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danveration · 3 months

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Sleep well, amour.

Parings: Alastor x reader

Summary: You’ve been very intrested in Alastor ever since you met him. He invites you to see his recording studio, which you accept. Then you ask if you can stay and listen to him host! While listening, you fall asleep. How does he react?

Word count: 2844

Warnings: Ummm not really much? Alastor being Alastor! One mention of not being able to sleep sometimes, mention of seeing people in hell doing dr*gs, k*lling eachother, and fighting, mention of reader having bad social skills (?)

part two

A/N: UM!! this is my first time writing for alastor, so apologies if it isn’t the best. Please give me any feedback you want, I’d love to hear it! Also sorry for any spelling mistakes. I hope you enjoy :’)

Alastor the radio demon. You know of the things he’s done, you know that people are quite literally terrified of him. But for some reason... you feel a certain way towards him that you can’t describe, but it’s surely not fear.

You’ve had a some-what odd admiration of him since you landed in hell, only a few months ago. You got spotted by Charlie when you first got to hell. She noticed you looking around nervously and lost, and put two and two together that you must be new. She very kindly introduced herself which was refreshing because.. well.. it’s hell. Everywhere you looked people were fighting, doing drugs, and even killing each other. You were glad there were kind people even down here.

“Hi, you! Uh, you lost?” Charlie smiled you and waved.

“Um yeah! I’m guessing this is hell, huh?” You awkwardly chuckle. Social skills weren’t ever your thing, it seems they haven’t got better after you died, either.

“Yep! This is hell! You must be new? I’m Charlie! Charlie Morningstar. It’s so nice to meet you.” She smiled and stuck out her hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie! My names Y/n.” You politely smiled back and shook her hand.

After that meeting, Charlie showed you to the hotel in which you eagerly accepted to stay at, her being the only sane thing you’ve seen down here. It was a pretty nice place, no 5 star hotel like back on earth, but it was something you’re very grateful for. Who knows what would’ve happened to you if you haven’t met her.

While she was showing you around, someone caught your eye. He was a tall man, very polite and respectful looking. He was dressed head to toe in old fashioned attire, with a cane to suit his charming look. He was smiling in a way that made you look at him like he was something you wanted to inspect under a magnifying glass.

He glanced at you and smiled larger, stepping over to you and Charlie.

“My, my! What do we have here? Charlie! You didn’t tell me that we’ve got more guests? It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear! The names Alastor!” He spoke politely.

His voice was sort of.. Radio-like? You found it soothing.

“Haha yeah! I found them wandering around on the street this morning! They’re a newcomer, their name is Y/n.” She spoke back, excited to introduce you.

“Y/n! Well, my, my. That’s quite a lovely name!” He said. “Say.. do you listen to radio? I host a brilliant radio broadcast that’ll give you some real insight on this place!” He said enthusiastically.

“Oh.. haha thank you” You smile. “I do actually! I love radio shows.” You immediately feel drawn towads him. You cant tell if it’s just the new scenery or what.. but you want to just sit and chat with him for hours.

Alastor perks up at that. “Oh you do, do you?” He smiled more.

“Yeah! Back when I was.. uhm.. alive, I actually had a whole playlist of them! What do you do your show about?” You ask.

Alastor is delighted to have you take interest in his show. “Well, dear, I do all sorts of things on there! Yes, yes, you think of it and I’ve most probably done it! Most commonly known is the souls I entrap and prison, as I broadcast their screams of horror all over this horrible place and people get to hear the noises of their never-ending torture and demise. But! I also just made a wonderful segment on my mother’s Jambalaya recipe!” He stated.

While part of those sentences gave you chills, you still seemed to take interest in him.

“Well,” you chuckle. “I will certainly check it out!” You smile.

“Ah! Wonderful news, my dear.” He said while he twirled his cane.

Charlie was watching you interact with him and noticed how you looked at him, as if admiring. She smile and said, “well! We better finish the tour.”

She motions for you to follow her and you do, waving Alastor goodbye.

He waves back and yells, “goodbye, sweetheart! Lovely to have met you.”

After that, you wanted absolutely everything to do with him. You’ve also got to know the other people staying at the hotel. Angel, Vaggie, Husk, Niffty, and Sir Pentious. They were overall kind people. Husk found your interest in Alastor to be no good.

“Yeah, no. That, whatever thing you have created in your mind about him, isn’t true. He’s vile, Y/n. Trust me on that.” He grunts.

Angel thought you had some kind of kink towards “scary, creepy men.” Which wasn’t true because you didn’t even find him scary. You found him charming.

“Ah.. Alastor? Fucking sexy weirdo if I do say so myself. He’s got some reaaal problems but hey, if you’re into that-“ You cut him off by saying it wasn’t like that & that you don’t think anything sexual towards him.

One day, you were talking to Sir Pentious about his “crush” on Cherry Bomb. He completely denied it but you could tell from his blush and his nervous demeanour that he was very interested in her.

You were caught off guard when you heard that radio voice coming up from behind you.

