#been sitting on this one for six months lmao

[hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf]

Can I please a smut with dom siren!seonghwa?

I love the concept of a siren with him,

And I mean like the mermaid type of siren.

Thank you!!

Mommy

siren!hwa x fem reader

Trigger warnings: none that i can think of!

Content warnings: names (baby, my love, angel, mommy sorry not sorry he’s so mother), choking, oral (f receiving), very mild breeding kink, hwa uses his powers for sex good idk i just liked the idea lmao

Summary: your boyfriend just wants to reward you

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: bestie i’m so sorry this took so long but oooooh lord. anyways. two in a little over one week after being on hiatus? not too shabby. also decided to try something a little different with the pov so lmk what you all think! enjoy my loves! 🥰

Tags: @bahng-chrizz @foxinnie8

Smut below the cut

I let out a soft sigh as I curled up in my chair, looking out over the water. Sitting with my knees to my chest, I sipped my tea from my favorite mug as I watched the sunset. I’d inherited my brother’s beach house, which was settled in a quaint coastal town, a few months ago and had finally gotten settled into a routine. Every evening, I’d sit on my private dock and watch the sky turn shades of orange and pink before heading inside once the moon graced me with her beauty.

After a short while, I saw the very end of a tail pop out of the water before quickly dipping back below the surface. I smiled softly and stood, placing my tea on the table. I’d always loved watching the fishes and wanted to get a closer look. I’d never seen one with such a large tail in this area. How big could this thing be?

I walked to the edge of the dock and stared out at the water, trying to spot the fish again when I saw a brief splash only a few yards away. Excited, I laid down on my stomach and dipped a hand into the water. It was coming towards me.

But what greeted me a moment later was not a massive fish. It was the face of a man. The most beautiful man I’d ever seen, in fact. And he was emerging from the water, his face mere inches from mine. His hair was slicked back and water droplets ran down face, eventually dripping from his nose and chin. His lips were full and his cheekbones were high. He had a strong brow and curious, sparkling eyes. He looked elegant. Princely. Soft.

Of course, I couldn’t help but let out a scream as I scrambled back. “What the fuck?!” I shouted as I jumped to my feet.

“Who are you?” He tilted his head as he reached for the edge of the dock.

“Who am I? Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Seonghwa. I’ve seen you here before. Who are you? Where is the man who lives here?” My heart sank at his question and I frowned.

“I’m y/n. That man was my brother. He died and left me the house.” I said quietly, looking out at the horizon. “How did you know him?”

“He died?” The man, Seonghwa, looked alarmed as he started to hoist himself out of the water with wide eyes. “How? When? He said he’d come back.” He sounded frantic. Panicked.

“He was sick. It’s been about six months now.” I paused, crossing my arms over my chest. “But you didn’t answer my question. How did you know my brother?”

He paused when he was halfway out of the water and I noticed something shimmering on his body, a few inches below his belly button. “He was a friend. He saved me and in return I gave him company. We spent much time here on the dock.”

“He never mentioned that…” I said warily, backing away a few steps.

“I asked him to keep my existence a secret.”

“Why?”

“You remind me of him.” He suddenly changed the subject with a dazzling smile that left me breathless. Was my mind playing tricks on me or were his teeth just a bit too sharp to seem human? “He was just as guarded the first time we met. He saved me but then interrogated me for hours. I was a captive audience as I was injured but the conversation grew lighthearted once he was satisfied with my answers. He asked many questions. You do too.”

“It’s only natural to ask questions when a strange man emerges from the water and says he knew my late brother.” I rolled my eyes, fighting not to grin. The situation was bizarre not to laugh.

“You seem to have the same temperament as him too.” He hummed, seemingly deciding on something. “I can trust you then. But you have to keep my secret.” And with that, he jumped out of the water. I expected the secret to be that he was a local who went skinny dipping for shits and giggles but I stood in stunned silence when I saw a shimmering blue-green tail. The same tail I’d seen splash out of the water only a few minutes prior. He had fins on his forearms that I hadn’t noticed before and one running down his upper back that stopped halfway down his spine as well, all of them the same deep teal as his tail. His beauty was terrifying and would surely haunt me for a long while. Maybe even the rest of my life.

“Y-you…you- what the FUCK?!”

“Shh!” He brought a finger to his lips and I clamped my mouth shut, looking around to make sure none of my neighbors were outside. Their houses were quite a ways away since each house had a private dock with space for a mid-sized boat but I was certain I was loud enough to draw attention to myself. “You can’t tell anyone about this. They’ll hunt me down and torture me in the name of science.”

I nodded, dumbfounded as he transformed before my eyes. Within minutes, his tail was replaced with a pair of legs and he stood before me as any other human man.

And he was stark naked.

He was stunning. Slender, toned, and tan. His shoulders were a bit wider than his hips, which were narrow and led to a pair of long legs. my eyes trailed back up his legs, tempted to take in every part of his body, and I realized I was gawking.

I quickly looked away and cleared my throat awkwardly. “Um…would you like to come in? I still have some of my brother’s clothes, I’m sure something will fit.”

He nodded and started for my house, leaving me standing alone on the dock, dumbfounded by what was going on and admiring his ass. My big brother was friends with a fucking merman and never told me?! I rushed to catch up to him, grabbing my now-cold cup of tea as I chased after him. By the time I caught up, he was reaching for my door.

Once we were both inside, I turned towards him, once again forcing myself to make eye contact and not stare at his perfect body. “Just…wait here. I’ll be right back.” I instructed before scurrying off to one of the spare rooms where I kept my brother’s belongings.

“You changed things.” I heard him say and puffed out a sigh.

“Yeah. It was hard moving in and seeing all his things.” I explained, hearing his footsteps as he wandered around the living room. “I kept everything, I just put it all away.” I finally found the box of clothes and rummaged around until I found a pair of sweats and a loose tank top. I rejoined him and held out the clothes, looking anywhere but at him. “Here. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“I’m alright, thank you.” He smiled again as he reached for the clothes and my heart raced. Something about him was drawing me in. He was intoxicating. “You're much prettier than him.” He said after a few moments of staring at me, finally taking the clothes and making his way towards the bathroom to get dressed as if I hadn’t just seen every inch of him.

“Um…thanks?” I stared after him, entirely bewildered at the turn the evening had taken.

————————————————

I let out a soft sigh as my fingertips danced over the scales that reached up his lower back. That night had been the beginning of my romance with Seonghwa, who was now a fixture in my life. The two of us had spent hours talking about my late brother, sharing stories and fighting back tears. He’d held me until I fell asleep and I woke up the next morning to the clothes folded neatly on the end of the sofa and a note on top, scrawled in beautifully messy handwriting. See you soon.

“You're staring again.”

“Hmm?” I lifted my head from my arm and offered a sheepish grin. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to. Just thinking.”

“About what?” He asked, shuddering as my fingertips ghosted over a particularly sensitive spot just above the fin that ran down the back of his tail.

“The night we met.” I hummed, laying my head back down with a tiny smile. “Beautiful.” I whispered, touching the same spot as before. I knew he liked it.

He smiled softly and pulled himself up on the dock, kissing my forehead. “It was the best night of my life.” He responded, opting not to address my comment.

“Mine too.” I whispered, closing my eyes at his touch. I opened my eyes a moment later and looked up at him. “Do you want to come in? It’s getting kind of cool out here.”

When he nodded, I got up and backed away, leaving space for him to get on the dock while I grabbed the clothes I’d picked for him. It had become routine for me to meet him at the dock with an outfit and watch the sunset before inviting him in. He usually stayed the night with me and then went back to the water during the day when I had to work.

I watched in awe as he transformed before my eyes. It was a mildly unsettling sight but I could never manage to tear my eyes away, always intrigued. He didn’t look bothered despite how uncomfortable the transformation appeared. He’d explained early on, with mild indignance, that he was a siren, not a merman like I’d originally thought, and told me how his magic worked. It was kind of confusing but the main points were that changing forms didn’t hurt him and that his power wasn’t simply used to lure sailors to their deaths, like most fantasy books said. In fact, he’d used his charms to lull me to sleep the night we met after seeing my grief over my brother.

Once he was dressed, we walked up the dock towards my house. His arms were around my waist the moment I closed the door. “You look so beautiful tonight, my love.” He murmured, pulling I against him.

“So do you.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and smiled up at him.

He leaned down and caught my lips in a gentle kiss, bringing one hand to the back of my head. I shivered when his fingers tangled in my hair and gave a gentle tug. After two years, he knew exactly how to manipulate my body and heat pooled between my legs as he nipped at my bottom lip. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he ignited such need in me.

I dragged my hands down his chest and inched my fingers under his shirt, whining softly when he pulled back. “Let’s go to the bedroom, darling.” His voice took on that tone I knew all too well and I quickly followed his instructions, knowing it was best to follow his orders.

When I reached my room, he sat on the bed and motioned for me to stand between his legs. I complied, smiling to myself when he slipped his hands under my shirt and lifted it over my head. He frowned at the sight of my bra and I laughed. “Don’t worry, it has a zipper.”

“Good. I fucking hate fighting with those hooks. They’re so finicky.” He huffed and for a moment I saw his cute, childish side. As soon as he noticed my adoring expression, however, he gathered himself and wrapped his arms around me. “My beautiful girl…” he whispered as he pressed his lips to my stomach.

I shivered at his tone as my hands moved to rest on his shoulders, goosebumps appearing on my skin at his touch. I didn’t speak as his tongue darted out to tease me, biting back a pathetic noise when he slipped a hand between my legs and touched me through my shorts. His touch was gentle, further cementing my thoughts on his elegance. He could never be rough with me unless I begged, despite possessing the inhuman physical abilities that all sirens had. I was too precious to him. Too fragile.

“Tell me, my love, what do you want? You’ve been such a good girl lately, I think you deserve a treat.” His voice took on that mind-numbingly sweet tone and I felt myself growing dizzy as a fresh wave of arousal washed over me.

“I want you, Hwa.” I whimpered, grinding down against his fingers.

“Hwa?” He paused, looking up at me. I froze on the spot. I knew what he wanted me to call him, what I secretly wanted to call him, but I was always too shy to do it unprompted. “Is that my name, baby?”

“No…” I bit my lip and fought hard to maintain eye contact.

“Say my name then.” His eyes seemed to grow dark for a brief moment and warmth flooded my chest as my stomach did a somersault. He was using his magic on me.

“M-mommy…” I whined softly, cheeks going a soft pink.

“Good girl.” He cooed and applied more pressure to my clothed core as he continued. “Now, tell me again what it is that you want.”

“I want you, mommy. Please?” I begged despite my embarrassment as his magic compelled me to do the tasks I was too shy to do without his…encouragement.

The noise he let out made my head spin and I clenched around nothing, my panties sticking uncomfortably to my folds. “My good girl even used her manners.” His tone was almost taunting as he pulled me onto his lap.

I stifled a small noise and settled on his thighs with no hesitation as his long fingers teased my hips. The skin just above my waistband once more erupted in goosebumps at his featherlight touch and I shivered. “Of course I did, mommy. I wanna be good for you.” I murmured, waiting for him to tell me what to do next.

He chuckled softly and nodded, hands sliding to squeeze my ass. “You always are, baby.” He assured me, leaning up to peck my lips.

The peck turned into a fiery kiss when I looped my arms around his neck and wiggled in his lap in an adorable attempt to grind on him. He was hard beneath my ass and I wanted to feel him. He made a sound in the back of his throat as he laid back and flipped us both over to pin me to the mattress. He immediately rolled his hips against mine and I gasped against his lips.

He broke the kiss and moved to trail his lips along my neck, sucking and biting occasionally. Each nip had I arching into him as heat pooled in my belly. “Mommy, please-” I gasped, gently tugging at his hair as his lips moved lower.

His elegant fingers tugged at the zipper of my bra, freeing my breasts in a matter of seconds. He pulled back just a bit to admire me and I saw his eyes darken with lust. He wasted no time in latching onto my left nipple, tongue swirling around the stiff peak. I let out a soft cry when I felt his teeth scrape over my skin and he promptly switched sides, focusing on my right breast.

Much to my dismay, he didn’t spend much time on my chest, opting instead to work his way lower. His lips ghosted over the spot he’d been teasing before pulling me to his lap and I sighed, eyes slipping shut. I lifted my hips when his fingers hooked in my waistband and bit my lip as my shorts and panties traveled down my legs.

After tossing my clothes aside, Seonghwa guided my legs apart and made an appreciative noise deep in his chest. “My beautiful girl…you’re gonna take me so well, aren’t you?” I nodded immediately and he smirked. “But first, you're gonna let mommy suck on that pretty pussy, right, my love?”

“Yes, mommy.” I whimpered, clenching around nothing. It was almost embarrassing how wet I was when he’d barely done anything. Almost.

“Good girl.” I moaned weakly at the name and he chuckled softly. “You always respond so well to that name.” He cooed as he leaned down. He kissed my belly while his hands guided my legs to his shoulders, tongue circling my navel like he knew I liked.

“Tickles…” I whispered and bit my lip, lifting my head to watch as he brought his mouth a breath away from my aching cunt. He didn’t immediately dive in and I wanted to scream but managed to keep my composure as he blew on me.

He ran a single finger through my folds and I felt my body grow weak. Keeping my head up so I could look at him was becoming a chore as he finally pressed a chaste kiss to my clit. I felt dizzy from the simple touch. “Mommy, please…” I whimpered, fighting the urge to grab a fistful of his silky black hair and drag him into me.

My plea seemed to be the only thing he needed because a moment later he sucked my clit into his mouth and a low growl rumbled in his chest at my resulting moan. One thing I loved about Seonghwa was just how enthusiastic he was to go down on me. He ate pussy like a madman and always made sure to finish me off before we even got to the actual fucking. I could live with his head between my legs.

The fight to keep my head up was lost and I found myself staring at the ceiling, my eyes slipping shut a moment later as a long, slender finger entered me. “Mommy…” I mewled, my hands moving to my chest. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby.” He groaned against me and my hips bucked of their own accord. He brought an arm up and slung it across my hips, pinning me to the bed. “Don’t move, angel. Let me enjoy my meal.”

“Sorry, mommy.” I bit my lip as I tugged at my nipple, my back arching slightly when he curled his finger. “Oh-” I gasped.

He didn’t say a word as he added another finger and quickly curled them to reach that same spot that had my whole body burning. He licked and sucked until my legs trembled on either side of his head. He made a small appreciative sound against me and the vibrations damn near made me squeal.

Then he pulled back and I was about to pout when he added a third finger. He curled them instantly and his pace became rough and my back bowed off the bed. “Oh my god!” I cried out, quickly bringing my hand to my mouth. I didn’t mean to muffle my sounds, I just needed something to sink my teeth into and my knuckles were perfect for the job.

He kept his pace and the coil in the pit of my belly wound tighter. He leaned back in and pressed a soft kiss to my clit and it felt like lightning struck my body. My hips jerked at the contact but his arm kept me in place and I felt him smirk against me.

Eyes now watery, I looked down at him and found him staring back at me. His eyes darkened once more as he watched me fall apart and simply muttered a few words in a language I now recognized as his mother tongue, his voice sending vibrations through my pussy. Instantly, warmth was blooming in my chest and I found myself whimpering behind my hand as an intense pleasure filled my body.

He knew how much I loved when he used his power to intensify my pleasure and helped me along quite often.

My orgasm hit me like a truck, steamrolling me as he lapped at my pussy. He kept his pace even as I began to writhe, his eyes glinting with mischief. A second orgasm approached and just as I was about to come undone, he pulled back. I let out a disapproving whine but didn’t argue further. Instead, I started to sit up.

“Can I-”

“Did I say you could get up?” Immediately I sank back down against the sheets. “Don’t move.” His eyes flashed. I couldn’t even if I wanted to, though the warmth spreading in my chest made any desire to disobey flee my body entirely. He’d pinned me to the bed with a simple glare and I watched helplessly as he undressed himself, my palms itching to help him.

My mouth watered when his cock sprung free from the confines of his shorts and he took a step toward me. “I’m gonna fuck this tight little pussy and you’re gonna fall apart on my cock, understood? I’m not stopping until I hear you begging for mercy.”

I clenched around nothing and nodded eagerly. I loved when he got like this. When he was so worked up that my reward turned into him simply ravaging me. I wanted him and he was damn sure going to give me what I wanted until I couldn’t take any more.

He lined up and urged my knees toward my chest, sheathing himself inside me in one fluid motion. The fullness I felt in that moment was one of my favorite things. He always fit so perfectly inside me, filling every inch of my pussy like it was made for him.

“Shit, baby…” His groan made me tense in anticipation. Every time he cursed like that, he gave it to me hard, just the way I liked it. He was careful with me, of course. I was his fragile little human. But he knew I preferred him fucking me furiously over taking me slowly and he gave it to me as a reward.

He also punished me that way but that was a story for another time.

“Mommy-” My breath hitched on the first thrust and my eyelids fluttered as his hand found my throat.

His pace was brutal, the sound of skin slapping filling the room in record time. He was precise with each thrust and my eyes rolled back when he gave my throat a gentle squeeze. Molten lava filled my veins as my vision swam.

He let up quickly, having long since learned my limits, and leaned down to crash his lips to mine. His taste mingled with my juices in the most intoxicating way and I let out another small whimper.

The coil in my belly was back and more intense than before as he reached a part of me that had stars dotting my vision. “Oh fuck- there!” I cried, the sound muffled by his lips. He drank up the sound with a low groan and slammed into me harder, determined to make me fall apart before he did.

It didn’t take him very long to accomplish that. Not even a minute after I had the thought that I wouldn’t last much longer, my orgasm washed over me. I swear the edges of my vision blurred with the force of it. A scream ripped from my throat as he continued to fuck me through my orgasm, showing no signs of letting up any time soon.

“That’s a good girl. Just like that.” He praised, pulling back just enough to watch me writhe beneath him. “You look so beautiful when you cum all over my cock, angel.”

Warmth flooded my chest again and I let out another cry as a third orgasm slammed into me, Seonghwa’s magic holding me captive as it settled deep in my belly. He was doing this on purpose of course. He wanted to make sure I was sated. He always did.

“Look at me.” He demanded. I did. I couldn’t look away. He was stunning like this. He looked powerful on top of me.

When I felt a fourth orgasm building, tears filled my eyes and I begged for mercy. “Mommy, please- too much-” The words came out as a broken sob of pleasure.

“You can take one last one for me, can’t you, my love?” I nodded frantically, knowing he’d give me a break after I’d cum a fourth time. “Good girl. That’s what I thought.” He grunted as sweat dripped from his chin and landed between my breasts. “Fuck, baby. You look so perfect right now. Just wanna fill you up with my cum and watch you try not to waste a single drop. Wanna breed that perfect pussy and give you a baby.”

“Please!” I sobbed, nodding furiously. I needed that. Needed him to fill me to the brim and make it so blindingly obvious who I belonged to.

“Yeah? You want that?” I nodded again as my orgasm barreled towards me. “Then cum for me, angel. One last time and I’ll give you every last drop.”

I let go, my back bowing off the bed as my whole body shuddered with delight. The sensation was so strong it made my toes curl and my watery eyes roll back as I let out one final cry. I bet I looked possessed with the way my body spasmed.

With a final curse, Seonghwa let go and spilled inside me, his thrusts becoming sloppy and losing rhythm as his high crashed over him. He only stopped when I let out a pathetic whimper, my body aching from all the pleasure he’d given me. Slowly, he pulled out and I whimpered when I felt his cum begin to leak out of me.

“You’re wasting it.” He teased as he laid down beside me, throwing a strong arm over my waist. “Are you okay, my love?”

“I couldn’t be better.” I smiled as I rolled over to face him, eyes already drooping. “I love you, Hwa.”

“I love you too. So fucking much.” He whispered. His words were the last thing I heard before I drifted off to sleep in his protective embrace.

#kpop smut #ateez #ateez smut #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa #seonghwa smut #seonghwa x reader #alura’s works

[lesbiansanemi]

I am so fucking sick of living with my roommate and his fuck ass boyfriend. Also watching my roommate burn every single one of his (already rather minimal, I might add) bridges for this guy is also kind of painful but also his relationship with me is one of said bridges so I'm almost past the point of even feeling bad for him lmao

#i have had to piss for probably the better part of an hour now #because they decided to take a shower together and have been in there for well OVER an hour now #and this is a nightly occurence atp sometimes MULTIPLE times a day #we have one bathroom.... can yall not be considerate enough to not be in there for up to TWO HOURS AT A TIME??? #also it's such a waste of fucking water.... #idk we've hit a point where i literally hear the bf doing anything and i get pissed off #but also tell me why i'm sitting in my room (which shares a wall with the bathroom) and i can hear this man hacking and spitting shit up #and this is also something that happens multiple times a day #like.... dude.... why are you spitting up toothpaste so fucking loudly oh my fucking god #but yeah no i'm like my roommate's only friend atp and he's about to not have me lmao like we're about to reach #'i'm cutting you off when i move out' levels of me being pissed off with this whole situation type shit #and apparently the bf convinced him to come out to his family which his mom was chill which is good #his dad's side of the family though....? not great. and my roommate KNEW that would be the case cuz we'd talked about it before #also love that my roommate has constantly talked about moving out of the city we live in because he hates and also there's no good career #opportunities for him here (which is true) #and now. MAGICALLY. he's like 'idk i think it'd be best for me to stay here' #like oh my GOD???? are you hearing yourself???? are you fucking stupid???? you fucking hate it here??? #but sure throw your life away and ruin all your meaningful relationships for a guy you met six months ago jfc #and the thing is i *know* my roommate we've been close CLOSE friends for nearly a decade now #i know he is not like this.... like yeah he's being insane by allowing this but also i know these aren't the kinds of decisions he would ma #and also i know he wouldn't treat me like this all on his own #it's the deranged fucking control freak of a guy he decided to date and my roommate has too many of his own issues to put his foot down #about certain things and tell the guy no so he's just allowing him to completely take over his life #and fuck everything up until the bf is the only thing he has left once it's all said and done #and yeah. it's painful to watch. but also wtf am i supposed to do because obviously my opinion is not respected nor wanted regarding this #that has been made PAINFULLY clear #ugh this is so fucking horrendous #what is it with ppl who start to date someone and then go clinically fucking insane and destroy their lives all for this one person #who. realistically. they barely know in comparison to all the other ppl in their life #like explain it to me jfc

[coldflasher]

yesterday we watched the musical ep and for the first time i made it through the ‘runnin’ home to you’ proposal scene without literally having to cover my ears and shrink into the couch in horror. this is a big win for me. personally i think i deserve a sticker. perhaps a lollipop. maybe a pat on the head

#helen's flash rewatch #im exaggerating it was nowhere NEAR as bad as i remembered #it was cute actually #i remember being mortified by it on previous occasions lmao i legit could not sit through it without cringing #couldn't even listen to the song #but watching it back. i think im cured #also it's so unintentionally funny cos let's recall that by this point barry has already proposed once and then iris broke it off #and then he also broke it off... #so then when he whips out his little speaker and sings to her she's just sat there like aw well this is nice :) #and then he gets the ring out and she acts SO SHOCKED it's so fucking funny #she's like I HAVE NEVER SEEN THAT BEFORE IN MY LIFE. THIS IS BRAND NEW INFORMATION #genuinely they both decided to act like the first proposal never happened shdgdgsgs #which like. i guess. but i actually kinda preferred the first one #blah blah wrong reasons WHO CARES. IT WAS CUTE #they've been together all of six months but we know they're made for each other so they're allowed

[ceilidho]

prompt: reader is hired as a live in house cleaner because ghost is always away and he only comes back on leave and he insists she stay in the guest room. Over time he increasingly acts like she’s his live in girlfriend or something. Very confusing for reader lmao.

-

The job comes at the exact right time. 

The way you stumble onto your new job is a bit dicey, if you’re being honest. You’ve been meaning to get out of the waitressing life for a while—the tips are shit and the number of times that you’ve had your backside pinched has slowly but steadily climbed into the double digits. You just haven’t had direction; somewhere to go. 

Your savior comes in the form of a six foot plus soldier. Oh, he doesn’t tell you that, but his body language speaks for itself. 

At first, even the sight of him makes your belly clench and palms sweat like when you watch rock climbing documentaries or parkour videos online (all moist and clammy and you have to wipe them on your jeans before shaking his hand). He’s a one-time customer at your little roadside diner that gradually becomes a repeat offender. 

He comes at odd times, sometimes disappearing for a month or two before he’s back to sitting in the booth at the back of the diner with his back against the wall. You smile shakily when you pour him coffee after coffee. He never eats. Always sits in the same booth, dressed in the same black hoodie that does nothing to hide the sheer size of him and a black surgical mask that he never removes. He has a sixth sense for when you’re watching him from behind the counter, waiting for him to take a sip.

You never do catch a glimpse of his face. Not completely anyway. You know him only by the faint smell of gunpowder and metal that clings to him like a second skin, and the feeling of his calloused hand against yours. 

Like ice slowly chipping off a glacier that one day cracks, a huge chunk splintering off and crashing into the sea, you know nothing about him until you’re suddenly in his house. Simon, he tells you, and the sound of his name awakens something in you. He needs a housekeeper and you need a reason to leave. 

You quit the diner; barely even put in a week’s notice. 

The day you drive up the long beaten road up to his property, a cabin deep in the English countryside, clear blue skies follow you. Clouds crisp, delicate even. Simon takes you through the house, showing you to the guest room where you’ll be staying while he’s away. He never directly confirms your suspicions, but the faint tightness around his eyes when he mentions his job tells you all you need to know. No wonder he needs someone to keep the house in order. Never around to do it himself.

Then he’s gone, swift as a ghost. You wake up in the guest room to a hastily scrawled note on your bedside table and a faint feeling of loss. 

You scrub tiles and dust the top bit of the fan that everyone always misses; you mow the lawn, clean the gutters, and sit under the shade of a poplar tree with a glass of lemonade in the early evenings. If you look up into the tree, you’ll see spiders and squirrel nests. It’s almost therapeutic. 

Weeks pass at a time. Simon reemerges like clear skies between periods of rain. Sometimes even before you wake up, you can feel the change like lighting sizzling in the air, crackling hot under your fingertips and then stumbling into the kitchen to find him leaning against the counter, coffee already brewing. You blush into an apology that he waves off.

Good soldier. Better boss. 

You fall into a routine, something of a cadence that is only interrupted by Simon’s hands on your hips when he moves you out of the way to grab a mug from the top shelf. His finger brushing over the curve of your cheekbone to wipe away flour smudged on your cheek. Then he’s gone again, passing through like a ghost. 

Perhaps he’s a more tactile man than you originally assumed. Something about the way he held himself in those first few weeks in the diner suggested otherwise, the way he seemed to radiate a latent hostility. Do not get close. You read this in the general slope of his eyebrows and the scars across his muscled forearms up until he reaches out to touch you, growing more and more comfortable with you around.

“You alright, love?” said into your ear on a warm night when Simon materializes onto the couch beside you, practically out of thin air. Your heart almost bursts in your chest. 

When you turn, he’s as beautiful as ever, honey burnt eyes staring out from behind a balaclava this time. Still dresses in his standard issue tactical pants, the faint smear of grime and gore around the ankles. There’s a lump in your throat when you smile. 

He smells richer now. Deeper, like the forest floor. Like crawling through mud and spider webs and a thick, cloying miasma of desperation. 

“Sorry—I didn’t know you’d be back,” you apologize, going to rise up to your feet. It feels wrong to commandeer his house when he’s on leave, even though you live here too.

A heavy hand on your shoulder pulls you down, settling you to his side. “Off your feet now—there you go, atta girl. No sense getting up; show’s not even done.” 

He angles you back to face the TV and tugs you into his lap almost effortlessly. You do not look back, even when you feel him slip the balaclava off, hot breath fanning over your neck. Not even when fingers play over the thin line of skin where your shirt rides up. You blink like your eyes are gummy and try not to shudder when his thumb dips underneath your shirt.

#cod mw2 #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost/reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ceil writing #house cleaner au

[stylesharrys]

special brownies [weedrry]

summary: harry and y/n accidentally eat their roommates special brownies.

warnings: mentions and use of weed (edibles), being high, swearing, kissing, biting, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk.

word count: 2,396

a/n: i came up with this idea very randomly and i have written it as fast as i possibly could lmao anyway, the whole thing is about accidentally getting stoned, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please don't read! if it doesn't, enjoy <333

//

It’s been a long week and Y/N is feeling it. Between classes and shifts at the cafe, her feet are sore and her mind is tired. She wants nothing more than to cuddle up on the sofa with a good tv show and pass the fuck out.

And tonight is supposed to be her lucky night. Tom has a night shift and Harry has a hot date. No boys, no roommates, no interruptions.

There’s just something about knowing she’s got the flat to herself all night long, and she can lounge about like the lazy girlie her heart yearns to be.

She starts with a long, relaxing her aching body in the hot soapy water until her skin begins to prune. Y/N takes extra time to moisturise her body and brush her hair. Even treats herself to a face mask while she does so.

When she leaves the bathroom, it’s almost 7 p.m. and Tom has already left for work. The apartment is clean, and most importantly, quiet.

She’s a bit too excited in her movement to the sofa, a squeal slipping from her lips. Too caught up in her head, she doesn’t notice Harry leaning against his bedroom door, arms folded across his chest.

It’s not until he clears his throat that Y/N jumps out of her little happy dance with a scream. A smirk sits on his lips, amused by the way she scowls at him.

“What the hell are you doing here! You’re supposed to be out on a date!”

Her tone is accusing, pointer finger jabbing at the air in his direction. She notices his attire; grey shorts and a white hoodie. Y/N’s shoulders slump.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she huffs.

“What? I thought you liked hanging out with me?” Harry follows her to the sofa, sitting on  the opposite end of her.

Y/N crosses her arms furiously. “I do! But I was so excited to have the flat to myself for just one night.”

Harry’s brows are raised suggestively, that sick fucking smirk on his lips again. Y/N lunges a pillow at his face. “Not for those reasons, you perv.”

He barks out a laugh, hugging the pillow close to his chest as he props his feet up and on Y/N’s lap. He watches how her bottom lip pouts out and his face softens.

“Look, if you want me to fuck off out for the evening, I can.” Harry offers.

She scoffs. “That is what you were supposed to be doing.” A moment of silence passes and she sighs. “Sorry, that came out rude. I'm not about to kick you out of your own flat – though I am going to force you to watch the last three episodes of The Rookie with me.”

Harry makes no attempt to hide the groan that follows her words. It’s not that he doesn’t like the show, it’s that he hates the show. He’ll never understand Y/N’s weird obsession with emergency services.

First, it was Criminal Minds, then a month later she binge watched 9-1-1 Lone Star in six days. Now she’s on the newest season of The Rookie and he’s sure she only started season one at the beginning of the month?

“Do we have to?” he grumbles.

Y/N throws another pillow at him. “Yes. You’re the one interrupting my night, you could at least do it quietly… and with snacks.”

Her voice trails off at the end of her sentence and Harry has to bite back a grin. She could never be mad at Harry, she loves him and his company far too much. Tom, on the other hand… yeah, she would definitely be mad if it was him crashing her lazy girl night.

Harry stands from the sofa, wandering through to the kitchen. He grabs two bottles of water in one hand and scans his eyes through the cupboards in search for a suitable snack.

They’ve not been shopping for a few days, so there’s only some dry crackers, a half-eaten bag of cashew nuts (ew, Tom), and granola. Harry contemplates ubering some cookies and milkshakes when his eyes land on a bakery box on top of the microwave.

He squints as he reads the writing on the top of the box.

Tom’s. DO NOT EAT!

Harry flips the lid, six thick slices of dewey chocolate brownies. They’re like fucking slabs… he’s sure Tom won’t mind if he and Y/N share just one between them.

He pops a (massive) slice on a plate and toddles back to the kitchen. The show is paused on the opening scene, Y/N shuffled to get comfortable on the sofa. She raises a brow at the snack in question.

“We’re sharing a brownie?”

Harry huffs as he sits. “S’all we’ve got in the kitchen, and they’re Tom’s. Didn’t wanna take the piss when his little sticky note clearly says DO NOT TOUCH!”

Y/N snorts, breaking the brownie in half and handing Harry the bigger slice. She takes a bite, face screwing slightly.

“These taste a little funny… nutmeg, maybe?”

She turns to Harry who doesn’t say anything and still hasn’t taken the brownie. The look on his face irks her. She huffs, swallowing. “I feel bad that your date cancelled on you.”

His eyebrows almost raise to his hairline. “And what makes you think she was the one to cancel?”

“Was she?” Y/N asks.

Harry takes the brownie with a sigh. “Yeah.”

//

They can’t stop fucking giggling.

The show is long forgotten about, has been for the past thirty minutes. They’re both feeling warm. Harry stripped from his jumper and Y/N changed into some little shorts and one of Harry’s baggy t-shirts.

Neither of them know where this amusement came from, but there is absolutely no calming either of them down. They’re sneakily sharing a second slice of Tom’s brownies; eyes on the door in case for some reason, he comes home an hour after his shift has started.

“They taste so weird, but I can’t stop eating it.”

Harry chokes out a laugh, eyes welling with tears because he just finds Y/N so fucking funny tonight.

She’s a mess too, eyes squinted and shoulders hunched as she laughs uncontrollably. They’re both crossed-legged on the living room floor, knees knocking gently.

The more she chews, the more she begins to recognise that unfamiliar taste… the way it lingers on her tongue. Her laughter slows for a moment, as if realisation is beginning to dawn on her.

She stares at Harry with wide eyes and parted lips, mouth still full.

“Oh, my god.”

“What?”

“They’re fucking weed brownies!”

Harry can’t breathe, struggles to look away from the fear and shock on Y/N’s face. His whole body begins to shake with laughter and Y/N finds herself following.

“Harry, it’s not funny!” she shrieks. “This is so bad, Harry.”

She’s laughing through her words. Even she can’t take herself seriously in this state.

“D’you wanna play Just Dance?”

Harry’s words only make her laugh harder. The remainder of her brownie is thrown at his naked torso. Harry wastes no time to tackle her to the ground, hovering between her legs as he tickles her sides.

He's blowing raspberries on her neck, eliciting loud cackles from her mouth. Y/N tugs at his hair, her legs flailing around his hips when he nips at the skin on her throat.

They don’t say anything. She continues to chuckle, and Harry continues to bite.

Their laughter has fizzled out into breathy giggles. Neither of them are sure when Harry’s bites turned into kisses. When their fingers became intertwined. When her legs closed around his middle.

And neither of them say a fucking thing about it.

Harry’s lips travel up her neck and across her jaw. She finds his mouth feverishly, nothing but tongue and teeth but to the pair of them, it’s the best kiss they’ve ever had.

They’re needy, hot and wanton all of a sudden. Like a switch has been flipped and they’re clinging to one another like lifelines.

Harry holds her hands above her head, fingers tangled. He’s hard, rock hard. Pressing into Y/N’s tiny fucking shorts so much he’s sure he can feel her arousal through both of their clothes.

He ruts against her, testing the waters. The moan he receives sends all blood down south. He’s always known sex to be incredible when you’re high. The thought of him sharing it with her? God, he could bust there and then.

He releases her hands so he can feel up her thighs, skin hot and smooth. Their lips don’t separate, not once. She lets her hands fall into his curls, nails scratching at his scalp and she tugs at the roots.

Harry’s moaning into her mouth, eager and desperate for more. He takes her shorts off quickly and strategically. So quickly that she doesn’t notice until she feels a cool breeze between her thighs.

Y/N’s eyes roll to the back of her head, more than ready for whatever the fuck he wants to do to her.

