, and you nod, patting what’s exposed of your chest and neck with your towel.

“Yeah. Yeah — just… fuck.” You laugh, laying your hand over the top of his and squeezing. Only for a second — not even, only for a breath — and really just to let him know that you’re okay to stand on your own, but Jihoon feels a bit like he’s been electrocuted straight up his arm all the same. “You don’t come to play, do you?”

“Says you,” he scoffs, only now moving his hand from your upper arm. “I was wrong about you — you’re insane. Clinically insane.”

Using the paper towels he went to gather while you were finishing up, he wipes the machine clean as you stretch out your now slightly exercise-swollen thighs.

“I was just gonna finish up on one of the stairmasters,” you tell him, taking a long sip of your water. His eyes widen to the point of comedy, eyebrows high on his forehead. You snicker at his horror, the rim of your bottle hovering tantalisingly over your bottom lip. “What?”

“That’s-… got to be a form of masochism,” he says, exhausted just at the idea of marching up the never ending staircase even for a minute. You almost choke on your mouthful of water, only just swallowing it in time before a sudden, uncontrollable laugh erupts from your chest.

“How?!” you ask, covering your mouth with your hand. Just like yesterday, the urge to pull your arm away, to reveal your hidden smile strikes him. He doesn’t act on it, but he wants to.

“What do you mean, how? Why would you put yourself through that after what you’ve just done?” It’s completely lighthearted, and the rush of heat on your cheeks intensifies at the cocktail of shock and awe in his gaze.

You shrug your shoulders once. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just better than you.” The way the tip of your tongue teasingly sits between your teeth as you grin at him sends bullets of adrenaline through his veins and Jihoon runs his hand over his face.

For about three seconds, he tells himself he isn’t going to take the bait. He’ll lose, he’ll admit it — he’ll put his hands up and say you’re absolutely, definitely better than he is, if it means he doesn’t have to push through a round of cardio after surpassing every single one of his physical limits. But God, he thinks you look completely irresistible standing there challenging him like this, your hands on your hips. His eyes don’t leave yours and yours don’t leave his; both of your chests stutter, just a little bit, and he can see your smile grow in his periphery.

How the fuck is he supposed to walk away?

“Ten minutes,” he concedes, matching your footsteps as you start to walk backwards towards his least favourite line of equipment in any gym, ever. “And you’re definitely getting the next coffee, now.”

——————

That Friday, you finally text him again.

His muscles have just about returned to a working state and Jihoon is quite proud to say that he has regained the ability to sit down without needing something to hold onto. He got home from work, showered the day away and has just settled down into the sofa to start on the book Wonwoo has been on his ass about reading when his phone vibrates on the side table. He reaches over for it, trying to figure out which of his friends might be trying to get hold of him early evening on a Friday, and already going over excuses in his head as to why he can’t go out to do whatever they’re inviting him to. But when your contact name flashes up on the screen, every single thought disappears from his brain.

y/n: hey :)

y/n: just out of interest, how good are you at assembling furniture?

He furrows his brows at this. There’s a very obvious answer, which is that he’s not. He doesn’t want to reply saying so, though, so he goes for what he thinks is the next best thing.

jh: well…

jh: what are you trying to put together?

y/n: a bed :(

y/n: today’s your rest day, right?

y/n: can i bribe you with dinner after? :)

Oh? His brain stalls, fingers hovering over the keypad. He can literally see your face forming a little pout before growing into a hopeful grin in his mind’s eye. He doesn’t see how he could ever say no.

jh: apparently yes, you can.

jh: text me the address? i’ll leave in 5.

He changes out of his basketball shorts and hoodie in record time, abandoning Wonwoo’s book on his couch in favour of attempting to look at least somewhat presentable for you. He tugs on a pair of jeans that he hasn’t touched in about 6 months and one of his nicer t-shirts instead, even going as far as to spritz aftershave on the column of his throat. You’ve sent him your address and he makes to leave, doing his regular essential item pat-down on his way out the door. He puts your new apartment into his phone as he crosses the parking lot, stupidly delighted to discover it’s only 7 and a half minutes away from where he lives, and settles into his car with a series of deep exhales.

The breathing exercises don’t achieve much. His head is still spinning when he parks up in the street by your new place and lingers just outside the building. He sends you a text to say he’s arrived and you reply saying you’re on your way down. You appear in the lobby just a few minutes later.

“Hey,” you greet him warmly, crossing the space and putting your arms around him in a hug. He goes limp for a fraction of a second before his arms slide around you, too. God, he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat right now. He thinks that the effect you have on him should be considered dangerous. But whether you can or not, you tighten your arms to squeeze him once before you unwind them from around his neck and step away.

“Hi,” he says, feverish from the tops of his ears all the way down to his toes. His hands find his pockets as you take a few more polite steps back.

“Thank you so much for this.” Your bottom lip finds temporary home between your teeth before you’re nodding back towards the stairwell. “I’m on the third floor. Follow me.”

He does. He walks up the stairs behind you as you ask about his day at work, and he tells you that he thinks today has probably been one of the best he’s had in about 2 months. When he asks how your day went, you turn your head back to look at him and stumble on the next step, gently laughing and saying that you think you’re at your tether’s end with D.I.Y, but it’s been pretty good otherwise. By the time you reach your floor, his thighs are aching, a bit of residual fatigue from your session earlier in the week making it a little harder than it ought to be. He can’t imagine how you’ve coped every day since then; if his own building didn’t have an elevator, Jihoon thinks he’d have been sleeping in his car.

You give him a little tour of the apartment, and he stands next to you at the window as you point out where you were staying with your friend a few blocks away. He thinks the view is seriously pretty in the evening light, enchanted by how he can see the tops of the slightly lower buildings and the street below, lined with neon storefronts and currently alive with shoppers and bar-goers, but… He cringes at himself for thinking it, but the view through the glass is nothing compared to the one he has inside.

You’ve started to put up a few decorations and knick-knacks around the place too. He doesn’t know you very well, but he still thinks it’s very you — all of it, and he likes them. Even with the room full of boxes and half-unpacked cases, there’s so much personality in it already. Charm. He brushes off your attempts to apologise for the ‘mess’, as you called it, despite everything being neatly pushed out of the way of the main space. It’s easily tidier than any other mid-move apartment he’s ever been in.

“Did you want a drink?” you ask him, walking over to the refrigerator and resting a hand on the door. “I’ve got wine, or-… anything, really.”

“Just some water would be great,” he says appreciatively, and a few seconds later you’re handing him a bottle, turning another one over in your hand. “I really wouldn’t be much help after a couple of glasses, trust me.”

“Does this mean you are good at it, then? Before a drink?” you ask him. Is it hope in your voice? Or do you somehow know how hopeless he is, and are you teasing? He can’t tell. Regardless, clearly his evasion earlier wasn’t quite as successful as he hoped it would be.

“About that…” He chuckles, taking a sip from the bottle and glancing sideways at you. “I’m sure between the two of us, we’ll figure it out.”

“My knight in shining armour,” you say with a laugh, closing your fingers around his wrist and leading him through the door to your bedroom. You’ve managed to separate all of the individual pieces, but you haven’t made any real progress otherwise. He settles himself down on the floor and reaches for the assembly manual, pursing his lips as he looks at the little baggies of screws and bolts and various other things he doesn’t know the names of.

“Okay.” He frowns, looking back up at you where you’ve kneeled down a couple of feet away. You’re grinning innocently back at him, but Jihoon’s lips are more aligned with a pout. “You maybe should have mentioned that the instructions are in Swedish.”

——-

Ignoring the fact that you can’t understand the directions printed on the flimsy little pieces of paper, you get to work. It’s… an interesting process, but somehow between the pair of you, you successfully manage to assemble the bed in just under two hours by mostly following the diagrams (and having to backtrack several times because Jihoon managed to miss a few steps). At three minutes to nine, you’re both finally standing up off the floor, stretching out stiff joints and tight muscles; the bed is fully assembled and made up with your sheets in the centre of the room, headboard against the back wall, the lamp you set on the dresser casting a pleasant orangey glow on every surface.

“We did it,” you say, a little in shock, a lot exhausted, and absolutely starving. At least, that’s what he assumes you’re feeling, because it’s what he is. “We actually did it.”

“I mean, you did most of it,” Jihoon says. It’s true; at a point, he was just handing you the pieces you asked him for and holding parts steady so that you could fit them together. But if you want to call it a joint effort, he isn’t going to stop you, and the roll of your eyes tells him that you do want to call it that.

“Shh. You helped,” you scold him, bumping his upper arm with your elbow. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“If you say so,” he chuckles, taking another sip of his water. Jihoon isn’t sure he believes you, but the way you’re challenging him to argue further with your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek scrambles his brain. Any remaining argument dies on his lips. “We make a good team.”

“We do,” you agree, expression shifting into a shy smile, bumping his arm again, your elbow lingering against him for a second longer. “Come on, I think I promised to feed you, too. What are you in the mood for?”

A movie has been playing in the background for about an hour by the time your food arrives and you’ve eaten everything. Jihoon relaxes back against the cushions of the couch and you’re settled comfortably next to him: there’s plenty of space on either side of you both, so there isn’t really any need for you to have your upper arm basically pressing against his, but Jihoon is too comfortable to say anything and you certainly aren’t making any attempts to move away. You shift your legs after about ninety minutes, bringing them up underneath you so your thigh is pressed against his now, as well, and you’re twisted slightly so you’re physically facing him but your head is still turned towards the TV.

Everywhere your clothed body touches him is scorching, and he wonders if maybe he should’ve worn a thinner t-shirt, or at the very least something a little less heavy on his legs. His jeans, slightly tighter around the thighs than perhaps would be their peak level of comfort, are clinging to him everywhere and he’s so aware of himself, so aware of you, of your sweet body wash, your fruity shampoo, every single one of your breaths… He’s cursed people out for breathing too loudly around him before, but he thinks he could replace his white noise machine with an eight hour track of just this and he would sleep like a fucking baby.