“Y/n, my dear! I have a question for you.” Alastor came and stood beside you, looking down from where you’re sitting.

“Al! Hey, what’s up?” You ask, containing your excitement.

Sir Pentious excused himself quickly, seeing one of his “egg boys” were being played with by Niffty. She isn’t one to be gentle.

“So, I know how you’ve been listening to my radio show as of late, and I was wondering if you’d like to see where the magic happens!” He states.

“R-really? I’d be honoured!” You say, smiling.

“Ah! Lovely. Come now, this way.”

You get up and he locks arms with you and chats about his new microphone that he got.

Once you guys arrive, you’re shocked. It looks very professional and comfortable. It suits him heavily. There’s a big open window, a desk, some chairs and sofas, a bunch of technical stuff on the desk along with his new mic that you recognize from his descriptions, and a deer coat hanger?

“Wow, Alastor. This place is so actually so sick. I love it. And the new microphone suits you!” You say. “Thank you for showing me, really.”

Typically, Alastor would never show someone something personal of his, including his studio, but you are an exception. He isn’t sure what it is about you but he doesn’t seem to hate you as much as he does with anyone else. At first he was weirded out, but now he just embraces it. He also feels protective of you. He doesn’t know exactly why you’re even down here. For as far is he can tell, you’re an angel. Always being kind even to those who aren’t kind to you, always saying “please” and “thank you,” all that jazz. Jazz! You even like jazz music, his favourite. He told you that he lived on earth the time jazz music was popular. The 20’s and 30’s. That explains his vocabulary and how he dresses. You just find it more interesting and take time to ask questions about what it was like in that time.

“Why of course, my dear! If I’d want to show anyone here, it would be you.” He says, giving you his iconic smile.

You have a thought. “Hey, Al? Would it be alright if the next time you do a show, I could stay and listen?”

You hope he doesn’t think this is odd.

Alastor raises a brow. “Why would you want to do that?” He asks.

You panic, thinking you went too far by asking and now he’s going to cut you off or something.

“Ha! Kidding, sweetheart! Of course you can. I love when my broadcast is wanted to be listened to. Though I love it as well when they don’t want to.” He says.

You’re relieved, a bit scared, but still relieved.

“Say!” He says. “I was going to make one tonight talking about this silly technology box that thinks he is better than me! You know, expose all his lies and secrets to my listeners, and unwilling listeners. Maybe broadcast it all throughout hell!” He starts laughing manically. Then calms down and stares at you.

“Would you want to stay and listen, hm? I can do it now! I didn’t have any plans today going forward and well, getting it out sooner is better than later, I always say.” He asks.

You know he’s talking about Vox when he mentioned the technology box. Him and Vox have a sort of rivalry going on. Though Alastor seems to not care much about him, Vox is sure obsessed. He’s even gone so far as to making posters about him. Which areee.. not much of a resemblance.

This offer strikes you and you immediately perk up. “Yes! I’d love to.” You say.

You don’t think Alastor knows this but whenever you’re struggling to sleep, you put on his radio show and his voice comforts you to sleep. You’re sure if you told him, he would find it weird.

Little did you know, Alastor already knew. He walked past your room one night and heard static sounds coming from your quarters. He immediately was intrigued and put his ear close to your door to hear his voice. He was surprised, but not weirded out. He found it delightful that you found comfort in his voice. It’s not everyday someone does. Usually it invokes terror and anxiety on anyone who hears. This was new, and he didn’t hate it.

“Lovely! Let me get all set up. You can sit wherever you feel the most comfortable!” He says, adjusting his mic and pressing a buttons on his table.

You find a spot and sit down. Feeling honored to even be in the same room as him, let alone HIS room.

“Ahem! Welcome ladies and gentlemen-“ He goes off into his introduction, before winking at you and starting.

After about 20 minutes, you begin to feel tired and put your head on the side of the wall, still listening but with your eyes closed.

Alastor immediately notices and smirks, knowing how his voice effects you. He continues on and after about another 20 minutes, he finishes up. You’re asleep, slightly smiling.

He walks over to you and looks down.

“My, my. You really are an interesting one, aren’t you?” He whispers. He smiles more softly than he usually does and looks around to find a purple blanket hanging on his deer coat hanger, and gently places it on you.

He feels his heart fluttering while looking down at you and he immediately shrugs it off.

“Mm well, my dear.. I guess you can stay here. I’ll just be over there, transferring my broadcast to the other radios around town.” He says and points to his table.

“Sleep well, amour.” He speaks softly.

#:alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon x reader #the radio demon x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader hazbin hotel #hes so pookie bear guys UGUHG #i love him sm #my works #alastor imagine #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor x you

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incorrectjane-andthedragon · 1 year

Conversation

Smithy: It took me years to understand the "Why the long face" punchlines to "so a horse walks into a bar" jokes because I just thought that's a normal sized face to have if you're a horse. It never occurred to me to judge a horse by the standards of man.