They haven’t hesitated, not once. Not until Harry's hands are at the waistband of his shorts and he wonders if he should grab a condom or just go down on her. He knows she’s on the pill, just like they both know they’re both clean.

Harry gets tested once a month and Y/N doesn’t sleep around.

She answers his inner turmoil for him and tugs his shorts down the best she can. Harry breaks the kiss for a split second to tug his shorts to his knees. He’s back to kissing her as quickly as he pulled away, tongue against hers. Hot and messy.

Y/N feels his tip twitch against her clit, an airy sigh echoing into Harry’s mouth. He lets his fingers swirl around her wetness, smearing it across her smooth cunt and coating his thick shaft in her arousal.

They’re panting messes, eager, desperate and horny.

When he lines himself at her entrance, she locks her legs around his waist. Harry bumps forward, a shrill cry slipping from between their lips at the sensation of one another.

Harry wants to give her a moment to adjust, but Y/N doesn’t. She wants it hot and hard. She wants the pain. She wants to feel every fucking inch of him.

She probably should’ve warned Harry how she gets when she’s high. How much of a whiny, cock-hungry whore she can become. Then again, how was she supposed to know they’d accidentally eat their roommates special brownies?

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry chokes as he bottoms out.

Y/N’s struggling to catch her breath but she’s never loved the burn in her lungs more. “Fuck me, H.”

He twitches inside her. “Fuck me hard.”

His hips begin to roll, cock nuzzling itself deep inside her. He can feel everything. Every bump, dip, swell. God, she’s fucking soaked, leaking down to the floor but neither of them care.

Harry slowly begins to quicken his pace, arms bent at the elbows either side of Y/N’s head to prop himself up. She doesn’t loosen her legs around his hips. She needs him as close as he can possibly get.

Even his cock buried to the brim in her cunt isn’t enough. She needs his soul touching hers.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

“Yeah?” she breathes. “You gonna fuck my tight cunt, baby? Fuck me like you own me.”

He can’t believe his fucking ears. He’s always found Y/N attractive, but never in his wildest fucking dreams did he expect her to be this goddamn filthy.

Harry loves it.

His thrusts grow harsher. She has no time to catch her breath between hits, her mouth in a constant state of slack – eyes rolled back and eyebrows pinched.

“My perfect little cunt.” Harry seethes.

The noises of her pussy are like electric waves in Harry’s ears. He feels them in his soul, like sparks and jolts. He’s never felt more alive.

He’s fucking into her manically. Behind closed eyes all he can see shapes and colours of need and desire. Sex has always been good, always been great high. But this? Fuck, he’s never felt something so otherwordly.

He never wants it to end, wants to spend the rest of his life fucking her like a whore. She’s tugging his hair, likely making his scalp bleed but he loves it. He’d bleed a fucking river just to feel her cunt around him again.

“I’m gonna come!”

Her words awaken something animalistic within Harry. Like his life depends on feeling her release around him – like it’s what he was born to experience.

He chases her high, nipping and suckling on her neck, fucking into her cunt as fast as his restrained hips will allow. Y/N’s a blubbering mess, a sight Harry never wants to forget.

Fuck, he doesn’t think he could if he tried. This will forever be etched into his mind – her face, her body, her perfect cunt. Jesus, he’s never been so into sex in his life.

Her body begins to tremble uncontrollably, legs locked tight around his middle as she cries his name and pours over him.

Harry’s gruff and desperate moans mix with hers. She’s impossibly tighter, squeezing him; begging him to never let her feel anything but full ever again.

Harry wants to die buried in her cunt.

It takes every single fucking ounce of willpower he has to pull out and release across her thighs – painting the filthiest picture anyone could imagine.

It’s a struggle for either of them to catch their breaths. Hot and heavy panting that soon turns into light laughter, that even sooner, turns into contagious giggles.

Their bodies shake with every chuckle, Harry’s mouth ghosting hers until he nips on her bottom lip.

“We are never to talk about this, understood?”

He grins widely. “Whatever you want, Princess.”

She hums, eyes full of lust. Harry’s still achingly hard, despite coming more than he ever has before. He dips his head to her neck, sucking at her soft skin. His cock twitches against her thigh and she breathes deeply, blinks slowly.

“You wanna go again?” his voice is muffled by her neck.

She grins, legs wrapping back around his middle.

“Whatever you want, baby.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #imagine harry styles #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles angst

[jkslipppiercing]

Never Been A Friend | Part 1 | Jeon Jk

♧ synopsis: Sneaky glances across the room weighed with a dozen different meanings left to be unsaid; confusion, desire, lust. He was never a friend, was he?

♧ pairing: brother's bsf!jk, bratty!reader.

♧ warnings: y/n is too drunk to form a sentence, jungkook loves cursing, jungkook is jealous out of his mind, kinda enemies but not really, jungkook calls y/n a brat that he cant stand, someone calls y/n a slut, and that's all i can remember 😙

♧ WC: 1.6K

♧ a/n: hello loves! wrote this in one sitting and it's barely edited, but the intention is there lmao i love you all so much please enjoy! dont hesitate to tell me what you think <3 im like the no.1 supporter for constructive criticism lol okay thank you byeeeee

taglist

index

requests

JK's POV

She whines,

Throws tantrums,

Acts like a goddamn brat for the sake of being annoying,

And I still want her lips around my cock.

Why?

That goes beyond the fucking level of my emotional understanding.

I want her wrapped around my finger. I want her to get on her fucking knees and apologize for all the turbulent feelings she makes me suffer by.

She ruined my night.

I was fucking.

Blowing a girl's back just to lay off some steam. Get the stress of the college life off my shoulders.

But then, she just had to cock-block me.

My best friend’s sister.

Speaking of the twat, he dared to interrupt my one night stand for the sake of his bratty sister.

Usually, I love brats.

My type.

They make sex enjoyable. All the more pleasurable when they try to resist.

Keyword: try.

Because I know for a damn straight fact when a girl wants to be disciplined.

Fucked right and put in her place.

Reminds me of her. Y/L/N Y/N.

Except for one thing, though- she makes my fucking insides churn in all uncomfortable ways.

She doesn’t have a bratty attitude, the bitch has a bratty personality.

Yes, she is indeed a bitch. I can't stand a girl who's always annoying just because she feels like it. She'd never had a valid reason to hate me, and neither did I.

When I first met her, I mean.

She was laughing with her brother having breakfast one time when I came out of my room for painkillers and a glass of water.

Her brother and I were both freshmen in need of a dorm, and we agreed on splitting the rent once in a frat party.

Yes... we were both strangers to each other, but we clicked.

Met through mutuals, and our vibes matched. After living with each other for over six months now, we've grown pretty close.

He's cool, agreed on basic rules like who does the laundry or dishes, helped with assignments, and was always there when needed.

He's a friend. A close one.

A tolerable one.

That can't be said about a certain someone, though.

She scowled at me that day and later told me she didn't like my vibe when I confronted her about it.

Bullshit.

And yet, she's the reason I left a naked girl in my bed and came to this godforsaken club in the first place.

Her brother is here, too, which is why he called me to come pick her up. Said something about her being drunk, and since he had taken a shot or two as well, he couldn't take her home himself.

Or he just didn't want to, because he was also getting laid tonight.

That's proven to be right when I see him making out with a girl near the bathrooms.

His hands grope her all over as she arches into him, which is enough to make me look away.

Sly motherfucker.

Casting my vision toward the main dance floor, I scan the crowd for a short brunette with soft features.

Annoyingly soft features.

So soft that I want to corrupt her. Tear the bratty exterior and dig through the filthy dark side on the inside.

But those features aren't the only things that infuriate the hell out of me.

It's her innocence.

How can a brat be innocent, you may ask?

When my gaze lands on her, my jaw tenses in annoyance.

She sways her hips sensually, eyes closed and mouth open as she slides her hands down her body to a seductive beat following her movements.

I follow the action, eyes unable to tear away from her figure.

Her fingers skim over her neck down to her breasts and then further, the lightness she seems to be handling her body with attending to a grace she always breathed by.

Fuck, I hate this woman.

Hate everything about her.

How she moves.

How she walks.

How she fucking talks.

Runs her mouth like a brat who needs to be handled.

No- not like- is.

She is a brat.

A brat who's oblivious to all the eyes she's attracting.

Including mine.

Fuck.

Her dancing resumes as her eyes stay closed, feeling every beat.

She's enjoying herself.

Not for long.

I school my expression- which had turned into a scowl the moment I set my eyes on her- and begin my stride towards her.

I spot a man doing the same, but she's absolutely mind-numb as she continues to dance with her damn eyes closed.

I was irritated, but now I'm literally fed up.

He's a couple inches shorter than me, wearing a white tee and skinny ripped jeans.

Not to mention, his hair is slicked back by a disgusting amount of hair gel.

Ew.

He approaches Y/N with predatory eyes and a shit eating grin, his gaze set straight on her perky ass.

Which is just barely covered by the tight little dress she's wearing, inching higher and higher up her thighs as we speak.

My steps quicken when I see him reach out, apparently intending to slap her ass.

My blood boils.

White noise drowns out all available access to the outside world as I break out into a jog and reach her just in time.

My hand swiftly slides onto her tiny waist, and I glare at the man whose shit-eating grin is now gone, replaced with confusion.

Y/N's eyes stay closed as she giggles, and it's now I notice how drunk she is.

Bright crimson tints her cheeks and her breath smells of strong tequila, obviously from having taken too many shots.

Isn't she here with friends?

How could they leave her alone like this?

Her brother's here. Her brother is here.

My breath turns heavy, my heartbeat quickening. I have to stop myself from punching the douchebag in front of me into fucking oblivion because I don't know if i'll ever stop once I start.

Fuck.

I try to focus on anything besides her frame that's barely hanging onto me, all the exhaustion from her dancing catching up to her as she fights to keep her eyes open.

Why the fuck is she here all alone? Why did they- whoever she's here with, except her brother- leave her here like this?

Like she's not even aware of where she is.

Like she's not sober enough to be responsible.

Like she's not fucking strong enough to defend herself if anything happened to her.

I might punch a wall.

My grip tightens around her waist, which makes her drowsily lift her head to stare up at me.

She's still shorter than me with heels on, enough to put her neck in an uncomfortable position whenever she looks up at me.

It's adorable.

But that's none of my concerns as the slimy fuck keeps undressing her with his eyes. Makes me want to claw them out with my bare hands.

Repress.

"Wha..." She starts, growing more and more confused as she tries to wrap her head around where the hell she is. "Jungkook? What are you..."

She trails off into a mindfuck, allowing me to set my full focus on the man still staring between us with wariness.

My gaze hasn't worn off him since I saw him fucking reach for her ass, which makes me want to bash his head against the wall.

My breathing turns heavy again.

Repress.

"Off-limits." I bite out with enough to control to shock myself. I'm even more surprised that this motherfucker is still breathing.

His eyes thin into slits as he eyes me suspiciously. "I haven't seen you here the last couple of hours. Thought her sexy ass came alone." His eyes skim over her body, gaze lingering longer than necessary on her breasts.

Guess someone's leaving with no limbs tonight.

"You thought wrong." It takes almost all the last bits of my control to reply with that before I start turning around to leave, Y/N almost falling asleep on my arm.

She clutches the hem of my shirt with a weak grip, like a toddler would its mom.

If I couldn't get here in time, what would've happened?

I catch myself before I overthink it. If I did, I'm afraid I might commit a crime tonight. One of shameless blood and murder-

Repress.

My back is turned to him when I hear a low whistle, which makes me pause, angry enough for my limbs to shake with adrenaline.

"You know, It's often rare for a slut with such a sweet ass to be out here all alone wearing that. Almost like she's begging for a cock-"

The words are barely out of his mouth before my fist connects with his face. The force of my blow got him on the floor, nose fucked and bleeding. Might be broken.

Good. Bare minimum.

I almost straddle him and punch him to his fucking fortunate death.

Almost.

But I have to get Y/N home.

I can't stand this anymore.

I can't stand her anymore.

Coming here alone? Dressed like that?

I mean yes, she did come here with her idiot brother who thinks with his dick, but he's nowhere to be found.

How can someone be so nonchalant to just leave his sister here all alone?

I'm so goddamn confused.

And infuriated.

And...angry.

Fucking fuck.

I need to get her the fuck out of here before i lose my fucking mind.

Fuck me.

The punch I just delivered did little to satiate my thirst for this slimy fucker's blood.

But again, Y/N's more important.

I turn, my panic spiking so high it reaches levels it had never before when I find Y/N out of my sight.

My breathing starts to go abnormal for the nth time this night.

I might develop heart problems.

A sigh leaves my mouth when I spot her by the bars, trying to convince the bartender to give her another shot. Relief floods my system, and my breaths regulate.

I send a quick text the girl- who i already forgot the name of- and tell her to head home. She sends a crying emoji back but agrees nonetheless, telling me to call her back when everything is sorted out on my end.

I have other things to care for.

Or I guess, in this case, a certain person to tend to.

God, It's gonna be a long night.

@hoseokteardrop @nochuel @kaitieskidmore97 @nays2112 @jksoftii @yu-justme @meadow-in-spring @bunnykoos @looneybleus @fushigurosdarling @alpha-mommy69 @junecat18 @xjiminsthighsx @tanniesdolls @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @whoa-jo @ahgasegotarmy116 @jksusawife @frgetmenotes @baechugff @partyparty-yah @army130613210521 @drugerlime @allisonstone @hopekive @llallaaa @tarahardcore @hopetookmysoul @betysotelo18 @harmonic55 @ecrvea @awesomebabyyoda @peterstarkchrishiddleston @pinkrockstar19 @sweetestseoul @luv--youu @mochminnie @coletaehyung @whitelies2248-blog @ash07128 @bangtans-momma @yourbobaeyestell

next

did you like it 👀

@laylasbunbunny @btsnpniff @olimpiiaa @caro134340lina @ohsweetmimosa @lovingkoalaface @httpjeonlicious @t-alyssa-vvv-blog

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts fanfiction #jungkook ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #e2l #kinda enemies to lovers lmao #idk if this is a series #jealous jk #jealous jungkook #brothers best friend #brother's best friend #jungkook jeon #jeon jk #yeah idk what else #love you guys sm #ugh #okay #bye #i love you

[munsonslove]

Open Drawers

(18+ only)

summary: You forget to close the drawer to your nightstand and your best friend accidentally finds your vibrator.

wordcount: 4.3k

tags/warnings: fem!reader, slight softdom!eddie, friends to lovers, smut, use of sex toys, praise kink (good girl), very slight degradation (he calls you a slut once), pet names (sweetheart, princess), spit used as lubricant, edging, overstim, no use of y/n

a/n: i teased this fic a while ago, sorry it took me a bit to actually post it but i hope you like it anyway!! requests are open and much appreciated, if i know someones actively waiting for me to write something for them i’ll be more likely to not spend a whole ass month on it lmao

It’s been weeks of torture. Ever since Eddie found out about your ‘little secret’ he’s refused to let it go, bringing it up as often as he can just to humiliate you further. It was cruel behavior, especially from the man you consider your best friend. Though you can’t be too surprised, considering he’d always had an affection for teasing you. In the past it had always been rather playful and innocent- maybe just ever so slightly suggestive- but you were generally able to ignore his flirtatious comments and retain your close relationship (no matter how much they made your pining heart flutter). It had been almost a month since everything changed.

Nobody was home when you returned from your shift, and inspecting the refrigerator revealed a note left to you from your roommates stating that they would be gone for the rest of the night. The news was passed along through phone call to your best friend before you even changed out of your work clothes, and within the hour Eddie had arrived at your door with a six-pack of beer and a relaxed grin. He entered without knocking (having been given a spare key from the day you moved in) and found you sprawled out on the couch, movie just starting with a large bowl of popcorn already made. You don’t even bother sparing him a glance up as he kisses the crown of your head before plopping down directly on top of you.

You try and fail to kick him off. Admittedly you may have been able to muster more strength for the task if you hadn’t been laughing at his typical antics. Failure becomes even more set in stone when his hands find their way to your sides and you dramatically call out “uncle, uncle!” in hopes that he will mercifully cease his relentless tickling. Thankfully, he does seem to be feeling benevolent this evening and climbs off, allowing you to sit up as he takes his place next to you. After ripping a can from its plastic rings, you pop open the tab and take a sip while Eddie grabs fistfulls of popcorn and shoves them into his mouth with a total lack of manners. You conclude that something is definitely wrong with you for finding this somehow endearing, and you gaze at him longingly until he turns to you with a mock-disgruntled eye roll. 

“John Hughes?”, he complains, mouth still half full, “Can’t we watch something else?”

You smirk at his predictability. “I knew we wouldn’t make it past the opening scene,” you respond while tsk-ing at him and shaking your head. “I rented a couple of cheesy looking b-movies just yesterday. You know, slasher flicks that for sure spent all their budget on fake blood?”

He smiles big and jumps up off of the sofa. “Aw, my favorite! You do love me!” he exclaims with sarcastic sentiment, “You remember to stash the tapes somewhere your thief roommates couldn’t find?”

“First of all, stop calling my friends thieves. That was one time,” you say while slapping lightly at his leg from your lowered position, “And second, yeah. They’re next to my bed.”

He nods and heads to your bedroom, not wasting time to ask permission seeing as after so many years you both had developed a ‘me casa es su casa’ type of unspoken agreement. After a few more sips of your beer and picking at a partially popped kernel, you notice that Eddie is taking an unusual amount of time retrieving the tapes. You were sure that you had left them on your nightstand, you even remember seeing them while in bed this morning as you were reaching over to-

Oh. Fuck.

The can drops from your hand and falls to the floor, spilling light amber liquid onto the hardwood. Rushing into your room, you see Eddie standing in front of the drawer you had forgone closing while leaving earlier, looking down into it with a clear view of your 18th birthday present to yourself. He whips around, jaw dropped in shock. There’s an unreadable look in his eyes as he stares you down, and you realize that you have no idea what he’s thinking about. Probably all the new ammunition he now has to use against you during one of your future banter sessions.

You run forward, shoving him sideways onto the bed and slamming the drawer shut. He lands with a huff- his back on the mattress- before propping himself up onto his elbows, still looking at you with that confusing expression. His silence so far is honestly more nerve wracking than him ruthlessly making fun of you would have been.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize frantically. “I completely forgot I left this open, and I didn’t know we’d be hanging out tonight, and when I sent you in here I didn’t even think about it, and I never want to do anything to make you uncomfortable, and I-”

“Woah, princess,” he cuts off your rambling, using that nickname that he’s been using ever since the two of you met back in school. It usually brought a warmth to your cheeks, but given that you already felt sick to your stomach the sweet moniker was not appreciated. “It’s fine, I promise!”

“Fine?” you cry out, the sound muffled by your palms as your heated face is now buried behind your hands. You turn your body to face away from him, and he pushes back with his arms to sit up the rest of the way, then reaches forward to grip your elbow and spin you back around.

“Yeah, I swear! You didn’t make me uncomfortable or anything,” he consoles. “I was just surprised, is all. I just… wouldn’t have expected… you… to have that.” As he speaks the final word, he gestures to the freshly closed drawer containing your magic wand vibrator. The room falls quiet once more as he stares blankly at the offending table, seemingly lost in thought.

You shove his shoulder a little more harshly than you mean to, and he blinks back to consciousness and rubs where you met contact before re-meeting your eyes. “Don’t look at it like that!” you chastise, ignoring the fact that he technically wasn’t looking at ‘it’ like anything, seeing as it was now hidden out of sight. Your head falls into the cover of your hands yet again as you groan out, “Ugh! You probably think I’m some kind of slut now.”

“N-no!” he’s quick to deny, shaking his head. “Of course I don’t think that about you! I mean, come on, give me some credit. It’s the 80s,” he counters, with emphasis on the last word, “guys can be progressive now. I know girls masturbate too!”

“Please don’t say that word,” you reply, your hands still hiding your face but compromising by peeking out through your fingers.

“What?” he questions with a smirk, “Masturbate?”

“You’re completely impossible,” you state, giving in and dropping your arms to your side. You pick up the videos from your messy nightstand and turn on your heel to walk out the door, not even stopping as you shout out “Are you coming or what, Eds?”

Behind you, Eddie takes the opportunity of your back being turned to adjust himself in his pants and prays that he manages to keep it down throughout the duration of movie night.

That was almost an entire month ago. While Eddie took pity on you for the remainder of that night, the very next morning began his onslaught of mockery. Although, perhaps mockery wasn’t quite the right word, because you know all his jokes were meant to be lighthearted and fun. You know if you told him he was making you uncomfortable that he would stop in a heartbeat, so the real problem you’re facing is that you don’t want him to stop. Every time he shows up unannounced and slyly asks, “I wasn’t interrupting anything, was I?” with that knowing gleam in his eyes, you’re not sure if you want to scold him for his teasing or jump his bones. Him speaking so candidly about something that’s always been so private should be embarrassing- and it is- but it would be dishonest to say the butterflies in your stomach are only there because of your modesty. Truth be told, he was turning you on every time he hinted at the fact that he knows all about your favorite form of self care.

Not only were the teasing comments nonstop, there were also the questions. Eddie was relentlessly curious about the process (which confounded you considering you thought the situation was pretty straightforward) and he never seemed to run out of things he wanted to ask you.

“How long have you had it?”, “How many settings are there?”, “How often do you use it?”, “Do you need it to get off?”, “What do you think about when you use it?” (definitely couldn’t answer that one honestly), and finally, “How exactly do you use it?”

According to him, he wanted to know the ‘right way’ to use one on a girl for future reference. One day, the frustration of constantly having to dodge his incessant questions became too much, and without thinking you blurted out, “If you’re so curious about how to use it, why don’t I just teach you?” Understandably, your outburst shocked the both of you. What shocked you more was when Eddie quickly recovered and excitedly agreed.

That was how you found yourself spread out on your bed with your best friend on his knees in between your thighs. Your most private area is only covered by your hands, and your discarded panties are tucked in Eddie’s back jeans pocket.

“How am I supposed to do this if you’re hiding, princess?” he asks, observing the toy and turning it over in his hands, “Don’t be shy. It’s just me.”

That was the problem. It was him, your friend that you’ve been harboring a secret crush on for years. Now you’re in a position with him that you’ve fantasized about so many times, and you don’t know what it means for the future of your relationship. Above you, Eddie fiddles with the two buttons, figuring out the mechanics of what they do. He discovers the bottom button turns it on while the top changes the speed. There are three settings, and after cycling through them all it starts back at the beginning, only turning off by pressing the bottom button once more. When he’s done figuring out how the toy works, he powers it on to the lowest setting and looks at you expectantly, eyes flitting between your hands and face. You turn your head to the side, take one final deep breath and move your arms to your stomach, revealing yourself to him.

The air is cold on your exposed center. Other than your shaky exhaling and the humming of the vibrator, it’s quiet. You realize with embarrassment that Eddie has stopped breathing, and when you steal a glance back at him he’s staring at your bare center with an unreadable expression. You instinctively hide your face in your hands, and your thighs involuntarily twitch to close. Of course, they can’t fully shut with Eddie sitting in between them, but the movement does stir the boy from his trance. He pries your hands away from your face and you’re forced to confront his inspecting of you.

He kisses a wet peck to the tip of your nose like he’s done so many times before, and just like always your entire face scrunches up with a smile. With eyes now closed, you start to feel giddy and you can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of the situation. You half expect Eddie to start laughing with you, but no sound comes from your friend. Suddenly- and without warning- he presses the vibrator directly to your clit. Your eyes snap open, rolling back in both shock and pleasure as a humiliatingly high pitched squeal escapes out of your slack-jawed mouth.

“Such a pretty sound from such a pretty girl,” Eddie says, barely loud enough to hear considering the buzzing raised in volume due to being pushed up against something. It’s almost like he was more absentmindedly commenting to himself rather than purposefully complimenting you.

You’re only capable of responding with moans as your legs fold into your torso and your toes start to curl. It’s still set to the lowest vibration option, but your aforementioned nerves and arousal were making you much more sensitive than you would otherwise be while using the toy alone. Eddie’s empty hand moves to stroke your inner thigh, before inching toward your center slowly. He seems to be asking permission to touch you himself, and the fact that he still thinks to wait for consent while literally sitting in between your legs after taking off your underwear almost has you laughing again. Instead, you simply nod your head. Eddie’s fingers immediately spread your lips further, allowing the head of the vibrator to be able to hit your clit more directly. The buzzing becomes higher in pitch as he goes up one setting, and the sensation becomes too much to handle.

“Sorry,” he whispers when you whine and start to squirm away, “I’ll be nice.”

After positioning yourself back into place, you mumble out, “Sensitive…” as an explanation. Your voice is surprisingly weak.

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, though you doubt he actually feels regretful, “I know.”

The sound of clicking reaches your ears as Eddie toggles the toy back to the first setting. His thumb briefly brushes over your clit, causing you to shiver and gasp, and he breathes out a quiet laugh before pressing the vibrator against you once more- this time more gently. The vibrations are more bearable this way, and you feel the pleasure slowly start to rise and rise until you become a moaning puddle beneath the metalhead. Just as you’re crying out his name- a warning that you're about to cum- he pulls away, cruelly laughing at your protesting.

“Eds, what the fuck?” you shout, frustratedly. “I was so close! Why the hell would you-”

“Calm down, princess,” he interrupts. “You know I’ll get you there. I just wanna have some fun along the way.”

And you do know. You trust him more than anyone else- you’d trust him with your life- but you also know that he’s a little shit. “Please, Eds. Please just get to it,” you beg.

He stares at the head of the toy for a moment before lifting it to his face. His tongue parts his lips, swollen and pink from him biting them, and your eyes widen as he slowly licks directly where the silicone was just touching you. He moans, and his eyes roll back into his head. The sight only drives you more wild, and your hips start rocking the bed as you wait for him to continue.

He starts to bite his lips again as he watches you grind against nothing, desperately searching for friction. “Maybe I was wrong before,” he says slowly with a teasing lilt, “maybe you are a slut.” He had a look in his eyes that you had never seen before.

Your entire body raises in temperature. “Eddie…” you whine, surprised by how much his rudeness is affecting you. “Please…”

“So fucking wet, dripping all over your sheets,” he continues distractedly, paying no mind to your pleading as he caressed up and down your slit, collecting your juices. When he pulls away, you notice the lights of your bedroom reflecting off the glistening moisture on his fingers, and you resist the urge to hide again. “Such a pretty pussy. The prettiest. She’s not used to being treated so nicely, huh?”

As usual, his confidence blurs the line between incredibly sexy and incredibly annoying. His words are making your insides flutter, and probably worsening the ‘dripping all over your sheets’ problem. Still, you can’t help but feel your frustration grow. “Please, Eds, make me cum. Please make me cum,” you beg some more as you scoot down the bed. Your thighs no longer have the room to be laying on either side of him. Instead, they are now resting atop his own thighs, with your pelvises almost meeting making contact.

“So desperate for your best friend to make you cum. Are you always this wet, princess?” As he asks this, the vibrator meets your center again. He rubs it back and forth vertically in quick motions, and you groan in relief.

You answer by shaking your head no. It definitely wasn’t always like this. In fact, it was never like this. The toy slid so effortlessly between your puffy lips, massaging your sensitive nub directly and bringing tears to your eyes.

“Aw,” he cooed, “so it’s just for me?”

As embarrassed as you feel, you figure there’s no use in denying it now. “J- just for you.”

That familiar feeling of climax starts to creep up on you once more, and once more you cry out in annoyance when Eddie eases up the pressure before pulling off entirely.

“No!” you sob, “Eddie please, I need it so bad.”

“You’ll cum when I’m ready for you to cum,” he says, though the dominance in his tone is betrayed by the lust in his eyes. “I just want to play with you for a little longer. You’ll be a good girl, right?”

You suspect that he won’t start up again until you agree, so you do so without a second thought. “I’ll be your good girl,” you promise, “I’ll be good.”

He smiles wide at you before spreading your lips apart and leaning down to spit directly in between them, not that you needed the extra lubrication. Feeling his saliva make contact sent shockwaves through your body, and your back arched just in time for him to harshly press the vibrator back to your clit and start rubbing it in fast circles. This time, the orgasm doesn’t so much creep up on you as it does jump out in front of you, and you’re about to give in until you hear Eddie’s voice behind the haze.

“Hold it,” he orders. “You said you would be good, so be a good little slut and hold it.”

Your head is already thrown back, and you squeeze your eyes shut in concentration. Every fiber of your being is focused on not cumming, wanting to do as Eddie wishes so you can please him. Noticing your efforts, he lifts the toy off of your aching clit and allows you to catch your breath. With your newfound relief from the strain of resisting climax, you notice that Eddie’s free hand has left your waist, and you look down to a glorious sight.

Eddie’s palming himself through his jeans. The image burns itself into your eyelids, so not even blinking becomes an escape from what you're witnessing your best friend do to himself (not that you’re complaining). You silently observe in awe as he attempts to shove his hand down his pants, and struggles on account of them being too tight. To remedy this, he unzips his jeans and slides them down just far enough for you to catch a glimpse of his hard cock straining against the fabric of his boxers. There’s a wet patch where his head was leaking precum, and a clear imprint of his impressively girthy shaft. Once the pants are out of his way you see his hand disappear inside of his underwear as he wraps it around his member and starts jerking harshly, not fully able to stroke up and down his length given the obstructive clothing.

The pure, unadulterated lust that’s consuming you is overpowering any shyness you previously felt. “Eddie,” you say his name, but he ignores you considering you’ve been a constant stream of “Eddie, Eddie, oh Eddie,” for the past ten minutes. “Eds,” you try again, “you can take it out.”

All movement inside his boxers halts. “Huh?” he exclaims with wide eyes, “A- are you sure? This was supposed to be about you.”

“I’m sure,” you confirm. And you lift up your t-shirt to reveal the white lacy bra underneath as you elaborate, “I want you to finish on me.”

His forehead wrinkles as his eyebrows shoot up in shock. With his wide eyed staring, it almost seems like he can’t believe what you’re saying. Drool pools in his open mouth before he composes himself with a head shake. Wordlessly, he sets the still vibrating toy down on the mattress and lifts your thighs off of him, before sitting up enough to pull down the sides of his boxers. His cock springs up the second his underwear is out of the way, and -without thinking about the consequences- you spit into your palm and reach out to tentatively wrap your fingers around him.

The strangled noise that leaves his mouth is the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. He instinctively bucks his hips, but freezes, waiting for you to make the call. You start stroking him hard and fast, not bothering working up to a quicker speed when you were already so desperate for release and wanted him to cum with you. Eddie can apparently relate to said desperation, and hastily picks up the toy back up. Every muscle inside of you clenched as he started rubbing the tip against your clit in small circles. You strained to prolong this moment, knowing your eventual orgasm would be much more rewarding if you could see his face as he came all over your hand and stomach. 

“God, sweetheart,” he groans, “So fucking good. So much better than my hand.” 

The mental image of Eddie touching himself has you cursing out loud. “Really?” you ask, the pride getting to your head, making you feel light and floaty.

“You have no idea,” he responds. “Been fucking my fist nonstop since that movie night. Couldn’t help myself. All I could think about was you getting off, moaning my name.” You wonder if he knows just how real his fantasy was.

His free hand gently caresses the lacy undergarment covering your chest, his touch so light you barely register it. The uncertainty in his actions is clear, so in lieu of giving verbal consent you simply take his hand in your own and guide it to be fully on your breast.

“Can I pull this down, princess?” he practically begs, and you answer with a nod. He immediately tugs the breast cups downward, revealing your naked chest. Your soft, unmarked flesh is framed by the bunched up fabric of your shirt that’s been gathered at your clavicle, and the lacy material of your bra being held below by Eddie’s trembling hand. His hips are now moving in time with the rhythm of your strokes, and the rocking is causing your tits to bounce in a way that has his angry red tip spilling precum all over your hand as he attempts to hold off his release. The sight has you imagining what he would taste like, with you on your knees in the back of his van, and that thought has you hurtling toward the finish line at an embarrassing speed.

“Cum for me,” he orders. The second he gives you permission, you feel the damn break. As you're busy crying out in pleasure, you faintly hear Eddie in the background. “Good girl,” he grunts, “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You cum with his name on your lips. The intensity of this orgasm is unfamiliar, and you realize with bitterness that the edging you were forced to endure was truly worth the end result. With your mind elsewhere, your stroking halts and you hear the creaking of your bed as Eddie starts to violently thrust into your fist until he meets you in orgasmic bliss. Warmth falls on your naked torso and you look down to see that he’s angled his cock to be aiming at your stomach, fulfilling your earlier wish of him finishing on you. The sight of him using your hand to milk himself dry combined with the buzzing still pressed hard against your clit has you cumming harder than you ever have before. Your hand falls from Eddie as his high comes to an end, but he does nothing to pull away the toy and offer relief to your achingly sensitive core. Any attempt to wiggle your hips free from his hold seems to go unnoticed by his strength, and you have no choice but to take the unrelenting vibrations. The overstimulation has tears falling down the side of your face as your shoulders raise from the bed, the top of your scalp pushing into the mattress as your head is thrown back. Eventually, you are able to move away, and Eddie turns off the toy and chucks it off the bed before climbing on top of you and finally kissing you on the lips.

With both of you breathing heavily into the other’s open mouth, the kiss isn’t exactly how you always imagined your first kiss with your best friend to go, but it’s perfect nonetheless. Your hands find their way into his wild hair, while his tighten their grip on your waist. His tongue in your mouth just barely has the taste of you on it from him licking your toy earlier, and as his thigh brushes your middle small aftershocks rush through your body. You stay like this for a while, lazily making out and feeling each other’s bodies, until he breaks off of your mouth to kiss down your jaw, to your neck, then back up to the side of your face.

When he reaches just under your ear, his lips part from your heated skin to whisper, “So we’re doing that again, right?”

Grabbing a tuft of his hair, you guide him back to your mouth, and with your lips moving against him you answer, “Definitely,” before deepening the kiss. You’re still unsure of what this exactly means for your friendship, but that can be talked about another time.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fanfic #stranger things smut

[lincolndjarin]

Pretty in Pink

main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day three - afab!reader x no-outbreak!joel miller

prompt : breeding [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 1.5k

summary : you and joel have been trying for a baby for a while now, you're skeptical when you get advice from a friend but you're willing to try anything at this point.

warnings, etc. : fluffy, smut, praise, joel 'breeding kink' miller, p in v, unprotected sex, lingerie, creampie, pregnancy talk, this is just a quick little porny fluffy drabble lmao

a/n : yippee! happy 3rd day of oct!! def expect a lot of days switching around lmao, i'm just going w the flow lol

You stare at the bathroom mirror, you feel a little ridiculous but you know he’s had a hard week and at this point you’ll do anything to help him relax. So you put on the pink satin nightie your friend had convinced you he’d love. You put on a bit of makeup before opening the door a smidge.

“Close your eyes.” You sound like a child the way you whine. 

“You’re killin’ me darlin’.” 

“Please?”

“Okay, okay.” You can practically hear the way he holds his hands up in defeat. 

You’re learning the hard way that trying for a baby is a long and arduous task. With Sarah in highschool, and Ellie in elementary, you’ve agreed now is as good a time as any to try for one more. The only problem is you haven’t been feeling great about how long it’s taking. You’re easily discouraged despite how willing Joel seems to try as often and as hard as possible to knock you up. 

So when your friend who is currently six months along offered to give you some advice you were more than willing to sit down at a nearby mall and talk. You’d expected to hear the usual technical jargon. Track your cycle, avoid using lube, and reduce your caffeine intake. You’ve been doing all of that and more for months now with no luck but much to your surprise she had only one piece of advice. 

“Have fun with it.” 