One of your elbows is propped against the top of the cushions behind you and you’re resting your head in your palm, and (not for the first time this evening) he glances sideways to look at you. They’ve been fleeting glances thus far, only stealing fractions of a moment before he turns his attention back to the TV. But this? This is the wrong moment. Entirely the wrong fucking moment because as his head turns, so does yours, and you catch him in the act. Fuck, if he thought he was burning up, before? He’s pretty sure he’s somehow just descended straight to the second circle of hell, greeting all the other lusty sinners like old friends. Several of his thoughts tonight have been considerably impure, and in this half second of blistering eye contact, they all come rushing back.

The universe is really testing him this evening, and Jihoon is stumbling. It feels like any minute now, he’s going to explode.

He straightens his spine and looks back at the TV, trying to force his eyes to focus even though he’s completely swallowed by the feeling of your arm straightening across the back of the couch, your fingertips grazing over the skin at the bottom of his hairline. He can feel your eyes still on him, your gaze burning into his cheek, no doubt following as his tongue darts out subconsciously over his lips. But he can’t quite help himself, can’t get the image of how sweet you looked out of his head; he clears his throat quietly and looks over at you again, coming over almost completely blank the second he notices the glimmer your eyes hold when they’re trained on him.

Any. Fucking. Minute.

“Jihoon, I-…” you start to say, and he turns himself a little bit so that he’s facing you better, completely forgetting about the movie now. That’s not a great loss: he couldn’t explain the plot even if he tried. “I don’t know if-… you can tell me if I’ve read you wrong…”

“You haven’t,” he hurries. Relief starts to ease the tension between your brows, before you scrunch them again and cock your head to the side. “I’m sure you haven’t, I mean.”

In this new position, one of his legs is bent and sitting up on the couch beneath him and you’ve adjusted your own posture to accommodate. Your knee sits just over the top of his, more of your impossible body heat radiating through his clothes, and he glances down at the site of contact before he looks back at you.

“I just-... I don’t know, I think I knew I was interested in you from the first time I saw you, but the last few weeks especially…” You’ve been rehearsing this. He can feel it. It’s written in your eyes, holding the weight of the words you’re struggling to say, and behind them he can see cogs turning as you try to get the words in the right order. (He knows how that goes, because he’s been trying to figure out how to tell you, too.) He nods, urging you to keep going.

“I can’t get you out of my head. I really like you.”

He short-circuits, then. Even though part of him knew what you were going to say, hearing it out loud flips a switch inside him and he stops functioning. Blinking at you slowly, lips parted, heart racing – he feels as if his brain has been sucked clean out of his ears and is floating somewhere way above his head. Way outside of a contactable range, way beyond any level of rational decision-making. Jihoon knows what he wants to say, of course – he knows that he wants to say that he likes you, and that he has for a while, and that maybe you should let him take you out on a date or something, but all of that sits just behind the barrier of his teeth, so…

He leans forward and kisses you, instead.

He almost can’t believe that he’s only wanted this for as short of a time as he has; it feels like it’s been building inside him for so much longer. Relief floods through his veins, the emotional dam finally breaching. It only lasts a few seconds, but with his lips pressed to yours and yours pressing back, the static in his brain goes quiet, the movie falls silent: everything stops, except you. He thinks you could’ve been carved from stone around each other — he thinks something just feels so inexplicably right. Your hand tightens in his hair and he gasps softly as he pulls an inch back, eyes heavily lidded and looking straight at you through his lashes. You move forward, leaning your forehead against his, and the feather-light hold he has on your chin slides up to your cheek instead.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to-…” he says after a long, long moment of remembering how to breathe, how to blink, how to exist in your space without combusting on the spot. He still isn’t sure he knows how to do any of those things, especially not now he can see every single line of your face this close. He’s trying, though. “But — shit, I’m crazy about you.”

You kiss him, then, harder than before, colliding in a mess of half-finished breaths and bumped, stinging noses. His other hand comes up to sit against your rib cage, yours pressing into the material of his t-shirt over his chest. He smiles and parts his lips as yours move against them, your tongue gently sweeping into his mouth, finding his own; a soft, low moan tickles the back of his throat, his fingertips curling slightly to tighten his hold.

Jihoon isn’t sure how you end up on your knees, straddled astride his legs with one of his hands tucked between your thigh and calf, the other on the curve of your ass — he just knows that he doesn’t mind one bit. You’re warm and comfortable, the arch of your back pressing you into him deliciously. He’s kissing you like his life depends on it (he really fears that it might), and you’re doing the same back, licking against his tongue and rocking slightly with every separation and reconnection of your lips. He feels your fingers brush at the hem of his t-shirt and slip just underneath at the same moment as you pull away from him, and he’s so dazed, so fuzzy, so lost in you that he can only tilt his head back to stare up at your face. In your current position, you’re towering over him. It’s easily the best view he’s ever had.

“Can I-…?” you ask breathlessly. The new roughness to your voice goes straight to his cock and he has to restrain himself from bucking his hips upwards.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning forward slightly to try and aid you. Your hands tug at the bottom of his shirt and peel it up over his chest: he raises his arms slightly and soon, you can toss it to the unoccupied side of the couch. He shivers slightly as he relaxes back, both at the chill in your unheated apartment and upon noticing the way you’re staring down at him. It’s addictive.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, jaw a little slack, smoothing your hands over his shoulders to feel every ridge of hard-earned muscle. You travel down his arms, over to his chest, down his stomach… Jihoon sucks in a breath, your warm hands absolutely searing against his skin, and his abdominals tighten beneath them. Tilting your head, you press a line of kisses down the side of his neck, your lips brushing against one almost unbearably sensitive spot when you continue. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

He smiles bashfully, rolling his head to the side and giving you all the access you want. Your lips tickle euphorically against him as he tugs you flush against his chest, both his hands now tightly pressing against your ass, fingers kneading the muscle concealed by your pants. You’re sitting right over his clothed cock and he’s reasonably sure he can feel your pulse between your thighs, letting out a soft grunt when you roll your hips deliberately down into his own. Your kisses travel to the swell at the curve of his shoulder before moving back up to his lips, where he meets you with a fire that he’s never kissed anyone with, before.

“Says you,” he murmurs into your mouth, your teeth clashing, his hips pushing slightly up off the couch. Just enough to make you sit back from him, just enough for Jihoon to open his eyes and look at you. His hair, thoroughly scrunched up and pulled around by your desperately gripping fingers, fans out at all sorts of angles and his chest has taken on a rosy hue since you last looked at it. With swollen, shiny lips, glossy eyes, breathing deep, he looks completely blissed out, like a man who could unravel beneath you if you moved just right. All from a little tongue action. He’d usually feel embarrassed, but it’s hard to when you’re the person on top of him; to be honest, neither of you would mind much if he did.

You’re pushing yourself up and off him before he can really get his bearings and an audible whine of despair parts his lips at the loss of your weight against his cock. Fuck, these jeans were a bad idea: he’s straining against the denim so much that it hurts, and there’s a near perfect outline of his hard-on. He stops pouting the second you take hold of his hand and tug him upright, though, your eyes dark and determined and intense. He thinks he might faint, actually: from standing too fast and feeling as though all the blood in his body is pulsing through his aching dick, he has to take a moment to stop the edges of his vision going dark before you’re pulling him through to your bedroom.

Something flips inside him the second you have him there. Jihoon, who was more than happy to sit beneath you and let you take all the control in the living room, is pushing you back onto the mattress by your shoulder and slotting himself between your parted thighs the moment the door is closed behind him. He’s past the point of wanting you, now: he needs you, and he needs you to need him, too.

And God, do you. You prop yourself up on one elbow, staring at where he’s now leaning over you with wide eyes and your bottom lip drawn between your teeth. He bends down and kisses along your jawline in response, nipping gently just below your ear. Your back arches up and in a flash, one of his hands is beneath you, snapping open the clasp on your bra with a few slides of his fingers.

“Wh-…” you start, giggling and panting at the same time. He smirks against your pulse point.

He flattens his tongue against you and licks a salty bead of sweat off your skin. “What?”

“Had no idea you could-…” You’re cut off by a gasp as one of his hands slides under your sweater, slipping beneath the garment he just unfastened. His fingertips graze over your breast and a pleading sob escapes you. His smile grows even wider. “You were so…”

“So what?” he prompts, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Another one of those beautiful sounds breaks the air above you. He does it again, massaging your breast with the palm of his hand. “Come on… talk to me.”

“So good,” you gasp, lying down flat and tilting your head back against the pillows. He rocks forwards to press his cock against you again and your thighs tighten around his hips, one leg hooking around his to keep him there. “So-… fucking good.”

You’re so impossibly irresistible to him, especially like this, and he sits up, settling on his knees to look down at you. Jihoon doesn’t even get the chance to move his hands towards the hem of your sweater to tug it off you though: you’re already grabbing it yourself, crossing your arms to pull it over the top of your head. He can see your bra now, and hell, it’s pretty even if it is just hanging off you. Baby pink and lacy. He thumbs over the material as he helps you pull it down your arms, briefly letting himself wonder if-…

“If only you’d been patient enough to see the set together.”

Oh, so you can read his mind now, too?

You glance down to the small space between your bodies and his eyes follow, lips slightly parted, a heavy sigh on his breath. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck — he wishes he had. Even imagining it, he’s throbbing.

“You wear all this for me?” he asks, hands creeping up the insides of your thighs. You nod up at him and he smiles down at you. “Fuck. I bet you didn’t even need my help tonight at all, did you?”

You’re bucking your hips now as his thumb brushes, agonisingly slowly, over your clothed cunt. One arm has come up to cover your face: for the first time, he acts on his impulsive need to see you shy, see you needy, and leans over you to gently pull it away and pins your wrist down against the mattress. He kisses you, his fingers on the other hand pressing slightly more firmly to where he’s pretty sure your clit is.

“Y/n, you’re so pretty. Let me see you.”

“I didn’t,” you admit, voice wobbling as he works you up so much you’re actually soaking through not just your pretty underwear, but the leggings you’ve had on all night, too. He can feel it against the pad of his thumb and he raises his eyebrows for you to continue. “Just… really wanted you to come over…”

“Mhm. I know,” he soothes, bending low again and kissing down towards your chest. His lips purse over one of your nipples and he sucks it up into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the bud. He releases your wrist with the hand currently taking most of his weight and leans on his elbow, teasing your other tit with his fingers. The weight of it in his palm has him murmuring soft praises against your skin, telling you over and over how good you feel. You push up onto your elbows to try and press him closer — when his teeth tug just slightly, you’re about ready to beg.