#source: twitter #jatd smithy #smithy jatd #jethro junior #okay time for rambling #I'm listening to 'a playlist for dancing with the elves" a mystical forest playlist by Sundew Baggins on YouTube #and it has a lot of soothing nature noises and idk that just reminds me of Smithy and his down to earth nature #also (unrelated)#but I was having computer trouble earlier but my computer's working again now yay!#*knocks on wood*#*to prevent it from crashing again*#anyway yeah!#talking about soothing nature sounds and rejoicing a fixed machine. Very Smithy.

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hoseoksluna · 1 month

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STEAM | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 9.2k

summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.

playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam

warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names

note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3

The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.

He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.

You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.

And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.

The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.

But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.

It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.

Showers with him are something else.

Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.

That has become your new version of hot long showers.

And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.

You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.

That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more—you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.

You feel him everywhere.

You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.

Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch.

That’s a good girl. Messy for me.

The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.

It’s a part of the solo girl's night.

A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.

You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—

A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.

You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.

He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is.

Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.

Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully.

His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses.

Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth.

He is not, in fact, on his way home.

It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy.

You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny.

Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.”

He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?”

The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display.

He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.”

Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself.

Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen.

Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking.

A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do?

It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice.

You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on.

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.”

Naked.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.”

And with that, he hangs up.

The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you.

You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend.

His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form.

Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer.

Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience?

The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad.

Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you.

What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done?

You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you.

That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.

Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer.

By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.

You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you.

The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had.

The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to.

Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all.

The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream—

“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”

Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment?

Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call?

“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person.

Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult.

You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there.

This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—

“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.”

It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred.

Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body.

A healer with big, round eyes. A good man.

With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”

It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.

You made Yoongi drink a lot of water.

And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober.

He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross.

So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially.

Was it out of the question or would he consider it?

Your leg jitters harder.

You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin.

“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.”

He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion.

You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—

Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek.

“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?”

You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one?

You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks.

“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness.

And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you.

“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.”

You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?”

Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”

You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did.

Your arousal returns at full speed.

“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently.

You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side.

“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.”

He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?”

You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself.

Yoongi coos. “Good girl.”

A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you.

“Can I feel how wet you are?”

A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.”

You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted.

“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue.

He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently.

“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?”

You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.”

He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”

You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?”

Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?”

The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine.

He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?”

Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.”

A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?”

You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—

You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath.

“Spank my pussy again, please.”

Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while.

“Apologize first.”

“You didn’t tell me how.”

He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.”

Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours.

You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples.

“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”

You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.

“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged.

“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?”

Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times.

You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think.

When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants.

Roses, opening. Roses, sighing.

You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—

“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half.

There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath.

Such a stark, sudden change.

You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.

Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.

Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?

You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.

You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.

Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that.

“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.”

The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving.

“Keep your legs where they belong.”

“No.”

A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage.

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin.

You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under.

“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.

“You want to get fucked by someone else?”

A question for a question.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration.

Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home.

The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy.

There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.

“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?”

Truthfulness, at last.

Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start.

You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down.

You fight against it.

Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness.

And you decide to repeat history.

You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants.

The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat.

“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?”

You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether.

And then, you collect your essence again.

This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest.

“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.”

Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you.

He parts his lips for you.

And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally.

You’re in charge. And it feels divine.

His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue.

“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.”

A straight hit to his core. A glee for you.

But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince.

And then—then he manhandles you.

Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does.

He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden.

Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter.

“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?”

You gulp, frozen, eyes widening.

Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion.

“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.”

So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit.

Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free.

You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off.

“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.”

Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused.

“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.”

You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation.

“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way.

A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum.

“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.”

Yoongi has had enough.

He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’.

Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.”

You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?”

He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix.

You moan his name, gone—entirely gone.

“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?”

He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him.

“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”

Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.”

He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you.

“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.”

You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.”

He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something.

Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—

Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.”

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you.

“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.”

You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come.

It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them.

“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.”

You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes.

“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.”

With that, he hangs up.

You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again.

Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself.

You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you.

“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing.

You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?”

Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.”

You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief.

“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you.

He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—

Yoongi loses his mind.

And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles.

“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.”

He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours.

But you don’t let him take charge.

“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.”

Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you.

His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed.

You hold onto his neck with your dear life.

“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.”

You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours.

“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.

“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.”

Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him.

It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock.

It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit.

It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life.

And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.

And it’s you who checks up on him.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too.

He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring.

“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.”

You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation.

“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?”

You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness.

“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him.

“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.”

“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.”

Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you.

BACK to masterlist / READ part two

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liesonthefloordramatically · 1 year

Audio

I keep forgetting to post playlists recently, so please have a playlist I made, like, almost immediately after finishing ExU: Calamity which is 100% incomprehensible vibes (and like 75% of those vibes are me feeling a violent emotion about Zerxus Ilerez, because I’m predictable).