It sounded absurd to you but she kept on explaining. Telling you that it was important that you were both comfortable and enjoying yourselves, it helped her to try new things. You tried to explain to her that Joel was old fashioned, he didn’t like new things. He liked you naked and in a bed, nothing fancy involved. 

Your friend of course didn’t seem convinced, dragging you to Victoria Secret, insisting that the sheer little pink thing you’d settled on was perfect. 

Except it doesn’t feel perfect. 

Because now you actually have to show him and you’re pretty sure he’s just going to have you take it off immediately and you’ll feel like an idiot and this will all be for nothing. 

You take a few steps out of the bathroom, he’s sitting on the bed, back against the headboards as move towards him. wringing your hands nervously. He looks like he always does. Handsome, and in his boxers and navy blue shirt. You’re beside him now and you’re just about to lose your nerve. 

“Nevermind this is stupid.” You blurt out as he opens his eyes. You give him an apologetic smile as he looks you up and down. You turn around, wanting to just change and forget any of this happened as he grabs you by your arm, pulling you onto the bed. 

“Not stupid, not stupid at all.” He stares at you, infatuated as he pulls you onto his lap. He takes a bit of the see through fabric in his hands, running it through his fingers. “S’pretty.”

“Really? You like it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought you didn’t like this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing? Pretty things? I like you, why wouldn't I like this.” Your face gets hot as he lifts the fabric, running a finger along the hem of the matching pink panties. 

“You really like it?” Your face is getting hotter by the second as he drags you forward by your hips so you can feel his hard on straining through his boxers. 

“Like it so much.” He rocks his hips up against you with a groan. “Such a- fuck, such a pretty color.” He hooks a finger onto the crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side as he ruts up against you, watching with hungry eyes as you soak the front of his underwear. He usually spends quite a bit of time warming you up but now he seems wildly impatient as he pulls his dick out over the band of his boxers along with his balls. “Want you to wear this more often, s’nice.” 

“Th-thanks.” You stammer out as he guides his cock into you as you sit up on your knees. 

“Sit down, sugar, take it all, I know you can do it.” Once he nudges the first couple of inches into you he brings his hands back to the sheer fabric. You do as he says, taking your time until you’re fully impaled on it, the two of you moaning in unison. 

“Oh, Joel.” You whisper, feeling the blunt head of his cock bump against your cervix. 

“Bet this would be even prettier stretched over a round belly.” He squeezes your hips, leveraging you down onto him as he thrusts up into you. You’ve never seen him so worked up as his hips jolt up into you, his breathing going unsteady. He’s never been one to talk during the deed, usually all you can get out of him is a few grunts and curses but now he seemingly can’t stop mumbling to himself as he marvels at the way the pick fabric clings to you in some places while flowing freely in others. “Can’t wait to have you bouncing on my cock when you’ve got your bump.” The sudden vulgarity from him shoots sparks through your veins as you slowly start moving, raising and dropping your hips, reveling in the feeling of him filling you completely as he bunches up the fabric a bit, pulling it out of the way so he can watch you take him. 

“Joel please-” You whine, your hands go to the headboard behind him to steady yourself. “Please touch me.” He enthusiastically obliges, one hand going to your clit while the other palms at your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers over the thin fabric. He leans forward, pulling your breast out of the nightie, sucking the tender flesh. 

“These are gonna get bigger too.” He mumbles against your tit, your hips stutter as he sinks his teeth into the swollen nub. “Gonna be so round- and soft.” He sucks your nipple back into his mouth, his fingers picking up speed between your legs as you feel your stomach getting tight, your breath going ragged as you slam your hips down on him, pressing him deep against the spot inside of you that makes you see stars. “Come on- fuck, fucking take it.” He growls as he pops his mouth off of you, pulling you into a kiss as you chase the feeling inside of you, moaning against him until in one sharp motion you seat yourself on him completely, sending yourself over that edge. 

His lips move from your mouth to your chin, then cheeks, then forehead, he kisses you everywhere as you work yourself through your orgasm, everything going tense as that white hot fire ripples through your veins. 

When you come down from your high your legs feel like jelly and you honestly aren’t sure you’re gonna be able to keep going but thankfully he takes matters into his own hands, planting his feet on the mattress firmly behind you as he wraps his arms around your torso to keep you upright. He fucks up into you, his pace brutal and unrelenting as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Gonna fill up this pretty pussy, make you a mama.” He murmurs against the sensitive skin of your throat, his thrusts quickly becoming clumsy as he groans. He’s quick to follow you, his cock pulses and you can feel him spill against your walls, his demeanor softens with his prick as he rubs his nose against yours. “I love you s’much.” He mumbles, gently lifting you, helping you off his lap as you lay beside him. 

You take a moment, catching your breath as he leaves the room, returning quickly with a glass of water, handing it to you as he turns the lights off, crawling into the blankets with you as you lay your head on his chest. 

“Love you.” He says quietly, giving you a quick kiss that you know means good night as he settles in.

You sit in silence for a few minutes before sighing mostly to yourself. 

“What if this doesn’t work? Like ever?” You whisper into the darkness, curling yourself up closer to him.

You expect him to be asleep, or to brush you off, and to tell you that it will. Instead he just pulls you closer.

“Then we’ll keep trying. And if it doesn’t work then we’ll look into other options. I went through the adoption process once already, it should be easier the second time around.” He kisses your forehead and you feel him relax, you know he’ll be asleep in a few minutes. You’re just happy he’s willing to validate your worries. 

“Good night, love you.” You murmur, you really do mean it. 

He’s right. You’ll keep trying, and if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen. There’s no way to know if you’re pregnant or not until then. (Although Joel isn’t all that surprised when you take a test two weeks later and are met with two blue lines.)

a/n : for the first time ever i actually like something i wrote lol

#lincolndjarin #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel tlou #tlou joel #joel the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #fan fiction

[faetreides]

summary: aemond targaryen x afab childhood friend wife!reader

cw: intentional heavier valyrian usage (i used translators so if i’m wrong, please just pretend that i invented the language and i’m right), slight breath play-ish, reader isn’t related to aemond in any way (they’re just from a different royal family from elsewhere , visited as a kid and met aemond), pregnant!reader, the breeding and praise kinks aren’t explicitly stated but they’re more in his actions, flashback mention of teen aemond having a typical teen boy reaction and getting a boner bc he saw his crush bent over, aemond drinks reader’s breast milk like a vampire and cums, this au-ish storyline has been a long standing maladaptive daydream but this is just a kinktober post, stuck in the wall was also supposed to be included but i cheated and just mentioned it/same with the waxplay lmao, implied wax play later on, kinda unsafe and unrealistic sex (obviously), written with no thoughts

wc: 1.4k+

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not repost, translate, or give ai my works

kinktober masterlist

It’s been six moons since you discovered that you were with child. Your husband, Aemond Targaryen, had been smug beyond belief when the maester estimated that you conceived on your wedding night.

You were not prepared for how your body would transform in the coming months. You have to empty your bladder more often than not and a burning in your chest keeps you awake. One of the more annoying problems was the tremendous ache in your breasts.

Aemond awoke to your quiet groans, sitting up in bed was not easy for you these days.

With a yawn, not even bothering to put on his eyepatch, he sat up in bed beside you.

“What have I told you about making good use of me if you need something, raqiarzy? (beloved). You should still be resting.” He chides you.

“How can I sleep when my tits are full to bursting, Aemond?” You reply with a slightly bratty tone, and he gives you a brisk pat on your behind to settle you. It was gentler than his strikes usually are, he considers your health with every action after all.

He sighs and lumbers out of bed to light a candle, as naked as he was when he succumbed to slumber. The newfound influx of hormones guides your attention to hone in on his cock flopping in the air as he walks back to bed. The dried wax from your love making last night still stubbornly clung to both of your bodies. You would definitely need to take another bath in the morning.

“Ao līs daor emagon ryptan issa se ēlī jēda, issa jorrāelagon. (you must not have heard me the first time, my love)” Aemond reminds you, unable to stop you from getting up and sitting in front of your vanity.

If your husband did not know better, one would think that you were opposed to any night time…. activites. The tired amusement in your eyes beckons him forward, but he stays lounging on the bed and watching you run your fingers through your hair. Aemond resorts to teasing to obtain your attention, adoring how you always fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

“It feels as if it were only yesterday that we reunited all those years ago, you had gotten lost and ended up falling in a hole in the city’s walls on your visit.”

Your hands pause on their way to grab your hair brush, casting a weak glare towards him out of the corner of your left eye. You clear your throat but you make no attempts to hide your embarrassment at the thought of the past. Aemond holds eye contact with you through the mirror, resting the hand not holding his head up on his hip.

“I was six and ten, wallowing in nausea and nerves. Do not pretend that you were faring much better, husband. We had not laid eyes on each other for nearly a decade.”

You do not mention the sizable tent in his trousers he had carried around after he helped you out of the wall.

“At that time I was convinced the way I would see you again would be in death, there was only relief for me.” He says firmly, and you shyly peel your gaze away from the mirror.

As exhausted and drained as you are, your heart melts at the unwavering affection in his words. Aemond clearly grows bored of playing cat and mouse, because suddenly his torso is pressing flush against your back.

“If you can’t sleep, at least allow me to distract you from your discomfort.”

He cups the front of your neck and gently squeezes, you huff but understand his unspoken request and arch your back against him.

“Refrain from teasing me, valzȳrys (husband), for tonight at least.” You lean your head back and look up at him as his other hand drifts down to tug the bodice of your nightgown down.

Your slip of Valyrian earns you another quick squeeze. You gasp and Aemond seizes the opportunity to gather enough saliva in his mouth to spit into yours. Your throat bobs under his hand as you swallow and he pinches your nipple in appreciation.

“Hmm. I will do my very best, darling.”

You have learned by now that such assurances mean tragically little.

Aemond takes stock of your chest, sliding the hand cupping your throat to be able to grope at both of your breasts. He rolls them around in his palms and kneads them as if he were in the kitchen handling dough. You moan at the sheer relief and his sapphire eye seems to sparkle at you in some kind of wink.

“These heavy tits must be remarkably sore, so full and with no one to drain them of their milk.”

You nod helplessly, more than ready for him to abandon his games and do just that.

One of his hands temporarily abandons your breast to push your head back down so you’d look at the mirror. You sit there, enraptured in the sight of milk beading to the tips of your nipples and leaking out.

Aemond catches it as well and groans, pinching at your nipples a bit meaner and squeezing your tits tightly to coax more milk out.

“Gevie (beautiful) , all this food for our future dragon. You are glowing brighter than any moon, raqiarzy (beloved).”

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment, never being able to take compliments with grace, and gaze down at your lap. A firm hand sinks into your hair and pulls it so you return your gaze to your sticky tits. Aemond swipes his fingers through the milky trails running down your tits. He whorishly brings them to his mouth and sucks them dry, smirking at you in the mirror as he grunts.

Your ornate vanity chair is swiftly turned around, and your lap is drowned in white hair when he falls to his knees before you.

“Aemond, what are you-“ Your words are cut off by a greedy mouth latched around your right nipple. Your husband is being mindful of his teeth and starts to rapidly suckle.

His free hand pets at the hair above your mound absentmindedly. An agonized groan floats through the air as his sucking picks up speed. You clutch onto the back of his head with both hands and run your fingers through his fine hair.

“Gods, Aemond, thank you thank you thank you. Such a devoted husband, I love you.” You do not say it often, your shy nature comes into play regarding that sort of thing, but the immensity of it must take a toll on your husband.

His groans are muffled by your teats and you have to swipe away stray drops of milk that dribble out of his mouth as he drains you.

Somewhere along the way he switches to your other breast when the previous one had nothing more to give. Your cunt howls in need for additional stimulation but the feeling of your chest pain fading away urges you to let your dearly beloved have his fill of your body. There are times in which you say it is his right.

You notice that Aemond has been grinding his weeping cock against the floor. He appears to have synced his thrusts to his suckling, and seeing how drunk he is off your milk meant for his future child makes you just as ravenous as his cock is for a hole to fuck.

Your arms wrap around Aemond in a fierce hug, surrendering yourself to your cunt’s way of thinking. Even if he wanted to pull away, your grip gave him no means to do so. His face is squished into your tits and his eye rolls back, continuing his suckling and writhing.

He rips his mouth away from you to loudly exclaim, and you are startled by how his mouth forms an ‘O’ shape and his form locks up. Aemond weakly thrusts his hips through his apparent peak, the burst of fluids spewing out onto the floor. A few spurts of it lands on your legs, and in the depths of your depravity you eagerly scoop it up to shove in your mouth.

You run your fingers through Aemond’s hair again to assist him in coming back down, and once he does you are quickly swooped up in his arms and delicately thrown back onto the bed.

“Do not confuse a curse for a blessing, issa dāria (my queen). My cock is likelier to grow wings and take flight than it is to run out of seed to stuff this puffy cunny with. Sir sagon nykeā sȳz ābrazȳrys (now be a good wife), and endure it for me, hm?”

You will be greeting the approaching dawn with countless more pieces of dried wax.

#this is so bad jace's was better #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x you #hotd smut #house of the dragon x reader #tw pregnancy

[lustfulslxt]

hi hi! "local" anon here, and i just had a rlly good idea that ik you will deliver perfectly.

matt "accidently" sends reader a d pick and she's all flustered but just doesn't say anything, until like the next day when they all like go out to dinner and everyone's in their own conversation. she just brings it up like, "so what was that pic you sent last night?" and he knows EXACTLY what she's talking about, but is all like "huh? what?"

but then, later that night, she ends up sending a risky pic of her own and then he just texts her saying to like 'come over immediately' or he's coming over to her house and then yk what!!

again, i love your writing and i know you will NOT disappoint with this!! Love you ! 😘

Take The Risk - Matt Sturniolo

warnings : spicy pics and smuttt

a/n : finally!! am i right?? pls look the other way if this is shit, like actually fr.. lmaoooo

—

“This is actually impossible. I’m gonna die of old age before I finish this thing.” I groan to myself, letting my head fall forward onto the table.

It’s been weeks of me staring at all of these pieces, all the exact same, aside from the shape. I’m determined to complete it. I lift my head up, an irregular piece slowly falling from my forehead.

“Who came up with this shit? Why are they so against me?” I ask no one in particular, seeing as I’m completely alone.

I’m convinced whoever created this was just trying to spite me. I can never back of out a challenge, they had to have known that. It’s been hours since I first sat down to work on it today, I am bored out of my mind, but I still can’t put the pieces down. Just as I’m about to toss my head back and cry from frustration, I realize I only have five pieces left. I jump forward, laying them all out in front of me, studying their pattern and the way they could all fit together. It takes maybe another ten minutes before I finally get it.

The last asymmetrical piece, snaps into place, completing the array of silver configuration. Twenty two days, six hundred fifty four pieces later. There she sits, in all her glory. Silver (Krypt), the hardest jigsaw puzzle to solve. This puzzle has no pictures, instead, it simply consists of hundreds of silver pieces, with a circular center and surrounding pieces making the finished jigsaw a plain rectangle. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into this thing.

“Never back down, never what?!” I exclaim, jumping up from my seated position, only now realizing how bad my posture is from the ache in my back. I reach my hand around, holding my back as I groan, “Fuck.”

Straightening up, I grab my phone and immediately snap a picture of the completed puzzle. I just have to show Matt, he’s going to be thrilled. I send the photo to him on snapchat, then head to my kitchen. I grab a bottle of water and a bag of chips to snack on, then go upstairs to relax in my bedroom. Once I put my show on the TV, I notice a notification from Matt.

Matty B

NO WAY YOU FINISHED IT

Me

I DID

Matty B

only took you a month lmao

Me

BYE

it was hard asf 👹

Matty B

me too

Me

UM EXCUSE ME

Matty B

whattt

myb

Me

🌚 you can’t just say that then b like ‘mY bAd’

Matty B

i didn’t mean it

Me

oh

Matty B

congrats on finishing the puzzle tho

now i don’t have to listen to you complaining about the creator being against you

Me

blocked.

Matty B

LMFAO

bro. i was joke

Me

awesome to hear bro

I roll away from my phone, grabbing my chips to eat while I watch TV. An hour goes by, before I make my way to the bathroom. I wash my face and brush my teeth, then strip into my pajamas to finally go to sleep. Walking back into my room, I grab my phone to check one last time. As I plug my charger into it, I notice a snapchat from Matt. Upon opening it, my jaw drops.

There, on my screen, is a picture of a dick. Matt’s dick; fully erect, veins dancing alongside it, the tip pink with dribbles of precum. His hand sits at the base, unintentionally giving me a visual comparison of the size, and boy, it’s something. I can’t help but lick my lips at the sight, before snapping out of it and realizing my best friend just sent me a picture of his cock.

I’m at a loss for words. I can’t even think properly, far from being able to articulate a response. So, I just lock my phone and lay down. Yet, every time I close my eyes, I see his dick staring back at me, begging to be touched. I can feel the arousal building in me, my walls now clenching around nothing. Tossing and turning, attempting to ignore the growing desire, I deeply sigh. It’s going to be a long night.

-

I look at my phone screen, observing myself in my front camera. I’m currently about to walk into the restaurant where I’m having dinner with Matt, Nick, Chris, Nate, and Madi. I haven’t addressed the picture Matt sent me yesterday, and he hasn’t brought it up either, but it’s still lingering in my mind.

Putting my phone away, I lock my car and strut towards the entrance of the restaurant. Upon entering, a hostess greets me and directs to the table where my friends reside.

“Y/N!” Nate cheers, causing the rest of them to look over at me, smiles appearing on all of their faces.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m a little late.” I apologize, scooting in next to Matt.

“You’re all good, I ordered your drink already.” Matt informs me, “They should be coming around shortly.”

I smile, “Thanks, Matty.”

Within five minutes, we all receive our drinks and order our food. While waiting on our meals, we resume light conversation. However, I cannot stop thinking about the picture Matt sent me. Every time I look at him, I feel my heart beat faster and my breath gets caught in my throat. Are we just going to forget about it? Is that what he expects? I can’t just forget.

As the other four indulge in their own conversations, I notice Matt is silent, so I use this as my chance to confront him about it.

“Matt?” I call out, loud enough for him to hear me, yet quiet enough so the others don’t.

His directs his attention to me, softly humming in response as his eyebrows raise, expectantly.

“Um, about yesterday..” I trail off, attempting to read his body language.

I see him slightly tense up, clearing his throat as he looks at me, feigning confusion, “What?”

I give him a pointed look, “That picture you sent last night.”

He looks around as if trying to rack his brain, his eyebrows furrowing as he shrugs, “What are you talking about?”

I sigh, coming to a realization that I’m going to get nowhere with this. He knows what I’m talking about. I know he knows, I can see it all over him. Two can play at that game.

I clearly my throat and shake my head, “Actually nothing, forget about it.”

For the rest of the evening, we don’t speak on that topic again. We all just enjoy our food and the company of each other.

After dinner, I arrive home and immediately head to the bathroom for a shower. The entire night, my mind has been stuck on Matthew, wishing we talked about it, longing for more. We’ve never been anything other than friends, but he lit something in me, a fire that I can’t seem to put out. Should I call him over it? Should I do what he did to me?

After getting dressed in nothing but a black lingerie set, I sit in front of my bedroom mirror. I do look good, but should I really do this? Just take a picture and send it? I give myself another once over, before deciding to turn around and lean forward, snapping a quick photo.

I don’t know how much time has passed as I sit there, staring at my screen. My fingers hover over the picture, unsure of what to say, or if I should say anything at all. Taking a deep breath, I full send, then quickly put my phone down, suddenly ridden with more anxiety as I anticipate his response.

Hopefully I’m not reading more into this situation than what it is. Surely Matt is just playing hard to get. If he didn’t mean to send the picture, he would’ve just said that, right? I try to convince myself that he’s just being a tease, but the more I think about it, the more the pit in my stomach grows. After what feels like forever, I reach for my phone and my immediately face falls.

Opened 12 minutes ago.

Before I can even think a single thought, knocks on my front door sound throughout the silent atmosphere. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I grab my black silk robe and slip it on while walking towards the door. Peeking through the peephole, I see Matt standing there, looking antsy. I freeze, my hand stuck on the doorknob, unable to complete the motion of turning it. I toss my head back, taking a deep breath, before pulling the door open. His eyes light up once he sees me, his gaze flickering over my figure before he makes his way inside.

Within seconds, his lips are on mine, needy and desperate. Taking a few seconds to get over the initial shock, my lips move against his, my hands looping around his neck as his hands pull me in closer by my waist. Without removing his lips from mine, he kicks the door shut and walks me backwards, towards my couch.

As soon as my legs hit the side, he pulls back and asks, “Is this okay?”

I eagerly nod, “More than okay.”

A small grin pulls to his lips before they’re back on mine, kissing me with so much hunger. His hands grope at every one of my curves, squeezing and kneading my skin. His hands suddenly grab my robe, pulling it down my arms and letting it fall behind me, before he pulls away and takes in my appearance once again. He licks his lips and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, and I can see the bulge stiffening in his pants.

“Fuck, you’re so fine.” He groans, pulling me back into him.

His hands forcefully grab my face and he slams his lips onto mine once again, pulling our bodies flush together. My hands tread through his hair, tugging as he turns my head to the side and moves his mouth to work down my jaw to my neck. His breath is hot against my skin, his tongue licking and his teeth biting. I can feel my arousal pool in between my legs, and I have to squeeze them together to relieve the tension. His hands travel down to my ass, tightly squeezing and massaging it, only making me more wet as I let out a soft moan.

He pulls away and rests his forehead on mine, “What do you want, baby?”

I lick my lips, letting out a breath, “You. I want you, Matt.”

Instantly, he pulls his shirt off and comes back to me, pressing his lips on mine again. I reach behind my back, unhooking my bra and letting it fall down my arms and onto the floor. His hands immediately make their way to my boobs, and I’m melting in his palms. He grips them tenderly yet firm, pulling more moans from me. He leans forward and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, sucking on it as he pinches the opposite one.

The desire in me grows stronger with every touch he graces me with. He knows what he’s doing, and I’m weak in the knees because of it. Kissing me with so much passion and lust, his fingers slip into the waistband of my bottoms, pulling them down with ease, only breaking the kiss to fully remove them. My hands tug at his pants, wanting him to take those off as well, which he does, along with his boxers. We’re left standing, completely naked, and hungry for one another.

He places a couple of soft kisses against my lips, before quickly spinning me around and bending me over the side of the couch. His hands travel down my back, applying just the right amount of pressure, causing me to clench in anticipation. His fingers dig into the skin of my ass, jiggling it, and gripping it with enough strength to surely leave bruises. One of his hands breaks away from me, only to come right back with extreme speed and force. I yelp, jerking forward at the feeling of his hand colliding with my bare skin, a moan soon following as he rubs the place he smacked.

“Just wanna make you feel good, baby.” He whispers against my ear, his fingers trailing between my legs, running over my core.

I let out a whimper, pushing back against his hand for more, but his other hand places a firm hold on my back, keeping me in place. His fingers run through my folds, becoming slick with my wetness, causing him to let out a groan. His fingertips rub my clit in slow and soft circles, adding more pressure and speed with every second, leaving me quivering with moans.

“Mm, such a good girl.” He praises, sinking two fingers into my entrance, ripping a loud moan from my mouth.

“Just wanna be a good girl for you.” I find myself saying in between the whimpers of pleasure.

His pace increases, his fingers pumping in and out of me while his other hand runs up and down my back. I could feel the orgasm building so quickly, begging for release. His hand moves from my back, and starts tracing circles onto my clit once more, his fingers inside me going even faster. My legs start shaking and I’m now putting all my weight onto the couch, way too weak to stand on my own.

“So wet.” Matt mumbles in delight at the sound of his fingers in my juices, “Bet you taste so good.”

“F-fuck, feels so good.” I moan, shuddering as he increases his speed even more. “Gon-gonna cum.”

“Let go, baby.”

His fast movements and the sound of his raspy voice fuel my orgasm, my climax falling upon me quickly. I clench around his fingers, letting myself go and cum all over his hands. He continues finger fucking me, letting me ride out my high. He removes his hands from me and I look back in time to see him sucking all of my juices off of his fingers. The sight alone had me clenching again, eager for more.

“I knew it.” He moans against his fingers, “Taste like I could eat you forever.”

I stand back up on shaky legs, turning to face him and pulling him into a deep kiss, our tongues intertwining and exploring each other’s mouth. His hand comes up to my throat, gently squeezing it, pulling me closer, before pulling us apart altogether.

“We’re not done yet, my sweet girl.” He smirks against my lips, turning me back around and laying me over the couch once again.

He wraps his hand around his dick, stroking it a few times, then runs it through my folds, causing me to shake from the sensitivity. Without a word, he places one hand on my lower back and slowly slides himself in my entrance.

A high pitched moan falls from my lips as he groans, tossing his head back, “Fuck. Been wanting this forever, baby. Feel better than I’ve ever imagined.”

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, sliding backwards to take all of him in me. He moans loudly, tightly gripping my hips. He holds me in place as he starts thrusting, digging deeper into me with every pump. His strokes get faster and harder, our skin slapping together as I become a moaning mess. My whole body shakes with every movement of his, my face buried into the sofa, muffling my sounds as he fucks me. My legs tremble as he hits exactly where I need him, and I instantly begin clenching around him.

His hand wraps around my hair in a makeshift ponytail and tugs my head back, “I wanna hear your pretty moans, baby. You like the way I fuck you?”

“Mmm, yes. I love it-” I sound out, breathless from the pleasure. “You fuck me s-so good.”

His thrusts quicken and his grip on my hip tightens. The knot in my stomach continues growing, proving my statement to be true. I’ve never been fucked like this, and I can’t help but think about how I’m so glad I sent him that picture.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good wrapped around my cock, taking me so well. My good girl.” He moans, his hips sputtering.

The pressure in my stomach becomes too much and it’s hard holding it in, my hands gripping the cushions beneath me. He leans forward, his hands intertwining with mine as his lips trail open mouth kisses up and down my back. I can’t help the moans that keep pouring from my mouth, feeling nothing but pure bliss.

“I can feel you clenching around me.” He whispers in my ear, “Cum on my cock, so I can fill you up, pretty girl.”

With that, I let go. My entire body shakes as pornographic moans fall from my lips, my pussy clenching around him so tightly. His strokes become erratic and his moans and groans are louder than before. He quickens his pace as he chases his high, instantly filling me up with a loud raspy moan emitting from his mouth. He continues thrusting into me, pushing his cum deeper. He leans back, standing up straight as we both catch our breaths. His hands find my back once again, softly massaging it. He pulls out, my legs twitching from the stimulation. His hands move down to my ass, gently squeezing it, before he helps me up.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, turning me to face him, keeping his hands around my waist for support.

“Like we should’ve done that a long time ago.” I grin, still breathless.

“We can always make up for lost time.” He grins, placing his forehead on mine.

I nod as we both laugh before he places a few kisses on my cheeks and lips. His hand grabs mine and he pulls me even more into him, capturing my lips in a deep but loving kiss.

“Let’s take a shower, so I can clean you up.” He suggests.

My face heats up and I nod once more, following him upstairs as he never lets my hand go.

Our friendship just changed entirely and I can’t wait for what’s in store for us, because I know it’s going to be euphoric.

—

a/n : tadaaa!!! ugh i hope this wasn’t shit, it’s been forever :((( lmk what you think! requests are closed bc i have wayyy too many that i need to catch up on, but i’m hoping i can get back into it! love uu <333

#lustfulslxt #joss speaks #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #the sturniolos #matt sturniolo #imagine #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic

[here2bbtstrash]

the shape of your body (explicit)

genre: fluffy slowburn smut

pairing: jimin x reader

summary: the same day you finally manage to speak to your months-long public transit crush, you end up seeing much more of him than you bargained for.

word count: 24k 🙇‍♀️

contains: explicit sexual content~*~ (after a slow burn lmao) - new york city grad school AU, strangers to lovers, reader is an art student, public transit thirsting, jimin is a dancer and a nude model, namgi and vhope as side characters, basically everyone is gay (they're ART STUDENTS in NEW YORK CITY it's called realism 💅), a smidge of member x member side character relationships, jimin is biromantic demisexual 👀, conversations about body image issues/past relationship struggles/demisexuality and libido, soooo much making out, a couple "failed attempts" at sex, accidental voyeurism (but not how you think lmao YOU'LL SEE), showering together non-sexually, and: fingering, clit stim, nipple play, come eating/sharing 🤭 an attempted blowjob, face sitting, & protected sex (multiple rounds 🥵)

A/N: asjdshgkdfjgs i can't believe it's done 😭 there were so many times i thought i would never finish this fic !!! i have too many friends to thank for talking me off of SEVERAL ledges where i was convinced this whole thing was trash and that i should just stick to short porn or perhaps simply never write again. i'm so glad i saw this one through because there are concepts in here that are deeply important and personal to me wehhh 🫠 i sincerely hope y'all enjoy this one!! thank u for enduring mostly radio silence while i was in jimin lockdown, and of course, happy early birthday to mini, the light of my mf life 🥰💜 (oh and LDOMLT ch 8 is coming next so buckle tf up bitches 👀)

an eternity of smooches to @haliiimede for beta reading and just generally being the best fucking person on planet earth ✨ AND TO @goodsoop FOR THE DEMI SENSITIVITY READ VERY SORRY THAT I AM THE WORLD'S LARGEST IDIOT AND FORGOT TO CREDIT..... i love you both 🥺

read on AO3!

~*~

You’ve taken the subway thousands of times since moving to New York.

Morning rides, squeezed nearly to death between commuters in suits blinking back sleep and school-uniformed kids scream-laughing and paper coffee cups gripped tight by winter-numb fingers.

Long trips with your sketchbook on your lap, riding the line all the way to Pelham Bay Park and back, to surface above ground out where there’s a little more space to breathe, until the setting sun floods orange glow between the buildings just before you descend again.

Late nights coming home, Namjoon’s head thudding back against the train window behind him as he dozes off, one arm thrown around your shoulder to ward off any drunk creeps, his free hand interlaced with Yoongi’s on his other side.

It’s always been the three of you, first in friendship, and now that the two of them have figured out they’re something more, you don’t mind it. But when it’s late and you’ve had enough drinks to feel warm all the way through, to melt something open inside of you, and you glance over to see a loving flicker of eyelashes exchanged as Namjoon leans down and presses a kiss to Yoongi’s temple, you can’t help it.

There’s a little bit of an ache there, right behind your ribs. Sometimes.

But mostly, when it comes to the train, you take the 6 to school. You go through the motions this morning the same as you always do: headphones around your neck, bag slung over your shoulder, immediately dropping into the first empty seat you see as the train doors shudder closed and the car starts to move. Six stops down, 51st street to Astor Place, five days a week, you know it like a heartbeat.

You just wish you knew him, too.

Subway Boy, as Yoongi affectionately labeled him the time you got two pitchers of margaritas deep and made the mistake of confessing to your roommates about your crush— if it can even be called that. Can you truly have a crush on someone you know nothing about, not even their name?

Well, you know a few things.

He must live further north than you, because on the days you see him, he’s already on the train when you board at 51st.

He must like music, because he always has a set of fancy bluetooth earbuds in.

You’re pretty sure he’s an athlete of some sort, because he’s usually carrying a gym bag—and because during this summer’s heat wave, the one and only time you’ve seen him wear shorts, you nearly fainted at the thick, defined muscles of his thighs.

He has an affinity for jewelry, delicate silver always glinting through the multiple piercings in his ears. At odds with this, he seems to prefer to dress comfortably, and you’ve seen him in enough branded school t-shirts and sweats to figure he must also be an NYU student, though you can’t say for sure if he’s undergrad or graduate.

You deeply hope you’re not crushing on someone who still needs a fake ID to drink, but there’s no way to be certain.

Most importantly, you know that he is absolutely stunning. Elegantly handsome, with expressive deep brown eyes, skin like glass, and round cheeks and full lips that flush frozen pink on particularly frigid New York days. His hair has changed colors a few times over the months that have passed since you first took notice of him, but it’s currently a honey blonde, and long enough that he often reaches up to card a hand through it. He does it now, pushing loose strands back to expose his forehead as he frowns down at his phone.

On days where you share the same car, you notice very little else that happens on the ride, thoroughly entranced in Subway Boy’s beauty and his mystery. The train could probably catch fire and you’d miss it entirely.

Today happens to be one of those days, and excitement glitters in your bloodstream as you realize he’s seated across from you. The rush of seeing him always feels like its own reward, some kind of cosmic sign that the day is going to be a good one.

And then the train stops moving.

There’s an audible reaction from a few people in the car, and you glance up a moment later when a voice buzzes over the intercom. You’re able to make out “attention passengers” and very little after that, just the basics about some sort of unforeseen interruption of service and that the train should resume moving again soon.

You sigh, knowing very well that the MTA’s definition of ‘soon’ does not often align with typical human expectations. Figuring you’ve got some time to kill, you reach into your bag to retrieve your sketchbook and the first pencil you can dig out of the bottom.

“What did they say?” A voice, quiet and deep, surprises you before you can even flip to your in-progress page.

You glance up to find Subway Boy staring at you, forearms braced on his knees as he leans forward into the gap between his seat and yours. He’s got one bluetooth earbud pinched between his fingertips and a confused look on his face, having clearly missed the announcement.

Heat floods your face at the feeling of his eyes fixed on you, and it takes you a second to form a response. “Uh— I didn’t get most of it. Something about unforeseen interruption. And that we’ll be moving again soon.”

A muscle works in his jaw as he rolls his eyes. “Typical.”

“I don’t think they know what ‘soon’ means,” you murmur, mostly to yourself as you tear your gaze away from Subway Boy and return to the sketchbook in your lap, rifling through to find your latest half-finished drawing. When you hear him huff a laugh, you have to bite down on the hopeful smile that threatens to shine across your face.

“Definitely not.”

You force yourself to keep your eyes on the page, assuming Subway Boy must go back to his music when he falls silent after his last comment.

With featherlight flicks of your pencil, you start to add a little depth to the quick study you were working on last night, Yoongi’s half-peeled tangerine that he left abandoned on the coffee table when he stepped out onto the fire escape for a smoke.

Subway Boy’s voice catches you off guard a second time. “Are you drawing?”

You bite down on your lip again, a nervous habit, and you nod as you tilt the page so he can see from across the car.

“Wow.” You wonder if you’re imagining the way his voice seems to soften a little. “You’re really good. Are you an artist?”

You can’t help it— your gaze flits up to meet his again. It’s nearly overwhelming to lock eyes with your Subway Boy and hear him compliment you, like something out of a wild daydream. “I guess so,” you remark, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a small smile as you say it. “I’ve certainly paid NYU enough money in my attempts to become one.”

“Know the feeling,” he scoffs, but his eyes smile back, pulled into crescent moons.

“What did you pay them for?”

“Currently, a dual MFA/MA in dance and… teaching dance. Really went all-in on the dancer thing.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen automatically. You’ve wondered— and yes, occasionally drunkenly speculated with your roommates— what Subway Boy’s line of work might be, but you have no idea why dancer never occurred to you. Because now all the pieces suddenly fall together in front of you: the toned muscles that flex beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, the natural grace he exudes, not to mention his perfect posture.

Of course he’s a dancer. It makes perfect sense.

It occurs to you, a beat too late, that a wide-eyed ‘oh’ is not the most normal response to a truly innocuous answer to a question asked of a random stranger.

But the smile in his eyes doesn’t falter. “I feel like I see you on this train a lot.”

Your stomach flutters like butterfly wings, and you have to look away, back down to the safety of your sketchbook. “Really?”