“Jihoon, please,” you murmur. He short-circuits, again. Goes blank. His name has always sounded so much sweeter on your tongue, but this? This? Oh, he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to recover. That sound is going to stick in his head for days, months, forever, if he has anything to say about it. But even if his brain isn’t working, his body moves on autopilot: he sits up and hooks his fingers under your waistband, pulling your pants down your legs and discarding them onto the floor.

He’s staring between your thighs with zero functioning brain cells and literal galaxies in his eyes, trying to figure out what cosmic miracle brought someone like you into his life, how on Earth he’s ended up between your thighs. The question is so overwhelming in his mind that he barely notices that you’re moving, at first. Jihoon doesn’t know what causes you to try and bring your thighs together — if it’s shyness or arousal, desperation, a search for friction? — but he stops you as soon as he realises, laying a hand on each of your legs, pinning your knees down now, instead.

“Keep your legs wide for me?” he asks, to which you punctuate a nod with an assenting hum. “Good girl.”

You’re so wet that when he strokes two fingers over your covered pussy, pressing the fabric of your panties into your heat, they come away thinly coated in the arousal that’s seeped through them. He brings his fingers to his lips then, eyes fluttering as he licks your slick off them. You taste otherworldly and he doesn’t hesitate to tell you so with a groan.

“God,” he murmurs, tugging at the waistband of your panties with his other hand. His eyes ask if you’re ready — if you’re sure, and when you nod down at him, he pulls them off completely too. His middle finger slips between your folds, collecting the wetness dribbling out of you, and he drags it slowly upwards towards your clit. He repositions himself again, leaning down over you with his head at your neck, the heel of his hand resting against your lower abdomen. He draws small circles over the bud, laying open-mouthed kisses at your collarbone and listening to the gorgeous sounds you make, learning what you like, following each gasp and moan and chasing as many of them as he can draw out of you.

At the same time as you start rocking your hips up to meet his hand, your nails scratching gently against his scalp again, Jihoon slips his finger down from your swollen clit to press it inside you. You gasp, high-pitched and needy, your cunt spasming around his finger and pulling it in deeper. He’s only in up to his second knuckle but the way you keen for him has him pushing further until it’s buried inside your pussy completely.

“S’this okay?” he asks, but he knows your answer thanks to your vocal responses to him already slowly easing his finger in and out, in and out. You nod your head almost aggressively as he glances up at your face, your eyes squeezed tightly shut, jaw tense, throat bobbing as you swallow hard.

“More — please,” you say not long after. A breath hitches in your throat when he does exactly what you ask, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit and positioning another finger at your entrance. He flexes his wrist slightly to get comfortable, pumping both fingers into you now, and he curls them upwards at just the right time to make your back arch off the bed. “Fuck — mhm, just like that—…”

He moves down your body slightly, reattaching his lips to one of your nipples as he fingers you deep and slow. He’s in no rush: Jihoon thinks he could do this all day and just deal with the RSI later on. You look so unbelievably hot with your face scrunched in pleasure, your thighs quivering as you fight to keep them apart like he asked you to, with your hips twisting down against his hand to try and get his fingers deeper and faster. When he lowers himself all the way down, settling completely between your thighs, he flicks his tongue out over your clit and your back arches up off the bed with a gasp.

“Don’t stop,” you whine, all high-pitched and rushed, both syllables merging into one hurried sound. “Fuck, fuck — please, don’t stop.”

“I’m not going to,” he murmurs, keeping pace and rhythm as he works you towards your high. God, he thinks there couldn’t possibly be anything in the world more sexy than watching you come undone from this angle. Your chest rising and falling in stuttered breaths, your hips rocking down against his hand, your pussy right on his mouth. Just the thought of it has his cock jumping in his boxers. “You gonna come for me, huh?”

“I-…” you start, releasing your death-grip on the bedsheets to bring a hand to cover your face. He clears his throat deliberately — perhaps it’s sort of closer to a growl than a cough — and he thinks maybe you really can read his mind, or maybe you’re learning that he wants to see every inch of you (especially like this), because a second later, it’s tangled up in his hair and holding him in place. “Y-yeah, fuck, I…”

“Good girl,” he coos again, and that breaks you. Your pussy tightens around his fingers and you feel yourself convulse, muscles clenching and releasing as you go over the edge with a cry. He eases you through your climax, tongue laving over your clit, fingers slowing but not stopping inside your cunt until your thighs close around his head in your oversensitivity. He takes the hint, then, and he slowly pulls away, sucking his fingers clean of your arousal while you take a few breaths to recover.

“Oh, my God,” you sigh as he moves back up and starts pressing small pecks over your chest and collarbones, your fingers lacing through his hair again to pull him up to kiss you. You groan softly at the taste of yourself on his lips, and can’t blame you. He still isn’t over it, either.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he tells you in-between kisses, one hand supporting the back of your neck to keep you close. “So pretty. So sweet. So good.”

“Shh,” you giggle, but he doesn’t. Just about every adoring adjective Jihoon has in his arsenal is murmured against your lips until you’ve gathered enough strength to get up on your knees and push him back onto the mattress, fumbling with the button of his jeans.

He groans at the relief as you tug them down over his hips and thighs. “We don’t have to do anything else if you’re—”

“Shh.” This one’s a little more insistent, and he makes a show of clamping his lips back together. “You wore the tightest jeans on the planet, had your cock on-fucking-display for me all evening, and you think I wanna stop now?”

His jaw falls slack at the words that come out of your mouth. The incredulous way with which you say them has him involuntarily bucking up into nothing. Your expression matches his when you finally get his jeans all the way off and his thin, black boxer-briefs are the only barrier between you. The outline of his cock strains against them, tenting the fabric: Jihoon doesn’t miss the way you lick over your lips before glancing up at him through your eyelashes. It’s your turn to give him the look, now, asking that this last part is okay, with your fingertips hooked underneath the elastic waistband. He nods feverishly up at your heavy gaze.

“Please,” he groans, lifting his hips so you can pull them off. His length springs free the moment they’re pulled low enough, slapping back against his abdomen, sitting pretty against his toned muscles, thick and veiny and red-tipped. Desperate. His underwear joins the pile of clothes down the side of the bed as you throw one leg over him; sitting across his thighs, you take his cock into your hand, giving it a few gentle strokes. He fucks up into your palm when you squeeze your fingers around it.

“I need you so fucking bad,” you murmur, head spinning, and Jihoon isn’t in much of a better state himself; he’s fighting to keep his eyes open, fighting to keep his breaths coming. He sits upright, one arm behind him for support, and kisses you hard as you continue to tug at his length.

“Need you, too,” he breathes, shifting so he has both arms around you. In a swift movement, muscles rippling, he lifts you off him and turns you over so he has you sitting on your now impossibly scrunched comforter.

He finds home back between your legs as you reach over into the drawer at your bedside and fumble around for a few seconds. He hears a little clatter and a rustling and when your hand resurfaces, you’ve pulled free a small foil square. You don’t even give him a chance to lean forward and take it; you’re ripping it open and looking up at him with the biggest doe-eyed stare he thinks he’s ever seen. He nods at the silent question, a grunt tumbling free as you roll the condom down his length. This is the most pathetic little bit of contact and he’s fighting demons.

“Okay?” he asks, shuffling back a little and giving you space to lie down flat on your back. You nod up at him, already wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Mhm, just-... take it slow?” you ask him, anticipation rendering you already a little breathless. “S’been a while.”

A grin blooms all the way from his lips to his eyes and he leans down to kiss you again, positioning his tip at your hole and pressing forward just enough to tease.

Your thighs tighten around his hips and he pushes himself further inside you with a stuttered groan, agonisingly slowly, inch by inch. He stills every few seconds, both to give you the time to adjust and so that he can take a steadying few breaths and not collapse at how good you feel wrapped around him; he stops pressing his hips forward before he’s fully sheathed inside your pussy and you let a whine slip, the stretch slowly easing.

“You can move,” you tell him, laying a kiss to his chest. “I’m okay.”

Jihoon gives a soft laugh. Oh, he wishes this was just to be polite, but no. He’s in real danger of losing control any second. “Yeah, this isn’t for you, baby.”

“Oh?” you ask. You clamp around him and he gasps at the tightness, hips jerking forward until he’s buried up to the hilt. Fuck, there’s a bruised cervix if you’ve ever had one; a high-pitched whine erupts out of your lips and he ducks his head down to your ear.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You just-... fuck, you feel so good.”

“Mm, says you.”

It’s another moment before he thrusts with intent, though. But when he does? When he pulls out halfway before sliding all the way back inside you, losing and regaining the feeling of your heat enveloping him entirely, hearing your gasps against his collarbone? The invisible reigns holding him back unravel and he settles into a slow but intensely deep rhythm, guiding your legs around his waist. You hook your ankles behind his back and somehow, you suck him in deeper still, your bodies touching everywhere they possibly can, so impossibly close.

The arm not holding his weight slides beneath your hips and raises them just a little. Now, at this angle, every time he rolls into you he grazes against your sweet-spot and you’re reduced to an incoherent mess within a few minutes. Good, he thinks, because he’s not doing much better, himself.

You hug him tighter after one particularly well-angled thrust, sinking your teeth into the muscle of his shoulder. He hisses at the sting, and your lips part as if you’re about to apologise but he doesn’t give you the chance to; he bumps your nose with his own to ask you to lift your head slightly, before he bends down and kisses you hard.

“Do that again,” he gasps, almost all of his weight against you as the hand not around your hips comes up to rest on your cheek. When your brows tighten, he swipes his thumb over your spit-covered, swollen lips. “Please. ”

So, you do.

Maybe not as harshly as the first time, but your teeth find his collarbone and you suck a bruise into his skin, drawing from him the highest pitched sound you think he could possibly make. He squares his jaw, ducking his head back down, biting on his bottom lip before he has no choice but to speak.