#I keep failing to post playlists because they're insufficiently coherent but what's coherence really #(spoken like someone who has to grade like 30+ assignments in the next four days)#ANYWAY I listened to this A LOT over the summer and also have listened to it while grading a fair amount #if you're looking at any tracks on here being like 'hey what's this about' it's about Zerxus. look into my eyes. I know my narrative type ok #ExU: Calamity #Critical Role #be soothed by gentle music #playlist #anyway if nothing else listen to 'We Have It All' because it makes me vibrate incomprehensibly

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queerpumpkinnn · 7 months

Text

Kinktober 5th: Goldmine

aka hair pulling with Rodrick Heffley

2k words

Summary: Rod learns something new.

Pairing: Rodrick Heffley x reader

Warnings: hair pulling obviously, choking, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv sex (don't do this at home kids), smoking, thigh riding, lots of hickeys/biting, scratching, lots of sweet praise but it's also kinda condescending, this is just porn with very minimal plot, let me know if I missed anything!

While reading, I recommend you listen to the altar is my hips - a Spotify playlist by me!

"Y'think I should get a leather jacket?"

Your shoulders shook under the weight of Rodrick's arm as you chuckled. "Why, you get an idea for a costume?"

"Absolutely. Even got the name for it." You could see the familiar smirk he wore even as your eyes remained on the screen. Smoke billowed in your peripheral, the smell of his near-finished cigarette long since clung to your clothes.

"It'd be a cute couples costume too," he continued, "you could be Tina Gray."

You turned to look at him. "Oh could I now?"

"Yup." He grinned as he put his cigarette out. "You've got the bedroom personality for it too."

You swung a pillow at his face, but Rodrick easily caught it and tossed it behind him. You huffed in false annoyance, falling back into your spot curled up under his arm.

His hand fell absentmindedly to your hair, gently twirling strands around his finger. The sensation makes your eyelids heavy, getting sleepy as he continued to soothe you.

Until you felt a sharp tug. Your eyes flew open, and you audibly gasped. Your entire body froze, and you curse yourself when Rodrick turns his head. A soft "oh?" leaves his lips, which are curled up into a curious smile. It had only been playful tug, but that was before he knew you'd react like that.

"That's not how you do it," you breathe, ghost of a grin teasing your lips.

"Yeah?" His voice was a condescending lilt. "How d'you do it?"

Instead of speaking, you take hold of his wrist, pushing it towards the back of your head. His fingers thread into your roots and he takes a fistful, tugging slowly. Your eyes flutter shut and your lips part in a deep sigh.

Before your eyes close, you catch a glimpse of your boyfriend's reaction. His eyes are wide and full of amusement, and he's smirking incredulously. His brows raise, and you can see the gears turning in his brain.

"That's interesting," Rodrick mumbled, almost more to himself. "I wonder..."

He climbs up over you, legs caging in on either side of your hips. His foot kicks the TV remote onto the floor but Elm Street is long forgotten. His hold on your hair returns, the tingling in your scalp pulling a weak noise from your throat.

"Now, what would happen..." Rodrick's thought trails off as his fingers ghost over your throat, touch only featherlight until the pads of his fingers find your pulse points and press. Your breathing is shaky and your vision begins to blur, but your hands still fly to his shoulders. You might have even been a little embarrassed at how your hooded eyes began to cross if not for the fact that it just felt so good.

"Aw, y'like that?" Rodrick lilts, his face pulling closer to yours. Heat creeps up your neck.

"Y-yeah," you attempt to nod, but you aren't given much room for movement.

"I like that too, baby." He murmurs against your mouth before he kisses you slowly, tasting of nicotine and gum. They were gentle, teasing kisses, but quickly gave way to a more desperate rhythm as his tongue glided over your lower lip. He hummed a deep note when you let him in, when you whimpered as he started sucking on your tongue.

You let out a disappointed noise when Rodrick lets go of you, rolling back to sit but it's forgotten when he pats his thigh. You quickly oblige, skin heated and brain frazzled.

As soon as you're sat on his leg, the friction to your clit has you gasping into his mouth. Almost involuntarily, your hips began to roll against him, so slowly but enough to make your head swim and heat boil in your gut.

"Oh, sweetness," Rodrick murmurs in between kisses, "so needy already? I've barely done anything."

He knows he doesn't need to do much. Just a few words- or a tug of the hair- and you'd be turned into a pile of mush. He knows you too well, and he loves having that effect over you.

Even though he's teasing you, you can't be bothered to care, muttering an mhm and rutting your hips faster. Your hands fall from his shoulders to his chest, then trail to his thigh to ground yourself.

"Atta girl, keep goin'." Rodrick murmurs in your ear, licking a stripe down the shell of it, planting soft kisses wherever his lips wandered. "'M right here baby, that's it, yeah, good girl."

Rodrick's encouragement was sweet honey to your ear, and a sickening contrast to the hand that hand re-found purchase at your scalp, tilting your head back so that he could teethe at your neck, soft plucks of skin turning into bruising. Deft hands made work of your top, leaving your chest bare.

Your rutting became increasingly frustrated; your thighs burned and you weren't getting any closer to your high.

"Rod... need..." your words were mumbled and breathless, and your brain was too cloudy to be fully coherent anyway.

"Hm? Couldn't hear you, bunny, say that one more time?"