There’s an extra pause before he speaks again. “Man, sorry. Think I misread that. Now I feel creepy. I promise I’ve only noticed you a normal amount.” Your eyes snap back up to find him wincing slightly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“No, no, I’m— it’s not—” you stammer, trying to recover. “I, uh— me too, I have too. Noticed you. A normal amount. I… I don’t know why I just pretended like I didn’t.”

Subway Boy leans forward, head dropping down with a genuine laugh that shakes his shoulders, and you can’t help but laugh too, out of sheer embarrassment. He’s beaming when he rights himself again, and it sends a thrill buzzing through you, all the way down to your fingertips still clutched tight to your pencil.

“That makes me feel better,” he admits. “At least we’re both creepy.”

As if the universe itself is intervening to save you from any further humiliation, the train shudders back to life and begins to move again. The sigh you breathe is a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

“That’s definitely a new record,” you say shyly as you move to shove your things back in your bag. “Maybe the MTA actually looked up what ‘soon’ means.”

His focus is tracked over your shoulder when you look up again, and his eyes dance left to right to chase the patterns in the subway tile as you pull into the next station.

“Guess it’s a miracle,” he says softly, not making eye contact.

“Must be,” you murmur back, letting your gaze drop to the floor, unable to hide your smile now.

He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, but the warm flush stays in your face for the rest of the ride. When the train pulls into the Astor Place station, you and Subway Boy get to your feet simultaneously, so quickly that your bags knock together as you pull them over your shoulders.

“Sorry,” you say in unison, immediately sharing an exhaled laugh at the synchronicity of the moment.

The doors slide open and he gestures for you to go first before following after. It’s a surprise— he’s never gotten off at Astor before, and when he doesn’t take the option of heading in another direction but instead falls into lockstep next to you, you seize the opportunity.

“Astor Place today, huh?” You hope the observation still falls into the category of ‘noticing a normal amount’.

“Yeah, first day of a new gig. What about you? Class?”

You nod. “Pretty standard stuff. But we start a new unit today, so that’s fun.”

“You in grad school too?”

“Yup, MFA in studio art.” You can’t help but tease, just a little. “Only one master’s degree for me, I’m such a slacker.”

His eyes squint again as he smiles. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re not, like, eighteen.”

“I thought that too!” You keep talking before you can stop yourself. “I mean, when I was… noticing. I distinctly remember thinking, like, please let me not be thirsting over a straight-up child right now.”

“Ahh...” Subway Boy trails off, and you can see a faint pink starting to blossom in the apples of his cheeks. “You were thirsting?”

You can’t help but scrunch your nose up slightly, resisting the urge to full-body cringe at your own stupid mouth. “We are now officially both creepy.”

He fidgets a little with the strap of the dance bag slung over his shoulder. “Hopefully I’m living up to the hype.”

You’re grateful to reach the art building before you can dig your grave any deeper. You nod your head in the direction of the glass doors as you slow to a stop, and he does, too. “This is me.”

“It’s actually me, too,” he remarks, glancing up at the building as if to double-check. “But I have a little bit, so I’m gonna grab a coffee I think. But it was nice to finally talk to you. Not that— sorry, that was weird. Take out the finally. It was good to talk. Meet a fellow starving artist and all.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, until you finally work up the courage to ask the question. “Do you have a name?”

“Oh!” His eyes widen, more heat-blush coloring his face. “Yeah. Park Jimin. Probably could’ve led with that.”

You give him your name, and his voice is like music when he repeats it back.

“Well, good luck in class,” Jimin says with a nod. “And hopefully I’ll see you around sometime.” A smile toys at the corner of his mouth, and then he pauses as his words seem to catch up to him. “Well, I mean. I guess I know I will. On the— train— yeah, I’m gonna go before I say any more stupid things.”

“Bye Jimin,” you giggle, and he gives a shy departing wave before he spins on his heel. As he walks away, you can’t help but notice the way he drops his gaze and shakes his head, like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his social performance.

And just like that, Subway Boy has a name— one that loops in your head as you float to class, barely feeling your feet touch the floor. Park Jimin. It’s sweet like him, warm sunshine in your veins as you shoulder open the door to the studio, grab a seat, and start to get set up.

A voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin as Kim Taehyung leans in, having occupied the seat next to you while you were off in la-la land. “Know what the new unit is?” You start to shake your head, then realize it was a rhetorical question when he waggles his eyebrows and continues. “Life drawing. Ready for some naked people?”

You roll your eyes and grab at the strings of his gray beanie, pulling it down over his fluffy hair and eyes in one swift tug. “Bro, we are literally in grad school. Stop acting like a virgin.”

“Like you weren’t thinking it too,” he grumbles to himself as he shoves the hat back up his forehead.

You shoot him a look as your professor signals the class to settle and launches in. It’s the same routine as each unit you’ve rotated through in your graduate studio, so you only half-listen, mostly distracted by Taehyung tearing open the paper wrapper of a red heart-shaped lollipop and popping it into his mouth. His latest oral fixation in his millionth attempt to quit vaping.

You lean down to dig into your bag, trying to ignore the sound of hard candy clacking against teeth as you fish out both pencils and charcoal to give yourself options. You pull a couple of each out of their cases, glancing up in an attempt to refocus on the professor, who is still talking.

It takes a second for your brain to process the image in front of you. His shy smile has been replaced with a serious, professional expression, but there’s no questioning the familiar face, the posture, the silver jewelry, the way he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. Subway Boy Park Jimin is standing in the center of the room, wearing a short black satin dressing gown.

Your jaw goes slack. It feels like it happens in slow motion as you watch Jimin’s strong hands move down to undo the sash at his waist before he shrugs off the flimsy fabric and lets it fall to the floor. And then he’s not wearing anything at all.

You lose your grip entirely on your handful of pencils, and they hit the studio floor with a clatter that certainly feels deafening, each one choosing to roll off in a different direction.

Taehyung glances over at you, brow slightly creased. The lollipop tucked in his cheek impedes his speech slightly, but not enough that you can’t understand him. “Now who’s the virgin?”

You crouch down, praying that maybe you can gather your things unnoticed, but it already feels like every pair of eyes in the room is burning a hole in your back. To his credit, Taehyung at least helps a little, extending a sandaled foot to kick any pencils he can reach over towards you. You scramble around the room to chase after the rest, and you can’t bear to look up and see if Jimin is watching you or not. You’re not sure which would be worse.

Fighting the urge to army crawl out of the room, you grip both hands tightly around your materials as you return to your seat, then tuck everything into the tray of the easel in front of you. You’re a professional, you tell yourself. It’s not like it’s your first time drawing someone nude.

It’s just your first time doing it when you happen to have a crush on them.

But it’s fine. You let out an exhale to ground yourself, then pick up a pencil. It’s just a body.

You vaguely recall hearing your professor explain that you’d be moving through ten quick-sketch poses to begin with, each held for only a few minutes, before switching to a few longer sessions for the rest of class. As you were too busy chasing your pencils around the room, you’ve missed the first pose entirely, and you have to work quickly to get a very rough outline of the second before Jimin moves again at the professor’s instruction.

He switches so fluidly from one pose to the next, and you have so little time, it’s enough to get you out of your head just trying to keep up. You find yourself falling comfortably into a flow state, focused on little more than lines and shapes in front of you and the act of reproducing them on your page. It’s an exercise you know well, and the repetition of it soothes you.

The studio is quiet, save for the scratching of pencils on paper and the soft classical music your professor has switched on.

By the time you finish sketching the tenth pose, it feels like you can breathe a little easier, and your professor offers Jimin a quick break just as you lean back to admire your work. You do your best to quickly duck behind your easel as he stretches, then reaches for a bottle of water set on a nearby table.

Taehyung removes his sheet of sketches and sets it aside before leaning in, pressing his face against his easel to match yours. “He’s cute. Bet he gets like, infinite ass-pussy. Just the absolute most.”

“Shut up, Tae!” You jerk your foot out to kick the leg of his chair, and a boxy grin stretches over his face as he giggles. You stare daggers back. “You’re too damn horny today. Like you didn’t just get your ass eaten in the supply closet last week.” The rumor had spread through your cohort practically overnight— probably started by Taehyung himself.

The menace in question shoots you an over-exaggerated wink. “And I’d do it again, too.”

You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”

The professor claps to get everyone’s attention again, and you peer around your easel to watch as Jimin resumes his place at the center of the room. You settle in for the first of a few longer, more detailed sketches, trying desperately to keep your cool about it. But Jimin is unquestionably gorgeous.

He turns to the side for the first pose, arms wrapped around his muscular torso and eyes downcast, fingertips and thumb resting over his neck and chin as if to cradle his own face in his hand. After a long stretch of time where you manage to get most of a sketch done, the professor cues him to move into a second pose, and he faces the back wall, reaching up to drape his arms over each other, crossed wrists resting delicately on the crown of his head.

You could easily see him as a statue carved out of marble, and you try to ignore the flutter of your heartbeat as you attempt to translate his beauty onto your page each time. You have to hold in several sighs as you work on outlining the strong, toned muscles of his back and thighs— not to mention his perky ass. You can’t help but wonder if the rest of the class is struggling silently, too.

You’re beginning to think you might survive after all when the professor asks Jimin to move again and he does, shaking his body out slightly before reaching to grab a provided stool and shift it to the center of the room. He takes a seat, abdominals flexing as he leans back on his hands and unabashedly lets his legs fall open.

Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.

You try desperately to keep it together as you start your third sketch with unsteady hands. The minutes tick by, and you aren’t aware of Taehyung’s eyes on your paper until you hear his stupid whisper again. “Why aren’t you drawing his dick?”

He’s not wrong. There is a noticeable blank spot at the center of your page. “I’m getting there,” you huff. “Worry about your own sketch, Tae.”

“Girl, you are literally doing detail shading on his legs and he doesn’t even have a penis. What is he, a Ken doll?”

You grit your teeth and refuse to dignify Taehyung with a response. Fine. You can do this, you tell yourself. Don’t think. Just look and draw. It’s not a big deal.

With a hard swallow, you trace your eyes down his body, and… well, you don’t know what you were expecting. It’s just a soft penis resting limp between his legs, framed by an extremely regular pair of balls. Nothing scary, though you can’t quite will the heat back out of your face, can’t manage to silence the recurring thought that makes your stomach drop— it’s cute.

You resist the urge to smack your head against your easel as you finally fill in your sketch’s dick.

You somehow manage to survive the rest of class, but relief still floods your veins when your professor signals for everyone to wrap up what they’re doing for the day. Jimin starts to come alive again from the fixed pose, tilting his head to one side until something cracks audibly in his neck. You tear your gaze away for fear that his eyes might find yours, and shove everything into your bag as quickly as you can, not even caring what ends up where.

“Where’s the fire?” Taehyung questions beside you, but you ignore him.

You zip your bag up and sling it over your shoulder, then make a beeline for the exit, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the floor. It’s only once the studio door swings shut behind you that you feel like you can breathe again, and you have to keep yourself from outright sprinting to your next class.

~*~

The rest of the day rushes by in an overwhelming blur, your focus entirely shot by the events of the morning. You collapse into a seat on your train home, hugging your bag to your chest, thankful for the first time in your life to not be sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.

When you turn your keys in the lock and stumble in the front door of the apartment, the divine smell of what could only be Yoongi’s cooking immediately hits you full-force. You find him in the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder, searing a large steak in a cast iron pan for what must be a planned date night with Namjoon.

You wrap your arms around his tiny waist from behind as you approach. He responds with his usual greeting: a soft grunt of mild discomfort.

“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, trying to sound as sweet as possible.

“You just did,” Yoongi notes.

You decide to let his sass go, since you really do need help. “Two more?” Yoongi hums, somewhat affirmative, and you continue. “I know you work like 47 jobs and never get any time off—“

“Some of us have to pay rent without the luxury of stipends or rich parents, yes—“

“But is there any way I could… maybe possibly encroach upon your date night just this once? It’s an emergency. I need advice.”

Yoongi sighs, and you shift to peek over his shoulder, arms still wrapped around him as you watch the way he tilts the pan to one side, collecting butter on a spoon to baste over the steak as it cooks. You squish your cheek into his bicep.

“Lucky for you,” he begins, his tone relenting, “Namjoonie just called. They’ve got him working late to prep for the exhibition next month. So date night was canceled anyway.”

“Aw, Yoongiiiii.” You squeeze him tight enough that he makes another disgruntled noise, and you finally release your grip. “I’ll be your girlfriend tonight.”

He rolls his eyes, but willingly plays along. “Then get the wine, darling?”

You fall into a typical routine: Yoongi pulls a tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven as he lets the steak rest, while you grab a bottle of red at his instruction and fight with the corkscrew in an attempt to get it open. Yoongi watches you, slow-blinking, unamused.

“You wouldn’t last an hour in the restaurant industry.”

“Either help me, or shut up,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

When you finally get settled at your tiny kitchen table, Yoongi nods as if to prompt you while he fills each wine glass with a heavy pour. “Let’s hear it.”

You take a deep breath before launching in and recounting the events of your day, trying not to choke as you simultaneously stuff your face with food. Yoongi eats and listens quietly, no discernible reaction on his face save the occasional lift of his eyebrows. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest as you finish detailing the way you ran out of the studio the minute class ended.

“Alright. So you saw Subway Boy naked, big deal. Do you know how many dicks I’ve seen?”

You groan. “Spare me the details, please.”

“But this is what you wanted, right?” You shrug, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t play coy now. You’ve been lusting after this kid for months like a weirdo. So why are you stressed?”

“Because!” you huff, frustrated. “It’s— it’s out of order. It’s not like he chose to get naked in front of me specifically, he obviously just thought it was going to be a roomful of strangers. And it seemed like maybe we could be friends or something, but now I don’t know if I should keep pursuing that or just leave him alone. I want to be respectful, but I don’t want him to think I took one look at his penis and decided I didn’t like him anymore, but then it’s like, how do I hold a conversation when he and I both know I have seen his penis, not only seen but studied it, drawn it, and will continue to, weekly, in detail, from multiple angles—“

“You are absolutely overthinking this,” Yoongi laughs into his glass of wine, downing the rest before he continues. “Just get on the fucking train and say hi like a normal, well-adjusted human. This is my advice to you.”

You sigh as you shove a roasted potato in your mouth. “At least you’re a good cook.”

“I’m a great cook,” Yoongi corrects you as he gets to his feet. “Now help me with these dishes.”

~*~

Yoongi’s advice continues to echo in your brain as you lapse back into something like normalcy for the rest of the week.

When the day of your studio class rolls around again, you find yourself hustling not to miss the train, having hit snooze on your alarm a few too many times that morning. You fly down the subway steps just as the 6 is pulling into the station, and you try to ignore the way your pulse is already quickening, telling yourself it’s just from rushing and nothing else.

Pulling the strap of your bag up on your shoulder, you make it to the platform just as the train doors slide open, and your heart instantly leaps into your throat. There he is, leaning against a pole, overwhelmingly beautiful as ever. Park Jimin.

He’s scrolling through something on his phone and hasn’t yet looked up to notice you, and you find yourself frozen in place, jostled angrily by commuters exiting and boarding the train on either side of you.

Panic floods your veins. There’s no time to talk yourself off the ledge, no time to remember Yoongi’s words of wisdom, no time to do anything but make a snap decision. So you do the only thing that feels right: you turn around and sprint back up the stairs and out of the subway station.

The sidewalk is equally bustling, and you try to dodge people while you think through what to do despite the way your head is spinning. You were already going to be cutting it close for time today, and you don’t exactly have the disposable income for a taxi or an Uber. As you try to settle your racing thoughts, your eyes alight on a rack of Citibikes.

Fuck it. You don’t have a better option. Securing your bag on your back, you quickly scan the code to unlock the bike, then shove your phone in your pocket and swing your leg over the seat.

You’ve never biked in Manhattan traffic before, but it can’t be that difficult, you tell yourself. Definitely easier than sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.

Thankfully the street you’re on has a defined bike path, and you do your best to follow the flow of traffic, squeezing your hand brakes to slow to a stop when you hit a red light. It’s been years since you’ve ridden a bike that wasn’t stationary, but it comes back to you relatively easily, like— well, riding a bike.

When you hit a long stretch of green lights, you do your best to pick up speed, trying to make up for lost time. An approaching red light threatens to slow you down again, and you breathe a sigh of relief as it flips to green at the last possible second.

Just as your front tire rolls into the intersection, a deafening car horn nearly gives you a heart attack. You instinctively slam your grip tight around your brakes, and your bike screeches to a halt so fast you’re almost flung over the handlebars. A taxi just barely veers around you as it plows down the intersecting avenue, and you gasp for air, adrenaline coursing through your system.

Holy shit.

You drop one foot to the ground for leverage as you try to get your pulse back under control— you’re pretty sure you just saw your life flash before your eyes. Reality feels a million miles away, but you’re vaguely aware of someone shouting after the car as it speeds down the street.

“Fucking asshole!”

It takes a few seconds for you to realize that it’s a familiar voice, and when you do, you whip around as best you can with a bike between your legs.

“Yoongi?!”

“Oh my god,” Yoongi groans, knuckles blanching as he presses down on his own brakes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You squint, taking in the helmet strapped over his wavy dark hair and the insulated bag tucked into the basket on the front of his bike. “Since when do you deliver food?”

He grimaces, speaking up to be heard over the noise of traffic. “I just do it to make extra money when my hours suck.”

“What about the coffee shop?”

He shakes his head. “They only have me opening Mondays and Wednesdays right now.”

“What about the bar?”

“That’s just weekends, reliably. Sometimes extra evenings, but only if someone calls out.”

“What about the—”

“Christ, woman!” Yoongi cuts you off with a growl. “The food’s gonna get cold if I have to sit here and run through my entire résumé with you! Are you alright? Why aren’t you taking the subway?”

“Because!” you snap back. “There is a man on that train whose dick I’ve seen and I… I don’t know how to handle it! Okay?!” Though you don’t intend to raise your voice, it comes out loud enough that a group of high school kids on their phones exchange stifled giggles as they fast-walk around you.

“Well you need to be fucking careful,” Yoongi chides. “Biking in the city is not for the faint of heart. And if I’m not allowed to give in to my suicidal ideation, you’re not allowed to crack your head open on the pavement all because you’re trying to avoid a penis.”

“Fine,” you spit back through gritted teeth. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to class.” You push off the asphalt, legs still shaking a little with excess nerves as you re-find your balance and make your way cautiously through the intersection.

The rush of wind in your ears isn’t quite loud enough to drown out Yoongi calling after you as you bike away. “It’s only weird if you make it weird!”

When you somehow make it to Astor Place in one piece, you dock your bike and quickly sprint to the building, well aware that you’re already late. It’s only once you push the studio door open that you realize how truly frazzled and out of breath you are, and though you keep your gaze fixed on the floor, you can feel every pair of eyes in the room on you. You hold a hand up in an apologetic wave and hurry to find your seat.

Trying to collect yourself, you begin to unpack your materials as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the class. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear Kim Taehyung’s voice beside you.

“You’re sweaty. Why are you so sweaty?”

He’s got an eyebrow cocked when you look over, and you give him the most powerful death glare you can muster, enough that it must actually scare him. “Shutting up now,” Taehyung murmurs, voice shaking slightly as he returns to his own sketches, and you huff an exhale as you attempt to catch up to the rest of the group.

Class passes surprisingly quickly once you manage to get your breath back, much in the same way it did the week prior: you do your best to compartmentalize the body in front of you from the human person you have a giant, embarrassing crush on. It goes decently well in the moments where Jimin is frozen in a fixed pose, just lines and curves and light and shadow for you to emulate. During the breaks when he comes alive again, you hide out behind your easel, trying to ignore Taehyung’s inane bullshit and wishing you could disappear entirely.

The second your professor dismisses everyone for the day, you stuff your things back into your bag, hoping to once again speed-walk out of the room.

But despite your better judgment, you can’t help yourself this time. As you get to your feet, you glance up to watch Jimin pull his dressing gown back on, only to realize his eyes are already on you.

You’re distinctly aware of how much of a mess you must look from biking over, and the fact that you almost assuredly smudged charcoal on your face when you reached up absentmindedly to scratch an itch mid-sketch.

Jimin’s plush lips turn up in the smallest of smiles, and the bottom drops out of your stomach.

With a hard swallow, you avert your gaze from his, sling your bag over your shoulder, and quickly make your escape through the studio door. You can feel your pulse pounding in your throat even after he’s out of your sight, and your hands shake like a leaf all the way to your next class.

~*~

That night, sleep evades you until the early hours of the morning, and it feels like you’ve only just begun to doze off when the harsh noise of your alarm pulls you up from dreaming. You roll over in bed and glare accusingly at your phone, then shut it off, promptly letting the waves drag you under once more, seminar be damned.

It’s nearly noon when you finally make it out of bed and stumble into the living room in your sweats. Namjoon is curled up in his reading chair, a feat for someone of his size, surrounded as always by his massive stack of ever-changing ‘to read’ books. He glances up from the one that’s open on his lap, clearly surprised to see you.

“No class?” Namjoon’s voice is rough-edged, like he’s only just woken up himself.

“Skipped,” you grunt. His eyes track you as you cross the room and collapse face-first onto the couch.

“Is this about the penis?”

The cushion muffles your groan. “Not you too.”

You hear the distinct fluttering sound of Namjoon closing his book and shifting in his seat to give you his undivided attention. “Seems like you want to talk about it.”

You turn your head to the side to take in your roommate. “Maybe. Are you gonna give me the same stupid advice your boyfriend did?”

He smiles softly, one dimple flexing at the corner of his mouth. “I can try to be gentler.”

You huff as you flip onto your side, pressing your palms together and slipping them under your cheek. “Sounds like you’ve got the details already, so please. Enlighten me. Tell me how I’m supposed to handle seeing this guy naked once a week in the name of art.”

“Didn’t William Blake say ‘Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed’?” Namjoon poses it like a serious question, brow creased as if in contemplation, and you roll your eyes.

“I don’t know, Joon, did he? I said enlighten me, not write me a thesis.” You reach up to grab a couch pillow and fling it in his direction, missing by several inches. “Did Blake have anything in there on dealing with a naked crush and trying not to make it weird as fuck?”

“Well, does he seem weirded out by it?” Namjoon counters, patient as ever.

“I don’t know.” You shrug unsurely as you play back your last interaction with Jimin. “He smiled at me yesterday, at the end of class.”

Namjoon steeples his fingers together, leaning forward slightly in his chair, interest clearly piqued. “Okay, and what did you do?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I… threw all my shit in my bag and ran out of the room.” When you crack an eye open again, you can see Namjoon trying and failing to keep the smug smile off his face, his dimples giving him away.

“Maybe you could try smiling back next time?” he gently suggests.

You sigh, because you know he’s right. “You make it sound so easy. What’s next? You’re going to tell me to talk to him?”

He laughs a little. “I’d quote another poet, but I fear you might launch more projectiles at me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Let’s hear it, nerd.”

Namjoon clears his throat for dramatic effect before launching into a recitation. “‘It’s cool, not tryna put a rush on you / I had to let you know, that I got a crush on you.’”

There’s a wide grin on his face as you sit all the way up. “Did you just quote Biggie Smalls at me?”

“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”

You feign annoyance, but you can’t quite hide the smile beneath it, and you get to your feet as Namjoon continues to mumble a verse of Crush on You under his breath. “Whatever. I need to do laundry.”

“Oh—” Namjoon pauses to interrupt himself. “Lucky’s closed, by the way.”

Already halfway out of the living room, you whip around again at the mention of the laundromat you’ve been exclusive with for the last few years. “What?”

He nods solemnly. “Me and Yoongi found out the hard way last week. They’re putting in an Equinox.”

Your face twists in disgust. “A stupid bougie gym?! You’ve got to be kidding me. Where am I supposed to wash my fucking clothes?”

“We found a place a few blocks up. Quick Clean, or something like that.” Namjoon shifts to dig his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send you the address. It’s not bad, just a little more expensive.”

“This is such bullshit,” you groan as you stomp back into your bedroom, the day already off to a terrible start.

In a gentrification-induced rage, you angrily shove the contents of your overflowing laundry hamper into the giant yellow IKEA bag hung up in your closet, just barely managing to fit it all. Glancing at the mirror on the back of the door, you briefly consider changing out of your sweats, or at the very least doing something with your hair, but you shrug it off— it’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone at the damn laundromat.

You grab your headphones off your desk and sling them around your neck, double-check that your sketchbook is still tucked into your bag, then lug everything out to the front hallway. You pull your slides off the shoe rack and slip your socked feet into them.

“Bye, nerd!” you call over your shoulder to Namjoon before the front door slams shut behind you.

By the time you make it to the weird new laundromat, you’re sweaty and pissed off. You knew the walk to Lucky’s by heart, but you had to do this one while looking down at your phone GPS and trying not to get hit by a car. Not an easy feat while carrying every article of clothing you own over one shoulder.

You miss the way the nice old man who owned Lucky’s would greet you warmly and sneak you a cup of coffee from his pot in the back, the way his cat would roll over on the front counter for belly rubs, the way there was always a deeply entertaining telenovela playing on the ancient tiny TV.

The stupid Quick Clean has none of these things, just a shitty pile of magazines in the seating area and weirdly sticky floors. You slam into the front door a little harder than is necessary to push it open, the bell tinkling violently overhead as you enter. The only compliment you can give the place is that it’s relatively dead, save for a couple people on their phones or half-asleep in chairs as they wait on their stuff, and two guys in the corner loading armfuls of wet clothes into a pair of dryers.

You grab a machine a respectful distance away from them and swing the door open when a laugh that’s nearly musical gives you pause. Unable to shake a sense of familiarity, you glance over at your neighbors again, just in time to see one of them reach up to run a hand through his honey blonde hair.

Your IKEA bag hits the sticky floor with an audible thud as panic kickstarts your heart.

This isn’t fucking happening. Of all the laundromats in New York City, you did not just manage to stumble into the one currently being used by Park Jimin.

But even before you can catch a glimpse of his profile, you’re already certain it can’t be anyone else. You’ve spent too much time familiarizing yourself with the slope of his neck, the definition of his forearms, his dainty hands. There’s no mistaking them, adorned today with several silver rings that catch the dim fluorescent light as he grabs more of his clothes from the washer.

The desperate need to turn around and run rises up in your chest, just as before, but this time you steel yourself. You can’t keep running away forever— particularly not when you pulled on your last clean pair of underwear this morning.

A rush of heat floods your face at the thought of the many pairs of underwear in your bag that will soon be sent spinning around this washing machine, where Jimin could easily see, but then it occurs to you that you have seen his penis. Maybe the trade-off will put you on slightly more equal footing.

But you really don’t need to be thinking about Park Jimin’s penis in this laundromat right now.

Shaking your head slightly to try and banish the thought, you set about your laundry routine, trying not to drop any unmentionables on the floor when you dump the contents of your tote into the washer. You dig quarters out of your bag and slot them into the machine, then press the button to start the cycle.

With a final exhale to steady yourself, you turn to look over your shoulder again, only to find Jimin leaning up against the empty dryer next to his, unabashedly watching you with a small smile on his face.

It occurs to you now that you couldn’t have put less effort into your appearance if you tried, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every random stain on your sweatpants and your extremely fashionable socks and slides combination. Jimin’s just in a white t-shirt and a pair of distressed jeans today, but literally everything looks fresh off the runway on him. You suppress the urge to walk out the door and go lay down in traffic, and instead take Namjoon’s advice: you smile back and even lift your hand in a shy wave.

You drop into an empty chair across from your machine and watch as Jimin starts to cross the room to join you, his eyes never leaving yours. Before he can make it, you suddenly become aware of someone else sliding into the seat beside you.

“You didn’t tell me she was cute, Jimin-ah!”

Eyes wide, you turn to see Jimin’s friend sprawled out next to you, one arm draped lazily over the back of your chair. His wavy dark hair peeks out from under a lime green beanie, and he’s swimming in an oversized long sleeve tucked into baggy pants, cinched tight at the waist with a Gucci belt.

“Jung Hoseok,” he gives you a nod. “Friends call me Hobi. You can call me whatever you like.” The way his wide smile pulls his mouth heart-shaped makes you giggle a little, slightly dazed by whatever the fuck is happening right now.

You hear Jimin sigh as he takes the open seat on your other side. “Please ignore Hoseok’s tendency to come on way too strong. If it makes you feel any better, he’s as gay as they come.”

Hoseok flicks his wrist just so. “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you say with a shrug, your gaze flitting from Jimin to Hoseok and back again. “I have two gay roommates, so.”

Hoseok hums, clearly interested. “Gay together or gay separately?”

“Gay together.”

He narrows his eyes. “Open to a third?”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected question. “Uh, I’d have to ask.”

He looks like he’s going to say more, but Jimin interjects. “Hoseok— can we get a minute?”

Hoseok’s lips pull together, fish-like, and he nods as he gets to his feet. “Say no more. I’ll just, uh…” He fumbles, looking around for something to do, then crosses the room to take the open seat next to the sad pile of magazines. “…do a little light reading.” He picks up one at the top of the stack, holding it up for you both to witness. “Oh look, the queen died!”

You bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another laugh, but Jimin’s face is surprisingly serious when you look back at him. “I just want to say one thing,” he murmurs, voice low, “and then I’ll leave you alone.”

Nerves settle in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight. “Jimin,” you start, and when he opens his mouth to keep talking, you blurt out the first thing you can think of.

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison, and there’s a beat where you both blink, equally taken aback by the other’s apology. It’s quiet apart from the rumble of the laundry machines and the distinct sound of Hoseok smacking the magazine over his mouth, clearly more invested in your plot line.

You break the silence first. “Wait, why are you sorry?”

Jimin’s eyes drop down to the floor, one black boot toeing nervously at the tile. “I figured you were upset with me because I didn’t warn you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise when you play your initial conversation back. “Oh my god— when I said graduate studio art, you… you knew.”

He nods, somewhat remorseful. “I was kind of hoping that maybe it would be a different class, but. Yeah. I figured. I’m really sorry, I should’ve—”

“No, no,” you interrupt. “I get it. I’m not mad, obviously I didn’t even put it together until right now.” You pause for a second and can’t help but smile a little. “And, I mean, how do you just casually work that into your first conversation with someone? ‘Great talking to you, ready to see my dick in five minutes?’”

Jimin’s head tips back when he laughs, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. “Right.”

You can feel your own face grow hot as you realize what you’ve just said. “God, sorry, I didn’t mean to— clearly I don’t know how to handle this. That’s why I wanted to apologize, for avoiding you and being weird.” You twist your hands uncomfortably in your lap. “I’ve just never been in this situation before, and I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to talk given… the…” Every cell in your body screams at you not to say the word ‘dick’ again. “Yeah. I thought it might be easier to keep my distance. Keep it separate.”

Jimin’s eyes drift back up to find yours, and his casual beauty is so stunning, it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs. He shrugs softly. “I mean, maybe it would be. But I don’t want to.”

“Great,” you manage a laugh, still breathless. “Because I nearly died on a Citibike the day I didn’t take the subway.”

He laughs, too. “Not gonna lie, I missed seeing you on the train.” You’re not expecting it when he extends a hand out. “Friends?”

You realize belatedly that he’s offering a handshake, and you gently take his hand in yours. His skin is soft and warm, a contrast to the cool metal of his rings that press into your palm as he squeezes.

“Friends,” you echo with a smile, squeezing back.

There’s a sudden thump and a cackle as Hoseok falls out of his chair with a peal of laughter. “You are so fucking weird, Jimin-ah!” he gasps from his spot on the floor. “Who shakes hands?!”

The two of them keep you more than entertained until the buzzers on their dryers sound a second apart from each other. You learn that Hoseok and Jimin are roommates, that they met as dance majors in their undergrad program, and that Hoseok now works as an adjunct instructor and freelance choreographer.

“Because some of us decided we wanted to actually make money instead of digging ourselves further into debt,” he explains with a sly grin and smack delivered to the back of Jimin’s head.

You watch as they meticulously fold, Hoseok regularly leaning over to redo Jimin’s work and chide him about wrinkles, and then they stack the clean laundry back into their bags and head for the exit.

“Bye, new friend!” Hoseok calls as he maneuvers the door open with his foot, and Jimin pauses at the threshold, the bell overhead tinkling gently.

“So… guess I’ll see you on the train?” he asks, like he’s still a little unsure, and your heartbeat flutters.

“Guess so.”

“Cool.” He gives you one last soft smile before he disappears after Hoseok. The bell sounds again when the door shuts behind him, as if to snap you back to reality.

The floating feeling in your stomach doesn’t quite dissipate even long after Jimin has left the laundromat. While you wait on your clothes, you flip to a blank page in your sketchbook and start on something new: the outline of a hand extended in mid-air, rings glinting like an offered promise.

~*~

The next week, Jimin is waiting for you on your morning subway ride, the dance bag that he usually keeps tucked between his legs set on the bench next to him. When he sees you step through the train doors at 51st, you watch him reach over to swing the bag down to its rightful place on the floor, freeing up the space. An open invitation.

You can’t help but feel a little shy as you sink down next to him and murmur your thanks. There’s something about being this close to him that just makes your mind go blank, puts you at a loss for words entirely.

To your surprise, he doesn’t try to strike up conversation either. Instead he plucks one fancy bluetooth earbud out of his ear, gives it a diplomatic swipe across the fabric of his joggers, then holds it up, pinched between his fingers in front of you.

Another invitation, you realize dumbly.

The corner of your mouth turns up as you pluck the bud out of his hand and press it into your own ear. The music that must have paused itself upon the earbud’s removal resumes, and your smile grows when Jimin quickly unlocks his phone to restart the song from the beginning.

An acoustic guitar and a light, pretty voice fill your ear, underscored by a gentle yet driving beat, not unlike the rumble of the train beneath your feet. It’s like the rest of the world fades away to nothing as you stare down at his sneakers next to your shoes, hyper-aware of the mere inch or two of space between you in this moment.

As if to prove your point, the train comes to a sharp stop, enough to make you slide a little on the bench and then you’re suddenly not just close but touching, all the way down, an unbroken line from shoulder to hip to knee.

When you look over in surprise, Jimin is already looking back at you. You swear you can feel warmth radiating out from him at every point where your bodies press together.

After another dazed moment, you come to your senses enough to scoot over, breaking the contact with an embarrassed laugh as you feel your face grow hot.

Your gaze drifts back down to the floor, only to snap up again at another brush of contact, this one not initiated by you or by the motion of the train. Instead, you realize Jimin has spread his legs an inch wider to purposefully touch his knee to yours again and leave it there. You blink softly as you look over at him, but he’s staring firmly out the window of the subway car now, smiling with just his eyes.

For the rest of the ride, you think of little else but Jimin’s knee pressed against yours and the pretty pink flush in his cheeks.

You stay in comfortable silence, music floating in your ears as you exit the train at Astor Place together, until you reach the studio, where you finally return the borrowed earbud. He smiles as he tucks them both back into the case, then pushes open the door and gestures for you to enter first.

Jimin shoots you a final look before your paths diverge, and you sink into your seat with a small, dreamy sigh. Your bliss is short-lived when you hear Taehyung’s voice over your shoulder.

“That was fast.”

You whip around to shoot him a look. “What was fast?”

He makes a face, like it’s obvious. “You’re already banging the model and it’s been, what, two weeks?”

Taehyung’s just close enough that you can lean forward and smack him on the arm, and he hisses in a way that has to be an exaggeration. Thankfully he seems to take the hint, and manages to actually keep his mouth shut as the professor commands everyone’s attention at the center of the room.

When Jimin emerges in the usual black satin, you try to keep your composure, but you can’t ignore the chill that dots up your spine when he lets the fabric fall to the floor.