“I’m close, y/n,” he confesses, fucking into you slower, trying to stave it off for a few more seconds, his hips stuttering. “Can-... can you give me one more…?”

You nod, the knot in your stomach already growing tighter and tighter with every movement he makes, and when one of your hands unwinds from around his back to slide between your sweat-slicked bodies, he moves slightly away, letting you reach down.

It’s the sight of two of your fingers finding your clit and rubbing your favourite movements out on yourself that takes him past the point of no return, his cock sliding in and out of you messily, desperately, chasing the high that he’s right on the brink of. He kisses and nips just below your ear, breathy groans tickling your neck, and your high-pitched whine tells him you’ve hit your orgasm just as he starts to spill his into the condom, gushing around him, your walls fluttering and milking him for all he’s worth.

—

You offer for him to shower first – an offer he gratefully accepts. While you’re taking your turn afterwards, Jihoon hunts down a fresh duvet cover in your room; he changes it, grabs you a glass of water for when you’re done, and sits on the edge of his bed with just the towel wrapped around his waist, scrolling through his phone. He looks up with a bright grin as the door opens and you emerge through it in your pyjamas, glowing from the light behind you, stray droplets of water clinging to your arms.

You pause gently rubbing your hair dry with the towel, eyes brightening when you see him. “You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, and he pushes a hand through his own still damp hair with a laugh.

“It was the least I could do,” he counters. You raise your eyebrows at him, crossing the room to sit opposite him. He drops his phone down onto the mattress. “I couldn’t leave and make you change them yourself.”

“Leave?” you ask, picking up one of his hands and playing idly with his fingers.

“I mean, it’s getting pretty late, so…” he says. “I probably need to get going at some point.”

“Or…” you say, tongue darting out over your lips. “Maybe you don’t.”

Jihoon looks down at your hands, then back up at you. Are you suggesting what he thinks you are, or has he still not quite come back to himself from earlier? It’s hard to say if the look on your face is hope, or something else.

“Are you… asking me to stay?” he asks.

“Only if you want to,” you tell him. He lifts your hands up, pressing a kiss to one of your knuckles, then using it to tug you closer to him until he can plant one on your own lips. “I’ve probably got an old t-shirt you could sleep in.”

“Of course I want to.”

So you slip away from him to go rummaging through your drawers, trying to find the promised article of clothing. The whole time, he’s awestruck. Jihoon can’t take his eyes off you.

——————

He wakes up next to you for the first time on a Saturday morning. His sleep-fogged brain registers lying on an unfamiliar mattress, tucked beneath new bedsheets, eyes fluttering open to take in a room he doesn’t quite recognise at first. Part of him wonders if he’s still dreaming. When he rolls over onto his side, and his eyes land on the curve of your shoulders, the fall of your hair down your back, he has to ask himself the same thing again.

All of last night must’ve been a dream, he muses, smiling shyly to himself and watching your frame rise and fall with every slow breath you take. There’s no way you really told him you liked him, too. There’s no way any of it could have really happened.

“Y/n?” He asks in the gentlest of whispers, only wanting to stir you if you’re awake already. When there’s no response, he moves a tiny bit closer to you, hesitating before he slips his arm around your waist and settles with his chest pressed against your back. A wildly insecure part of his brain tries to argue that just because you wanted what happened last night, that doesn’t mean you want all of this now. Maybe you only wanted to sleep with him, or maybe you’ll have changed your mind somehow now the sun’s come up. He considers moving away again, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling until you wake up and he can have a real conversation about where both of your heads are at with everything, but he barely gets a chance.

Those thoughts are silenced almost immediately, his brain falling quiet the second you roll over in his arms. You bury your head in the valley between his pectorals, tucked away from the world beneath his chin. His arms tighten around your sleep-warmed body.

“What time is it?” You ask. He contains a shiver at the softness of your voice, bliss running the length of his spine. Jihoon thinks that he could get used to this.

“I don’t know. Early, I think,” he murmurs, and you whine softly, burrowing deeper against his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

“Not if you’re awake,” you say. He’s not entirely convinced you can stick to that promise, though, with the way you yawn and he feels your eyelashes fluttering.

“Don’t worry about me,” he tells you, the tips of his fingers ticking against your side. He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to your hair. A soft hum rumbles in your throat and he can’t hold back the smile that spreads over his lips. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

True enough, you fall back asleep curled up against him and Jihoon, to the sounds of your slowing breaths, drifts off too. A few hours later, at a far more reasonable time, you wake him up with a press of your lips to the tip of his nose.

Innocent, exploratory kisses grow heated in the warmth of the sun that streams through your blinds. Hands start to travel, sleep clothes get discarded, and you have him lying on his back, pressing kisses down his chiselled stomach when his phone starts to vibrate on the floor next to the bed.

He groans at the distraction, again as you shuffle up to sit on your knees and look at him expectantly.

“Are you gonna answer that?” you ask, the tips of your fingers grazing his thighs. He shakes his head, no. “Come on, Jihoon. It might be important.”

“Not important enough,” he sighs.

“At least see who it is,” you laugh. Despite a huffed protest, he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over the side of the bed and glancing down at his phone screen.

Seungcheol.

The arrangement to go for a run this morning comes rushing back to Jihoon, who slaps a hand to his forehead and reaches down to grab his phone off the floor, looking at you apologetically.

“Give me two seconds,” he says, and you grin wickedly up at him, ducking low to press a kiss to one of the lines that disappears down into his boxers.

“Take all the time you need.”

He answers the call frowning, flopping his head back against the pillows.

“Hey, look – I’m really sorry,” he starts to say, but Seungcheol’s voice cuts him off almost straight away.

“Jihoon, where the hell are you? I got to your apartment and your car wasn’t here, and Seokmin said he didn’t hear you come home last night. We all thought you’d died,” he hurries. Jihoon can picture the expression on the other man’s face perfectly, which is pretty unfortunate seeing as how you’ve moved to start palming his hardening cock through his briefs.

“I stayed out,” Jihoon says, a little wobbly. “I can’t make the run, someth-... shit.” You press an open-mouthed kiss to the outline of his length, the heat of your breath through the fabric sending him into overdrive. “Something came up-...”

The line goes silent for a second, and his breath stutters as you do the same thing again. Each press of your lips is euphoric agony, and he’s really not hiding this as well as he wishes he could. One look down at you tells him that you’re very proud of that.

“Dude,” Seungcheol gasps, snickering suddenly. “Tell me you’re not with a girl right now.”

“Shut up. Go away,” Jihoon grunts. “I’ll call you later.”

“Oh my God, is it gym girl? Did you finally-...”

“Bye, Cheol,” he hurries, hanging up before his friend can say anything else. He drops his phone onto the mattress, fake-glaring down at you and shaking his head. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah?” you ask, pulling at the waistband of his briefs to tug them down his legs. “Let me make it up to you, huh?”

#woozi smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #lee jihoon smut #woozi x reader #lee jihoon x reader #??? how do i tag anything lmao #running away now it's nearly 2am lmao BYE #j writes.#*

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echoversit · 2 months

Text

Vers' Health Journal Days 4&5

I did not forget about yesterday! I was simply busy.

Yesterday was a food and family-filled day, but I did manage to test out another workout! I had a hard time locating the original source of this video, so I'm just going to put the link here.

Today I had to drive back up to college, so instead of testing another video, I opted to do one I had already memorized (the Korra one).

Rating Workout Tiktoks/Reels/Pins

This workout has star fishes, up and overs, plank hip dips, and normal planks. I didn't have too much trouble with any of these, although the hip dips were difficult for me only because my body started circular breathing from the movement? I hate when it does that.

Coordination: Not bad at all! Once you get into a rhythm with the op and overs theres not much to complain about.

Difficulty: Beginner to Intermediate level? I enjoyed this workout and having some new movements, but it wasn't particularly challenging to me.

Favorite: I really liked the up and overs, those were probably the ones I had to focus on the most, and where I had the most burn.

Least favorite: Hip dips because my body kept circular breathing eugh

Rating: 3.5/5? This wasn't my favorite but there's nothing objectively wrong with it. On to another!

#vers' health journal #healthy living #rating floor workouts #fitness journey #workout

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pedritomosquito · 1 year

Text

All Choked Up (Ch 1)

MINORS DNI

Summary: You're shooting a fight scene with Pedro that involves choking--you know where this is going.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

Word count: ~4.1k

Content: SMUT, Minors DNI Blog, thigh riding, choking, handy, general steaminess

You had been called in for more shooting after working for a month on The Last of Us as various clickers. You were going to be doing another fight scene, but this time as your normal human self. Wardrobe had just finished with you and one of the PA’s was escorting you to set to be approved by Craig and Jeremy. It looked like they were in between takes of a scene with Joel and Ellie. Pedro and Bella were both sitting on set pieces, laughing and sipping at water.

Craig and Jeremy are crowded around a monitor with several other producers watching the latest take. The PA introduces you and suddenly all of them turn around, examining you. Craig greets you.

“Great to see you again! Thank you for joining us.”

You have to hold in a laugh, because ‘thank you for joining us’? As if you wouldn’t have thrown yourself into fucking LA traffic to be here?

“Thank you for having me,” you smile instead.

At the sound of your voice, you see Pedro perk up out of the corner of your eye. You pretend not to notice his gaze.

“This looks great,” Craig approves. “Can I see it without the scarf?”

The PA unties your neck gaiter.

“Yes, perfect,” He nods. “Thank you Jennifer,” He dismisses the PA and sends you on your way, “See you on set!”

Interesting costuming detail for Craig to be so particular about, but whatever. The PA starts to usher you back towards the wardrobe department.

You hear Bella call your name and you turn, giving them a happy wave. Pedro gives you a wave too.

“Tomorrow–You, me?”” You playfully point between him and yourself, “we’re squarin’ up!”

“No way!” Pedro replies, looking dare you say excited to hear the news that you’d be working together.

“See you at rehearsal!” You call as you slip out the door.