"Need more," you cried, hands pushing into Rodrick's hair when his tongue laved over your nipple.

"More what, baby?" He lilted, cupping and pinching your other tit lovingly. He groaned when your fingers clutched his hair tighter.

"Need you, Rod please..." you sighed, tugging at his wrist.

Rodrick chuckled. "Baby, I don't think I can do that. Might hurt you if I don't get you nice and prepped, yeah? How about we start with fingers?"

"Anything, please," you babbled, nestling your head into the crook of his shoulder.

"Alright, alright, I got ya. Let's get these off, hm?" He tugged at the belt loop of your pants. They were off in record time, along with your underwear, leaving your entire body bared to him. You felt naked, more than just literally.

Once you were situated on his lap again you tried pulling on the hem of his shirt. "Off," you mumbled. Happily he complied, and you took the opportunity to lean forward and plant loving kisses to his neck, his collarbone.

You didn't realize when you'd risen up off your behind that it gave Rodrick the space to slip a hand between your legs, pulling a squeak out of you, muffled against his jaw.

"Aw, so messy baby. A little hair pulling did all this?"

You knew that it was a few other things, but you were so far gone you gave him a whiny 'yeah' anyway. Rodrick's fingers massaged your entrance, gathering slick and smothering it around your clit, making obscene noises- probably on purpose.

"So fuckin' wet, sweet, y'hear that?" Rodrick presses kisses to your pulse point, up to your jaw, then kisses you deep. Swallowing your moans into his mouth as the kiss turns messy.

"Please, Rod..." you're breathless and your pleas are barely coherent, but Rodrick knows exactly what you're asking for. You keel when you feel a finger glide into you, curling up towards your stomach.

"Yeah, good fuckin' girl." Rodrick's grin widens at your reaction when a second finger joins the first. "Always so eager, hm? That's my girl."

"Yeah, 'm your girl," you pant, hips canting to meet his hand.

"That's right," he coos, thumb tracing wide circles over your clit. "So proud of you, my girl."

"Rod," you whine, "need you."

"Hm?" He hums between nips to your collarbone. "You have me."

You shake your head vigorously. "Need you inside."

This gets Rodrick's attention. His fingers slow, while his free hand moves from your hair to his pants. He makes quick work of his pants, pulling his half-hard cock out from his boxers. You watch as he takes his fingers, soaked from your cunt, and wrap them around himself, stroking slowly. His head falls back against the couch, lips hanging open and you feel the sudden urge to bite them.

Before you get the chance, however, Rodrick is pulling you forward, lining himself up to take you. Slowly, so slowly, he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, smearing your slick around. You jerk when his head catches on your clit, sending electricity shooting up your spine.

"Rod..." you whine against his neck, "please."

"Please what?" You want to slap him for the knowing glint in his eye, but that was for another day.

"Please fuck me."

And who was he to deny you? Guiding your hip, Rodrick eased you down on him, guiding you but letting you set your own pace. The stretch set your loins on fire, but it was heaven.

Your head kicked back, and you let your voice have a mind of its own as you sunk down on him. Long and pornographic, and Rodrick matched it. You felt him throb inside of you.

"Fuck, sound so pretty." Rodrick started rolling his hips into you, and you cried out at the sensation. "Yeah, that's it. Moan like a fuckin' whore for me, c'mon."

And who were you to deny him? You had the house to yourself, and the name alone sent your brain into overdrive. He filled you up so nicely, and the drag of his cock inside of you made your skin tingle with delight.

"Rod, yeah, oh- just like that, ohmygod-" your voice was caught in your throat when Rodrick, with the usual knowing twinkle in his eye, takes a fistful of hair and tugs you forward into a sloppy kiss.

All of the sensations- that Rodrick was giving you- were sending you closer and closer to tumbling headfirst off of that ledge. The sting in your scalp, his tongue sliding against yours, the sounds of wet slaps and your combined moans. The smell of cigarettes and the heat of his skin under your fingers. The head of his cock piledriving into your cervix again and again and again.

"Rod I- oh god, I'm gonna- oh, so close- Rod please," you pant into his mouth, fingers raking down his chest and leaving faint red lines in their wake.

"I gotcha," he grunts, hand snaking between your bodies to press circles over your clit. You can hear it in his voice that he's holding back. You don't want him to. "That's it, baby, come for me. Make a mess on my cock, c'mon."

That extra pleasure is all it takes to have you diving headfirst into a mind-numbing orgasm. Your eyes screw shut, and all you can feel is Rodrick. Shaky hands rest on his shoulders, holding on for dear life as hot pleasure courses through you.

You're acutely aware of the hot spurts hitting your cervix, and the fluids seeping out of you, but your body is still tingling all over. Your voice has long since become scratchy, but that doesn't stop you from whimpering and crying as he coaxes you through it.

"Good girl, did so good for me, yeah?" His grip on your hair is no longer a grip, but gentle, soothing strokes, almost as if to apologize.

You hummed, dropping your forehead against his shoulder as you breathe. The smell of sex had permeated the air around you, and you were suddenly very aware of how sweaty you'd become.