Nevertheless, you sink into the routine of class, the thrill of Jimin’s naked body now equal parts familiar and exhilarating. The only difference is that today, when you’re dismissed, you make no effort to quickly pack up. You instead purposefully take your time, adding a few extra details to your last sketch before you finally start putting things away. Your gaze flickers up distractedly to see Jimin pulling his dressing gown back over his body as he moves to close the distance between you.

“Hi,” he says simply when he reaches your easel, and you smile.

“Hi.”

“Sorry, is, uh— is it okay that I talk to you, when I’m—” He gestures vaguely to his lower half with one hand, using the other to keep himself covered.

You swallow hard at the thin layer of fabric and everything you know lies beneath it. “Yeah, it’s okay,” you say, hating how breathless you sound.

“When are you done with classes today?”

It takes an extra second for you to remember your own schedule. “Uh, six.”

Jimin fidgets with the satin material in his hands, clearly a little uncomfortable. Or maybe nervous. “Would you… want to get dinner after? With me?”

Your stomach flutters as you nod. “Yeah, yes. I’d like that.”

~*~

When you emerge from your last class, you find Jimin waiting for you on Astor Place, and you’re not expecting it when he greets you with a single question: “Do you like sushi?” You answer affirmatively, and he nods over his shoulder. “Then let’s walk this way.”

You end up tucked into two seats at a place you’ve never been to before, where rolls and other plates of food zip past you on a steadily moving conveyor belt. Jimin shows you how to pop the plates out from their protective domes, and you gather a small feast of options on the table between you to share.

“So,” you start with a nervous smile, chopsticks hovering in midair. “Can I ask the obvious question?”

He quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What made you decide to nude model?” The words alone send fresh waves of heat and nerves through you, sparkling in your chest. “Or have you done it before?”

“I haven’t,” Jimin confirms with a shake of his head, then he pops a piece of sushi in his mouth as if to buy himself time. He chews, bringing a hand up as he speaks with his mouth still half-full. “Do you want the real answer?”

You nod, and his adam’s apple jerks as he swallows. There’s a look on his face like he isn’t quite sure what to say, and then he exhales a weighty sigh. “I’ve struggled with my body for a really long time. Especially in undergrad.”

Your eyes widen slightly— you weren’t expecting such a serious response.

“Dance doesn’t typically have the best culture for that to begin with,” he continues, “and I’d spend literally all day staring at myself in a mirror, so I would just… pick myself apart. Always convinced I wasn’t good enough, that I needed to lose more weight, always.”

The thought of it makes your heart ache, but you let him talk.

“I’m through the worst of it now, so please don’t feel like you need to be worried. But I have some friends who’ve done this kind of thing before and it seemed like, I don’t know, a good challenge?” His brow creases, contemplative. “I really love art, so I thought maybe if I did it, I might be able to see my body in a new way, through the eyes of other people. Of artists.” He pauses, then nods, like he’s said his piece.

It takes you a second to respond. “That’s… beautiful, Jimin.”

He looks down, clearly a little uncomfortable. “Sorry if that was too heavy.”

“I can take it,” you say softly, and it’s enough to make him glance back up in surprise. “Thank you for telling me.”

A faint color floods his face. “Thanks for listening.”

You eat in a silence that’s oddly comfortable, and when you both reach for the same piece of sushi and end up knocking chopsticks together, he lets you have it, picking up the thread of conversation again as he smiles. “What got you into art?”

You make a face, chased by an unsure shrug. “Is it bad if I say it’s the only thing I feel like I’m good at?”

Jimin laughs a little. “I don’t know that I believe you.”

“I mean,” you lean back in your seat. “Maybe not the only thing, but I’ve just never been able to see myself doing anything else. I’m not cut out for the corporate life, as much as my parents wish I was. Art’s always been the thing that I go to in my free time. When I’m feeling so much that it’s overwhelming, or so numb that it’s like I can’t feel anything, the act of creating something just… brings me back to center again.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s an outlet, I guess.”

“Well, if it helps, you’re very good at it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a small smile. “But it’s not even about being good, at least not to me. Maybe it sounds weird, but I don’t really have any interest in being the best. It’s art, so it’s all subjective anyway. I just wanna make stuff.”

Jimin smirks as he adds another empty plate to the growing stack in front of you, tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek before he speaks. “I could stand to be more like you.”

“Your turn,” you shoot back. “Why dance?”

At this, he actually brings a hand up to cover his face, and his voice is muffled under his palm when he responds. “I can tell you exactly why, but it’s embarrassing.”

You shift a little in your chair to get a better look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed! It’s not like I—” you cut yourself off before you can very obviously finish the sentence with ‘haven’t seen your dick’, and you shove a piece of sushi in your mouth to shut yourself up, so fast you nearly choke.

Jimin laughs loudly into his hands, and then you’re laughing too, dropping your head down on the table to try and chew your food without asphyxiating.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps when he can finally manage to take a breath in. “I’ll tell you.”

He sets his chopsticks down, overly serious. “When I was little, I was obsessed with Titanic. Specifically the scene where they dance together, and Rose rises up on her toes in front of everyone.” There are practically stars in his eyes as he recounts the moment, and you can’t bear to cut him off. “I just thought she was so beautiful, and I wanted to be like that. Almost broke my toes trying to go en pointe barefoot like an idiot.”

You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a flicker of panic in Jimin’s face, like he’s worried he overshared. “I have to be honest,” you say softly. “I’ve never seen Titanic.”

His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?!”

Already expecting the reaction, you grimace and nod. “I know, I know. Everyone gets mad at me for it. Go ahead.”

Jimin’s eyes flit from your face to the remaining piece of sushi on the plate between you, then back again. “I mean, we can go solve this problem right now, if you want.” He pauses, then admits with a giggle, “I have it on DVD.”

You shrug, trying to act casual despite the way your pulse has started to quicken. “They canceled my morning seminar for tomorrow, so I’m down.”

He leans forward to steal the last piece of sushi with a smug smile. “Then let’s get out of here.”

It’s a short train ride back to Jimin’s place, and you make it in the front door just in time to see Hoseok slipping out of what looks to be his bedroom. You barely process him as the same person— tonight his dark hair is swept off his forehead, and he’s in nice dress pants and a white button-down, unbuttoned just enough to display the delicate spread of his collarbone.

“Hi kids!” he calls in greeting, and you wave back as you kick your shoes off.

Hoseok crosses to grab a mirrored pair of aviators and his keys off the table by the front door. “Daddy’s going out. You two have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s waiting for a joke to land, then cracks a grin. “By which I obviously mean do whatever the fuck you want.”

As Hoseok pulls the door shut behind him, you follow Jimin into the living room, where you perch nervously on the edge of the couch while he disappears into the kitchen. “Do you like prosecco?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard.

“Uh, I think so,” you say unsurely. “I don’t think I ever developed enough of a palette to have wine preferences.”

“White and sparkling?”

“Sounds good,” you respond, and then you hear the distinct noise of a cork popping before he returns with a bottle and two glasses in hand. He sets everything on the coffee table as he takes a seat next to you, then leans forward to fill both glasses nearly to the brim.

Jimin’s face flushes when you giggle softly at the pour. “Sorry— I like to drink. You don’t have to finish it all.” You shrug and take a healthy pull from your glass. It’s crisp and light, with little bubbles that fizz and pop all the way down. 

“Hoseok calls me a lush,” he admits with a shy laugh as he picks up his own drink and turns to face you, sitting back against the arm of the couch. You shift to mirror him, curling your socked feet up under you. He takes a sip, then seems to think better of it, leaning forward to set his glass down on the table again. “I did want to tell you something. A couple of things, I guess.”

The sentence makes your stomach twist, and you try your best to ignore it. “What’s up?”

Jimin’s lips press together for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out how to word whatever he’s about to say. “I’m not, like, trying to be presumptuous by telling you this but I just— I don’t want it to go unsaid and then come up later and be a whole big thing, so. I just want you to know that Hoseok is my ex.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but certainly not that.

“We dated freshman year of undergrad, for… maybe three months? It was the kind of thing where I knew I was bi in high school but was too scared to act on it, so when I moved to New York I just, like, dated the first gay person I met? Which was probably a little shitty of me. We quickly realized we work much better as friends, and it was a very mutual thing. No hard feelings.”

You nod slowly, trying to keep up. “And you’ve lived together since then?”

“No, no,” Jimin replies quickly, and he nearly grimaces as he continues. “At the end of last semester, I, uh… I got out of a pretty bad long-term relationship.” The way he says it makes your heart sink a little. “And she and I lived together, so Hoseok was extremely gracious and offered to take me in.”

He reaches for his glass of wine again, then pauses with it halfway to his mouth. “Ideally the number of exes I’d be living with would be zero, but. You know. This is definitely the better option, at least until I can figure out what comes next.”

A pause settles between you while he takes a long drink and you try to process all this new information. “I’m sorry about the breakup,” you say softly, and he shakes his head as he swallows.

“Don’t be. It was a very good thing. Long overdue.”

“Well,” you correct yourself, the corners of your mouth pulling up. “Then I’m sorry that it took so long.”

At this, he smiles back. “Me fuckin’ too.”

After one more sip, Jimin sets his wine back down on the coffee table, then rolls off the couch— surprisingly graceful— to retrieve Titanic from the small collection of movies lined up on the shelf beneath the TV.

“Ready?”

“This better have a happy ending,” you murmur over the edge of your wine glass. Jimin laughs so hard he nearly tips over.

He settles next to you again as the movie starts, painted pretty in the blue glow of the TV, and you try your best to watch the movie, but it’s hard to keep your eyes off him. Partway through you notice him grab a pillow off the back of the couch and hug both of his arms around it, curling up small.

Cute, you can’t help but think to yourself, and you can feel heat settle in your face as you try to refocus on the story.

When you reach the dancing scene Jimin sits up a little, lips parting slightly, that same starry look in his eyes as when he explained it initially. The mental image of a younger version of him equally enraptured by the moment nearly makes your chest cave in.

The movie goes on, and you’re draining the last of your second glass of wine when out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin’s eyes go wide. Jack and Rose are closely examining a rare diamond necklace, and you don’t understand what he could be reacting to until Kate Winslet delivers her next line.

“Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.”

Your eyes go just as wide as Jimin’s, and you let out a laugh of disbelief that’s nearly a scream. “Oh my fucking god, Park Jimin! You did this on purpose!”

“I swear, I didn’t! I didn’t even think about that part until right now!” He shakes his head desperately as he gasps for air, and he doubles over with his own laughter, rolling right off the couch, arms still clutched tightly around his pillow.

“I literally cannot believe this.” You dissolve into giggles as you sink to your knees on the floor beside him, close to tears.

It takes time for you both to recover, but Jimin eventually manages to pull himself back up to sitting, shoulders still shaking slightly with laughter. He lets the pillow drop to the floor and presses both of his palms down into it as he leans towards you. “But hey, maybe that’s why I like you.”

He’s so magnetic, so beautiful, you can’t help but lean in, too. “You like me?”

There’s a warm glow of color in his cheeks, and you’re not sure if you can blame it entirely on the wine. “I do.”

Your lingering smile slowly starts to soften, and now your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest. “So what, you’re Rose and I’m Jack?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “Uh-huh”. Imaginary violins swell in your head as you surge forward to close the distance and press your lips to his.

Jimin’s lips are soft and warm, and your head spins as you sit up on your knees and lean into the kiss. While his mouth moves gently against yours, his palms press to the small of your back, and the heat of his hands radiates through the thin fabric of your shirt. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, partially for balance and partially in an attempt to pull him closer to you.

He tilts his head, and you whimper against him when you feel his tongue trace delicately over your bottom lip. He returns a breathy noise back as he licks slowly into your mouth, like he’s taking his time, like he’s not in any rush.

Even though you can feel your arousal starting to build, heavy in your gut and slick between your thighs, you realize: you want him to take his time with you.

You’re surprised at the loss when he suddenly leans back, just enough to break the kiss, still keeping you held close. “Is it, um—” he clears his throat, then tries again. “I don’t… want to go any further. Than this. At least not tonight. Is that okay?”

Your eyes search his, and you’re a little breathless when you manage to get the words out. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m good with that. With whatever you want.”

“Okay.” You exhale a laugh when he reaches over to find the remote on the coffee table and pause the movie. “I want to keep kissing you, if that’s alright.”

“Yes, please,” you murmur against his lips.

Jimin shifts a little, and you follow his lead, letting him tip you backwards onto the floor, your arms still looped around his neck, one hand now tangling in his honey blonde hair. He drops a forearm down to the carpet beside you, his other hand coming to rest at the curve of your waist, knees bracketing your hips as he covers your body with his.

He alternates between sucking on your lower lip and gentle passes of his tongue into your mouth, the hand on your waist tracing a lazy path down to your hip and back up again. Something pulled tight inside you starts to slowly unwind, blooming open as you sink into the rhythm, into him.

It’s been such a long time since you’ve just kissed someone like this, without it feeling like part of a race to get naked. And you’ve never been kissed like this in your life— so soft, so attentive. It’s enough to make you dizzy, even with your back pressed flat to the floor.

You lose track of how much time passes as you trade open-mouthed kisses on Jimin’s living room carpet, until he finally pulls away again. Still in a daze, you shift the hand in his hair to gently cup his face, not quite able to believe that he’s really real.

“God,” Jimin breathes, laughing quietly to himself. “I really like you.”

You smile as you blink up at him. “I like you too, Jimin.” 

Rolling over, he drops down onto the floor next to you with a blissed-out sigh. He stretches his arms overhead, spine arching like a cat, then lifts up again to glance back at you. “Do you want more wine? ‘Cause we’re only like halfway done. This movie is stupid long.”

“I could go for more,” you answer with a shrug, still smiling.

In one swift move, Jimin flips his legs over his head and effortlessly somersaults up to standing, and your eyes go wide. “How do you fucking do that?!”

“I’m a trained professional!” he calls over his shoulder as he sashays into the kitchen. You giggle a little. “I would break every bone in my body.”

He’s humming prettily to himself, and you hear the sound of the fridge opening and closing, followed by the pop of another bottle being uncorked. You pull yourself back onto the couch as he rejoins you and pours fresh wine into both glasses, and a sudden curiosity urges you to ask a question. “Is Titanic your favorite movie?”

Jimin shakes his head, but says nothing, and the strange hesitant expression that flashes over his face just makes you that much more intrigued.

“Let’s hear it.”

His eyes flit over to you, then back to the wine glasses. “You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t!” you exclaim, lifting a hand when he scrunches up his nose, doubtful. “Promise.”

With a reluctant sigh, Jimin sets the bottle back down on the table, staring straight ahead as he admits, “It’s The Notebook.”

You press your lips together, trying desperately to keep your mouth in a straight line. At least you manage not to laugh. “I— wow. Really?”

He nods like the reaction is expected, picking up his wine glass and settling back against the couch cushions. “I don’t know, there’s just something about it. It’s comforting, to me.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you murmur, gently nudging his thigh with your foot until you coax a smile out of him.

“You know what?” Jimin’s voice is thoughtful now, more self-assured. “I am.” He takes a sip of his drink before he continues. “For a long time I didn’t want to be. Or thought that I couldn’t be. I used to always try to be so. I don’t know. Masculine, I guess. I think some of it had to do with denying my sexuality, but even once I got around to accepting that, there was still this part of me that would just never allow myself to be… soft.”

His gaze drops down to the wine in his glass, and you sit up, tucking your legs underneath you to scoot closer to him until you’re side by side. “I like you soft,” you say simply, and he looks over at you, still smiling.

“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”

“That’s okay.” You lean into him to seek a kiss, made sweet from the wine. He hums a little against your lips before you pull back. “Same time next week?”

~*~

Just like that, you fall into a regular routine with Jimin: sharing his headphones on the morning train, sketching out the shape of his body in studio, then picking up takeout and wine to bring back to his place and split over a movie. As predicted, The Notebook does make him cry, and when you show him Kimi no Na wa the week after, hot tears stream down your face at the final scene, the way they always do.

He takes your head in his hands as the credits roll, his thumbs swiping at errant tears on your cheeks. You chase a sniffle with an embarrassed laugh. “Okay. We’re even now.”

On your fourth movie night, partway into Moulin Rouge, something emboldens you when you see Jimin reach for his usual couch pillow. You lean over and gently pry it out of his grip, then shift to tuck yourself into his side and curl your legs up in his lap instead.

“Better?”

“Mm-hmm”, he murmurs as he ducks down to nuzzle against your cheek. “You’re warm.”

These nights end the same way each time: you ride the train home with a wine-soaked buzz in your brain and flushed, kiss-bitten lips, your fingertips brushing over your own mouth at the memory of his.

Once a week quickly turns into more. The two of you coordinate laundromat afternoons where you listen to music together as you wait for your clothes. You usually end up drawing to pass the time, and sometimes Jimin dozes off, head tipping over onto your shoulder so gently that you can’t help but smile down at your sketchbook.

At his request, you help him dye his hair pink in his tiny apartment bathroom, and it somehow suits him just as well as honey blonde. You both get dizzy from laughter and cleaning product fumes as you desperately try to scrub the bubblegum stains out of the tile before Hoseok comes home.

When you finally introduce Jimin to your roommates, the four of you crammed all-too formally around the kitchen table over Yoongi’s cooking, the interaction feels like a cross between a job interview and a prom date meeting your parents. You choke on a piece of chicken that you nearly inhale when Namjoon offhandedly refers to Jimin as Subway Boy, and Yoongi smiles wide enough to show his gums as he gladly recounts your months-long crush in great detail while you bury your burning face in your arms.

But Jimin takes it in stride, laughs into your mouth as he kisses you over the sink while the two of you wash the dishes.

“Subway Boy, huh?”

“I will drown you,” you murmur as you pull away, brandishing the spray hose like a threat.

It’s easy and slow. This blossoming something, a nameless but undeniable spark, the calm comfort of Jimin’s arms wrapped around your waist, his fingers intertwined with yours, his head dropped down on your shoulder.

~*~

You dig your phone out of your pocket as you shoulder open the door to the dance building, pulling up the text from Jimin to double-check his practice room number. A train delay made you slightly later than your agreed-upon time, but you know the takeout bag of Indian food dangling over your wrist will easily earn you his forgiveness.

It doesn’t surprise you that he’s the only one left in the room when you find it, nor that he’s still reviewing the choreography with an expression of severe focus. You hover in the doorway, waiting for him to look up, but he’s entirely concentrated on his own reflection in the mirror.

His movements alternate between delicate and powerful, explosive and restrained, and you have to hold in an outright gasp when he launches his body into an aerial and lands it effortlessly. But then his feet falter in a split second of hesitation, and you can see his expression tighten, clearly frustrated.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself as he rubs a hand over his face, and he doesn’t even try to keep going with the rest of the dance. You take the opportunity to step a few more paces into the room, and his eyes jump to you in the mirror.

“Hi,” you say softly, suddenly a little nervous to be intruding on the moment. The corner of Jimin’s mouth turns up, but his eyes seem far away, and you can tell he’s still raging at himself in his mind.

“Hi, sorry,” he sighs. “I just— can’t get this. It’s like my body isn’t doing what I tell it to.”

“You need food.” You try to say it gently as you cross the room, holding up the smiley-face adorned plastic takeout bag. “And perhaps the enigmatic charm of Rachel McAdams.”

This seems to shake him out of his thoughts, at least a little. “I do like her.” He steps close enough to slip his arms around your waist and pull your body flush against his. Sweat glistens on his collarbone in the dim practice room lighting. “But I like you more.”

You roll your eyes as you playfully smack a hand against his solid chest. “Stop lying.”

“‘M not,” he insists as he presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Rachel McAdams has never once brought me masala dosa.” You giggle despite yourself, and when his lips drop down to your neck, it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

A spark ignites in your chest that doesn’t go out, not on the subway ride back to your apartment, not through dinner and a movie, and certainly not once you’re most of the way through the second bottle of wine. As the credits start to roll, you waste no time, turning in Jimin’s lap so you can properly straddle him and take his face in your hands.

You trade decadent, easy kisses, and Jimin’s hands settle at the small of your back, his thumbs massaging gentle circles into your hips. A shiver rolls up your spine when he shifts a little and you realize you can feel a growing bulge through the fabric of his joggers, pressed firm against your thigh. He breathes a soft sound into your mouth as his tongue slides over yours, and you’re so overwhelmed, you barely register the sound of keys in the lock or the front door opening.

It’s Jimin who reacts first, turning his head to break the kiss as his cheeks flood with color, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see Yoongi storm past, heading for his room. He lifts a hand up to his face to shield you from view as he goes.

“Don’t stop on my account!” Yoongi’s voice is dripping with derision. “By all means, continue fucking on our shared furniture!”

“We’re fully clothed, asshole!” you snap in response as Yoongi slams the bedroom door behind him, hard enough that it rattles in the frame.

When you look back down at Jimin, his face is twisted in an expression you take to be embarrassment. You drop your head down on his shoulder with a frustrated groan, the moment successfully killed.

“Do you…” you pause, turning your head to the side but continuing to ask your question into the fabric of his shirt. “We could go to my room, for more privacy, if you want?”

He hums his agreement, and when you peel yourself off the couch and head for your room, he follows. You spin back around to face him in the doorway, so fast he nearly knocks into you.

You brace your hands on the doorframe as you survey him. “We really don’t have to… do anything, if you don’t want to. We can just talk.”

Jimin nods, and you step aside to let him enter first, pulling the door closed behind you as you follow. He takes a few tentative steps into the room, and you walk past him to drop down onto the floor next to your bed, then pat the carpet to encourage him to join. There’s a flash of something over his face, and then he sinks down beside you. It’s only now that you realize how quiet he’s gotten.

“What is it?” you ask, suddenly a little nervous.

He stares down at the soles of his feet, pressed into each other, his knees tipped open like butterfly wings. “Does it make you feel bad? That we’re not—”

“No,” you answer immediately, and the honesty of it resonates in your chest.

“I know we’ve been hanging out for a while,” he continues, voice low. “And I do want to, you know. Hook up.”

“Jimin,” you lean forward to place both of your hands over one of his, settled atop his knee. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. When you want to, I want to. But I like everything we’ve been doing, too. It’s not like we’re not… intimate.”

His gaze flits up from the floor to meet yours. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you.”

You close your fingers around his hand, pulling it off his leg and up to your face so you can brush your lips over his palm.

“I don’t think that at all,” you murmur against his skin. “Promise.”

There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes when you look back up at him. “Okay. Sorry, I know it’s stupid. Like why do I need reassurance from you when I’m the one being difficult?”

You press your cheek into the warmth of his hand, toying lazily with the rings on his fingers. “Why are you so convinced that you’re difficult?”

Jimin huffs a small sigh. “This conversation has not gone this well in the past.” His eyes drop to the floor again, and after a moment’s pause, he keeps talking.

“My ex and I struggled a lot with…” he shakes his head, as if he’s trying not to say ‘everything’. “Sex. With me wanting it, with us having enough of it. I think it gave me a complex. I could be physically, you know, ready, but then as soon as she’d touch me I’d get in my head about everything and freak out and immediately want to stop.” He pauses, worrying at his bottom lip.

You pull his hand into your lap, your fingers delicately tracing over his in an attempt to provide some comfort. He shrugs when he starts to speak again. “And then, I don’t know, I guess she was just trying to share her side, but... she would make me feel so bad about it sometimes. Because I was genuinely trying so hard but it was like I was never good enough.” Another pause, and this time he sniffs a little. When his eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling, you can see he’s holding back tears. “It felt like she didn’t want me anymore, not if there wasn’t sex. So I left.”

“Jimin,” you breathe, and he flashes you a small grimace, clearly embarrassed by his own dramatics. With a grunt of effort, he turns sideways and flops backwards onto the floor of your room, and you scoot closer to him, your hand still playing with his.

His gaze roams over the ceiling as he sighs. “I don’t want you to think I was this perfect person and she was some awful bitch. She loved me a lot, and I’m sure she was struggling with not feeling wanted either, in her own way.”

Your voice is soft when you interject. “Two people can just be… incompatible. It doesn’t mean either of them is a bad person, or that it’s anyone’s fault. Sometimes things just don’t work, no matter how hard you try.”

Jimin’s mouth pulls up on one side as he shakes his head, eyes squinting. “How did you get to be so smart?”

You can’t help but laugh a little, lacing your fingers together with his in your lap. “Years of making terrible decisions.” You give his hand a gentle squeeze before you ask a question. “Did you struggle with this before, or just with her?”

His mouth twists slightly, unsure. “Yes and no? Both? My desire has always… fluctuated, I guess. Been a little shy.” A smile spreads over his face, and he hums a note. “Like, you know how people say love at first sight isn’t a thing? That it’s just lust?” You nod, prompting him to continue. “I think, at least for me, it’s the opposite. I can fall for somebody, and fall hard, like that.” He snaps loudly with his free hand. “But lust… I don’t know, it takes longer. It’s like a slow burn thing.”

You nod again, processing his words for a moment before you respond. “Well, I’m in no rush.”

Jimin sits up, voice thoughtful as he untangles his hand from yours, and it’s clear he’s getting more comfortable opening up to you. “Right after the breakup, I did a lot of research. I found this term, demisexual, that felt pretty accurate.” He shrugs. “But I don’t know. I mostly just think that... I am who I am. And the people who get it will get it. Like you.”

Before you can even speak, he sweeps an arm under your calves to drag you into his lap in one swift move, and you squeak a little in surprise as your world tilts.

“Demisexual. I like it,” you giggle as he guides your legs to wrap around his middle. His hands slide up your thighs, grabbing at your hips to tug you closer so he can trail kisses along your neck.

“Biromantic demisexual, technically,” he murmurs, head tipping up to find your mouth again.

You drape your arms over his shoulders and hum against his lips as he kisses you. “It suits you.”

Another soft noise escapes you when Jimin manages to maneuver to standing with you still in his arms. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and your legs around his waist, and his hands shift down to your ass to firmly hold you up. You squeeze your eyes shut automatically in fear of being dropped, then flutter them open again when you feel your back press into the soft cushion of your bedspread.

Jimin is hovering over you, forearms dropped down to the bed on either side of you. His eyes search yours for a moment, and then he leans in to kiss you again, so fiercely this time that it leaves you breathless. You can’t help but whimper as his tongue slips into your mouth.

When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to your collarbone with a groan. “It’s late,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your neck. “I should go.”

You nod responsibly, despite how desperately you want him to stay.

You walk him out, and his sweet parting kiss leaves your heart hammering in your chest, enough that you slump against the frame with a sigh once you shut the door, your knees suddenly weak.

Light on your feet, you follow the faint noise of the TV to find Yoongi in the living room with Planet Earth on at a barely audible volume. He glances at you, his mouth a flat line, then reaches for the remote to turn the sound up a few notches. You drop down on the couch next to him, and it’s silent for a moment, save for the calm narration and the crinkling plastic of him tearing open a bag of Turtle Chips.

“How’d it go?” he finally asks, voice monotone.

“It’s good,” you answer softly. “We’re good.” You fold your legs up under yourself and sneak a look at Yoongi out of the corner of your eye. You’re still a little pissed, but you also want advice. Damn him for knowing everything.

“Have you heard the term ‘demisexual’ before?”

Yoongi nods, still chewing as he replies. “Yeah. Like asexual spectrum, right?”

You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”

He shoves a few more chips in his mouth before he continues. “Is that what your Subway Boy is?”

“I think so, yeah.”

There’s a long pause while you watch penguins march across the screen, and you think that might be the end of it. Then Yoongi clears his throat. “You know, I’m somewhere in there too. Not completely asexual, but definitely not… not.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

Yoongi snorts. “Don’t act so shocked. These walls aren’t that thick.”

“Is Joon?”

He smirks, like you’ve just told a joke. “Decidedly not.”

“Oh.” You blink, trying to process. “How do you deal with it?”

Yoongi makes a face, like he’s never thought about it before. “We just communicate, I guess. Be respectful even when we don’t necessarily understand. And, like, Namjoon watches porn, and surprisingly reads quite a bit of erotica—”

“Okay, okay,” you cut him off. “I don’t need all the details.”

He huffs a dry laugh at your discomfort. “It’s not always easy, sometimes it’s frustrating for both of us. But we make it work. We love each other.”

You chew a little at the inside of your cheek, and then you can’t hold in the question any longer. “Is it weird that the idea doesn’t bother me? Jimin said it was a huge issue with his ex. Like, does that make me on the… spectrum?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, you might be? But not necessarily? I don’t know, sex matters different amounts to everyone. Some people don’t mind not having it that often. You don’t have to put a label on it unless you want to, you know?”

“Yeah, makes sense.” You nod slowly as you digest the idea. “Thanks, Yoongi. I appreciate the education.”

His only answer at first is a noncommittal hum, and then he points a finger at the few inches of wine in the bottle you left sitting on the coffee table. “Gonna finish that?”

“It’s all yours,” you say. “Consider it atonement for going to first base on the couch.”

Yoongi grabs the bottle by the neck and immediately drains it. “Apology accepted,” he grunts as he sets it back down. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He extends his bag of chips in your direction and you happily reach in for the biggest handful you can manage.

~*~

During your next movie night, Jimin can’t keep his hands to himself.

They pet up your thighs, your legs draped over his, then slide up to your hips, fingertips tracing patterns over the waistband of your leggings and toying at the hem of your shirt.

His mouth has a similar problem: he leans in to press kisses along the line of your jaw, then down the slope of your neck, sucking delicately at the spot that makes your nipples tighten and sends a shiver through you.

“You’re missing the movie,” you remark, raking a hand through his peachy-pink hair, shadowed at the roots where his natural color has started to grow in. He’s typically good about keeping himself restrained until the credits roll, but you’re barely halfway through Pride & Prejudice, haven’t even cracked a second bottle yet.

“Fuck the movie,” he growls against your skin, and you bite back a whimper when his teeth scrape over your neck. You can’t ignore the way your core is starting to ache from his insistent mouth.

His lips find yours again, and you giggle softly into him. “You’re in a mood.”

“Just been thinking about you,” he murmurs between kisses. It surprises you a little when he suddenly pulls back so he can look you in the eyes. “Should we— do you want to go to my room?”

The air hangs still and heavy between you, and you worry at your bottom lip for a moment. “Are you sure?” When he nods, dark brown eyes blinking up at you, your mouth turns up at the corner. “I’d rather we not traumatize any more roommates if we can help it.”

You lean over to pause the movie before sliding off his lap and getting to your feet, and then you reach your hands out for his and pull him up next to you. “Come on.”

Jimin’s bedroom is so perfectly him that it relaxes you, feather-soft comfort every time you step inside. His bed isn’t made, because it never is, the thick white duvet pushed down on one side where he stumbled out from beneath it this morning. He keeps it dark, blackout curtains drawn to support his night owl lifestyle, and the room is bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights he’s strung up along the ceiling. A myriad of posters and art prints and polaroids are taped to the walls, some beautiful, others sentimental— he even managed to coax you into tearing a few of his favorites out of your sketchbook. You still don’t think they’re anything special, but nevertheless, it makes your heart squeeze in your chest to see them on display with everything else. Like they belong here in this room, like you do too.

The door clicks as it shuts behind him, and then his mouth is on yours again, kissing you dizzy while he backs you up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He guides you to lay down, and his hand slips beneath you to drag you up the bed with him as he crawls over you.

His hands come up to tug at your shirt. “Can I take this off?” he breathes.

You nod, staring up at him and not quite able to believe any of this is real. “You can do anything you want to me.” With a smile, he lifts the hem of your shirt, and you sit up a little so he can pull it the rest of the way off.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Jimin murmurs against your skin as he kisses down your neck, over your collarbones, then down between the valley of your breasts. His hands slip down to palm at your tits, squeezing gently, and he mouths at the stiff peaks of your nipples over the thin fabric of your bralette. You untangle briefly, only for as long as it takes to get the lacy thing off of you entirely and tossed over the edge of the bed.

You shiver a little as the air hits your bare skin, and then the warmth of his body covers you again, and he ducks down to close his mouth over your nipple and suck. The plush softness of his lips and the firm suction combined are enough to make your eyes roll back, and your spine arches up beneath him when he drags his tongue in a circle over the sensitive bud.

“Shit,” you groan. Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, and it feels like your only tether to reality.

It’s easy to believe it’s the waiting, the anticipation of this moment, that makes every little touch light you up like a live wire now. But something tells you it will always feel like this.

While his lips shift to your other breast, one hand slides down to cup your clothed pussy, rubbing gentle friction into your center. You circle your hips to press yourself against the flat of his palm, sighing at the brush of indirect contact and the heat that thrums through you from the pressure on your clit.

You feel Jimin’s weight shift on the mattress as he kneels next to you, and his lips find yours again at the same time his hand slips into your leggings, two fingers tracing the seam of your panties to make you whine softly. If he couldn’t tell before, he must be able to now: how wet you are, enough to drench the lacy fabric so it clings to your cunt, dripping arousal to show how badly you want him.

He’s surprisingly forceful when he tugs the damp fabric to the side, but so gentle again as he slips one finger and then a second into your tight heat. Your mouth drops open as he curls them up to rub at your g-spot, stroking into you over and over while your cunt squeezes tight around him.

Your head drops back on the pillow and you groan. “Oh, fuck, Jimin.”

You can hear how soaked your pussy is as he pumps into you, and the wet squelch of his fingers working inside you would make you shy if it didn’t feel so overwhelmingly perfect. The pleasure edges your breathing with soft sounds, and Jimin swallows them when he kisses you again.

He shifts slightly for a better angle and then you feel the heel of his palm grind down against your clit. It’s enough to make your hips buck up under him with every press of his hand, his insistent touch shooting sparks of arousal through you.

It’s been so long since anyone has touched you, and you’ve wanted this with him so badly for so long, but even still, it surprises you how quickly he can bring you to the edge.

“Jimin,” you break the kiss to gasp against his mouth, unable to believe how close you already are. Close enough that all you can do is cling, to any part of him you can reach: his hair, his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt. “Jimin, Jimin, fuck.”

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he groans, and he says the next part softer, like it’s just for him. “My girl looks so pretty on my fingers.”

The pace of his movements doesn’t falter, nor does the heavy weight of his palm as he ducks down to capture your nipple in his mouth again. Your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in to the last knuckle with each thrust of his hand, and your nails dig desperately into his forearm as you feel your orgasm crest.

His teeth graze lightly over the tight bud of your breast, and it’s enough. With a final whine, the arousal that’s been coiling inside you snaps, and your back arches up off the bed as you come hard on his fingers.

Jimin’s fingers keep stroking you through it, the flat of his palm rubbing rough circles against your clit again and again and again and it feels like you might never stop coming. You moan as it rolls over you, wave after wave, until his touch is so overwhelming that you have to pull your trembling thighs together, and he finally relents.

Spent, your body sinks heavy into the bed, and you can’t help the dazed giggle that flutters out as afterglow starts to bloom behind your ribs.

Jimin hovers over you, dropped down onto his forearms, full lips pressing indiscriminately to your flushed skin, all over. You snake a hand through his hair to pull his mouth up to yours, and he kisses you slow and deep.

When you break apart, you tip your forehead to his. “Can I touch you?” you ask, still a little breathless.

“Please,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours again before he pulls away with a small, embarrassed smile. “My pants hurt.”

You sit up on your knees and he does too, and you bite down on your lip as you reach for the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it over his head, and then there he is, beautiful as ever. Familiar, yet somehow all new.

Jimin shivers and whines when your hands run across the bare skin of his chest, teasing over his soft brown nipples before starting to trace a path down to his stomach. You lean in to kiss him, and he outright groans into your mouth when your fingertips tease along the band of his boxers that peeks out over his jeans. You gently bring your palms to his hips to guide him, and he’s pliant for you, shifting backwards at your suggestion until he’s seated, leaned back against the headboard.