—--

The next day you have stunt choreography for the fight scene in the evening. You dress in a cute matching Lululemon knock off set and report to the rehearsal studio on the lot. The three stunt coordinators are there to greet you and you stretch out until Pedro arrives.

He’s in a tight workout t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Not the gray sweatpants dear LORD.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” one of the coordinators teases, “And ten minutes late, no less!”

“Fuck off, Phillip,” Pedro laughs as he approached, “I’m old and I’m tired.”

“That’s your excuse every day,” You prod.

“Well it’s true every day,” Pedro complains.

“Ready to beat the shit out of each other?” You smirk.

His laugh makes your stomach flip flop.

“Absolutely.”

The stunt coordinators demonstrate the choreography first and you have to make sure your jaw doesn’t hit the floor.

Your character stands yielding a prop knife and his character rushes at you, grabbing your arms. You struggle like that for a beat before the knife gets knocked out of your hands. He keeps his grip on one of your arms as he punches you across the face, then shoves you back up against the wall. Both of his hands come up to your neck and you fight against him until you pass out and he drops you on the floor.

You have always been on your best behavior around Pedro. The poor guy has women thirsting after him at every turn and you don’t want to add to his suffering. You have your own private thoughts about him–many of them not PG rated. But you are there to do a job, to be a professional. You never really allow yourself to entertain any of those thoughts beyond simple fantasy.

But he is about to choke you against a wall.

That alone has you entertaining several new thoughts.

“Alright, how do you guys feel about that?” Phillip asks.

Pedro just nods with a small “great.” He does this stuff pretty much every day so you’re sure none of it phases him.

Phillip looks to you and you must be a bit too wide eyed.

“You look a little uncomfortable,” Phillip notes kindly, inviting you to speak.

Pedro’s concerned expression knocks the wind out of you.

“No, no,” You assure them, “It just looks amazing and I’m hoping I wasn’t padding my resume when I said I had stage combat experience.” You give a little giggle to sell it and god bless being an actor because they all buy it.

“No worries, you definitely got this,” Phillip assures you.

Phillip had not been lying–you pick up the sequence just fine. When it comes time to run the fight with Pedro, you are feeling confident about the choreography but not much else. You mark through it, slowly going through each motion to practice.

You’re pretty sure you black out when he slides his hands under your chin. He is slow and careful and he barely even makes contact with your throat but just the idea, the notion that he could so easily, makes your insides scream.

He eyes you closely making sure you are okay. You feel safe. Somehow that makes it even worse.

You go through some notes and run it one more time slowly before kicking it up to full speed.

The intensity of doing it in real time causes an adrenaline storm. Pedro’s hands are all over you, all power and tight gripped. You desperately hold it together so you won't forget what you’re doing.

The way your back hits the padded wall forces the air from your lungs. Before you can even get a breath in, Pedro’s inches away from your face, hands around your neck. Heat spreads across your cheeks all the way down to your chest. You are sure the shock is written all over your face and you swear Pedro’s eyebrows furrow just a fraction. You take the moment of embarrassment as a good cue to drop to the floor out of his grip.

“That looked great!” Phillip approves, “How did that feel?”

You nearly choke on your spit at the question.

“Good,” you manage to squeak.

You catch Pedro side eyeing you and force yourself to look anywhere else. You bend over and fiddle with your shoelace out of sheer desperation to hide your face.

“Yeah,” Pedro echoes, “Good.”

You can hear the smile in his voice and want to leap out the window.

“Alright, let’s go full out this time,” Phillip says, “Add the acting, the drama, I want it all. Let’s take it from the line before so we can get the timing down.”

You and Pedro square up, getting into position.

“I’m not going down easy,” You play with a quirked eyebrow.

“Bring it,” He challenges.

You both slip into character and you raise your knife.

—-

“Great work, guys!” Phillip chimes, “See you on set tomorrow.”

“You drive here?” Pedro’s voice appears next to you.

“Yep,” You reply, adjusting your bag on your shoulder and pushing open the door. The cool night air glides a chill down your arms.

“Let me walk you to your car,” He offers, “ I just need to grab my stuff.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, that’d be—that’d be great,” You stumble over the words with a smile.

It’s a short walk to his trailer

“What’s been your favorite project you’ve worked on?” He asks.

“I always thought it couldn’t get any better than Mandalorian but honestly I think this show might be my new favorite.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, everything on this show feels so… real. Mando was all soundstages and green screens. Last of Us really feels like we’ve been dropped into an apocalypse,” You explain before cautiously adding, “And I’ve gotten to work with you a lot more.”

“You like working with me, huh?” Pedro asks as he playfully bumps his shoulder into yours, the shadow of a teasing tone in his voice.

You can’t find words for a moment, pausing with your mouth parted. You might as well put all your cards on the table. “Yes,” you finally reply with a small laugh, “I do.”

You can safely toe the boundary of friendship here. You figure he wouldn’t read into it if he wasn’t interested.

Wait. Are you interested? Oh fuck. Of course you’re interested.

Pedro pauses for a fraction of a moment as you arrive at the trailer, looking at you. Before you can say anything, he pulls open the door and holds it for you. You climb inside and he brushes past you as he enters.

“When you showed up here on set,” He says, “I was really happy to see you again.” He sits down on the cream colored loveseat.

So he isn’t just ‘grabbing his stuff’ after all, you guess.

You join him, trying to remember how to sit like a normal human being.

“I thought you were lying when you said you remembered me,” you reply honestly.

“God no,” Pedro chuckles. His gaze on you intensifies, flitting down your body for a moment, his voice dropping a bit lower. “Couldn’t forget you if I tried, sweetheart.”

You suck in a quiet breath. Your mind begins to swim in the suddenly thickening air. How has he managed to make himself so clear in just a single uttered sentence?

He seems to search your face. You realize he’s looking for reciprocation . This isn’t the time to toe the limit at all–it’s the time to cross the line entirely.

The line between colleagues is drawn for good reason, you try to remind yourself. But all logic dissolves in the simmering heat of how he watches you from the other end of the couch.

Fuck the line. What line? Never heard of one.

You switch on a new part of yourself, cocking your head.

“You aren’t too forgettable yourself,” You reply with a soft smirk, making sure to regard every inch of him.

That is all it takes from him to start closing the gap between you, stopping just inches away. He reaches out and slides your bag off your shoulder in slow motion. You stay frozen as it thuds to the floor. The way his eyes never leave you makes your breathing pick up.

“You can leave right now, I won’t hold it against you,” He says quietly, “We can go back to before and I will never try this again.”

You can’t imagine a worse fate. You shake your head desperately.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, eyes glued to yours.

“I want you ,” You whisper.

His lips easily find yours as you feel a hand lace into your hair and another around your waist. The softness of his lips makes you forget to set yourself into motion, too busy melting into it. You finally remember to reach for him, placing a hand on his chest and the other on the side of his neck. You splay your fingers over his bare skin, brushing a thumb against the stubble on his jaw.

His fingers graze over your scalp as he gently grips a handful of your hair. It makes your jaw fall open and he takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth. You grab a fistful of his shirt to pull him closer.

His hand travels up the center of your chest, curving over your collarbone and back down your side.

He is either being a tease or far too respectful.

You take his wrist and guide him to the bottom hem of your tank top, sliding his hand underneath until his fingers come to the elastic of your sports bra. You pull the spandex up out of the way.

His fingertips skate lightly over the bare skin before he cups you, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

You whine against his mouth, arching into his touch. Your head tips back and he kisses down your neck before returning to your mouth. His lips become more insistent, the pressure of his hands roaming your body more firm. You shift to pull your leg up under you on the couch, needing to get closer to him. He untangles his hand from your hair and does you one better, reaching down, grabbing your ass and pulling you into his lap until he has you hovering over him, his knee between yours.

You pull off your tank top and your sports bra.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Pedro murmurs breathlessly as he attaches his mouth to your nipple.

“Fuck,” The word punches out of you and your hands fly into his hair. His mouth is all heat, tongue working in circles and flicks. You imagine his face between your legs doing the same and you shudder at the mere thought.

He grabs your hips and speaks against the skin of your chest.

“Sit.”

He pulls you down firmly onto his thigh.

“Good girl.”

A gasp helplessly escapes your lips and he has you all figured out. He fails to suppress a smirk and you have half the mind to admonish him, but any attempt is interrupted by his mouth returning to your tit.

He guides your hips to grind against him. The feeling of your wet leggings sliding over his sweatpants drags against your clit just right. You whimper against his temple. He tugs your hips forward again as he flexes his thigh into you and your whimper becomes open mouthed, a moan buried in his hair.

Your hips start to roll on their own accord, chasing down the friction.

“That’s it,” He says softly, licking up your chest, “Make yourself feel good, pretty girl.”

You let out a stilted sigh, dropping your head and sucking the skin beneath his jaw. You reach your hand down and press over the crotch of his sweats. You inhale sharply when you feel him already hard underneath your palm.

“You know how hard it was to control myself, hm?” He questions, voice strained as he pushes himself up against your hand, “Keeping everyone from seeing how much I loved having you pinned up against that wall?”

“ God , that was good acting,” you moan.

“Yours needs some work,” he taunts, “‘Could see it all over your face, querida. Bet you were wet for me, weren’t you?”

“Whole time,” you nod desperately.

He drags his fingers up your chest and wraps his hand around your throat.

“Oh fuck,” tumbles from your mouth.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart? My hand wrapped around your throat like this?”

“Yes,” you whimper. “Fuck, keep talking,” you beg, moving faster in his lap.

“You like the sound of my voice, huh?” He prods, “Like it when I tell you how good you are while you fuck yourself on my thigh?”

You only nod with a whine, reaching under his waistband and taking his cock in your hand. You nearly whine again when you feel how thick he is.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hand tightening just a bit around your throat.

The squeak he receives from you in response is equal parts innocent and filthy.

He uses his free hand to shove his pants and boxers down his hips, exposing his cock in your fist.

You pump him slowly, watching the precum leak from his slit. You release him, pausing your own movement to dip your hand into your panties. You slide two fingers into yourself, gathering your wetness, and return to his length.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, his words trapped in the back of his throat as you wrap your slick hand around him. His hand tightens on your neck and he thrusts up into your hand, jolting you back into your own rhythm.