"Think we need a shower, baby, c'mon." Rodrick nudged your head.

You wanted to, you felt sticky, but your body was on fire, this time with a less-than-pleasurable ache. Begrudgingly, you lifted yourself off of his now soft dick, hobbling down to reach for your clothes and then to the nearest bathroom.

The shower was peaceful, and the water was soothing on your muscles. You both worked in a comfortable silence.

"Well, I was right." Rodrick finally said.

"About what, the hair pulling?"

"Nope."

You turned around to face him, head tilted in confusion. His mouth was curled upwards and his eyes were lifted in a smile.

"You do have the bedroom personality of Tina Gray."

Rodrick Heffley Masterlist

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Miscellaneous Characters List

Main Masterlist

#rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick heffley x y/n #rodrick heffley smut #rodrick heffley imagine #rodrick heffley fanfic #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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bgomtori · 2 months

Text

☆ lover's rock - c.bg

synopsis - love wasn't something you believed in until you bumped into him while listening to your favourite band.

-> music major! beomgyu x art major! reader

-> love a first sight, college au!, artist x muse

-> warnings! slowburn, yn's dense, makeout session.

-> note! after i heard that beomgyu listens to cas, i screamed, my fav person and one of my fav bands :' also gyu day!! his birthday is literally 4 days before mine, i think it's fate 😂 jokes💀 hope you guys enjoy this :>

art, something that is enjoyed by many in various ways, through music, paintings or even poems. personally, you enjoyed art through your paintings, the ability to express yourself on a canvas with multiple hues of colours was fascinating to you, along with the soothing melody of music playing in the background. your mind wanders off as you immerse yourself in the current art project you had, your wrist moving slowly while you sketch on your prep board.

the library was quiet as usual, all types of students from different majors all gathered in one area to study or rush last minute work. you snapped yourself back into reality, aimlessly staring at the artpiece infront of you, your eyes feeling strained and dry, unable to keep itself open. that was your cue to pack up and leave, you stretched your aching body, slinging your bag over your shoulders as you left the library, placing your headphones over your ears, turning up the volume slowly, paying no attention to the surrounding area around you.

"ow, sorry." a voice sounded louder than what played in your headphones, you removed them, trying to be polite to the person you accidentally bumped into. "it's fine, i should have paid more attention to my surroundings." you bowed, before bending down to pick up your phone that was knocked away from your grasp.

"you listen to cigarettes after sex too?" you could hear the joy behind the male's voice, clearly thrilled to find out that a person listens to the same band as him. you nodded your head, "you like them too?"

"yea of course! i've been listening to them since they released their first album." he smiled, his eyes shimmering despite the dimly lit hallway you were standing in. "that's cool, what's your name? maybe we can talk more."

"beomgyu, choi beomgyu. how about you? i've seen you around the art building before." he replied, shooting the question back at you, "yn, hope to see you around next time." you smiled at him, wanting to leave already.

"wait, what's your number? you seem cool, i mean you are cool especially since you listen to cas. i just want to talk to someone like you." beomgyu stuttered, his face turned away from you as he held his phone towards you, displaying the contact list to you. you laughed softly, typing in your number, along with your name and an emoji.

"text me anytime, i'll try my best to reply." you waved, leaving a stranded beomgyu in the middle of a dark hallway, his eyes never leaving your disappearing figure. without even noticing, his lips tugged up into a smile, finally someone he could relate to, he could already feel the connection between the both of you. call him crazy, but he thinks that you would be best friends by the end of the semester.

and that dream became a reality. all starting from a text message from beomgyu, sending you a playlist he created of his favourite songs from all his favourite bands. something as little as a playlist warmed your heart, who would actually take the time and effort to create a playlist for a stranger they barely knew. and this was the starting point of your everlasting friendship. the way that he would often make his way to the art studio, despite his music studio being a 10 minutes away from it, he is willing to walk that distance for you, with your favourite drink in hand.

"you're class ended 15 minutes ago, how are you here so fast?" you opened the door for beomgyu, letting him into the art studio, locking it in the process. beomgyu stared at the current piece you were working in, completely awed by how pretty the artwork was.

"you're so good at this." ignoring your previous question, placing his bag down on the ground, taking a seat beside your canvas. you sighed, knowing beomgyu would never reveal the reason why he's always so quick to find you.

"have you listened to their latest single?" beomgyu asked, scrolling through his playlist, specifically made for music of his taste. you shook your head, "i didn't even know that they released a new song." beomgyu looked at you as if you grew another head.

"you're missing out, oh my god." beomgyu gasped, immediately playing the song, 'bubblegum.' by cas. a familiar yet different sounding melody filled your eardrums as you listened intently to the song beomgyu was showing you.

"it's nice." you found yourself humming to the lyrics, sketching on the canvas that was infront of you. "right, they never disappoint." beomgyu agreed, trying to find another song to add to the queue.

"gyu–" beomgyu looked up at the sound of his voice, his eyes blinking at you slowly, waiting for you to complete your sentence, "why, don't you talk to your other friends about music?" it has been a question on your mind ever since you've became friends with beomgyu, you've noticed how he doesn't talk much about his interest and taste in music to the guys compared to when he is with you.

"oh." his response was dry, making you think that you've said something hurtful.

"uhm, i didn't mean it, i guess it's slightly insensitive, forget that i asked that." you stammered, your face getting warm due to the embarrassment you were facing.

"you didn't say anything wrong, don't worry." he reassured, giving you a small smile.

"it's just that they don't share the same taste as me, so i can't really talk to them about my passion and interest in music. it's fine though! i've finally met you, so i'm alright with that." beomgyu admitted, his eyes practically glowing under the bright light in the art studio. your heart raced, butterflies filling your stomach, how cute could he be to make you feel like this. you've never believed that love was something for you, every single person you've liked has rejected you, clearly beomgyu wouldn't be any different.

"when is this due?" beomgyu questioned, his finger tapping on your canvas.

"in 2 weeks, why?" your head tilting in confusion as beomgyu's lips tugged into a mischievious smirk, "let's dip, you still have plenty of time to complete that."

"what? no. i need to–"

"no you don't, let's go to a vinyl shop, i know a place." beomgyu grabbed your hand, pulling you up from your seat. you screeched, telling him to wait, since your things were scattered around the studio. beomgyu chuckled, releasing your wrist, watching you frantically pack everything into your bag.

"i hate you." you grumbled, glaring at beomgyu while locking the door to your art studio. beomgyu laughed, his hand landing atop your head, stroking your hair, "quit grumbling, let's go."

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

"what took you so long?" you removed a side of your earbud, looking up at beomgyu who was staring at your with an apologetic look on his face. "i've not been to the campus's library in months, so i kinda got lost.." his eyes averting your gaze, cheeks warming up due to the embarrassment. you laughed at him softly, patting the seat beside you.

"do you always come to the library on your free time?" beomgyu whispered, placing his bag on the ground, grabbing his laptop at the same time. you nod your head, fingers quickly typing out the 5000 word essay that was due the following day. beomgyu frowned, noticing how you have yet to give him any attention from the moment he sat down beside you.

beomgyu sighed into the palm of his hand, pushing his chair closer to yours, your shoulders coming into contact with one another, knees brushing against each other's occassionally. you could feel beomgyu's eyes burning holes into your soul, causing you to turn to face him, unaware of how close you guys were. your eyes widened, along with his, your face about a centimeter away from his. lips barely touching, his hot breath fanning against your face, eyes boring into yours.

"sorry.." beomgyu coughed, turning away from you, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"it's fine." you choked out, still thinking about what just happened, unable to think straight, you hastily finished your essay, not caring on whether it was perfect or not, and switched your laptop off.

"let's go to the vinyl store, i need more vinyls." you packed your bags, trying your best not to look into beomgyu's eyes, knowing that you'll instantly malfunction under his gaze. however, just as you had that thought in mind, beomgyu grabbed onto your wrist, making you pause your actions.

"wait, i have something for you." beomgyu removed his grip from your wrist, pulling a small box from his bag, placing it in your hand.

"open it." he whispered, eyes looking at the box and back at you, excited for you to open up the surprise gift he bought for you. you untied the cute little ribbon on the box before lifting up the lid of the tiny box, only to see a cute bracelet staring back at you, the star-shaped charm gleaming prettily, it's colours so plain yet so charming.

"it's pretty." was all your said, but beomgyu has known you long enough to understand that you don't talk that much when you see something you like so much, but your express it through your body language and facial expression. he could see the way your eyes lit up, ane how your lips tugged up to a slight smile without noticing. beomgyu grinned, watching as you slipped the bracelet on your wrist.

"let's go?" you asked, snapping beomgyu out of his daze.

"yea sure." his hands grabbing onto yours, acting as if he doesnt care, but his mind was a hectic mess. he could see your clueless expression through his peripheral vision, doe eyes staring at his hand on yours. beomgyu swore that his heart was going to jump out any moment, his ears turning to a soft hue of read, you were definitely going to be the death of him.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

time flies whenever you're with beomgyu, without even realising it has already been months since your first interaction. by this time, you've finally grown accustomed to your growing feelings for the male, from his appearance to his passion in music, everything about him was perfect. even your friends caught on to your lovesick ways, also talking to beomgyu from time to time just to see if he was suitable for you, only for them to say that you're dense. you couldn't even believe soobin when he told you that beomgyu hasn't been like this around his past lovers, lies, was what you told soobin, laughing at how ridiculous it sounded, just to see soobin shaking his head, telling you that it's true.

every now and then, beomgyu would invite you over to his dorm if he's too lazy to go over to yours, and behind closed doors, blocking out the noise happening in the living room due to the boys loud yelling, the both of your just listened to your shared playlist in silence. it may not seem like much, but this activity calms you down, resting your head against the bed frame while beomgyu lays on his pillow, scrolling through his phone.

lovers rock, the song you recommended him since the start of your friendship. the sound of the electric guitar slowly fading into the quiet atmosphere, your fingers subconsciously tap against your phone to the beat, humming along with the melody.

"look at this tiktok, it reminds me of us." beomgyu chuckled, his arm extended to show you the cute tiktok on his phone. you took some time to process that he was trying to show you something before turning your head towards his phone, "oh my god, stop shaking." you grumbled, grabbing onto his phone, your hand laying on top of his.

the video contained two cats hugging each other as they had earbuds in their ear, listening to music, perfectly picturing the exact event happening right now. your stomach felt funny, biting your lips as you fought back the largest smile ever. "yea, that's us." you giggled, this feeling was euphoric, the way your smile is immediately reciprocated makes you feel like you've won a marathon, how this man has you completely wrapped around his finger...

beomgyu hummed, a hint of joy hidden behind his voice as he turned to his side to face the wall. your eyes flickered onto beomgyu's figure, your body slowly edging towards him unconsciously.

"hmm?" beomgyu sounded, feeling your head pressing against his back, you forcefully pushed his head away, preventing him to look at you, "i'm tired." you yawned, wrapping your arm around his waist loosely, growing more comfortable against his warmth. beomgyu could hear his own heartbeat, loud and clear, afraid that you could hear it too. your eyes fluttered close, on the verge of falling asleep.

"yn." beomgyu called, his body shifted around to face you, you looked up at him groggily, waiting for him to say something. beomgyu's mouth turned dry, completely forgetting the words that he wanted to tell you.

"ah, forget it, rest well." swallowing the lump in his throat, he watched as you nodded your head, falling back to sleep. he stared at the wall behind you in frustration, his mind only filled with thoughts of you, and how he was going to confess to you.

ever since he told his friends about his undying love for you, all they did was to push him into confessing because he'd be a pussy if he didn't, and to convince his friends that he isn't one, he has to tell you soon. currently, his phone was raided with a bunch of notifications from his group chat, all of them asking when he was going to tell you.

heeseung : stop pussying it, just say it.

beomgyu : it's not that simple 😐 and she's asleep right now

jeongin : you had all the time in the world to say it just now, and you wasted it.

beomgyu : ok shut up, maybe later.

"so fucking annoying.." he groaned softly, turning his phone off, staring off into the distance again.

"what's annoying?" you yawned a question, woken up by beomgyu's rapid typing and groans in annoyance from earlier. beomgyu looked at you in shock, praying that you didn't see any of the messages he exchanged with his friends.

"ah, nothing." beomgyu shrugged it off, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"yn, i have something to tell you." he suddenly sat up, causing you to flinch, "what is it?" following his actions.

"do you believe in love at first sight?" the sudden question about love caught you off guard, you played around with the bracelet beomgyu previoudly gave you, unable to come up with a response. your silence made beomgyu nervous, was it too random? he stared off to the side of his room.

"i didn't believe it at first, but i guess i think it's possible." you replied, the back of your neck feeling warmer by the second, afraid that you'd accidentally slip out a confession. beomgyu looked at you as if you grew two heads, he knew you weren't fond of love, and would much rather focus on your future art career. he was slightly curious, and extremely jealous of this person who managed to steal your heart.

"who?"

"who..?"

"who is this person that changed your mind." his tone sounding harsher than he intended to, maybe becausr he didn't want to lose you to any other guy who didn't deserve you. your throat was dry, it was to either tell him the truth or lie about your feelings for him. however, you didn't want to miss out on this opportunity, i mean what could be worse than getting rejected in his own dorm. you swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, licking your lips,

"you."

"what?"

"it's you, ever since you bumped into me when i was making my way out of the library." you confessed, feeling yourself crumble, knowing that beomgyu is watching you intently. on the other hand, beomgyu didn't believe his ears, his mind going haywire at the thought that you liked him back, not even paying attention to your rambling.

"i don't know if this is the right time to confess, i mean i guess it was just the heat of the moment.. i'm sorry if i made you uncomf–" your eyes widened at the sudden contact on your lips, slowly blinking to register the situation that's happening. what felt like fireworks in your stomach, your eyes naturally closed, reciprocating the kiss, your hand placed on top of beomgyu's, slightly gripping onto it. beomgyu smiled into the kiss, his free hand landing on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

beomgyu pulled away, causing you to whine, wanting more. beomgyu couldn't help but giggle at how desperate you were.

"more.." you sighed out, wrapping your arms around beomgyu's neck, tilting your head as you connected your lips against his. his lips tasted like strawberries, his favourite fruit, and also the chapstick that he steals from your occassionally, he was perfect. you pulled away, catching your breath, placing your forehead against beomgyu's.

"guess we picked the best song to kiss to." beomgyu chuckled, you quirked your eyebrow, not understanding what he meant, until you heard what the lyrics meant. you giggled, nuzzling your head into beomgyu's neck.

"it's perfect."

she might wanna kiss

before the end of this song..

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#bgomtori ✰#txt scenarios #beomgyu #txt imagines #txt beomgyu #txt fanfic #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu soft thoughts #txt x reader #txt imagine #txt reactions #txt

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