Your hands shake slightly as you unbutton and push down his jeans, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh of relief. He’s so hard, you can understand why the tight denim must have been painful: his dick is still straining even now, a thick outline pressed into the fabric of his underwear, and there’s a dark patch that clings to his tip where he’s started to leak precum.

You tug his boxers down with enough force that his length smacks heavy against his stomach, and he makes a strangled noise in response, eyes squeezing shut. His hips jerk violently beneath you, and your jaw goes slack as you watch his cock twitch, and keep twitching, until a steady pool of milky gloss has leaked out over his stomach.

“Shit,” Jimin hisses as he comes practically untouched, and he gasps for air to try to speak. “Fuck fuck fuck— ‘msorry, thought I could—”

You can see him starting to spiral, can feel the panic starting to heat up inside his body, so you take his face in both of your hands. “Jimin.”

“This has never happened before— fuck, I don’t— this is so—”

“Jimin.” When you say his name again, firmer this time, he goes quiet, his eyes still shut tight. “Look at me,” you murmur, and he does, lashes slow-blinking open. “It’s okay. Okay?” Your gaze searches his, trying to convince him. “I like everything about you. Everything you do. You’re perfect.”

Clearly trying to steady his breathing, his chest shudders with effort, and you gently circle your thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He makes a soft noise as his eyelids drop shut again, his cheek pressing into your hand, letting you carry a little bit more of his weight.

It’s quiet for a moment, and his voice is unsure when he speaks. “There’s tissues… in the—”

“Can I take care of it?” you interrupt to ask, your voice low. His eyes blink open again to look at you, and a dark glint flickers there as the unsaid meaning of your question washes over him.

“Y-yeah.”

You take your time moving down the bed to settle between Jimin’s thighs, and you stare up at him, waiting for any indication that he wants you to stop or doesn’t feel comfortable. But he just swallows hard, his adam’s apple jerking in his throat, and nods.

Leaning down, you drag your tongue in steady, long strokes over the flat plane of his stomach to lick the mess up.

As you get the last of it, you’re surprised to feel his hand cup the back of your head. You don’t resist when he pulls you up for a kiss, then licks into your mouth to taste himself, the salt and slick of his cum sliding between your tongues.

When you break apart to swallow, Jimin’s voice is a whisper. “That okay?”

You nod, unable to bite back your smile. “You’re… really fucking hot.”

He smirks as he finds your lips again. “So are you.” The next kiss is sweeter, and then he pulls back. “If you want, we can keep— or I can go down— I don’t want—” He can’t finish any of his half-started thoughts, and you smile, lovingly running your palms over his thighs, back and forth. 

You want him so badly, more than anything, but you try to breathe through it. You can see the wheels spinning in his head, that self-critical flash in his eyes, the same furrow in his brow that creases when he gets frustrated with himself.

“I’m not saying no because I don’t want you,” you preface. “But I just don’t want you to feel stressed or get in your head about it. I want it to feel good, and I’m in no rush. Next time, okay?” 

His lips are still a little pouted, but he nods, and you lean in to sling your arms around his neck. “C’mere.”

You tug him down to the mattress, and your half-naked bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, hands tracing gentle patterns over bare skin as you kiss.

When you eventually end up with your cheek pressed to his chest, you listen to the sound of his heartbeat settling, his breathing evening out. You speak softly in the quiet of his room. “My roommate’s doing an exhibition on Friday. Will you come with me? I’ve been promised there will be free booze.”

Jimin tightens his grip on your waist, his voice slurring like he’s half-asleep. “Mmm, my favorite person and my favorite thing.” There’s a pause, and he sighs. “That sounded bad. Promise I'm not an alcoholic.”

“I know,” you laugh, dragging your lips over his collarbone, then grunting a little noise of frustration as reality starts to set in. “I have class early tomorrow. I should go before I fall asleep here.”

He whines his disapproval, but when you glance up you can see the fight going out of him, his eyelids starting to flutter closed. You lean up for one, two, three more kisses before you force yourself out of bed to find your bra and your shirt. “I’ll see you Friday?”

“Mmkay.” He inhales deep, like he’s coming up for air. “Text me when you make it home safe?”

“I will,” you promise, and you do.

~*~

Namjoon’s exhibition is laughably fancy for what really just ends up being a room full of gay, overdressed art students. The ridiculous finger foods disappear in minutes— all the broke grad school kids came hungry— but you and Jimin gladly hover around the table of champagne flutes instead, giggles sparkling between you like the bubbles that fizz in your glasses.

You’ve been trying to drag him away to actually take in the art, but he keeps necking his drinks. “You’re supposed to sip it, you demon!” you chide with a laugh as he does it again, picking up a fresh glass and throwing all of it back in one gulp.

He smirks slightly as he shakes his head. “It’s more fun this way. Try it.”

You roll your eyes, hiding the grin that threatens to stretch over your face in the rim of your drink before following suit. He’s not wrong: a rush of warmth creeps up your neck as you swallow, the world softening around you, and it’s made sweeter by the kiss Jimin leans in for. When he pulls back you can see his face is flushing, too.

“Come on, Mr. Park,” you murmur, your free hand intertwining with his as you set the empty glass down and retrieve another. “Take me on a tour.”

Jimin grabs another flute too and then you’re off, and he actually manages to drink this one slowly as you weave through the gallery, the click of your footsteps underscoring the gentle classical music that floats through the speakers. You lean into Jimin in comfortable silence as you take in each art piece, sipping delicately at your champagne, occasionally hooking your chin over his shoulder just for the thrill of being close to him.

“These are all beautiful,” he hums appreciatively as you stand in front of a wide, impressionist landscape, swirls of color that shift into shapes when you step far enough away, but dissolve into unidentifiable blobs of thick-textured paint up close. “Namjoon did a really good job curating.”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, but your eyes are on Jimin and everything else pales in comparison. He’s dressed up for the occasion, tight black jeans and a white button-down with a leather jacket thrown on over top. His hair is styled, pretty pink strands pushed back off his forehead, and his asymmetrical silver earrings glimmer in the low lighting. The result is so stunning you’ve had a hard time focusing on anything but him tonight.

A thought that’s been running through your mind all evening resurfaces again as you swallow the last of your glass of champagne.

“They should put you in a gallery.” You didn’t necessarily plan to say the thought out loud, but say it you do. Jimin quirks an eyebrow and you decide to double down. “But not here. Somewhere better.”

“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.

“The Louvre,” you counter, and he outright laughs, his head tipping back.

“The Louvre?!”

“You heard me,” you giggle, your body pressed against his side. “You’re art.”

Releasing your hand, he wraps his free arm around you to pull you into his chest, the smile still lingering over his face. “And you,” he murmurs, “are drunk.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” Your voice is muffled slightly as you speak into his collarbone.

You tilt your head up for a kiss, and it seems to surprise both of you how quickly the atmosphere changes. It might be the more-than-several glasses of champagne to blame, or the fact that you’ve found yourselves in a corner, hidden away from the rest of the exhibition’s patrons, but the soft spark that ignites between you quickly grows into a licking flame at the touch of your lips. It’s heat-blush passion as your mouths move against each other, and you’re trying to keep quiet despite the weight of it, heavy in your core, this shared, unspoken need.

“Jimin,” you breathe into him, overwhelmed by all that he is.

He shifts, nosing at your jawline as he speaks into your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

The suggestion makes you a little unsteady on your feet, your high heels threatening to topple over, and he catches you with a hand to your waist when you falter. “Like, somewhere here?”

“Too far to go all the way home,” he purrs, the hand on your body squeezing gently. “And you look too good.”

Your head swims as he kisses you again, and he pries the empty glass out of your hand, setting it down on the nearest table with his. A hand returns to the small of your back, then slips lower, cupping your ass through the fabric of your black dress. His mouth paints a smile over yours, and you grab his wrist. “Follow me.”

Stumbling your way through the gallery, trading laughs under your breath like confidants and kisses when no one is looking, you lead him back to the coat check closet at the front, thankfully left vacant by whichever freshman had been roped in to the thankless job. With a final glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re unseen, you push the door open and tug Jimin inside after you.

As soon as the coat check door closes again, he has you pressed against it, his tongue slipping hungrily into your mouth. His hands skirt up the curve of your hips as he slots a thigh between your legs, firmly pushing up the hem of your dress to grind into your clothed center.

You both freeze where you are at the sound of a moan, one that very distinctly does not come from either of you.

Jimin tries and fails to suppress a nervous laugh. Unable to make out anything in the dark, you reach your hand out, smacking aimlessly at the wall next to you until you find a lightswitch and flip it on.

“What the fu—” The man who made the noise in question flings a hand over his face at the sudden intrusive wash of fluorescents, but you’d know him from his voice alone. Kim Taehyung still has one hand gripped tight to the metal bar of a coat rack, back arched and legs spread for whoever his latest victim is, with his pants and boxers shoved down to his ankles.

Before your alcohol-soaked brain can put together a smug comment about how Taehyung needs to get his ass eaten at home like a normal human, Jimin’s voice surprises you.

“Hobi?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you realize the man on his knees, pulling his tongue off Taehyung’s rim with a look of utter confusion, is none other than Jung Hoseok. His eyes are wide as dinner plates as his head snaps up to take the two of you in.

“Jimin?!”

“Oh my god.” You start to laugh so hard your knees buckle, and Jimin has to wrap his arms around you to keep you upright. “How the fuck did you two even meet?!”

“Do we really need to have this discussion now?!” Taehyung growls, and it only makes you laugh harder.

“Come on, come on—” Jimin is collapsing into giggles himself as he fumbles for the handle behind you. He simultaneously attempts to pull you off the door so he can swing it open. “Let’s leave them to it.”

You smack the lights off again as you make your escape, Jimin’s grip still hugging tight around your waist as you laugh until your lungs nearly give out. The lobby is thankfully empty, all the attendees pressed deeper into the gallery, so you loop your arms over his shoulders as you recover and pull his mouth back down to yours, unable to stop yourself.

“Let me take you home,” you manage to say in the space between kisses. Your tongue feels heavy when you speak; his is champagne-sweet. “Joon and Yoongi will be here for a while.”

Jimin’s agreement hums, buzzing on your lips. “Wanna take the train?”

You’re grateful the subway car you stumble into is empty, because the pull of Jimin’s mouth is too magnetic to be ignored. You don’t think you could stop kissing him if you tried.

It’s practically a race back to your apartment once you emerge from the station, partially to get out of the cold night air, though you hardly feel it with Jimin’s jacket slung over your shoulders and your body flushed hot from alcohol and desire. As you climb the four flights to your walk-up, both of you giggling and gripping tight to the banister, the spiral of the stairs sends your world spinning. You feel dizzy-drunk on wine and laughter and lust alike, and maybe something more. Something you don’t have words for yet.

It takes you three tries to get your keys in the door, and when you finally manage to get it open, you kick your shoes off and make a beeline for your bedroom, dragging Jimin along after you, hand-in-hand. Thankfully he has the foresight to remember to shut the door behind you, because all you can think about is him: the rich musk of his cologne, the taste of his tongue, the warm blush of his skin under your palms.

The leather jacket hits the floor and you step over it, walking backwards as he licks into your open mouth, shameless.

You nearly fall over when you bump up against the bed and almost lose your balance, and then you reach for the buttons of his shirt at the same time he goes for your dress. The two of you laugh your frustrations against each other as your arms tangle and get in the way.

“You first!” you insist, and he relents, lets you unbutton the starched white fabric of his button-down so he can shrug out of it. Your fingers move to undo his belt and then he takes over, impressively coordinated enough to be able to kiss you while kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, stripped down now to his black boxer-briefs. He pulls your dress up over your head, and then your barely-clothed bodies press together all the way down, the ache in your core now an undeniable throb.

Jimin takes your face in his hands and kisses you again, and you slip one hand between your hips and his to palm at him, earning an appreciative hiss. You rub at him over the front of his briefs, teasing, then dip your touch beneath his waistband.

His cock hangs heavy between his legs, but he’s not quite hard yet, maybe from the cold, so you take him in your hand and start to pump. For fear of too much dry friction you try to go slow, and he groans into your mouth as you twist your wrist a little to circle your thumb over his frenulum.

He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel the heat of his embarrassment bloom against your skin. “Sorry— gimme a second.”

Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t apologize. D’you wanna try laying down?”

When he nods, you release your grip on him so he can sink down onto the bed, crawling backwards up to the pillows. Knelt down on the mattress, you settle in the space he makes for you, thighs spread and knees tipped open, and you push his briefs down enough to free all of him.

You hook your thumb and index finger under the head of his dick to pull it flush against his stomach, allowing you better access to drag your tongue in little kitten licks up his shaft. Your other hand moves to massage gently at his balls as you take his tip into your mouth and let it bulge against your cheek, let him slip against the soft wall there to make saliva pool on your tongue, sloppy on purpose.

It’s still not working, not really, and when your gaze flits up to him again, Jimin’s face is pulled into a grimace. Heat rushes up your neck, and you pull your mouth off him and immediately right yourself. You shift backwards a little on your knees as your pulse starts to race. Does he not want this? Did you misread some sign, or push him too far?

Jimin must be able to read the look in your eyes, because he groans as he presses his face into his hands. “It’s not you. Think I drank too much, I don’t— i-it feels good, I—it just—”

You’re not exactly sober yourself. The receding white noise of panic makes it hard to think, hard to know what to say. “I-it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I just—” he tries again. “I really want to do this, I don’t know why— it’s fucking embarrassing.” The blankets muffle the sound as his palms smack flat against the bed on either side of him in clear frustration. You move out from between his legs, still trying to catch up, and a muscle in his jaw jumps as he pulls his boxer-briefs back over himself.

“Jimin,” you murmur. The bed creaks when you shift to lay next to him, to tuck into his side, and you reach up to run a hand through his hair, a little sticky with the product holding it in place. An anxious, thrumming quiet settles over both of you as his eyes flutter closed.

The words finally come to you in the silence; you can only hope they’ll reach him. “I had so much fun with you tonight. That doesn’t go away.” The crease between his brows softens a little, so you keep talking. “It’s not your only chance, okay? I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here.” Your free hand slips into his on the bed next to you. “And I want you with me.”

He sniffs a little, so quiet you nearly miss it, then turns in towards you. Your noses bump together and your mouth turns up at the corners as you continue. “It’s late, and I… can’t promise there isn’t more ass-eating waiting for you at home. Do you want to sleep here?”

Jimin’s eyes blink open, glassy, and then he nods.

“Come on,” you say softly, sitting up and tugging on your still-joined hands. “How about we shower?”

In the bathroom, you run the water scalding hot, and when you both step in you nudge Jimin forward to stand under it first, then press against him from behind. Your hands wrap around his waist to slide over his stomach as you tilt up to reach his ear when you speak. “This okay?”

He nods, hums a little, and you move your hands up over the whole of his body. Hard lines and soft curves, a work of art you know so well, you can see it when you close your eyes as you map his skin with your fingertips. You nuzzle into the place where his neck and shoulder meet, then press a kiss there. “I’m right here,” you say again, not even sure if he hears you.

But his head turns, and you feel one of his hands slide over yours on his chest. “Will you wash my hair?” he asks softly, and you tip forward to bring your mouth to his, convinced you’d do anything he asked of you.

It’s intimate, the way you take your time running shampoo and then conditioner through his silky pink strands, dragging your nails over his scalp and applying gentle pressure that makes him sigh prettily in response. Jimin steps further under the showerhead both times to rinse the product out, and if a few tears slip down his cheeks, they’re lost to the spray of the water where you can’t tell the difference.

But he does manage the ghost of a smile when you reach to grab your washcloth and he gets there first. “Your turn.”

Once your body and then his are scrubbed and rinsed clean, you shut the water off and grab thick, fluffy towels that you dry off and wrap up in. In the dim light of your room, you pull on an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, then dig out a pair of sweatpants from your dresser. They’re fairly baggy on you, but they fit Jimin perfectly, and the image of him in something of yours makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest.

You run two glasses under the kitchen tap that you set out to ward off any potential hangovers, and you even manage to find a spare toothbrush for him to use. When he emerges from the bathroom again, still absentmindedly toweling his damp hair, you’re sitting on the bed with your feet tucked under you.

“Do you want to watch something?” you offer gently.

He shakes his head as he stifles a yawn. “‘Mtired. Think I just wanna sleep.”

You pat the bedspread next to you, an invitation. “Then let’s sleep.”

Under the covers, you curl up together, soft and warm from the shower, scented lavender and mint from your body wash and toothpaste. Jimin’s legs tangle with yours, an arm wrapping over your waist, and you press your cheek against the hard plane of his chest with a small sigh.

You listen as his breathing slows, each inhale a little further apart from the last, to the point where you think he’s fallen asleep. You feel yourself start to follow after him, and the last thing you hear before you’re dragged all the way down is Jimin inhaling deep, then mumbling softly into your hair. “Thank you. For everything.”

~*~

Light streams in between the cracks of the window blinds, painting warm shapes over your eyelids that gently wake you. You sigh and stretch as you slowly come all the way up from dreaming, your eyes still heavy-lidded. When you roll over with a soft grunt, you find Jimin fast asleep there, his face smushed into the pillow, one arm slung lazily over you.

The corner of your mouth pulls up, and you have to fight the urge to dot kisses all over his face, deciding to let him sleep instead. It takes some maneuvering, but you manage to roll out from under his arm without waking him and slip quietly out of bed, easing the bedroom door closed behind you.

It’s early, and the apartment is still, washed in morning gleam and the gentle hum of New York City traffic on the streets outside.

You stumble into the kitchen with a stifled yawn, swinging open the fridge and leaning down to retrieve a pack of bacon and the half-empty carton of eggs. Humming quietly to yourself, you dig a pan out and set it on the stove to heat.

Arms slide around your waist, making you jump a little before you melt back as Jimin nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You can feel his body through your t-shirt, still warm from sleep and bedsheets he must’ve only just crawled out from under.

Not quite graceful, you turn in his arms and loop yours around his neck to seek a kiss. “Good morning,” you murmur, your voice hoarse on your first spoken words of the day. “How are you feeling?”

Jimin’s mouth is still slurred from waking up when he answers. “‘Mgood. You look good.” His gaze roams down your body and back up, as if to take in your oversized shirt, your bare legs, your hair still messy from sleep. “So cute like this.”

You scrunch your nose slightly as you smile up at him. “Want breakfast?”

A heat starts to pool between your legs as his hands slide further down your back. He pushes your shirt up so he can grip your ass, the thin fabric of your underwear the only thing separating his skin from yours.

“In a bit.”

You can’t help but squeak when, in one swift move, he bends his knees and lifts you off the ground. Impulsively, your legs spread to wrap over his hips, thighs squeezing tight to hold on, and your arms cling around his neck as laughter flutters in your chest. Before you can act on the urge to bury your face in his shoulder, his mouth finds yours again, and the way he kisses you, hungry and deep, makes nothing else in the world matter.

He carries you back to bed, nudging open the door he didn’t quite close all the way with his shoulder, then using a foot to push it shut again. Your muscles unclench when he sits down with you in his lap, and you unwrap your legs from around him, your knees sinking soft into the bed.

You can’t quite shake the thoughts of the night before. “Jimin,” you start, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t—”

“Want to,” his voice is low, ragged edges from sleep. “Doing it ‘cause I want to. I want you. Do you want me?”

You nod, leaning back to look at him, your arms still twined over his neck. “More than anything.”

There’s no rush this time as he shifts backwards up the bed and you crawl over him to settle into his lap again. No tension that’s been building all night, no alcohol buzzing in your systems, no urgency. Just your bodies, half-dressed in sleep clothes, intertwining like they were made to fit together.

Your kisses are sweet and unhurried as Jimin’s hands slip beneath your oversized t-shirt, delicate fingers tracing up your waist. He cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing gently as he licks into your mouth. When he rolls a nipple between his fingers, your breath hitches, sparks of arousal shooting all the way down to your toes. A weight blossoms in your core as you reach for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, and you shiver a little in the morning air.

“Beautiful,” Jimin says quietly, reverently, and you take his face in your hands.

“You are too,” you murmur, your eyes searching his. “So beautiful.” Your hands slip down his body as he kisses you again, your fingertips outlining the contours of his chest, gently brushing over his nipples to make him groan into your mouth.

Jimin’s hands come to rest at the curve of your hips as your mouths move together, where he teases his touch under the band of your boyshorts. He pulls back just far enough to ask, “Can I take these off?” and you nod.

You shimmy the thin fabric down your thighs, dropping onto your ass with a laugh so he can tug them the rest of the way off, one ankle at a time. As you sit up on your knees again, his hands come to grip your thighs, and he shifts lower on the bed until he’s laying flat on his back next to you.

“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.

“Yeah?” You bite down on a small smile.

He hums. “Can I— will you please, uh… sit on my face?”

You can’t help but giggle. No one has ever asked so politely. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s slow, languid, the way his full lips close delicately around your clit when you settle over him, how he alternates with lazy passes of his tongue, not unlike the way he kisses you. The pleasure pulls your spine arched and your head tips back, palms pressing flat to the bed beneath you.

“Jimin,” you gasp, “baby, feels so fucking good.”

His tongue is heavy as it drags down your folds, thick when he sinks it into your cunt to taste the slick arousal that pours out of you and drips down his chin. Your hips rock into his mouth, his nose inadvertently bumping against your clit as he licks you like he doesn’t want to waste a drop. Your walls cling tight, crammed up full of him.

With a slurp and a gasp for breath, he withdraws, his tongue made hot from being buried inside of you, trailing wet warmth as he licks back up your pussy to lap at your clit again. Your arms threaten to give out when he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, lips pulsing an insistent rhythm that makes you moan and writhe above him.

“Jimin, Jimin.” The pleasure is decadent, thick, wine and honey, made sweeter by the beautiful boy pressed between your thighs. Emotion bubbles up inside of you to twist with your pleasure, and you tighten a hand in his rose-blush hair as you moan again, nearly a sob this time, a dam breaking.

Jimin hums against you, fingertips digging into the soft skin of your thighs, like he can tell you’re at the edge without you having to say a word, and it’s enough to send you tumbling over it.

“Oh fuck baby, yes, fuck.” Your toes curl tight over the bedsheets as your pussy flutters, throbs, gushes. Your vision whites out as you come hard enough to make your thighs shake, hard enough that your stomach muscles tremble with the effort of holding you up. Jimin’s mouth works you through it, tongue stroking flat and slow to coax pulse after pulse out of you, until everything melts into shaky aftershocks and your thighs clench around him, over-sensitive.

He pulls back when you start to squirm, lips smacking wetly on a final kiss to your pussy, and heat flushes your face at the sound of it. Your limbs feel heavy as lead as you slip off from on top of him and collapse down onto the mattress with a floaty sigh, your pulse still thudding brightly in your ears.

You’re only distantly aware of the way the bed shifts as Jimin slides down next to you. You follow his touch on instinct, turning into him when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your hairline. Heartbeat still slamming in your chest, mind hazy with morning orgasm glow, you hum contentedly as your eyes flutter open to find him palming at a thick bulge tenting his– well, your sweatpants.

“Looks like it’s cooperating today.” Jimin’s voice is equal parts relieved and embarrassed.

With a lazy smile, you hook a finger in his waistband, tugging playfully. “What do you want to do about it?”

He laughs hoarsely. “I would love to finally fuck you, if you’ll have me.”

“I don’t want anybody else.” The thought spills out before you can worry if it’s too soon to say it, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you.

At Jimin’s guidance, you lay back against the pillows, a couple of which he grabs to slot under your hips. “There’s condoms in the nightstand,” you say softly, and anticipation thrums in your chest, twinning with your still-racing pulse as you watch him retrieve one, then step out of his sweatpants to roll it on.

He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, and your breaths come shallow into each other’s mouths. You kiss quietly at the precipice of this moment, like you’re afraid it might not be real, a dream you could wake up from at any second.

“Thank you.” Jimin’s low voice sends a ripple through you. “For waiting for me.”

You press a hand to his cheek, your eyes trying to take all of him in at once. “It wasn’t waiting, Jimin. Really. I’ve loved every second with you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”

“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.

The head of his cock teases your entrance, and you spread your thighs wider, pulling your legs up towards your chest. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t bite back the moan that spills out of you as he sinks into your tight heat with a cock thick enough to split you open. “Fuck, Jimin.”

There’s a pause when he’s pressed all the way in, his body covering yours, your hands clutching at the broad sweep of his back. He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looks down to see himself buried in you to the hilt. “God, you’re so tight. Does it hurt?”

You shake your head— you’re so soaked from his tongue and your arousal that it all just feels like melting, a pulsating heat between your legs. When he presses another kiss to your lips, he circles his hips, and you both groan at the feeling.

Jimin’s hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.

“It’s good?” he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.

“So good, baby,” you breathe, “please fuck me.” A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. “Fuck, please, just like that.”

He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.

Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. He’s thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. You’re dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.

The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. “Jimin, Jimin, baby.”

“Yeah,” he pants, choked up like he’s close. “Love it when you say my name.”

You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.

You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jimin’s body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.

“Fuck. Been a minute.” He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”

Your eyes widen at the question. “I— can you?”

A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and he’s suddenly a little shy. “Yeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.”

You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. “I kinda felt like I was getting close again.”

He smiles. “Then let me finish what I started.” There’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.

As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that you’ve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.

That’s all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.

“Turn over for me?” he asks softly. “I want to spoon.”

This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.

As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.

“So good,” you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesn’t take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.

“Jimin.” Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. “Baby, oh god.”

Jimin’s strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.

A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You don’t know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.

With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.

Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and it’s everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.

“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”

A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. “If you’re finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Could’ve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.”

Your jaw drops open and Jimin’s eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. You’re surprised when Yoongi’s voice comes back, a little softer this time. “Also I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.”

The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jimin’s side with a smile. “What do you think?”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll never say no to a bagel.”

“Come on then,” you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.

#jimin smut #jimin fluff #jimin x reader #jimin x y/n #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fanfic

[javarium]

written in fine print | r. sukuna

moving to japan to get a breath of fresh air was supposed to be one of the best decisions you’ve ever made. it still may be, but now you’ve got a problem and you don’t know what to do about it. the problem? ryomen sukuna, one of the wealthiest men on the planet, being… enamored with you. you’ve come fairly far with him as “friends” while keeping him at bay, but after you both spend christmas together, you know that things have changed. and come the first day of the new year comes a surprise that forces you to face your bottled-up truth.

[ Ryomen Sukuna Masterlist ] | part three

w — slowburn, age gap, modern au, older man/younger woman, fluff, mild? angst, this time we get reader’s pov bc it’s time ;3, insecure! reader, self-indulgence, A KISS (but just one for now sorry y’all), reader and sukuna lay their feelings on the table (I’m sorry I couldn’t help but finally get to this part), sukuna gets kinda prose-y lmao, slightly unsatisfied with this fic but I hope y’all enjoy anyway, sprinkle of bittersweet at the end

God, have mercy upon my soul.

The dozens of text messages from your cousin have you sitting on the edge of your bed in absolute disbelief. You haven’t even had any coffee yet, or any sort of something in your stomach. It’s sheer willpower keeping you from throwing up the stomach acid in your belly.

But you do need something. You make your way into the kitchen and nab the biscuits you made yesterday from the bag they were in. You shouldn’t, but you eat all four of them anyway. Then you drink something.

You were wondering why everything was going too good, why life had been so… easy as of late. Now you understood why. It was the calm before the storm. It was the universe allowing you to have some semblance of peace before it decided to throw you into the pit of mental and emotional turmoil that you’d been so great at avoiding.

Why in the world did the universe decide to put Ryomen Sukuna into your life?

That’s the question you have been asking yourself over and over again ever since you decided to take him up on the offer of a first date six months ago. Even worse, why did you even think it was a remotely good idea to get involved with someone over ten years older than you? Universe aside, you should’ve had the good judgement to keep Sukuna away. Your good intuition was something you’d always prided yourself on, so why did you decide to even let Sukuna keep coming around?

You go back to your room and get the phone, rereading over the messages. One in particular your eyes stay on:

A benefactor has paid for nana’s care and set her up in a really fancy, upscale care and rehabilitation facility here. They came and got her this morning to transfer her. When I asked about it, someone from registration said it was a gift for you. Who the fuck did you meet in Japan? 5:16 am

And you know, deep within your soul and in your gut that Sukuna was behind this. There’s no one you know that has the money to pull off something like taking your grandmother from where she was to a facility where she’s going to get more constant help, cleaned, proper rehabilitation. No one else but him.

The coffee maker suddenly beeps, beginning to brew a fresh pot of coffee. You almost jump out of your skin from it. You wait until it’s done before digging out one of the banana nut muffins Shoko brought over two nights ago to pre-celebrate the new year.

You truly don’t know what to feel. You’re unsure about everything. Coming to Japan to get a breath of fresh air from the strain your old life was supposed to be one of the best choices you’ve ever made. But now, all it’s become is a whirlwind of even more, even deeper emotional confusion.

Meeting Yuuji was great. Meeting his older brother? The entire source of the emotional confusion.

You lean against the counter and gaze outside. The snow has finally ceased and you’re sure dozers are out clearing the roads. You can’t help but fall into your thoughts.

For awhile, you’ve had… feelings. You’re not quite sure what they are, but you know that they revolve around the older, rich man you’ve befriended. You know that whenever he’s around, you feel more… open, lighter even. You know he makes you feel flustered, to which you’ve learned to seal said fluster inside of a bottle and remain indifferent in his presence. Every time he looks at you or speaks to you, it makes you feel… giddy. Happy, dare you say it.

And it’s something you swallow down and hide every time it bubbles to the surface, fearing that it’ll be nothing more than the same story as your mother: a heart broken by the letdown of not ever being enough, not being what the man actually wanted, and not being genuinely cared for.

The mug of coffee in your hands grows hot, almost scalding against the skin of your palms. It brings you out of your own mind, just in time to hear your phone vibrate with more text messages, all still from your cousin.

Because apparently fate dropped a man in your lap that was more than ready to give you anything and everything you’ve ever wanted: unconditional love on a gold platter; fate decided that you finally deserve a break from strife and grief, that you deserved to stop eating humble pie, because lord knows you’ve done choked and damn near suffocated on that shit; that you deserved to be cherished and loved and made to be someone’s number one in their life.

You know. You fucking know what Sukuna does to you, how he makes you feel inside. You also know how he wants to treat you and the things he wants to do to you. And perhaps with you, if your gut instinct is right and he wants more than a body to warm his bed.

Who are you kidding? You know you’re right.

But it’s unfortunate for you that all you’ve learned to do is bottle up your feelings and act like they don’t exist. Because you’ve never been loved, not romantically anyway. Especially not like this, from someone like this.

How were you supposed to love? What did it really mean to be in a relationship? You’ve never been in one. Not one that ever really was going to go as far as this. Was what you were feeling all temporary? And if you did get into a relationship, what if he didn’t like you when you got comfortable? What if he didn’t like it when you laughed too hard, or any of the habits you have? What if he was just wanting to play savior and ended up leaving you a few months from now?

You toss your head back and groan. Why? Why was this happening to you?

You opt to spend the day inside, rather than go out like you had planned. You have to text Shoko and Utahime, letting them know that you’re not going to be able to participate in their plans of going out and visiting shrines for the new year. The latter is reasonably mad, but Shoko calms her down in the group chat. Although she does make an innuendo about spending the day with someone else “cozied up in bed” rather than them. You send her a side eye emoji in return on her personal thread.

You change out of your pajamas and into some casual clothes — a dark red long sleeve and some black sweatpants, switching to house socks to regular socks — despite not intending to go out for the day. You do end up on the couch for most of the day, switching your attention from the TV and the messages on your phone more than you care to admit. You hardly eat, and don’t realize it until you can feel your stomach against your spine each time.

All day is basically wasted in front of the television, trapped in your own mind. Trapped in the whirlwind that Sukuna has made of your heart and emotions.

You graze through your entire stock of sweets in less than a day, uncaring if it was unhealthy. Dusk settles on the horizon before you know it and you’re anything but tired. In fact, you’re wide awake.

“What do I do…?” you ask into the open air. You feel stupid doing it, but apparently fate has a response for you.

It’s 9:18 at night when several strong knocks rap at your door.

It’s 9:20 when you decide to finally answer the door.

It’s 9:24 when you realize you’ve got a guest at the front door, the very same man who’s been making you question yourself and your whole life ever since coming to this country.

It’s 9:30 when you question to yourself why you let him in. You didn’t think it through, that much you’re sure of. How could you be when he’s thrown your heart all topsy-turvy and mushed it into goo?

Just looking at him from his back floods your mind and makes your heart race, something you hope you’re able to hide by what you hope is a face of indifference and calmness. You can see the tattoos peek out from his turtleneck, and you have to gulp down your nervousness.

The large mug of fruity tea you’ve poured has now chilled, the ice just barely clinking in the glass. You quickly open the cookie jar on the counter and shove two snickerdoodles in your mouth to stress-eat being prepared for what was coming next.

“I…” you begin, and embarrassingly realize you have to swallow the cookies to talk. “I wasn’t expecting you to… show up.”

Sukuna’s silent for a moment, then replies stoically, “Neither was I.”

You gaze at him longer than you intend to. Your attention is mostly on his tattoos, the little bits that are peeking out from the deep crimson of his form-fitting turtleneck. You watch him readjust the watch on his wrist, partially revealing the tattoo inked onto his wrist. To your surprise, Sukuna actually doesn’t like showing off his tats. He used to in his younger years; he’s still proud of them, but he isn’t as much into flaunting them to the world nowadays.

Sukuna’s deep voice cuts through the air. “Have you… gotten my gift?”

You bite your lower lip. You nod even though he can’t see you. “Yeah… If you mean the one involving my grandmother, then yes.”

“I do apologize if I crossed any lines doing such a thing,” he says. “But I don’t regret it.”

“I can imagine you don’t,” you reply, knowing full-well that him regretting anything was a very rare occurrence. “But… Why? Why would you do that? Go through such trouble to help me… and my family? Just… Why?”

His ginormous frame turns to face you to look into your eyes and answer with nothing short of honesty, “Because I want you to be cared for. I’ve seen happiness in your eyes and I want to keep you happy. I want to be the one making you happy.”

“Buying my love will only get you so far,” you say.

“I know. I want to do more for you. I want… to be more for you. Not just… this. Whatever we have going on,” Sukuna admits casually, crossing his burly arms over his chest. But he doesn’t make eye contact. In fact, he keeps his eyes to the floor, away from your gaze. “I know what I want, although I’m not quite sure how to describe everything I feel… when I’m with you and when I think about you. It’s… I know what it is, I’m pretty sure, but at the same time… I don’t.”

“It’s new for you,” you mumble. Surprisingly, he actually hears you and nods. He doesn’t lie. Not with you.

“I’ve been with many women over the years, all for the same reason. I’ve never felt like falling in love or that it would ever matter. I know lust, I know what comes with that. With you, it’s anything but. At first, yes. But your immediate rejection, you continuing to keep your distance from me and your distaste known made me stop and think.”

You raise your brows. “All it took was a girl with some strong boundaries to make you realize you can’t live off being just horny for then rest of your life?”

Sukuna laughs. He actually laughs. A bright smile crosses his handsome face as his shoulders shake with laughter. He tries to cover it up with a hand, but all it does it muffle it into loud chuckles. It takes a good couple minutes before his chuckles finally fall into a simple smile of amusement. That’s when you admit your own truths. If you were going to be hurt, you might as well get it over with.