Your free hand is slipped under the neckline of his shirt, placed on his chest to steady yourself. The skin there is firm and radiating heat. You can feel his heart beating as fast as yours against your palm.

“You gonna cum like this?” He asks, “Such a needy girl, making a mess on my thigh?”

“Yes, fuck, yes, god yes,” you babble. You’d say yes to practically anything he could ask of you right now, anything to stay in this moment.

Every word he speaks, every shift in his touch drives your fist around him faster.

“ Fuck you feel so good,” He says through gritted teeth, hand now trailing down your throat, curling his fingers to skim his nails over your delicate skin, “Doing so good for me.”

“Please, please, Pedro–” you blindly plead.

He squeezes his hand, tightening the grip on your neck. It’s hardly enough to affect your breathing, but it fuels the tension growing in your hips all the same. Your motions begin to stutter.

“That’s it, querida,” He hums, “That’s it.”

“I’m gonna–” your stutter, “I’m gonna cum.”

He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and every bit of air deserts your lungs.

“I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

Pure heat sparks and sets you ablaze, flames rolling down your body as you cum, cries forced from you.

“ Good girl , there it is. That’s a good girl,” He grinds out the words, pushing himself harder up into your fist. “Fuck, that’s it, fuck ,” A strangled noise catches in his throat, stripes of white painting your hand and his shirt as you ride out your high.

You lean forward to collapse against him, pressing your head to his shoulder, and you both try to catch your breath. He wraps his arms around you, fingers absently tracing over you back.

“Thank you,” you sigh.

“ Thank you ?” He nearly giggles, “Jesus Christ, all I did was sit here!”

“Then you’re welcome,” you breathe, “Like, very, incredibly, definitely welcome literally any time.”

His laughter bounces against your chest.

“Don’t go making offers that are too good to be true, now,” he warns, and you can feel his grin against the side of your neck, “I can’t take the heartbreak.”

So you’re not the only one who wants this to be more than a one time thing. Fuck yeah.

“Any. Time.” You repeat, whispering in his ear.

——-

Coco is setting up her station next to Stephanie and Jess for the afternoon. The hair and make up department is an integral part of The Last of Us because of the extensive clicker-fication process. Coco always jokes with Pedro that she has the easiest job out of everyone–make a man, who is already gorgeous, gorgeous. Not much to do there, just upkeep on Pedro’s gray hair and ensuring he’s grimy enough for an apocalypse.

You walk into the room bundled in a scarf and find Jess’s chair, greeting her. You had never met before and you were a little nervous. Coco, on the other hand, you’d talked to a few times.

“Okay, so, I might have screwed up a little ,” You admit to Jess, immediately piquing the curiosity of the women around you. You were about to make Jess’s job a bit harder.

“Oh?” Jess says.

“So, um, I get uh–strangled, in the scene we’re shooting today so there’s going to be a lot of focus on… my neck…” You preface hesitantly.

Coco whirls around.

“You didn’t,” She gasps, scandalized.

You grimace apologetically as you unwrap your scarf.

“I did.”

There’s no way they could possibly know that Pedro put the hickey blooming dark purple on your throat unless they’re mind readers, but still. You’re paranoid that somehow everyone will know what you did last night with Pedro.

Could see it all over your face, querida.

“You have girl bossed too close to the sun,” Coco shakes her head while Jess and Stephanie giggle.

You cover your face with your hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jess laughs, “You’re hardly the first actor to need some hickey cover up. Happens all the time–we’ll get you fixed up.”

Jess does an excellent job as promised and your neck looks pristine.

You thank her endlessly and slip out the door to go to wardrobe.

Just a moment later, Pedro speeds into hair and make-up, greeting Coco and plopping down in her chair.

“I need a bruise covered up,” he says simply.

“How’d you hurt yourself this time, old man?” Coco asks.

“Uh, it’s not exactly that kind of bruise,” he replies sheepishly. He pulls down the turtle neck he’s wearing, revealing the hickeys he’s sporting up his neck.

Coco, Stephanie and Jess all exchange a look. Stephanie is desperately trying to suppress a smirk and Jess has to turn away to contain herself.

You and Pedro are none the wiser that you’re totally busted.

“ Pedro ,” Coco scolds him playfully.

“I know, I know,” he sighs.

“Pass me that concealer, Jess?” Coco asks, “We’d better get started. This might take a while since someone decided to sell his body last night.”

“Oh shut up,” Pedro waved her off with a bashful chuckle, “Vete a la chingada.”

“Pedge, I’m immune to your spanish insults. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Allow me to translate: fuck. off.”

“Never.”

—————-

You're sitting on the sidelines of the set, absently going over your script and blocking.

“Hello you,” a low voice rings next to you.

A smile climbs onto your lips and you keep your attention on the pages.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you chime.

“Come here often?”

You giggle, finally looking up at him, but your breath is stolen. God , he looked so good as Joel.

“Querida, your face,” he chuckles, “we talked about this.”

You pause for a moment and realize what he’s implying. You must be blushing. Or drooling.

“I have no idea how I have an acting career,” you murmur.

He’s laughing and you can’t help but be reminded of a ray of light. He’s like a bright beam, reflected and refracted into a spectrum of color, streaking boldly across a sunlit room. Maybe you didn’t understand how someone could be ‘beaming’ until now.

He looks like he almost starts to reach out to touch you, maybe tuck a stray hair behind your ear or place a hand on your waist, but he aborts the movement.

Phillip approaches you and you break from your trance.

“Hey guys!” He greets, “how about a quick dry run fight before shooting?”

“Sounds good,” Pedro nods as you agree.

Someone from the props department appears with your fake knife and you thank them.

You do a slow motion run through, making sure the spacing and blocking is perfected for the set pieces around you.

The full speed run is just as intense as the first time you had tried it the night before. You’re panting on the floor by the end, and Pedro extends a hand to help you to your feet. You look up at him from underneath the fan of your lashes and he stares down at you all the same.

“Alright you definitely have the choreography down!” Phillip sings his praises and declares you both ready for filming.

“We’re going to start shooting in just a minute here,” Craig informs the room.

Jess is there, coming over to touch up your make up one last time and the guy from props reappears, returning the discarded knife back to you.

“You and Pedro have us sharing the good setting powder,” Jess laughs to herself, taking some onto her brush before Coco steals the container with a smile as she passes by.

It hits you all at once.

You left hickeys all over Pedro last night, didn’t you? You look over and see Coco brushing the powder over the side of his throat.

“ Jess, ” Your eyes are blown wide.

She pauses, regarding you with confusion for a moment until the realization appears on her face.

“Oh! Don’t worry, we’ll never tell. Makeup artists take an oath of secrecy,” She explains. “ However ,” She adds, “I am living vicariously through you. Just full transparency.”

“Fair,” you reply a bit distantly, still watching Pedro.

—-

Coco goes over to Pedro and starts on her final touch ups.

“You know,” she says quietly after a moment, “The weirdest thing happened earlier.”

“Yeah?” Pedro asks, suspicious of her playful tone.

“Yeah,” she replies, “A minute before you came in asking us to cover up your hickeys, your scene partner came in needing the same thing.”

“That is… quite a coincidence…” He agreed slowly.

“I’m glad one of us had sexcapades last night,” she assured him, “all I did was watch tv.”

“Please never say ‘sexcapade’ ever again,” Pedro muttered.

“Look, if you’re going for subtlety–tone it down,” She advises, “You look like you’re about to jump each other’s bones, not kill each other.”

“Fuck, it’s that obvious?” He asks.

She just replies with raised eyebrows and a smirk. “But–hey,” she says sincerely, “Good for you, Pedge. You deserve it.”

“Stop–” He swats her away with an embarrassed smile, “Making me blush. Joel doesn’t blush.”

“Go get ‘em tiger,” She pats him on the back before leaving.

A/N: Tell me what you liked most! I wanna know what my beloved slutty lil readers enjoy!

Chapter 2

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #hbo the last of us #pedro pascal smut #fanfiction #tlou

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byuljoonie · 8 months

Text

moonlight // knj

I’m sorry baby I’m just really hot…

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: one shot, slight angst, fluff, growing tension, boyfriend material, extreme smut, desperation, succubus intentions…

word count: 5k+ (sorry)

warnings: mentions of mature topics, spit, namjoon driving lmao, thigh humping bcs desperate, throat goat, dom!sub, dom rm!sub reader, alcohol consumption, probably a good amount of swearing, post-gym namjoon, grocery store activities, slight car play, teasing, oral, summer night, riding, overstimulation, a little masochism

summary: namjoon promised to go to the grocery store with you after the gym (extended ending on ao3)

note: just had what cody ko and noel would call a “power thought.” I literally just had a spark of inspiration bcs it’s really hot in the south right now and Namjoon’s vogue cover is to die for. enjoy and feel free to check out any of my playlists while reading. Sorry for any little mistakes. gonna make a tag list after I post 10 works! -ash (wrote this draft a few months ago so it might be slightly more extreme than expected.)

My reflection stared back at me, tracing the movement of the cloth against my skin. The long slit of the black fabric starts by the left knee and leaves an opening at the bottom of the dress. My manicured feet sat firmly against the hardwood bedroom floor, grounding me away from my persistent thoughts. I grabbed my sunglasses from the stand mounted on the cream walls and turned swiftly on my heels. Abandoning the mirror with a grimace on my face.

I loved this dress very much, the long sleeves light and airy protecting me from the harsh summer rays. The way it hugs my figure is like someone familiar. The same someone that bought this dress for me. He crossed my mind once more sending another surge of anger through me.

Namjoon promised to come along to the grocery store with me today but he’s been at the gym for almost 2 hours now. He said he’d only be gone an hour but an hour quickly turned to two, now I’m dressed and past ready to go. I hated going to crowded stores, at this rate we’ll never beat the after-work rush.

I sat on the bed putting on my anklet he gifted me for our 3 year anniversary. Yet another gift that I’m wearing today, being spoiled ruining my plans of holding a grudge tonight on our date. I slipped on some black socks and made my way towards the door. Listening as the front door swings open with a beep of the automatic keypad.

I excitedly descend the stairs, my black dress sweeping the floor behind me beautifully like a wedding gown flowing in the summer breeze. The second step I’ve already failed at trying to be mad at him.

“Baby! Where you at?” He says deep voice roaring through our apartment. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs almost running into his chest. He smiled at me taking in all of my body, returning to my eyes after his brief but thorough inspection.

“Right here NAMjoon,” I stated putting extra emphasis on his surname. I watched as his chest rose and fell with every breath, his skin glistened with sweat. Tan skin accentuating his muscular frame, my mouth parted slightly at the sight. He looked heavenly I almost lost my composure.

“I’m sorry I took so long Y/N my trainer wouldn’t let me leave until the workout was complete,” he said walking towards me. Smirking at the way my eyes followed his every movement.

“You look so gorgeous Princess, this dress is perfect for you,” he said pulling me into a tight embrace. Grabbing a handful of my ass as he reached over to rest his chin on my shoulder. I yelp in surprise at the sudden groping, melting into his body and giving up on being angry. I wanted to take him right now but first, we need food or we’ll be eating out for another week before we have time to shop again.

“Whatever Joon go shower we have to leave as soon as possible and you’re stinky,” I said pulling away from him and then standing on my tippy toes to kiss him quickly. He kissed me back beginning to deepen it before I push him away again. I give him a knowing look and bid him goodbye as I walk to the kitchen to make him a snack to eat in the car. The store was about a 25 minute drive from us but it was worth it for the produce.

I grab a few ingredients from the fridge to make him a nice sandwich with an everything bagel. I prepared everything quickly and put it in a small ziplock bag next to my purse. I heard Namjoon exiting our bedroom 15 minutes later, humming a sweet tune in his beautiful vibrato.

“Come on babe I already have the car warming up,” he said grabbing my hand and lightly pulling me next to him. He’s wearing a light brown shirt with a pair of distressed blue jeans. Looking as handsome as always I drink in his appearance for eternity. We walked to the elevator quietly, Namjoon tapping away on his phone until the elevator doors opened to be let us out.

As we walk towards our car I begin to sweat a little, the setting Sun still scorching my skin like its’ noonday twin. I started to speed up a little pulling Namjoon along so I could feel the relief of the A/C sooner than later. He swung the door open for me making sure my dress wasn’t in the way before shutting the door.

Namjoon jumps in quickly closing the door before the heat could penetrate the closed air. It still wasn’t cool enough in here, with the sun beaming directly on our vehicle the A/C felt like lukewarm hell. I let down the window hastily fanning myself as we pulled out of the parking lot.

After I few minutes of fanning and desperation, I looked over and behold a sight that would make any woman yearn in an instant. A head of sweat moved swiftly down the expanse of Namjoons golden jaw. Resting at the base before dropping down onto his slightly exposed shoulder. His lips rose colored from his unconscious biting. I wanted to reach over and swallow him whole, I crave him so bad I can’t help but squeeze my legs together at the thought.

I was so caught up in my sinful thoughts I didn’t notice him glance over at me. A twinkle in his eye set off the indication of a torturous idea. Namjoon placed his large hand on my thigh, causing me to tense up instantly. Before I could utter a word he reached over my leg and grabbed his sandwich from my lap.

His smile turning into a stifled laugh as he continued to stare straight ahead. I must have let out the small noise I was holding in because he seemed to know exactly what would tick me off right now. I turned my attention towards the windshield trying to focus on the passing cars and people watching. Then an idea popped into my head.

I pull out my phone and open the group chat I have with our 6 best friends. I stop and think of what to type before another brilliant idea is brought to me. I pose provocatively making sure my cleavage was “present,” in my photo. I took a couple of pictures, some with sunglasses and some staring at Namjoon. He patiently drove, oblivious to my sly intentions. He hummed along to one of his favorite songs looking over at me to shoot me a wink.

I giggled and looked away almost feeling bad for what I’m going to do. Yet not bad enough because I went ahead and sent the photos with a message. “Should I post these on my close friends? I don’t know if I look good enough today…” I said ending with a sad face. It didn’t take long for our phones to simultaneously vibrate. Secretly glancing over at Namjoon, I unlock my phone knowing he can’t check his until we’re in the lot.

Hobi ddaeng: You look great !! Of course, you should post it, Namjoon talk some sense into her.

Me: He’s driving right now. I didn’t ask for his opinion yet I want to hear you guys first :)

Park Chanel: ooooh…I see…

Park Chanel: If you don’t post the pictures I will! Wow wow you look beautiful. Nice..dress and necklace.

I looked down at my neck realizing I didn’t wear a necklace today. Oh Jimin you’re evil Namjoon is going to kill me and you. I laughed a little at his crude behavior and read the next incoming message.

Yoongi: You’re gonna get hit Jimin *laughing emojis*

Me: mmm just because you guys said so I will post it hehe

Before I could read the next response I felt the car shake as we pulled into the grocery store parking lot. I quickly went on my sns and posted two of the pictures on my close friends. Picking the two the boys liked the most. I was starting to get nervous, I know how possessive he is with me and I’m the same but I want revenge for making me frustrated.

Namjoon pulls into an open parking spot almost near the front of the bustling building. I take off my seatbelt with a click grabbing my purse from my lap and swinging the door open. I wanted to beat Namjoon inside before he could read the texts and catch me. As I hurriedly closed the door I saw him reading the messages, jaw tensing with rage.

I hear him call my name from the car and a slam of a car door followed behind the sound of his sexy voice. His long legs easily closing the space between us as he grabbed my hand, squeezing it while looking at me. I put my shades on ignoring his questions. Stroking the back of his hand as I never break eye contact with the automatic sliding doors.

“Can you get us a cart pet?” I froze at the nickname. He knows what he’s doing, and I don’t plan on breaking that fast. I let go of his hand briefly going to grab the first cart I saw. Cleaning the handle before strutting back over to my boyfriend as he eyed me intensely.

I let him grab the cart from me but not before pulling him down to whisper in his ear. “Anything for you Daddy..” I say in a hushed tone. Making sure to leave a kiss on his sensitive earlobe as I pull away.

I walk forward trying not to laugh at the silly nickname I used to get him riled up. He trailed behind me, failing to hide his blatant staring at my ass. We make our way down the aisles trying to speed up the process as people begin piling into the store.

“Joonie baby I can’t reach this,” I said struggling to reach the box of goldfish on the top shelf. He moved over to me in a flash, pressing his front flush against my back. I heard his breathing stop as I purposely pushed my ass against him.

“This one, this one, this one, or this one…” He trailed off purposely picking the wrong boxes to tease me. He finally grabbed the correct item and tossed it in the cart. Walking away as if he didn’t leave me speechless and flustered on the cracker aisle.

I follow him to the snack aisle after grabbing a few bottles of wine and champagne for our date tonight. The empty aisle presents another opportunity for me to assert my dominance. I walk over to the chips looking at them inquisitively as if I’m mocking a character.

“Honey do you want this kind or this kind?” I said while bending over. Making sure to sway slowly as I wait for an answer. “Babe? Which-“ I was cut short as a hand firmly grabbed my ass causing me to yelp in surprise and sit up straight.

“I want this one right here,” he growled in my ear. I turned around and looked at him, watching his eyes darken with hunger. “Let’s get outta here yeah?” He questioned looking into my eyes. I nodded furiously ready to exit this hell and get home to what’s waiting.

We race to the self-checkout line, scanning and bagging groceries like a 5000-dollar prize is awaiting the winner. Namjoon grabbed my hand after he paid and pulled me along with him as he pushed the basket with his other hand. He was so warm, skin clear and kissable. I wanted to pull him aside and cover him in kisses, not caring about the people around us.

Namjoon unlocks the car as we stop beside it. I move to walk around the cart but he stops me in my tracks. “Let me help you get the groceries in the car love,” I say looking confused at his sudden maneuver.

Unexpectedly, he opened the car door and motioned for me to get inside. I insisted again that I help but he gave me a look that I know better than to disobey. I got inside praying I didn’t anger him too much. I set myself up for this one, didn’t I? It’ll be worth it in the end right? Maybe I went a little too far with the texts but I can’t help but shiver with anticipation. I pull out my phone to text Jimin about my bad decisions.

Me: I think I fucked up lol

Park Chanel: you’re welcome ;)

Namjoon slams the trunk shut causing me to jump in surprise. I close my phone sitting it in the cup holder beside me. He gets in the car, jaw still tense as he turns the key in the ignition. I thought about breaking the silence but the tension was so thick a knife would recoil at the slight pressure of penetration. Namjoon puts on his seatbelt then proceeds to look at me.

“ I don’t want to hear another peep from you Y/N..” he starts lowly not breaking eye contact for a second. “You’ve done enough for tonight, if you do anything stupid I swear I will pull the car over and take you on the side of the road. I promise you wouldn’t want that.” He deadpans and looks away from me, pulling out of the parking spot. I utter a soft okay and prepare to behave the rest of the way home.

I slide my palm over to his free hand resting on his thigh. I stare firmly at him, giving my best puppy eyes in return. He doesn’t look away from the road but I watch as his lip twitches into a small smile. He grabs my hand, rubbing his large thumb over the back of my hand. In love can’t begin to describe how I truly feel about this man.

I laugh as he tries to sing along to Smoke Sprite, raspy voice blending well with Soyoon. I rap along to his part of the song, stealing the spotlight and making him bop his head in excitement. The song finishes and we’re about 10 minutes from our place. I check my phone and see a text from our group chat, making the recent grocery store escapades flash through my mind. I want him to touch me again, I like it when he’s desperate and needy for me.

Another terrible idea floods my brain accompanied by a mound of outcomes. I suddenly let go of Namjoons hand causing him to spare me a confused expression. A smile graced my face as I turned my body forward, grabbing the slit of my dress and opening it over my legs. I let my left hand run down the front of my dress, stopping at my panties hesitating even.

I slide my hand under the fabric immediately coming in contact with the soft skin. I dip my fingers and get to work. I began letting out dramatized moans and grunts. I moan Namjoon's name and furiously let my hand lose control. I looked over and saw Namjoon gripping the steering wheel in frustration. Sweat adorned his angelic face, veins prominent in his hands. I let this go on until we reached the last stop light near our apartment building. I sat up and closed my legs acting like I didn’t just masturbate next to my boyfriend in a moving car.

We pull into the lot entering our designated spot. Namjoon quietly turned off the engine and released a sigh that he seemed to have been holding in. He looks absolutely pissed and it’s so sexy. His erratic breathing only made me wetter by the second.

“You’re going to follow my instructions carefully. I don’t want to hear a word from you or tonight will be your worst fucking nightmare got it?” He questioned angrily letting his eyes trail over my body once more. I nodded too scared to move an inch more.

“Go upstairs, get undressed, wait in the middle of the bed. If you’re not in that spot when I come up there in 15 minutes, you better pray you can stop time.” He seethes hotly. “Yes sir,” I say scared and ready for more. He gets out of the car walks around and opens my door. He grabs my purse from my lap holding eye contact, his brown almond eyes dark and predatory.

“Go.” He states motioning for me to exit the vehicle. I get out swiftly, grabbing my purse from his hand and sprinting towards the entrance of the building. The elevator took an eternity to bring me to our floor. I ran to the door and shakily put in the passcode, messing up a few times before it finally let me in.

My shoes are off in a flash, I leave my purse by the door as well abandoning my shades on the counter as I run past to the stairs. I burst into our room, slipping my dress off. Almost fell as I grabbed my silk lavender robe hanging on the wall. I threw it on and climbed onto the bed. My anklet glowed in the natural light seeping through the parted curtains. The front door swung open slamming against the wall.

I heard shuffling, cabinets opening and closing for 10 more minutes before his heavy footsteps echoed through our hallway. He walked into the room eyeing me before raising an eyebrow. I started to sweat nervously hoping I did what I was told.

“Who told you to put on your robe Y/N?” He questioned in amusement. He slowly walked over to me, grabbing each side of the robe and ripping it open. He discarded it onto the floor and stalked around the bed, he stood at the front motionless. “On your knees in front of me, now.” He said and I immediately left the bed. I swung my legs over the side and dropped to my knees.

Namjoon watched me through lidded eyes as I crawled over to him on my knees, stopping directly in front of his growing bulge. I was quick to unlatch the hook of his buckle, the metal of the belt clinging as it hit the hardwood floors.

“I’ll excuse the robe mishap since you’re so eager to taste me doll face,” he said reaching down to grab my chin. A loud moan echoed through the room as he grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. He looked down at me, motioning his head back as if telling me to open up. I did as I was told and watched as he spit in my mouth and closed it back. He pulled his pants down and kicked them to the side.

“Good girl, now eat.” He said intensely. He hummed in satisfaction, eyes never leaving the way I wrapped my fingers around his cock and finally engulfed his length into the warmth of my mouth. I took him in slowly inch by inch, his girth heavy against my tongue as I extended my jaw wider and wider. I choked a little as he hit the back of my throat.

“You look so fucking gorgeous with your lips wrapped around me, pet,” his fingers tightened into my hair, his gaze stoic and heavy on me. Pet. The pet name earned a moan from me as I began a steady rhythm of sucking. My fingers were coated in a thick layer of saliva, Namjoon’s cock easily sliding against my pressured grip as my cheeks hollowed, jaw growing sore from my strenuous movements.

He groaned loudly, fucking my throat faster until I could no longer take it. I let my jaw go slack so he could use me as his personal toy. He grabbed my face and fucked it harder until I was seeing stars. A beautiful repetition of my name strung from his tongue, stilling as he came into my mouth. I happily swallowed every drop, coughing around his cock one last time, sending a shiver through his body.

“Good job, get on the bed I want to taste you. I can see you dripping on the floor,” he smirks as he picks me up and helps me onto the bed. He walks around and gets in the middle of the bed, watching me as I sit patiently waiting for instructions.

“Come here baby, sit on my face,” he motioned for me to come to him. I slowly crawled towards him, bracing myself on his lap. He kissed me roughly, tasting himself on my tongue, running his hand down to play with my chest. Nipples sensitive to the touch, he pulls away from me, taking my right breast in his mouth. Sucking and nibbling on me, teasing me. He pulled off with a pop, scooting further down the bed and then lifting me so I could move towards his face.

I place my hands on the headboard hovering over his face in anticipation. He suddenly grabs my thighs and pulls me down onto him. I scream out in pleasure as he dives into my center. Feverishly lapping his tongue at my pussy like it’s the last time he’ll have me. His moans send intense vibrations through my body, making me scream his name. We’ll have a noise complaint tomorrow.

I felt my orgasm coming on, riding his tongue until my legs were sore. He let go of my left thigh to slap my ass hard, signaling me to cum on his tongue. I came with a loud groan of his name. Shaking and twitching as I came down from my high.

Namjoon grabbed my hips, gently guiding me down to his lap. His face was covered in my essence, from nose to chin, he glistened like an Angel. He smiled and rubbed circles on my tummy as he watched me shake.

“Don’t think we’re done darling, I’m not finished until I see my cum dripping down your pretty legs.” He gave me one last smile before his eyes darkened once more. He grabbed my hips and lifted me slightly, sticking his girth fully inside me. I sank slowly, letting him fill me to the brim. Tears streamed down my cheeks loving the painful stretch in my core.

“Ride me until I say stop.” He deadpanned motioning for me to move or else. I started to ride him painfully slow, not being able to take much more. This was my opportunity to finally seize control. I picked up the pace, rhythmic grunts and sounds of skin slapping filled the room. I put my hands on his chest and let my hips do the talking.

I ground down harder, spelling his name with every swift motion of my hips. I felt his cock twitch inside of me, indicating he was close already. Now that I have control I’m going to make him feel everything he did to me. I moved faster, causing the bed to shake and tremble with every shout of his name.

He grabbed my hips trying to make me slow down but I only grind down harder. Clenching and tightening around him to send me him over the edge. I watched as his orgasm roared through him, eyes rolling to the back of his head. I kept moving, milking everything from him. Getting closer to my orgasm, I let myself go with one last yell of his name.

Squeezing my eyes shut as I finally stilled. The sound of heavy breathing filled the room, the bed creaking as I rolled off of him. Shivering as the empty feeling overtakes me when he’s not inside of me. “I hope I didn’t get too carried away,” I started while looking over at my completely wrecked boyfriend.

“That was perfect.” He said smiling over at me. He slowly stood up, going to our bathroom to retrieve a towel. He returned momentarily, cleaning me off and then cleaning himself. Throwing the towel in the hamper against the wall. I was so exhausted I could barely move. I got under our giant duvet, getting comfortable fairly quickly.

Namjoon glanced at me, nestled under the warm blankets, my eyes getting heavy with exhaustion. He promised me a special date night and he was determined to make it happen, even if he just put me to sleep. With a gentle smile, his aftercare continued.

“Hey, babe,” he whispered softly, brushing a strand of loose hair from my face. “I know you’re tired but I don’t want our date night to go to waste.”

I yawned in response and mumbled sleepily, “Joonie I’m so comfy right here.” Earning a chuckle from him, my reluctance seeped through the atmosphere. “I know, but trust me, you won’t regret it. I’ve got something in the living room set up for us.”

That caused me to sit up, curiosity overcoming my fatigue. “Oh? What is it?” I said carefully. “It’s a surprise, but I promise it’ll be worth it.” He said leaning in to plant a kiss on my forehead.

With his gentle encouragement, I reluctantly pushed the covers aside and allowed Namjoon to help me out of bed. He passed me the discarded robe and my slippers, and together we made our way to the living room.

Where soft candlelight flickered with a movie on the screen waiting to be played. As I settled onto the couch I couldn’t help but smile at the effort Namjoon had put into creating this romantic haven. A charcuterie board with our favorite snacks and 2 bottles of the wine we purchased earlier were on the coffee table.

Namjoon plopped down beside me, taking my hand in his. “See princess? Our date night in the living room isn’t so bad, is it?” He said grinning like he won the lottery. My fatigue began to dissipate as I basked in the warmth of Namjoon's love and effort. “Not bad at all,” I said, feeling grateful for his consistency and thoughtfulness.

“Let’s start the movie I’m so excited!” I exclaimed pumping my fist in the air embarrassingly hard. Namjoon laughed and mimicked me, making me laugh even harder than before. The first half of the movie went by as we stuffed our faces with food and downed wine like it was our last supper. I was starting to feel tipsy and before I knew it my thoughts started wandering again.

“Mmm, these snacks are-“ Namjoon started as he reached for the charcuterie board. I interrupted his thought by grabbing his hand. Namjoon looked at me puzzled, “huh?” He says in surprise. I move closer and settle onto his lap. “I want to be closer to you,” I said, hands resting on his toned chest.

Namjoon blinked at me, a tipsy smile forming on his lips, “Well I can’t argue with that pet.” I look into his eyes exploring the galaxies I can reach within them. “You know, I love nights like these, just you and me, a movie, some wine…” I rambled to him.

“Yeah, me too. It’s moments like this when I realize how lucky I am to have you in my life baby.” He said while lost in my eyes. Searching for something, something that he knows I have. I leaned in slowly, our lips almost touching, “I love you Namjoon.” I kissed him before he could respond. Feeling his emotions spill into our kiss. He pulled us apart gently, rubbing his hand on my cheek. “I love you too Y/N.”

He grabbed my face and captured my lips again. A thief that could do no wrong in my eyes, I deepened the kiss craving more of him. Needing to feel something more. I slowly began moving my hips on his thigh, grinding down onto the exposed skin, earning a guttural groan from his throat.

His hands moved down the side of my body, exploring every curve, touching every mark he left on me this evening. He landed on my hips, guiding me to my last orgasm with his strong hands. The air was hot once more, soft moans and sweet nothings penetrated the quiet.

The movie is long forgotten, the candlelight coating the walls in a beautiful golden glow. I felt my orgasm building quickly, still sensitive from the earlier assault on my clit. Namjoon began bouncing his leg, adding more pressure on my center, and sending me over the edge.

I kiss him one last time before I fall fast asleep on him.

The end.

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