“In a way,” Sukuna admits. And then he admits even more, opening his heart and putting it on his sleeve. “You’ve reminded me that there is more to life, that I can be genuinely happy beyond office walls and red light districts. You have made me remember what feeling excited, what being on my toes feels like. You make the air lighter… happier, every time I see you. You… I care for you.”

Sukuna’s last words of admission are watered-down and you both know it. Then again, he says he is new to these kinds of feelings. And at this point, you believe him. You wonder if he knows that you’re just like him — exactly the same: that you’re new to the feelings of love, what it means to be in love. It’s confusing, really. You’re not sure where to begin when it comes to saying the things that Sukuna has seemingly had no problem admitting to you. You can’t just say, “Ditto” and make out with him.

Well, you could, but that’s beside the point.

You swallow the frog in your throat and look at him. He isn’t looking at you but at the ground, almost like he’s unsure of himself.

“You’ve made yourself a cozy place inside me, too,” you speak softly. Your hands don’t leave the mug as you set it on the counter. “We’ve only known each other for barely half a year, you know? You make me wonder if what I’m feeling is love, most of the time. I enjoy you; I enjoy your company. I enjoy the thrill you bring into my life. I… enjoy how weightless you make the world feel. I… I like the thought of being… prioritized. I’m just… confused on whether or not these feelings are rooted in love or something else entirely.”

“And I apologize for making you feel that way,” he replies. “That isn’t my intention.”

You’re quick to your words before he can continue. “Don’t apologize. Please. It’s not your fault. I… I’ve never been in a relationship. I don’t know what love is or what it’s supposed to feel like. I’ve never been loved, and I’m not quite sure how to reciprocate it. I’m afraid I’ll fuck up. Say the wrong thing, not do something right.”

Sukuna’s brows furrow. “There is no right or wrong way to be in a relationship — just yourself.”

“I’ve heard that, just as much as I’ve heard otherwise.”

Silence fills your apartment. You tap your nails against the glass mug, little tinks! resounding. You can’t look at Sukuna now. Not after just admitting to having never been in a romantic relationship. Now, you must seem more of your age than you ever have in his eyes.

“Any insecurity you have is not invalid. I would never disrespect them,” Sukuna finally says, sheer conviction making you shiver.

The giant man stands to take his place not even a foot from you. Magnetism draws you to his face and you cannot look away. His hand comes up and brushes his large fingers across your cheek.

And like an open book, he reads you from the front cover to the very last word, reading off your exterior cover and the interior pages you’ve hidden away. “You’ve carved yourself from early maturity, into someone that your loved ones have needed you to be. You’ve never been able to truly be yourself, be free. You’ve always had to be the rock that everyone has needed, when no one has been for you. You desire to be loved, but not at the expense of heartbreak nor sacrificing the person you’ve molded yourself into for the people you love. You desire to be free above all else, not wanting to be loved unless there’s someone who can love you and give you your freedom at the same time.”

You gape, eyes almost as wide as saucers with your eyelids lined with burning tears. You dip your head and sniffle.

“I want that. I want that for you. I want to be the one to give that to you,” Sukuna continues. “The time we spent together not even a week ago, I want more of that. I no longer want to live the way I’ve been living. I want to live with you, do those kinds of things with you. That sounds corny as fuck coming from me of all people, but that’s the truth.”

You can’t help but laugh. His tone of exasperation at himself was just too funny not to.

“And what happens when you give me those things? Will you be done with me? Move on to the next person?” you ask. “Once you’ve played the part of the savior, won’t those feelings end?”

“I’ll never be done with you,” he answers instantaneously, like it was nothing short of law. “You’ve captivated me, all of me. I’ve already tried pulling myself away a multitude of times. But then one little word of anything about you and you’re all I think about for the rest of the day.”

You sniffle again and laugh. “Did you practice this? You sound like a poet.”

“I can be one if you’d like.” You giggle at that. It’s silly, but you feel like Sukuna would oblige you if you said yes. “But I mean it, every word.”

You nod and whisper, “I know you do.” Because it’s the truth. He’ll never not mean anything he says. Brutal honesty is apart of Sukuna.

The emptiness of your apartment is deafening, it’s silence almost palpable to the point where you feel like you might being to suffocate. But large, firm hands cup your cheeks and bring oxygen into your lungs again.

His hands are warm, so warm. The feeling of being touched like this, so intimately, makes all the blood flow to your cheeks to the point where you think you’ll overheat.

“May I kiss you?” he asks, tone quiet, voice deep and baritone that makes shivers roll up your spine. “At least once?”

You can’t help but bite into your lower lip. The suffocating feeling has returned, just for a different reason. But your instinct goes first — action taking the initiative over the brain — and you nod once more, mumbling out a small “yes” that you chastise yourself for being so meek.

Sukuna’s free arm wraps around your waist and gently pulls you to your tippy-toes. You’re running on instinct, one hand resting on his chest, the other circling behind his neck, eyelids slowly closing as he dives in for the kiss you’ve allowed. And when his hand cradles the back of your head, his lips meet yours, and you swear to everything from heaven to hell that you’re about to explode and die in this man’s arms.

Everything feels like it’s on fire… until it doesn’t. That fire slowly simmers down to a gentle flame, one that brings a sense of contentment.

Sukuna tilts his head, moving your lips and deepening the kiss. You allow it, and it feels like the kiss has sunk to a new depth of desire. Dare you even think or say it be devotion. His lips are warm and sweet on yours; his kiss isn’t one of urgency, but perhaps the desperation of longing. It’s not slow and controlling, not greedy. Whatever this kiss is and all the emotions contained within, you know it makes you at peace and content.

Everything feels perfect.

You both part for air, lips slow to disconnect. You can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed being so out of breath, but hearing the slight heaviness of breath coming from the large man makes you feel less awkward.

“Thought you said you hadn’t been in a relationship before?”

Your reply is breathless, “Never have.”

“Then you must be a naturally good kisser.”

That makes you laugh. You press your head to his chest and giggle away, to which you hear what you think is a chuckle from his throat.

It’s 11:20 at night by the time you look at the clock again. It’s too late for Sukuna to go home. That’s the excuse you use anyway. He’s seemingly more than happy to use the excuse right along with you to spend a night with you.

Come morning, however, things shift back to the way they were before: confusing and lonely. The couch was just as empty as the apartment. Under you was not Sukuna’s body, but a stack of pillows from your bedroom.

The note on the counter about being called in for an important meeting doesn’t do his absence justice either, instead sending every one of your walls back up, twice as high and just as thick as they were before.

Your phone dings with new messages. Utahime and Shoko, both of which declare they’re coming over to drag your ass out of your apartment to go shopping like you should’ve yesterday.

You text them back, telling them you’ll meet them at the mall, that you’re going to get ready and this time you aren’t going to miss out.

You don’t know what to do or what to think. You don’t know if one night of vulnerability means anything more than just being open with another human being. All you know is that you need a break, from yourself, your confusion, from life, and especially from Sukuna.

You need the clarity of a shopping trip and good friends for company, because your hopes for what’s coming next are getting far too high and you’re beginning to really fall in love with Sukuna Ryomen.

taglist: (no longer adding)

@vagabond-umlaut | @poe-daydreams | @heresan @thedovahqueen | @lotus-n-l0ve | @chiyoso | @miraclecherryblossomsblog | @unbreakableblueheaven | @marscatbutler | @vanillabloo | @wo-ming-bai | @visionsofmagic | @tohsri | @yuujispinkhair | @lilacliliess | @bub-ss

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #modern! sukuna #modern! au #jjk sukuna #sukuna fluff

[kyufessions]

glitter

synopsis: you walk in on your daughter giving your fiancé a makeover

genre: fluff, domestic

pairings: fiancé, non-idol! jeno x g.n. reader

word count: 2.2k

a/n: i really went off with this lmao. this is the most inspired i’ve been in a while for a story so hope y’all enjoy!

general taglist: @jwnghyuns @eaudenana @soobin-chois

nct taglist: @jungsusvillain

Glitter was going to be everywhere in your house for the next two weeks, but you honestly didn’t care much. on any other day you would sigh about it and remind your daughter, aecha, to ask you first before doing so or remind her to use her designated playroom rather than the living room but coming home to see your fiance sitting across from a four year old as she smothers his face with cheap eyeshadow and glitter, you couldn’t help but find yourself amused by the sight. There sat an almost six foot tall man in grey slacks with a light blue button up shirt and a loosened tie in the middle of your living room floor, across from him was a little four year old girl using a barbie eyeshadow palette all over his face- the purple glitter hitting pan as she used it for nearly everything.

“Sit still!” she demanded in her tiny voice as she smeared a green shade across his one eyelid, the other one already light pink with a sparkling shine. The concentration on her face was very evident, her cheeks puffed out as her eyes squinted to get a clearer look.

“Sorry, sorry.” he mumbled, a small chuckle leaving past his lips as they upcurved into a grin. He tried looking up at her to watch what she was doing but she reminded him to keep his eyes down so she could get all the color on him, earning another mumbled ‘sorry’ from the grown man. “What color are you using?”

You stood against the door frame watching in silence, the door still slightly ajar as to not warn anyone of your presence. Instead, you took out your phone to record the moment quietly. When you first started dating jeno, you were scared he wouldn’t accept that you were a parent of a two year old. You had been on countless dates within the past few months, but none of them ever went past the first two because as soon as they found out you had a child they didn’t want anything to progress further. With being in your early twenties, you figured not many people would want to see someone that was already a parent. And you definitely didn't want to date anyone who was a lot older than you, so you were stuck. Well, until you met jeno that is.

You remember the day as if it were yesterday: you were at the local park down the street from your old apartment complex, watching as aecha played in the sandbox with some other children. All the other parents were older and ignored you for the most part, judgemental stares were never not thrown your way when you would explain she was indeed your daughter and not your niece, sister, or cousin. But you always ignored them, not caring much about what people thought about you. Having aecha was something you had never regretted, not even for one second. As you sat there in your thoughts and sipped on your iced coffee, you felt a presence sit next to you on the bench. You glanced at them from the corner of your eye, noticing it was a man in a navy blue plaid shirt and jeans. He seemed to be around your age, maybe younger by not much. Silence hung between the both of you, but it didn’t seem too awkward- just that type of awkwardness you feel when meeting a stranger for the first time.

“Uncle!” you heard a child yell as they ran towards him, his arms up in the air asking to be picked up.

And the stranger did just that, picking up him gracefully and putting him in his lap. “Hajoon!” He greets him with a smile, and when you glance at them for a second you can notice how both of their smiles are practically the same. “What’s up? Are you feeling okay?”

The child nods, his smile turning into a pout. “Yes! But can we stay a little longer? I want to help them finish their sandcastle!” his little finger points towards the small group of children your daughter was sitting with, their little selves working hard at building a sandcastle as tall as the tree next to them- or at least, that was their goal.

As soon as the stranger tells him it's okay, he hops off his lap and runs back towards your daughter and her group of friends she's made. You both sit in silence again for a few moments, watching the children carefully as they get to work. It wasn't until you were mid-sip on your caramel iced coffee when the stranger spoke up.

“Which kid is yours?” the deep voice asked, making you turn your head in his direction as you pointed towards your aecha.

Quickly swallowing your drink, you finally responded. “The one with the pigtails and bows in her hair with the rainbow overalls.”

Jeno watched how you smiled at her when she waved at you, making his lips turn into a shy smile. Through your simple actions he could tell you adored her more than anything, and he admired that right off the bat. “The loud one in the dinosaur shirt is my nephew, hajoon.” you nod, taking another small sip of the remainder of your coffee. Not wanting the conversation to stop, he continues on. “Is she your niece?”

You shake your head, finally turning your head towards him. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled made your stomach flip for a split second before you brushed it aside, choosing to ignore how handsome this stranger was. “No, she’s my daughter.” The shock on his face was subtle, but the change in his facial expression gave away his surprise. You just smile at his expression, used to it by now. “I had her young, but she’s everything to me.”

For the next half an hour, you both sat there as the kids would knock down and rebuild their sand castles before jeno received a call that it was time to start bringing hajoon back home for dinner. Throughout that time, you both got to know one another. You learned how he was a year younger than you and how he had just started college, how he also enjoyed doing music on the side here and there for extra money at times. And although you were still young, he admired how you still put yourself through school and two part time jobs just to give your daughter what she deserved. When he learned of you being a single parent, he mentally cursed at the person leaving you to care for a child at such a young age. How dare they do such a thing?

“Will you be okay getting home?” he asked as hajoon jumped on his back, his arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold on tight.

Nodding, you fix aecha’s hair quickly before grabbing her hand and standing towards the opposite direction. “I’ll be okay, thank you. I live right down the block.”

From then on, every Saturday you would ‘coincidentally’ bump into each other at that same park, him with hajoon and you with aecha. But what you learned after you both officially started dating for a few months was he would volunteer to hang out with hajoon every saturday. He'd take him out for lunch, sometimes take him shopping or to the arcade, but one thing he never missed was taking him to the park around the same time every weekend. It took jeno a month of that same routine to finally ask for your number, then another month to ask you on a proper date, and then a third month to officially ask you out. It’s now two years later and jeno is nearing the end of his graduation with a job already secured for him, while you had finished your college degree a year ago and was able to work from home most days. The day after your graduation jeno had proposed, but asked to wait until he graduated to move forward with wedding planning. Agreeing, you both divided to just move in together for the time being and secured a three bedroom apartment together closer to where his new job would be located. Everything with jeno seemed like a fairytale you never thought would happen.

“Green!” aecha exclaimed, a proud smile appearing on her face.

For a few moments more you watch them talk about how green would and wouldn’t match his outfit best, and aecha offering jeno one of her princess dresses that would look better than his ‘ugly outfit’. Chuckling lowly to yourself, you stop recording and close the door behind you before walking towards them with a smile.

Aecha automatically runs up to you with a smile, her body clinging to your legs as you bend down to her level and envelope her into a hug. “What's going on here?” you ask her, finally noticing the small specks of glitter on her face as well. You smile at jeno as he looks at you with a playfully defeated look, the lipstick that your daughter chose everywhere except for his lips.

She tugged at your hand, pulling you further to where your fiance sat with his legs crossed. “I made daddy pretty!” you both laughed at her comment, using your pointer finger to turn jeno’s face more towards you for a better view. No words needed to be exchanged, all you did was smile at one another as your eyes said it all. “Do you like it?”

Turning to her, you kiss the top of her head and pat it afterwards. “I love it! Can you do my makeup tomorrow for daddy and i’s date?” as she starts jumping up and down with joy, you stop her quickly by putting your hand on her shoulder. “But only if you can do one thing for me.” she nods eagerly, waiting for the deal. “If you start getting ready for your bath, you can do my makeup tomorrow. I’ll even give you bubbles for tonight, how does that sound?”

Before you know it, she runs down the hall and up the stairs to her room, you both watch as she runs into her room and closes the door behind herself to start changing. When jeno turns around, he sees you kneeling down to his eye-level and smiling at him in an attempt to hold back laughter. Failing as soon as he smiles back at you with a toothy grin, you sit on his lap and wrap your arms around his neck as you press multiple pecked kisses against his lips as you both laugh together.

“How was work?” you ask after smothering him with kisses, bringing your thumb up to his face to smudge away some glitter from the apple of his cheek. “Your day seemed eventful.”

He takes one hand off of your waist and takes your hand in his, placing a kiss on the back of it. “It was good, the internship is promising and I have my last day of classes this Friday before graduation.” jeno starts blinking rapidly as he feels glitter in his eye, quickly rubbing it away and grabbing your hand again afterwards. “Aecha and I made ramen for lunch and then she wanted to do my makeup. I know how you feel about glitter but I, unfortunately, had no say in the matter.”

“It's okay as long as you help me clean it up afterwards.” you say, sneaking your phone out of your pocket and taking a few quick pics of jeno before you get up and drag him towards the bathroom to wipe the makeup off his face. He watches you do so, admiring every move you make. Even though you looked tired from work, you still had a glow that he never got tired of. Alluring couldn’t even begin to describe how he saw you, no synonyms could ever begin to describe. Even though your face was straight, your lips always had an upcurve to them that came across as welcoming and friendly. And when you were concentrating, you bit the inside of your bottom lip ever so slightly as your eyes were slightly squinted.

“Let's have another.”

Giggling, you stop what you're doing and look him in the eyes. “What do you mean, ‘let's have another’?”

He grabs your hands, intertwining your fingers together before kissing your knuckles as he speaks. “I mean, let's have another kid.”

You always knew jeno wanted more kids, and now that aecha is in daycare and has friends who have siblings she keeps asking for a brother or sister more often than not. After your daughter, you always told yourself you wouldn’t have more kids until you were older- maybe early to mid thirties. But with life falling into place, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect time.

“I like that idea.” you confess, smiling from ear to ear as jeno lifts you up by your thighs and kisses you deeply. But the kiss is soon cut short as you hear aecha coming down the stairs towards the bathroom.

You just couldn’t wait to grow your little family even more.

#kyufessions nct #nct #nct dream #nct u #nct dream fluff #nct dream au #nct jeno #jeno #jeno lee #jeno fluff #nct fluff #nct au #jeno au #jeno x reader #lee jeno #jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct scenarios

[jishyucks]

Groceries are Overrated — ldh

‣ pairing: supermarket worker!haechan x customer!reader

‣ genre: fluff, strangers-to-lovers?, sorta slice-of-life

‣ wc: 5.6k

‣ summary: After multiple encounters, you develop a crush on the boy working at your local supermarket. And who knows? Maybe the feeling is mutual.

‣ warnings?: nothing too bad I think!, mentions of hyuck breaking his pinky finger LMAO, jokes of plans to stalk/kidnap (false accusations)

‣ an: uhhhh tell me how I made an entire fic that’s set in a mf grocery store (˶x     x˶);; it genuinely was only supposed to be like 2k or less,, this is how u know that I romanticize EVERYTHING (sigh imagine how easy life would be if situations like these existed)

‣ taglist: @flowerjun @mosviqu

Your roommate, Karina, had the knack of sending you out to the grocery store against your will. In fact, you couldn't even recall how many times it had occurred in the last month. It feels like you’ve dropped by the store every day on the way home and you’re beginning to think that the employees believe you’re crazy.

But, in all honesty, you couldn’t blame her. After all, no one could resist the taste of your cooking and baking.

So here you were, moving up and down the seemingly endless aisles of the store on a mission to locate cream of tartar for your meringue cookies. 

It was odd because you’d usually find the powder alongside the sugars and spices in a bag or container like salt and pepper. Today, it was nowhere to be found, not even the price tag stuck to the shelves that indicated that it was there, just not in stock.

You sigh and slowly make your way down the aisles, laying your eye on every single item sitting on the shelves. Other customers looked at you like you were crazy, occasionally stretching your neck or lowering yourself into a squatting position just to view the bottom shelves. But at this point, you honestly could not give two shits if you looked looney.

“Did you lose something?” A pair of feet appear in front of you in the middle of your squat. You freeze and look up to see an employee looking down at you. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, “I’ve seen you go up and down the store like… a lot of times.” 

Your eyes widen and laugh sheepishly. Standing up, you shake your head, “Um, actually I was looking for the cream of tartar! I can’t… seem to find it.”

“In the cereal section?” 

Now that you’re up and standing, you get a better look of the worker in front of you and you recognize him as one of the newer employees of the store. You can only say this with full confidence because you’ve been acquainted with a majority of the staff and most, if not, all were older than forty. This employee, you would say, was around your age. You take a quick glance at his name tag and read it. 

Donghyuck.

“You never know!” You laugh again, this time wishing that the ground would just swallow you whole before the (actually really cute) boy could reply to you. How could you embarrass yourself like this?

Donghyuck lets out a short snort, “It’s in aisle six, you know, with the sugars and spices?” 

It takes you a second to realize that you’re currently in aisle 23. “I looked! I swear it wasn’t there!”

He grins, “Then let me take you.” 

The boy begins walking away from you and you trail not too far behind him. If Donghyuck miraculously brings you to the cream of tartar, you’re going to think that the universe is against you.

He walks about three paces in front of you, strides slightly longer than yours. Although you both did not know each other, you found it a bit awkward walking in silence. “Just a random thought but are you a new worker here?”

Donghyuck slows down and turns to look at you, playing off of your question, “What are you, the owner of this place?” 

“No,” You shake your head and laugh, “I just know a lot of the employees here because I go here a lot.” 

“Ah, makes sense,” Donghyuck hums, “I just started working here last week. My grandma works here and I needed extra money so she got me this job.” 

You make a sound of acknowledgment. This time, you decide to joke, “Ohhh, so you’re a nepo baby! So what do you do? Roam the aisles?” 

He gives you a look, but it’s quickly wiped off of his face when he goes to answer you, “I sorta do everything, so if you do go here a lot, you’ll be seeing me everywhere—ah, here we are.” Donghyuck shuffles over to the rows of spices and uses his finger to follow his place. 

“See, it’s not—”

“Found it!” Donghyuck bends down and snatches a bag of cream of tartar. Then, he turns to hand it over to you, the corners of his lips sitting high on his cheeks. 

“Thanks,” you say, unsure of how to end the interaction.

“You’re welcome,” Donghyuck nods, “Well, it was nice meeting you, loyal customer, but I have to go back to whatever I was doing. I’ll see you around!” Before you even get to bid him goodbye, Donghyuck spins on the balls of his feet and starts making his way back to the last aisles.

You’re left thinking how you actually hope to see more of him.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s once in a blue moon that you go to the grocery store for a reason other than ingredients and food. Today, you’re set on finding a plant or two to liven up your apartment. The only problem was you genuinely did not know what plant best suited you and Karina.

You have your phone out, searching up the plant names you can barely read from the name tags. Being that you were in the garden centre of the store, the sun was beating down against your forehead and you’re really wishing that you can find some plants and leave so you can get back to your air-conditioned home. 

Your goal was to find a plant that could thrive without direct sunlight, given that your apartment didn’t receive sunlight all day, and one that might be a bit neglected due to yours and Karina’s busy schedules.

Francee Hosta. You read, a flowering perennial plant. Lavender blooms in the late Summer. Grows tall, 28 inches. Great for landscaping and can fill empty space well. Best in part to full shade.

“Good competitor,” you say under your breath. Mentally, you put a star on the plant and move on, hoping to gather as many options as you can. You’re not even halfway down the entirety of the garden centre so you’re fully confident that you’ll find one, but you just wish that it was actually easier finding the plant you wanted.

You move on, positioning yourself right beside the next plant you intend to research. It resembled a small aloe vera, only each ‘leaf’ was adorned with white stripes. From where you stood, the plant's name tag remained frustratingly out of sight, perched on top of the high racks. 

Letting out a frustrated groan, you stretch yourself as much as you can, reaching for the plant. Balancing on your tippy toes, you strain to touch the pot's glass edge, but it remains just out of your fingertips' reach. 

Before you can fully process the situation, a hand swiftly reaches for the same pot, snatching it away from you, “A zebra plant?”

Falling back on your heels, you turn to find Donghyuck holding the small plant in his hands, “Out of all the plants here, you want a zebra plant?” He holds it out for you to take, which you only do because you’re thrown off by his sudden appearance.

You completely ignore his question and ask him one of your own, “You again?” 

“Like I said, I do a bit of everything,” Donghyuck shrugs, “Wait, but I work here, I should be asking you that question.” 

“I’m trying to look for like two houseplants,” you say, “What’s the problem with zebra plants?” You frown at the poor plant in front of you, getting attacked for absolutely no reason.

“Nothing, there’s just way better ones than it,” Donghyuck snickers. 

You frown, “Well, since you seem to know more about plants than me, can you help me?” You turn to place the plant back. But when Donghyuck notices this, he quickly takes it out of your hands and places it back onto its spot. 

“Of course, of course,” he smiles. And just like a few days before, he starts leading you down the garden centre, eyeing the plants, “Well, what sort of plant are you looking for?”

You explain everything to him, “But I think I prefer smaller plants since my place has limited space.” 

He hums and files through his limited knowledge of plants, “I actually don’t know.”

“I thought you knew things about plants!” Your blink at him, mouth agape, “Why did you even ask me what I was looking for if you didn’t know what I was even talking about?”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, “I do but because of the tags.” He reaches over and plucks out the name tags you’ve been using to do research on. Then he flips it around revealing a bulleted list of the plant’s features, “I was going to help you look for one.” 

How the hell did you not see the list in the first place?

“What the fuck,” you say, “That’s been there this whole time?”

“You’re telling me you haven’t been using these to pick the plants out!?” Donghyuck sucks his teeth and shakes his head as if he was disappointed in you. 

You defend yourself, huffing, “To be fair they’re not as visible as they should be.”

Donghyuck hums, “The more you know. How ‘bout I start over there and you continue from where I found you and we meet in the middle?”

You nod, “Sounds good to me.”

The two of you take about half an hour looking for plants, taking the job more seriously than it actually was. You could already predict that one out of the two plants may possibly be dead in two weeks, but it’s the thought that counts. 

“Okay,” Donghyuck approaches you with a plant in hand. Its leaves spill out of the pot, connected to the long, growing stems, “I think this one would be pretty. It’s one of those plants you can hang from the ceilings and it matches what you’re looking for.” 

You take the plant from him and hold it up, taking in its appearance, “I actually like it. I’ll take this one.” 

He nods and takes it back, “Did you find one?” 

You nod, too, showing him the plant you had chosen but sat on a nearby platform, “It looks like an average plant but it should do. Thanks for the help by the way.”

“It’s no problem,” Donghyuck shrugs, “This is the most boring position yet.”

The two of you start walking toward the entrance back into the actual store, passing by other customers, “Really? How many other positions have you worked?”

“This and the one from the other day,” Donghyuck snorts.

You’re genuinely surprised with how well you and Donghyuck can converse despite only meeting once before this. But you like to think it’s a skill you picked up from speaking to the other workers, “You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not,” he shakes his head, “Boring-est so far.” 

Once you two reach the entrance, he halts, “I’ll see you around?” Donghyuck realizes he’s still holding one of your plants and he gingerly hands it over to you. 

“You know it.”

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Karina’s grip around your wrist is so tight that you feel the circulation failing to reach your fingertips. She’s dragging you down the sidewalk, walking at pace way too fast from your usual, “I promise you I’ll be quick. You can just sit at those benches at the front if you want.”

You groan, taking into account the fact that Karina’s begged one too many times to go to the grocery store with her, “Fine. But if you take longer than ten minutes, I’m leaving.” You can’t say no to your best friend completely, not when you know that her time of month’s coming up and she needs to stock up for her cravings and toiletries. 

“Wait, no! I need you to help me carry stuff,” Karina pouts. You both reach the front entrance and now she’s stopped, not ready to go in until she’s satisfied with a plan. 

You sigh, but in a loving way, almost as if you were a mom giving in to her kid’s wants, “Fine. I’ll wait for you.”

She lights up and claps, “Great! Okay you can sit and just wait until I’m about to go for cash.”

You nod, watching her jog in and leaving you to dawdle in not long after. 

“Hello! Good afternoon!”

It was almost a jumpscare hearing that voice, not expecting it to be the first thing you would encounter walking in. Usually the greeter was an older man who was working part-time despite retiring from his old job, but today, it was the very same boy you’ve run into during your two previous visits.

“A greeter?” You snort. 

Donghyuck puts his arms up in defense, “I told you I did everything.”

“Yeah but I didn’t think greeter would be part of that list.” Suddenly, you forget about your desire to sit at the metal bench by the bathrooms.

“Me neither, but here I am,” he shrugs, “What are you doing here?” The question was odd because it’s one you wouldn’t normally ask customers at a supermarket, but Donghyuck thinks it’s perfectly okay to ask you the question because it was your third time that week going to the store.

“My roommate needs things,” you say simply, “Is this position better than the plants?”

“I get to stand here and do basically nothing,” Donghyuck nods, eyes widening, “I get why Mr. June likes it.” 

“Where is he anyway?” You question.

Shrugging, Donghyuck leans against the high counter he was standing behind, “Personal day or something? I’m not too sure.” 

You hum, “Well at least he’s getting the break he needs.”

There’s a brief silence before Donghyuck gasps, brows escalating to the top of his forehead, “I just remembered!”

“Remembered what?” You don’t recall anything that you and Donghyuck have spoken about. 

“This is… weird? But I’ve never asked you for your name,” Donghyuck points out. It’s just now that you realized that he actually hasn’t asked for your name. You both just started speaking to each other as if you knew each other, so introducing yourself never even crossed your mind, “I mean… I think you know mine because of my name tag, but I don’t know yours.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “What if this is some ploy for you to stalk me?” You playfully take a step back and eye him down, “And what if your name isn’t really Donghyuck?”

“I’m not gonna stalk you,” Donghyuck he whines, “And my name really is Donghyuck! You can ask my grandma!”

You let out a laugh and sigh, “I know, I was joking. My name’s Y/N.” 

Before Donghyuck can process everything, he gasps, “Are you the Y/N grandma talks about?” He brings his hand up to his head and runs his hand through his hair, “The Y/N that had to bake for practically an entire village of people?”

“So your Grandma is Mrs. Lee?” You don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that your heart warms up at the fact that Donghyuck was related to Mrs. Lee, who was probably the sweetest lady you’ve ever met. 

You think it was good because Donghyuck seemed to be close to his grandma, enough for her to get him a job and enough for him to know stories from work—it could really reflect the kind of person Donghyuck was. But now, thinking it through, it could be bad because there was no way you were developing a small crush on a boy you’ve only met twice before today. 

“That’s her,” He nods and allows for a child-like smile to surface on his face, “She’s the best right?”

You almost let out an audible ‘aww’ because of the way you can tell that he was probably a grandma’s boy. You nod, “She is. I should’ve put two and two together.”

His head tilts to the side, “What do you mean?”

“When she’s on cash, she talks about her grandson being a ray of sunshine,” you say. For some reason you suddenly feel shy as you speak to Donghyuck, “She says ‘I just know Hyuckie is going to be such a great man one day!’ I don’t know why it didn’t click that Hyuckie comes from Donghyuck.” 

Donghyuck blushes at the nickname, attempting to use his bangs to hide, “So she talks about me too?” You nod. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“She hasn’t said anything super embarrassing,” you tease, “The worst one was probably how you were in a rush to get home after an exam just to play video games and you cried cause you broke you broke your pinky. I found it funny but it wasn’t too bad.” 

Donghyuck’s jaw drops in the slightest, “She told you about that?” 

You nod and giggle, “Can I see your pinky?”

“Sorry I don’t usually show it on first dates,” Donghyuck peeks at you at the corner of his eyes and smirks. 

You facepalm, “That sounds so wrong.” You want to laugh but you hold it back, not wanting to give Donghyuck the satisfaction.

“Lee Donghyuck, are you doing your job?” From your right, the voice of Mrs. Lee calls out to her grandson, a delightful blend of playfulness and a touch of seriousness. 

Following the direction, you greet Mrs. Lee with a bow, waving at her before turning back to Donghyuck with hands to your hips, “Yeah, Donghyuck, are you doing your job?”

“Y/N’s distracting me!” He responds in a childlike manner, and Mrs. Lee simply shakes her head in response, a faint smile gracing her lips. As she turns away, you spot Karina waddling down from a cash register with four bags filled to the brim with different things. 

“Y/N!” She calls. She uses her head to gesture to the bags. By this time, she’s standing by the exit, setting two bags down at her feet for you to carry. 

“I have to go,” you say to Donghyuck, “I’ll probably see you the next time I come here, right?”

He nods, “It’s likely.”

“Well, see you Donghyuck!” you turn and wave, “Or should I say, Hyuckie.”

Rolling his eyes, he waves back before quickly flipping you off, but instead of his middle finger, it’s his pinky. You respond with a good-natured shake of your head, gathering the bags in front of you. With a nod to Karina, the two of you make your way out, leaving the lighthearted scene behind. 

“Bye, Y/N.” 

It’s good to finally have a name to your face.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

True to Karina’s suspicions, her period started the day after her cravings. 

And when Karina gets her period, she gets sick. And when she gets sick, you take this as your cue to go to the grocery store to gather ingredients for the special stomach-hugging soup your mom taught you to cook growing up. It was something that you both looked forward to every month despite Karina not being at her best condition.

The produce today wasn’t up to par as it usually was. All were stacked rather messily, making it difficult for you to filter through the veggies. You’re only surprised because in the amount of times you’ve gone to the supermarket, there has not been one day that it organized this poorly. 

“This is like your… fourth time in the last ten days or something?” The voice sounds from behind you, “Just tell me you miss me and go.” 

You turn to see Donghyuck with a cart of banana-filled boxes and it all suddenly makes sense to you, “Why would I miss you?” You turn your attention back to the bok choy sitting to your right and rummage through the pre-filled bags.

“It happens more than you think,” he shrugs, “Reason this time?”

You find a bag that seems pretty good and you plop it into your basket, “My roommate’s sick so I’m making her soup.” 

“Mmm,” Donghyuck hums, “The weather lately has been making me crave hot pot, so soup sounds so good right now.”

“Now you’re making me crave it,” You feel your mouth water at the thought of hot pot on this cool, rainy afternoon and sigh, “But I think my soup’s better than hot pot. Any. Day.”

He scoffs, “I don’t believe you. Nothing can beat hot pot nowadays. Not even kimchi jjigae.” Donghyuck pushes and pulls at the banana cart as if it were a baby in a stroller, “Thank you.”

Your brows furrow, “For what?”

“Now I know what I’m eating for dinner later.” His grin forms a taut line, “Hot pot.” 

You begin making your way to the potatoes, grabbing those thin plastic bags on the way. To your surprise, Donghyuck follows you. You look at him, “Are you sure you aren’t the one who misses me?” “You wish,” he laughs, “I just need to stand still just for one minute at least. Produce clerk has to be the worst. But I do like talking to you.” Donghyuck shifts back and forth on his feet, “Anyway, what is this soup you’re making?” “See you do miss me!” You pick out three decently-sized potatoes and gently drop them into your bag, “It’s a family recipe and it doesn’t really have a name to it. We just call it stomach-hugging soup.”

“There’s a clear difference between me missing you and me liking talking to you,” Donghyuck grumbles, “We barely know each other but it’s just so easy talking to you. That’s why.” The way he nonchalantly says this takes you aback but you try to play it off, this time moving on to some nearby taro roots. 

“Whatever you say, Hyuckie,” you retort. Though he was right. It’s never been this easy for you to talk to someone, better yet, a boy. 

“Hey! That nickname is reserved for special people only!” 

“I’m a special person, aren’t I?” you joke, but quickly wave it off, “Don’t worry, I won’t call you that if you don’t want me to.” 

Repeating your steps from both the bok choy and the potatoes, Donghyuck watches you quietly with a smile that’s so gentle that it would lull a newborn to sleep. You don’t notice this, though, because your mind is distracted by how ungodly big the taro roots are.

“I need to… get back to stacking these bananas but,” Donghycuk gulps, “It would be cool if I could taste this special soup one day.”

You turn to him, and smile, eyes bright at the idea, “Of course. One day.”

He waves and saunters down toward the front of the produce section.

Once he’s gone, you try to make sense as to what Donghyuck was trying to imply. Friends outside of this weird new relationship you both have? Something more than that? You’re not too sure of anything and there was no way you were jumping to conclusions.

Before your thoughts start to eat at you, you shake your head to rid of them all, and along with it, the idea of the small lingering crush (that’s truly starting to develop) on this boy.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It isn’t until one week later that you return to the supermarket. The reason this time was that you and Karina were truly out of groceries for once (which honestly was not surprising). 

It would be a terrible lie if you said you hadn’t thought of Donghyuck at least once within the last week, wondering how he was doing while constantly being put into different positions at work. You hoped that he wasn’t put onto the floor as a produce clerk like he had been the last time you saw him, both for his sake and for the sake of the store. 

It was late at night when you finally found the time to visit the store, much later than your usual trips. By this hour, the store had bid farewell to the bustling moms and their screaming children, leaving only adults who had dropped by after school or work, much like yourself.

It would also be a terrible lie if you said you weren’t wondering if Donghyuck was here today. 

You grab a rolling basket on the way in, greeting Mr. June when you pass him at the front. You go down the store aisle by aisle while grabbing everything you’ve listed down in your mental list. Occasionally, you brought your phone out to look if you’ve missed any of Karina needed, a screenshot of her text appearing last in your photos. 

You spend an hour or two going through the list, part of which was you comparing two different products to see which one would help you save money. 

Your third terrible lie of the night would be if you said you weren’t jerking your head toward any other person who entered the aisle hoping it would be Donghyuck. 

It was so stupid because this very boy only found out what your name was not too long ago. You’ve only met this boy four other times. And you barely knew anything about him except for the small tidbits you picked up through conversations with him or with Mrs. Lee. 

And this leads you to your fourth (and hopefully, last) terrible lie of the night—that you weren’t disappointed when you didn’t run into Donghyuck during your time at the store. 

You sigh as you load your things onto the conveyor belt, sorting them with pairs or other like things so it would be easier for you to carry everything. In your head, you’re already planning out how you were supposed to carry everything on your own. You’ve done it before, so you can (while harnessing the power of the universe) do it again. 

“This is a lot of stuff.”

You freeze at the voice and you finally look up, finding that Donghyuck was, in fact, your cashier. 

He immediately reads the shock in your facial expression and snorts, “Everything, remember? How’s your night doing?” Donghyuck starts scanning your items, sliding them from one side to the other.

You shrug, “Tiring… Do your shifts usually go ‘til this hour?” 

Donghyuck shakes his head, “Not typically, but I’m filling in for someone today. One of the other employees got sick so I stepped up like the good person I am.” He flashes a proud expression, and you can't help but chuckle at his confidence, “Anyways, where do you live?”

“What?” you laugh nervously, “I swear you suck at hiding your intentions of stalking me.” 

Donghyuck quickly takes back his question, realizing that he worded it all wrong and it being taken out of context was not good look at all. “No no! It’s not that, but…” How can he put this in a non-stalkery way? “My shift is almost done… you have a lot of things to carry… I would like to walk you home?” He cringes at the way it comes out as a question but it’s too late now. 

“Okay, if you’re not going to stalk me,” you think, “What if you kidnap me?”

"I promise, no kidnapping plans here," Donghyuck replies with a playful grin. "I'm a certified good guy, I swear!" Unbeknownst to you, he intentionally slows down his scanning, making sure that he has more time to chat with you (just in case you didn’t agree to his proposal). It's been a week since he last saw you, and this supermarket seems to be the only place where you both get a chance to talk. Besides, there was no one else in line.

There’s this very feeling in your chest that’s practically yelling at you to trust him, so you do, “It’s about two blocks down. It’s not too far, it’s a good eight minute walk.”

“I’ll meet you at the front then?” 

Not even ten minutes later, Donghyuck meets you right where he suggested. He isn’t wearing the vest the employees wore as uniforms. Instead, he’s thrown on a dark hoodie. He picks up your bags, “Let me take those for you~” 

“Didn’t see you coming,” you say, “I can carry one, you know.” You can't deny feeling a hint of nervousness. This marked the first time you were going to interact with Donghyuck beyond the supermarket setting. It's hard not to wonder if your dynamic is shifting from a mere employee-customer relationship to something more meaningful—even if it was just a friendship.

“It’s okay, I insist,” Donghyuck smiles, “Let’s go! Lead the way.”

You stand up and you lead him out the door. You begin taking your route home and Donghyuck quickens his steps to keep up with you, “So, what you’ve been up to the past week?”

A pleasant breeze blows past you both and you turn your head to reply to him just as you’re stopped at a red light, “I’ve just been busy with school and some other responsibilities. I only found time to go to the store after school today.”

“Ah, your load must be heavier than mine,” Donghyuck makes a sound of recognition, “I only have morning classes and then I’m free for the day.” 

“You’re lucky,” you laugh, “Mine usually runs the whole day because my faculty’s suckass at scheduling… but it is what it is, I guess.”

The light switches and you’re both allowed to cross. There are only a few cars waiting to go, which emphasizes how late in the night it actually is. “Well at least you’re holding up,” Donghyuck grins, “You still have time for cooking and what not.”

You nod, “That’s true, you’re right.” 

The conversation between you two unfolds with familiar ease, similar to your convos at the supermarket. Donghyuck brings up Mrs. Lee, questioning about how you came to know his grandmother. You share your story with him, detailing the moments and conversations that led to your connection.

“Are you close with your grandma?” You ask out of curiosity.

“She practically raised me because my parents were mostly out at work,” Donghyuck explains, “Now that she’s a little bit older, I still go over to her place and help around the house. She’s at retirement age, but she likes being busy. So I let her be busy at work and tell her to relax when she’s at home.”

Your heart swells at Donghyuck’s relationship with Mrs. Lee and a slight surge of emotion wells up within you. It really wasn’t helping with the crush you were trying to conceal, not when Donghyuck seemed like a genuinely great guy. 

“I think that’s really sweet of you.” You feel the corners of your mouth rise to your cheekbones, “I bet she appreciates it. She seems to really love you, so there’s no doubt that she does.” 

You finally reach your place and Donghyuck realizes this when you slow to a halt. He can't help but feel a tinge of disappointment that your place isn't farther from the store. Nevertheless, he holds onto the hope that he'll have more opportunities to walk you home in the future. 

You retrieve your bags from his hands and you don’t notice the way his breath hitches at your proximity. “Thanks for walking me home and carrying my bags. Are you fine getting home?” 

Donghyuck nods, “I actually live pretty close, believe it or not, so don’t worry about me. I’ll see you around?” It seems like this was something you’ve been saying to each other a lot.

“Of course and thank you again,” you say, “Goodnight, Donghyuck.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

As you begin to turn away, Donghyuck's gaze lingers on you. Despite it not being your last encounter with him, in that moment, a sense of urgency washes over him, realizing that this might be a pivotal moment. It feels like this decision could only be made now or never.

“Wait!” He calls out. It comes out embarrassingly louder than intended. He swears he could hear his voice echo down the street. 

You pause and turn to face Donghyuck, looking back at him curiously, "Yeah?" There are so many thoughts running through your head, only you couldn’t pick them out for the life of you. 

Donghyuck starts jogging to catch up with you, his footsteps rhythmically hitting the pavement. "I... actually have a question," he says, his voice slightly breathless. "It's been on my mind for the past week."

You meet his gaze with an expectant look, raising your eyebrows and giving a nod, encouraging him to continue.

“This sounds weird but,” his palm finds the nape of his neck and he’s suddenly (extremely) nervous to even be standing in front of you, “I think I like you… and I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date some…time? It’s okay if no, but I just figured that since we get along well that it was worth try—”

“I would love to.” 

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really,” you retort, giggling under your breath, “I’m actually kinda relieved you made the first move.”

A rush of excitement surges through Donghyuck, and he's almost overwhelmed with the urge to jump for joy, “I’ll plan something out and let you know, if that’s okay? I didn’t think I would actually get this far.” He feels his cheeks heat up out of embarrassment.

“Take your time,” you snort, “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Okay! I promise you I will not disappoint!” he exclaims, “Goodnight, Y/N. For real this time.” 

You offer a wordless response, shuffling closer to Donghyuck before rising onto your toes to plant a gentle peck on his cheek.

“Goodnight, Donghyuck.”

(And you best know Donghyuck went home that night skipping, excited to tell his grandma everything the next day.) 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Thank you for reading! (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ Pls support my fic by liking/rbing (whatever you're most comfortable with!)

#haechan #haechan imagines #haechan scenarios #lee donghyuck #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #my nct writings #my writings #nct imagines #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct donghyuck #nct haechan #donghyuck imagines #donghyuck scenarios #Kpop imagines #Kpop scenarios #Donghyuck #Lee haechan #Nct 127 imagines #Nct dream x reader

[twogyuu]

Head in the Clouds (Landing Among Stars)

Pairing: Wonwoo x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're busy. He's busy. Doctors are busy. Pilots are busy. But somehow, he always found time for you - including pretending to be your boyfriend for your cousin's wedding.

Genre: Fluff, crack, minor angst(?), pilot!Wonwoo 😭💔, resident doctor!reader, mentions of an unspecifed ex, implications of dj!Johnny Suh, fake dating, friends-to-???

Warnings: Profanity, alcohol use, food, photo is not my own (screenshotted it from the RWY Special Behind SVT YT video. LMAO THANK YOU FOR ALL THE BEHINDS PLEDIS🙏🏻)

WC: ~4.5K

Permanent taglist: @sleeplessdawn @sadkidwarexpert @rockwidthyou @woozarts @wonuziex @bibinnieposts @nanamioo @joonsytip

A/N: Remember when I said it's not my fault if you see this in the next 24h? This is 50% the fault of @wisteria-woo 😭💔 and 50% Wonwoo's fault. It's Friday past midnight - I should be out with friends, maybe studying more, maybe working on fixing Reel Love, finishing that Seungkwan drabble, maybe starting the first few paragraphs of that Hao crazy rich asians!au fic, or maybe writing about Jeonghan and Wonwoo fighting over cereal - but NO - I'm sitting here with Wonwoo fever 🥲

Anyways- IT'S WONWOO'S ANATOMICAL LEFT eyebrow, not his right 😭 Though I re-watched the video and he depresses his anatomical right eyebrow so it just looks like he lifted his left one whyamievenlookingthathard

This is purely self-indulgent and unedited (per usual). I am so ill rn and in DISTRESS - tumblr made this so much harder to post than it needed to be 😭. I am sorry for blowing up your notifications . . . I also sincerely apologize if none of this makes sense.

GOOD NIGHT 😭

Feel free to make fun of me swinging in a direction that isn't even one of my usual biases @aceofvernons.

“Maybe he’s right, Wonwoo.”

Your voice grew small until it fell silent, finally pausing in your rambling. He gave you a minute to collect your thoughts, busying himself with adjusting his navy blue double breasted suit jacket on the white plastic hanger. His fingers grazed against the uneven surface of the gold metallic buttons with delicate engravings as he slipped them through the slits. Though seemingly engrossed in straightening his jacket, his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of you sulking on the edge of his full-sized bed in the other room. Your camel-colored peacoat would still be shrouding your shoulders that were rounded in a slump, your purse still slung across your body. Your index finger was probably hooked loosely around the silver keychain he bought you for your birthday last year. Maybe your eyes were bleary, gaze falling on his cream colored carpet. A sharp inhale, followed by a heavy exhale.

Stepping back, eyes scanning his jacket for a speck of dust, he called to you, “He really said that?” Wonwoo reached to adjust the shoulder pads, “That you never have time for him? You spent all your days off with him the last time I checked – this is the first time I’ve seen you in-person . . . three months?”

“I know,” you mumbled, your voice muffled. Your hands must be covering your face.

“You’d think he’d know what he’d be getting into, dating a resident doctor, huh?” Wonwoo asked rhetorically.

The only response he got was a small ‘puff’ that echoed into his walk-in closet – the sound of your back meeting his comforter. Wonwoo chortled softly to himself. Satisfied by the look of his suit jacket, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks and made his way out. The right corner of his lips curled into a small smile as you came into view just as he expected: Flopped onto his bed with your legs dangling over the edge, still dressed in your outerwear, hands covering your face.

“I’m gonna end up lonely as fuck because of my job, god,” you groaned, “Why did I think it’d be a good idea to be a doctor all things considered? I’ve been fucking up my left and rights since second year of medical school, I work six out of seven days of the week, I’m probably vitamin D deficient with how little I see the sun – there are no windows in that closet of an office they give residents in the hospital, it’s dark when I arrive, the sun is already setting when I leave. The only good thing out of this is that I don’t have to dress up for work and can live in scrubs – for now.”

“Aaaww,” he cooed teasingly, “You won’t be lonely.” Leaning against the white painted door frame, Wonwoo unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt, rolling them up his arms. “You got me.”

“That’s different,” you deadpanned. “You’re missing the point, Wonwoo.”

“And you’re being dramatic,” he berated, running his hand through his jet black locks to loosen the tight and groomed style he was sporting earlier. “Who needs a man when you’re going to be a six-figure-making physician in a year or two? You can take care of yourself.”

“I’ll be fine in two years maybe, but not in two months,” you sighed, pushing yourself up from his bed.

“You’re gonna let a mere man ruin your next two months?”

“No – I mean, yes, I’m gonna mope because I’m a little heartbroken and I really thought he was . . . it.”

“Oh god,” Wonwoo scoffed. You weren’t looking, but he pointed at you anyway. “For the record, I told you from the beginning I never liked him.”

“I told my mom about him,” you blurted.

Wonwoo fell silent, his lips pursing into a small o-shape. This was no laughing matter now. You lived several miles away from home and have been doing so since starting medical school when he met you through a mutual friend. It wasn’t that you weren’t close to your family, but because of your busy schedule, there were only select parts of your life you ever told your mom. You were a listener more than you were a talker – opting to listen to your mom’s anecdotes of what’s been going on at home rather than sharing your day-to-day at the hospital over your weekly phone calls. Not to mention, Wonwoo recalled you told him that your parents were rather invested in your love life, stuck in a traditional mindset, terrified that you’d become a spinster unless you brought home a promising candidate before you hit your early thirties. Though Wonwoo could respect it, he wasn’t sure he could ever quite understand your parents’ urge to get you married so quickly, let alone if it was with the wrong person.

“My cousin’s getting married in two months and I’m flying back home for the wedding,” you explained, “He . . . was supposed to be my plus one . . . meet my cousin, my brothers . . . meet my parents.”

Wonwoo nodded slowly, eyes falling to the side and gazing out his bedroom window. The two of you were getting that serious. He was surprised you hadn’t burst into tears already – perhaps you already did or you were just a tougher cookie than he thought.

“Have you told your parents about your break up?” Wonwoo inquired.

You shook your head slowly. “I . . . I-I’m scared,” you sucked in a sharp breath, “They seemed so . . . ecstatic to meet him? And they told all my aunts and uncles I’m dating some hot shot . . . I’d hate to take that away from them – or worse,” your eyes widened at your sudden epiphany, “I get scolded for being dumb and letting a boy play me.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brows together, the last comment catching him off-guard. “He didn’t and it wasn’t your fault though?”

“It takes two tango, so maybe it was,” you noted, “And my parents don’t see it that way.”

“It wasn’t and they won't.”

“Maybe.”

Wonwoo sighed seemingly hopelessly, pushing himself off the doorframe. His footsteps shifted side to side as if he was contemplating something – uncomfortable even. The space between your brows dipped slightly as you narrowed your eyes, continuing to observe him. As if the room was suddenly feeling stuffy, he let out a long and heavy breath – not out of fatigue or relief, but rather . . . nerves? His hand came up to tug at the black knot at his throat. It must've been tight because his (anatomical) right eyebrow quirked in distress, his fingers flexed harshly as he pulled it loose – you were able to make out almost each tendon running along his metacarpals.

“Date me instead,” Wonwoo stated firmly.

You blinked at him owlishly. “W-what?”

Pulling the shorter end out from behind the black piece of silk came undone, falling limp in his hand. His thumb and index finger came up to unclasp the opaque plastic button below his Adam’s Apple that bobbed up and down as he gulped down the invisible lump forming in his throat.

“I’ll go with you to the wedding,” Wonwoo continued, his eyes flickering from the tie in his hand and back to you. “As your plus one.”

“D-don’t you have work?” you stammered, still processing his offer, “Planes to fly? Places to go?”

He tilted his head to the side nonchalantly, turning back around to re-enter his closet. “I’ll rearrange my schedule to ask for vacation time off – fly as a passenger for once.”

“But –”

“When’s the date?”

. . . .

And so that was how you found yourself here, dressed to the nines in a flowy lavender silk evening gown with Wonwoo’s warm (and surprisingly smooth) hand wrapped around your own sweaty fingers. His grip wasn’t too tight, but not too loose – comfortable, if you will. Visible and connected enough to show that you weren’t single, but also not squeezing the life out of you to make it obvious that the two of you were trying to hide a bigger secret. Your cheeks ached from grinning so widely in front of your parents, hoping they’d buy your fake love story with your handsome friend.

On the contrary, Wonwoo was seemingly a natural at this. He looked almost no different from his daily uniform: Sans the heavy navy blue jacket, he wore a crisp white collared shirt with black detailing on his (anatomical) right shoulder paired with a pair of black slacks. The shirt fit him nicely, slightly loose around the shoulders and tucked in tightly at his waist, highlighting his broad shape. Shoulders rounded back, his usually messy bangs slicked back neatly to the side exposing his forehead and better highlighting his sharp alluring eyes, he stood tall and confident. Despite how simply he dressed relative to other guests and against the extravagant gold and blue decorations, he stood out. A genuine and warm smile played on his lips as he greeted your parents.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” he bellowed, pulling away his hand from your father and bowing his head slightly at them both.

You could tell from the way your mother’s mouth was held agape and her eyes were lit up like fairy lights lining the walls, she was an absolute goner for him Wonwoo.

“So, uh,” your father grunted, eyes zeroing in on your intertwined hands. He waved a finger between the two of you, “How long have the two of you been together?”

Wonwoo turned to look at you and because you felt obligated to in order to simulate chemistry between the two of you, you did too. He took you by surprise though – his gaze a little too loving, the small curve of his lips into a shy smile a little too affectionate.

Your breath hitched; the story the two of you rehearsed on the airplane ride here got trapped in the back of your throat. His stare was hypnotizing as if he turned your brain into mush.

“Gonna tell them or should I?” Wonwoo whispered.

The saccharine in his voice was heart fluttering – you weren’t sure if you wanted to vomit or laugh right there. Frankly, you were growing concerned if you were going to be able to pull this off. You still had half of the cocktail hour and the rest of the reception to go.

“I-I, um, w-we,” you fumbled, tearing your gaze from him. You let out a breathless chuckle, racking your brain for the timeline of your fake relationship.

Tugging you close to his side, Wonwoo turned back to your parents, grinning. “We’ve been friends for almost four years now – met through a mutual friend, but have been seeing each other for the last year and a half.”

“Oh,” your mother hummed softly. “Why didn’t you tell me he was one of your friends? If I had known you had someone so handsome in your life–”

“Mom!” you protested.

“What? I’m just stating facts,” she replied.

Wonwoo gave your hand a tight squeeze, a deep, breathy chuckle bellowing from his chest. “Y/N’s . . . a little shy when it comes to how we got together. No one really expected it – not even us.”

“And what is it that you do for a living then, son?” your father jumped to the next question.

“Dad,” you deadpanned. Of course, he’d ask about Wonwoo’s occupation.

“A pilot, sir,” Wonwoo replied without hesitation.

Your dad raised his eyebrows, nodding fervently with an impressed look crossing his face. “You must have great eyesight.”

“I can see a thing or two,” Wonwoo joked in return.

“Well,” your mother finally intervened. You saw her waving at one of your aunts from afar. She wrapped a hand around your father’s arm, gently ushering him to move. “It was lovely meeting you finally Wonwoo – can’t believe she kept you hidden from us for so long, but Y/N’s father and I have a few more guests to greet. We’ll see you both around, and please, do enjoy yourself!”

Wonwoo and you bid your parents goodbye, waving at them mostly to watch until they were out of earshot and you could finally stop fake smiling.

As your lips flattened, Wonwoo took you by surprise. As if it was second nature, his hand slipped from your own, snaking past the small of your back and settling on your hip. Heat crept onto your cheeks as he pulled you close into his side. His lips grazed against the shell of your ear – you could feel him smiling, his warm breath raising the hairs on the back of your neck. From afar, anyone would think of it as two lovers whispering sweet nothings to one another. However, a stern warning came instead.

“If you keep grinning like you shit your pants, someone’s gonna catch onto us tonight,” Wonwoo whispered. He pulled away and glanced back at you. It terrified you how easily it was for him to smile so . . . warmly at you, like you were the apple of his eye – the love of his life. “Relax, hm?”

You swallowed harshly, your throat growing dry. You nodded – your face still straight nonetheless. He rested against the granite bar, spinning you to face him, his hand never leaving your waist once. Teasingly, he brushed the tip of your nose with his finger before letting both hands now rest on your hips.

“You’re freaking me out,” you muttered.

He tilted his head coyly at you. “Just doing my job as your,” he paused, his voice dropping an octave, leaning towards you, “fake,” he leaned back, his voice returning to its normal volume, “boyfriend.”

“This isn’t your first time being recruited as a fake date, is it?” you folded your arms across your chest. “Bet – Younghee invited you out when she needed a plus one back in January to her aunt’s renewal of vows.”

His nostrils flared ever so slightly, his nose ridge crinkling, eyes disappeared into crescents as his smile widened. Your heart pumped erratically, the memory of that one drunken night where you told him you liked this particular smile. He had claimed it manifested this way because his eye muscles were attached to his nose muscles.

“Seungkwan went with her if you don’t remember,” he explained. One of your relatives must’ve breezed by behind you, watching because Wonwoo’s eyes tracked after someone. He continued, indifference in his tone, “I just . . . really like you.”

With a heavy sigh, you patted his shoulder, slipping your hand back into his – ignoring the way your chest tightened at just how well your hands slotted into one another. “Uh-huh, yeah,” you did your best to hide the squeak in your voice, turning to face forward towards the tall linen-draped tables, “We have a long night ahead of us, so keep it up, buddy.”

. . . .

The evening flew by surprisingly fast without an issue – well pertaining to your fake relationship that is. Cocktail hour ended smoothly, Wonwoo meeting a few more of your cousins. No one batted an eye when you accidentally spilled some champagne down the skirt of your dress – their attention was locked on your handsome date as he indulged in their questions about his job as a pilot and where in the world he’s visited. You rejoined your parents and your younger brothers during dinner. Surprisingly, Wonwoo bonded really well with them, finding common interest in FPS video games and anime shows (you didn’t even know Wonwoo was into anime). A few of your aunts came by during cake cutting and desserts to meet him as well. You chuckled at the way he didn’t have to do much to charm them, merely nodding and smiling as they rattled off about how much they’ve already heard about him from their kids, themselves, and their own families, wishing their own kids brought back someone as dashing as him. There was a hint of jealousy and jab in their words, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

First dances were danced, bouquets and garters were tossed, and the lights of the reception hall were finally dimmed for a lively evening. Guests flooded the dance floor as the DJ, a lanky young man dressed in a snapback and a heavy black jacket with zipper detailing on the pockets, turned on a heavy dance beat and colorful flashing lights. A set of large headphones around his ears, the DJ (one of your other cousin’s boyfriend you’d later learn), bopped on his own as he twisted the various knobs on his beat board. Neither of you quite the dancer, Wonwoo and you stayed in your seat, watching your cousins, sober and drunk, shimmy on the floor.

“I’m gonna go get something to drink,” you announced after a little while. You peered at him through your lashes. “You want something?”

Wonwoo leaned forward by your ear. “Just water,” he shouted over the beat.

You nodded, gathering the skirt of your dress as you got out of your chair. On your way over, someone caught your elbow. You spun around, pleasantly surprised to see Rina, one of your childhood friends you grew up with, greeting you with a bright smile.

“Hey!” she squealed while linking your arms.

“Hi!” you replied. “How are you? I haven’t seen you all night.”

“I don’t blame you,” she chirped as the two of you reached the bar counter. She was quick to hail down the bartender, requesting a green tea shot. You asked for Wonwoo’s glass of water and your lemonade.

Rina’s eyes flickered behind you. “Been busy introducing everyone to tall and handsome,” she walked her index and middle finger up your forearm playfully, smirking when she noticed the sheepish smile gracing your face. “Heard he was a friend turned lover? A pilot too – caught yourself a good one finally.”

“He’s alright,” you muttered.

“Are you kidding?” Rina scoffed, “If a man that handsome looked at me like the way he looks at you, I’d melt right here and now – I wouldn’t give a damn it’s my cousin’s wedding they’re cleaning me up at.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, taken aback by her comment. Your mind was already flitting through the memories of the day with Wonwoo – how did he look at you exactly?

“What?” you shook your head, “You’re being dramatic.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she held her fist to her mouth to mimic an announcer with their mic – she used to do this all the time in high school to tease you. “This is why they say love is blind.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how you’re supposed to use that phrase,” you chuckled.

The bartender made his way over with your drinks. You both offered him a small thank you and tip, before parting from the counter and continuing your conversation.

“It’s not,” Rina lifted the opaque mint green liquid to her lips, “But you must be really blind not to see how his eyes go all soft and heart-shaped whenever he looks at you.”

He’s just naturally a good actor.

She tilted her head back, downing the drink in one ago. With a satisfied sigh, she turned back to you, a silly grin on her face. “Seriously though, I’m really happy for you – he seems to really like you.”

But it’s fake.

“Thanks,” was all you could say. You gave her a tight smile – though, Rina could tell it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The two of you slowed to a stop a few tables away from your date.

She narrowed her eyes coyly at you. “Just . . .” she clamped down on your shoulder and gave you a firm squeeze, “Think twice before you let him go.” Rina turned, her body perpendicular to your own, her eyes set on Wonwoo who was peering over curiously. She waved at him, offering him a warm smile. He returned the gesture, eyes then flickering to you.

“That,” she formed a rectangle with her fingers, “is a man in love, sweetheart.” Rina turned to you, giving your arm one last firm squeeze. “It was good to see you,” she winked, “With him.”

Not a single drop of alcohol in you that night, your mind started to spin as you watched her frolic between the tables like a happy little girl in a field of daisies, joining her friends back to the dance floor. Your legs suddenly felt wobbly – you worried you wouldn’t be able to make it back to Wonwoo in time without spilling your drinks.

There was no way in hell Wonwoo could, let alone would, love you by choice. Yes, he loved you as a friend, but no more, no less. He’s been by your side since your second year of medical school. He’s wiped your tears (and your snot) when you feared you would fail your board exams. He’s seen you at your wildest, handing out your number to strangers like gum when you were tipsy at the bar. He’s picked you up from the hospital when you could hardly open your eyes, the stress of an overnight shift hanging heavy on your limp body. Not in a single one of those moments, did anything he did ever suggest he could possibly be in love with you.

Rina was just drunk.

She wasn’t thinking rationally – just seeing things because her vision was going blurry.

Even if Wonwoo liked you . . . what did that mean for you?

“Everything okay?” Wonwoo asked slowly as you settled into your seat. His hand settled into the small of your back and for once that evening, it wasn’t soothing – it was burning hot. You jumped at his touch. “Whoa.”

“I’m fine,” you quipped, swiping at the invisible hair in your face. You shoved his glass of water into his hand. However, rather than drinking it, he placed it to the side; that same hand coming to caress your own.

“Uh . . . did your friend say something?” he asked. “Something you didn’t like?”

Yes – but you might have liked it.

“No,” you lied.

“You’re lying,” he squinted at you.

Fuck – were you just that easy to read or did he just . . . know you that well?

“It’s . . . umm . . . getting hot in here,” you chuckled half-heartedly, “I’m gonna go get some fresh air, okay?” You moved out of your seat, breathless suddenly. “J-just stay here – please.”

Wonwoo frowned, watching you back up towards the grand doors. Normally, he’d respect your boundaries and let you be. You were the type to need space when you were distressed – you knew to come to him when you needed to. However, right now, that didn’t seem like the right thing to do as he watched you spin around, bundling up your dress in your fists so you wouldn’t trip as you dashed into the red carpeted halls. He stood up taking the widest strides he could to reach you without drawing attention.

Standing in the wide doorway, his head whipped left and right, frantically searching for you. He caught sight of your dress rounding a corner and took off jogging after you. It was fortunate you weren’t the best at walking in heels – in combination with his long legs, he caught up with you quickly, reaching for your elbow. Breathlessly, Wonwoo pulled his weight back to slow you down, causing you to stumble into his chest (rather un-elegantly might you add). He was quick to catch you, setting you against the wall. When you tried to duck and escape, Wonwoo was a beat faster, bringing his left arm up to cage you in.

“Can we not be cliche and do this here?” you complained.

Wonwoo tilted his head to the side, ducking his head to try and catch your downcasted eyes. “Mind telling me what’s going on then?”

Your breathing grew shallow and uneven. With how quiet the surroundings were, you wondered if he could hear the erratic beat of your heart like you could. It boomed in your ears, drowning out the bass of the party a couple doors down.

“Hey,” he tried again, his voice softer.

Wonwoo was good to you – too good now that you think about it.

Patient.

Caring – even if he teased you a lot.

He listened.

He laughed when your jokes weren’t that funny.

And the scariest part?

He made time for you – pilots were busy.

They flew everywhere: Hong Kong, Paris, LA, Osaka, Milan, Dodoma.

But when you needed him, he was there – hell, even changed his work schedule to accompany you to a wedding in a small city with no attractions (except for the fountain that mimicked the one in Rome) and voluntarily subject himself to the scrutiny of your family.

Even now when you were tearing down the hall, he was tender in drawing the answers out of you.

In the one in a thousand chances Rina was right, how could you confront him now? You weren’t even sure of your own feelings. Had enough time passed since your break up? Did you want him in that way? Or were you too just caught up in the moment?

Slowly, but fearfully, you willed yourself to look up at him. Eyes wide boring into his own, you noted the concern that was etched into the space between his brows, the slightest frown downturning the corner of his lips.

“Would it be insane to think,” you started softly, pressing your back flat against the wall. The plaster felt cool against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, curling your fingers into fists. “That you might . . . like me?” you gulped, “More than a friend?”

Wonwoo’s face was stoic at first, his eyes studying your face. They traced your features from your hairline to your black mascara coated lashes to the cute tip of your nose that he touched earlier that day, finally falling on your lips – the remnants of your lip gloss probably stained on the lip of the cup of lemonade you were sipping on earlier. He wondered if your lips tasted like the drink – sweet with a hint of bitterness from the lemons they were made of.

Gradually, his features softened. The dip between his brows rising again, a tender glint flashing in his brown irises. The corner of his lips finally curving up – his nose following suit. Like he’d always explain - the muscles of his face were all connected.

Technically, he wasn’t wrong.

Wonwoo leaned in close, his bangs that fell out of the slick tickling your lashes.

His voice low with a hint of rasp, he whispered, “Took you long enough.”

. . . .

Read the epilogue here :)

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #gonna go lay down #im so delusio-

[undertheorangetree]

The Last of the Dragons

Chapter Four- Cooperation

Summary- Cregan Stark has a proposition and Aemond struggles with the lord’s arrival.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Incest. Grief. Talks of treason. Angst cuz I literally can’t stop. Semi public sex. Also private sex. There's a lot of sex. Mild breeding kink. Praise kink. Jizz?? Dry humping. Discussion of dead babies and children. And Alys cuz apparently she needs her own warning now. Cockwarming.

Author’s Note- sorry this took longer than usual it’s end of semester and I am a shell of my former self lmao. Anyway this is once again debatably too long (10.2k) and the full chapter is linked below as usual :)

series masterlist

It takes a few more days than she had hoped before she is able to speak with Cregan Stark. It seems as though the council had been saving the true work for after the coronation and now they refuse to allow a day to pass without attempting to fix one issue or another. She learns very quickly that even with a council to do the heavy lifting, Aegon had done next to nothing in his six months on the throne, the realm still in shambles from the civil war that has destroyed it.

The Riverlands burnt and all but decimated due to Aemond and Vhagar. The Ironborn raiding every village, port, and town they can reach despite more than one letter arriving in Pyke demanding an end to it. All the great houses still at odds over their differing allegiances. Cregan Stark still thirsty for blood in order to avenge her mother and fulfill his promise to his men. King’s Landing only repaired with half measures after the revolt in the city and less than a quarter of the repairs underway. The list seemed never ending and by the end of each day, she finds a headache sitting heavy behind her eyes, so deep she can’t even attempt to massage the pain away.

To his credit, Aemond takes it upon himself to begin rebuilding the Riverlands himself, taking the initiative to lead the restoration. She has Corlys send word to Alyn Velaryon and command him to sail to Pyke with some of Velaryon fleet with the hopes that conversation and some bribing will be enough to stop Dalton Greyjoy from his raids. Lord Tyland informs them of just how much of the crown’s coffers he had spirited away and begins rationing what can be spared to begin repairing the city. Lord Larys assures them that the hunt for Aegon’s murderer is still well underway, though he has little to show for it.

It is Cregan Stark that is left to her. Handsome, bloodthirsty Cregan Stark. Where he had cast a glare upon almost everyone when he had arrived for the coronation, he had smiled at her, had been friendly and chivalrous. Though Aemond had vehemently disagreed, the council had all but unanimously decided that she was to charm him and turn him toward peace or, barring that, some acceptance of who was now ruling. She does not mind the task, already having planned to speak to the man and not prepared to be usurped less than sennight on the throne, so she agrees and leaves the council chamber with Aemond staring daggers into her back.

She is even more glad for the task as she sits on a bench in the gardens, eyes closed and face tilted up toward the sun as she waits for Lord Stark’s arrival. It feels as though it has been an age since she had the chance to simply be and in this moment, the sun warm and the air sweet with the smell of flowers, she feels completely and totally at peace. It is a strange feeling to have when worry and panic have been all she seemed capable of feeling as of late, but she will take it as it comes. She would rather feel this than the latter and she plans to enjoy it for as long as she is able.

A throat clears and she opens her eyes to see Cregan Stark standing before her, a servant at his side. The girl bows her head to them both before scurrying off as quick as she came and she stands from the bench with a smile.

“Lord Stark. I apologize for the delay in finally being able to speak to one another. My council seems content to work me like an ox now that everything has become more official but I insisted they release me so that I may fulfill my promise to you.”

He smiles as he offers her his arm. “I am honoured you were able to find the time at all, your grace. I know the early days in a new role can be exhausting.”

She mimics his smile gratefully as she takes his arm, allowing him to begin leading her through the gardens. They have not received the attention they deserved as of late- the shrubbery and bushes beginning to grow a bit wild, the flowers untrimmed- but she finds she likes it this way. Being so far into spring, everything is in bloom and beautiful even if they have not been well tended to, the green brilliant and dotted with red, yellow, purple, and white. She allows the silence to fall between them for a moment as she admires it all, feeling as though it has been too long since she has been allowed to enjoy something so simplistically pretty. Whenever she is given a gown or a piece of jewelry, she cannot help but feel as though it is a piece in this great game she never asked to play. The flowers, though, nature, they do not suffer the same fate.

Eventually, she knows she cannot allow for the silence to reign much longer and turns her head to look at the young lord. “My brother told me much about you in his letters. I feel as though you and I are already acquainted.”

Read the rest here :)

Taglist- @ammo23 @bellstwd @kckt88 @aemondsbabygirl @shygardengalaxy @duds31 @at-a-rax-ia @ladymarg0t @queenofshinigamis @drakar-i @cl-0-vr @castellomargot @moonlightfoxx @ladybug0095 @marihoneywk @the-common-cowgirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @bunny24sstuff @helaenaluvr @toodlesxcuddles @eternally-passionate @herfantasyworldd @ashovertheriver @hypocritic-trash-baby @heavenly1927 @bunbunbl0gs @divxnee @seabasscevans

#Aemond targaryen x reader #Aemond x reader #Aemond targaryen x you #Aemond x you #Aemond targaryen x fem!reader #Aemond x fem!reader #Aemond targaryen x niece!reader #aemond x niece!reader #Aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfiction #Aemond targaryen fanfiction #Aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction