#college has been getting in the way of me writing my possession fic

[ask-possessed-sara-chidouin]

A small possessed Sara sketch attempted on drawing on phone.

#your turn to die #sara chidouin #yttd #kimi ga shine #sou hiyori #possessed!sara chidouin #possession au #my art #yttd midori #midori yttd #yttd possessed!sara chidouin #yttd possession au #I tried drawing with a pen #not a digital pen but with a real pen that had something in the bottom to be touchable to use on a screen #but I’m gonna try getting a digital pen to #it’s been a while since I’ve lasted posted anything #college has been getting in the way of me writing my possession fic

[lucyandthepen]

sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )

something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.

read the second part here!

pairing: nerd!barista!mark x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings&tags: unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slightly possessive/jealous dialogue, mark has a thing for tummy bulges because why not, implicitly that also means he has a big dick, a slight???? exhibitionism kink (not actually something that happens, only talked about), johnny exists in this simply to trigger something vaguely feral in mark, reader is a little bit assertive and schemes to get mark's attention, jaehyun is a nosy lil eavesdropper, i think that should be it?? word count: 26.4k

a/n: hello so this was a mess and honestly not a fic i would say showcases my best plot-wise but… what can I say apart from booty wurk mark has me in a chokehold and I needed to release some thoughts and feelings !!! please do not expect too much from the development of the story; i fear it’s quite long and choppy because my ideas were all over the place and i was wringing my hands and brain constantly and i was eager to get to the spicy parts !! this is also not beta’d/proofread, it’s currently almost 1am, and i’ve been writing this on and off for a full week with very few breaks so it honestly felt like a fever dream for me LMAO please forgive any oversights and mistakes; i’ll try to go back on them another day and fix them little by little! finally and …most importantly belated happy birthday, my beloved morkly!

p.s. this will probably be flagged as ‘mature’ by tumblr, which means there’s a high likelihood it won’t appear in tags or searches. please consider reblogging to boost the fic, if you feel so inclined!

You’ve heard tell of how caffeine has inherently addictive properties. 

The more of it you have in your lifetime, the more likely you are to experience symptoms of withdrawal whenever you try to have orange juice for breakfast in its stead. It sounds bad, actually, considering most addictive substances are, but you suppose that its benefits somehow outweigh its milder drawbacks. You’re not much of a coffee connoisseur the way some people — see: your best friends, Yeji and Jisu — are, trying one cafe after the other in pursuit of being able to nominate the winning beans of 2023 (an annual heated debate they participate in for no better reason than their own slow and useless entertainment during their six-hour long breaks), but you do know you’ve only ever experienced good things from having a cup every so often: better energy, a more focused approach to mental activities, and the ability to drive through fifty percent of a road trip without needing pop punk music blasting out of your speakers to keep yourself alert. 

The three of you are generally particular about the coffee you drink, only in different ways. While your friends have a tendency to demand only the best from any establishment — lest the staff hear fiery commentary about the flatness of the brew or the evident coarseness of the grind — you, on the other hand, are a singular individual of rather simple tastes. All you need to survive long days is a glass of vanilla sweet cream cold brew. No modifications to the sugar level or fancy new milk types are necessary; you’ll drink it as it’s served in a grande cup (or a venti, when things prove particularly grueling). 

Of course, you’re strict about other things in the experience of consumption —  like where it’s served and, more importantly, who serves it to you. 

While Yeji and Jisu have rated the Liberal Arts building’s on-campus Starbucks branch as a five with the strict label of POEO — ‘passable on emergencies only’ — branding the menu as “nothing revolutionary” and criticizing most baristas for subpar brewery, you happen to be extremely drawn to the place. Initially, you may have argued that this has to do with the fact that it’s walking distance from most of your classes, confined to the same general compound on campus, so you can always grab a quick recharger whenever needed, no matter how short the timeframe to do so is. Sometime later on, you may have found yourself asserting that the layout of the cafe, albeit small, is very convenient, considering that every table is situated next to an electrical outlet, so you’re never out of battery (important to other students for their laptops and powerpoint presentations, important to you because you have an unhealthy obsession with passing time on TikTok, scrolling past video after video of ASMR girls clicking their twenty-inch long acrylics with their crazy candyland designs), and this makes you feel at ease. 

A month ago, you finally came clean to yourself and, soon after, to your friends, and they came to understand, albeit begrudgingly and with no small amount of amusement, what made this Starbucks unbeatable in your eyes; it had one thing no other coffee shop could lay claim to.

What you know of Mark Lee is accrued from two major sources: long, surreptitious glances in the Modern World History class you share, and irritatingly brief interactions when you place your order from the other side of the counter behind which he stands, long fingers always poised to punch in your order at the speed of light. Sometimes, those encounters get cut even shorter when irate upperclassmen start prattling their orders out before you can even say anything past your own, except even this has its own consolation prize — an apologetic smile at you that seems only for you, although you’re not sure how much of this assumption is true. You’ll just believe it as you feel it. 

And what you’ve learned about Mark Lee has funneled down into two key points for you: first, he is single, a fact you were clued into when a group of his friends came to the coffee shop and sat around the table next to you. You hadn’t been eavesdropping; they’d just been pretty loud, but you’d also perked your ears the moment the one everyone seemed to call “Hyuck” — you aren’t sure if it’s his full name or a nickname, and you don’t particularly care — had leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper about having a vague master plan to set Mark up with an old high school friend’s younger sister that he was just waiting to spring on said Mark, busy slaving away on their six impossible orders near the espresso machine. 

You don’t really know what became of that plan, nor if anyone had telepathically been on your side to outright call it crazy (someone should have had a better reason than you, anyway) since the next moment, Hyuck’s voice becomes significantly louder when it orders the one named Jisung to collect the completed coffee and snacks waiting for them on the counter. However, you feel safe in the assumption that even if it had happened, no repercussions had followed, seeing as Mark still presently comes and goes from his shifts alone and in no clear hurry to meet any cute girls that are sisters of high school friends of his friends. Or, maybe you’re just ignoring what could be truth, but that’s whatever. 

Second, you’ve learned that Mark Lee should not actually be your type — at least, in theory. 

Saying you’re out of his league would be a bit juvenile, but if you had only so many words to describe the situation, you’d say so under duress. It isn’t so much that he’s beneath you in any way, but your interests and general social circles run different routes. Yours tend to be more classically patterned after constantly changing trends, and the people you interact with all seem to have similar goals; you like to call it ‘vibe networking,’ which, from experience, involves connecting with both groups and individuals that are equally aware that they will benefit in some way from any resulting acquaintanceship — whether it be by climbing the social ladder a couple of rungs or being able to call in a quick, off-the-charts favor for something very important and/or very exclusive down the road. You and your friends spend a significant amount of time in a year watching your style and image, something quite a lot of kids in the first couple of years of college tend to do, which means that while you don’t particularly like to spend your time following your grade trajectory, you do have quite a lot of pseudo-friends that all seem to offer something entertaining or helpful to you. 

Mark, on the contrast, prefers to keep his circle very close to his heart, it seems — that which acts as a receptacle for all his interests. You can tell that he likes to be up to date less with trending movies and more with comic books, a separate beast of a world that’s rather unknown to you. More than once, you’ve overheard him chat with his friends about Spider-man Issue Number Whatever-It-Is or engage in somewhat lively (sometimes rowdy, thanks to the Hyuck fellow) discussions about some webtoon you’ve come to understand is called Solo Leveling, which seems to have to do with monsters and hunters — two things you know next to nothing about. You’ve also never seen Mark holding anything remotely close to a magazine; his hands are always filled with either a freshly opened comic or a beat-up textbook. Maybe once or twice, you’ve seen him on his phone, but when you peeked over (surreptitiously, of course) on those occasions, you were met only with brightly colored panels and a singular word: BAM. 

In conclusion — you and Mark Lee live very different lives, likely never truly meant to intersect. 

And yet, you want him — not even in a way that speaks only to your curiosity, but in a manner that feels slightly delusional. More than once, you’ve found yourself having to shut your jaw close after realizing you’ve been watching him steam milk with your mouth slightly agape. Maybe it’s his side profile, which gives you a great view of the way his jaw tenses every time he puts whipped cream on someone’s frappuccino. Maybe it’s his eyes, which always seem to twinkle like he’s harboring some special secret every time someone in line asks for his recommendation on how to spice their order up. Maybe it’s his hands, steady and agile, with just the right showing of veins through the skin to tell you they’ve probably got significant strength to them too. Or maybe it’s just his mind — that thing he always manages to show off in class, working faster than lightning even when the rest of you are in your natural eight-in-the-morning stupor.

Whatever the reason for your interest, Mark Lee makes sure the Liberal Arts building’s Starbucks has you as a regular customer. 

You’re fully aware that this is the twenty-first century, which is why you could, as Yeji and Jisu have so kindly made known, simply ask him out. Under normal circumstances, you would have.

Unfortunately, in this particular area of your life, separate from all others, you’re something of a traditionalist. 

Actually, you just want to know what Mark asking you out would look like. Curiosity has fully gotten the better of you — how can it not, with how he breaks eye contact with you the moment it happens by accident in class, or with how pleasantly and shyly he smiles when you say ‘hey’ to him once you’re about to order? You’d like to see, first-hand, as a recipient of the experience itself, what he would look like taking control of a particular situation like that — something someone like him, so mild-mannered and laid-back, never really seemed to do upfront. 

You’d like to think you’ve given him clear signs. There’s a reason you always come in during his shift times, and it’s the same reason for why you have the same damn drink from the menu over and over again despite not even caring too much about coffee in the first place (something he admittedly doesn’t know and probably wouldn’t puzzle out, given how often you’re in that Starbucks, anyway). It’s that you want him to remember you.

Selfishly, it’s that you want him to think just a little bit more about you every single day. 

But if he does, Mark has never made it very clearly known; apart from taking your order in his genial customer service demeanor or letting a look of brief recognition pass his face over when you cross paths in the hallways, he’s never really shown heightened inquisitiveness about you. For all your differences, only you seem to actually care.

Frankly, that frustrates you, because if you have to think about him unhealthily, it would only be right for him to do that for your sake too. Still, you’ll shrug that hit on your pride off for as long as you can get his attention one way or another.

All you really need is for your plan to pan out as well as you think — and hope — it will. 

The thing is, you’re not even that bad at math. You’ve never really excelled at it, of course, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re in dire need of help from anyone — the kind of help that feels like babysitting, at least.

However, Mark Lee doesn’t know that, and you’re not compelled to make that fact known to him when you notice that he’s leaning on the counter with his elbows, shoulders rolled forward and head bent down. He’s twirling his ballpoint in hand, wrist hovering over a worksheet, and you’re briefly distracted by the rapidly moving shadow underneath it.

His head snaps up when you gently knock on the counter, and the rest of his body follows suit, straightening as he shoves the paper away, one edge crumpling in on itself as it meets resistance in the form of the pastry display glass.

“Hey — hi, _________.” He knows your name, says it easily, and while you’d like to believe it’s because of his unprecedented interest in you, you know that it’s just because you’re always here and always having him write your name on the side of your cup. “Can I get you the usual?”

There’s no particular reason you order what you do; maybe it’s just rooted in the fact that when you first asked Mark for a recommendation, he said that the Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew was pretty good, and you were inclined to believe him (while pointedly ignoring the fact that it was, at the time, a new item all of the baristas were required to push to indecisive, slightly moony-eyed customers such as yourself). Whatever the case, you found the drink generally palatable, and you were also able to score the first of many smiles that fed into your two-semester-long infatuation with him, so it was basically a win-win scenario for all. He even got to do his job by getting some rube (see: you) into trying a new product.

“Hey, Mark.” You’ve long since given up pretending that you don’t know his name and have to check the tag on his cute green apron (why is it cute? You don’t know. It’s the same, standard, Starbucks green, but Mark makes it look homely and natural, somehow). You’ve been here way too many times over the last academic year for a nonchalant, were you talking to me? approach to work, anyway. “That, plus a lemon loaf, if you don’t mind. What’ve you got there?”

His eyes follow the trail of yours over to his wrinkled worksheet. “Oh — no, sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Is it secret?” Your bottom lip juts out, and you see his Adam’s apple bob dangerously, a small telltale sign of minute nervousness before he lets out a short laugh. “Didn’t know we kept stuff from each other.”

You don’t know what makes you say that so naturally. The both of you don’t do much beyond exchanging pleasantries.

“We — uh, well, it’s just a worksheet. For Park Hyosung’s class. College algebra?”

“I’m in Kim Junghwa’s. Can I have a look? I want to know if you’re suffering just as much as I am.”

He pauses, considering your request for a moment, likely wondering if there’s any harm in it before he smooths the paper out and turns it towards you. His handwriting’s a little messy, but his solutions are extremely neat. You see, like, one erasure, max. You also don’t see anything that interests you — except the name written at the top. Still, you can see at a general glance that more than half of his answers are correct; the logic of his organization is way too elegant and his writing’s too sure to be anything else. You whistle low, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Something wrong?”

“Pretty much the opposite. How is it that you’re doing this without breaking a sweat?”

“Oh, well — it’s not…” He doesn’t even know how to brag. Yet another item in the perpetually growing list of things you find cute about Mark Lee. “I mean, anyone… can?”

“I must not be anyone then.” You meet his quizzical look with a wry smile. “Either you guys are leaps and bounds ahead, or I’m really not going to make it through this semester.”

Another silence passes, just for a fraction of a second — short enough to be passable to others, but long enough for you to wonder if your humor code isn’t up to par with the rest of the world’s — before Mark’s chuckling lowly. His large palm comes down, covering a majority of his answers in the process.

“You’re kidding. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

“Mark, look at this face.” You gesture to your evidently dumbfounded, blank expression. “Does this look like the face of someone that’s doing just fine?”

You’re pleased to hear another laugh from him; you don’t know if he really finds you funny or if he’s just the type to be easily amused. You don’t want to know, anyway; assuming is better than actually finding out.

“That bad, huh?” He slides the worksheet away again, like he’s afraid his correct answers are going to offend you into leaving the cafe. Instead, his hands start working on your order, grabbing a cup and scrawling the shorthand of the drink on one of the little boxes. “Ever think about getting a tutor, maybe? If you really feel like you’re drowning, that is.”

“A tutor? I guess that depends. Are you free on weeknights?”

The marker makes a soft screeching sound as he drags it down with too much force, ruining the penmanship of your name. Mark takes a moment to stare at the mistake on the plastic before he looks at you, pointing the rim of the cup towards himself. “Sorry — am I free—?”

“You said I should get a tutor, right?”

“I thought — no, sorry, I was thinking more like one of those department-assigned tutors you can ask the faculty for, or something.”

“Oh. Are you not one of them?” You sigh, albeit a little over dramatically. Thankfully, he doesn’t really cotton onto your acting, too caught up in befuddlement at the turn of the conversation. “That’s a bummer. I was kinda hoping that if I was going to ask for help, I’d get an actual genius. You know — someone like you?”

You can tell by Mark’s expression that he’s torn between denying your compliment again and responding to your actual question; he looks both relieved and miffed when the student behind you clears her throat.

“Sorry, but— you know that there’s a line, right?”

You both apologize, Mark’s much more sincere than your own, and you step aside. His gaze follows you for a moment before it snaps back to the next customer, his voice abandoning that bemused uncertainty it had taken up with you. You don’t really mind; as far as you’re concerned, any dent in his barista persona when he talks to you is a step in the right direction.

You hang around the pick-up area, receipt in hand, watching Mark clear the line before moving to the actual stations near the kitchen area. There’s a concentration on his face that you find all the more attractive; he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he’s trying to focus on getting the drizzle just right inside the cup’s cylinder.

He tends to try his best at everything, you figure. Not an unattractive quality — not by a long shot.

Mark finishes your drink first; the milk’s still only seeping, cloudy, into the coffee when he brings it over. He doesn’t even have to call your queue number, opting to meet your eye — albeit slightly nervously — instead. You reach out to hold the cup, a calculated move that allows you to brush hands against his without him being able to pull back on instinct. He doesn’t, nor does he really seem to want to, but his jaw tightens as a flush creeps along the curve of his ears.

“You really won’t help me?”

Your question’s abrupt, almost a little demanding, even if your voice is sweet. You’re not above asking this much, anyway, even if you technically want him to make the first move. The redness sinks down to his earlobes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t really say anything,” you tease. The cup’s on the counter now, so he can easily relinquish it to you at this point, but he still hesitates, only one hand slipping out from under the heat of your palm. He uses it to rub the back of his neck, chuckling softly, and you take this as a green light. “What time does your shift end?”

“Five-thirty. You sure you wouldn’t want someone better?”

You pull your cup slowly to yourself, and his hand, still lightly trapped by your own, follows for a few inches before he’s withdrawing, the counter between the two of you forcing the distance. A smile follows the shaking of your head, and you take a small sip of the drink before you respond simply.

“There’s no one better than you.”

Mark is a prompt kind of person; you learn this when, at five-thirty, he comes over to your table, tugging his apron off over his head. Of course, you might attribute that to his overall personality, but the fact that you spend the remaining two hours of his shift casting him glances from the left side of the coffee shop might have also been a contributing factor. The looks you give him aren’t even furtive; they’re deliberately long, so you never miss whenever he looks over to you from time to time.

He doesn’t hold eye contact for very long (he does it well enough when he’s talking to customers, but it’s not like you’re ordering another cold brew from across the room at that point), but you can read snippets of his thoughts through the fleeting gaze exchanges. He’s curious as to why you’re asking for help, now, of all times, when the semester’s more than halfway over. He’s surprised that you asked him, of all people, because he just can’t conceive of a world that isn’t within a television show where this kind of abrupt, overt request makes sense. He’s flattered that you even asked him out of the blue. He’s equal parts anxious and eager to know what’s meant to happen after his shift, once he starts fulfilling your request.

Most of all, he’s unsure if he’s reading you right — if what it feels like you’re doing is something he’s attaching too deep a meaning to. If he’s right in reading your signs.

You don’t really mind it; you like knowing that Mark somehow wears his heart on his sleeve, even if he tries to remain neutral for the sake of appearances. You also bask quietly in the fact that he’s looking at you twice as much as he ever has in the time you’ve loosely known each other. Still, his bubbling confusion and inquisitiveness seem to be interfering with the rest of his work, especially when you notice that he’s been wiping down the surface of a table two down from where you are for more than seven minutes.

In the hopes of easing whatever tension might be in his heart, you offer him a small smile, but that’s only met with his eyes immediately glazing over and inching a couple of centimeters above your forehead, where the story of Starbucks’ origins is drawn out in a faux-manga style. He pretends to find it interesting, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times from coming into this establishment day after day — you know it well enough, and you don’t even have to, considering you don’t work here — and you can’t do anything but hold back your laughter.

A small part of you says you should just give him the affirmative answer to his biggest question, but every other cell in your body says that it’s no fun if he doesn’t ascertain it for himself.

He has his school bag and textbook in tow when he approaches, taking the seat across from you. There’s a steely resolution on his face, like he’s been emotionally preparing himself for such a daunting task, but it eases up the moment you laugh lightly.

“You don’t have to act like I’m going to eat you.”

“I’m still not sure why you’re suddenly asking me to help you,” he admits. He’s also very honest, you note. Again, not an unattractive trait. “I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think you even had an opinion of me.”

“Why’s that?” You’re genuinely surprised. Mark drums his fingers on the front of his textbook, thoughtful — less for the sake of thinking what to say and more for the sake of considering how to say it. It’s clear he wants to avoid calling attention to the fact that before now, you two have had no reason to run the same track, let alone sit together and talk at a coffee shop, as if you’ve always been the best of friends.

“Genuinely just thought I was the guy who gave you your afternoon coffee every day,” he finally settles. Your eyes widen, and another laugh escapes you — a little louder this time, enough to call the attention of a couple of jumpy freshmen nearby.

“Well — let me put it this way.” You lean over slightly, cupping your chin in your palm. “Was I just the girl you made coffee for every day until now?”

There are clear cogs turning in his head; his eyes unfocus slightly as he thinks of the possibilities. His silence suddenly makes you somewhat nervous; your tone had been confident, and you’d only said that to prove a point, to push him in the right direction, but you realize that you hadn’t previously factored in the possibility that he might simply say yes — or, worse, say no just to avoid hurting your feelings.

You watch his lower lip curl in; he uses his tongue to smooth out the skin that’s slightly dried from work fatigue. You would much rather it peeked out, so you could imagine it against your own. His response is mumbled in a lower register, but you catch some key syllables — didn’t… not … stranger — pretty … you?

“Sorry?” You ask patiently, but the fact that he turns red and laughs again — something you realize is not only a trademark of his personality but also downright delicious of him to be doing — is all the answer you need to let the apprehension seep from your shoulders. “I didn’t catch that.”

Mark clears his throat. “No, I… didn’t think of you that way. I mean… you’re my classmate.”

“Sure,” your tone’s breezy, but the somewhat sloppy confirmation of interest in you makes your heart soar. He just needs more of a push. “And we’re basically friends, right?”

“Yeah.” His voice is unsure at first, like he can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept. You can tell that Mark’s notion of friendship is likely based on shared interests, of which you admittedly have none. Technically, if you were his friend, you’d spend less time just telling him the exact same order every single day and more time sitting around a table trying to learn how to play Magic: The Gathering with him. Still, he takes one long look at your grin and suddenly gains confidence in his next words, as if it somehow convinces him that the briefness of your old conversations had been a mutually agreed-upon thing and not the product of social distance between the two of you. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Right. Friends help friends, don’t they? I’d definitely feel more comfortable having a friend teach me than some stuffy upperclassman I don’t know.”

You see Mark’s lips move slightly, in such small movements you could have imagined it as breathing if you didn’t care too much (which you do). He mouths, to himself — friends help friends. For some reason, that boosts his conviction even further, and he nods.

“Makes sense. Well — for as long as you don’t mind me, then.”

“Mind? I asked you, so I should be saying that.”

“I’d never mind — I mean, of course I don’t mind.” He’s quick to correct himself, and you have to stop your own hand from reaching out to try to satisfy your curiosity, the desire to know just how hot his cheeks get when he blushes. “More than happy to help, actually.”

“And I’m more than happy to be here.” You beam at him, and he mirrors your smile. You don’t know what it is about the look on his face — the brightness in his eyes, or the slight lift of his eyebrows, maybe — but it gives you the impression that he might be feeling at least a fraction of what you are: the feeling of your heart lifting off a few inches from your rib cage. “Since we’re on the same page, I hope — should we get to it?”

From the moment that Mark opens his textbook to a chapter on inverted parabolas, he assumes a personality you feel you haven’t seen from him before. You realize that you really do know him in only two limited capacities — his classroom persona that seems to really only view himself and the material, focused on the board and the professor’s words (even up until the useless anecdotes) to absorb as much information as possible, and his more genial customer service form, always happy to assist in the trained, easygoing way you’ve come to meet so often.

Right now, he’s a blend of both, yet somehow neither all at once. He’s quick to catch the parabolas you draw, either wrongly or downright poorly. Despite initial hesitation, he always manages to say something; there’s already a pattern to how he does it, from his slightly awkward, “Ah, sorry, actually —” to the way his finger traces over what you’ve written, outlining the right curve. You find his interruptions so endearing that you start drawing them wrong purposefully — not enough for him to realize your schemes in their entirety, but enough to cast you a few amused glances, like he can’t imagine why you’d map out such an absurd graph. You get the feeling he wants to actually laugh at how ridiculous you’re acting, but he can’t tell if you’re seriously struggling or not, so he settles for a smile he thinks he does well in keeping to himself, but that you catch anyway. He’s patient, even when you have to rip out pages from the back of his notebook because of your ‘mistakes,’ like he’s still catering to your request for an extra pump of syrup for your coffee on sleepy days.

But there’s also that side to him that comes out when he suddenly remembers the distance between you that, before today, had felt unlikely to be closed. It peaks at odd moments, like when you’re borrowing his pen because yours is currently holding your slowly unraveling bun up, and your fingers brush against his. It surfaces abruptly when you lean in to watch what he’s drawing until he realizes how close you are, arm lightly grazing his, and his pen freezes, ink blotting on the paper for a second. It’s in those times that you can almost hear his brain churning out questions — like he’s wondering if you’re just oblivious or if you’re doing something on purpose that he can’t quite believe. Like he wants to ask you what’s on your mind, but he just doesn’t know how.

If he asked, you would reply without missing a beat. The answer, after all, is simple (him). But Mark never raises the question, only does something without fully acknowledging what he’s doing — the adjustment of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the ruffling of his hair as though to shake off his thoughts, the clearing of his throat to normalize his tone before he explains something you’ve just asked about. There’s always that light tinge of pink to his face that makes him look even more endearing, and it fades and returns every so often for the better part of two hours.

By the time he rubs oncoming fatigue out of his eyes, the sun has already set; there are far fewer people around you at this time, and for as much as you like spending time with him and breathing in the scent of his shirt — always a tinge of Downy, barely cutting through the much more overpowering scent of espresso and sugar — your back has begun hurting from your front-heavy posture and determination to have your face as close as rationally possible to Mark’s. Still, you don’t miss out on the fact that the act of him cracking his neck to relieve tension makes your lips curl inward, trying to stifle an inappropriate noise in reaction to the view.

“I feel like I talked your ear off,” he pipes up, sounding a bit sheepish. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when to stop once you’ve gotten started. I’m just hoping I didn’t bore you to death.”

“Meanwhile, I’m here hoping you aren’t sick of my questions already.” You smile, closing your notebook and hanging the clip of your pen on the spiral. Your arms stretch up first, followed by your back, a light twist to relax your posture into normalcy again. Mark’s breathing falls quiet, like he’d been preparing to say something in response but had let it die in the back of his throat instead. You let your eyes drop, expecting to see him looking at you, as he mostly has been — on and off — since his shift ended, but his eyes are far lower than yours, the telltale redness now growing in evident splotches across his cheeks.

The hem of your shirt has ridden up; while there’s nothing outrageous about it, there’s a short expanse of skin that it reveals, for a brief moment. His eyes are slightly glossy, brow furrowed like he’s trying to find a solution to something he can’t fully understand. You’re not even sure about what he could really be looking at, or if there’s something he’s just thinking of that caught his attention while his eyes focused on a rather unfortunate spot. To test your theory, you suck in your stomach slightly alongside an inhale.

It should be objectively funny to watch Mark blink unevenly, left eye going first before his right tries to catch up, but you manage to stifle your laughter — poorly, though, because you end up coughing a little and breaking him out of his strange trance. You avert your eyes quickly enough for him to look vaguely relieved that you hadn’t caught him looking. So he thinks, at least.

“Anyway.” You feel bad that you have to tear his mind away from whatever faraway land it must be trying to burrow a hole in; the dazed expression on his face dims into hastily hidden embarrassment. You don’t want him to feel awkward, so you just busy yourself with packing up, making an unnecessary show of stuffing your notebook back into your bag as if it isn’t half-empty at this point. “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

“Any time.” His first attempt is a little raspy, maybe from overuse of his voice today, so he clears his throat and tries again. A slow smile builds on your lips. “Any time, really. I’m glad that this is actually helping you; you pick things up surprisingly fast.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll probably be ready to tackle it on your own again, I’m sure.”

He smiles reassuringly, but all you can think about is how that’s not good. You should pretend to be a little dumber next time, or this will end much too prematurely.

The next five minutes pass in silence; you don’t expect to be knee-deep in conversation anyway since, as much as you try to convince him, you aren’t actually anywhere close to being those kinds of friends yet. There’s an unspoken rule to the give and take of things, where he pauses for you to get an item off the table and push it into your bag before he does the same with his own belongings. Neither of you really intersect paths, save for the moment you both grab your phones and stand at the same time.

His jaw falls open like he’s preparing to say something, then shuts as if he’s better decided against it. You decide to take the initiative to say what you’re assuming he wants to. “Same time, same table?”

“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”

You want to ask him to walk out with you. You want to lace your fingers with his, tug him out, and kiss him under the green and white glow of the sign outside. You want to know if kissing his collarbone means you’ll taste a hint of coffee. You think about doing it all somehow, especially since he’s fighting back a slight smile at the promise of tomorrow.

But it just isn’t the right time.

Instead, you place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The slow movement of his throat — yet another hard swallow — isn’t lost on you, and his eyes land on where the two of you connect. With a grateful smile, you bid him a soft goodbye, taking your leave first.

You don’t look back — at least, not until you’re fully in the cover of the darkness outside. On the gravel path, just out of reach of the lamplight, you chance one last glance back into the store. Mark is still rooted to the same spot, his backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at the table like he’s dissociating from what just happened — like he can’t believe the last couple of hours.

Your smile grows when you see his own, and his hand comes around to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly like it gives him small comfort to let him know that it was real.

Baby steps, you remind yourself. You’ve already got one foot in the door, after all.

As the days trickle by, you fall into a more comfortable standing with Mark; there’s a routine to your meetings that seems to eliminate the initial and abrupt awkwardness of that first day. You come into that Starbucks at four, greet Mark, who doesn’t ever have to ask for your order, and spend the next hour and a half slowly sipping on it until the ice has thinned and watered down your drink substantially. In that time, you allow yourself to do whatever you want (as if you’ve ever done otherwise anyway), and what you usually want the most is a good view of him. You therefore use most of the minutes you have on hand to regard him from different angles — from the side when he’s frothing milk, upfront when he turns to leave cups on the pick-up counter, from the back when he’s clearing tables — interspersed with moments of checking your TikTok feed, clearing group chat messages, and sometimes re-curling your bangs with a portable iron from the school’s co-op center, a relatively new purchase you tote around these days. You do essentially anything in between to avoid acting too suspicious while he works.

Sometimes, you catch Mark’s eye too; the more your meetings increase in number over the course of a few weeks, the more deliberately he looks over at you, and the longer it lasts. You feel like you’ve made significant progress when your gazes lock and he smiles slightly, albeit a bit unsurely, instead of turning away like he used to. The other day, he’d even passed by while apologizing for how long you always waited for him — not that you ever minded, something you made a point to clarify with him before he walked away, carrying a couple of chairs from the back room with him to replace rickety ones.

That he’s able to transport them easily, as if he’s lugging a bag of apples from the grocery, does not escape your watchful eye.

What you like the most is that you start to learn more about him in a way that isn’t fueled only by your expectations and, therefore, limited by your imagination. You find out that he’s from a close-knit family with a rather cushy background, and this barista job is just for interest funding and experience, in that exact order. Most of his earnings are funneled into the things he collects, which apparently isn’t limited to comic books and special edition blu-rays with director’s cut but also a rather stupendous amount of PopMart blind box figurines. Apparently, he particularly likes the Skullpanda series even if he hasn’t completed it yet; your last session together had adjourned thirty minutes earlier than usual so that he could catch a pre-rush hour inner circle train to Hongdae, where the flagship store was set to open on that day. He’d promised to show you his pulls (as long as they weren’t embarrassing dupes). You learn that he likes to listen to loud music when he studies to stimulate his mind, and he has a playlist that’s just a jumble of songs from Punk Goes Pop volumes that makes him feel empowered for some absurd reason, like he’s going against the grain. You don’t really get it, but you do like that spiced-up rendition of Ariana Grande’s Problem that he let you listen to once.

Of course, there are things that you find out not through conversation but through continued, closer observation. You notice that he likes to put on chapstick even if his lips aren’t particularly dry, but he does worry on them often, most especially when he’s thinking hard about something. He has a habit of saying honestly… at the start of every other sentence, as if he’s concerned you won’t take his word on anything, even though he’s just talking about how unnaturally hot it was at noon despite it still being spring. He has long eyelashes that you’re equal parts attracted to and jealous of, and he bites the inside of his cheek whenever he wants to pep himself up after grueling shifts. He plays beats you’re not even sure he knows he’s creating against his knee with his fingers, so enthusiastic and consistent in this habit that you want to offer your thigh instead. His shoulders always go first before he laughs, and he does this thing where he raises his hand to cover his mouth at the start of it, which is a shame, because you’d do anything to keep seeing him smile like that — or, better yet, to be the reason for it.

Then there are those things you notice he tries to hide. He always turns his face halfway to the side when he blushes, something he seems to do without fail every time you smile at him. He has to temper the intensity of his grin when you take the time to compliment him on how cool his shirt is, or how nice his hair looks today, or how smart he is, like he doesn’t want you to know how good it makes him feel even if you want him to feel good about it, around you, because of you. Sometimes he denies it for the sake of responding, and his voice always lilts on the first syllable in his refusal to accept what you say, even though he knows you won’t take it for an answer.

And after a couple more careful experiments, you notice that Mark, out of the many things he’s interested in, seems to have a particular thing for your stomach.

You don’t know if it has anything to do with him not really seeing much of it in real life in his own time or if he just has his own kind of fixation on it, but you start to cotton on by the fourth time you meet. An hour of being hunched over a table that’s not at the greatest height in relation to your neck and torso has you stiff, and you’d leaned back in your chair, arms pulling to the air, hoping your spine might feel like realigning if you exerted enough tension pressure that way. Your shirt hadn’t ridden up this time, considering it had been tucked into your jeans, and it was because of this that you’d caught a flicker of something new in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.

Of course, he hides it quickly, as he does with most of his emotional candor, but it’s enough to make you suspicious — enough to make you wonder if Mark is also just keeping something to himself. Or maybe you’re just projecting your own presently secretive nature onto him. Regardless, you think it’s odd that whenever you stand up or stretch, his eyes almost immediately fall to your midriff, like he wants to challenge your clothing into a staring contest before he thinks better of it.

You don’t mind, anyway. He can look as much as he likes. Maybe when the weather’s warmer, you’ll even cater to that interest and wear a crop top. Hopefully, that’ll be the push he needs to act on human instinct and ask you out or, like… bend you over. Maybe.

You’re often plagued with these kinds of thoughts in between the ones you try to keep as family-friendly as possible — now, more so than ever.

Sometimes, it’s easier, especially when you’re caught up in talks with him; despite the fact that he doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist when it comes to generic matters, when either he or you are enthusiastic about a particular topic, he has a tendency to get carried away. There’s nothing impure about how his eyes light up when you remember to ask him about the movie he saw with his friends over the weekend or the way he hums old Nickelodeon cartoon theme songs under his breath whenever he’s looking for a page in the textbook. It’s more of a situation where you’ll observe something and immediately run with it despite it being an objectively normal action.

Like right now, as you’re watching him turn his pen between his fingers. Now, while he’s shaking his knee in mild impatience, as if he’s trying to will the answer to the worksheets you’ve both been trying to get through for the better part of the day faster. You’d made copies of the problems your professors had assigned and exchanged them under the premise of being able to practice more intensely.

However, whereas Mark is actually focused on solving, you’re just watching him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’s ever been told that his fingers are fuck-worthy on a singular, unique level or if it’d feel good for you to ride the thigh he’s currently moving, jeans and all. You consider the feeling of his warm palms on your bare waist as you do it, and you end up wondering if that’s what crosses his mind whenever he sneaks glances at you, too.

You’d know the answer to all those things if he’d fucking ask you out. Maybe you could do it after all. Maybe you should, instead of relying on slowly increasing the probability over such a long period of time. Maybe if you asked nicely, Mark might pull the shades down on the storefront windows and rail you against the glass.

You’re so lost in thought that it genuinely startles you when he plops his textbook over the worksheet, rattling your eraser dangerously close to the edge of the table. You’re still clutching your heart while he rubs his eyes a little too violently.

“Can’t,” he groans, and his neck gives into the weight of his head, allowing it to loll backward. “I feel like the numbers are just melting into each other. I swear, I thought I could read words out of them.”

“Maybe we were a little too ambitious with the double worksheet agenda,” you admit, even though you’ve barely gotten past half of yours and certainly haven’t touched a single item on his. “Should we call it a day for now?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, although he still takes the time to encircle his final answers before clapping his palms to his cheeks (an act that has your mind dangerously close to wandering off inappropriately again) to wake himself up. “Woah. I didn’t even notice how dark it is already. I’d say time flies when you’re having fun, but I’m not too sure about the ‘fun’ part of it…”

You trace his gaze towards the glass; the moon’s already out, surrounded by a smattering of low-light stars. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, probably because your mind had been on R-18 mode for most of the afternoon. Also, the days are getting generally shorter, but that fact doesn’t make you feel as embarrassed, at least.

“You got a ride?”

The question once again shocks you out of your small trance, and you turn back to him with wide eyes. “Well — no. Wait, I didn’t know you had a car. Why’d you take the subway, then?”

“Oh — no, sorry, I… don’t.” He looks suddenly sheepish, eyes dropping to the shiny surface of the table for a moment before they snap back up, as if he’s actually actively reminding himself to look at you. “I was wondering if you wanted me to — actually, more than that, are you going home already? Not that you need to stay; it’s not that important, but…”

You try to gloss over the fact that he had just been about to initiate another huge step in the right direction (i.e. offering to walk you home) by beaming at him, maybe a little too widely, if only to mask your disappointment at the sudden shift in conversation. “I have nothing waiting at home for me but a sandwich dinner and Singles Inferno, so hit me with whatever it is.”

“Oh, cool.” His lips turn up, and the corners shake, this show of happiness once again tamped down by his own inexplicable desire to maintain a safe distance. How are you supposed to tell him you’re desperate to bridge that gap without using those exact words? “I came from the flagship store yesterday — the one in Hongdae that I told you about?” He allows the smile to widen slightly when you nod in genuine understanding. “Got the last six boxes of the collection I’ve been trying to finish.”

You whistle appreciatively. “Can I ask you for a loan on my next phone bill? You know, once I’ve upgraded to something pricier.”

“Nah — just itching to complete the set,” he laughs. You wonder if he’s been doing that more often because he knows its crippling effect on you, though you doubt he’s that sly. Again, maybe you’re just projecting too much of your own motivations onto him. “This was probably about two months of saving up combined.”

“No new Iron Man issues to look out for, then?” Your voice is warm even though it takes on a teasing tone; Mark’s hand rubs the back of his neck, and his expression is a little sheepish, but you’re happy that the times he used to go completely quiet, opting only to blush at your attempts to act more familiar with him are pretty much gone now.

“Maybe next month.” You also like that he doesn’t really treat his hobbies as secrets, neither out of shame nor snobbishness. He explains these things to you the same way he does the topics you study — with an air of contentedness, like he’s happy someone listens to him without interrupting. On your end, you have no qualms with listening to his voice for hours, wondering when he’ll stop using it to greet you when you come through the door and when he’ll start saying your name in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees whenever you’re near. It’s a win-win situation (sort of). “I was actually debating between this collection and a really rare copy of Spi— well, never mind that. I just thought — since you were asking me a bit about blind boxes last time. You know, if you wanted to. With… me.”

As much as he’s become comfortable talking to you about things that don’t involve coffee orders and school, you can’t say that you aren’t doing your fair share of the work in connecting the dots; the demand for your efforts is exponentially higher in moments like this, when you think he’s trying to ask you something but can’t seem to find less-than-eager words to avoid what he thinks might spook you.

Luckily, he augments his fragments with action; reaching into his backpack — which you notice seems to be bulkier than usual — he starts extracting small brown boxes, all with the same design; it seems, for lack of better words, aesthetically gothic, and you reach out to pick one up, turning it over and examining the print on each side with vague interest. Mark starts laying them out on top of each other until there’s a small, somewhat unstable pyramid in front of him, then shifts his attention fully to you, just as you’re putting the box in your hand atop all the rest.

“I’d love to.” You beam as he does, and there’s a wondrous relief in his eyes that tells you he’s glad you manage to catch onto his words — or lack, thereof — surprisingly well. “For as long as you don’t blame me for any bad draws.”

“The contents have already been decided by my own hand — sort of,” he chuckles. “Point is, I would never do that to you. But I won’t lie; I kind of want to rely on your luck a little more.”

“What makes you think I’d have any of that running through my system?”

“Not sure — beginner’s luck, maybe? You just kind of look like one of those kinds of people to me — like… you’re just made of good things.”

You don’t know how to take this compliment; on the one hand, it’s easily one of the sweetest things Mark has ever said to you that doesn’t involve anything with actual sugar content. On the other, you know you’re not as lucky as he makes it sound, considering you’re still striking out on getting past the borderline of friendship with him. All you can do is smile, nodding and making to move closer to him by sliding into the next seat.

It’s hard to ignore the sight of him stiffening; something like surprise mingled with both fear and interest flashes strong across his face, but you don’t do anything to acknowledge the slight change in atmosphere, choosing to settle down comfortably and clap your hands. “So. What are the rules? What can I do, and what can’t I?”

“Uh.” His throat constricts at the right moment, the syllable getting caught and causing him to clear his throat. You know that this is the nearest you’ve ever been to him, the sleeve of your shirt tickling his arm. Upon closer, albeit brief inspection, you note that he’s also rather veiny. That doesn’t do your impurity any favors. “Not… really rules, or anything like that. Just — these are the ones I’ve been looking for. Not that you can really control it, but in case you were curious about that.”

You squint intently at the scaled-down images he points out. There’s one that looks like a penguin caught in an oil spill; another that seems to be in a polar bear costume, dozing; and — “What’s… halo? Halo…bios?”

“It just means marine life,” he answers quickly, like the thought means close to nothing to him to know something that obscure. Whoever said that smart is the new sexy wasn’t joking. “Like… all things that live in the ocean, that kind of thing.”

“And you know this because?”

He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I guess I must have just learned it when I was curious about what it meant some time ago. Isn’t that how we all learn things?”

You shake your head incredulously, and he smiles a little apologetically. “You never cease to amaze me.” Your nail drums against the silhouette of one with a question mark on it. “What’s this supposed to be? Can you draw your own figurine, or something?”

“No.” He’s clearly amused, but his expression’s still patronizing enough for you to not feel too bad about saying something idiotic. “It’s a secret design — a money drainer, basically. You could buy a full set of this and still not get it. Some people will open hundreds without any luck, so it’s really rare.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I try not to get too caught up in the secret thing,” he admits. “Otherwise…”

“No rare print comic books for the rest of your life, basically?”

He taps his nose, and you both share another laugh. It’s nice, you think, to have come this far — to be someone Mark can share his interests and thoughts with. You may have been stretching the word to its limit when you first punched your way into his social life and called yourself his friend, but it feels more real now, more natural to think about and say. Even if he still sometimes seems to be hyperaware of the gap between the both of you, there’s no denying, at least, that it’s been significantly reduced, and this much is a testament to that.

“Well, leave it up to me. I’ll let all of this beginner’s luck rub off on you,” you announce with overflowing albeit unfounded confidence.

You both decide to open a box each at the same time; Mark suddenly panics and asks you not to unseal the foil bag right away without looking at the card inside first, earning him one slightly alarmed look followed by a burst of laughter at his pained expression when you pretend to rip open the packaging. Comparing pulls, you identify them using the set chart — your luck doesn’t seem to be operating at full capacity yet because you can only offer him the card of one that looks like a floppy pigeon, which he responds to with a slightly apologetic grimace before saying he’s already pulled that thrice in the past. He, on the other hand, is turning the card of the polar bear over in his palm, trying not to make you feel bad for your duplicate pull by slipping it under his textbook when your eyes land on it.

The second round isn’t much better; both of you manage to pull something he’s already added to his collection, and as you’re ripping the seal to your third box, he pauses and watches you. You think it’s because he’s concerned about the obvious shit luck you’ve had thus far and wants to snatch it from you before your negative energy transfigures whatever’s inside into something he doesn’t want, and you’re just about to offer the half-opened package to him before he pushes the one on his end to you.

“No way, Mark.” Your eyes are wide, a palm up to reject it. “If that turns out to be another dupe by my hand, I’m literally going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

He has to control his amusement at your words so that it doesn’t completely shake his voice into incoherence. “I picked all of these while I was there, so if anything, you’re only riding off my bad luck. Besides, this is your first time doing this. I want you to have fun.”

“But,” your voice is pained. “Your money.”

“It’s not a big deal. With how few I need to complete them, I was definitely bound to run into more repeats than new ones.” He taps the front of the textbook — or, at least, the part of it not buried under the figurines and sealing tapes yet. “Probability mathematics.”

“I thought we already ended the study part of the day,” you grumble but concede, putting aside the one you half-opened to tear the top of his. You’re careful when you shake out the foil packaging, making sure to place it upright on the table before extracting the card. Both of your faces fall — yours more than his — when you see it’s a repeat of the polar bear.

“Almost. It would’ve been a pretty lucky pull earlier, so it’s technically not bad,” he tries to reassure you, but you childishly feel like you’ve been the sole source of his disappointment thus far. “Try the last one.”

It’s irrational, but you’re suddenly anxious about it. For some reason, you’re worried that this will topple the carefully constructed ladder you’ve propped up against Mark’s tower of social defense. Even if he’s being genial about your rotten pulls, you don’t know how much of it is just resignation to dismay on his part.

You say a small prayer, then fully rip off the seal; you don’t even take out the packaged figuring anymore. You just shimmy the card out of the box, turning it over when you notice it’s upside down.

For a moment, your shoulders deflate. It’s closest to this pastel purple figurine in the middle of the line-up, its stupid puckered lips almost taunting you. He hadn’t even mentioned it as something he’s looking for, so you almost feel like this has come to a horrible full circle. But then he grabs the box, checks the list, and looks back at your card again. He looks shell-shocked, and you’re not sure if it’s the strong air conditioning directed towards the two of you or if it’s just his hands, but the image he’s holding is shivering slightly.

You look more closely at it, and something just doesn’t feel right. Color palette aside, there are notable differences — different colored lips, a more intricate ear design, and closed eyes. It’s…

“Dream eater,” Mark’s voice is hushed, almost reverent, and very, very close to your ear. “It’s the secret one. You’re… incredible.”

“What are you talking about,” your words are just as raspy; you’re not sure if you’re actually choked up with emotion or something — over a figurine, you have to remind yourself. “You picked all of this. I just ripped open the box.”

The hush that falls over the both of you feels very concrete, weighty on your shoulders. His fingers creep towards the foil packet — the only one he actually opens because there’s no way he’s not keeping it. The shiny purple head gleams under the fluorescent, the glitter around the star and moon designs catching the light as he turns it left to right, like he’s worried it’s a fake. You can tell why people want these things so much; there’s a thrill in you that lingers, makes you feel warm and alert. It’s anticipation, despair, excitement, and triumph all in one sitting.

You’re stroking the smooth curve of the design by the ears lightly when Mark speaks up again and says the most outrageous thing.

“I want you to have it.”

“What?” You actually have to pop your ear canal in front of him with your pinky to make sure he knows how ludicrous he sounds. “This is… you said it was crazy rare.”

“Yeah. And you pulled it, with your magic. That’s like… unimaginable luck. Even more than beginner’s luck.”

“Like I said, I literally just opened the box.”

“No — you have like… the golden touch.”

“Please,” you hiss, a genuine testiness to your voice. “Do not. I was just here for the ride — the experience, and all.”

“Seriously, take it.”

“Absolutely not—”

It’s a chaotic moment of him trying to hand you the figurine and you outright rejecting it, with both your palms working hard to push it back to him. Instead of nudging the plastic back, though, you end up placing the full force of your hands against his fingers.

There’s no actual spark when you touch, but your reactions make it feel like there might as well have been; you even lock eyes in startled unison, like you can’t believe that just happened, before you pull away quickly, Mark drawing the figuring back to his torso while looking away towards the counter, where a lowerclassman is wiping down the stains. You want to scream at your warped reflection in the window. You barely initiate contact with him, but you imagine that if you ever did, you would prefer to not be saying something as abjectly negative as absolutely not while doing so.

Your mind flails in an attempt to mitigate the issue and water down the embarrassment, and clearly he’s struggling to figure it out too, because he pipes up before you can piece your thoughts together.

“No, really.” His tone is a lot milder and, consequently, a lot more persuasive this way. “You should take it. I want you to.”

“It’s not mine. This is your thing — your hobby.”

“That’s why I’m giving it to you. I swear — I want you to keep it.”

“Why?”

He lapses into silence again, but his face is much redder than earlier. His mouth opens in an attempt to say something, but he just manages to uh his way back into a state of quiet, which gives you a chance to speak instead.

“We can… share it,” you suggest. “Shared custody…. ish.”

His eyebrow cocks involuntarily, and his jaw falls again, but all he does in actual response is nod — slowly at first, then with more sureness to the act.

“Yeah. We can share it. I’d… like that.”

You’re glad that the bulk of the awkwardness has fizzled out fairly easily, and when you think about it, this feels like a pretty good course of action; you like that it’s this little link between the two of you now — something you share that no one else can touch.

Mark, you notice, is smiling as well — more to himself than towards you, it seems. His thumb grazes across the face of the figurine, slow across the lips, and you’re once again falling into a pit of nonsense by wondering when he’d do that to you.

“Thanks for staying with me, _________,” he finally says, and your heart jolts and melts all at once. “And for… doing this. For chatting with me. And giving me your luck, and all that. Great way to end the day… with you.”

You say no problem, but you instantly regret it when you realize you could have just said it didn’t have to end just yet.

“__________? Hello? Come back down to Earth?”

“Shut up,” you sigh at the guy seated across you — Seo Youngho, an upperclassman, your Gender Studies classmate, and current project partner, waves in front of your face. You shoo his hand away, which only joins his other one as he throws them in defeat above his head. “Stop moving. Be quiet. Don’t talk.”

“That’s the same thing as shut up and be quiet. What’s up with you?” He demands. “Fifteen minutes ago, you were full of ideas. Now I feel like I’m talking to a wax figure.”

You’d been engrossed in your report for the last hour and a half, and the subject matter is admittedly something you enjoy — the role of gender in Twenty-First Century Korean marketing and advertisement, a title Youngho had taken more than ten minutes to type into the Google Docs header because he was pissed off at how the numbers looked like in the fonts he chose. He’s an enthusiastic classmate and someone you’ve come to be friendly with, not only because he’s genuinely approachable but also because he has fits of nosiness and talkativeness at the strangest moments, so a chunk of your relationship is mostly based on social terrorism on his part. You like him well enough most of the time — save for the last fifteen minutes of this hour.

Because Mark had just come in for his shift fifteen minutes ago, and suddenly Youngho is much too noisy for your taste, and his head is honestly way too big to the point that it gets in the way of your opportunities to see Mark behind the counter. You even resent him for choosing a booth instead of your usual table all of a sudden, because your view of the central barista’s area is much more limited from this angle, especially since the huge espresso machine is in the of your field of vision.

You’re also (currently and abruptly) mad at Youngho because you remember that he’s the reason you’ve had to skip out on a couple of sessions with Mark. Like, it technically isn’t his fault that you have a lot of research to do for the literature review section of the paper, nor is it his fault that this is your final requirement that comprises a whopping forty percent of your grade, but like… you’ll blame him anyway. So you’re much more irritable, and you’ve definitely been missing Mark’s presence. In fact, you kind of just want to shove Youngho’s balloon head away and call Mark over to sit with you, but you’re not that much of an animal to actually do that.

Probably.

There had been inquisitiveness across Mark’s face when he’d come in; his eyes had trailed to the table at which you usually sat, surprised to find two guys hunched over a single phone there instead of the usual you, waiting for him with your eyes bright and your smile wide. You’d like to think it’s because he’s gotten as used to seeing you as you’re used to waiting to see him — like he just expects you to be there.

You hadn’t really known how to call his attention to where you were, especially since Youngho was prattling very matter-of-factly about the academic journal he’d unearthed yesterday and how he thought it would be useful in reshaping the methodology of your paper (whatever). There was a moment in which you briefly considered ordering another cup of coffee just to get in line to talk to him, but your hands were already shaking from the venti you’d had to keep yourself from passing out in front of your partner.

So you’re more than relieved when, half an hour into his shift, Mark finally steps out from behind the huge machine, a mug of water for himself in hand, and turns away from the front of the store to drink it — only for your eyes to lock as he twists his torso in your general direction.

The mug stops just inches from his lips, but you could swear he smiles at you briefly when he recognizes you, so you return the favor. Youngho’s face contorts into abject befuddlement, turning around to see what you’re grinning at.

“Oh, you poor sap,” he snorts, finally letting the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“What?” You’re still distracted even if Mark has taken a gulp of water and is now attending to a gaggle of girls still in the throes of discussing what to order.

“What what? You gonna spend the rest of the day eyefucking Mark Lee from over here? At least let me get a different table.”

“Shut up,” you repeat sullenly, coming back down to his level and finally — albeit reluctantly — meeting his eye (just because Mark isn’t looking your way). “What were you saying about the sample size?”

“That it’s much too large to be feasible, a point we closed twenty fucking minutes ago,” he says pointedly. “Is it a thing for baristas or a thing for smart guys?”

“It’s a thing for Mark Lee,” you sigh, following Youngho’s suit and shutting your laptop close. You’re at least glad he’s not annoyed that you’re delaying work for a crush, or maybe he’s also just equally lazy at this point. “You ever look at someone and think you would give it all up for a chance to hit that?”

“No, because this isn’t a porn movie, and I’m clearly not the main character in whatever’s going on in there.” He jabs at your forehead; you swat his hand away again.

“Well, I would.”

He rolls his eyes. “So do it, dumbass.” He says this so simply, like he can’t imagine why you’d be holding yourself back, which is a valid thing to feel, except it’s not really any of his business.

“Can’t.”

“Because?”

“Because it doesn’t fit into my elegant master plan. Also because I want him to ask me out. I just want that victory.”

“Oh yeah, there it is.” Youngho leans over, wiggling his fingers at your ears like he’s greeting a next-door neighbor. “Hey, delusion. Good to see you. Do you even understand how crazy it is that you’re taking a Gender Studies class while waiting for your dick-in-shining-armor like a damsel in distress?”

“Asshole,” you grumble, violently opening your laptop monitor again. “Get back on Google Drive.”

Thankfully, Youngho complies, and the next two hours pass in relative silence and productivity, with you hammering out a vague references list that he promises to format in your stead so you can ‘spend more time dreaming about Mark Lee between your legs.’ You want to strangle him, but there are far too many people in the cafe for you to get away with it. Also, aforementioned Mark Lee would only be a witness to your criminal record, and while you think there’s something romantic in killing for love, or whatever, you’re not sure it’d make the best impression on him.

“Next week’s my birthday,” Youngho announces as he stands to tug on his jacket.

“Congratulations,” you say wryly, peeking over his bulletin board torso to see Mark tugging off his apron and picking up his school bag. Your heart hammers in your chest as he looks over at you briefly, and something like embarrassment passes over his face before he busies himself with neatly folding the fabric. “Go away.”

“Usually people look uncomfortable for not knowing and then start thinking about what gifts to get the celebrant, but I always felt you were kind of a revolutionary.” He snaps his fingers right in front of your eyes, and you look up at him, a little offended. “I’m having a get-together — and by get-together, I mean it’s gonna be a rager. You should come.”

“When?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Can’t,” you chew on your lip, wondering if Mark is leaving. His movements seem particularly slow, but you wonder if he’s just taking his sweet time because he has nothing better to do. Of course, he would have something better to do if Youngho stopped fucking obscuring you from him and vice versa. “Busy. School… whatever.” Not completely untrue. Most of what you do with Mark has to do with school.

“This moony-eyed thing is just not for you, I fear.”

“Are you going to be here all day?”

“Are you? Why don’t you just fucking ask him out, you lunatic?” You can’t imagine why he sounds so exasperated. It’s not like this is his problem — or his business, for that matter. “Maybe if you did, you could fuck him and move on with your life and be an actual contributor to society’s development.”

“Has anyone ever told you how nosy you are?”

“Constantly.” He brings his palms down on the table, the thud shaking you out of another oncoming stupor. “Think about it. Maybe it’ll make you stop making that stupid face.”

“You’ve got a stupid face,” you mumble, sulking as he pinches your cheek as a goodbye before heading out of the shop.

At least you finally get to see Mark in full, glorious view — and you get to watch him come closer, although his stride is somewhat cautious.

“Hey.” Even his voice sounds unsure — almost like the way he used to sound earlier in your friendship. “I didn’t want to interrupt you and… your friend?”

“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t have been interrupting,” you inform him, completely genuine. “He was spouting a lot of nonsense.”

“You guys seemed pretty close.”

“I guess it’s a proximity thing,” you sigh, and Mark raises his eyebrows slightly in question. “We’re partners.”

“Oh.” The way he draws out the syllable is slow. “That definitely makes sense.”

The silence stretches out between the two of you again, with Mark checking his shoelaces. You almost grab your head; it hadn’t occurred to you until now how damaging missing meetings with him would be to your friendship. You feel like you’re slowly being dragged back to square one, and you want to give him an explanation.

“He’s actually… I haven’t been able to see you because I’ve been working on something with him.” you offer, trying to answer a question he didn’t even ask. “Sorry about that. I swear I’ll be back on track tomorrow.”

“No, no — I completely understand.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Thank you… for telling me, though. I— uh, appreciate that.”

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, though.” You try injecting more pep into your voice. “I’ve really been behind on my algebra. I’ve definitely been drowning without you.”

“Oh, yeah.” A small smile graces his lips, but you can’t tell if the reluctance behind it is from fatigue or something that looks oddly like sadness. “I’m down for tomorrow. Same time, same table, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. See you, _________.”

You watch him turn on his heel, walking to the front door, and something like fear mingled with desperation clutches your heart. Fuck the traditional route, you think. You don’t know what it is about how he’s acting now, but it’s making you feel like he’s slipping through your fingers. All that hard work — there’s no way you’re letting him go.

“Mark, wait.”

You’re at his side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket before you can figure out exactly what you want to say. You feel as surprised as he looks at your sudden liveliness in action, and his gaze trails from your clenched fist to your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize this whole position.

Your exhale’s shaky, but even still, you try not to sound overtly self-conscious when you ask, “Do you like Chinese food?”

Something in the furrowing of his brows tells you he can’t seem to see where this conversation is headed, and that slightly bothers him. “I like it well enough. Why?”

“There’s this really good dim sum buffet near my mom’s office. We tried it before — the Xiaolongbao is awesome.”

“Hey, that sounds pretty cool. I love Xiaolongbao. I’ll definitely have to check it out then.”

You want to tear your hair out. “How about — you know, checking it out with me? Tonight? You know… together. With me.” You already fucking said that.

You’ve never seen Mark blink this rapidly; he looks like he’s trying to crunch large numbers in his head. A small part of you actually worries that he’s malfunctioning, but just when you think he’s going to glitch out completely, he clears his throat. It bothers you how uncomfortable he looks. “Tonight? Oh man… it’s my cousin’s birthday tonight. I can’t… reschedule. Well, obviously. Maybe some other… time?”

Your ‘oh, yeah’ is small, and so is the ghost of Mark’s smile. You can’t help but feel like he’s pitying you a little, although he doesn’t seem like the type, but the thought of it alone makes you want to puke. He makes no motion to move, and you think he’s extending this awkward moment out on purpose until you realize you’re still hanging onto him and he has no way of telling you to let go nicely.

Fingers unfurling from his sleeve, you take a careful step back, but when he walks away, it feels like you’ve gone much, much further away.

The worst part is that you can’t even figure out why.

Luckily, the next few times you see Mark, you manage to rebuild a rather shaky bridge back to where you had been. You even manage to strong-arm him into sharing an apple fritter one afternoon, and you know it’s a bit sad to think about it a particular, untrue way, but you can’t help but pattern what you’re doing into some kind of pseudo-date. Pathetic isn’t a word you normally associate yourself with, but you’ve been borderline desperate for progress where there seems to be none, so you take small victories where you can get them.

Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to revisit your stupid dim sum plan; sometimes, he says he has somewhere important to be, but most of the time, it’s actually your fault. No — it’s Youngho’s fault, because he keeps bothering you to finish the project. You’re aware that he can’t do it himself, but since he’s informed of your current plight, he could at least stand to be more sympathetic.

And you hate the way Mark looks every time you splutter out that you have to take a rain check for that reason; it’s not even disappointment, or something, which would be much more understandable. It’s this mysterious kind of faraway look, where his eyes glaze over a bit and he seems suddenly very lost in thought — or completely dissociated. He never strays away from his normal response of “next time, then,” but that ‘next time’ fades into the weekend and into the start of next week, and you have to spend every other evening with an annoying Seo fucking Youngho on a Google Meets call instead of eating soup dumplings loveshot style with Mark Lee.

Thursday night rolls around, and the former performs the most irritating stunt yet: blowing up your phone with so many KakaoTalk messages that it almost buzzes off the table during your session with Mark. Luckily, he seems to have learned a thing or two from his comic books, catching it before it hits the floor.

“You sure you don’t want to answer it?” He asks, gingerly handing the phone to you like he’s afraid it’s going to explode from all the pinging.

“Without the shadow of a doubt,” you sigh, flipping the screen downwards. Buzz.

“It kind of seems important. Or, like… urgent.”

“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”

Mark falls silent, fiddling with the page he’s on. He’s neatly highlighted the formulas on the page with blue ink, and his finger keeps scratching at the slightly wet paper. Buzz.

“Didn’t you say you two were partners?”

“Yes. Also unfortunately.” Youngho is actually a great person, but you kind of hate how Mark’s paying more attention to his texts than to you right now. “What did you get for number ten?” Buzz.

“A hundred and twe— are you really just going to let it keep ringing like that? What if he’s… I don’t know. In trouble? Like, he needs you?”

You smack your phone on its back, hoping that the punishment reaches Youngho because he absolutely is in trouble — only with you. “He’s just making a racket because it’s his birthday and he probably wants a bunch of people to trash his parents’ house, or something.”

“Sounds like fun.” The dubious tone in Mark’s voice indicates that his idea of fun definitely isn’t that. Buzz.

“Not really, but I assume he’ll only pipe down if he manages to get his way.”

“He must really want you there.”

There it is again — that weird, distant expression that makes you feel like he’s trying to free himself from the tethers of the earth. You close your textbook in defeat; it wasn’t even like you got the answer to number ten correct anyway. Buzz.

“He just wants everyone there, I bet. But I probably should show up so he shuts up.”

“Oh — yeah, okay. We’ll call it a day, then?” He’s avoiding your eye as he starts packing his things, which is actually impressive because you have practically nothing but your book to keep in comparison to his pencils and protractor, so you just stare, willing him to look at you.

You want to know what’s going on in his head. You want to know what’s going on in his heart — what he thinks of you, why he seems warm one second then almost like a stranger the next. You want to know if he knows you like him and if him not doing anything even if he knows is a sign that he doesn’t like you back. You want to know if he’d let you kiss him, if he’d kiss you first, if you can meet not because of sweet cream cold brews or algebra but because you just want to be together.

You just don’t know how to ask. For as much as you like him, for as much as you want him, you haven’t figured out the most basic part of this — if you mean anything more than a two hour talk to him at all.

“Mark.” This feels awfully like the dim sum conversation, only somehow ten times more disastrous. “Come with me.”

“Sorry?” The appalled look on his face makes you squirm in your seat.

“I don’t really want to go, but maybe if we go together… we can just hang out a bit and leave once it’s boring… I think it’d be fun,” you explain lamely, deciding at the last second to drop the with you that had originally come with your sentiment.

“I don’t think your… partner will like someone uninvited showing up.”

“I’m inviting you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“You’d be, like, my saving grace or something — my excuse to scram. We’ll say we came right from a study session; we only popped in halfway through for the sake of greeting him a happy birthday. Then we can just go. We can say — uh, we’ve got more work to do.” You’re practically begging him at this point, and you don’t even get why. You just don’t want him to leave looking the way he does — confused and a little detached. You want the Mark that had smiled at you while giving you your coffee — the one that had kindly pointed out an arithmetic mistake in the most gentle way possible. You want to open blind boxes with him, whine about your rotten luck, and part ways with his warmth still against your coat sleeve.

You don’t know what comes over you then, but you pluck up the courage and initiative to slip your hand in his. He stiffens a little, but you don’t care; your fingers squeeze his in urging.

Something in his expression breaks — cracks first, then falls away, before he’s nodding, still looking vaguely thoughtful.

“If you think it’ll help you, then… okay.”

The bus ride to Youngho’s neighborhood is uneventful because it’s quiet. You stand close to Mark at all times, but you barely touch, save for the times your knuckles accidentally brush his when you lurch forward slightly as the vehicle comes to a dangerously abrupt stop. He doesn’t ask anything about the party or the company that’ll populate it, which is just as well, because you don’t have a clue.

You know it’s the right house because the door’s wide open and there’s music coming from inside; you can’t make out much more than the deep bass pumping through the concrete, but you’re pretty sure it’s making your heart jump in your chest even more than it already is. There are quite a few people you vaguely recognize on the lawn, and even more that you absolutely don’t; a good number of them glance at you and Mark as you step through the threshold then look away, probably deciding you’re of no real consequence or harm to their moods.

Youngho’s easily spottable because of his massive height; he towers over the rest of his guests, and the red plastic cup in his hand calls even more attention because he’s lifted it over everyone else’s heads. You throw Mark an apologetic glance that he responds to with a short nod before you dive into the crowd alone, trying to weave your way to where you’d last seen Youngho.

“Bro, finally!” Youngho greets you, pretty much shouting over the music. “Where’s the gift? Did you leave it on the table?”

“Happy birthday, Youngho. Do you know how close you were to being blocked?”

“I see you brought mister espresso with you,” he ignores your comment completely, nodding to Mark. When you turn back to see him, you notice he’s squishing his arms closer to his sides, trying to minimize the space he takes up. “So what? Y’all get to hook up already?”

“No. I brought him here because we were in the middle of something and someone,” you stop, offering him a pointed look that’s also ignored. “Wouldn’t stop texting.”

“Cockblock,” the guy next to Youngho, who you now realize has been eavesdropping, singsongs. “Oh, sorry. You looked angry when you stomped through the crowd, so I wanted the juicy details. Name’s Jaehyun.”

You take the hand he offers you briefly, introducing yourself. When you say your name, realization dawns on his face, and he jabs his forefinger at you.

“Oh, dude. You’re that girl — the Starbucks Showstopper.”

“The what?”

“That’s what his friends call you.” He scratches his ear, seemingly racking his brain for more information. “I’m with Mark and a couple of his friends — Lee Donghyuck and Na Jaemin — in College Algebra.”

You completely gloss over the fact that you’ve finally found out the real government identity of the mysterious figure named ‘Hyuck.’ “They… talk about me?”

“From time to time. Not really. Once or twice. Donghyuck only calls you that because Mark apparently keeps blowing them off to hang out with you.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have ears. It’s not hard when they talk like no one’s around.”

You shush Youngho’s exclamation of and you’re saying I’m nosy?, your heart hammering hard in your ears, practically drowning out the music. “What… what else did they talk about?”

“Not sure. Something about not seeing you that often these days. Jaemin teasing Mark about getting dropped now that you don’t need his help anymore. Donghyuck piling on and saying you’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Jaehyun still inches away from you when your voice rises in pitch and decibel. Some people around you start, then move away as well, as if scared you’re going to incinerate them. “They were just teasing him that you probably ditched him after you started dating someone. Your partner in some project, or what.”

“Oh gross.” The realization hits you like a speeding truck. Youngho’s expression is affronted.

“First of all, you bitch. Second of all, as if I would date someone who didn’t even buy me a gift. Or want to come. Or yelled at me after coming. Wow — now that I think about it, you’re terrible, _________.”

“Oh, shit; that someone was you?” The only person that isn’t tense in this conversation is Jaehyun, who laughs point blank at Youngho’s sour face. “I think they were offering to put you into one of their Death Note notebooks. Sucks for you, hotshot.”

“What a smudge on my good name,” Youngho sighs mournfully. “On my special day, too.”

“I desperately need you two to be quiet for one second. I have to — where’s Mark?”

Even when you stand on your tiptoes, you’re not nearly as tall as the two of them; it’s Youngho, with his freakish height, who manages to spot Mark by the bowl of nachos, looking as though he’s trying to decide if they’re safe for consumption. You hardly excuse yourself; actually, all you say is a distracted “later” that dismisses Jaehyun’s cooing that something’s going down and you should clue him into all the mess later as a thank you. Your appreciation of his sudden and somewhat short-lived presence in your life is still up in the air.

Mark’s busy making a sour face at the sip of punch he’d just taken; he only straightens up when you’re right in front of him, putting his cup down next to the nachos. “Hey. Did you get to find… um…”

“That’s not important.” Your hand bunches the fabric of his jacket in a death grip, something he barely has time to register, let alone question, before you’re tugging him through the throng of people. You want somewhere quiet, somewhere private, and you initially consider the lawn, except you know it’s strewn with cups and has stragglers debating whether to go home or not. You can’t risk any of them being expert eavesdroppers like Jaehyun, so you make a beeline for the stairs instead.

“We’re not leaving yet?” He has to shout over the music, but there’s no resistance in his stride; he follows you up and waits patiently, although a little perplexed, as you check the doors on the second floor. Two are locked, one is a bathroom, and the other is a messy, musk aftershave-scented place you can only presume is Youngho’s room. Talking in front of a sink and a toilet doesn’t feel like it’ll be very productive, so you just drag Mark into the bedroom, kicking aside the crumpled shirt on the floor — which you could’ve sworn you’d seen Youngho wear for class yesterday. “_________, what’s going on?”

“Mark Lee,” you burst out, ignoring the fact that his eyes widen slightly at your tone. “What’s your fucking deal?”

You don’t think you’ve ever sworn in front of him before; that much is evident when he continues to gawk silently, unable to find words to respond to your question. Or maybe it’s just the volume and force with which you demand an answer. The problem is that you don’t even know what kind of reply you want. A small part of you nags that this is uncalled for, especially at this level, with you practically caging him into an unknown room. In fact, even now, you’re still embarrassed at your behavior, wondering if you’ve gone too far and stepped over a line between you.

But the source of all your frustrations is, in fact, that line — one so strangely drawn, clear at some points and almost invisible at others. Sometimes, he seems simply content with the barest minimum of friendship: talking to you, helping you, politely laughing at your (terrible) jokes. But there are also times he blushes too hard for it to not mean anything, times that he makes you feel like you could mean a little something more to him too.

Yet, from there, he wavers, stepping back so as not to get entangled in something you don’t understand — like when he grows distant every time you mention Youngho to him. You don’t understand why he would unless he echoed, even just a little, the longing in you. But you also don’t get why he stays and builds more walls around himself, like he’s determined to ignore all the other signs — like he doesn’t want to know if it’s really true and will just accept the assumption that it is. You hate not knowing where you stand with him, and while you could easily ask, you know you don’t want to.

And for a long time, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s because you want to see Mark step out of his comfort zone and initiate something, but the ugly truth is staring at you: it’s simply just that you can’t stand the idea of seeing him come to the conclusion that you can’t be anything more to him than someone he makes a sweet cream cold brew for every so often.

There’s a moment of tense silence between you two, where you’re just staring at each other — him, perplexed, and you, agitated — and the only sound that passes is the faint but unmistakable voice of Youngho going who has the cake cutting knife? from somewhere down below. You try not to get caught up in the fact that Mark still looks cute when he’s dumbfounded.

“Sorry?”

“What,” you repeat pointedly. “Is your deal? Why have you been acting so weirdly around me these days? I thought — I thought we were… getting closer. I thought… we…”

You’ve confirmed it now; you’re the epitome of cowardliness. You can’t even say I thought we liked each other — because you know that you do, but you still can’t honestly, assuredly tell if he does. Maybe you just read too deeply into the smallest things — smiles before he asks for your order, glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, sharing the dream eater figurine — to fuel your own emotions without really checking the depth of his.

“I thought we were cool,” you reroute your words, and they come out flat and lame. “But just when I think you’re warming up to me, you suddenly pull away. Like… you’re afraid of me. Or you don’t like me. I don’t know.”

“It’s not — I don’t — I’m not afraid of you,” he stumbles over his words, and even in the darkness of this space, you see his face turn bright red, very quickly. His feet shuffle, not because he’s lost his balance but because he seems to want to get rid of a sudden restlessness. “I do like you. We are — we were getting — we’re close. We — we’re friends. You said that, and we are.”

“Is it only because I say we are that you agree?”

“What? No, I—” His hand passes over his face, slowing at the curve of his chin. “I really like being friends with you. I like being around you.”

“Then why do you act so weird these days? Like — you’ll be fine one moment, then you’ll back off, like you suddenly remembered you don’t want to be around me.”

“It’s not like that. I’m — I don’t get…” He takes a deep inhale, recalibrating himself for a moment before his voice comes out again, less strained this time. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“How could I?” There’s something more than confusion coloring your voice; there’s hurt, too, and he looks as surprised as you feel at hearing it. “I wanted to be your friend. I was the one that asked you to hang out. I was the one who wanted you to talk to me, to help me, to go to a goddamn dim sum place with me. Why would I feel uncomfortable? Or are you just using this as some roundabout way to say you feel uncomfortable?”

Mark falls silent, and you don’t know why this speaks volumes all of a sudden. His eyes are trained to the tips of his sneakers, which are rising in soft bumps every few seconds; he’s curling his toes inside them. You feel like you’ve gotten the worst answer possible, and something grows cold in your chest.

“You feel uncomfortable around me.” You rehash, but it’s no longer a question. “You don’t know how to get rid of me.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“You think I’m only using you.”

“No.”

“Then what?” Your voice breaks, no longer out of anger, but a desperate sadness. The moment your eyes feel hot and prickly, you decide you want to end the conversation. It’s embarrassing, you think, for someone like Mark Lee — whom you like, who only ever sees you as a friend — to see you get choked up at a fucking birthday party at someone else’s house.

A beat later, you’re mumbling a half-hearted forget it, and you detest overdramatics, but you hate the idea of being in a room with someone who’ll never return your feelings even more right now; you push past him, already on the thought of calling a cab home instead of taking the bus so that no half-drunk businessmen coming from their company dinners see you crying.

But something warm wraps around your wrist, then closes over your hand, and you’re unable to move, Mark’s palm pressed against the back of yours. When you look back, you notice he’s still not looking at you, but his ears are practically on fire with how red they are, and you feel his fingers tighten slightly, tremble slightly against yours.

“It’s not that. I didn’t ever want you to think — I heard about you two. That you were dating someone. Seo Youngho.”

“What does that matter?” Your words come out a little more bitterly than you expect, and you have to remind yourself to reel it in. “That doesn’t explain your discomfort.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, still evidently careful in choosing his words. “Because you wanted to be friends.”

“I don’t understand,” you state bluntly. In the back of your mind, you note that Mark’s grip keeps tightening and loosening, unsure of whether to keep holding on or let go. But there’s something else, too — the soft graze of skin against yours, his thumb gliding over your knuckles.

“That was all you said you wanted to be, right?” He waits for a response, but when you don’t give him one, he lets out a shaky breath and continues. “You kept saying — we were friends. You wanted us to be close like that. I just wanted to respect it, even if…”

“Respect what?”

“That you didn’t want… anything else.”

The music downstairs is a bit tamer now; you hear the door opening and closing every so often, signaling guests leaving here and there, but there are still enough footsteps downstairs for you to know that there’s a crowd Youngho hasn’t gotten rid of and therefore has to attend to. That much is good; you’d get slapped with a homicide charge if he came up here all of a sudden.

“You were jealous.”

Mark’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I tried to stop. I don’t have a lot of practice with — well, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. I thought I was still acting normally; I didn’t think… I didn’t want you to feel weird and stop hanging out with me just because… I couldn’t fix it.”

“Your friends are assholes,” you mumble, and he finally meets your eye, equal parts startled and amused. “We aren’t. Weren’t. We never were dating.”

“Even without that, I thought… it was a bit embarrassing. Liking someone like you — someone as pretty as you, as nice as you — I thought it would make you feel weird. Then you’d start avoiding me too. Or, worse, you’d keep doing it just because… you… felt bad for me.”

You don’t know what you find more ridiculous — that you hadn’t seen figured it out or that you could have avoided all of this if you’d just been a little more honest with him too. Mark’s hand starts loosening around yours, a little too much, and you turn your palm and grip his hand before he can escape. He stiffens again, just like earlier, but you now understand better why he does.

“I just wanted to keep hanging out with you as much as I could. I thought… It’d be fine, just spending time with you, and I’d be able to like you for a while, on my own, then…” He looks a little pained. “Then just let you go. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you couldn’t let go?” You sigh softly, your palm guiding his until they connect, face to face, and you can finally lace your fingers into his. There’s no resistance, but his hand trembles slightly in yours still. “If there’s anything you should be apologizing for, it’s that you ever thought of doing it.”

Something clears in the air, lightens in his expression, and he chuckles, albeit a little shyly still. “It’s because I never thought someone like you would like someone like me.”

“I like you.” And it feels right to say it now, not at all out of the blue, never in fear of an answer he’s already given. “I like you when you smile at me every time you ask for my order. I like that you never get impatient when I’m getting my answers wrong. I like seeing you excited when you talk about a new series you’re looking forward to — something new you really want to collect. When you blush, when you laugh loudly, when you spin your pen in your hand — I like you in all those times.”

“Even when I’m jealous?”

“Especially when you are.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, and you’re reminded of the fact that you’ve wanted to feel the strength of the angle under your palm for ages now. It’s not at all a disappointment, and your heart flutters irregularly in knowing you could’ve done this a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it now, and fuck if Mark Lee doesn’t look good this close to you. “So be jealous — because now, you know you can be.”

Kissing him is better than you imagined, and you’ve imagined a little too much to be embarrassed at this point; there’s a heat to his lips that matches the one across his face, an upturn to them that makes you smile too. The setting’s not at all an expected one, but you’ll take it, not because it’s dark or because it’s private but because Mark’s in here with you, and you would have kissed him in a brightly lit football field full of people for as long as he’d let you.

You’d like to think he’s flushed for a reason other than shyness when you pull away, even if his laugh is quiet and breathy. In fact, when you murmur not enough, he’s the one that closes the gap this time, offering freely what you ask for with such little eloquence. The natural trepidation in his mouth relaxes, gives way to a curiosity that keeps you locked for so long that you forget you need to breathe, much more intent on finding out if Mark’s tongue tastes as good as you’ve imagined for so long.

It doesn’t; it tastes even better.

It’s still not enough, not by a long shot, but you have to resurface before you pass out like this, and even he looks a little dazed when you pull away — not in a bad way, with a grin on his face that you can only classify as endearingly goofy: slightly lopsided and a little shy, but with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.

“Months,” he mumbles, his lips still dangerously close to yours. Your eyebrows rise in questioning, and he laughs in that infectious way that makes you want to join in without even knowing what the punchline is. “I’ve been thinking of kissing you for months.”

And you do share the laughter this time, not out of amusement but of a happiness that spills without restraint. “But you’re suddenly holding back now?”

“Just letting myself bask in the moment, I guess. Letting it sink in so I remember everything.”

The two of you stand there quietly, still trying to fully parse the progression of events, and a small part of your mind registers that Mark’s thumb is still drawing circles on your skin. It’s also not enough — this touch, this closeness. You know now that he’s been thinking of you for months, and it reminds you that you spent that time dreaming of him too. And you remember you’ve always wanted to be even more familiar with him, and suddenly the desire is overwhelming; he’s right here, and you don’t ever want him out of your grasp again.

“Where are you going?” He’s only curious for the sake of it; there’s no alarm in the question because you keep your fingers tightly woven in his, tugging him along as you walk past him to the door. He’s still staring in wonder after the lock clicks shut. “What’s… happening now?”

“You waited months to kiss me, right?” He nods in response at your question. “I’ve been waiting just as long to have you too.”

His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t manage to say anything; his jaw tightens just as quickly when he feels your free hand trail down his chest, feather-light and asking for a green light. Your index finger stops just above his navel and draws back slowly, but not before you feel the shiver that runs down his torso.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you murmur, giving his hand a little squeeze. “But I just want you to know — I want to. I want you.”

A thoughtfulness settles on his face, and his eyes graze over yours, trying to read your seriousness. You don’t know how honest you look, but your words hold enough truth in them. A silence stretches over the next minute, but to you, it feels like an eternity, and you lose the test of patience somewhat, smiling softly at him.

“You don’t want to?”

“I—” His tongue peeks out, running over his bottom lip. “I do. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”

“You seem worried.”

A hesitant nod. “I’ve never — well, no, I have, but not — with someone like you.”

“What’s someone like me?” You laugh airily.

“Someone pretty like you — I don’t know. Someone who seems to know exactly what they want. Someone who seems like… they could do better than me.”

“Mark.” You can’t keep the incredulity out of your voice. “I do know exactly what I want. I want you. The rest — I don’t care about. As long as it’s you, I want it.”

He cracks a smile, half of relief, half of disbelief. You don’t miss his hand coming up to press, warm, against your waist. “For real?”

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt — an anchor to bring you closer, until the tips of your noses are brushing. “For real.”

The third time you kiss is slow, almost careful; there’s lingering worry in the line of his mouth that your lips try to ease until his slightly part under the movements of yours. You feel the tension leave his form in waves — first in his shoulders, then in his arms, until you’re able to press yourself closer and feel the slight give of his frame against your smaller one. He’s radiating an immense amount of body heat that’s pricking your skin and keeping you alert, and you’re hyperaware of the smallest things — the weak tremble in his mouth, the slight roughness of his teeth under your tongue, the ridges of his palate above it.

He tastes nothing like what he smells, you learn. Instead of the air of earthy coffee stuck to clean linen, you inhale a combination of spearmint and mild saltiness that’s made slightly sharper by the lingering splash of alcohol from his accidental sip of punch earlier. You decide then and there that this disparity is important to you; it makes you feel like you’re the only one who can have this experience — that everyone else can know his scent, but now, only you can know what Mark Lee tastes like.

You have to keep your wits about you to avoid this addictive stimulation of your senses; you let go of his hand only to lock your fingers around his neck, and there’s a show of trust in how he lets you lead him backwards, until his knees are hitting the edge of the unmade bed. The kiss breaks as he’s forced to settle on the mattress, and he looks up at you in what can only be described as a quiet kind of awe. He doesn’t complain when you place your hands, heavy, on his shoulders, using his sturdy form to keep you stable as you move to straddle his lap.

“I feel like,” his voice is hoarse as he speaks up. “We should have picked a different location. Someone… could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” you remind him, a light reassurance in your voice. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but it’s clear there are cogs turning in his head, and you think it’s unfair that he’s thinking way too hard about something else that isn’t you, right now, in this position. In a bid to rectify this, your face presses into the side of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent and leaving a light kiss on his skin right after. Your lips mark the moment he swallows hard at the contact. “Besides, would you really be that unhappy if someone did?”

His hands tighten against your waist, prompting you to leave another kiss against his collarbone. “What — what do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t like it if someone — say, Youngho — walked in to see me on your lap like this?”

The silence that follows your words is tense, and you can tell that Mark’s breathing has become shallower. Again, you can feel his throat constricting slightly, and you can’t help but laugh breathily as you nip at his skin, just under his Adam’s apple. He’s surprisingly easy to tease, you realize — quick to turn speechless and prone to hanging onto your words.

To say that you wouldn’t want to use that to your advantage would be a downright lie.

“Tell me,” you urge, your tone deceptively gentle. “You wouldn’t want him to see you kissing me like this? To see me wrapped around you, begging for more, saying your name over and over? You don’t want him to watch you take me — so he knows you’re the only one that can?”

A strangled groan punctuates your words, but it comes from him; his fingers dig hard into your side with barely constructed restraint. “What do you want from me, _________?”

“I want to know if kissing me was the only thing you wanted for months.”

You pull your head away, nudging his chin with the tip of your nose. Another groan escapes him, and his head tilts back slightly, almost like he’s praying. But when his gaze comes down to meet yours at your level again, you see a firm resolution in his eyes that stirs your heart — which takes off the moment he shakes his head, slowly but surely.

“Then,” you whisper. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t say so much as shows; he takes from you your breath, steals another kiss that’s now firmer and more openly demanding. Suddenly, his mouth can’t seem to stay still, trapping your lower lip in between his, drawing out your taste until it mixes with his against his teeth. You feel your head growing light again, and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s suddenly become difficult to keep up with his lips, asking more from you without restraint. A hum of need sounds in the back of his throat, vaguely dissatisfied, and he’s telling you wordlessly that it isn’t enough right before he attaches his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar. You think he’s just about to return the favor, but a laugh leaves you when you realize he’s taken it a step further, his teeth grazing your skin lightly, soft nips signaling how eager he is to sink his teeth in with only his slowly weakening self-control stopping him from doing it. Mark’s breathing is slightly labored when he pulls his lips away, warm breath fanning over your chest.

“It’s crazy — and stupid,” he croaks out, voice slightly raspy. “But I want it, and I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Your fingers drag into his hair, combing it upward messily from his nape. He leans in for a quick kiss that’s somewhat misplaced, landing on the corner of your mouth instead of squarely atop it.

“I want them — him to see us. To see me with you, kissing you — fucking you, too. I want everyone to know we’re like this.”

You’ve never heard Mark say anything so forwardly before; a sweet, warm flush builds in your face, pleased at how comfortably he manages to say it — pleased that he’s saying it to you. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want him to see you.” There’s a bluntness to his words, but hiding behind them is an undertone of pleading — a serious request. “I don’t want him to see how pretty you look. I don’t want him to see you when you’re bare, or how you look when I’m inside you. I don’t want him to see—”

His voice wavers and dies, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed, but when you read his expression, you see an unyielding longing. A smile tugs at your lips, and your hand comes around to cup his chin, thumb extending upwards to drag his lower lip down.

“You don’t want him to see what’s only yours.”

He swallows hard again, but he doesn’t wait long to nod. Understanding passes between the both of you, silently but completely, and Mark presses his face to your throat, feeling the hum resonate as he places another long, firm kiss there.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, in a way that almost feels like he wants to convince himself of something impossible to believe. He doesn’t even wait for your affirmation, prefers to read it in the way you shiver lightly once his lips travel further down. His kisses trail past the collar of your shirt, and his hands are unabashed in how they seek skin, pushing the fabric upward so he can settle the palms of his hands, warm against your waist. Oddly, they don’t travel upwards; they only brush against the dip, down slightly over the upward rise of your hips, then upwards again, almost soothingly. It’s almost like he wants his mouth to meet them, but he stops halfway, sidetracked by the curve of your breasts.

He barely pulls away, only does for a moment, enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re only mine,” he repeats, his voice softer now. You realize he’s still waiting for some confirmation, and when you do, you’re quick to give it to him — quick to erase any doubt.

“I’m yours,” you affirm in the same tone, in the same careful volume. “Only yours, Mark.”

Whatever else he wanted to ask for, he knows you’ve given assent; that much is clear when he buries his face between your tits, inhaling your scent. You briefly wonder if he might feel just as intoxicated around you as you do around him, if your pleasant dizziness in being this close to him, in tasting and smelling him is something he experiences too, but you don’t get much time to dwell on it the moment you feel his lips part, a slight wetness seeping through the fabric. He’s kissing your chest, teeth grazing just above the cup of your bra, nipping without any real objective other than to feel the pad’s slight resistance to his mouth.

You almost miss what he says as he shifts his head, lips brushing over the curve of your breast — another breathless ‘mine’ that isn’t ever punctuated; his lips still stay parted, mouthing at the cloth, like he’s desperate to feel what’s underneath through it. There’s pressure where his tongue presses flush against the shape of your tit, tightness whenever he chooses to nip, attempting to take the flesh and all that’s between you and him between his teeth.

Not enough, you think, even when a whimper of need bubbles out of you; you want to be closer, your thighs pressing against the sides of his. You’re close in almost every way, but you still inch yourself further forward, enough to feel the taut hardness in his jeans. Your hips settle right there, letting fabric ride against fabric as you center yourself.

No sooner do you press yourself flush against him do you gasp; the light sting sends a jolt up your spine when his teeth close around your nipple through your bra, and when you look down at him, you see the corners of his mouth pulled up in evident satisfaction. He’s quick to atone, his tongue dragging your shirt slightly upwards in his attempt to soothe, and for some reason, the push of fabric and the barely-there feeling of motion leaves you tingling.

“Mark.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but in the haze you’re in, you don’t really have a clear idea of what you’re asking for. All you know is that you want more of him, and for as much as he’s already given you in kisses and words, you aren’t even halfway down the list of everything else you wish you could demand from him. You say the only thing that comes to mind — the only thing that really encompasses what you feel. “Mark, I want you. I want more of you.”

His hands on your waist are replaced by the significant tightness of his arms, locked around your torso; you don’t even have the time to take in your awe at the fact that he can easily carry you, turn you over until you’re on your back, until he’s already eased one knee between your legs.

The way he looks down at you is a mixture of hesitation and desire, but the former’s erased when you reach out for him, murmuring another ‘more’ so you can pull him in. With one palm pressed against the mattress, he lets his free hand graze against your side again, bolder in its movements, and his fingers trace a path up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh through layers. Your back arches upwards in response, eager for more contact, for touch that’s almost there but not quite, and he smiles when you make a noise of frustration from his fingers tweaking the soft nub of your nipple.

“Mark, please—”

“Would you really let him see you like this?” His thumb’s still idly grazing over your breast, following the rise and fall of its curve. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice level despite the growing want that threatens to break through it. “Would you really let him watch you… get fucked?”

You shake your head, and his brow furrows.

“I’d let him watch you fuck me,” you correct him, and the confusion in his face gives way to pure satisfaction the moment you make this nuance clear. “It has to be only you.”

His grip tightens briefly against your breast again, and he leans down, pressing a surprisingly chaste and brief kiss to your lips.

“Then I’ll unlock the door next time and give him a show.”

You don’t know if it’s what he says or what he does after — his hands bunching your shirt upward until the hem’s just below your neckline — that makes your breath hitch, but you decide it doesn’t matter when you realize you’d much rather be focusing on the journey his lips take, slick against your stomach as he presses languid kisses down to your navel. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the weight naturally pulling them down, and you see his muscles tighten for a moment as he stops himself from tugging them off completely.

Mark’s mouth is unparalleled in its attentiveness, seemingly intent on making sure he’s covered every inch of your stomach in warm kisses, but you only realize he’s somehow stalling when he starts the cycle again, his nails digging into the taut elastic of your jeans as though to remind himself to curb his desire.

You take the initiative instead, raising your hips slightly to signal your want, acutely aware of the fact that you brush lightly against his thigh when you do so. His eyes lift first, followed by the rest of his face, and he’s watching you quietly. You might have thought he was unsure of what to do all of a sudden again, but his knee pressing closer, an unmistakable pressure against you, is enough to tell you that he’s only curious to know what else you’ll do.

The second time you grind against his thigh, his hands catch your hips, keeping them aloft just long enough for him to tug the band of your jeans downward; he peels them off you with surprising ease, returning to the same position between your legs, hands still firm on your waist. With that done, he only has the thin garter of your panties left to curl his fingers into, bunching it into his fists when you roll your hips up one more time. You manage a shaky noise when you feel the stark difference — the roughness of the denim against you, the stick and drag of flimsy cloth. Mark lets out a low but unmistakable hiss.

“I can’t believe—” his idea is cut short by the movement of your hips again, and his grip tightens, knuckles pressing into your skin. “Can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“What am I supposed to do,” you breathe out, the sound momentarily getting stuck in your throat. “So that you know it’s real?”

His fingers relax their hold, palms now pressed against your thighs; they travel between your hips and your knees, a soothing and thoughtful motion. “God — I don’t know. I just want — I just want you so badly. Like… I’m going to go crazy if I don’t have you now.”

You lean up, your weight resting on your elbow, and your other hand reaches out; Mark meets you halfway, bending just a little lower to press his cheek against your palm. There’s something intimate, something so giving about the way he turns his face to your fingers, pressing a fluttering kiss just under your thumb. The tips of your fingers trace the shape of his lips, even when they pucker again under your digits.

“Take me,” you murmur quietly. “Right now — from now on, every part of me is all for you.”

His exhale is shaky, but his fingers have a sureness to them; they slip under your thighs, cradling the backs of your knees, and lifting until they’re folded over your chest. You don’t even have the time to wonder if you should feel exposed all of a sudden; his breath warms the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips there — not a kiss, just a touch as he speaks.

“I want to taste you,” he mumbles, partly distracted with the act of inhaling the mild scent off of your skin. “Every inch of you — I want to know just how sweet you are.”

He lets his hold on your thighs relax, letting them fall apart; he busies his hands with your panties instead, hooking a finger into the strip of cloth just covering you. It’s clear you’re both aware that the fabric sticks light to your skin, poorly masking your wetness, and interest mingled with hunger flashes across his face as he pulls it aside.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, sounding like it’s a comment more for himself than anything else. His gaze flickers to you for a moment before it moves back to your pussy. “The prettiest fucking girl in the world.”

The pressure of his thumb between your folds causes you to forget what you wanted to say, and you know Mark had been nervous, but you realize that it doesn’t mean he’s supremely inexperienced by any means; there’s a quiet, understated confidence in the way he rubs slow, thorough circles, moving upward towards your clit. Your face, your neck, your whole torso feels flushed, but you power through the instinct to tilt your head back so that you can keep watching him — the minute changes in his expression, the slowly building strength in his touch.

“I want to taste you,” he repeats, looking up at you. “I want to know what you taste like when you cum against my mouth.”

You’re not sure if you’re gawking because you can hardly believe Mark Lee — your eternally blushing, mild mannered campus crush — had said all those words strung together into such a lewd sentence, but you’re sure as hell not going to deny him. Your hand travels down your torso, and he watches, curious at first, then awestruck when your index and forefinger settle against either side of your folds, pulling them apart in offering.

His eyes end up transfixed on your pussy again, observing how your fingers ease your folds further apart the more he massages his thumb against your slit. His mouth is slightly agape, intent on drinking in the sight, unaware that you’re trying to memorize this view of him too — Mark Lee, touching you, wanting you, eager to take you fully.

“I’ve always wanted to see what it’d look like with your face between my legs,” you say in a hushed tone, but he catches it anyway, briefly looking up at you again. “I’ve always wanted to know what your tongue would feel like against my pussy.”

Your index finger bumps against the tip of his thumb, and he stops its motions, allowing you to move his digit down until the pad of it hovers just in front of your tiny hole. You can see one cheek tucked between his teeth, bitten to muffle the groan you wish you’d heard louder.

“Won’t you show me?”

You think you hear him rasp out a ‘fuck yes’ before he bends down, pressing his half-open mouth against your pussy. The squeal of delight that leaves you is half-strangled as his thumb curls, hooking into your entrance. It starts a shallow, distracted motion, with his attention funneled much more clearly into keeping his tongue working. Flush against your slit, it drags up, and he releases a guttural noise at your taste, lips pursing slightly on the way back down — like he can’t stand not trapping every drop of wetness with his mouth.

The intensity of his tongue, the idle thrusting of his thumb — you’re not sure what you want to focus on more, and the result is you whimpering incoherently at the starkly contrasting combination of the two. Mark moves his mouth like he’s never tasted anything as good in his life; the sounds between your thighs are wet, sloppy — almost embarrassingly so — but you don’t have the presence of mind to dwell on that because Mark Lee is eating you out and that’s really all that you can think of.

The tip of his tongue suddenly flicks upwards; you keen, long and low, when it starts to circle your clit in that same intense, circular movement his thumb had gotten you used to. Your sensitivity skyrockets, and you’re completely unable to control the upward bucking of your hips, but Mark stays supremely unperturbed, his free arm winding under your thigh to keep the both of you steady. Your noises are growing embarrassingly loud, and you realize just how needy you’ve become when you vaguely notice that there’s a pattern in what you’re saying — his name, over and over again.

“Did you do that too?” He asks softly, his words slightly muffled against you. “Say my name, I mean — when you thought of me.”

“God, yes.” Your voice comes out strained, teetering on the edge of slurring. “So many times — every single fucking time.”

“Promise me something.” He lifts his head, and you see a fieriness in his gaze.

You nod — at this rate, whatever he’d ask you to do, you would without question. “Anything.”

His thumb presses in deeper, up to his knuckle and you reflexively tighten around his digit, but he keeps it anchored there, pushing down against your walls. He drinks in your gasp, the widening of your eyes, the way you chew on your lip with a singular kind of contentment on his face.

“Promise me — from now on, you’ll make sure I’m always there to hear it.”

The only kind of assent you’re able to make is a moan as he dives down again, mouth buried in your warmth, his nose pressed tight against your clit. His tongue moves in strong strokes, broad swipes that push your folds apart further, and his thumb, while not moving, increases in pressure to the point that you feel a heaviness adding to the growing pleasure. Your hands fly down, seeking some kind of sense and reason, and you thread your fingers into his hair, grip tightening as your climax builds in stride.

“Mark, I’m—” close, you want to say, embarrassingly so, but the moment he hears his name, his lips attach to your clit, and there’s suddenly so much more pressure as he sucks, almost like he’s desperate to draw out your orgasm. He chooses this of all time to start moving his thumb again, and this time, his movements are anything but slow and idle; they’re filled with the intent to drive you over the edge. “Fuck me, oh my god—”

“I want to,” he murmurs, pausing for just a moment to drag the tip of his tongue around the nub. “God, I want to. Let me see you cum first; let me taste how sweet you are.”

His thumb stops, buries deep into your pussy, and you’re not sure why this, of all things, is what pushes you beyond control; you’re only half-sure you say his name when your orgasm hits, the rest of your consciousness much too clouded by pleasure. He doesn’t stop, revels in the way you squirm under him as he hums low and keeps his tongue working against your clit. His licks become longer, more thorough as you come down from your high, your cries softening into whimpers as his tongue both attempts to clean you up and makes you messier in the process. His arm is still curled around your thigh, keeping you from inching away from him, even if instinct and stimulation are telling you to.

You’re barely lucid when you sit up, and Mark inches back, somewhat startled; you grab the front of his shirt, and the sight of his mouth, slick and glistening from your wetness, only makes you more curious to know what you taste like on him. You find out how tangy it is, how rich the two of you are together on his lips, and you’re able to fully appreciate the skill of the mouth that kisses you deeply, leaving traces of you against your tongue and teeth.

“Please — fuck me.” It’s the only thing you can say at this rate, only half-coherent and still trembling with desire, but Mark doesn’t seem to care that you’re stuttering over such a simple request. His thumb wipes traces of saliva off the corner of your mouth, kisses it clean for good measure, then straightens up, his hands working at his belt. You almost miss the fact that his hands are shaking slightly as he undoes the buckle and tugs it out from the loops.

You want to help — it’s the least you can do, after all, and your fingers push the button of his jeans out through the hole, his hands working in tandem to tug the zipper down. However, your movements falter when you hear a noise from just outside the room — the sound of the doorknob being jangled, the thud of a body gently hitting the door, as though worried it’s stuck. You glance up at Mark, ready to reassure him, but he either hadn’t heard or doesn’t care because he’s too busy stepping out from the pool of denim at his ankles, and you get completely sidetracked by the bulge straining against his boxers.

You almost ignore Youngho’s voice grumbling ‘Jesus Christ, now of all times? from behind the door, but you leverage it instead.

“Should we let him in?” You ask, tone innocent despite the evident deviousness in your words. It pays off, though; Mark’s cock twitches unmistakably under thin fabric, and he actually looks like he’s considering it. “You’re just about to fuck me, after all. Weren’t we going to — what did you say? Put on a show?”

He worries on his bottom lip, like he’s unsure if you’re serious, but in the end, he shakes his head, reaching out to smooth your hair away from your face and ushering you to lay back down. The lips that meet your forehead are gentle, almost apologetic.

“Not now,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right now, you’re all mine.”

You laugh lightly, nodding, and he chuckles too, but the sound of it slowly dies down when your finger hooks into the garter of his boxers. You can feel his breathing hitch as you tug it down, the elastic catching when it meets the shape of his cock, but you don’t make any move to free it just yet — for some reason, you want to see him do it.

“Show me.”

He complies without hesitation, one hand dragging the elastic down over his thighs, the other curling around the base of his length, and your face flushes as satisfaction works through your system at the bare sight of him.

Mark Lee is big — not monstrously so, but enough for you to make a pleased noise as your hand joins his, fingers barely wrapping around his girth. You give his shaft a gentle squeeze, and his exhale stutters, watching you stroke him, long and thorough in your movements. Your palm swipes over the tip, leaking precum, allowing it to slick up your hand enough to keep your movements smooth. You’re fixated on the tension in his lips, the throb of his cock against your palm, and the way his gaze never leaves your face, like a small, amazed part of him still can’t believe what you’re doing, even if you’re both half-naked already.

“I want to suck you off,” you plead, grip tightening slightly. He grits his teeth, stifling another groan, but he shakes his head clearly enough for you to slow your movements in mild surprise.

“Can’t — not now. I need to be in you so badly.” His breathing’s sharp and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “You don’t even know — how long I’ve wanted to feel you.”

Your hold relaxes, and you let him maneuver you, his renewed hold on your hips dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. In this position, he can spread your thighs further, and you angle yourself optimally — enough for him to get a full view of your pussy, wet and still aching from your last orgasm.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to know how tight you are,” he continues, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that makes you think he might be entrenched in fantasy. “How much I would have killed to see you — have you like this. I’m not gonna be able to wait anymore.”

His fingers dig into your sides, thumbs stroking your stomach in a weak pattern. The underside of his shaft presses against your folds, still half obscured by your panties, in a way that’s heavy enough to make you mewl, your hips reacting before your mind can, and he hisses softly as he feels his length glide along your slit before you relax your stance again.

“I can’t wait,” he reiterates, a breaking in his voice that sounds almost tortured. You don’t want him to either, want to see him buried to the hilt inside you, and you raise your hips again in need. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy.”

“Then take me.”

And you’re not sure if it’s a demand or a plea, but he no longer stops himself; his hand fists his cock a few times, coating the slick of precum along his length before he lines the tip up with your entrance. His other hand’s flush against the inside of your thigh, a light pressure ensuring he always has enough space to fit himself between your legs — enough space to bottom out completely.

Mark’s considerate in his pace — maybe he knows he’s big, or maybe he’s just naturally careful, but he allows you the time to adjust to the stretch. Your nails almost puncture holes into the sheets, your grip so tight you wonder if it’s just to brace yourself or to hang onto the last threads of your sanity. He’s only halfway in, but you’re pushing fullness already, and he stops when his cock meets slight resistance, looking up at you in concern.

“You’re not—?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassure him softly, and it’s true; the adjustment brings about slight discomfort, but it’s almost nothing to you — not compared to how much more you want. “Give me everything; I want all of you inside me.”

He pauses still, trying to read your expression for any lies, but when he can’t find any, he nods, his jaw tensing as he presses both palms against your thighs, keeping you open as much as possible to accommodate him. He doesn’t even stop when you whimper, feeling a tightening twitch in your pussy that also causes him to groan, until inch by inch, you’ve taken him, his hips flush against yours.

He doesn’t move — not yet, his eyes trained to where you’re connected like he’s once again unable to believe what he’s doing. You hear him mumble something to himself that you want to hear too; you squirm slightly, and he hisses through his teeth, looking up at you and finding the questioning in your face. He offers you a small smile, albeit somewhat strained.

“You’re tighter than I thought.”

“You’re bigger than I thought,” you hum, and neither of you is really to blame; the tight fit, the slight breathlessness it leaves you with, is perfect, you think — just what the both of you need. “Did you often think about fucking me?”

“Probably just as often as you’re making it sound like you thought about having me fuck you, I think.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, but there’s no real heat in your voice.

“I won’t. But it makes me feel good — knowing you wanted me just as bad.”

“I still do.” Your gaze is lazy, a little hazy, even if you’re anticipating so much. Even just the feeling of Mark, throbbing inside you, is already slowly building the pleasure in your stomach again; you wonder if you could cum like this, given enough time, given enough patience. “I’m still waiting for you to fuck me. God, Mark— please.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, but even that’s drowned out by the long moan that leaves you once he draws his hips back; your body’s mildly shocked into a new adjustment, feeling a sudden emptiness that’s quickly mitigated by him filling you back up again. The pace is slow, almost torturous, although you know he isn’t doing it to get a rise out of you. He wants to ease you into speed, careful to help you adjust fully; his restraint in his movements is all the more evident on his face, in the furrowing of his brow and the determination in his gaze. Even with that, he can’t help what he says, so intent on controlling everything else he does that he lets his words spill out over your noises.

“Pretty,” he grunts out, and when your walls twitch around him, he accidentally thrusts sharper — just enough for you to whimper a little more loudly, and he has to reel his strength back again. “God, you’re beautiful. I should’ve told you sooner how much I wanted you. All those times I had to imagine you wrapped around me like this, wondering how much tighter you’d get once you came on my cock. All those times you drove me crazy while I was alone, when I could have been in you— I could have found out how good you felt. How pretty you’d look under me. And you’re still even prettier, even better than I ever dreamed.”

There’s an erratic melody of moans under his words, spilling from your mouth, and the fact that he riles himself up enough to increase his speed slightly doesn’t escape you. He’s a little less careful now, seemingly entranced by the view he gets, watching his shaft disappear into you only to come out glistening, and a part of you hates the idea of snapping out of his reverie, but the majority of your thoughts now lean towards wondering how much more you can get him to break free of his own self-imposed restrictions.

“I wanted to ask you so many times.” His eyes snap up, coming back into focus as he takes in the sight of you, flushed, hair tousled, gaze darkened. “Almost every day — I sat there, thinking about how all I could do was go home and fuck myself, frustrated you weren’t doing it for me. I should have taken you home with me right then and there — should have let you watch me touch myself thinking of you, should have let you touch me into cumming on your fingers.”

His breathing staggers as he leans in, eager to see you clearer, to hear your words, slowly becoming airier as they come out. For a moment, his gaze falls, torn between watching him move into you and meeting your eyes, but he ultimately chooses the latter once you speak up again, your tone even more hushed than before — like it’s meant to be a secret between just you and him.

“But there were times I wanted you even more than that, to the point that I almost felt like I couldn’t wait.” His eyes widen slightly, a few precious seconds of wondering if he understands what you mean, right before you confirm what he thinks. “I thought about making a move right then — I should have kissed you. I should have asked you.”

“Asked me what?” His voice is gruff with the effort to keep himself in check despite the fact that it’s clear to the both of you that it won’t last.

Your lazy smile’s illusionary; it hides the triumph swelling in your chest at knowing that he asked exactly what you hoped him to.

“I should have asked you to fuck me in front of everyone there.”

“God,” his eyes squeeze shut, his grip tightening. “Please. I can’t—”

“I should have bent over for you there, begged you to stretch me out right after our session,” you continue, bordering on merciless. “Mark, you don’t know — how badly I wanted to be on your lap, your cock in me, with everyone watching. How much I wanted you to fold me over that table, have people watch you pound me, have them listen to how good you make me feel. No one would ever even wonder; everyone would know I’m yours.”

You pause, allowing his eyes to fly open once again, and there’s a pleading in them that’s begging for release. Your eyes soften along with your voice, but you’re this far gone; you should at least see it through.

“And everyone would know you’re mine too.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips stutter before new resolve fills him, his hips driving into you with the force of a strength you didn’t even know he had in him; your thighs tremble at the intensity, at the renewed impact, and feeling him drive his cock deeper into you has you crying out somewhere between a moan and a sob. “Fuck, _________. If I had known you’d thought about me like that — God.”

It’s your turn to shut your eyes for a while, allowing yourself to focus on his movements, breaching your tightness even faster now. You feel his hands skim up your sides again, fingers digging into the fabric of your bra and pulling them down until your bare tits are cupped in his hands. You shiver as his thumbs pass over your nipples, toying them into firm nubs.

“One day,” he hums out, his voice giving way to a slight hoarseness again. “I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you in front of him — in front of Youngho, in front of everyone. I’ll let them wonder how tight you are, how fucking warm you are, and I’ll let them leave knowing no one can know but me.”

It’ll never happen, you both know, but something about agreeing to something so absurd is what has your body almost shaking in longing, and it’s what causes him to press in deeper, folding your legs closer to your torso. Your hands do what little they can to help, keeping your thighs apart so as not to obstruct his view. You can tell it’s somehow not enough, not really all of what he wants when his brow furrows, and he shifts his weight, pushing into you at a new angle.

The stark difference has you gasping before you can control it. Immediately, Mark stops, and you’re already shaking your head before you even hear him say anything, presuming he’s paused out of concern. But before you can say you’re fine, his hushed voice cuts through the silence.

“Do that again.”

“What?”

“Do it again,” he mumbles, sounding distant. “Breathe in. Suck in your stomach.”

You’re not one to complain at such a simple request, albeit a little odd, so you comply, inhaling enough to tighten your torso. You’re surprised when you feel his cock twitch inside you, and you blow out the air alongside your question. “Mark, what are you—”

“I can see it,” he says in utter disbelief. “When you’re like this, I can — I can see my cock inside you. Just a bit.”

Your eyes follow his gaze, fixed just below your navel. From this angle, without any movement, you can’t see a thing, but you assume he’s not one to abandon fucking you so intently without good reason, so you press your palm against your stomach, just above your pelvis. Nothing really feels significantly out of place — up until the point when Mark draws his hips back again, and you feel the backward slide of his cock.

Your throat tightens, and you don’t really understand the feeling that spreads in you — a unique kind of arousal, knowing how deep he is inside you and how you’re taking all of him in despite the fit, because of the fit. Your hand falls away, allowing Mark’s to take its place, and he exerts just a little more pressure against your stomach in an attempt to get the most out of the experience when he thrusts back in. He groans, feeling the bulge push back up, and he quickly picks up the same pace, renewed in intensity so he can experience the rapid rise and fall he creates under his palm.

The faster he goes, the harder he presses, and you’re not sure if he knows it, but the onslaught of friction is what’s making you whine and squirm even more; you’re trapped, in the best way possible, in his hold, your hands back to clinging to the backs of your knees like a lifeline. Pressure from the outside builds on the slowly growing pressure inside, a knot in your pelvis that’s coiling so tightly you feel like you can’t breathe. If Mark notices how close you are, he doesn’t make it known; he’s busy feeling the outline of his cock against your stomach, and when he looks up at you again, his eyes are hazy.

“I would fuck you every single day, every single hour if I could feel this every time,” he whispers in a way that’s almost reverent. “Let me — I want to keep seeing you like this. I want to feel how deep I am inside you, too. Let me fuck you all the time.”

You nod, and your first attempt to say something is just another choked sob. When you do manage to get something out, it’s broken in tearful stutters. “M-Mark, I’m s— I’m so close… I’m — fuck—”

“Do it.” It’s not a harsh command but an urging made on short breath; through your misty vision, you see tension in Mark’s face and shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for something too. You barely register the ping in the back of your mind, too focused on the way he’s pressing his palm harder on your stomach, the way his hips quicken their pace — he’s close too. “Let me feel you — want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

You inhale, not to speak but to let out a loud whimper; your teeth dig into your lower lip as you try to stifle the moans that threaten to follow, but in the end, you whine out his name. Your thighs threaten to close, trembling as you finally reach your climax, an impossible explosion of pleasure, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t get dizzy from the stars that burst around your vision.

“Fuck.” Mark’s voice is strained, his one hand still firm against your stomach, the other sliding against the inside of your thigh. “You get even tighter — you feel even better when you cum.”

“Mark,” you hiccup, unable to do anything but flutter around him as he pistons harder into you. You don’t even know what you’re asking for when you say ‘please,’ but he somehow seems to, and you trust that your body’s saying something you can’t fully detect in this state, with your mind floating in the aftermath of ecstasy.

“I know,” his tone is soothing in contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. “I’ve got you. Just a little more — where do you want—?”

You blink slowly, his words sinking in at too leisurely a pace; his hips stutter dangerously before you’re able to respond. You barely even do that, your hand gently brushing over the one against your stomach, but he catches onto the meaning quickly enough.

You’ve never heard your name said in such a beautiful way; hearing him moaning it lowly is enough to make you whine again, and that noise is drawn out when he shifts and slips out of you fully. Your brain’s fuzzy, but your senses are at least sharp enough to drink in the perfect sight of him cumming — the way he leans his head back, jaw taut and eyes shut, as he pumps his cock and the heat of his release against your skin, pooling against your stomach once he finally cums. You see a shiver run through him, and then he’s still for a while in this position, the both of you basking in the afterglow of your highs.

You’re still weak and sensitive when Mark finally comes back down, a lucidity you don’t have right now coming back into his gaze. All you can do is smile when he leans in, catching your lips in another kiss — one that’s surprisingly soft and slow in comparison to everything else, but still leaves you breathless when he pulls away.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs, and you hum in agreement, your body limp as you watch him move off the bed and pull a handful of tissues from a box on the desk on the opposite wall. Even his hands are gentle when he scoops you up, shifting you until your head can lean against the pillows. They carry a scent you’re not used to, and your nose scrunches, rejecting the change, but that’s quickly overpowered by Mark’s familiar coffee-and-linen one when he presses next to you, careful as he wipes his cum off your stomach and thoroughly cleans between your thighs. From somewhere down below, you still hear hushed voices, and the front door slams shut again. People are still in the middle of leaving, but you know Youngho will likely run out of guests soon, and this makes you feel like the timing’s suddenly become urgent.

“I want to date you properly,” you start, slightly slurred but unmistakably blunt. Mark’s gaze snaps to yours, slightly amused, as he balls the tissues up in his fist. “You never asked me, so I’m asking you.”

He looks perplexed. “I just never thought you wanted me to, so I didn’t try.”

You reach up, locking your fingers into his hair and using your grip to pull him down. Your kiss is a little demanding, with a tinge of excess frustration, and he pulls away laughing lightly.

“Do you still think I don’t want you to?”

Mark hums thoughtfully. “I think you made a lot of things clear tonight. On my end, I was happy enough to be near you.” He smiles down at you, and in the faint light, you can see the flush slowly return to his cheeks. “Having you like this — dating you… there’s no way I’d say no.”

Your shoulders relax, satisfied with his answer, and you beam up at him — an act he easily returns, breathtaking and endearing all at once.

Moments later, you feel his arm wind around your waist; he allows you to lean into his side, his other hand crossing over his lap to stroke your thigh. His face turns, pressing a kiss to your hair, and you feel his lips move, hear the quick rush of a whisper. You tilt your head, eyes slightly wide in questioning. “What was that?”

He shakes his head at first, trying to pass it off as nothing. But when it’s clear your curiosity won’t abate, he chuckles softly, his hand gently cupping your chin so that you can only look at him. His thumb strokes your bottom lip gently, as if trying to coax the same words out of your mouth before he murmurs them to you one more time — and this time, he sounds fully convinced of them.

“You’re all mine.”

#mark x reader #mark x you #mark smut #mark scenarios #mark imagines #mark drabbles #mark scenario #mark imagine #nct dream x you #nct x you #nct 127 x you #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct dream imagines #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream drabbles #nct dream scenarios #nct 127 drabbles #nct 127 scenarios #nct imagine #nct drabbles #nct scenario

[yoongifis]

💌 “Mr. Min” | myg

where you work at the company that’s owned by your ex, but the tension between the two of you gets a little out of hand.

; pairing: ceo!yoongi x officeworker!female!reader

; warnings: ass grabbing, ass slapping, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, cock warming, thigh riding, usage of mature words, very jealous and possessive yoongi, exes to lovers, office sex.

; genre: smut (18+), angst, and fluff

; a/n: hii all!! in honor of hitting 400 followers, i decided to gift you guys this ceo yoongi fic!! heheh! i’ve had ceo yoongi stuck in my head for days and i just needed to have him written up in one of my writings. thank you so much for showing so much love to all my work! it makes me so happy to see that you guys enjoy reading them :’) luv you guys so much! <33

—

Life after college wasn’t anything extraordinary. You were just doing the same thing—except you’re working at a big girl job. You wake up, get ready, go to work, come back home, and repeat. It’s all the same.

In the beginning of your new adventures as a new grad, you worked small jobs here and there. You weren’t expecting to land the job right away, and that was alright with you. You were lucky enough after a year to score the job that you had been most excited for—working with one of the biggest companies in South Korea, Min Corporations. To be more specific, you worked in the department of data analysis and product management—figuring out what products are selling and what’s not and coming up with solutions to actually make those products sell.

Working here has been great. You’ve made new friends, everyone at work is pretty friendly, the workload isn’t too bad, and you genuinely enjoy doing the work.

…Until you ran into a little situation.

Just after working for nearly half a year, the chairman and CEO had finally appointed his step-son to become the new CEO. His son was working alongside him in the states, but had decided to take over the office in South Korea and let his step-dad handle the overseas business. Everyone was eager to see what he looked like the day he was said to visit. Considering that he’s the son of the chairman, everyone figured that he was probably quite young and were hoping that he’d be caring, nice, and handsome too.

It turned out, people's assumptions were nearly right—handsome, young, caring, but a little strict. During his visit, he actually took the time to come to each floor to personally introduce himself. When it came to your floor, everyone immediately stopped working and jumped up to greet him, getting ready to listen to the words he had to say. He spoke with a calm and cool tone, low voice slightly tingling the ears of many employees. His long, black hair pushed back, with a little strand of hair dangling in front of his forehead. His physique wasn’t extremely muscular—it was more toned, and it sure did look good with the business attire he had on: an all black suit with a black tie and white button up. He moved his head around while he spoke, making sure to make eye contact with everyone in the room. The two of you eventually made eye contact, allowing you to get a better look at him. From there, he only looked at you as he spoke.

And then it finally hit you.

Your new CEO was no one other than your ex boyfriend, Min Yoongi.

You had immediately hoped that he didn’t recognize you, but it became too late to wish for that. He began to randomly visit the floor you work on quite often just after being in the office for a week. He’d walk around pretending to be curious on how everyone is doing, and then he tries to spot you, make his way to you, and see what you’re up to—only for him to just pick apart your ideas. He’d call random huddles in your department and choose you to say a couple words, which always ends with you embarrassing yourself.

What’s funny is that none of you really acknowledged the fact that you guys had some history between the two of you. You both had always kept it professional (I mean at least you did. Yoongi? Doesn’t seem like it).

It all continued for about two weeks and now he has finally left you alone…at least you thought he did.

His new mission with you has been observing you from afar and trying to find any chances to talk one-on-one with you for some small talk. You, on the other hand, didn’t want anything to do with him. You always gave him short answers and even try to avoid him as best as you can. You were only focused on work and nothing else.

-

“Y/n, could you send me those files you were showing me earlier?”

“One second, Chae. I’ll send it over once I’m finished with this proposal!” Your eyes are glued onto your screen, but from your peripheral vision you could see your coworker standing up from their seat across from you. Your eyes move up to her for a split second before looking back down.

“Y/n, you need to slow down! That proposal isn’t even due till next week.”

“Yeah, and?”

She scoffs at you, rolling her eyes.

“You busy over the weekend or something? Is that why you’re trying to finish all your work?”

You ignore her for a few seconds, finishing up the final sentences of your work before hitting save.

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ at the end of the word, “just like to not be able to do work over the weekend!”

“You sure you don’t have a boyfriend or someone coming over? I mean that was quite a bit of work we were given and you just zoomed right through it.”

Before you could answer, you could hear someone clearing their throat from behind you. Your friend immediately sits back down pretending to work while you freeze in your tracks, realizing who it is.

“Ladies,” he hums, “talking about personal matters on the clock?”

You turn your chair to face the tall man who stood behind you, his arms crossed against his chest.

Heh, great.

“Well—uh, it was only for a couple minutes, Mr. Min.” And that’s the truth—we were not talking like this for the past hour.”

“Mm, isn’t it a bit distracting for the rest of your co-workers to hear about you two talking about your boyfriends and whatnot.”

You slightly scrunch your face at his words.

“Mr. Min, I can assure you that weren’t talking loud enough for everyone on the floor to hear. However, since it seems like I had distracted you from your work, I’d like to sincerely apologize.”

There was a tone to your voice that Yoongi was immediately able to identify. It had a big of a sassy and annoyed twinge to it. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional, but he knows it used to be something you did quite often whenever he teased you before. He liked it—it made you sound brattier.

A lazy, lopsided smirk slowly appears on his face as he stares at you. He brings his arms to his sides and stuffs his hands into his front pockets, leaning down to meet at the same eye level as you. He brings his head to the side of yours, being careful to not be super close.

“I’d like to see you in my office,” he says firmly, standing up straight before turning around and making his leave.

You huff, slowly getting up to follow him to the elevator, going up to the very top of this huge building.

—

He walks towards his desk, hands in his pockets as he turns around and leans against it. You walk closer to him, giving enough space between the two of you.

“It’s nice to see you again, y/n.”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, scoffing at his words.

“Seems like you remember me, hm? But I can tell that you do try to avoid me, and I won’t let that continue.”

You roll your eyes, “Mr. Min, why are you calling me into your office?”

He smiles lazily again, chuckling lowly at your professionalism and the act you were putting on.

“C’mon, call me Yoongi like you used to.”

“Mr. Min, if there isn’t anything that needs to be discussed about, I’ll be leaving.”

As you were about to turn around, he speaks up again.

“Tell me about your little boyfriend.”

You face him again, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as your mind is trying to process his words.

“What?”

You were taken aback with his comment—I mean out of all the things he could’ve said in a workplace he chose that one? Was he an idiot or something?!

“You know—the guy you’re seeing right now.”

There was no one in your life that took that position. However since Yoongi was oddly interested in knowing who you were seeing, you decided to go along with it.

“It’s none of your business.”

He hums, “going out with them this weekend?”

“It’s still none of your business.”

“Does he work for me?”

You wait a little bit before responding, allowing the tension to grow.

“Didn’t you say we shouldn’t be talking about personal matters while on the clock?”

You got him there. Yoongi grows irritated by your snarkiness, clenching his jaw. He stands up, making his way around his desk to sit in his chair.

“You may leave, then.”

—

After that day, the rest of your week felt a bit off. First of all, Yoongi wasn’t showing up to your floor as often as before, which obviously didn’t bother you at all—you got to work comfortably without worrying about running into him or something. Second, your workload started to slowly increase a bit. You found yourself having more paperwork to do and look over, having to take on more projects because the team manager said that the ‘big boss’ (Min Yoongi) found you the “most qualified” out of everyone on the floor, which you thought was complete bullshit. You weren’t able to finish your work earlier than usual, so you started staying later at work, and now you have to work at home during the weekend. This went on for two weeks and you were starting to feel burned out.

“God, y/n—what’s going on with you?”

You look up to see it was Jimin, alongside Taehyung, the two of them staring at you as you were frustratingly running your hands through your hair. The bags under your eyes were a bit dark, they slightly droop more than usual, a clear sign that you weren’t getting enough sleep.

“I have so much work to finish, and I’m not done with even half of it yet! Mr. CEO keeps rejecting my work or tells me to review the projects or papers again every time I meet with him, which keeps pushing me back!” You’re fuming, it felt like steam was blowing out of your ears.

Taehyung puts a hand on your shoulder, gently massaging it.

“If you need help, you know that we’re here too. I don’t mind taking in some of the work,” a soft smile appears on the younger boy’s face.

Jimin immediately perks up, “—I didn’t agree to that! You know I have lots of work too—.” Before he could keep going, Taehyung elbows the boy on the side of his stomach. You laugh as Jimin rubs his side and winces in pain dramatically.

“Thanks guys, but Mr. Big Boss already yelled at Jungkook, Seokjin, and Namjoon when he caught them trying to help me. He specifically said he only wanted me to do the work—which is shitty!”

“That is pretty shitty,” Taehyung scoffs, biting the inside of his cheek as he tries to think of some sort of solution.

“Why don’t you tell him that you’re feeling tired and that he should cut you some slack? You always do your work, so I don’t see why he wouldn’t take it easy on you?” You look at Jimin, who was playing with thread on the end of his sleeve as he mumbles to you.

You had a couple ideas in your mind that led to Yoongi giving you all this work, but the main one you truly believe has to do with being his ex—a big abuse of his power, right?!

You chewed on your bottom lip, giving the idea some thought to it. ‘Fuck it’ is what you then thought, so you stood up from your seat and collected all the papers that you had scattered on your desk.

“I’ll let you guys know what happens when I come back, okay?” You walk past them, not even giving them a second of your time to hear what they wanted to say before you left.

You were on a mission. You wanted to give Yoongi a piece of your mind (while being professional, of course). You wanted to confront him and ask him why the hell is he trying to give you so much work now—as if you had all the free time in the world. You wanted to know why he keeps picking on you and why he keeps bugging you while you work. You wanted to know why he keeps popping up in your mind when you don’t want him to—why did that happen so much especially when you guys broke things off. You wanted to know why it’s been hard for you to sleep at night ever since you found out he works at the same job as you. You wanted to know why a part of you misses him so much but the other part of you wants to pretend he never existed in your life. You wanted to know why the thought of him trying to sneak glances, make small talk with you, or do anything just to be near you still gives you butterflies even though you pretend to hate it. Most importantly, you wanted to know the reason why he cheated on you…multiple times.

“Focus, y/n!” You mumble to yourself, giving yourself a gentle slap on the cheek to bring you back to reality. This wasn’t the time to bring that stuff up. The past is the past, and you shouldn’t be dwelling on it anymore. You guys are over, and there shouldn’t be anything between you two but being coworkers. He’s part of your past and he should just stay as just that.

You slightly jump from the sound of the elevator as you were stuck in your thoughts just moments ago. You exhale slowly, taking your time walking out and going down the hallway that led to his office. As you approach the door, you see his assistant Hoseok about to walk out. He looks up at you, confused as to why you’re here.

“Is Mr. Min in there? I’d like to speak with him.”

“Yes, he’s in there but I believe he’s only taking appointments right now since he’s very busy. I’ll let him know you stopped by right now.”

Damn it. So that’s just it? It all just ends here until I make an appointment with him?

“Thanks, Hoseok. I appreciate it,” you say with a small smile, turning your heels around to walk back where you started.

You were just about to hit the button to open the elevator doors until you heard your name being called out. You turn around just to be met with Hoseok again standing by the door. The both of you quickly meet halfway, standing awkwardly in front of each other.

“Mr. Min says he’ll allow for you to talk to him. I’ve left the doors slightly open for you, so there’s no need to knock.”

You nod your head, letting the boy leave first before you make your way back to the door. Before opening the door, you let out a shaky sigh. For some reason, you felt nervous to be doing this. But this is all for the sake of your sanity—you couldn’t handle doing all this work by yourself! Feeling a huge surge of confidence, you march right in with your head held high and your stack of papers in your arms.

The man was behind his desk, doing his work as you expected. His eyes never leave the screen until he hears the muffled tapping coming from your heels as you step in.

“Mr. Min.”

He’s smirking at you again. That stupid smirk that you want to rub off his face—what the hell is his problem?!

“Didn’t I tell you last time to call me Yoongi?” He’s leaning back in his chair, hands loosely clasped together and in his lap. He watches you carefully as you come closer to him and ignore his comment, tossing the stack of papers onto his desk.

“It’s quite unfair for you to hand me over such an excessive amount of work on top of the amount of work I usually get. I’m getting exhausted doing it, especially by myself since you won’t allow any of my coworkers to help me with it.”

You lift an eyebrow when you notice him lowly chuckling.

“Don’t have enough time on the weekends anymore, hm?”

You scrunch your face in confusion. What the hell was with this man?

“I’m not understanding what that has to do with what I was talking about.”

He’s getting up, making his way around his desk to lean against it like he did last time.

“Couple weeks ago I overheard you say that you try to finish your work earlier so that you can free up some time for the weekend. To spend more time with your boyfriend, I’m assuming?”

This again. Why does he keep bringing it up? It’s just another topic that doesn’t need to be discussed at work.

“Like I said, Mr. Min, my personal life is none of your business.”

He hums, “I’m for sure your boyfriend has to be working for me. However, it’s hard to tell who it is because you’ve got all these boys lining up for you every time I see you,” he’s chuckling again. “It pisses me off.”

His words throw you off guard, still not seeing where this conversation is going.

“None of that is any of your business, Mr. Min. And I don’t understand why we’re talking about this when clearly I’m here for—.”

“I hate the way you speak so formally with me,” he cuts you off, “can’t you just talk to me like how we used to, y/n?”

You roll your eyes at him, giving in to his request.

“Alright, fine. Yoongi will you quit giving me so much fucking work to do? I still don’t understand why you don’t want me having the weekend to myself or why you keep asking about my boyfriend. What’s your fucking deal?!”

God, was he confusing. This whole thing he’s doing to you is making you go insane.

He silently thinks to himself before responding to you.

“Is he better than me?”

Of course he would ask something like this.

“What are you even talking about?” You scoff, a little more annoyed than before.

“Your boyfriend. Does he know you like how I do?” His voice softens, but he seems to be genuinely curious about your so-called boyfriend. You decided to play along again and get him more riled up. You wanted to push his buttons even more, just like how he’s been doing with you.

“He is a lot better than you. More handsome, honest, faithful…No wonder why I get so excited when I leave work just to be at home with him.”

You glance over at Yoongi, observing his side profile. He was clenching his teeth again, and the tops of his knuckles that were gripping onto the desk were white. Your words had definitely turned a switch in him.

“I was always honest and faithful to you.”

You laugh at him. “Clearly, you weren’t.”

That does it for him.

He’s pushing himself off the desk, walking over to stand in front of you. With how tall he was compared to you, he uses that as a way to intimidate you, looking down at you so that you could feel small under him.

“Enough with the attitude.”

You get closer to him, giving him the best smile you’ve got.

“Why should I?”

“Should I shut you up myself?”

“Be my guest.”

He’s wrapping an arm around your waist, quickly pulling you close to close up the space between the two of you. Bringing his head closer to yours, his lips nearly touching yours.

“Gladly,” he says, his minty breath hitting your lips instantly. He brings his other hand and places it behind your neck, pushing you from behind to smash your lips against his. He was hungry—absolutely hungry for you. His lips moved quickly and in a feverish way, desperate to re-memorize every little inch of the shape of your lips. With a swipe of his tongue against the seam of your lips, you’re already complying to him. He’s pushing his tongue into your mouth, eliciting a groan from you—fuck, he loves that shit.

Yoongi explores your mouth, capturing your tongue in his mouth to suck on it. With the way your body was being pushed against his, the two of you couldn’t even tell who’s heart was racing the fastest and hardest. He’s releasing his hold on your tongue, kissing the side of your mouth before he starts leaving a trail of little kisses, stopping at your neck.

You extend your neck a bit, letting the man attack the exposed skin. He manages to easily find the one spot on your neck—that spot where if he puts enough pressure and sucks hard as he messily kisses it, it’s got you groaning in pleasure. You try to suppress your whimpers by biting down on your lip, but Yoongi wasn’t having it. His hands slide down from your waist to the curve of your ass, bringing a hand up and giving your ass a firm slap before he’s gently massaging the area. You let go of your bottom lip, letting your moans all out.

“Show your little boyfriend these marks, let him know you’re mine,” he mumbles against your skin, pulling back to see the damage he’s done.

“He’s already marked me in other places that you can’t see just by looking at me this way,” you teased, already knowing what you’re in for.

You can see his eyes turn dark, he’s poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

“Let me meet the little fucker. I want him to fuck off what’s mine. Matter of fact, if he works for me let’s call him up so he can watch me fuck you because only I know how to make you feel good, hm?” He’s separating your legs with one of his, your clothed crotch on his thigh. With his hands still on your ass, he’s pressing you down on him, encouraging you to move. It didn’t take you long to realize that you were rutting against him without any of his help. You move your hips at a rhythmic pace, your mouth slightly hanging open and tiny moans and whimpers slipping out.

“I’ve only kissed you so far and I can already feel how damp you are—you’re soaking my pants, baby,” he chuckles. “Can your little boyfriend do that?” He’s moving his head to snuggle against the side of your neck, pressing light kisses along it. “Speak up, baby,” he mumbles into your skin.

“N-no,” you whimper, eyes closed. God, it’s been way too long since you’ve done this. You haven’t done anything this intimate with anyone since Yoongi. It just never felt right to be doing this with someone that wasn’t him because he was your first for everything and you always thought he would be your last. You weren’t even able to pleasure yourself—it just always felt so much more different compared to being with Yoongi.

He’s removing his thigh from between your legs, earning a little whine from you. He’s spinning you around, bending you over his desk. You lay your head flat on the side as Yoongi takes both of your hands and hold them against the lower part of your back with one hand.

“As much as I love seeing you around work, it pisses me off that you wear these tight and short skirts,” he said, playing with the bottom of your skirt, feeling his fingers brush against the back of your thigh. “It gets all the boys in your department all bricked up—I can fucking tell. But I want them all to know that you’re off limits because you’re mine, no one else’s.” He hums, starting to push up the tight material of your skirt.

“Y-yoongi—wait!” You’re immediately shut up, whimpering when he rubs his clothed hard-on against your ass, only your tights and panties and his slacks separating the two of you.

“Fuck, baby. You have this effect on me too, can you help me take care of it?” His hand stays put, holding down your hands by the wrist against your back while the other hand grips and pulls on the skin of your ass.

“P-please Yoongi, just fuck me already,” you whine. You couldn’t handle it anymore. You were desperate to just be fucked by him. It’s been too long since you’ve had this type of pleasure and you knew that only he could fulfill it for you.

Usually those words would just send Yoongi into a frenzy, immediately taking orders. However, there was a slight shift in his demeanor, sort of hesitant to actually fuck you.

You lift your head up and look at him while he’s still behind you.

“I’m clean, Yoongi. I haven’t done anything with anyone after you,” you mumbled.

“What about your little boyfriend?”

“Heh, well—,” your voice goes high, “there isn’t a boyfriend. I just like messing with you.”

That does it. You got him pissed.

“Of course you would do that,” he snickers, releasing your hands from his hold, “you always liked it whenever I got rough with you after you teased me.”

He takes his free hand and places it onto the other side of your ass, pulling your tights apart, ripping it. The seam along your ass opens up, exposing your black thong.

“Yoongi—wait!” You squeal, finding one of his hands and holding onto it to stop him from continuing. “Are—um—are you clean?”

You watch his face soften, a small smile on his face. He’s leaning down, placing a quick peck on your lips before pulling back.

“There hasn’t been anyone after you, y/n. I’ve only wanted you and it's always going to be you.”

You swore that your heart swelled a hundred times its size. His words nearly make you want to cry. God, you’ve really missed him. You turn your head away out of being shy, laying your head down on the desk again but this time your forehead was pressed against your arms that were crossed and laid on top of each other on the desk. It’s funny how he still can manage to make your heart flutter when he’s got you in a position like this.

He lifts up a hand to slap your ass, massaging it right afterwards. You yelp, quickly looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and a pout on your face. He’s smiling at you, loving the face you made along with your pink airbrushed cheeks. His hand slides over to your panties, a finger following the material down to where it’s wet. You feel yourself clench around nothing once his finger is right on it, only being separated by the fabric.

“I’d love to tease you more, but fuck—I don’t know how long Hoseok will take doing those errands I told him to do.” He’s pulling your panties to the side, exposing your hole. Without a warning, he’s slowly sliding a finger in, causing you to mewl. “Just slid right in,” he chuckles, slowly pumping his finger in and out. “D’you mind if I fuck you already? Just like you asked me to earlier?” His head was next to yours, humming right into your ear. You start to squirm around when he slides in a second finger, his pace quickening.

“Y-yes—please—fuck,” you mumble breathlessly, “Yoongi, just fuck me already.”

Yoongi didn’t have any more patience to play around anymore. He’s already sliding his fingers out of you, muttering for you to lie down on your back with your legs spread out. You do as he says, loosely crossing your arms across your chest. It was slightly embarrassing—the way he was looking at you hungrily while your lower half was practically exposed to him.

He’s removing his blazer, a hand going up to loosen up his tie and removing it with ease. With him being left in his white button up, he rolls up the sleeves of it, only for you to notice the dark lines going everywhere on his arm. As you focus on his forearms, he’s moving his arms to his lower body, causing your vision to move down to his large, veiny hands. He’s trying to be quick with undoing his belt, but he seems to be fumbling a bit which makes you giggle. He undoes the button of his slacks, pulling out his cock from inside his pants. Yoongi watches your reaction as he holds it from the base, sliding his hand up to squeeze the top of it. You couldn’t remember how he was before, but you were sure that he’s most definitely gotten a lot bigger. His cock was on the thicker side, a decent length, as well. The mushroom-like tip of his cock was bright red and angry, precum oozing out of the slit.

Yoongi guides his cock to your hole, tugging your thong a little more to the side to get it out of his way. He drags just the tip of his cock along your wet folds, your essence coating him. You throw your head back at the feeling of his naked, hard member, your hole clenching around nothing again, impatient for his cock.

He removes himself from you, lining up his cock to your hole. You lift your head up to look back at him and his cock—you swore again that it definitely got bigger if it was even possible. He lets go of your hands, placing that hand back on your waist.

“Lemme know if you want to stop,” he mutters.

You nod your head, keeping eye contact with him until you feel him slowly pushing his tip in. You’re throwing your head back, eyes rolling back as your mouth slightly hangs open, airy moans immediately coming out of you. He’s watching you, making sure that you weren’t showing any signs of pain when he had himself completely in there. Eventually he starts to move, sliding in and out at a slow pace. His eyes keep moving from your scrunched up face to the way your pussy was swallowing him up.

God, he felt like he was going crazy. His hand and him just imagining you was never enough compared to actually being with you. He hasn’t felt you in years. You were tighter, more sensitive, and more vocal. He felt like he could just cum with the way you look right now.

“Fuck—,” he hisses. His speed quickens, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and pushing it up to expose your bra. He’s pushing it up as well, revealing your soft breasts. Yoongi is quick to latch onto one of your nipples, messily sucking on it. He’s brushing the flat of his tongue on it, using the tip of his tongue to circle around your areola before giving your hardened nipple a harsh suck. He tugs on your nipple that was gently in between his lips before he releases it, admiring how perky it looked. You were a mess underneath him, whimpering and moaning out his name all while he plays with you.

“These tits are mine,” he mumbles against your skin, moving onto the other nipple but making a quick stop on the side of your boob to suck and nibble on it, creating a faint mark.

He snaps his hips, the sound of skin hitting against each other filling the room.

“This pussy—also mine,” he grumbles.

“You—,” he snaps his hips again, earning a loud moan from you before he continues the speed he was at before, “—are also mine. Got it?”

Sentences and words weren’t able to formulate in your head and come out of your mouth. You did want to answer, but his cock was making you completely dumb in the head. He’s pulling away after giving your other nipple some attention, enjoying the way you looked while he fucked you on his desk.

“Yoongi—ah~,” you whine, feeling him rubbing your clit with his thumb. Your hands immediately go to his wrist, wrapping around it as your nails dug into his skin, trying to get him off.

“Too—too much!”

He’s quickening his pace, ignoring your comment.

“You’re taking me in so well, baby. Look at how you’re sucking me in—,” he grunts as he rams himself into you. He’s leaning into you, taking his other free hand to grab your face, squishing the sides of your cheeks. His actions cause you to pucker your lips, giving him the chance to plant a couple of quick kisses before he’s releasing his hold, the two of you immediately melting into each other.

“You’re mine,” he mumbles into your lips, “all mine.”

You’re pulling away from his lips, head turning to the side as you’re begging and repeatedly mumbling his name. He’s leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, dragging the tip of his tongue along your skin simultaneously, as he gropes one of your breasts, twisting your nipple with his index and thumb, and moves his thumb on your clit with more speed. The way you’re squeezing so tightly around him and how your moans got louder became motivation for him to be more aggressive with his thrusts.

Despite not being with each other for several years, he could still easily tell that you were at your limit, and so was he. He’s ramming himself with more force and speed than before, if that was even possible at this point, angling his hips a little better so that the tip of his cock was repeatedly hitting that one squishy and sensitive spot that has your fingernails digging further into the skin on his wrist that you continued to hold onto, and has you moaning even louder.

Yoongi pulls away, looking at you from above.

“So fucking pretty—just like always,” he mutters, “gonna fucking cum, princess?”

You didn’t bother to answer him, your mind was going blank and was spinning. The knot in you was about to snap.

“Cum for me already, baby.”

You moan out his name, releasing your hold from his wrist. Yoongi gives a couple thrusts, hips stuttering and rhythm becoming unstable before he’s groaning and releasing his warm load in you, coating your walls. He keeps himself in you, leaning forward so that he can press his body against yours, his head nuzzled against your neck. He’s slithering his arms underneath you, holding you.

The two of you lay there, heavily breathing. Just like before, you couldn’t tell who’s heartbeat was whose. It was one of the few things you could hear in the middle of this silence.

“Blind dates,” Yoongi mumbles, breaking the silence.

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, not understanding where this was going.

“My parents kept setting me up with blind dates.”

You scoff, “didn’t your parents already know about us?!”

“The parents you met before ended up getting divorced. I wanted to tell you that when I was ready to, but I never got the chance to.”

You went silent, a notion for him to keep talking:

“It was mainly my step-dad who kept setting me up on blind dates. I already told him all about you, but he insisted that I find someone else who could be more beneficial to the company. In other words, since I told him and my mom that I wanted to pursue music and that I didn’t see myself being in charge of his company in the future—who knew my mom ended up marrying some rich guy? He wanted me to be with someone who does know about dealing with business or whatever,” he sighs before continuing. “He told me to go on at least four dates—see if I end up liking any of them. I didn’t do anything with those women but sat in front of them while they just went on and talked away. I never developed any sort of feelings for any of them because all I wanted was you. How the fuck could I like any of those women if none of them are you? Was I not clear enough to my step-dad that I was crazy for you and still am?”

You felt your heart flutter again just from his words. You wanted to be mad at him like you were before but you just couldn’t. Yoongi carefully removes his arms from underneath you. He’s slowly pulling out from you, earning a whine from you from the empty feeling. He’s immediately pulling your thong back to its place, stopping any of his and your cum from leaking out. After tucking himself in, Yoongi helps pull down your skirt and get your bra and shirt back to how it was originally, keeping you from not being exposed anymore. You’re looking up at him, watching him look down at you with gentle eyes. He’s bringing a hand to the side of your face, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“I was going to tell you about the whole blind date thing and how I told my step-dad that I’d rather be the one pursuing business and have you as my girl for the rest of my life. The problem was that I had to go to university abroad instead of here. School would’ve been so god damn better if I had you there with me, long distance or not,” he’s bitterly chuckling to himself, reminiscing about his lonely days without you. “It was already too late to tell you about all that stuff because you completely cut me out of your life and didn’t give me the chance to explain myself. It made sense why you would do that, I think I would’ve done that if I was in your position too. Nevertheless, I graduated university, worked a little, and my step-dad wanted me to take his spot as CEO. I told them that I’d only take the position if I got to come back here to South Korea. My only reason for that was because I wanted to find you. I don’t know how, but somehow the world was on my side and led me right back to you.”

You could feel your eyes become a little wet, tears threatening to fall out. The feeling of relief, embarrassment, guilt, and some sort of happiness overwhelmingly took over your body. But god—you felt like an idiot. Why did your first instinct have to be cutting things off without saying anything? I mean, it does make sense to do it in that sort of scenario. But it was still Yoongi—the man who’s only had eyes for you since the beginning. How could you easily listen to people instead of directly asking Yoongi to explain himself?!

Y/n, you idiot!

The tears spill out, causing Yoongi to immediately detect it with his thumb on your cheek. He brings his other hand to the other side of your cheek, cupping your face.

“I—I’m so sorry, Yoongi,” you mumble, closing your eyes, “I’m such an asshole for just leaving you like that.”

“It’s okay, baby. Although I’m upset that we lost some time together, you could give me a half-assed apology and I’d still accept it in a heartbeat.” He hums, thumbs brushing the tears away, “I’m expecting you to make up for all of it though.”

You open your eyes to take a look at him, only to see that his eyes never left you. He’s wiggling his eyebrows a bit, puckering his lips for a second to give you hints on how he wants you to make things up to him. You roll your eyes, giggling softly at this man. He removes his hands from your face and places them on your waist to help you sit up, stopping that awkward position you were both in. Yoongi helps smooth down your hair with the palm of his hands, bringing his hands back to hold your waist. You’re quick to push him away, crossing your arms in front of your chest. He’s looking at you with confusion written all over his face.

“You know—I think you should also compensate for my all the pain I went through too. You could start by showing me what’s underneath your sleeve.”

Yoongi chuckles, a lazy smirk on his face when he realizes what you wanted. He’s unbuttoning his white top, eyes fixed on you. You couldn’t help but switch between looking at him in the eyes and looking at his large hands. He’s sliding off his top, holding the fabric all scrunched up in his hand. You look at his skin with big eyes, a small gasp escaping your mouth. Your hands immediately go to his right arm, fingertips softly tracing the lines all over his skin.

“What? Don’t like it?” He hums, smiling at the way you looked so amazed by his tattooed arm.

“I think I’m in trouble because if other girls in the office find out about you having a sleeve, they’ll all try to steal you away from me,” you joked. He laughs, shaking his head as he turns around, revealing his whole back—probably the largest piece of art he had on his body.

“Gosh, Yoongi—this is absolutely beautiful.” Your fingers glide across his skin, gently tickling him. His arms and back were somewhat muscular and fairly toned—an indication that he’s definitely been working out more often. No wonder why he’s even more good looking than before.

“Wouldn’t it be even prettier if it had your scratch marks on there?”

You lightly smack him on the back at his comment, scoffing at him. He’s laughing, turning around as he puts on his button-up again. Yoongi rests his hands on your thighs, gripping them slightly.

“As for you,” he hums, “I’ve got something in mind that can make up for everything.” He leans his head closer to yours, making his way to steal a kiss. You block him again by covering his mouth.

You clear your throat, looking at him with innocent eyes. “Mr. Min, I’ve got to go back and finish up all the work you’ve assigned to me. I think it’s about time that I take my leave.”

He rolls his eyes, pulling back away from you just to dig into the back of pocket and take his phone out. He’s dialing a number and putting the phone to his ear before mumbling ‘one second’ to you.

“Hoseok, cancel and reschedule all meetings and plans I have today. Something important came up and I’d like to put all my focus on it for today. Also, please place y/n on leave for today. She expressed how exhausted she is as I’ve been overworking her. I’d like for her to get some rest for today and that we stop giving her the extra work that I’ve been assigning her. Thank you.”

He’s already shoving his phone back into his pocket, his eyes going straight back to yours. You look at him with a raised eyebrow, clicking your tongue and slightly shaking your head at his actions.

“Mr. Min, I don’t think you should be abusing your powers like that.”

Yoongi laughs lowly, amused with the way you were teasing with him like that.

“You know I don’t like you calling me that, right baby?” He hums, bringing a hand up to twirl a piece of your hair around his finger. “I want to focus on you today and make up for all the years we lost together. And I’ve got a couple of things in mind that we can do.”

“Pffft—can’t believe you, Yoongi.”

He smiles at you, cupping your face with his hands again.

“I’m in love with you, you know that?”

“It seems pretty clear to me.” He’s leaning in to press a soft kiss on your lips, you giggle against his lips during the process. Yoongi pulls away, looking at you with a face that’s waiting for certain words to come out of your mouth. You roll your eyes with a smile on your face, placing a hand on top of his and squeezing it gently. “I still love you and have always loved you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi smiles cheekily, the ends of his mouth reaching his ears. He was ecstatic to hear you say that to him, it’s all he’s been wanting to hear after all these years.

“Now that’s settled, I’d like to continue what we were doing here at my apartment.”

“Shouldn’t you be taking me on a date first? I mean technically we just started dating.”

He scoffs, “I’ll take you on all the dates you want, baby. But right now, all I want is you. I need more of you.”

Yoongi was desperate for another round, maybe even a couple more. You could tell that he was hungry for you just by the way he was looking at you. Once you accept his offer you already know that you’re in for it—you’re definitely going to be in lots of trouble.

-

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#min yoongi #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi drabble #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi imagine #yoongifis

[theesotericedition]

‘Toru’s Girl

Pairings: Satoru x (Fem!)Reader and Suguru x Satoru x (Fem!) Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Reader is called girl, and girlfriend but is never physically described (besides having eyes lol), masturbation, possessiveness, mentions of inflicting pain, cursefucker!Suguru, mentions of likening oneself to a monster, Suguru smokes a cigarette, Satoru being an asshat. Space cadet, melodramatic Suguru experiencing a bisexual awakening and a breakdown.

Summary: Reader and Satoru Gojo are a new couple, Suguru Geto finds himself jealous of his friends for more reasons than even he knew. Follow Suguru as he unearths his deeper (darker) feelings for his friends.

Notes: All characters are aged up, it’s Jujutsu Tech College over here y’all. This entire fic is inspired by the shower scene, you know the one. The idea for this fic came to me while listening to this song. While writing it, I also thought of and listened to this song and this song.

Satoru is his friend. Suguru stood staring himself down in the mirror, having to remind himself. Sobering himself to his situation. The water on his body cooling, having met the air. It beaded up in his hair and rolled down his back. Grounding himself in his reality. His feet were cold on the tile floor of the bathroom. Satoru is his best friend. The only person that has been here for him. Satoru is the only person that’s been able to help him get used to the sorcerer world, this reality. So much has changed and it keeps changing. There’s nothing left to hold on to. Suguru’s awareness came back to the sound of the faucet still on. He watched the water hurdle down the drain. This time the change wasn’t hard to define. But that didn’t make it any easier.

Suguru watched your eyes, they were glued to Satoru. All while Satoru yapped on about some nonsense that probably only you could pretend to stomach. He could see his reflection in your eyes. The way the morning sun showed off the twinkle in your eye, Suguru could tell that not only did you want Satoru, but that you are just as much of a smartass as him. He could see the love, desire, and the smug comeback you had for Satoru all before the words left your lips. Suguru could stay lost in your eyes, if they would ever meet his gaze.

“Hey, man!” Satoru snapped his fingers in Suguru's face. “Are you sleeping enough lately?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Suguru shrugged and leaned back in his seat.

“We’re getting ice cream before I have to do a field assignment today.” Suguru couldn’t tell if you were rubbing it in his face or inviting him to be a third wheel.

“Come with us, get out of your dorm. The rest of your day is gonna be boring anyway.” Satoru’s gorgeous smile was full of teeth that were going to fall out of his head if he continued to let his sweet tooth take charge of his diet. Not that Suguru found himself to be one to talk, he had a collection of unhealthy habits. Maybe that’s what’s left of their humanity.

"I've got something better to do today than rot my teeth with you two.” Suguru lied. “But I'll make time." The smile he faked felt real for a passing moment.

Suguru walked behind you and Satoru on the way to the creamery. He'd gone with Satoru countless times before you started tagging along. So why was he the one "tagging along" now? He watched your hips sway as you walked. It made him sick. He couldn't help but imagine your hips rocking and swaying on his best friend's cock. Satoru's arm around you began to wonder. Groping you in public?! Satoru would be so audacious. The way Satoru's arm fit around you so well left a lonely spot around Suguru. In that moment Suguru wished someone would hold him like that.

You and Gojo split some obscene pile of sugar. Chatting, giggling. You were animated as you talked, it wiggled the booth Suguru was sharing with you. The side of your body rubbed against his. Suguru wanted to plant his hand on your thigh to steady you, to feel you. Suguru questioned if he’d ever find someone like you, or if he’d have to take you. Suguru smirked to himself, he could have you if he wanted to. He fought away the thought. Suguru felt dirty for wanting you so badly. You belonged to Satoru, and as much as Suguru tried to respect that, he couldn’t accept it.

Suguru found himself playing along. Pretending that you and he could share Satoru, that you and he could be just friends. He couldn’t find another way to have both you and Satoru in his life so why change things? He wouldn’t lose his best friend just to have you. Not in his right mind. It was painfully sweet to have the both of you at his side and yet just out of reach. There was no reason to tear down the dynamic you and Satoru had built. You were happy, and Suguru thought he could learn to be. Suguru pulled himself from his thoughts when he noticed the tone of the discussion had changed.

“You mad?” Satoru taunted you. “As far as I can tell, you don’t have an argument.” Satoru winked at you before going back to his side of the sundae milkshake you were sharing with him. Suguru found it hard to tell when the two of you were flirting or arguing.

“Satoru, you shouldn't pick on your girlfriend. You’re hardly hearing her out.” Suguru tutted.

“Who else am I supposed to pick on then? You?” Satoru challenged Suguru, a sugarcoated shiteating grin spread across his face. “Ya think you know how to treat my girlfriend better than me?” Satoru’s words cut deeper than he knew.

“That’s enough.” You put your foot down. “This has nothing to do with what we were debating” You rolled your eyes. “I was enjoying our discussion until you two derailed it. I’m the one who’s going to have to go deal with some cursed spirit later, can we please just have a nice time?” You reached out and touched both their hands. Suguru smiled and his heart fluttered when you smiled back.

“It’s irrelevant that curses exist in context with the regular public, when they can’t even see them. What does it matter that they see us?” Satoru cleared his throat and settled back into the discourse the two of you were having.

Suguru recognized his age-old gotcha question and it was Suguru’s turn to roll his eyes. But he kept his opinions to himself this time. Having already argued that very topic into the ground to no avail, he opted to watch you try your hand at it while enjoying his milkshake.

As the two of you continued to talk at length Suguru couldn’t help but start to compare himself to Satoru, and wonder what exactly it was you saw in his best friend. Satoru is smarter, and very handsome in a different way, but Suguru judged himself to be much more charismatic, polite, and in touch with his emotions. All things Satoru lacked. Satoru is shameless, rude, but admittedly confident. Satoru’s confidence and jovialness were definitely his charms. His unique looks were captivating. Satoru has those gorgeous eyes everyone knows about but Suguru wondered if anyone had seen them as up close and personal as he had. Surely no one else has felt how soft Satoru’s tousled hair is, except maybe he’d have let you. So many things are effortless for Satoru, and the long and lean form of his body accentuates his grace, Satoru has poise when he wants to. Other times he does come off as lanky and awkward, its purposeful Suguru supposes, he does it in an attempt to be humorous. Which Satoru is not so effortless in. Suguru treasures how hard Satoru tries to make him laugh.

Suguru shook his head. He lit a cigarette and sighed out his first draw as he watched you kiss Satoru goodbye. You split away from Suguru and Satoru disappearing into the sea of pedestrians, it was just the two of them now. Walking back to campus together. The heartbeat of nostalgia was flatlined with melancholy. It stung in his chest. The ache of carrying unspoken feelings used the smoke in his lungs to tie a knot in his throat. He felt like his hands had rope burn from holding on to old times.

“You could be here with me right now.” Satoru hinted, a small knowing smile on his face.

“What?” Suguru stammered, only having heard pieces of what Satoru said.

“You’ve been stuck in here more recently.” Satoru jabbed his finger at the side of Suguru’s head. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Satoru shrugged.

“No worries.” Smoke trailed from Suguru’s mouth.

“Yeah, because you definitely do all of that for me.” Satoru wrapped an arm around Suguru’s shoulders. “Maybe I could try doing some of the worrying for you.” Satoru offered.

“No, I’m fine.” Suguru instinctually pushed away what was happening as he started to get overwhelmed. Satoru’s eyes wandered behind his heavily tinted glasses. He noticed Suguru’s body language changed into something he didn’t recognize. Timidness? It didn’t suit Suguru at all.

“Then pretend I didn’t say anything.” Satoru sighed. His hand trailed down Suguru’s side. Suguru felt like he was trying to play it cool while a snake wrapped around him. Satoru’s hand settled on Suguru’s hip and Suguru let it stay there.

Suguru’s white knuckle grip clenched the sides of the sink. He thought maybe if he looked hard enough into the eyes of this alternate self standing in front of him that then maybe they could swap places. Maybe then, life would be easier. Life would be different. Why was he here alone in his dorm room? Especially now, when there was a chance in that alternate reality he was peering into, he was in Satoru’s room. No, in this reality he chose to be alone with his spiraling thoughts. What was that? He asked himself for maybe the thousandth time because his feet were too heavy to walk next door and ask Satoru why he did what he did on their walk here. What didn’t you see in him that you saw in Satoru? What did Satoru see in him? A friend? Or something more? How would that make you feel?

Wasn’t love supposed to be what you and Satoru had? Not whatever feeling was happening to Suguru. Still, the more he felt like a monster the closer he felt to finding what this feeling must be. Suguru often liked to think about his feelings. He liked to find the logic in them, to make sense of things, to make things right. He never thought it’d feel so good to feel wrong. Suguru was never one to let go of his senses. There was always a point, always a cause, always a reason. Something deep inside him was calling on him to let go. Maybe Satoru had finally gotten to him? Satoru never had a cause, never stood for anything but himself. Satoru had you because he was selfish enough to claim you as his. What was love if not the jealousy inside Suguru that had grown large enough to eat you both?

Suguru’s hair stuck to the back of his neck. He pulled his hair into a bun to get it off of himself and peeled off his damp shirt. If he kept thinking about you and Satoru he was going to have to shower for the second time today. His thoughts waivered, flickering between lust and intrusive memories of different exorcisms he had performed. What if he could exorcise you like a curse? What would you taste like? What would Satoru taste like? How would Satoru feel inside him? How would it feel for the two of you to be utterly consumed by him?

“Fuck.” Suguru groaned low and breathy when he finally acknowledged how his body was reacting to his thoughts.

Still frozen in the eye of his own storm he could hardly bring himself to move. His hand at his side slowly drifts towards his core. He sighs again as his fist wraps around himself. His hips instinctively rut against his hand. Suguru hisses through his teeth, he opens his eyes he didn’t realize he had closed as he tries to bring back a part of him that isn’t just an animal. He settles against the cold tile wall of the bathroom, tightening his grip when he decides to fully give in to himself.

He pulls himself free of his pants and already beads of precum throb out of him and flow through the spaces between his fingers. His muscles twitch and his breath shakes as he tames himself. He starts a rhythm that’s just steady enough to appease himself. His strokes have a twist to them, like he’s wringing the precum out of himself. He moans, biting his lip hard enough for it to sting.

Maybe Satoru had you, maybe Satoru wanted you, but Suguru needed you. Suguru could feel himself losing who he thought he was. Nothing would make sense anymore without you, without Satoru. That’s why he needed you, why he clung to you. That’s why he’d dig his nails into you until he drew blood, just to hear you scream his name. His cock pulsed in his hand at the thought. He scraped his thumbnail up from the base to the tip, following the engorged vein up his shaft.

The sounds of pleasure bounce off the bathroom walls, echoing around Suguru. He was surrounded by himself in more ways than one. His movements become sloppier, his rhythm increases to a brutal pace, the same way he imagines he’d fuck you. Overpowering, all consuming, a force you’d be powerless against. Suguru could hear you brainlessly begging as he fucked you stupid. He bet Satoru never hurt you, but he would, and you’d love it.

Suguru’s movements became erratic, his chest heaved and his mind raced. He was reaching a fever pitch and balancing on a razor sharp edge. He could feel the ghost of Satoru’s hand on his hip. He could see in his mind Satoru knelt before him. Suguru envisioned you next to him with a look of post-orgasm high kissing up and down his neck, all while your boyfriend Satoru sucked him off. Satoru was so high above everyone. Satoru was unreachable, and untouchable. If Satoru ever stooped down to Suguru’s level, Suguru would make him live to regret it. If it was a fair fight, Suguru would win. If Satoru ever showed a shred of humanity Suguru would crush it between his teeth and revel in the feeling of it oozing down his chin and neck. He’d make Satoru what he knew he was really born to be, the strongest curse of them all.

Suguru’s breathing stuttered at the thought of the two of you becoming curses, and living under his control. The two of you belong to him. A low moan rattled his chest as he came hard. Thick ropes of white cum spurt onto his chest. One lands on his chin, another on his chewed and swollen bottom lip. His tongue lazily swipes it up as he opens his mouth panting to catch his breath. He groans and peels himself off the wall. Leaning forward he turned the faucet handle to start a shower.

#stsg #satosugu #poly satosugu #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #suguru x reader #suguru x you #geto x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x reader #satosugu x reader #geto smut #getou suguru smut

[theharrowing]

Denim & Strawberry

When Yoongi gets invited to watch his crush perform, he has no idea what to expect. Jimin stripping on stage and singing a sultry little number while tugging on his hair is definitely not what Yoongi had in mind, but who is he to complain?

"You could have just asked me out," Yoongi teases, raising his drink to his lips before adding, "no need to put on a whole show." Jimin's mouth falls open again, and he steps close, leaning to speak into Yoongi's ear. "Ah, but you liked the show, didn't you hyung?"

🍓 Yoongi x Jimin

🍓 word count: 19.6k 🙈

🍓 friends to lovers, burlesque au, porn without plot, tooth-rotting fluff, slash, nsfw, 18+

🍓 warnings: top yoongi, bottom jimin. jimin has pink hair and yoongi has a half-up top-knot. this is more or less porn with very little plot. recreational drug use (weed smoking.) jimin performing burlesque and singing while being a flirt. light hair pulling. the burgundy suit from jimin's filter performance, and his kitty gang jacket, and cute lingerie. a hint of jealous/possessive behavior. bickering as a form of flirting. the tiniest hint of sub/dom vibes. safe word establishment. teasing & light humiliation. a little begging. use of good boy and slutty. jimin is shy at times but also a brat and yoongi fights the urge to tame him. a lot of drool, spit, lube, and cum. dirty talk. so much god damn praising. anal (plug, play, eating, fingering, sex.) messy blow job. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. yoongi loves to discuss boundaries & check in. lots of heaven/angel comparisons but only because yoongi is a sucker for how ethereal jimin is (it's not that deep.) too many positions (what was i thinking???) subspace. mating press. cock-warming. after care. tooth-rotting fluff.

🍓 note: a yoonmin fic + jimin doing burlesque was some brainrot shared between @echotoyou and i that i decided to write when their birthday was approaching. but then the big day came and went, and i lost control of this beast for a very long time. she is finally ready hehe. i hope you all (but especially mg!) enjoy!!! finally my years of being a photographer for a burlesque troupe and dating a performer have come in handy for my writing lolol.

🍓 listen along: 🎵 streets by doja cat & yeah, i said it by rhianna (thank you to @sailoryooons for these song choices!!!)

🍓 beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🍓 posted august 2023 | read on ao3

Yoongi pats his pockets down one last time, fingertips tentatively grazing lumps beneath denim. Phone…wallet…keys. That's everything. He presses the lock button on his open car door, then closes it. In his pocket, his phone buzzes. 

Namjoon Hyung, are you close?

Yoongi Just parked.

Namjoon  Okay, good. Just making sure you don’t miss anything. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes but smiles. He has no idea what to expect – nobody has told him much – but Jimin did say, over and over again, that it was fine if he could not make it. That he would be thrilled if Yoongi could come but understood if he could not. That there would be other shows. 

But of course, Yoongi did everything in his power to make it. This is Jimin, after all.  

He slides his hands into the pockets of his black denim jacket and moseys from the small parking lot to the sidewalk and around the corner. There is a small congregation of people smoking and loitering outside, under a bright red neon sign that reads Paradise. Yoongi has never been to this bar before – tends to avoid spots on this side of town because it is more popular with college kids, and therefore, the drinks are overpriced. 

Everyone outside is done up in some flashy way, wearing sequins and fishnets, glittering eye makeup, and patent leather. Yoongi feels underdressed, wearing a black band tee tucked into black skinny jeans, with a black jacket and black work boots, and he awkwardly runs a hand through his dark, wavy, unstyled, and overgrown hair. 

"Yoongi!" a familiar voice shouts, and he looks up in time to find his friend Jeongguk waving him over, past the closest group of smokers. 

Even his friends are all dressed up, with sparkly eye glitter and tight, colorful clothing. Hoseok and Jeongguk are in mesh, Taehyung has a burgundy feather boa, and Seokjin and Namjoon are both wearing leather pants. Since when did the two of them own leather pants?

"Ya, you're dressed like a scrub!" Seokjin shouts, making Yoongi's cheeks warm in an instant.

"Nobody told you a single thing about the event tonight, did they?" Namjoon asks sympathetically.

Yoongi shrugs, mutters, "No," and digs his hands further into his pockets. 

Taehyung approaches, using his pinkies to brush the hair away from Yoongi's face, cradling a pot of light blue glitter between his fingers. "He probably wanted it to be a surprise," he mutters lowly, unscrewing the pot. "Don't let them make you feel self-conscious."

"I don't," Yoongi responds softly, feeling incredibly self-conscious. He stands still while Taehyung dabs his fingertip into the glitter and allows him to smudge it around his eyes. In the early days of their friendship, Yoongi probably would have fussed, but these days, he lets the youngest two – Taehyung and Jeongguk – do whatever they want.

Jeongguk approaches, unscrewing a stick of pink, shiny lip gloss, and Yoongi huffs out a sigh but stands as still as he can while Jeongguk applies it. "Should put your hair into a bun or something," he mutters before he and Taehyung trade places so Taehyung can smudge blue glitter onto his other eye. 

"Your hair is really pretty, hyung," Taehyung adds, screwing the top of the glitter pot back on and sliding it into his very tight white slacks. "You should let me style it."

"Don't we have to go inside?" Yoongi asks.

"We'll head in when the emcee comes on," Hoseok responds, approaching with a mischievous smile. Without asking, he grabs Yoongi's right arm and pulls at the black hair tie that he always keeps on his wrist, then begins separating the top half of Yoongi's hair and making a bun on the top. "Jimin goes on third or fourth."

"What is he doing tonight, again?" Yoongi asks, throwing in the again to make it seem like he may have been privy to information in the past, in case it makes one of them divulge even a crumb of information. 

"A little singing," Hoseok mutters, grinning. "You know how it is."

"I literally do not know how it is," Yoongi responds, finally becoming impatient with his friends touching and fixing him. 

"You'll see, hyung," Hoseok says as he takes a step back, inspects his handy work, and nods.

Taehyung returns with a knit brow and reaches up to fix Yoongi's glittery makeup, which he allows for a moment before swatting him away, grumbling, "Okay, enough."

"Alright, grumpy cat," Namjoon teases, then passes him a freshly lit joint. "Here."

Yoongi reaches for the joint and takes a hit, letting the smoke fill his lungs before tilting his head upward and releasing it. Then he holds out his hand for the next person to take it, and rolls his shoulders back. 

"What kind of song is Jimin singing?" Yoongi half-mutters, expecting next to nothing in response. 

Taehyung simply says, "You'll see, hyung,"  with a wink. 

“Is it an original song?” Yoongi tries. He can’t remember Jimin ever talking about songwriting, but he wouldn’t put it past him; Jimin is full of surprises. 

The sound of someone shouting into a microphone can be heard, and Yoongi stands at attention, ready to go inside. He can hear people cheering and loud pop music playing. 

“Shall we?” Taehyung asks as he takes one last drag at the diminishing joint and hands it to Yoongi. 

Yoongi nods and takes another hit, cradling the tiny roached joint between his thumb and forefinger, then holds it out for the others, all of whom hold their hands up and shake their heads. With one last puff, Yoongi flicks it into the street, then shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets. 

“Is Jimin part of the opening act?” Yoongi asks, and Seokjin snickers. 

“He’s one of the main acts,” Namjoon supplies unhelpfully. 

So he must be headlining, Yoongi assumes. 

“Hyung is so unobservant when he’s nervous,” Jeongguk teases, and Taehyung chuckles along with him. 

“I’m not nervous,” Yoongi grumbles.

He glances around and sees flyers for various events taped to the windows for drag and burlesque shows, and a few for various bands, none of which shows any images of Jimin, or any other performers he has ever seen before. In his pockets, his hands prickle with sweat, and he imagines what kind of instrument Jimin might play. Or maybe he only sings. 

Jimin is a somewhat new addition to their friend group, brought in by Taehyung and Hoseok; they all work together. To say Yoongi is smitten would be the understatement of the century. And although Yoongi thinks Jimin may also be interested in him, they have not spoken too much about anything outside of college and work, only seeing one another as part of the larger friend group.

As a major in theater arts with a minor in dance, Jimin works at a local studio teaching children tap and ballet as an assistant to Hoseok. Occasionally, Taehyung substitutes for the older lady who plays piano for the classes. It was natural for them to come together, all close in age, with Hoseok only a year older than the other two.

When Jimin invited Yoongi to come watch him perform, they were all tipsy from one too many bottles of soju. Jeongguk was the last in their friend group to graduate college, and they were all celebrating with drinks and fried chicken. 

Even then, when Yoongi asked what kind of show it was, everyone was giggly and secretive. From that moment, he got the feeling that Jimin was definitely flirting with him, with the way his gaze lingered, lips curled into a smile long after Yoongi made him laugh. The more Jimin insisted Yoongi needed to just go and experience the event first-hand, nibbling on his pillowy lip with a somewhat shy, rosy-cheeked grin, Yoongi felt eager to do anything he wanted him to. 

“Of course, I’ll be there,” Yoongi promised, and he meant it. 

The cheers inside grow louder, and Taehyung takes up the lead, stepping into the bar. Namjoon slings an arm over Yoongi’s shoulder and gently shoves him along with the group. Yoongi reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, but Taehyung mutters something to the door guy, who looks at a list of names and then waves the six of them inside. 

Taehyung leads them down a short hallway, into the bar. A long counter lines the left wall, with patrons leaning against it both to order drinks, and to chat with one another. Past the bar top, at the end of the venue, is a stage, and on stage is a woman lip-synching to some upbeat pop song while waving big white feather fans in front of her, enticing the audience to want to see what the fans are covering. 

Yoongi has seen clips of performances like this but has never attended this type of show before, and his gaze lingers on the woman, who winks and blows kisses to cheering audience members before Namjoon leads him over to get a drink. 

The music is loud and a little tackier than Yoongi’s usual taste, but the bass line thrums through the speakers straight into his bloodstream, building his nervousness to see Jimin, egged on by feeling somewhat high. He wonders what kind of performance Jimin might put on at an event like this, and he cannot imagine what it could be. 

“Hyung?” Taehyung asks, tilting his head toward the waiting tender. “First one is on me.”

What he would like is a nice scotch neat, but since Taehyung is paying, he finds a mid-tier whiskey and gets it with a spritz of soda water. The others order, and by the time they step away from the bar, the woman’s song is at its climax, and she is topless, wearing lacy red underwear and bouncing in a way that spins the red tassel pasties on her breasts in a circle. The action makes him chuckle, and when she bows and leaves the stage, he claps his fingers against the back of the hand holding his drink. 

“Burlesque, huh?” Yoongi asks, turning to Namjoon while a man in drag takes the stage. 

Namjoon waggles his eyebrows while taking a sip from the bright blue concoction in his hands. 

“Is Jimin also doing burlesque?” Yoongi asks, earning him a shrug. 

Yoongi decides to just stop asking. Clearly, his friends are determined to be completely useless. 

Although there is a decent crowd in the bar, most people are mingling about, watching the stage from a distance, or whispering amongst themselves. The emcee introduces another act and leaves the stage, replaced by a person with a very nicely manicured mustache and beard wearing a big orange wig and vintage blue dress. They prance around the stage, lip-synching to a silly pop song that Yoongi has never heard before, winning cheers and applause from the crowd.

Yoongi wonders if Jimin will also come out in drag, and what kind of a gimmick he might have. Would he wear a dress? High heels? A wig? Yoongi imagines Jimin with the bright, exaggerated makeup on and smiles to himself; he bets Jimin would look really pretty. 

Taehyung leads the group toward the stage, taking his place just left of the center. The others file in behind him, with Yoongi keeping some distance from the very front. The performer comes by, lip-synching to Taehyung, who pulls some money from his pocket and holds it up while the performer bends and offers their cleavage for him to slide the notes into. 

"I don't have any cash," Yoongi grumbles toward Taehyung when the song ends and the performer exits. "Will I need any for Jimin?"

"I got you," Taehyung responds, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of notes, shoving them into Yoongi's empty hand before he has a chance to protest. 

Yoongi attempts to straighten out the notes while holding onto his drink. Meanwhile, the emcee returns to the stage. 

"Our next performer is a fan favorite," the emcee says with an exaggerated waggle of their eyebrows. Around them, the crowd becomes dense, with someone bumping shoulders and elbows into Yoongi as they get close to the stage. The emcee continues, "A man who needs no introduction because, let's be honest, you're all here to see him…Jimin."

The stage lights go out, and there is some movement – a person carrying items, as well as the light clacking of heels on the wooden stage. Yoongi's heart goes wild in his chest, and he lifts his drink to his lips, watching ahead for more movement in the dark, eager to not miss a thing when the lights come back on.

A red glow illuminates the back edge of the stage, showing the silhouette of Jimin sitting on what looks like a standard black folding chair. He is sideways on the chair with one leg crossed over the other, his arm draped over the back of the chair, and his head tilted back. He appears to be wearing a jacket and slacks, but it is hard to tell. 

Also on the stage is a tall, wooden coat rack, and hanging from it appears to be a short mesh robe with fur trim along the sleeves and bottom hem. 

Beside Yoongi, a man loudly whispers, "I fucking love Jimin; just wait," to someone else, and Yoongi shifts a little on his feet with anticipation and something like envy stirring in his guts. 

A yellow spotlight comes on, shining on Jimin. He wears a fitted burgundy suit and black leather boots with a heel and pointed toe. His light pink hair is styled off his forehead, and he appears to be wearing makeup around his eyes, but it is hard to clearly see. In his hand, which is draped over his knee, is a burgundy wide-brimmed hat. 

A familiar oldie comes on, a pop track from the 1950s, and Jimin slowly uncrosses his legs and places both feet on the floor. Female voices sing sweetly before Paul Anka's voice croons, "Put your head on my shoulder."

Only, before the sentence is finished, the song abruptly changes to a sexy R&B track with a trap beat. In that moment, the yellow spotlights turn red, the hat is dropped to the floor, and Jimin's hands are on the chair, supporting his weight as his body bows upward. Briefly, Yoongi thinks he recognizes the song from a bunch of tiktoks Hoseok has made him watch. 

The crowd cheers as Jimin rolls his body, then sits and rotates, facing the audience and spreading his legs. A woman's voice comes through, singing, "Like you…like you…like you…I find it hard to find someone like you," while Jimin rolls his shoulders and hips to the song, leaning forward and then back, holding onto this chair as he lifts his hips and lolls his head.

Yoongi is stunned, gripping onto his drink while he watches Jimin stand, spin the chair around and sit once more with his back to the audience and head tipped back while his hands rove over his body. His fingertips lift and fall to the rhythm of the song while they work their way down, down, down Jimin's body, difficult to clearly see and stirring up so many mental images. 

Jimin's shoulders and hips sway while his hands disappear, and then he pulls open the burgundy jacket. Everyone around him roars excitedly, cheering and applauding. Jimin holds onto the lapels and turns his head, teasing the audience with his opened jacket before he stands and lets the garment slip down past his shoulders, revealing a matching burgundy button-up that is tucked into his matching slacks and clings tightly to his arms and waist.

With a slow, deep swish of his hips, Jimin faces the audience and begins to rip the dress shirt open from the collar, sending buttons skittering across the stage, earning him whoops and shouts. With a strip of skin exposed, he walks over to the coat rack, turns it in a circle, and dips it as if he were dancing with a person, causing the mesh robe hanging from it to sway.

Each movement of Jimin's body is fluid, clothing clinging to his torso and thighs in a way that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. He wears tighter clothing sometimes when they all hang out, but this is the first time Yoongi has really allowed himself to look.

For just a split second, while Jimin is holding the coat rack as if he is cradling the back and neck of a person and lip-synching to the song, it seems like he makes eye contact with Yoongi, causing Yoongi to hold his breath and heavy-blink through the well of excitement and shyness that he feels. It almost looks as if the edges of Jimin's lips lift ever so slightly, but then he releases the rack and spins away from it, swishing his hips as he dips down low and continues to rip open and untuck the button-up shirt with his eyelids fluttering closed. 

Yoongi practically forgets there is a song playing, focused so intently on Jimin, that when the singer begins to rap – quick and raspy – matched by Jimin's movements of tearing away the garment and revealing a bare torso with little light-colored heart pasties on his nipples, Yoongi sucks in a gasp that gets caught in his throat, nearly making him choke. Jimin’s bare chest and abdominals are chiseled – carved from the finest clay with careful hands. Yoongi lifts his drink quickly, taking a gulp of bitter whiskey and soda water while the crowd goes wild. 

In a swift movement, the pants are torn away from Jimin's waist, revealing long, muscular legs and shiny briefs that match the pasties. Jimin sinks into a squat, rubbing his hands over his legs. Then he sits and lifts one of his legs into a high split, giving Yoongi a very clear eyeful of a bulge and taut thigh muscle, making his mouth fall open. 

Jimin unzips the boot from the foot suspended in the air and tosses it aside, then drops his leg down and sweeps his other leg out in a half-squat, half-split while he drags his hands down the length of his leg to the other boot, unzips it, and tosses it near the other one. 

He spins, gets onto his knees, which are spread, and rolls his hips, lifting and dropping his ass while his hands rove up to his neck and hair, and his head lolls back. All he wears is shiny briefs and pasties, making Yoongi feel more intoxicated than the glass of whiskey ever could. 

The group to Yoongi's right is particularly loud, cheering for Jimin and shouting things like, "That's it, baby, show us how you ride it!" making a shiver run along Yoongi's spine. The objectification makes him feel uncomfortable, but he wonders whether Jimin cares, considering he clearly enjoys stripping for an audience; maybe that is all part of the thrill. Yoongi can't say he blames him. 

The song fades out as Jimin gets onto his hands and knees and crawls over to the coat rack, then slowly gets to his feet. As the music ends, the red lights fade to regular spotlights, revealing the briefs, pasties, and mesh robe – which Jimin pulls from the rack and begins to put on – are all a light pink color that matches his hair. 

Jimin ties the robe with a cord around his waist, standing barefoot while looking out at the crowd with a soft smile. The audience roars with applause and praise, and Yoongi expects Jimin's performance to be over, but then a stagehand in all black runs out, collects the discarded clothing while another sweeps a large broom across the floor to kick away loose buttons, and he hands Jimin a microphone that has been covered in light pink rhinestones. 

Once the men wearing black disappear behind tall curtains, a new song begins, also a slow R&B track, and Jimin lifts the microphone and starts singing, slowly swaying his hips and approaching the front of the stage. 

Yeah, yeah…yeah, yeah… I ain't tryna think about it, no

Taehyung takes a step back, wraps his arm around Yoongi's waist, and pulls him closer to the stage, causing Yoongi to fumble as Jimin approaches. He stands still as a statue with his hands in front of his chest – wad of notes that Taehyung gave him wedged between two fingers while both hands grip tight to his cold, condensation-covered glass of whiskey and soda water. 

Jimin's eyes find Yoongi, and he smiles, tilting his head sweetly to the side. To his right, the guys who had been cheering loudly try to close in and reach forward, but Jimin ignores them, looming over Yoongi while he sings in a soft, sweet voice, delivering lyrics that have Yoongi's cheeks absolutely burning. 

Yeah, I said it, boy, get up inside itI want you to homicide it

As Jimin lifts a hand and reaches out, Yoongi steps forward instinctively, knocking the toe of his boot into the front of the wooden stage, head tilted upward with his eyes never leaving Jimin's face. Around him, hands reach out with money, and some even toss notes to the stage, but Jimin ignores all of it. 

Go in slow, but I want you to pipe it And I think I kinda like ya Up against the wall, we don't need a title

But Jimin does take the wad of notes that stick out from between Yoongi's fingers, tugging them right out of his weak grasp, and he snakes his hand under the robe and tucks it into the side of his little pink briefs, making Yoongi breathe out a soft chuckle. 

Beside him, the guy who seems intent on getting Jimin's attention mutters, "Who the fuck is this guy?" just loud enough that Yoongi can hear him, and pride begins to burn behind his ribs. 

Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it, man, fuck a title

Gently, Jimin reaches out toward Yoongi's head, eyes widening and brows slightly lifting as if asking for permission, and Yoongi nods while letting out a shaky breath. Fingers delicately push into his hair, tugging on strands as Jimin takes a handful and releases it, pulling away while dragging his fingertips against Yoongi's cheek. Even the gentlest touch feels electric, and Yoongi sways slightly forward when Jimin's hand drops away. 

Boy, I always like to show Get a little bit, come a little close, now

Arousal builds, and Yoongi feels a bit ashamed considering he and Jimin are friends, and Jimin is hardly touching him in a way that should warrant blood rushing to his dick. But Jimin looks like pure sin wrapped in inviting pink, and the way he stares at Yoongi is playful in a way he has never seen him look. 

Take it home on your camera phone Get a little bad, watch me blow it down

Jimin sinks to his knees, still taller than Yoongi but closer to eye level. With one hand, Jimin reaches for Yoongi's drink, then he has a sip of it and sets it down on the stage. Yoongi's hand stays in the same shape as if the glass had never been removed, and he is not sure what is sexier, the fact that Jimin takes the glass straight from his hand, or that he doesn't even flinch after essentially drinking carbonated whiskey.

Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it… Ooh

With a smirk, Jimin slinks to the very edge of the stage, knees practically bumping into Yoongi's hips. He slips his microphone into Yoongi's hand and lifts it until Yoongi has it in front of his face, as if he is supposed to sing the next line, and then he drapes his arms over Yoongi's shoulders, leans in, and continues. 

Yeah, I said it… Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it… Ooh 

From this close, Yoongi can see a dusting of shimmery pink on Jimin's eyelids, which are lined in black. His lips are glossy, he smells like strawberries, and Yoongi feels stunned in place, questioning whether or not all of this is a dream. Could his friends have slipped something in the weed? Could he be hallucinating?

Jimin sings higher, each word more inviting than the last. 

You can be rough, boy, but you won't

One of Jimin's hands slides into Yoongi's hair, and starting from the nape of his neck, he takes a handful. Everyone in the bar fades away; as far as Yoongi is concerned, the only two people in the room are himself and the beauty before him. 

Yoongi wonders if this is how Jimin's performances typically go. Does he always pick someone from the audience to tease? Is he always this handsy?

Give me some love, boy, give it to me 'til the morn'

With a gentle tug at his hair, Yoongi practically whimpers, watching as Jimin's lips pull into a sweet, devious smile. Jimin holds onto Yoongi while swaying side to side, knees spreading wide as he dips low and closing as he sits a little higher. 

Jimin continues singing—

Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it…

—but he seems less focused on sounding good for the audience and more interested in gently tugging Yoongi's hair and making him gradually fall apart. Soon, he is no longer singing at all, and he releases Yoongi's hair and drags his hand around his neck, past his throat and chin, then up and away, making Yoongi lean forward as if pulled by an invisible string. 

Yoongi wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, and Jimin seems to follow the movement before gently tugging his microphone out of Yoongi's tight, sweaty grasp and getting to his feet. Only then, does Yoongi realize the music is fading out. Jimin does a cute little twirl and opens his arms wide, bowing as the audience erupts into cheers, leaving Yoongi too stunned to clap. 

The emcee returns to the stage to announce an intermission, and the house lights come on, brightening the space. The crowd thins, and Yoongi heavy-blinks as he takes in his surroundings and allows his soul to return to his body while Jimin prances away, glancing over his shoulder to wink at Yoongi before slipping behind the black curtain. 

Two large, warm hands crash into Yoongi's shoulders, and he jumps, sucks in a gasp, and turns to find Namjoon staring at him with a wide smile. 

"So?" he has the audacity to ask, and all Yoongi can do is scoff and shake his head incredulously. 

"So, what?" Yoongi responds, attempting to play it cool despite the way his heart hammers in his chest. 

"Was it life-changing?" Taehyung asks, and Yoongi turns to regard him before remembering his drink is still on the stage and spinning around to retrieve it. When he turns back to his friends, he finds five sets of eager eyes watching him, as well as the stares of strangers, and he ducks his head and gulps down half of his drink. 

"It was…" Yoongi begins, trailing off as he attempts to summarize what he just witnessed, blinking through mental image after mental image. "Unexpected," he finally says, lips involuntarily tugging to a smile, which he covers by slamming back the rest of his drink. 

"It sure was!" Hoseok says with wide eyes. "Jimin never comes to the edge of the stage like that. People always try to entice him, but he always plays hard to get."

"Oh," Yoongi mutters, letting the words sink in. 

"Another?" Jeongguk calls, holding an empty glass, and everyone nods. Hoseok and Taehyung finish their drinks in a gulp while they all turn and make their way to the end of the bar. 

As they stand and wait, Yoongi takes a look around the space. Everything is black and chrome and nothing too remarkable, but the place seems to have a chill vibe. And he is grateful to not be the only person wearing denim and a band tee – dressed like a scrub, as Seokjin so elegantly put it.

Taehyung and Jeongguk get drinks, then slink away from the bar to stand off to the side. Then Hoseok and Seokjin order, and finally, Namjoon. Yoongi steps up to the counter and decides to order the same thing he had before – whiskey and soda water. 

From beside him, a sweet, familiar voice shouts, "Make that two, please!"

The smell of strawberry perfume hits Yoongi's nose, and he turns to his left to find Jimin smiling widely at him. He wears a white tee tucked into tight, black leather pants, and a black leather bomber jacket with a feathery design embroidered in red and silver beads on the shoulders. 

Now that Jimin has touched him – tugged at his hair while looming over like a salacious little threat – Yoongi allows himself to stare a little without feeling the nervous urge to flit his gaze away. The longer he looks at Jimin, the wider Jimin's smile grows. 

"Hi, hyung," Jimin says, taking a step closer. 

"Hey, pretty," Yoongi responds, feeling self-conscious about his choice of words until he sees the way they make Jimin blush. Pretty, indeed. 

Two glasses thunk against the bar top, and Yoongi turns with a gasp, fishing for his wallet. 

"On the house," the bartender says, nodding at Jimin. 

"Oh," Yoongi mutters, "okay."

"I got the tip," Jimin says beside him, leaning into his personal space to hand a folded wad of notes to the bartender. Jimin adds, "Though, technically, you are paying for it, hyung," close to Yoongi's ear. 

"Taehyung is paying for it, actually," Yoongi responds with a smirk, turning to Jimin whose mouth falls agape, scandalized. Yoongi feels the need to defend himself, adding, "Hey, I didn't know what was going on, otherwise I would have come prepared!"

Yoongi picks up both drinks and hands one to Jimin, who responds, "Fair," through laughter as he grabs Yoongi by the bicep and pulls him away from the bar. 

Even through his denim sleeve, Yoongi feels a spark of electricity where Jimin touches him. He notices that Jimin has pulled him in the opposite direction of the rest of their friends and decides not to question it. When they find themselves against the wall in a somewhat dimly lit corner, Jimin's hand stays on Yoongi's arm, giving him a tentative squeeze, and Yoongi looks down at Jimin's hand and smiles before meeting his eye. 

"You could have just asked me out," Yoongi teases, raising his drink to his lips before adding, "no need to put on a whole show."

Jimin's mouth falls open again, and he steps close, leaning to speak into Yoongi's ear. "Ah, but you liked the show, didn't you hyung?"

Yoongi has a sip of his drink, then he hums as he nods and says, "I did like the show. Your voice is really beautiful."

"Just my voice?" Jimin asks, stepping so close, their shoulders touch. 

A chuckle rocks through Yoongi, and he tips his head toward Jimin, who takes a drink with wide, curious eyes. "Not just your voice, no. Everything about you is beautiful."

"Awe, hyung!" Jimin shouts, shoving playfully at Yoongi's shoulder and sending him crashing lightly into the wall. 

"Wow," Yoongi responds, snickering. "Last time I compliment a guy."

Jimin places his hand over the spot he shoved and rubs over it, radiating warmth through denim and cotton. He opens his mouth to respond when a small group of men approaches to tell Jimin he did a great job, and Yoongi recognizes one of their voices as the guy who stood beside him during the performance. Yoongi cocks an eyebrow as the man makes eye contact with him, lifting his free hand to place over Jimin's hand, which continues to mindlessly rub over his chest, just below his clavicle. 

"Thanks for coming to the show," Jimin mutters politely, turning back to Yoongi. 

The group hovers behind Jimin and Yoongi does his best to ignore them, but it feels awkward to have an audience now that Jimin is no longer performing. 

"We should finish these drinks and get out of here," Yoongi suggests loud enough for the others to hear him, letting his gaze lift to the group to see if they have. 

Jimin chuckles. "Hyung, are you being possessive right now?"

"Maybe," Yoongi responds, tonguing the inside of his cheek. "But if you want to stay while that desperate pack ogles you, by all means—"

Jimin slides his hand from Yoongi's weak grasp to give him another smack, this time on the arm. 

"God, you're hot when you're jealous," Jimin says, making Yoongi blush, "but I should stay until the end to support the other performers. There are only four more."

Yoongi nods and accepts Jimin's terms. He wants to clarify that his offer for Jimin to leave with him afterwards is genuine, but the house lights dim, and music plays through the speakers, signaling the return of the show. 

Jimin takes Yoongi's hand and pulls him toward the front of the stage, to where the rest of their friends have congregated. Namjoon looks down at their linked hands, then to Yoongi, and he winks, making Yoongi roll his eyes despite how nice it feels to be holding Jimin's hand in public. 

The rest of the show goes by in a haze. Yoongi is hardly aware of the performers, hearing a hint of a song here and seeing a whoosh of brightly colored fabric there. All he can focus on is Jimin’s hand in his, Jimin’s voice singing and cheering, Jimin's warmth emitting in welcoming bursts beside him. 

Whenever Jimin slips his hand away to clap for each performer, Yoongi follows suit, robotically tapping his fingertips to his glass. And when Jimin takes his hand again, everything blurs and slows down, drowned out by the thrumming of blood in Yoongi’s veins, every sense acutely aware of only Jimin’s proximity – soft and strawberry-tender.

Once the house lights come on again, signaling the end of the show, Yoongi downs the rest of his drink. He feels sluggish and heavy, stumbling slightly when Jimin yanks him over to their friends. He wonders if they will want to keep drinking, whether they will want to go to a new bar. He thinks he would be alright with going to another bar; he parked his car somewhere it can be left overnight. 

“Wanna get out of here, hyung?” Jimin asks sweetly in his ear, and Yoongi decides all at once that another bar is out of the question. 

“Yes,” Yoongi responds, turning to Jimin with a wide smile that may very well look too eager for his own good. 

Jimin chuckles, finishes his drink, and says, “Good,” before leading the way to the bar where their friends are gathering with empty glasses. 

Yoongi considers how to break the news; Taehyung and Jeongguk tend to be pretty clingy and weaponize pouts that even Yoongi struggles to defend against, while Hoseok is always eager to keep their hangouts going well into the early morning. 

“We’re gonna get out of here!” Jimin announces, gracefully stealing the words from his mouth before he can even begin to formulate them. 

Jimin begins to hug everyone before they have a chance to oppose, smacking kisses against their cheeks and thanking them for coming to watch him perform. Most of them seem too dazed to argue.

Yoongi waves to everyone, noticing as they all make some sort of wink or eyebrow waggle at him, then he turns wordlessly and allows himself to get dragged by the wrist through the space, past patrons who attempt to talk to Jimin, and out into the cool night air. 

Jimin slides his arm into the crook of Yoongi’s elbow and pulls him along the sidewalk. “I live close,” he says before Yoongi has a chance to ask where they are going. Not that he would protest against being taken anywhere Jimin wanted. 

“Did you like the performance?” Jimin asks, bumping his hip against Yoongi as they walk. 

“I told you I did,” Yoongi teases, turning to find Jimin smiling while looking ahead. 

Jimin’s side profile is all firm lines and glitter, softened when he turns to Yoongi with wide, round eyes and pillow lips. He is stunning, and Yoongi is relieved to be able to stare unabashedly. 

“You told me I was beautiful,” Jimin clarifies, raising his eyebrows before looking ahead. 

“You are,” Yoongi mutters, remembering the performance. “And your singing was really beautiful. And the…stripping…” he trails off, feeling nervous about his choice of words. 

But Jimin does not miss a beat. “You liked watching me strip, hmm?”

“Of course I did,” Yoongi mutters, blushing. 

He is tugged around a corner to the right where the streetlights are fewer and the world feels darker, quieter. 

“And my dancing?” Jimin asks, walking impossibly closer – the two of them somehow managing to not trip over one another. 

“I liked your dancing,” Yoongi responds softly, clearing his throat to speak louder. “Hoseok mentioned you never come to the edge of the stage like that.”

Jimin chuckles, and Yoongi glances to the side, catching his eye before they both look ahead. 

“I don’t. That was just for you. I had a couple surprises just for you.”

Yoongi hums questionably, and Jimin says, "There's still one more surprise, in fact."

“Wow,” Yoongi rasps, smiling, “guess I’m pretty special.”

Jimin stops in his tracks and turns, pulling Yoongi gently away from the sidewalk, onto a grassy area near where tall bushes line the outside of an apartment building. It is even darker, and even quieter, without another soul around as far as Yoongi can tell, and he allows Jimin to wrap his arms around his shoulders and pull him close enough that their lips nearly touch. 

“You are special,” Jimin responds with a smile, fingertips playing with Yoongi’s hair. “And you look so cute with your hair half up and your eyes covered in Taehyung’s favorite blue glitter. How could I keep my hands off you?”

“Your admirers seemed pretty jealous,” Yoongi teases as he wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist, holding him close. 

“Let them be,” Jimin mutters softly, ghosting warm breath over Yoongi’s lips, which he wets with the tip of his tongue in anticipation. “The only admirer I care about is you.”

Yoongi smiles, letting his mouth fall open to respond – to tell Jimin he does admire him, so much, in fact, that it makes him dizzy. But Jimin slots their lips together tentatively, hands cradling Yoongi’s neck and back, and Yoongi sinks into the feeling with a sigh, then gently sucks Jimin’s bottom lip into his mouth as his pulse quickens. 

Jimin’s mouth is warm and soft beyond Yoongi’s wildest dreams. Yoongi rubs his hands over Jimin’s lower back and tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss, licking over Jimin’s bottom lip until it falls open with a gasp, granting Yoongi entrance. 

With a slow graze of his tongue over Jimin’s, he feels Jimin tense and shiver in his hold, letting out a soft whine that has arousal crashing through Yoongi. Jimin whimpers, and all Yoongi can think about is the man on stage in his tight little briefs, and his trim, flexible body grinding and swaying so invitingly. 

Jimin breaks from the kiss, panting as he tips his mouth away but presses their foreheads together. Yoongi opens his eyes just enough to see Jimin smiling. 

“Let’s go inside,” Jimin mutters, sounding breathless, and he releases Yoongi from his hold and leads him up the short set of steps into the building they were just in front of. 

“Couldn’t wait two more minutes to get me inside?” Yoongi chides as Jimin tugs him by the wrist down a short hallway, to a door on the right. 

Jimin punches in the door code and steps inside the apartment, switching on a bright overhead light that makes the two of them squint. When Yoongi steps in and closes the door, Jimin has his hands on him, pressing him against the wall. 

“Are you always such a brat?” Jimin groans, crowding Yoongi’s space. 

Yoongi assists Jimin in being close by wrapping his arms around his waist. “I like to tease you,” he rasps, chuckling as Jimin rolls his eyes. 

“You were teasing me earlier,” Yoongi adds, sliding one hand up, over the scratchy embroidery of Jimin’s jacket until his hand is on the back of Jimin’s neck. “With your dancing…and your singing…and your hair-pulling.”

“I was being extra sexy once I saw you standing there,” Jimin says sweetly as he slots a leg between Yoongi’s thighs.

“Is that so?” Yoongi asks, tipping his head back against the wall so he can actually see the beauty before him. 

Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip and nods his head. “I don’t usually grind on the floor as much. And the little splits I did to take off my shoes was improvised.”

“I might need to see those moves again,” Yoongi mutters, closing the gap between their lips with a soft, chaste kiss.

Jimin sighs and sinks into Yoongi, stomach and chest flush with his. “I have a lot of moves I can show you, hyung,” he responds as he sucks Yoongi’s lip into his mouth hard enough to make Yoongi whimper. 

“So show me,” Yoongi practically whines as he licks eagerly over Jimin’s lips. 

Jimin heaves a breath and takes a step back, grabbing Yoongi’s hands as they slowly slide from their grasp, walking backward through his tidy apartment, smiling as he mutters, “I’ll show you.”

Abruptly, Jimin stops and shouts, “Wait!” shoving Yoongi backward. Yoongi is confused and cocks his head, allowing himself to be moved, fingers still laced with Jimin’s. 

“We have to take our boots off, silly,” Jimin says, unlinking their hands and pressing Yoongi against the wall once more. He leans against Yoongi's chest as he lifts each foot to slide out of his black Chelsea boots and socks, stepping a bit shorter than before. 

Once Jimin’s feet are free, he prances away with a giggle, and Yoongi opens his mouth to call after him, but shakes his head and chuckles instead as he bends and unties his boots, toeing out of each one. The sound of a faucet running cues Yoongi to where to go, and he walks through the living room, to the right, and finds Jimin standing in a small kitchen, drinking from a glass of water. 

“Thirsty, hyung?” Jimin asks, holding out the glass. 

Yoongi takes it and has a drink, then sets it on the counter, and says, “I’m not too thirsty…but I am quite hungry,” watching as Jimin begins to look around with a frown. 

“I don’t have much,” he says, “what are you hungry for?”

Yoongi wraps his hands around Jimin’s waist, rubbing both palms over his leather-clad ass. 

“You,” he rasps, earning him a groan and a weak smack on the arm. He pouts and adds, “Pretty please?” while batting his eyelashes, and Jimin takes his hand, leading him away. 

“Are we leaving every light in your apartment on?” Yoongi asks while Jimin drags him into a short hallway. 

With a huff, Jimin turns on the hallway light, then reaches into a semi-open door right in front of them and turns the light on, revealing a bathroom. 

“There!” Jimin says with an incredulous glare. “Are you happy, hyung?”

“No,” Yoongi grumbles. “Feels like a waste of electricity.”

“You’re infuriating,” Jimin complains as he shuts off the bathroom and hallway lights. He playfully shoves Yoongi away to storm off to the kitchen and living room, and Yoongi laughs to himself, over the moon with how easy Jimin is to rile up. 

When Jimin returns, he grips onto the sleeve of Yoongi's jacket and yanks him roughly down to the end of the short hallway, into a dark room. Yoongi is still laughing, muttering, "Whoa, easy, tiger," as he is pressed into another wall, body against body, with warm breath wafting over his face. 

"You'll just have to fuck me in the dark since you're so god damn annoying," Jimin huffs as two hands slide up Yoongi's neck, into his hair and grip tightly.

Yoongi reaches into Jimin's jacket, pushing material away as he grabs him by the waist. Then he twists the two of them, grinning to himself when Jimin huffs out a surprised, "Oof," from the impact of his back being pressed into the wall. 

He leans forward, grazing his nose against Jimin's nose as he says, "So you want me to fuck you, hmm?"

"I thought that was a given," Jimin responds, voice less confident than before – trembling, even.

Yoongi hums and noses at Jimin some more, flicking his tongue out and pleased when it grazes over soft lips. "Didn't want to assume," he responds lowly, licking over Jimin's lips once more. "I'm down for anything you want, pretty."

It feels almost frantic the way Jimin's lips crash into his, mouth kissing and nipping while hands shove away Yoongi's denim jacket, sending it to the floor in a heavy lump of fabric. Jimin's hands yank at Yoongi's shirt, pulling it untucked from his jeans, and Yoongi reaches down, gently taking him by the wrists to stop him. 

"Wanna see you," Yoongi says. "I take back what I said about the lights; turn them all on so I don't miss anything."

Jimin chuckles and pulls his hands away, then a rustling of fabric is followed by the bright flashlight of Jimin's phone coming on. 

"Compromise?" he suggests with a smile that Yoongi barely sees behind the bright white glow. "There's a lamp beside my bed. Be a good boy and turn it on for me?"

Despite the somewhat indignant scoff that rolls through Yoongi's chest and throat, he turns on his heels to make his way through the dark bedroom, determined to be a good boy, indeed. He watches his step, maneuvering around discarded clothing items in the white glow before reaching the bed and finding the lamp. 

It takes a few moments of him rubbing his hand over the post and then down to where a cord sticks out, but he finds the little plastic switch and presses it on. A soft, golden light fills the space, and when he spins back around, Jimin is in the center of the room with his jacket draped down past his shoulders. 

Jimin begins to saunter over, and Yoongi's brain kicks into gear, going haywire over what he should do – join Jimin and undress him, or sit down and find out whether Jimin feels like putting on another show for him. He opts to sit, but when he turns to make sure the bed is close enough, his knees bump into it, knocking him off balance, and he more or less crashes onto his butt against the mattress. 

"So eager," Jimin teases as he rubs his hands over his neck, up into his light pink hair, and back down. 

"For you?" Yoongi responds, raising his eyebrows and nodding toward Jimin, feeling zero embarrassment over his floundering. "Absolutely."

"What are you so eager for?" Jimin asks with a grin that grows into something as beautiful as it is dangerous. 

"You," Yoongi responds without thinking. "All of you."

Jimin giggles. "Be more specific, hyung."

"I want to watch you strip again," Yoongi says, swallowing a lump of excitement that builds and builds in his throat, threatening to suffocate. "I want to worship you."

With another giggle, Jimin begins to thumb through his phone. The sound of a bluetooth speaker connecting somewhere to the right chimes through the room, and Yoongi turns to glance around, noticing a desk, a dresser, and an open closet door. Garments are strewn about – mostly shirts, it seems – and the dresser appears to be covered in various makeup items, beauty tools, and accessories. 

Over the speaker, a sexy R&B track begins to play, and Yoongi turns his attention back to Jimin, who tosses his phone over to the bed, to the right of Yoongi, and begins to sway his hips. Earlier, when Jimin was on stage, Yoongi was awestruck and struggled to fully comprehend what was happening. Especially with others around him cheering and shouting for Jimin, it took time for everything to settle over him.

But sitting in this dim room, just the two of them, knowing the type of body that Jimin has under all that leather and cotton, Yoongi's desire and anticipation reach new heights, and he leans back with his palms spread against Jimin's pink and orange floral comforter while butterflies kick up in his stomach. He almost feels the urge to pinch himself, worried once more that he might be dreaming.

Jimin lets the jacket fall to his wrists, then he lifts one hand slowly, dragging the material upward with his wrist until it slides free and falls. He lifts his other hand straight out and tilts his wrist until the material slides and crumples to the floor, and although it is just outerwear and Jimin is still fully clothed, the seductive movements have Yoongi sitting wide-eyed and mouth agape – entranced.

Yoongi barely registers the song that is playing, but he does not need to. Jimin's shoulders and hips amplify its tune, turning it into something tangible – something he could reach out and feel. Slowly, Jimin turns, and, with his fingertips dancing over the material of his t-shirt, he begins to untuck it little by little. 

White cotton drags over muscular shoulders with every movement, while black leather hugs his ass and thighs tightly. Then Jimin does a cute turn and sways down, bending his knees before swishing back up while lifting his shirt over his tummy and up, up, almost to his chest before spinning again and looking over his shoulder, pretending to be shy. 

Yoongi scoffs and shakes his head, absolutely charmed by Jimin's little show, still toeing the line between playful and sexy as the shirt lifts over his head completely and Jimin tosses it over his shoulder, straight at Yoongi's face. Yoongi barely lifts his hands, allowing the fabric to gently clobber him in a wave of warm strawberry, and when it falls to his lap, he lazily takes it in one hand and holds onto it. 

"Still wearing those cute hearts?" Yoongi asks, and when Jimin mock-pouts and says, "Sorry, hyung, I took them off," he feels the tiniest tinge of sadness. 

"What a shame," Yoongi responds, wetting his lips as Jimin turns and saunters closer, hands rubbing over his nipples, keeping them covered. "They were cute."

"You're cute, hyung. But no touching unless I say you can," Jimin instructs softly but firmly, nibbling his bottom lip while slotting one leg between Yoongi's thighs and lifting his other knee to the bed. 

Yoongi tips his head back, leaning to give Jimin space as he rolls and grinds his hips, rubbing his hands up, over his neck, and into his hair, and then down, over his nipples and abdominals. Jimin is delicate hills and valleys of taut muscle and soft skin, and all Yoongi can do is stare at the beauty before him while swallowing the saliva that has pooled beneath his tongue, threatening to drool past his lips. 

"Like what you see, hyung?" Jimin asks, making Yoongi chuckle. 

Yoongi has to find his voice, softly clearing his throat. "You know I do."

With a deep, inviting hum, Jimin presses his thigh between Yoongi's legs, applying just enough pressure to make the air get trapped in his lungs. Arousal simmers through Yoongi, and he gasps, which becomes a soft chuckle when he notices the playful look on Jimin's face. 

"Evil," Yoongi groans when Jimin's leg grazes over him again, feeling blood rush straight to his dick. 

"What's the matter, hyung?" Jimin sing-songs as he takes a step back, spins around, and lowers his ass to Yoongi's lap. 

With both hands planted on Yoongi's knees, Jimin rolls his hips in circles and grinds them forward and back, and Yoongi squeezes the comforter in both palms as he groans from the pressure, fighting how badly he wants to touch. 

The song switches to something else sultry and unfamiliar, and Jimin reaches back with one arm that drapes over Yoongi's shoulder, resting his head on his other shoulder while his hips lift and fall in quick but soft movements that graze over Yoongi's crotch. 

"You're good at this," Yoongi mutters, dazed, hardly sounding like himself. 

Jimin hums in agreement and says, "I'm good at a lot of things."

A particularly firm press of Jimin's ass against Yoongi's constricted dick has his eyes fluttering closed, and he practically whines, "Show me everything."

Jimin sits up, taking away the arm around Yoongi's shoulder, then glances back with a mischievous smile, still moving his hips in inviting circles. Yoongi can hear the slow drag of a zipper, each tooth releasing as Jimin's arms make small movements in front of him. And then he lifts his hands to the waistband of his pants, hooks his thumbs under the black leather to slowly push the garment down.

The movement is agonizingly slow, only revealing an inch before he pulls back up and begins to drag down little by little, exposing pinkish-white satin briefs. Yoongi wants to grab onto the pockets and yank the material to the floor, losing all sense of sitting like a good boy. 

"You're killing me," he grumbles, fisting the blanket tight. 

With a giggle, Jimin stands, pushes the pants all the way to his thighs, and then sits again, grinding down on Yoongi's lap. The delicate curve of Jimin's waist into soft hips and a round, perfect ass has Yoongi reeling; the fact that he has Jimin all alone, and he is teasing him like this, is still a bit hard to comprehend. And, to make matters worse – or better – sticking out from under Jimin's satin panties are white lace garters connected to white mesh thigh-high stockings. 

Yoongi groans, eager to show his appreciation while feeling at a loss for words, earning a light giggle in response. 

"How badly do you want to touch me?" Jimin teases, glancing over his shoulder. 

Yoongi tongues the inside of his mouth, raising his eyebrows while Jimin continues to watch him. "Oh, I'm going to fucking ruin you the second you give me permission to."

It is subtle the way Jimin's eyes widen and all mirth melts from his features – it only lasts a split second. But Yoongi clocks it, and he smirks, feeling victorious. 

Jimin turns and stands, bending himself in half while pushing his pants down to his ankles, and Yoongi watches as more drool pools under his tongue, gaze drifting down to where Jimin peeks from around his ankles to smile before slowly standing back up. He steps from the crumpled leather and then kicks the garment away before turning to Yoongi with his cock straining hard in those tight little briefs as he straddles his lap. 

"How was this performance, hyung?" Jimin asks, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's shoulders to play with his hair. 

At some point, the song had changed, but Yoongi barely registers the downtempo beat, staring at Jimin, who giggles and wiggles his hips back and forth in a quick, playful movement. He lifts his right hand and then drops it back to the blanket with a groan, rolling his head back and taking a quick moment to close his eyes. 

"It was more of a tease than the first one," Yoongi grumbles, tracing the soft lines of Jimin's neck and shoulders with his eyes before looking at his face. "But it was great, all the same; I thoroughly enjoyed it."

Jimin reaches down and palms over Yoongi's dick, which sits bunched up at an uncomfortable angle under restrictive denim, making him gasp from the pressure-ache that tears through him. 

"I can tell how thoroughly you enjoyed it, hyung."

At this, Yoongi chuckles, biting the inside of his mouth and biding his time for when it is his turn to be a menace.

"Did you notice my final surprise?" Jimin asks.

"The garters and stockings?" Yoongi asks, eyes drifting downward. 

"Not that," Jimin responds, and Yoongi cocks his head, unsure what he means.

"No…" he mutters. 

Jimin stares incredulously, heavy-blinking in disbelief. "What, really?" he practically shouts. "My ass was right in your face, how did you miss it?"

"I mean…your ass is…surprisingly perfect," Yoongi tries.

With a playful huff, Jimin rolls his eyes, grabs Yoongi's right hand, and wraps it around him, making Yoongi cup one of his cheeks. 

"You can touch only with this hand," Jimin says with an insistent gaze, "and only on my butt."

The material of these briefs is thin and smooth, gliding softly under Yoongi's palm. It takes Yoongi a moment of rubbing over the soft flesh, squeezing gently, and mapping its shape before his fingertips brush over something hard, making Jimin suck in a sudden gasp of air. 

"Oh?" Yoongi asks, grazing his fingertips against the spot with more purpose, making Jimin squirm. "What have we here?"

Jimin whimpers as Yoongi presses against the hard, round surprise before taking a handful to squeeze and spread, turning his sounds into soft moans. 

"Were you wearing this plug during the performance?" Yoongi asks, head tipped back to watch as Jimin's lips tremble and search for what to say.

"Yes," he finally sighs, lolling his head back with a moan when Yoongi passes his fingers firmly over it again. 

"You performed wearing an anal plug?" Yoongi asks again, watching as Jimin's cheeks flush and his eyes widen.

Jimin leans forward and presses his forehead against Yoongi's, nodding while whimpering a broken, "Uh-huh."

"While dancing and singing and tugging on my hair?" Yoongi continues, "While those eager boys stood and watched you flirt with me, you wore this, hoping I would bring you back here and find it."

"Yes, hyung," Jimin moans, and god if Yoongi had not already been fighting back the urge to absolutely destroy this pretty man in the most delicious ways possible, he would be now.

"You wanted me to find this plug, hmm?" Yoongi presses and rubs over it, squeezing and spanking while his other hand grips onto the blanket for dear life. "Wanted me to bend you over and pull it out…stretch you further on my cock…didn't you?"

"Hyung," Jimin whines, hips rolling lazily into Yoongi's touch.

Without another word, Yoongi slides his hand away and anchors himself back against the bed. Jimin scrambles, sitting back with his eyes bulging wide, making Yoongi chuckle.

"So naughty," Yoongi teases, voice full of mirth and sparking a petulant fire in Jimin's eyes.

"Hyung!" Jimin shouts, lifting a hand to smack Yoongi on the chest, which Yoongi catches despite not being given instruction to touch, just yet. Jimin looks incensed and gasps, eyes going between Yoongi's hand and his face.

"It's my turn," Yoongi rasps, biting back a grin. "Let me touch you."

Jimin blinks at him, clearly still processing the teasing, and Yoongi raises his eyebrows, impatient. 

"Fine," Jimin huffs brattily, yanking his hand from Yoongi's grasp and sliding from Yoongi's lap to take his place beside him on the bed. "It's your turn to strip, hyung. Give me a good show."

Yoongi stands, walks a couple paces into the room, and turns, letting the movement flow with the beat of whatever song is playing – something a little quicker-paced but still sexy enough to dance to. He rubs his hands over his neck, down his pecs, and over his tummy, watching as Jimin rests back on his palms with his thighs slightly spread, intently following every movement. 

Then Yoongi grips onto the bottom hem of his shirt and pulls it quickly over his head, messing up his hair in the process. He flings the garment at Jimin with maybe just a little too much force, and it hits him in the chest, falling to his lap.

"Wh—hyung!" Jimin shouts, tossing the shirt aside as Yoongi quickly undoes his belt and fly and shoves his jeans to the floor, stepping out of one side and then the other, and then reaching down to yank away his socks. 

"This is the worst strip tease I have ever seen!" Jimin shouts despite his eyes roving over Yoongi's body with a hunger that says otherwise. 

Yoongi approaches in two swift strides and bends to take Jimin by the backs of his knees. He lifts and spreads Jimin's legs, sending his back crashing against the bed, scrambling and squealing while Yoongi leans forward, legs draped over his hips, and grins. 

"What did I tell you I was going to do, Jiminah?" Yoongi asks sternly, caging Jimin in with his hands against the bed while Jimin's frantic movements cause their clothed cocks to rub against one another in an addictive jolt of energy. 

"R-ruin me," Jimin pants as his flailing slows to a stop.

Yoongi grins. "That's right. I am going to absolutely ruin you. Now be good for me and get on your hands and knees."

It appears to take about two seconds for Jimin to process Yoongi's words before he crawls back on his elbows, getting fully onto the bed, and turning to position himself on his hands and knees while Yoongi sinks down to the floor. Jimin moves toward the center of the bed when Yoongi stops him.

"Ah, ah, come back here, pretty." He pats the mattress as if calling over a puppy. "Want you right here."

Jimin crawls backward with a somewhat dazed, borderline humiliated look on his face, and Yoongi waits patiently until Jimin is settled on the edge of the bed with his ankles hanging near Yoongi's head. 

"Perfect," Yoongi groans as he sits high, reaches for the waistline of Jimin's pretty satin briefs, and pulls, uncovering his prize in all its soft yet muscular glory. 

Yoongi practically moans at the sight of Jimin stretched around a metal toy with a light pink rhinestone in the center, and he wastes no time reaching two handfuls of soft flesh to squeeze firmly in his palms. He spreads his hands wide to graze his thumbs over the toy, then uses one hand to begin slowly tugging on it while keeping Jimin spread. 

"God, look at you," Yoongi groans as Jimin's pucker tenses and relaxes with each movement. "Is this what you wanted? When you invited me to come watch you perform, did you picture me bending you over and playing with your ass afterward?"

"Yes," Jimin whines, sending a shiver down Yoongi's spine.

Yoongi uses his palm to gently strike Jimin's ass. The sound cracks through the room, punctuated by a moan, and Jimin shutters as he relaxes. 

"What did you imagine, exactly?" Yoongi asks, hearing a dazed, "What?" come from Jimin. 

"When you nestled this pretty little toy inside yourself tonight," Yoongi clarifies, rubbing over the reddened mark of his hand. "What were you imagining I would do to you?"

"I thought you would want to f-fuck me," Jimin says, sounding somewhat bashful. How cute. 

Yoongi rubs over Jimin's ass with both hands, then taps the tip of his index finger over the end of the toy, making Jimin tremble. "Is that all?"

"N-no," Jimin whimpers.

"Awe, is pretty Jimin too shy to dirty talk to his hyung now that he has me right where he wants me?"

All he hears in response is a low whine, and Yoongi chuckles, smacking and squeezing Jimin's ass just enough to make his legs quake. He wonders if Jimin likes becoming pliant and malleable in someone else's hands. 

"I can tell you what I imagine," Yoongi offers, sitting back before getting onto his feet to rub over Jimin's back and bend over him, draping himself to speak low into Jimin's ear. 

Jimin nods. 

"What I've imagined since the day we met—" Yoongi reaches with one hand to Jimin's chin and lifts his head up, then presses two fingers into his warm, wet mouth, "—is watching these sinful fucking lips wrap around my cock."

Jimin sucks on Yoongi's fingers, stirring a fire in his belly, and Yoongi nuzzles their cheeks together, pulling away as Jimin releases him with a pop. 

"And what I've imagined since that little performance of yours tonight—" Yoongi gently grips Jimin's chin and pulls him so that he is held in place, back arched and neck craned, looking him in the eye, "—is the sight of you riding me…using me to make yourself cum…squeezing me so nice and tight…all while tugging on my hair."

Jimin's eyes blow wide, and he gasps, staring at Yoongi as if he has just personally hung every star in the night sky. Reverent. 

"Would you like that, pretty?" Yoongi asks, and Jimin nods.

Yoongi grins. "Use your words, baby."

Brighter and wider, Jimin's eyes turn to heavenly disks, and Yoongi makes a mental note to call him baby a lot more. 

"Yes, hyung," Jimin mutters sweetly.

"Say my name. Tell me what you need."

"Yes, Yoongi," Jimin responds. "I need…you. Anything you want, please."

With a soft kiss against Jimin's cheek, Yoongi lowers Jimin down, continuing to drape himself over his body, keeping his weight from pressing on him too much. 

"Do you like to be more in control," Yoongi asks, dancing fingertips in Jimin's pink hair, "or do you like to submit?"

Jimin's voice has a slight tremble when he says, "Submit."

"Do you like it rough or soft?"

"Both."

Yoongi groans, pleased with that answer. "Do you have a safe word, baby?"

"S-strawberry."

"Strawberry, of course," Yoongi says, grinning. "Good. I'm going to make you feel so good, baby."

Yoongi feels Jimin's body relax beneath him as he sighs, "Please, Yoongi," in a voice fit for an angel.

Eager to learn all the pretty ways Jimin can sing, Yoongi gets back onto his feet, running his fingertips over the length of Jimin's back before dropping to his knees. He spreads Jimin wide, leans forward, and licks from just beneath the end of the plug to just above it, tasting cold metal and zirconia with a sticky-sweet hint of lube. 

Jimin moans low and arches his back, pressing his ass against Yoongi's face, and Yoongi chuckles as he grips tightly to both cheeks and licks again and again, straight lines and rounded ones, tasting and teasing.

"Do you get really sensitive?" Yoongi asks as he rests his cheek against the soft curve of Jimin's ass and takes the end of the toy between his fingers, tugging it ever so slightly – just enough to make Jimin whine. 

Jimin mutters a pitchy, "Uh-huh."

"Words, baby," Yoongi instructs with a somewhat stronger tug. 

Jimin sobs as he says, "Yes, Yoongi!"

"Good," Yoongi groans as he nuzzles against Jimin and nips gently at his skin. "We're gonna have a lot of fun together."

With a firm tug, Yoongi begins to pull the toy, taking it nice and slow while Jimin's hole stretches around the bulb. Jimin sobs with shaking legs, and Yoongi lifts his head and drops a dab of spit as he pushes the toy back in and gives it another tug. 

Back and forth, he tugs and presses, with more spit and kisses against Jimin's soft skin, again and again, until finally Jimin opens wide and releases the plug with a soft wail. 

"That's it, baby," Yoongi praises, licking over Jimin's rim with a firm twist of his tongue, making him moan. "So good for me."

Yoongi stands on somewhat shaky legs – knees, and calves tired from being bunched up on the floor – and he moves to the bedside table, grabs a tissue from a small box, and places it down to rest the plug onto. "You got lube in here?" he asks, tapping his fingernails against the small door on the front of the table. 

"No, on top," Jimin responds, and Yoongi glances around, then finds the bottle wedged behind the tissue box. 

"Is this the lube you used earlier?" Yoongi asks as he returns and takes in the sight of Jimin on his knees with his face pressed against his floral comforter.

"Don't pick on me," Jimin pouts, frowning, making Yoongi chuckle fondly.

"Not picking on you, baby," Yoongi responds, patting the center of the bed, closer to the pillow. "Come up here."

With a whimper and even deeper pout, Jimin anchors himself on his hands, and – like a doe learning to walk for the first time – fumbles and sways with forward momentum until he slams his chest down onto a pillow and wraps his arms around it. 

Yoongi gets onto the bed and crawls on his knees behind Jimin. The satin briefs are still around Jimin's legs, keeping him from spreading his knees too far, and Yoongi leaves them in place, curious how Jimin might enjoy a little movement restriction.

With his thumb, Yoongi flips open the lid of the lube bottle, then he squirts a generous amount onto his index and middle fingers and rubs the pad of his thumb through the sticky substance to warm it just a little. Then he rubs the slicked tips of his fingers over Jimin's hole, watching the way he trembles from even the slightest of touches. 

Slowly, Yoongi presses the tip of his middle finger in, testing how far the toy has stretched him. Although Jimin moans, his voice is steady as Yoongi pushes all the way to his knuckle and twists. The muscle does not squeeze too tight, so he pulls out and gently slides in another.

With his index finger added, Jimin squeezes him with a deep whimper and then relaxes. Yoongi takes it slow, rubbing his palm soothingly over Jimin's ass and thigh, pulling his fingers back and pressing them forward little by little. 

"Let me know if you need me to slow down or stop, pretty," Yoongi says as he watches his fingertips get swallowed. 

"Don't stop," Jimin whimpers, "give me more."

"More?" Yoongi teases, drawing the word out nice and long. 

"Please, Yoongi."

Yoongi twists his fingers as he pushes and pulls, listening to Jimin's deep voice become high-pitched and raspy. Satisfied with how Jimin feels around him – swallowing eagerly but not with a death grip – Yoongi adds his ring finger. 

Jimin trembles and bleats broken syllables as Yoongi presses three fingers into him. He twists slowly and dribbles spit onto Jimin's rim, giving himself a little more slide, working himself a little deeper. And Jimin takes him so well until he gets to his knuckles and the stretch feels too tight.

"Fuck," Jimin gasps, legs quaking. "Feels s-so good, but it—'s too much."

"I got you, baby," Yoongi says softly, planting kisses over Jimin's ass and upper thigh as he slides his fingers out and pauses. "Call your safe word if you want a break."

"No," Jimin pants. "I don't want a break, your fingers are just…they're too good."

Yoongi chuckles, slowly pressing his fingers back in, stopping before the knuckles, as he says, "Just breathe for me," with his lips dragging over Jimin's soft skin. 

Labored, panicked breaths make Yoongi smile and shake his head, and he slowly pulls out as he clarifies, "Breathe slowly, Jiminah. Don't make yourself dizzy; I don't need you passing out on me."

An impatient groan muffled by a blanket makes Yoongi sit up high on his knees and angle his body to get a look at Jimin, whose face is squished cutely into the bed with flushed cheeks and a frown in his brow. 

"Ya, what is it?" Yoongi teases, using his lubed fingers to give Jimin's ass a little smack, smiling at how the man cries and quakes. 

"Wanna ride you," Jimin groans indignantly. 

Yoongi wants to rile Jimin up so badly. He considers tickling the man until he crashes to the bed laughing – and probably throwing a tantrum. He wants to threaten not to let Jimin do anything he wants, just so he can be pouty and bratty and make Yoongi put him in his place a little – gently and sweetly, of course. He has to hold his tongue to not chide the poor guy for how grumpy and impatient he is, even as Yoongi stretches him. 

But he does not. Instead, Yoongi rubs both hands over Jimin's ass, spreading and squeezing while settling back down again. "I thought you wanted to be submissive," he asks, with only a hint of mirth.

"I do," Jimin responds, pout still evident in his tone. "I want to do both. I can't make up my mind."

"You can do both," Yoongi insists with a smirk, reaching for the lube bottle to slick his fingers back up. "I would love it if you rode me, baby. But if you can't take three knuckles, you sure as hell can't take my cock. So why don't you be a good boy and breathe nice and slow while I stretch you open, yeah?"

The breathy way in which Jimin mutters, "Yeah," tells Yoongi his message has been received loud and clear. The prospect alone of Jimin riding him has him very eager to get the other nice and ready. 

Yoongi slathers his three fingers in lube and begins to press them in. Jimin still huffs his exhales, but he is breathing less like a man who might be dying, for which Yoongi is grateful. It takes plenty of twisting and coaxing to slowly get the muscles to open for him, but Yoongi is patient, kissing and sucking on Jimin's skin while watching his fingers get swallowed. 

When Yoongi finally does finger Jimin past the knuckle – accompanied by a pitchy squeal and Jimin begging, "Fuck, fuck, don't stop, please don't fucking stop," – he stops, letting Jimin adjust to the stretch. 

"That's it," Yoongi praises, rubbing his palm over Jimin's ass and thigh while his fingers stay nestled deep inside him. "I knew you could take me. Just had to be a little patient."

"I've fantasized about how your knobby knuckles would feel but fuck, they are so big," Jimin whines, making Yoongi laugh. 

He squeezes Jimin's ass in his palm, then slowly begins to pull his fingers out, watching as Jimin opens wide to accommodate him once more. "You've fantasized about my fingers, huh?"

"H-hyung," Jimin groans, sounding embarrassed.

"Say my name, pretty," Yoongi sweetly commands as he twists his fingers out and begins to plunge them back in, meeting far less resistance. 

"Y-Yoongi," Jimin sobs, trembling as Yoongi twists – pulling out and pushing back in. 

The sight of his fingers getting swallowed whole has Yoongi's jaw hanging slack, drool pooling beneath his tongue. Jimin is an absolute vision, and the more his light-dusky pucker becomes flushed and reddened with pleasure, the hungrier Yoongi is to give and give and give. Anything to paint him prettily with bliss. Anything to hear the sweet, broken sounds he makes. 

"What is it, baby," Yoongi asks, twist-pulling and plunging deep. 

Jimin hiccups and Yoongi rotates his torso to lean just enough to see Jimin's fist grasping at the comforter. "N-need you."

"I'm here," Yoongi coos while rubbing his palm over Jimin's ass and lower back, fingertips mapping and memorizing. "You're almost ready for me."

Yoongi pulls out, then uses the index fingers of both hands hooked into Jimin's rim to open him nice and wide. Jimin sobs as Yoongi stretches him, slowly plunging his fingers in and out in a push and pull, watching as the welcoming rings of muscle tense and relax. 

"Wh-what are you doing to me?" Jimin groans, as he sinks a little further forward, pushing his ass ever so slightly higher. 

"Admiring you, baby," Yoongi says, sitting high on his knees to dribble a dollop of spit into Jimin's hole to squelch between his two fingers. "You have no idea how fucking perfect you are."  

Jimin hiccups as he moans, and Yoongi slowly pulls out, one finger and then the other, watching as his pucker tightens and tightens.

"Alright, baby," Yoongi says as he sits back on his knees and open-palm kneads at Jimin's fleshy thighs, feeling supple skin, rough lace, and soft mesh against his palms. "Wanna be a good boy and show hyung how you ride cock?"

A pitchy, garbled, "Uh-huh," leaves Jimin's mouth in a rush as he pushes himself on shaking limbs until he is seated on his knees. Yoongi slides off the bed and walks toward the head, moving pillows and the comforter out of the way, revealing a pretty green floral sheet. He pushes his dark briefs down to the floor, stepping out of each side as he places his knees onto the bed, knee-walks the center, and then sits, spreading his thighs while Jimin grabs the bottle of lube and hobbles close. 

Without preamble, Jimin cages Yoongi's hips between his arms and licks a slow stripe up the underside of his aching, neglected cock, sending a thrill of pleasure shooting through him that has a moan storming from his lungs. Yoongi's head thumps against the headboard as he sinks against the cool, wooden surface, and he lifts his hands to gently take Jimin by the hair and chin. 

"Hyung tastes so good," Jimin coos sweetly, glancing up through his eyelashes while poking out his pretty pink tongue to lap at the dribble of precum at his tip. 

Yoongi was not planning on getting his dick sucked – he was dead set on Jimin's pleasure first and foremost, eager to give absolutely anything to him that he wants. But if what Jimin wants is to put those pretty lips to use, Yoongi would not dare say no. 

"Is that so?" Yoongi urges, eager to press Jimin to say more – hopeful that he will turn shy and sweet like before.

Jimin nods, blinking with a lust-drunk haze in his eyes before looking down into Yoongi's trimmed dark pubes as he says, "Salty-sweet…so yummy…"

"It's all yours, baby," Yoongi says as he drags his trimmed, blunt fingernails along the sharp lines of Jimin's jaw. "Anything you want, it's yours."

Jimin lets his tongue hang long, blinking upward while drool pools and dribbles onto Yoongi's tip, dripping down to disappear from view. "Want to make a mess," he slurs, barely pulling his tongue back enough to speak clearly. 

"Yeah?" Yoongi urges, "you wanna make a mess of me, baby?"

Jimin nods, curving his lips upward, saliva pooling and dripping. Yoongi fights the urge to beg him to do more – wants Jimin to go at his own pace and enjoy himself, even if it means Yoongi vibrates with nerves and anticipation, bordering on impatience and flat-out desperation. 

Luckily, Jimin does not make him wait long. With a deep, eager groan, Jimin sucks Yoongi's tip into his mouth without using his hands, then curves his back and neck, doing his best to swallow him down. Pleasure quakes through Yoongi, and he sinks further into the bed, dragging his head back against the headboard while he moans deep and appreciative. 

He tips his head to the side to watch Jimin's spit-slick petal lips drag along his length. Jimin hums and moans, which vibrates just enough to make Yoongi shiver, sucking his cheeks and swishing his tongue in a hypnotic dance. 

Slowly, Yoongi climbs to the precipice of bliss, further each time Jimin takes him a little deeper and swallows a little harder. Then Jimin changes position, sitting higher on his knees, and he takes Yoongi into his throat and swallows hard, sending a heavy wave of euphoria crashing inside him. Yoongi's fingers, which had been loosely holding onto Jimin's hair and face, grip onto Jimin's hair, and he tugs gently without pulling too hard. 

"Shit, baby, that's it," Yoongi whines, voice coming out pitchy and breathy. "Won't last if you keep swallowing me like that."

Jimin hums and swallows harder, holding Yoongi in his throat long enough to make Yoongi begin to spiral; long enough for Jimin to come up for air with a heavy gasp. Spit hangs from Jimin's lips and tongue in thick strings, and when he blinks, mascara leaves little black streaks on his face. 

"Pretty, messy baby," Yoongi praises with a smile that feels crooked and heavy. He knows he must look absolutely fucked out, and the way Jimin's eyes shimmer has affection blooming deep behind his ribs. 

Jimin grins, then sinks back down, sucking and swallowing eagerly while setting a quick pace bobbing his head. The faint pass of Jimin's teeth along Yoongi's length sends a tickle up his spine that has his back arching, and with each upward stroke of his lips, spit collects and trickles, coating his balls and dribbling over his asshole. 

Yoongi is close, and he grips Jimin's hair a little tighter, guiding his head a little deeper. He whimpers broken pleas for Jimin to keep going that hardly sound like words – whisps of sounds flitting into the air as he struggles to keep his bearings. Jimin's mouth is better than Yoongi could have possibly anticipated, and he submits fully to letting Jimin send him straight into the clouds. He wants to cum down that pretty throat so badly. 

"Fuck," Yoongi mutters, finally finding his voice. "Gonna cum, baby. Will you swallow for me?"

Jimin seems to try to nod, muttering some kind of response that amounts to consonants and sputtered drool, and Yoongi loosens his grip on Jimin's hair, letting his hands slide and fall away to fist at the sheet, instead. It only takes three more passes of those perfect fucking lips to make Yoongi absolutely dissolve.

"Gonna c—" is all he chokes out before painting Jimin's tongue and throat. 

Jimin gags slightly but continues to suck and swallow, humming and moaning between Yoongi's sharp, raspy sounds of pleasure. His orgasm flows through him hot and quick, erupting and intoxicating. Only once he is trembling from overstimulation does Jimin release his cock, licking once more from base to tip with his mouth hanging agape. 

Streaks of viscous white streak Jimin's tongue, and Yoongi takes him by the jaw and gently lifts, urging Jimin to sit up and crash into him. Yoongi licks into Jimin's mouth, tasting his own heady release, and Jimin melts forward, laying his torso heavily against Yoongi while very slowly crawling up into a seated position on his lap. 

"Was that what you were imagining, hyung?" Jimin asks against his mouth, making Yoongi chuckle.

"Better," he rasps. "I could never have imagined anything feeling that good, Jiminah."

Jimin blushes as he asks, "Did you like how my lips looked?" and Yoongi raises an eyebrow, tilting his head back to get a better look at him. "Wrapped around you," Jimin continues, nibbling on his plush, kiss-swollen bottom lip. 

"You know I did." Yoongi leans in to place a soft kiss against Jimin's lips, deciding instead to suck them into his mouth, one after the other, making him giggle. "You looked and felt like heaven, baby."

Jimin leans back into Yoongi, wrapping his arms around his neck and gently tugging at his hair. They kiss, lick, suck, and nip in unhurried movements, tasting and teasing while Yoongi's dick recovers and begins to harden once more. Sticky-cool saliva transfers from Jimin's chin to Yoongi's, aiding in the mess that was promised, and Yoongi slowly sucks at Jimin's tongue tip, making him drool even more. 

Time grinds to a halt, suspended and of no use to them. Yoongi passes his hands over Jimin's shoulders, down the slopes of his back and hips and ass – anywhere he can reach. Occasionally, Jimin shivers and sighs, and Yoongi cannot help but smile, endeared and eager to know every single sensitive spot he may have. 

One of Jimin's hands leaves Yoongi's hair and travels down, tickling as his fingernails delicately scrape down his pec, across his ribs, to his hip. When Jimin wraps his hand around Yoongi's growing erection, engulfing him in pleasure and warmth, Yoongi gasps, rolling his eyes back and nodding as he mutters, "Almost ready for you."

Jimin releases Yoongi and reaches for the lube before using both hands to slick him up. Yoongi is grateful that Jimin does not warm it in his hands, hissing with delight at the cold touch. Jimin giggles deviously, chewing on his lip, and Yoongi gazes down at his cock between two slender, pretty hands before returning his attention to Jimin's face. 

"Now are you ready, hyung?" Jimin asks as he sits high on his knees and positions himself over Yoongi's tip. 

Yoongi uses both hands to steady Jimin's thighs, dancing his fingertips over the stockings, then gripping gently while Jimin reaches up to the top of the headboard and leans his chest close to Yoongi's face. 

"I don't think I could ever fully be ready for someone as perfect as you fucking me, Jiminah," Yoongi confesses with a smile, tilting his head until his tongue is able to flit out and drag over a dusky, pert nipple. "You'll just have to give it to me; force me to be ready. Don't hold back."

"As you wish, hyung," Jimin responds sweetly as he begins to sink down. 

The tip of Yoongi's cock breaches Jimin's hole with a shutter and whimper from both men in tandem. Yoongi grips Jimin's hips bruisingly, expecting Jimin to stop and adjust, but Jimin keeps lowering, down, down, down until he is fully seated and choking pretty, broken sobs. 

Yoongi is overwhelmed with pleasure, squeezed with blissful tight warmth, and he quakes with each gentle squeeze of muscle around him. His breath feels heavy in his lungs, and as he lets out a groaned exhale, he releases his grip on Jimin's thighs and rests his head back in a desperate attempt to get his bearings, teetering on the brink of total mental collapse.

"Hol—" is all Yoongi manages to moan as Jimin lifts and drops, slamming his ass against Yoongi's thighs, letting out a dulcet whimper that is rivaled by Jimin's pitchier one. 

"Big," Jimin mutters as he picks up a dizzying pace of slowly lifting before forcefully dropping, spearing himself so nice and deep, Yoongi feels like he may be carving the poor guy open. 

Jimin is magnificent with his head tilted back and lips hung wide, whimpering as he rises and drops and rises and drops. Somehow exactly as Yoongi imagined, yet so much more. His cock glistens hard against his tummy, dribbling with precum and so neglected, bouncing against his abs with each drop, leaving a little splatter behind.

"I won't last," Yoongi admits, feeling the blissful, agonizing squeeze that is only intensified as Jimin's muscles flutter with pleasure. "I usually have more—ahh—s-stamina, but you feel so g-good."

"Awe, hyungie," Jimin purrs, tilting his head forward and opening his dreamy, lust-lidded eyes. "That's ok. I just hope you can keep going…ruin me like you promised."

"I can," Yoongi croaks. It will be much easier to stave off his orgasm when he is in full control; like this, he doesn't stand a chance. 

"There's always tomorrow, too," Jimin mutters half-dazed, and Yoongi smirks at the prospect of Jimin wanting him after tonight. 

Yoongi rubs his hands up Jimin's hips, along the delicate curve of his waist and the white lace garter, and further, palming over pecs. As Jimin lifts and drops, Yoongi almost feels overwhelmed by the arousal that pools and pools, warm and aching in his center, tingling to his limbs, filling him with desire. He wants to grab Jimin tight and fuck up into him, but Jimin feels and looks so amazing he lets him take his time. 

With a grin that morphs into a bite of his lower lip, Jimin lifts his hips and swivels them, whorling around Yoongi's tip and tugging up, making him gasp and groan. Yoongi rubs his hands down to Jimin's waist and gently holds, helping keep him steady while the dancer twists and swishes, creating dizzying patterns to the song Yoongi barely hears over the pounding of his heart. 

"God, your body…" Yoongi mutters, eyes heavy as he watches muscle tense and soften. 

"You like how I feel, hyung?" Jimin mutters as he swirls up. 

Before Yoongi can respond, Jimin begins to bounce his ass up and down to the beat of the background song, just fucking himself on Yoongi's tip – teasing in a most delightful way. 

"How you feel…" Yoongi mutters, head rolling back against the headboard, looking down his nose at the beauty above him. "How you look, how you sound…you're fucking perfect, baby."

Jimin smiles and runs his hands over Yoongi's neck, then uses one hand to leverage himself on Yoongi's shoulder while the other takes a handful of hair and grips tight. 

"You're just saying that because I'm fucking you," Jimin teases through gasps and whimpers, gaze turning sharp while he begins to drop his hips back down and spear himself deep.

Even with a cock buried inside him, Jimin is a brat. Yoongi finds it way too endearing, though he is eager to flip the pretty dancer over and fuck him so good he can no longer talk back. He rolls his eyes, moaning as Jimin rides him a little steadier, trying to ignore how rapidly his pleasure builds.

"True," Yoongi mutters, playing along. If Jimin wants to be petulant, two can play this game.

"Ah—" Jimin moans, "I knew it. Just using me for my perfect ass."

Yoongi's hands slide over the soft, inviting curves of Jimin's hips and ass, and he takes two splayed handfuls and gives him a squeeze, moaning, "Exactly."

With his palms gripping tight, Yoongi assists Jimin in his movements, lifting and dropping him in a nice steady rhythm. Rather than attempt to stave his high, he chases it now, eager to change positions and give Jimin more. 

Jimin whimpers and sobs, breath coming out punchy and ragged while his tip leaks precum. 

"Are you close, baby?" Yoongi asks, receiving only a whimpered, "Uh-huh," in response. 

"What did I say about using your words?" Yoongi insists through grit teeth, finding it harder to steady his breathing and speak clearly. 

"Yes, Yoongi," Jimin moans, sending a chill down Yoongi's spine at the sound of his name. "I'm so close."

Yoongi pulls one hand away, lifts it to his mouth, and spits into his palm. He stares up at Jimin as he wraps his hand around Jimin's cock head and squeezes just enough to elicit a moan and shiver from him, then he begins to stroke nice and slow, collecting dribbled precum on his palm.

"Hyung," Jimin whimpers, body tensing and relaxing over and over. 

"Say my name, baby," Yoongi instructs with a smirk, watching Jimin's lips tremble and form unvoiced syllables. 

Jimin leans forward and takes two handfuls of Yoongi's hair as he lifts and slams his ass with purpose. Each breath Yoongi pants hits Jimin's chest, creating a pocket of sticky warmth between them. 

"Yoongi," Jimin whines as his grip tightens, tugging on Yoongi's scalp and making him hiss. 

"Yes, baby?"

Jimin's voice cracks, barely croaking out the words, "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum for me, Jiminah," Yoongi moans, feeling his own high reach its peak. "Cum all over this cock, baby, let me feel you."

Jimin's muscles squeeze and release– frenzied and dizzying as his rhythm falters. Rather than lift, he grinds, burying Yoongi so deep, the air feels trapped in Yoongi's chest. 

"That's it, baby," Yoongi wheezes through grit teeth, stroking Jimin at an angle that has him gently punching his fist against both their tummies. "Use my cock to get yourself off. Fuck, you feel so good."

Jimin's back arches and his body quakes as he cums. Yoongi squeezes at his tip, urging more and more release to coat his fist sticky-white, digging his heels into the mattress as he fucks his hips upward, just enough to get Jimin bouncing and moaning. Jimin squeezes him so tight, pushing him right over the edge. 

"Gonna cum, baby," Yoongi groans as every nerve prickles tingly and hot, ready to burst. 

"Fill me, Yoongi," Jimin sobs as he bounces in quick, shallow movements. "Make me messy."

The squeeze of Jimin's muscles, and fucked out, eager sound of his voice has Yoongi's orgasm hitting hard. He releases Jimin's cock, gripping onto his thighs with both hands as his body trembles roughly with pleasure. Yoongi barely makes a sound, rasping around heaving breaths as his eyes squeeze momentarily tight, attempting to relax as his orgasm pulses through him in tremendous bursts, making him see stars. 

"That's it, hyung," Jimin whimpers, leaning all the way forward, draping himself over Yoongi's shoulders. "Feels so good."

Yoongi sits back, catching his breath as his cock softens, running his clean palm up Jimin's back while the cum-covered hand falls to the side. Jimin's muscles continue to flutter, and he nuzzles his face against Yoongi's neck, leaving lazy, wet kisses against the skin and filling Yoongi with butterflies. 

The music continues to play, changing from one sexy beat to another. A female artist sings, but Yoongi is unable to make out what she is saying. His pulse thumps in his ears and throat, forcing each breath out in a lively beat of his own. 

"It feels nice to just…sit here and hold you," Jimin mutters against Yoongi's skin. 

"I would hug you back but one of my hands is covered in your cum."

Jimin hums in understanding, adding, "You got it on my thigh," with a familiar bratty tone. 

"You wanted to be messy," Yoongi grumbles with a smile, feeling absolutely smitten. 

Jimin groans, "I did," as he slowly begins to sit up, taking the warmth of his body away. 

Yoongi shivers as the sweat that covers him turns cold. He tips his head back and looks up as Jimin settles on his lap, cock-warming him while sitting tall, smiling sweetly. 

"I guess since you got what you wanted, you don't need me anymore," Jimin teases with a smirk and a lift of one eyebrow as he reaches out and undoes what is left of the bun in Yoongi's hair, tossing his trusty hair tie aside. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes and lolls his head back, trying not to smile as he mutters, "Really, Jiminah?"

With wide, playful eyes, Jimin nods, sliding his ass up, up, up until Yoongi's soft, cum-covered cock falls away, making him shudder. 

"You had a taste of my perfect ass, so—"

"Oh, I had a taste, alright," Yoongi interrupts with a grin, sitting up and causing Jimin to move slightly backward. "You think I'm gonna just leave now? Never to see you again?"

Jimin's playful demeanor begins to crumble as Yoongi lifts his soiled hand and begins to lick at what is left of Jimin's heady, salty-sweet release. 

"Uh, I—" Jimin says, lips forming around syllables he never voices. 

"What about promising me tomorrow? Hmm?" Yoongi asks before dragging his tongue over his knuckles, cleaning the remnants of Jimin's cum.

Now that his hand is far less messy, Yoongi grips onto Jimin's waist nice and tight and lift-pushes the dancer onto his back. Jimin yelps as he hits the pretty green sheet, pink hair sweat-stuck together in little spikes, fanning messily around his beautiful face. 

"I'm not finished with you yet," Yoongi says as he gets onto his knees and towers over Jimin. "Weren't you just whining about me ruining you moments ago?"

Jimin giggles softly, reaching his arms to wrap around Yoongi's neck. Yoongi gently takes Jimin by the wrists and pushes his arms to the mattress, pressing his weight down, watching with delight as Jimin gasps and shivers beneath him. 

"You really think I could only do this once?" Yoongi teases as he leans forward, crowding Jimin's space. "Now that I've had a taste of you, I'll be craving you, Jiminah."

"I-is that so?" Jimin breathes, head tilting as if offering the expanse of his neck to Yoongi – an invitation Yoongi takes as he drags his lips over salt-slick skin. 

"That is so."

"Are you sure you can keep going?" Jimin asks sweetly. "You just came twice."

"I could fuck you all night, baby," Yoongi insists, licking and nipping until Jimin gasps. "Just need a moment to get hard again. Why? Can you keep going?"

Each breath that puffs from Jimin's lips sounds heavy. "I can, but…I might get overstimulated."

"I know," Yoongi groans with a smile. "I watched you fall apart on my fingers, remember?"

"I might get…really…lost," Jimin admits.

Yoongi releases Jimin's hands and moves them to the mattress so he can press more weight down and angle himself upward just enough to look Jimin in the eyes. 

"Like, subspace?" Yoongi asks, watching Jimin's eyes widen. 

"Maybe," Jimin mutters. "I just get really…floaty. Like my soul and body are disconnected…held together by pleasure."

Yoongi nods in understanding. "Do you want to hold off, then? Wait until we're more comfortable with each other before you go there with me?"

The smile that tugs on Jimin's lips is sweet, and his eyes sparkle as he says, "I have a feeling you will take good care of me, hyung."

Affection bursts warm in Yoongi's chest. "Of course, I will. But I still understand if that's something you want to build up to."

Jimin shakes his head and nibbles on his lip. "I trust you. I'll call my safe word if I need to."

"You don't go non-verbal at all?"

Jimin pinches his brow and shakes his head. "No."

"Alright," Yoongi agrees, eager to keep going as long as Jimin feels safe. 

Jimin leans forward, groaning as his chin juts out, puckering for a kiss, making Yoongi chuckle softly. Yoongi closes the gap and presses further, allowing Jimin to lie comfortably, and he licks and sucks at Jimin's soft, sinful mouth. 

"Sorry for ruining the mood with talking," Jimin mutters against Yoongi's lips.

Yoongi hums as he licks into Jimin's warm, petal mouth, opening him wide; making space. Jimin tastes so delicately sweet yet heady, and Yoongi has no choice but to chase every nuanced flavor, eager to discover more. Jimin's hums and groans are music to Yoongi's ears, and he swallows each sound with ease. 

Rather than lifting his head, Yoongi simply stops kissing, letting his lips rest on Jimin, who smiles. Yoongi wishes he could adequately communicate just how important every little thing Jimin thinks, feels, and needs is, to him. 

"Discussing boundaries is never a mood killer," Yoongi insists against his lips. "I never want you to hold anything back."

"Thank you, hyung," Jimin mutters, leaving pecks of soft kisses along Yoongi's mouth and chin.

"Don't thank me for doing the bare minimum, Jiminah. You deserve to be cared for."

The way Jimin squeals and wiggles beneath him makes his smile go lopsided. Yoongi lifts his head just enough to watch Jimin's cheeks flush, taking in the beauty of his shimmery and black makeup smudged around his eyes. 

"Shut up," Jimin groans.

"Shut me up," Yoongi challenges with a waggle of his eyebrows. 

Jimin tilts his chin up once more, chasing a kiss. As Yoongi leans down, giving into his desire, one warm hand wraps around his half-hard cock, making him shiver and groan; this certainly is one way to get him to stop talking. 

"Want you again, Yoongi," Jimin pleads into Yoongi's open mouth, tugging on his cock. "Need you."

"You have me, baby," Yoongi practically moans, licking against Jimin's lips as his arousal simmers and warms him. "Turn over, on your stomach."

Jimin nods as he deepens the kiss, licking eagerly into Yoongi's mouth, sighing as Yoongi pushes and pulls with his tongue. When Jimin breaks the kiss, fingertips dig into Yoongi's neck and shoulder, and both men are panting, thickening the air between them with moist warmth. 

Jimin begins to wiggle around onto his side, then his stomach, and Yoongi stays where he is, caging him in with his arms and lifting his knees one after the other to accommodate Jimin's legs. Once Jimin is settled, Yoongi leans forward and presses his lips to the back of Jimin's neck, nipping and swirling his tongue as Jimin moans, back bowing delicately – trembling.

Yoongi kisses down the curve of Jimin's spine, crawling backward onto his knees. He sucks marks at the top of Jimin's ass, nipping and licking over dewy-smooth skin and lifting his hands to cup and squeeze. As he sits up, he kneads gently into Jimin's perfect, pillowy flesh, spreading him wide. Jimin's puffy rim glistens with leaked cum, and Yoongi wets his lips as he runs two fingertips over the mess before pressing deep inside. 

Jimin moans loudly, broken and debauched, as Yoongi fingers his tight asshole, feeling his own cum squelch, icky and enticing. He looks around for the bottle of lube and leans back, allowing his fingers to be slowly released as he reaches for it with his free hand. 

"You sure you can keep going?" Yoongi asks as he flicks the lube bottle open with his thumb, caressing the soft swell of Jimin's ass and thigh. 

"I'm not fragile, hyung," Jimin whimpers with his hands beside his head, clutching onto the comforter that has been bunched up and pushed out of the way. 

"Never said you were," Yoongi smiles fondly, squirting lube into his palm and working it over his cock, hissing from the sensation on his tender skin. "Just don't want to push you too far."

Jimin groans a pitchy sound that Yoongi assumes is impatience. "We already discussed this. My safe word is strawberry, hyung. Please fuck me."

Yoongi rubs his lubed hand sloppily over Jimin's hole, nibbling his lip as Jimin bucks and trembles against him. "Say that last part again."

There is a second of hesitation, followed by a soft sigh that makes Yoongi grin. He opens his mouth to ask again nicely, but Jimin beats him to it, muttering, "Please fuck me, Yoongi."

Jimin spreads his thighs flat against the bed and extends his legs straight, laying in a perfect split, and Yoongi gasps at the sight of him. He leans forward to accommodate the new height, gripping onto his length with one hand and Jimin's hip with the other. With a devious giggle, Jimin begins to bounce his ass, clapping his cheeks softly in a show that has Yoongi absolutely reeling. 

Without a moment more to spare, Yoongi leans forward on his knees and lines himself up with Jimin's rim, using his non-sticky hand to guide one of Jimin's hips. "You're a fucking menace," he groans as he presses in, in, in, spearing Jimin open as they whine and moan in tandem, feeling pleasure burst through his limbs like rays of warm, alluring light. 

"Squeezing me, baby," Yoongi rasps as he slowly slides out, giving Jimin no time to adjust. He places both hands on Jimin's hips and begins to rock his body, fucking into Jimin without moving his own hips. The delicate, elongated stretch of Jimin's mesh clad legs, right down to the tips of his pretty little toes has Yoongi torn between wanting to cherish him like something delicate or completely wreck him. 

"Such a slutty little dancer and you're all mine," Yoongi teases as he continues to rock Jimin's hips against him, watching his puffy rim swallow him whole. "What would your admirers think if they knew you wore a plug on stage while you were doing the splits to tease me?"

"Hyung," Jimin whines, burying his face down into the comforter. 

Yoongi slides his hands to the bed and leans forward, slowly thrusting his hips up and down while walking his hands up to Jimin's armpits, hovering nice and close. The scent of strawberry mixed with a faint, sweaty musk is sticky-sweet enticing, and Yoongi lets his eyes flutter closed as he takes a deep breath in. 

"You even performed for all of our friends wearing a toy," Yoongi rasps beside Jimin's ear. "What would they think of you?"

"Stop," Jimin whines, dragging the word long and whiny. 

Yoongi nuzzles his face against Jimin's nape, nipping at short pink hairs. "Alright, I'll stop teasing you, baby," he mutters sweetly, smiling at the sound of Jimin cooing happily. 

"Mmm, I like it," Jimin admits with a groan, making Yoongi nuzzle harder, grinning at the thought of Jimin feeling shy.

The smacking of skin is heard in lewd, rhythmic bursts. Yoongi fucks Jimin nice and steady, listening for the strained "Ah!" that punctuates each thrust, huffing small sounds of his own. 

Yoongi begins to sit back, careful not to let his hips lose too much rhythm. Once on his knees, Yoongi spreads Jimin wide with both hands and leans his weight into him, fucking him much faster. Jimin jiggles hypnotically, and Yoongi gives him light spanks to each cheek, unable to resist playing with him; delighted by the sound of him squealing. 

"Hyung, I want to cum again," Jimin cries, gripping the floral blanket tight. 

Yoongi wants to watch him cum – wants to touch and tease his cock while praising him and making him sob. As he slowly pulls out, Jimin trembles and groans in protest. Yoongi gives his ass a couple of light taps and mutters, "On your back." 

"Hyung" Jimin complains, elongating the word, making Yoongi smirk. 

Jimin crawls slightly forward and bends at the knees, then flops onto his side, huffing dramatically as if he cannot be bothered to move a single inch more. 

"I know, I know," Yoongi mutters, grabbing Jimin by the hips and pulling him the rest of the way onto his back. Jimin squeals and laughs, spreading his legs wide while watching with eager, mascara-smudged eyes as Yoongi continues to position him right where he wants him. 

"Sorry I can't choose between wanting to see your ass and wanting to see your face," Yoongi grumbles defensively while pumping his cock and reaching for the bottle of lube. He squirts some directly onto his shaft – cool liquid on warm skin – and he smears it in one stroke.

"Wow, and they say chivalry is dead," Jimin teases, lifting his eyebrows playfully with a grin. 

Yoongi slides his length into Jimin's tight warmth in one swift movement, and Jimin's grin falls agape as his back arches. He lets out a deep, pleased moan that Yoongi mirrors with a slow intake of air, filling his lungs. The curve of Jimin's neck, along his chest, and down to his tummy bows delicately taut, and Yoongi maps each inch with his eyes, stunned by his beauty. 

When Jimin settles slowly onto his back, Yoongi reaches forward and slots two fingers into Jimin's mouth. Jimin clamps his lips closed and gently sucks as Yoongi begins to set a steady pace with his hips. 

"Good boy," he praises, and Jimin's eyes blow wide. "So fucking good for me. So pretty and tight and perfect."

Jimin anchors himself onto his elbows, muttering something that sounds like a question, and Yoongi nods, smiling sweetly down at Jimin, watching his hard, leaking cock slap his tummy with each thrust. 

"Perfect, pretty Jiminah. And you're all mine."

More sounds are uttered around Yoongi's fingers as Jimin's eyes roll and his head bobs with the rocking of their bodies. Yoongi reaches between them and rolls his palm over the tip of Jimin's cock, eliciting his eyes to open big and round. 

Already, Jimin looks dazed, back draped slightly with his head held up only enough to suck on Yoongi's fingertips, supported against his elbows. Jimin's fingers slowly dance over the material of his green floral sheet, legs flayed lazily around Yoongi's hips. 

Yoongi slowly tugs at Jimin's length, making him whimper and sputter incoherently. Jimin rocks his hips and squeezes around Yoongi in a rhythm matching Yoongi's thrusts – must be chasing his own high. Seeing Jimin looking dazed and eager to cum again, stuffed with fingers and cock, Yoongi's mind races as he attempts to sort out how he got so fucking lucky.

"'S good," Jimin whines, dropping his head back and letting Yoongi's drool-slick fingers drag over his chin. 

Yoongi continues his pace – a deliberate roll of hips – letting his fingers slowly fall past Jimin's chin, to his chest, tracing curves and dips until finally taking hold of him around the ribs. Gradually, Jimin's arms give way, and he lies back – head first, then shoulders, sinking deeper against green flowers with his eyes hazy and wide. 

"Are you floaty, Jiminah?" Yoongi asks sweetly, wetting his salty-dry lips. 

Jimin hums and crooks a lazy smile, lifting his hands slowly to rub over his pecs and tummy. Yoongi follows the movements, feeling affection swirl and swell behind his ribs. At this pace, he thinks he could fuck Jimin for an eternity if he tried; his pleasure simmers just below the surface nice and steady, with no risk of boiling over too soon. 

"Ah—Yoongi," Jimin gasps, chest heaving and falling. "I'm—"

Yoongi rolls his palm over Jimin's tip and gives him a firm enough squeeze to make him sob. 

"Gonna cum, pretty?" he asks. 

Wide-eyed and mouth droopy-round, Jimin nods. His lips form shapes unvoiced, and Yoongi continues to roll and squeeze, languidly syncopating his quicker thrusts. 

"Cum for me, baby. Get nice and messy."

Jimin's eyes flutter, and his back arches slowly, head and heels digging into the mattress. "Please, please, please," he mutters softly like a prayer, palms flaying and squeezing above his ribs. 

"Relax and let go," Yoongi urges sweetly. "Let yourself float."

As if reacting on command, Jimin's body goes rigid and taut before quaking and sinking – thunder growling from his depths and dispersing out. He spurts tiny piles of cum onto Yoongi's fingers and palm, mouth forming softly-uttered stormy sounds. Even in the throes of incomprehensible bliss, every little thing Jimin does is eloquent; a performer and a muse. 

"Harder," Jimin groans, taking Yoongi by surprise. "P-please, Yoongi, need you."

Yoongi grips Jimin's hips with both hands, smearing cum on his sweat-slick, goosebumped skin. He picks up a pace that has Jimin's legs lifting and stretching, and Yoongi slings both calves against his shoulders before leaning in and taking hold of his hips once more. 

Jimin wails, eyes squeezed as if pained, licking and biting at his reddened lower lip. His arms lift and fall around his head, and he grips onto the bunched-up pink and orange comforter.

"This how you want it?" Yoongi asks, feeling his high build and build, impossible to hold at bay.

"Mmm, 's good," Jimin slurs, opening his eyes wide and smiling before his face falls back into a state of lazy bliss. 

Yoongi would love for Jimin to cum once more but has no idea whether he can. His cock is limp and resting against his patch of cutely trimmed pubic hair, jostling with each slam of Yoongi's hips against his thighs. 

"Not gonna last at this pace," Yoongi warns through grit teeth, his high climbing fast toward its breaking point. 

"Fill me," Jimin mutters dazedly. "Make me messy."

"Say my name," Yoongi rasps as he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes closed, gripping harshly to Jimin's soft hips. 

"Yoo—" Jimin sighs, bowing his back. "Yoongi. Please, Yoongi."

Pleasure courses through Yoongi, flowing like lava in his bloodstream. He keeps his pace steady, holding back from slamming too fast or too deep. Cum and lube squelch around his cock, and the thought of watching it drip from Jimin's used, puffy hole is just the push he needs to reach orgasm. 

"Fuck, Jiminah," Yoongi groans, dragging blunt fingernails in streaks along Jimin's sides. "I'm—ahh, fuck!"

Yoongi's body tenses and releases in waves of pleasure – white-hot and overwhelming. He quakes as he spurts his cum into Jimin's begging, fluttering hole, babbling nonsense, attempting to praise, failing around each syllable. Jimin sobs and squeezes, trying but failing to reach for Yoongi. 

With a chuckle, Yoongi leans forward, hands slipping and crashing into the mattress, dripping sweat from his forehead to Jimin's chest. Now that he is within reach, Jimin reaches and clings, grabbing Yoongi's shoulders and yanking down until Yoongi gives in and falls forward. Pleasure continues to tremble through him – chest heaving and jumpy as he does his best to settle and relax. 

"Holy shit," he mutters into Jimin's clavicle, covering his face in sweat. "That was—"

"Amazing," Jimin coos. 

Yoongi smiles and nods, kissing anywhere his lips reach in slow movements. "Amazing."

Where they lay in the center of the bed, Yoongi is unable to stretch his legs far before hitting the headboard, so they stay in a ball while he catches his breath and litters Jimin's shoulder, neck, and chin with affection. It takes time, but Jimin begins to come back to earth, clinging a little more purposefully. 

"You made me messy," he mutters with more clarity than Yoongi has heard for a while. 

"Lemme see," Yoongi says as he sits up, groaning from his soft cock sliding from where it was nestled nice and warm. 

Jimin groans shyly, covering his face with his hands as Yoongi sits up and lifts his spread legs. He puts up a tiny amount of resistance, but Yoongi holds firmly, nibbling his lip, trusting Jimin to use his safe word if he really does not want to be teased. 

Dropping a leg to the side, Yoongi uses his thumb to press pearly liquid back into Jimin's puckered hole, grinning like an idiot when Jimin whimpers, legs shaking. 

"Messy baby," Yoongi teases, earning his arm a light smack from Jimin's foot. 

Yoongi pulls his fingers away and watches as Jimin tenses, causing the cum to dribble back out. He rubs his hands over Jimin's shins and calves, watching as Jimin heavy-blinks at the ceiling. 

"Shower?"

Jimin's gaze finds Yoongi's, and he smiles, then nods. "Carry me?" he asks with a cute bat of his lashes that makes Yoongi's heart go haywire.

And although Yoongi makes a show of rolling his eyes and being indignant, he gets up and stretches, then turns his back to Jimin and taps his shoulder. 

"Get on."

"Ooh, piggyback?" Jimin shouts, and Yoongi turns his head in time to see Jimin sit high on his knees and fling himself over Yoongi's shoulders. 

Yoongi links his arms around sweaty thighs and has to bend and hop a few times to get Jimin in place – a mildly humiliating task while nude – then he is off, kicking discarded clothing items along the way. 

"We should take a bath," Jimin mutters into Yoongi's shoulder. 

Yoongi hums and nods, turning left into the hallway and again into the bathroom. "Anything you want."

Although Yoongi would love to dote on Jimin hand and foot, he is grateful when Jimin slides off his back and begins the bath, finding sweetly-scented bubble products to squeeze into the stream and controlling the temperature. Jimin slides out of the lace garter and mesh stockings, and sinks into the tub when the water is barely a few inches high. Yoongi presses a kiss on his forehead before leaving to fetch a glass of cool water from the kitchen, lingering just a moment to take in the sunflower pan holders and mismatched cooking utensils. 

Yoongi returns with the glass to his lips, taking slow, steady sips and smiling over the rim. 

"Sit up and drink this," he instructs a sleepy Jimin, whose cheeks are pinkened from the warm water. 

Once the bath is full, Yoongi slots himself behind Jimin, fitting perfectly with his legs outstretched. He rubs Jimin's shoulders and litters him with kisses. And when the water cools, he insists they shower off, helping Jimin finger the cum from his ass while licking deep into his mouth. 

"I could get used to this," Jimin groans as Yoongi wraps a towel tightly around his hips and uses another to squeeze the remaining water from his hair. 

"Good," Yoongi responds against his lips, finding it impossible to spend too many minutes without touching and kissing. "Want you to get used to this."

"Stay the night," Jimin whines, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's middle and walking him backward out of the bathroom. 

Yoongi smiles and nips at petal lips. "That was the plan."

"Stay tomorrow night, too," Jimin groans as they hobble out into the hallway, bumping Yoongi's elbow against the doorframe enough to make him hiss. 

"Won't you get tired of me?" Yoongi barely utters slightly pained against Jimin's soft, greedy mouth.

Jimin releases their hug and pulls Yoongi by the hand back to bed. He has a pep in his step as he gathers his phone – shutting off the music, finally – and finds the lube bottle tangled in the blanket. 

"Doubtful," Jimin finally says as he crawls into bed and plops down, yanking Yoongi's hand until he sits and lays beside him. 

"Alright," Yoongi grins, wrapping himself around Jimin and pulling him close, chest to chest, on their sides. His hair is still damp, but he is unconcerned when Jimin beckons so adamantly. With a gentle teasing tone, he says, "I'll cancel all my foreseeable plans and live only to serve you."

Jimin smiles and hums, saying, "Good," into Yoongi's mouth. 

In a tangle of tongues and limbs, Yoongi sighs and sinks, unable to hold back the affection that overflows from him. He thinks he could also get used to this. 

thank you so much for reading!!! reblogs & comments make the world go 'round!!! and likes are super appreciated too!!!

tags: @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @fluffybuns69​ @giriiboyy @mgthecat​ @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki​ 🍓 wanna be tagged in my posts? shoot me a message!!!

Denim & Strawberry is copyright 2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved. 

#yoonmin #yoongi x jimin #yoongi smut #jimin smut #btswritersclub #bangtantheatrenet #bts smut #bts fluff #fic: denim & strawberry

[justaphan]

POTO Fics by Mertens

More than any other Phantom of the Opera fic writer, I find myself consuming Mertens’ works over and over for the pleasing writing style, the complex emotions, and the raw and realistic portrayals of Christines in particular. Mertens’ writing is how I also got into modern AUs! 

I’ve never done any rec list for this fandom so let’s start with my fav fics from @intothemertensverse! (Hi there! Thank you!) 

Gustave Daae’s Daughter: A disfigured man on the edges of society with a good heart, Erik has been Gustave Daae’s closest friend for years. When Gustave realizes his time is almost up after contracting an incurable disease, he leaves his two most prized possessions to his friend—his violin, and his daughter. In progress as of 01/09/2023. If you’re not reading this then honestly what do you actually do with all the hours of your life? Some big surprises in this one. Featuring Ayesha and also Angst with a capital A. 

A Love There Is No Cure For from Sonnet 86: A fic of epic proportions but it can be read independently of the larger verse it’s in. Major Leroux influences, and follows the SLOW BURNING journey of how Christine’s grumpy old insecure teacher became the happiest man alive (including all the very awkward sex). Mertens’ masterpiece. 

An Old Fashioned Love Song: After an incident results in Christine needing to fulfill community service, she volunteers at the local old folks home where a chance meeting with a resident will change both of their lives forever. Cranky 80-year-old disabled Erik? I love this little goblin so much. You will too.  

Saved From Solitude: Feeling anxious and unable to sleep in his own house, Erik spends the night in Christine’s dressing room to get some much needed rest. He’s certain Christine will never find out—as long as he wakes up on time. Erik may seem tall, dark, and imposing, but he’s actually the sweetest sleepy old man with a cane. I want to tuck him into bed myself. Bonus total BAMF Christine!

Scuffle in Box Five: The Ghost had requested that Box Five be kept empty, but on the night of Mlle Daae's first performance, Box Five is most certainly not empty. There is popcorn in this fic and it just makes it ten times funnier. 

And Ask Me To Open Up The Gate For You: Christine Daae has tried every trick in the book to achieve the clear complexion she so desires, and all without result—every trick, that is, except for one. She can’t do it on her own, but perhaps her beloved Maestro will be able to lend his assistance in the matter. In progress as of 01/09/2023. This one is so innovative and different! POTO London Christine Alternate Holly Anne Hull’s Instagram Story had a callout for long-term acne solutions, and turns out a few people told her to go get pregnant to achieve clear skin :D 

First Impressions: Erik takes Christine to his home and the cape flip goes awry. BLESS YOUR HEART ERIK!!!

Just Us Two: The day after the performance, Christine spends the day with her son, just like she promised. A beautiful, poignant continuation of Love Never Dies focused on mother and son. 

Like Everyone Else: Mr. Y has cracked the code of blending in to society. At least, he thinks he has. LND-inspired crack. Just hysterical. Honestly how could anyone argue against Erik moving to New York, it’s plot-powering gold! 

Mr. Y’s Christmas Surprise: Erik accidentally and inadvertently invents the ugly Christmas sweater. SEE COMMENTS ABOVE

Joyeuses Pâques (sans masque): Erik tries to celebrate Easter with his family on Coney Island—and what better way to celebrate than with a visit from the Easter Bunny? Guys just a reminder that Christine moved across the ocean to live with this guy, so.   

My Three Eriks: Erik doesn’t actually speak in the third person. OR “What do you mean James Gant and James Hume aren’t the same person” Shit gets too real in the lair, and it’s laugh out loud funny. 

The Nanny: College dropout Christine Dee lands what appears to be a dream job in taking care of a reclusive rich man’s seven year old boy. As she settles into her new life, however, she discovers a mysterious secret about her boss’s former wife that threatens to unravel everything. Modern AU. Definitely Gerik. Very relatable and insecure Christine. Very funny too. It’s a thrilling murder mystery and it’s very hard to stop reading once you start. 

Baby Shark: Erik is haunted by a certain song his neighbor is playing. Modern AU. I thought this was going to be a crack!fic but I was profoundly moved by it. Both Erik and Christine are a hot mess. A very refreshing take! 

Honolulu Sun: After two years of relative isolation during the pandemic, Christine is a little chattier than usual with a strange masked man in the grocery store. I’m more than a little bit obsessed with this one. Give me all the Gustave Sr./Erik bonding!!!

Boulevard of Broken Dreams: Wealthy Opera Populaire patron Raoul de Chagny has been kidnapped and the Opera managers have been receiving threatening letters regarding emerging star Christine Daaé. Private Investigators Erik and Antoinette have been called in to get to the bottom of what's going on, which means they'll have to be keeping a close eye on the safety of the young soprano. It really is a shame, then, that Erik seems to hate Christine who in turn seems horrified of Erik - but things aren't always what they seem. Film Noir AU. Big sweeping fic. Angles that haven’t been explored before. And an Erik that deserves to be seen!  

#phantom of the opera #erik x christine #the phantom of the opera #love never dies #christine daae #justaphan's fic recs #mertens

[linddzz]

Whooooo! I found ya! Down to business:

Are there any fic recommendations for baggin/shield or pitch/frost that you like(d)?

I am absolutely feral

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand…..

What are 3 of your most favorite fics that you’ve ever read?

Ya found me! Let me say that the notifications of someone going through old fics and commenting are ambrosia. You are a treasure and a saint of a person!

And oh man I had to dive into my old bookmarks for these! I'm good at remembering snippets or vibes of fics but not the fics themselves. I will warn that a lot of my fave pitch/jack stuff tended to be pretty dark. It's not like, a thing I regret or say is wrong, and I still enjoy/love a lot of it! I was in a dark place mentally and that reflected in the stuff I was reading and creating. Who actually has a good time in their early to mid 20s?

Mostly warning because most of my stuff since then skirts the edges or flirts with the darkness but doesn't feel that need to go deep diving.

Second warning is there may be less here than you'd think! The more I write for a ship the less I read, because my brain gets very dumb and the self doubt gets Real Bad. This is all non-exhaustive of course! I wouldn't even say this is my Best of The Best it's just what's coming to mind at the moment. There's way more in the AO3 bookmarks

Pitch/Jack fics

In the Dark - series by @charmed7293 romancing the monster under the bed is maybe not always the best idea

The Syntax of Programming Languages, and, Why Some Code Talks in Accents - by Midievil. I'm biased here bc this was a gift fic inspired by my The Device Has Been Modified, but it done showed me up bc it was written by someone who knows more about actual coding than me

Shadows and Light - this series by @not-poignant is The Classic of the ship. Since you liked Things That Were you'd most definitely like this one. And unlike me, Pia actually finishes things!

I swear to God there were a lot of fics by @insufferablearchanist that I loved but they nuked their old AO3 and I can't ever remember shit.

Thorin/Bilbo fics

Prayers to Broken Stone - @avelera the beauty and the beast flavored au you didn't know you wanted

Comfort in the Sound - by northerntrash. Ok. Yes. It's Bilbo/Thorin/Bofur but like. Trust me on this. Road trip throuple shenanigans

Patchwork Robe - @hallsofstone2941 I am not immune to stupidly adorable modern college au one-shots

Possession - aljira. You liked Sanzigil, you'll like this :)

Marriage in the Manner of Dwarves - series by diemarysues

Other Fandom Faves (that come to mind. I've been reading fanfic since like 2002 ok there's a lot that has made impressions over the years that I just lost track of dkdjdk)

Taking Everyone For A Ride - by Nonymos. Venom/Eddy+Anne/Dan. typical Eldritch shenanigans plus polyamory. Unhinged and weird, just how I like em

The Only Way Out Is Down - @avelera Newt/Hermann. The second PR movie was so bad I wanna erase it from my memory but my god did it spawn some AMAZING fics, including this one that rewired my brain

After Zero - by what_alchemy Newt/Hermann. A bunch of delightful smut

The Wine Dark Sea - @moorishflower Dream/Hob. Siren! Dream au. Jesus Christ. Holy fuck. Goddamn. Gorgeous, monstrous, surreal, Unhinged4Unhinged behavior. Listen. I work with octopuses. I know what their arms feel like and that has ruined almost all tentacle shenanigans for me ok?? This fic got past that hangup.

If I Please You - @moorishflower Dream/Hob. It feels like a modern retelling of an old medieval fairy romance goddamn

And finally. This series. The series.

So. I very recently refound this series and I'm almost hesitant to post it. Because as I was reading it again I kept having to put it down and sit in horror at the realization that I read this fic when I was in college and it actually rewired my brain. I realized everything I have written was trying to recapture what this fic did to my synapses. I was chasing after vibes that I did not realize originated in this fic for me. Me sharing this risks everyone who reads it and has read my stuff also going "ooohhhh you're just doing this again huh?"

It is the very specific combination of "Character A: openly unhinged, obsessive, violently romantic and unnerving/Character B: seems so chill and just happily rolls with CharacterA being insane, because they are also secretly insane." It's the combo of a codependent bonkers relationship with humorous banality of their day-to-day.

It's also a Johnlock fic.

Anyway, The Paradox Series rewired my brain so deeply that I didn't even realize it rewired my brain until over a decade later. I swear I have been unaware of how much my writing has been leaning on what this did to my brain.

#fic recs #i cannot stress enough how non exhaustive this is dkfjdkdj #refound the paradox series like a month ago and kept having a fuckin crisis about it to my friends #like UH OH IVE JUST BEEN SNATCHING THIS FICS ENTIRE VIBE THE WHOLE TIME

[sevikasleftpussyflap]

Sevika with a Girlfriend in college

So sorry for the lack of updates, but in case you missed the announcement me and @abitohoney are working on a fic together! So I swear I’m still writing. Also, this is just a bit of a projection because college is kicking my ass

Sevika, being like a strict mother, especially if you keep complaining about all of the things you need to do. Asks you everyday, “you got any homework?” and refuses to let you procrastinate. She knows your routine; you wait until the last minute for a big assignment, somehow gain a mysterious ailment and do not feel like doing it, get so stressed you cry and don’t have a moment of peace until it’s finished. Rinse. Repeat.

“Stop fucking complaining. Sit down-hey. Sit. down. Read me two pages.”

Sev taking notes just so she can quiz you. Doesn’t accept shrugs as an answer. A little harsh when you get it wrong. Not that she’s disappointed, or judging you, but just because that’s her tone. And as one of the big bosses, she’s used to getting on someone’s ass until they do something correctly.

“Wrong. What did you just read?” Sevika’s eyes peer into your very soul, judging despite having no right to. It’s almost like she was possessed by your professor because Janna forbid you not have the material ingrained into your mind as long as he exists in this plane of existence. You know she’s just being thoughtful, caring, a supportive girlfriend, but for the last thirty minutes she’s been an asshole. You’re starting to see why everyone is so scared of her.

“Sev, I know this concept is foreign to you. But can you be a bit more gentle?” Frustration bleeds into your tone because you’re thoroughly sick of the ruthless critique you’ve been under. It doesn’t seem to phase her, as her face remains stoic, gaze fixed on you like she’s debating what reprimand will get you to learn faster.

“I am.”

Oh, well then.

“Baby, you’re not.”

A twitch in her eyebrow lets you know her patience is waning. She breathes a deep sigh around a cigar, smoke gathering over the table you’ve been at all night. Papers are splayed in a dramatic way to emphasize how much left you have to go, as if you’ve forgotten.

“The longer you wait, the more stressed you’ll be.”

“But-”

“And the more I’ll have to hear you complain about professor fuckface when he gives you a bad grade.”

“Hey! That’s not my fault. Nothing is ever good enough for him.” You quickly wipe away the moisture gathering in your eyes. Not fast enough, as evident by Sevika’s sigh and the soft placement of her hand on your thigh.

“Honey. Look at me.” And okay, perhaps you refuse just so one of those large hands will grasp your chin like you’re made of glass. “You are enough.”

Okay, well now you’re crying.

“You’re smart. I know you can learn all of this boring shit.” Her exasperated gesture at the various study guides have you laughing through tears. “You just need a little discipline.”

“Oh? Kinky- ow!” A flick to your nose has you squawking, and then melting as the same offending fingers wipe tears off of your cheeks.

“That too, brat. Seriously, you’re smarter than you think.”

Sev helping you because she’s gonna use ‘no sex until you get your shit done.’

“Hell, I’m doing this for me too.”

Definitely the type to read the question louder if you get it wrong.

However, when you do get a question right, you can expect some short praises. “Good.” “That’s it.” “Attagirl.” “Good girl.” … definitely gets you flustered.

She reads the syllabus. Just to mark down dates on your shared calendar, so she can ensure you’re doing your work and make sure you don’t forget an assignment.

Honestly, she would be living through you. Since she didn’t have the opportunity to go, she’s taken an interest in some of the more interesting classes. She also lets you know which ones are boring as shit.

Another example of when her position of authority comes out: not letting you skip. Yes, even if it’s review day. Won’t force you to go if you really don’t want to, but is very persistent and annoying until you decide to just go.

#sevika imagine #sevika x reader #arcane sevika x reader

[miscfandomgifimagines]

Random Lyle HCs

These are purely selfish sfw headcanons of my favorite blue boy. I’m not personally really familiar with the Avatar lore so I’m just going off my own imagination on some stuff. Also not sure how I want to go about my smut hc/fic for him so I’m stalling by writing this lol. I’m hoping to have some free time later this week to sit down and write some more, but I can’t make any promises. I’m really torn because all of my writing so far is done with my human oc as the base of my headcanons and I’m not sure if people would read my stuff if I used my oc and not reader inserts. Let me know if you have a preference one way or the other, maybe it’ll help me figure out what to do.

* Lyle is the type of person who would carry around a picture of someone close to him wherever he goes. The specific picture of you that he carries around? It’s a mirror selfie where you and Lyle are standing in front of the mirror flexing your biceps with a huge grin on both of your faces. Every time he looks at the picture he feels comforted. I don’t feel like the other recoms would make fun of pictures like this because everyone has someone special in their life that they would want by their side during rough moments.

* I feel like Lyle would be the type of person who wouldn’t mind reading, maybe not college textbooks or romance novels. But magazines about cars, fitness, guns, or anything similar? Loves them and reading them is one of his favorite low-energy hobbies.

* Lyle actually thinks most of Pandora’s wildlife is pretty cool. Back on Earth a lot of animals had died out so there really wasn’t anything aside from the occasional house pets. (*Not super familiar with the lore of Avatar’s Earth so idk if this is even accurate but just roll with it*) Obviously has a very healthy fear of most of the things crawling around in the jungle but every time he sees a cool lizard or even those monkeys he always stares for a bit. His favorite animal on Pandora? Ikran, his specifically. He thinks they are dope as hell and loves how vibrant the patterns are. Flying is just an added bonus.

* Still dedicated to his mission but finds his mind wandering about other possibilities such as what would happen if they fail again. He’s weirded out by being in an Avatar body the way it is now and the idea that all his memories are on a data stick in someone’s lab somewhere makes him uneasy. He doesn’t want to die but has the sinking feeling that the RDA would keep bringing everyone back as many times as it would take to finish business so to speak.

* Not one to believe in happy endings, especially after everything he’s been through but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be a nice change. Your presence through the readjustment period was a godsend and he’s crossing his fingers that you’ll get to keep in touch even as the mission progresses. Sometimes in the morning, he’ll just stare at you in the kitchen while you make yourself breakfast almost like if he moved his eyes from your frame you would disappear. When you catch him staring you make fun of him a little bit. “I’m not going to share if you keep staring like that.” Or “Why don’t you make yourself useful and start washing some of the dishes if you’re just going to sit there ogling.”

* Doesn’t like sharing even with the other recoms, but he makes an exception for Z-Dog simply because she’s the only one he trusts not to break his stuff. Quaritch is usually a no too surprisingly unless it’s necessary for the mission or to maintain a decent relationship. Gets kind of possessive over his stuff just because he hates when people take his stuff and don’t put it back.

* Lyle likes to listen to music when he’s at home base during his downtime. Whether that’s just by himself in his room, out in the common quarters with the gang, or in the science loft with you while you play your own music. I feel like he’d be the type to like mainly rock music personally, but he doesn’t make too much of a fuss about what other people are playing as long as it’s disrupting the quiet. I could totally see him branching out to metal music when he’s in the gym cuz it hypes him up.

* He’s surprisingly decent at braiding his own hair but insists that you do it when he gets out of the shower. He’ll sit on the floor crisscrossed in front of the couch and nestles between your legs, enjoying the warmth that comes from your skin. Sometimes after a stressful day, you spend a little bit of time massaging the back of his neck and the area around his queue gently and he just about melts every time. Also loves it when you sing to him while you comb and braid his hair.

* Sometimes if he doesn’t want your bonding session to end he’ll purposely make it harder for you by moving or swiveling his head around (to your annoyance). “Seriously, sit still! You are such a toddler. You want your shit fixed or what?” You smack him on the side of his head and he lets out a snort. “I thought we agreed to no hitting outside of the bedroom?” You let out a huff and tug his queue a bit. “I never agreed to that, especially not with how annoying you can be.”

* Hates going up into the science loft since the ceilings are shorter than the main level and he smacks his head into the lights and stuff but does it anyway to spend time with you. He’s a pretty selfish person and prefers to have his time with you be just the two of you. He’ll sit on the floor next to your desk and make small talk with you while you work on your projects. When he thinks you’ve been sitting for too long he makes you get up and go down to the kitchen where he’ll make you a snack and have you do some stretching.

* After a long day of you at your desk he loves to go into your room and stretch out (as best he can) on your bed. You like to complain that he messes up your pillows but you really don’t mind it. Lyle likes to pull you onto the bed with him and squishes you against his chest. When it’s just the two of you he doesn’t bother holding back his purrs because he knows you like them, but in front of the group he does his best to quiet it. You’ll usually stay cuddled up together until it’s dinner time or someone calls for him.

* I also think Avatars have scent glands just like normal kitties so when he rubs up against your belongings like your bed or your clothes he’s literally marking you as yours. As a “scientist,” you already knew about this, but you were a bit surprised to catch Lyle marking up the stuff in your room. He was a bit embarrassed when you caught him the first time, but continues to do it to the annoyance of the other recoms.

* I feel like Lyle wouldn’t mind cooking because it’s a necessary life skill to have and he’s pretty good at it. Hunting on Pandora would be a breeze for him. The fresh meat coupled with the veggies growing from your aquaponics would make a damn good meal. I feel like there are also a lot of weird recipes he follows, kinda like what broke college kids/ prison inmates would do (Ramen noodle burritos anybody?). Loves being able to “provide” for you which sounds silly but is always happy to cook for you, especially when you’re busy doing other things.

* Keeps his belongings and room pretty tidy. He’s not one to leave his stuff lying out which makes rooming with him preferable to the others, as you tend to trip on their stuff when they drop it all over the shack. Lyle catches wind of your annoyance and starts shoving stuff into the recom’s rooms so you have a clean living space to walk through.

* Likes helping you out in the gardens, whether it’s the native Pandoran patch outside the shack or the Earth one inside the outbuilding. You and your friend grow a variety of food found on Earth since you were still learning how to adapt to the foods on this planet. You head out each afternoon to check the crops and scribble notes down about the progress and Lyle likes to sneak strawberries when he thinks you aren’t looking.

* Lyle likes to make himself useful however he can whether that’s doing the heavy lifting, reaching for high objects, or fixing stuff around the shack. Does chores without being told to which was a pleasant surprise when you caught him outside fixing the rainwater basin. Loves helping out even more when you reward him with kisses and praise afterward even if he gets teased for kissing ass from the others.

* Hates when he has to leave for extended periods of time as he’s always worried about your safety out in the wilds. He knows he can’t get out of it so he does what he can to prepare you. “Okay so don’t go outside after dark, if you have to you both leave. One of you needs a gun and keep your-“ “Head on a swivel for any hostiles.” You give a small smile and grab his hand. “I know you’re worried, but we’re gonna be okay. You on the other hand need to promise me you’re going to come back. In one piece.” He squeezes your small hand and does his best to look sincere. “I’m always going to come back to you, no matter what happens.”

#reader imagines #avatar imagines #avatar recoms #avatar way of water #avatar recom wainfleet #avatar x reader #avatar wow #avatar #avatar recom #avatar lyle #avatar lyle wainfleet #lyle x reader #lyle wainfleet x reader #recom lyle wainfleet #lyle wainfleet #recom lyle x human reader #recom x human #human x recom #human x avatar #human x alien #human x Navi #Navi #avatar hc #avatar headcanon #lyle wainfleet hc #lyle wainfleet headcanons #avatar oc #human oc #reader insert #avatar reader insert

[fizzigigsimmer]

I wish I had more time to write. I have so many fic ideas that live in folders that I am afraid will never see the light. After I finish my Big Bang fic I still have to finish To B With Love & All The Kings Men (oof poor baby has gone so neglected). So this brain bunny will sadly probably not see life until next years big bang honestly. But I love the idea so much and want to share it. All my love to @dream-about-dancing who helped me with my initial brainstorming and encouraged me that this wasn't too dark of an idea lol.

That said. Warnings ahead for some dark!romance as in, this is fucked up with purpose.

The idea came to me after the massive disappointment that was Don't Worry Darling. I just feel like the film missed a lot of the horror and emotional beats that make the original Stepford Wives so twisted and compelling.

So my idea for a Harringrove Stepford!Wives Au was born.

A secret government organization has given Martin Brenner funding for "The Eden project". The goal of Eden is to create an actionable community model that would end poverty, wealth inequality, crime, war etc in the western world. Their slogan is " take the first step to world peace. Choose Eden."

World peace is the surface goal, but we all know Brenner is a closeted sociopath - so naturally he's using Eden and the technology behind it to create a weapon that can control/erase/change the will of others on a mass scale. World peace through mind control in other words. Everyone in Eden is essentially a test subject.

Brenner finds volunteers by preying on fringe groups and people who are ostracized in society, because they can more easily disappear without being missed. Nobody cares if the guy dealing drugs out of his van stops showing up to the corner, or some "tranny" quits their job and moves without telling anyone.

Billy and Steve are college roommates, it's the 80s, and they're both deep in the closet. Billy struggles with his childhood trauma and Steve is there for him like no one else ever has been. Steve is exploring his own sexuality and trying to live independently of his overbearing parents for the first time and they form a very codependent relationship.

Steve's parents start to suspect somethings up with him and his roommate and start to put pressure on him to live up to his responsibilities (Aka join his father's firm and get married to a nice girl). It doesn't help that Billy is fearful and possessive of their relationship and generally just a giant redflag. Steve just wants to be with Billy, but he knows they don't have a future and he doesn't want to be the son who fucks up and ruins his family over something he shouldn't even want - so he breaks up with Billy.

Billy spirals. He completely ignores the part about Steve breaking up with him because he's an unstable mess lol and fixates on Steve's parents and the world telling them it's wrong to be together. He knows Steve was happy with him and that Steve loves him and is desperate to get him back.

He meets someone at a bar who introduces him to Project Eden and indoctrinates him into Brenner's circle. At first Billy thinks this sounds like some weird geek novel bullshit, but the idea of a safe world where he's not wrong for being the way that he is, and where Steve still loves him and he's powerful and successful and nothing can touch him? Appealing as fuck. Sign him up. He'll be a warrior for world peace.

Cue him literally abducting Steve on his wedding day and bringing him into Eden, where they become The Hargroves. They have the perfect life and the perfect marriage that the outside world tells them they can't have. Billy's the provider and each day he gets to come home to his blissfully happy and submissive husband.

He was afraid at first that Brenner's technology would take away what he loves most about Steve, but no he's still the same dork with the same fire. The only downside is Billy knows deep down that Steve didn't choose this and he lives in fear of Steve waking up one day and truly hating him.

The first crack comes when Steve starts to have upsetting dreams about the past, including the time his dad called him a slur and accused him of ruining the family and breaking his mother's heart. Billy tells him these are just nightmares but he knows they are really Steve's memories popping up where they shouldn't. He starts to panic and does everything he can to "fix" Steve, gaslighting him the entire way.

Meanwhile poor Steve is on a reluctant heroes journey slowly regaining his memories and his own mind. He starts unraveling the mysteries behind Eden with the help of Eleven and his friends, who are also fellow residents of Eden. Eleven is Brenner's "daughter" and unknowingly is a big part of how the technology works. Max and Lucas came to Eden together so they could be together without persecution. Heather and Robin were lesbians who didn't know each other and wanted a chance to experience being in love. Jason was a closeted man escaping religious trauma, but in Eden he's the perfect husband to Chrissy who isn't sick or being abused by her mother anymore, and Eddie was a poor social outcast who wanted the world to hear his music. In Eden he's a rock star and has a budding romance with Jason & Chrissy.

Steve agrees that they can't allow Brenner to use El and the Eden technology for what he's planning, but the more of the truth he discovers the more he wishes he'd never woken up. Because despite everything, he loves Billy and the life they have. Billy's very sorry of course. It was never his intention to hurt Steve. He just wanted to make things right for them. And it can all be right again if they all just take this little pill and go to sleep.

Decisions decisions.

#harringrove #plot bunnies #dark romances #twisted love stories #stepford wives au #the plot bunny vault #fic ideas #fizzi writes fic

[sunnylands-world]

Draco Malfoy's masterlist 2

Updated: mar, 1, 2023

Welcome to my Draco Masterlist, readers, and hope you like my fics! Header, banners, and dividers are all by me

Main masterlist

PART 1 HERE

REQUEST ARE ALWAYS OPEN

You are responsible for your reading choices, please don't report my account or my work. If you are not aware of what smut content is it is usually content meant for 18+ readers, it is up to you what you read, I am not your parents!!

Do NOT write offense things in my comments or I will block you from this page and any account I find out is yours

A lot of my work is old so my writing did improve. it's organized from oldest to newest so that's a warning! if it's cringy sorry [ May Update Them]

Please leave comments, and show support!

My Favorite - SMUT:

Draco is obsessed with your thighs so he finds a new way to enjoy them…

Awkward - KINDA ANGST:

you were just sleeping with each other, no one was meant to get attached; especially since you both knew what it would cost…

A bit possessive - FLUFF AND ANGST:

someone shows up and they are a little too affectionate with you for Draco. What happens when the two protective, and possessive men meet?…

Draco Malfoy SFW ALPHABET

Draco Malfoy collage

Draco universe request

CRYBABY - SMUT:

Draco brings you to work but instead of helping like you're supposed to you, you whine about him not touching you until he has enough…

Bloody rose's:

you happen to walk in on your step dad in a meeting with his enemy in the mafia while pregnant with his child and Draco has to keep them quiet…

FINE LINE:

Draco is a far man he hears bullshit all day but they cross a fine line when it comes to you...

The Malfoy men - SMUT:

you're just cleaning like usual when both Malfoy's decided to fill you with their cocks…

The Devil And His Dancer - SMUT:

you're working to pay off college. You never expected to meet him and be sucked into his world of danger…

who are you now - ANGST:

time flies by and people change. Sometimes for worst than better

My hero - SMUT:

Draco comes back mad about the situation at the casino and you can't help but thank him for what he did…

It cuts deep - ANGST/FLUFF:

you've lost your only family and the boy you loved may have been the cause…

My God - SMUT:

your mother's evil but your step dad's your god with emotions he needs to release...

Cum for me, and scream while you do it - SMUT:

you're rather shy about the noises you make but your boyfriend won't have any of it…

Missing - SMUT:

it's family dinner and your mother can't seem to figure out why you would miss it. Only you didn't, you're rather close by enjoying your own meal…

Cherry cheeks - FLUFF:

you're headed over to your best friend when he decides to play with your heart…

How it should be - ANGST:

you've been best friends your whole lives but in the end that's all you'll ever be

Need you anywhere - SMUT:

your step dad just has to have you no matter what it may cost…

The ugly is pretty - ANGST TO FLUFF:

you met an attractive boy at the perfume store but you had no idea that he was a bully…

Message chat 1

Message chat with step dad 1

Photoshop Draco

SERIES ↓

His Enemy, My Lover Series: being Harry potter's sister means nothing to anyone unless you're used as a way to harm him. What if someone else thinks you mean something?

His enemy, my lover PART 1

His enemy, my lover PART 2

His enemy, my lover PART 3

His enemy, my lover PART 4

His enemy, my lover PART 5

His enemy, My Lover PART 6

His enemy, my lover PART 7

His enemy my lover PART 8

Professor Malfoy PART 6

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco fanfiction #draco x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fluff #draco x reader #malfoy #draco imagine #draco fluff #draco malfoy smut #draco smut #draco x y/n #draco x oc #draco x gryffindor!reader #draco x slytherin!reader #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x platonic!reader #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x slytherin!reader #draco malfoy x potter sister #draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader #draco malfoy x muggle!reader #smut #angst #fluff

[isimpfortoomanypeople]

Lucas asks Billy if he can marry max

High school sweethearts one shot Billy Hargrove x female reader

During dinner you all grow concerned over Lucas who looks like he’s going to pass out from his nerves, wondering why he’s so worked up

Warnings: mentions of hospitals and so much fluff

A/N: I literally wrote this fic as soon as it entered my head as it was too cute not to write it. I’m so glad that people have been liking high school sweethearts enough for me to be able to create a series of one shots. Sorry if some parts sound overly British as I’m from the U.K. apologises for all spelling and grammatical mistakes as I’m super dyslexic, enjoy.

“Well she’s finally down” Max gently sighed as she pulled a chair from under the dining table.

“Thanks Max for doing that, Kelly couldn’t stop talking about how she missed her auntie” you smiled at her as you dished a pile of pasta on to her plate. Finally sitting down on your seat next to Billy who pulled you close to his side, gently kissing your cheek as he complimented you on how delicious the meal looked.

“It was no problem, I love Kelly even when she makes me read good night moon for the one hundredth time” Max joked as she twirled the pasta on her fork, she lent into Lucas’s side nudging him with her elbow.

Lucas looked at Max with a questioning look as he watched her mouth turn into a crafty smile. He reached out for his glass, bringing it up to his lips weary about whatever his girlfriend is about to say.

“She’s so cute, she makes me want to have a kid”

Lucas spluttered and choked on his water, regretting to choose that exact moment to take a sip. His eyes grew wide as he processed what she had just said to him.

Billy’s eyes narrowed in an over protective manner, locking Max into his gaze. Biting his lip, trying to compose his words before he said the first thing that came to his mind. She was his little sister (still a kid in his eyes) there was no way in hell was she going to have a kid.

“Maxine no kids till you graduate college or even then! Actually don’t have kids till you’re married” Billy sternly spoke, drawing out each word so that she would get the message. His mouth slightly twitching as he brought his fork to his lips, forcefully swallowing the food down his throat.

Max cringed over Billy’s use of her full name, she rolled her eyes back at him as he was still holding his stern look.

“Okay dad I’ll wait till marriage” she sarcastically muttered back to him

“So Max and Lucas how is college?” You quickly chimed in, awkwardly laughing as you tried to defuse the atmosphere. Saving poor Lucas who was still frozen to the spot still in a complete state of shock over Max’s comment, you were pretty sure that he hadn’t even blinked yet still processing what the fuck just happened.

The rest of the meal ran smoothly, Max and Lucas updated you both about their lives since you last saw them at thanksgiving. Living in California sometimes felt isolating being so far away from Hawkins, but you loved your new life you built with Billy and having a beautiful daughter. Plus Max was only a phone call away.

You developed the unlikely friendship with Max during hospital trips to see Billy during high school. You gave her rides to the hospital, Max at first was standoffish, but could you really blame her? That poor kid has been through a lot in the first few years of moving to Hawkins, fighting monsters who came from god knows where, having an abusive step dad and watching as her own brother got possessed and nearly died. But slowly after a while she warmed up to you, Laughing as you both sang along to her cassettes that you let her play in the car. It wasn’t long before she started coming to you for advice and confiding in you about what had been bothering her that day, she soon saw you as the sister she never had.

This confused Billy at first in his heavily medicated induced haze, but seeing how you two got along warmed his heart.

This still continues to this day, Max will still call you weekly telling you about her life in college or asking you for relationship advice with Lucas.

She was overjoyed when she found out that you were pregnant and swore to be the best auntie to your child. Which explains why whenever Max is around Kelly is always attached to her hip.

“Billy can I talk to you?” Lucas nervously stuttered looking at the ground not daring to look him in the eyes.

“Sure?” Billy questioned as he watch the uneasiness wash over Lucas’s body as he started to shake with his nerves.

Billy got up and pushed his chair back under the table, he walked towards the living room door, his face stuck in a baffled expression confused to what Lucas was about to ask him? Especially in a different room away from Max, didn’t those two tell each other everything? So why was Lucas being so god damn suspicious?

Lucas quickly followed suit still shaking with nerves, the room started to feel like it was closing in as he started to feel queasy.

“Should I be worried?” Max asked you as the two men closed the door behind them.

You shrugged, shooting max a reassuring smile. But you too was asking yourself the same thing

——————————————————————————

“What’s up?”

“Well erm I..” Lucas stuttered feeling sweat pool at the top of his brow. Was the room getting hotter?

“Spit it out kid” Billy looked at Lucas with concern as he started to look faint, his eyes couldn’t keep still as they switched from different areas of the room.

Lucas allowed himself to breathe, trying to compose himself before he asked Billy the second biggest question of his life.

“What I’m trying to say is that I love Max, I truly love her with all my heart. I’m mad about her, I honestly can’t picture a future without her in it, so I want to ask for her hand in marriage?” Lucas asked, finally looking Billy in his eyes. He nervously held his breath awaiting Billy’s response.

Billy’s face relaxed, he chuckled as his face grew into a warm smile. He crossed his arms trying his hardest not to sound too overjoyed for his little sister otherwise he would spoil the surprise.

“Of course”

Lucas released all the tension from his body as he sighed a breath of relief upon hearing Billy’s words.

“I can see how well you treat her and how happy she is when she’s with you. But as much as I like you Lucas, I have no problem with doing something stupid that Y/N won’t like if you ever do anything to hurt her”

“So what did you two talk about?” You asked when the guests left. Looking at Billy with suspicion as you brought the plates to the sink. You saw how visibly relieved Lucas looked when he reentered the room while Billy looked visibly overjoyed, they both pushed off all questions you and max asked them about their talk.

“Lucas asked if he could marry Max”

You pressed your hand over your mouth to muffle out a loud squeal to avoid waking up Kelly. Your lips grew into such a big smile that your cheeks started aching. You were so happy for them both, remembering the day Billy proposed to you.

———————————————————————————

“Hello?”

“Y/N he proposed! Can you believe it? Oh my god I can’t stop shaking. I’m going to be Max Sinclair, oh my god!” Max squealed, her voice raising in pitch with each word, that you had to hold the phone away from your ear.

“I’m so happy for you max” you beamed feeling your heart swell over their young love

“ I wish you could see the ring Y/N it’s beautiful, I still can’t believe it”

You chuckled at her giddiness as it reminded you of how you felt when a beautiful diamond ring was placed upon your finger.

——————————————————————————-

“Well Max said yes”

“I knew she would, they’re both crazy about each other, reminds me of us” Billy smirked as he pressed his lips to yours into a soft gentle loving kiss.

“Looks like Max doesn’t need to wait much longer to have a baby” you joked laughing as you saw Billy groan, rolling his eyes at you.

“Y/N don’t even joke about that”

A/N: did I purposefully leave our details of the reader and Billy’s proposal just so I can write a one shot about it? I’ll never tell ;)

#stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x you #stranger things billy #billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove x yn

[azurelyy]

Could you do some NSFW KankuroxF!Reader? Bonus if it has anything with degradation, praise, or breeding kings. 🙏🏻

Hey, Anon! Thank you very much for the request. Writing this made me go absolutely carnal and it is very long... I am so sorry lmao.

Political Disclaimer - Please skip if you just want to get to the good stuff but I felt this was important to include. The overturn of Roe v. Wade is a decision this blogger disagrees with and if the subject matter of this fic offends you, please skip it. No kink shaming will be tolerated!

Title: Master of Puppets 🍋

Pairing: Kankuro x f!reader (Mentions Kiba, Sakura, Naruto, Shikamaru, Gaara)

Word Count: 5k (Again, I am so sorry lmao)

Warnings: NSFW, breeding, degradation, dumbification, unprotected sex, praise, oral (male/female receiving), soft dom!kankuro, choking, bondage, loss of control, mentions of alcohol/rec drug use, drunk reader, overstimulation

This was not how he was expecting the night to go. What he was expecting was for you to come home, either stoned or shitfaced or both, and to beg him with your pretty, pouty mouth to fuck you until dawn; to let him ravish every inch of you like the possession you were, to tie you beneath him until you were squealing from overstimulation, to groan out his name in gruff delight until your mind was completely destroyed from ecstasy. 

It would have been such a good night, but you just had to go and be naughty. Kankuro watched you as you grinded against your best friend, your tiny dress slightly hiking up your thighs, your forehead glistening from sweat as you fully gave yourself to the music the way you gave yourself to him when he pinned your arms behind your back and drove you slowly out of your mind.

Your mouth was curved into a sly grin, innocent eyes locked onto Kiba, your head twisted showing off your lovely neck, making Kankuro want to shove his way through the droves of partying college students and mark your throat with his teeth. He watched you intently through the crowd, watched every curve of your body, every sway of your hips, every jiggle of your tits. His blood was coursing through him like a raging river, going straight from his brain to his groin, the heat pulsing his dick aggressively as his pants grew tighter. 

Kiba moved his hands down the front of your body as you continued to wiggle your ass on his crotch, always such a little tease, when you finally made eye contact with your boyfriend from across the room, the little knowing glint causing Kankuro’s body to light on fire as you slowly closed your eyes and bit your bottom lip seductively, adjusting Kiba’s hands to be resting on your boobs. That’s it. 

Kankuro shoved the stupid, drunk idiots blocking the path to the side and stormed toward you like a tornado, startled gasps and “watch it!”’s melding into the steady rhythm of the pop song playing in the background. Your eyes stayed locked on Kankuro’s as Kiba continued to breathe heavily onto your neck, hands roaming all along the front of your body. You smirked as Kankuro grabbed your wrist, his chestnut hair was styled the way you liked, all spikey and thick; his leather jacket was open, exposing his mesh undershirt that allowed you to see his abs and his taut chest. You hummed as you were slowly pulled off Kiba.

“Kankuro!” Kiba shouted. “My man! What are you doing here?”

“Yeah,” Your voice was slow and dumb, your tongue suddenly feeling numb. “I thought you and Gaara were hanging out?”

Kankuro gave you a look that you knew meant you had had way too much alcohol, a look of both concern and amusement, his midnight eyes scanning across your face with purpose. “We are.” He was talking at a normal volume, making it hard to hear over the booming music of the club. He nodded over to the bar, where you saw Gaara, Naruto, and Shikamaru all boozing and laughing. “But I didn’t realize this bar provided lap dances.” He pierced you with his dark gaze and it instantly sent any remaining blood in your brain straight to your needy pussy. You gulped down a mixture of fear and desire as he applied more pressure to your wrist, your pulse racing madly in between his fingers. 

“Ooh, right,” Kiba drew out each vowel slowly. He was drunk too. You were all so, so helplessly drunk. “I forgot that Naruto called you guys.” Kiba shrugged and kept swaying all around, gravitating towards another woman on the dance floor beside him. Kankuro smirked. I’ve got the hottest chick in here, no doubt about that; even if she’s stupid drunk.

“Yes!” Kankuro turned to see Sakura shoving her way across the dance floor, stopping when her gaze landed on him, two big mixed drinks in her hands. “Kankuro? Aren’t you supposed to be with Gaara?” Kankuro gave an exasperated sigh and used his free hand to smack his forehead. Was he the only one with brains left in this establishment? 

“Did you not see all of them at the bar?” He asked.

Sakura moved her head slowly, looking at the bar for an amount of time that let Kankuro know her reflexes were most definitely inhibited, before she let out a sound of acknowledgement and connected her eyes back to him. 

“Right,” She said thickly, shrugging. She moved her eyes onto you and squealed in excitement and shouted your name. “C’mon, let’s dance! I love this song!”

Kankuro studied your face intently. Your mouth was pursed and your eyes were in a far away land, dazed and blank. Your pulse was racing in your veins and your forehead was covered in cute beads of sweat that streaked down your face and onto your pretty jaw. You looked over at him with dilated pupils, a look that said please save me, causing his heart to skip a beat in his chest as he gently wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“Do you want to dance with her, love?” He whispered, his hot breath tickling your ear.

You shook your head, stray strands of hair flowing around your beautiful face, and your body wobbled slightly. Kankuro steadied you with his arm as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck in an attempt to hide from the world, gripping onto the edge of his jacket gently. He chuckled and kissed the top of your head.

“I’m going to take her home,” Kankuro stated as Sakura now danced with Kiba. They both acknowledged him with a small nod before being engulfed in the crowd. 

Kankuro held your hand in his and guided you through the maze of the dance floor, hot bodies bumping against you and trying to get around you, but he held your hand firmly and ensured you didn’t get lost. You emerged from the crowd, the room seeming smaller and more intimate now that you were finally freed from the dance floor as he guided you over to the bar.

“Hey,” His voice was so far away against the music that you felt like you were in a dream. The men turned to acknowledge the two of you, their faces tinted pink from the burning booze. They all gave you their own wry smile. “I’m taking her home. I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Gaara,” Kankuro turned to put his free hand on his brothers’ shoulder. “You good?”

Gaara smiled smally and nodded. “Yes, Kankuro,” He glanced at Naruto. “I’m always good when I am around friends.” 

“Aww,” You slurred, making everyone turn to look at you again. “Gaara! That’s so sweet!” You felt like you were melting into a puddle of joy as each man gave you their own version of a look of bewilderment. Kankuro pulled you closer to the bar and you heard him give the bartender your last name. You glanced around the room and your head started pounding as dazzling blurs of colors whirled all around you. Kankuro finished signing a receipt before pocketing a card, taking your hand once again and guiding you from the bar.

The outside of the club was absolutely freezing and your teeth instantly began to chatter excessively. You pushed yourself into your boyfriend for warmth and felt him shuffle before wrapping his jacket around your arms. You glanced toward him and he tapped your nose lightly with his index finger, making your heart grow wings and flutter away like a butterfly.

“But, Kuro-”

“I’ll be fine, love.” He wrapped his arm around you again and guided you back home through the dimly lit streets. The walk was quiet, your brain still banging in your skull as you started to sober up. The cold air clawed at your skin, cutting its way through your body due to your unseasonable wardrobe choices, the only warmth provided by Kankuro and his jacket. 

“I love you, Kuro,” You murmured as he continued to rub your shoulders gently, his smokey cologne reminiscent of a warm bonfire in summer. You reached your front door and he pulled your wristlet from you and searched through it for your keys, unlocking the door and stepping aside for you to enter first, his hand on the small of your back as he guided you straight to the bathroom.

“I love you too, puppet,” He kissed the tip of your nose and lifted you up by your thighs so you were now sitting on the counter. “Now, where is your face wash… hm…” He began rummaging through your bathroom cabinets, getting increasingly frustrated with each failed attempt, until he finally pulled back the shower curtain and smiled triumphantly. 

He grabbed your face wash and a small towel, positioning himself between your legs as he worked the foamy liquid all over your face, whispering praises and reassurances to you. “Good girl, it’s all right, just a bit more.” He then wetted the towel and wiped it across your face, giving you a small peck once he was finished. 

“There’s my gorgeous girl,” He cooed. “Okay, one more thing.” He reached over across your counter to grab your moisturizer, applying it all over your face. The cream was cool against your skin and you instantly felt yourself come back to life after the face wash had stripped away any amount of liquid you had. You smiled at Kankuro, tried to pull him to you by gripping onto his waist, but he merely kissed your cheek.

“Sorry, love,” He whispered. “Not tonight. You’ve been a bad girl.”

You whined and crossed your arms brattily over your chest, making him laugh lowly as he picked you up and carried you into the bedroom. He plopped you onto the bed with a quick kiss to your forehead, before turning to leave.

“Kuro, wait,” You grabbed his wrist and he gave you a confused look, lightly tipping his head to the side.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” 

“Horny…” You rubbed your thighs together and gave him your best pleading look, one you knew he had trouble resisting, as you reached your free hand out to try and grip onto the waist of his pants. His booming laugh lit up the room as he lightly dodged your attempt at grabbing him, swaying to the side as your hand dropped from around his wrist.

“Love, we can’t do that tonight,” He left the room before you could protest and came back a few minutes later with an icy glass of water. “We’ll snuggle until you drink two of these, okay?”

You groaned in response, turning your nose upwards in feigned disgust. He put the cup in your hands and gave you a stern look that made your already dripping core scream with lust. You pouted at him and he slowly began tilting the cup towards your lips.

He growled, “Drink. It.” That worked. You sipped, the ice from the water shivering its way down your heated throat. “Good girl.” He got into the bed next to you and pulled you into a tight embrace once you placed the water down, kissing your temple softly. 

“Kuro, please,” You purred, one last attempt at getting what you wanted, as you rolled over to face him fully, small hands stroking at his belt buckle. You ghosted your lips over his and you could hear his heart thumping in his chest at your needy touch, but he only smiled without moving. 

“Do you want to snuggle or do you want me to leave?” He asked, guiding your hands away from his pants and gripping your wrists together roughly. 

“Stay, Kuro,” You held his gaze and you could feel his want, saw it burning within his eyes, but you knew he wasn’t going to give in to you. You sighed and buried your head into the crook of his neck, placing gentle kisses against his Adam’s apple and allowing him to lazily draw circles onto your lower back.

“Alright, I’ll stay,” He said. “Now, what do you want to watch? We need to keep you awake so you can drink your water.”

You woke up the next morning to the sun creeping past your closed curtains, illuminating the room in a dim glow. You rolled over groggily, vaguely remembering the events of the night before, to find the space next to you was empty. You shot up, looking all around the room, but you couldn’t see any sign of him. The chair where he would usually throw his clothes before going to sleep was surprisingly empty, no trace of your boyfriend left behind. 

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and were about to go searching through your small apartment when Kankuro entered through your bedroom doorway, carrying a small bag and a to-go cup in either hand, his face lighting up at the sight of you.

“Hey, love,” He chirped, handing you the to-go cup. “Figured you’d need some carbs after last night, so I got donuts.” 

“Thank you,” You murmured. You watched him place the bag down on your night stand, his rippling muscles emphasized fully by his black turtleneck sweater. He leaned down and gave you a loving kiss, his lips soft and warm. You pulled on his bottom lip with your teeth, sucking on it lightly, as you put the to-go cup down on your end table. Kankuro hummed into the kiss and gripped you by the hair, pulling your head away from him, cold air kissing your mouth from the absence of his lips on yours. 

“Do you feel alright?” You nodded. “No headache?” You shook your head.

His grip on your hair tightened then, danger in the dark of his eyes. “You really are a little slut, aren’t you?” He growled. 

“N-No,” You protested, grabbing at his shirt. “I just-”

“Do you remember what you did to me last night, puppet?” He tugged on your hair harder, hot tears welling in your eyes, as he forced you to look at him through blurred vision. 

“Y-Yes,” You whispered. 

“You do?” His voice was low and husky as he placed his knees on either side of your legs and dropped your head to the bed. You hit the mattress with a dull thud and stared at Kankuro, his body now towering above you, his brunette hair highlighted in the soft-gold morning rays of the sun. His eyes were brewing with deep desire, black as death, as he placed his hands beside your head, dangling his mouth over yours teasingly. Your noses brushed together lightly as you tried to crane your neck to kiss him, but he wouldn’t budge. 

“Did you enjoy being a tramp for him, hm?” His voice was dark as a moonless sky. “Enjoy letting him put his hands all over you?” He was now sliding his index finger up along your body, slowly, his other hand supporting his full weight. His finger felt like blazing desire, burning into your flesh, your blood rushing down to your pussy in waves. 

“N-No,” Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as he played with your hard nipple through your tank top, your hips bucking upwards into his fully erect length as a small mewl escaped your lips, the tip of his cock lightly rubbing against your sweet spot. 

“Look at you,” He husked. “You’re practically begging for me. Is this what you did to him before I caught you? Did you get on your knees for him like the dirty whore you are?” He gripped your neck in his hand, pressing his thumb firmly on your throat, stars forming in your vision as you drifted through space.

You felt your throat close from the pressure he put on you, small knives piercing their way up your legs, into your stomach, into your arms, before he released you and you took in a ragged breath. Your head lifted slowly from the bed as Kankuro rolled from you and sat himself on the edge of the bed next to you, pulling off his sweater. His toned stomach was pulling you towards him like a black hole, his muscular arms rippling as he threw the sweater to the chair; you could feel a small pool of arousal coat your panties from simply watching him strip his upper body. You felt yourself move down from the bed to stand before him, his strong hand moving in rhythmic movements, guiding you onto your knees, the cold hardwood floors stinging your skin.

You tried to resist, tried to move to kiss him like you so, so desperately wanted to, but his chakra strings had you fully in his control. Your puppet master smirked at you as he willed you to grab hold of him through his pants. His head fell back lightly as he forced you to unbutton his joggers, his dick springing free and lightly glazed with his earthy essence. You tried to speak but he moved your hand again, forcing it to stroke him gently, your words sticking in the back of your throat.

“If you want to be a little harlot,” He hissed, “Then show me what you can do.” Your mouth wrapped around his thick length hungrily, your head bobbing up and down as tears spilled from your eyes, your teeth lightly grazing along the curve of his cock. He made your hand stroke the part of him that you couldn’t fit into your pretty mouth and he bit his bottom lip, groans of pleasure escaping as you dipped your tongue into his slit and tickled his sack.

“That’s it,” He moaned. “Such a good little slut.” He felt heat coursing through his veins as he watched your small hand grip onto him with eagerness, the other teasing his loaded balls with your fingers as you choked on him lightly. Your hands were practically dwarfed from the size of him and it made the world spin around him as he tightly shut his eyes, pre-cum leaking from him and onto your tongue, the salty taste burning down your throat. 

“S-so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” He rasped. 

Your hand around him slowly gained control back from you as you felt a small tingle in your brain, signaling to you that your master had released you from his chokehold. He pulled your head off him by your hair and grinned down at you, leaning in and trapping your mouth with his, forcing his tongue past your lips as he tasted himself on you. The kiss was aggressive and hungry, ensnaring you in fiery vines all around your body. He moved away for a moment, pulling your tank top off and over your head, your breasts now fully exposed, hard nipples stinging from the cold as he pinched them between his fingers, before trapping you in his seductive kiss once more.

You whimpered into his mouth as he pinched and fondled your chest, tears fully falling down your face at the desire to feel him inside you, to gain some sort of release from his hellish torture. He nibbled your lip as he pulled away and looked down on you with storming eyes; looked at you like you were the only thing he wanted in the world, like he would both protect you from harm and inflict it upon you, a dangerous monster lurking in the shadows of your room, only coming out at night and forcing you to shout his name into the universe. 

“Up,” He commanded, gripping your waist and guiding you to stand. Kankuro let his eyes wander over the entirety of your body, drinking you in like a man before a Goddess. He examined your exposed breasts, your cute stomach, your clenched thighs, your cinched waist. You were like a pixie that came out to play with him, all innocent and sexy and dirty - and all his. He pulled you onto the bed by your wrist, placing your hands on either side of his head as you straddled him, his back fully on the bed, reaching his hand behind your head to pull you into a passion filled kiss.

“K-Kuro,” You pleaded, pulling away gently. 

“What?” He was feral, his thick fingers reaching between your legs to feel the sopping streak that lined your panties. “You want me to fuck you like the dirty slut you are?”

Hot tears streaked down your face and onto his chest, the desire prodding and poking at your soul endlessly, before he finally swiped your panties to the side and shoved his two fingers into your hot core.

“Puppet,” He moaned, kissing his way down your jaw. “You like that, hm?”

“Y-Yes,” He pushed his fingers deeper into you, forcing out a desperate mewl. “Yes, master.” You corrected.

“That’s my good little whore,” He praised, teeth grazing gently over your neck. He bit down, licking your soft flesh, feeling your pulse racing madly for him as he maneuvered his thumb to harshly stroke your throbbing clit, his nimble fingers still keeping their rhythm inside your depths. Your body quaked above him, your head fell forward into the crook of his neck as you clung to his shoulders for support, your fingernails digging into his taut shoulder muscles, your legs the only things keeping you suspended as you cried his name out into the rays of morning sunshine. 

“Come for me, my pretty slut,” He thundered. “Coat my fingers like a good girl.” 

You breathed an endless string of curses and praises between moans of Kankuro’s name as you obeyed his every command, your legs twitching as your hot juices flowed out of you and slid their way down your legs and onto his fingers below. He purred against your neck, peppering it with kisses as he made his way back to your lips. 

“Fucking beautiful,” He praised. “You’re so fucking good to me.” He cupped your face in his hands and tenderly kissed you as he rolled you over onto your back. He trailed kisses down your body, his mouth warm and delicate and good, before he slid your panties down with his teeth. He removed them fully, pausing momentarily to kick his pants to the floor, and you felt your hands slowly move above your head, his chakra strings binding your wrists together. 

Kankuro had lived his whole life being in control. He yearned for it the way Hades did Persephone, constantly chasing control and seizing it every chance he could. His favorite thing he had control over was, undoubtedly, you. The way he could make you melt beneath him, the way you pleaded and begged and choked for him from the pleasure he inflicted upon you; it made him feel like a God.

He shoved two fingers into your mouth, willing you to lick and suck your own essence from it - to taste what only he could do to you - as he kissed his way down your neck and licked your perky nipple. You mewled through the pain, your body sending shockwaves between your core to your brain with each swipe of his tongue. 

“Fucking needy slut,” He thundered. “You want my seed in you, don’t you?”

You tried to speak, to even make some sort of intelligible noise, but then he removed his fingers from your mouth and licked his way down, down, down your body, lifting your legs up by your thighs, placing them on his shoulders and exposing your throbbing cunt fully. He hummed lowly, toying with your pretty clit using his index finger as he watched your face scrunch into a painfully lewd expression. He dragged the flat of his tongue across your slit, taking his time to explore the warm walls he knew so well, before reaching your nub and lightly blowing, cool air piercing through your body and freezing your brain. 

Little cries of master, please, you feel - shit, oh god - stormed through the air of the bedroom as Kankuro wrapped his mouth around your clit and started sucking, gently grazing, and licking your pleading button. The air around you became hotter than the surface of the sun as you felt your legs tighten around his cheeks. You tried to grip his hair, the bedsheets, the headboard, but your master had your hands wrapped in his strings, trapping you in your need and not allowing you the sweet release of getting your hands on something, anything, as he fucked you with his mouth.

Kankuro pushed two fingers into your dripping core, arcing them upwards to places only his deft fingers could go, as your legs began to quiver around his face, your sweet essence overwhelming his senses and taking him to his favorite ethereal plane where it was just him and you. You came again, chanting coming-coming-coming, your thighs trembling, hips bucking. He pushed down on your stomach with his free hand as he drank you in like a man dying of thirst, trapping you beneath him fully, not allowing any part of your body to jerk or move away, forcing you to focus only on his tantalizing overstimulation, your mind turning black and numb.

“That’s it, love,” He whispered, giving your aching clit a final kiss. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” Kankuro wrapped one burly arm around your shoulders, nails raking across your skin, as he maneuvered himself with the other to ghost his throbbing length over your heat. He pushed his tip against your clit, swirling it around, the pressure sucking your soul from your body. Your stomach twisted into another knot, craving his dick like the very air you breathe. He was right, you were a whore for him, and you needed him. Now.

“Please,” You groaned, your fingers twitching as your desire coursed its way to them. “Need you now, master. Fuck me, please. Fuck me.”

Kankuro captured your mouth in his as his thick cock stretched your walls, plunging deep into your core, his nails digging deeper into your shoulder, the pain and pleasure mixing into an impossible force against your entire body as he filled you up. All the pining you felt evaporated away, vibrations running up your stomach and into your neck, your eyebrows furrowed from the ecstasy of him in you.

“S-so tight, puppet,” His voice was pure evil, dangerous and deadly, his hand tugging at your hair. “Can’t be a slut with my baby in you, can you?”

He was lava in your core. You moaned, choked out his name, wrapped your legs desperately around his waist, but none of that released the divine, impossible pressure building just beneath your skin. Kankuro did that. He loved you steadily, thoroughly, thrusting deep inside you while he owned your lips.

“Please, Kuro,” You purred against his hot mouth between heavy breaths. “Let me touch you.” God, you were so needy for him. You were a babbling brook beneath him, bubbling and brewing as he nestled his cock deeper inside you, his hot mouth now moved to the shell of your ear and nipping at your earlobe, each thrust sending a shiver up your spine as he let out a ragged, burning breath onto your neck.

You felt your brain tingle again as his puppeteer strings released you, immediately gripping his thick hair in your hands, flames on your skin, lightning in your veins. You melted, your orgasm so powerful you felt like you might pass out, a desperate gasping sound releasing from your lips that might have been his name, might have been nonsense, might have been “Fuck-yes-Kuro-Coming-Fuck-Fill-Me-Up.”

“Fuck,” He moaned. The word tasted sweet on your tongue. “G-gonna come. Gonna fill you up so you can never be a dirty slut again.” 

“Do it,” You pleaded, clawing at his back like an animal, letting your brain float around in space. Your breaths were chaotic and heavy as Kankuro’s rhythm slowed, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he bottomed out deep in you and released himself inside your walls. He rasped out your name as his face fell into the crook of your neck, sweat dripping from his brow down his face and onto your shoulders as he twitched harshly deep inside you, his seed shooting straight into your soul.

He laid on you for a while, his sweet release filling you to the brim, as he lightly kissed your neck and collarbones. “It’s so much, love,” He whispered. “So much cum for your sweet pussy.”

You kissed his hair, smiling. “Mmm, good.” He adjusted, finally pulling himself out of you, hot white liquid pooling out and sliding down your thighs. He kissed the top of your head, leaving to retrieve a wet towel from the bathroom, peppering praises and recognition while he helped clean you up. Your heart was full as you snuggled into him, your legs intertwined together on the bed.

“I love you, puppet,” He murmured into your hair. “Do you want your donut now?”

You giggled excitedly as you leaned off his chest, smiling down at him. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

He gave you a quick peck, unlocking his legs from yours as he reached to grab the bag from the nightstand. “Here,” He handed you the bag and grabbed the to-go cup. “I’m gonna heat this up for you. Are you up for a lazy day today? I’m beat.”

“Don’t you have to do stupid Kazekage-Brother-Stuff… or something?” You asked, opening the bag as the scent of sickeningly sweet sugar overwhelmed your senses.

“Yeah,” He smirked his signature devilish grin. “But Gaara should know better when he brings me to meetings in Konoha. I tend to get… distracted.” He gave you a look filled with dark desire, letting you know he would be filling you up again before dusk, and you smiled knowingly. 

Please consider reblogging to support my work! As always, screaming in the comments is appreciated. 🖤

#kankuro x reader #kankuro x you #naruto smut #azurelyy writes #naruto fanfiction #kankuro #july.txt

[bellaxgiornata]

Number 18 for the ask game :)

18. Is there some headcanon you've included in more than one fic?

Ohhh this is a tough one, Soulie! Because honestly there's probably a ton that I'm not even aware of, particularly when it comes to Matt Murdock since I have so many different fics and one shots for him now and I tend to view him in a certain way. I don't know if these are all technically headcanons, but I broke them down between Frank, Michael, and Matt below the cut!

Starting with Frank, I think from what I've noticed in my fics is that Frank needs to almost always have a dog when he settles down. And it's obviously got to be a rescue--probably one he saved himself even. I just think a dog would help heal him, okay? I also think there's still a super playful, teasing side to Frank that can still come out after what he's been through when he finally manages to let someone in--but it's like a big deal to see that side of him. And no one else will. Then what I've also noticed in the way I write him across other fics is that he is very guarded when it comes to falling in love or starting another family because he is clearly still mourning his deceased wife and kids. Something that plays a role for sure in Don't Walk Away that is more apparent in part 2 (whenever that gets finished 😅) and in You're Safe With Me.

When it comes to Mikey, I think I tend to write him as unaware of just how toxic and controlling his family is with him. He's aware of some of it, but for the most part I think he thinks it's normal for them to treat him the way they do. Considering what we know of his upbringing, it makes sense. Though he will fiercely protect the person he cares about, even defending them from his family if need be (as you're soon to see in Safe Haven and as seen in I Can't Lose You). And I firmly believe whatever happened with his wife was sheer accident, which will remain true in all my fics with him until Kin gives us the facts (looking at you now BBC).

And for dear Matty...there are three things that stand out for him in how I often write him. A big one is his fierce protectiveness that will become possessive over people he loves because of his trauma from losing people. So he tends to...use his senses to check in on significant others even when they don't know and when he knows he shouldn't be invading their privacy (I notice this recurring in lots of my fics for Matt but I absolutely see him being like this and then beating himself up over it).

And something else that comes to mind straightaway is the way I tend to write smut for Matt. I firmly believe the man can be rough in the bedroom and can enjoy it, especially after a run as the Devil, but I happen to think he prefers something softer and more intimate. The man has been through a lot of trauma in his life and I believe he just wants to be loved (if he would ever let someone). Plus his body must be constantly in pain from what he puts it through when he goes out, and I imagine his senses might make rough sex...a lot sometimes. So I imagine he likes gentle and loving in the bedroom more often than not and that is why I tend to write smut for him a certain way usually. Doesn't mean he doesn't like to make things spicy though 🔥

I also believe he has like zero relationship experience and whatever he gained was from his toxic relationship with Elektra or whatever he learned in college. So he sucks at relationships sometimes which is what adds a lot of irritation to my angsty fics for him. But let's be real, was he dating in that orphanage? Probably not really. Though I'm sure he did other things cause there's no way I believe Matt Murdock was a virgin when he went to Columbia! So I use his romantic inexperience with others as issues in a lot of angst pieces.

I'm sure there are plenty of things I forgot, but that's what I could come up with for this one! And damn did it really get me thinking...

#bella answers #fic writer asks #headcanons that exist throughout my fics #includes matt & frank & michael

[xskyll]

Merry christmas if you celebrate!!💕

It took me a lil but here my promised questions for like comment romance:

1) While reading i was wondering indeed about Izukus "skillsets" ehem👀 like we know he had a previous relationship and theres some air of speculation around him and shouto cosplayers, in stark contrast to his future vision of barely getting to hold his so's hand... i did ask myself quite a bit about izukus innocence haha

2) do you have headcanons or perhaps a whole fic in mind of wedding shenanigans or the disaster of shinkami getting together?

3) Who throws Todoroki a hangover-eske bachelor party and why is it ochako?

4) was soba ever possessive of his catdaddy giving all his attention away? And how did banjo and kazooie warm up to their stepmom?

Please please feel free to throw in any extra tidbits as well, id love to learn🫶🙏

I do celebrate, thank you! Merry Christmas! 🎄🦌☃️

The first question made me laugh out loud. His skillsets. 😂 But okay! Let me tackle these one at a time! Sorry in advance, but I'll probably babble.

1. So. Izuku's skillsets are probably pretty average, lmao. Shouto was very smitten, though, that first time, so Ochako assumed he was some sort of sex god. But Shouto is only the second person Izuku has ever slept with, and the first guy, so it's not like he has a ton of experience. Concerning the Shouto cosplayers, he really did just take pictures with them and go on his merry way. They were probably very disappointed. ^^; He's a romantic, though, and I can't see him sleeping with someone casually. All that being said, despite his limited experience (he and his ex weren't together long), I imagine he is very veeery attentive and giving. With his first relationship, she and Izuku were each other's firsts. They met in college. She broke up with him after being pressured to by her friends, who thought she could do better than a quirkless guy who was also shorter than her. She had a hard time finding dates because of her height (fun fact: she was on the school's basketball team!). After they broke up, she quickly regretted her decision once she tried dating other guys. I imagine she had a weight in her stomach, telling her she messed up, but she tried to ignore it. I think she'll eventually meet other nice guys, but she'll never have a lover as attentive and caring as Izuku was in bed, lol. She learned to be more careful about taking unsolicited advice. For Shouto, this is perfect. His entire life, he craved love and affection, and now he has this person who absolutely showers him with both. Izuku is shy and nervous, so the fact that he gives so much of himself in bed, when he's arguably most vulnerable, is very important to Shouto. Unlike Izuku's ex, Shouto 100% understands what he has and doesn't take it for granted. I can't say I've thought of the *specifics* of their activities, but if I was going to assign them a kink, I'd probably say they both have their worship kink moments.

2. Lots of people requested a Shinkami sequel! I actually have no ideas. OTL I started writing a how-Hitoshi-and-Izuku-met prequel, actually, which probably very few people would have been interested in. I guess that's easier, because I had thought of their backstory already (I'm saying easy, but I only wrote three chapters before I stopped, so...). But as for Shinkami, I can't say I have many ideas as to how it would happen. I'm not even certain of POV. Hitoshi seems the obvious choice, to me, but Ochako's POV might be funnier. I briefly toyed with the idea of writing a wedding oneshot, for Izuku and Shouto. If I did, it would be in Bakugou's POV. So a very grumpy wedding! I did their wedding in my other fic, The Cupid Quirk, though, so for L, C, & R, I decided to just do the proposal. I didn't want to seem like I was writing the same thing, especially since the wedding in The Cupid Quirk is also told from an unconventional character's POV. The tone of L, C, & R is comedical, though, and part of me feels a Bakugou oneshot would be a little melancholy, since his feelings are so complex. At the end, Kirishima would drag him to the dance floor, though, and Bakugou would feel a little at peace with things. ShinKami would already be together at this point, but he and Kiri wouldn't, so Ochako and Kiri would still be roommates.

3. Lmao!!! Realistically, I think Yaoyorozu would stop her, since bachelor party duties would fall to her. Ochako would probably employ hijinks thoughout the night, though. Yaomomo plans for a nice restaurant, and Ochako gives the driver the address to a club. That sort of thing. And naturally something goes wrong—a wrong address maybe—and they get lost and in trouble. When Shouto finally returns home, he finds out for Izuku's bachelor party, Hitoshi took him to an arcade, then Denny's, and then finally took him home and they cooked an entire bag of tater tots, put them in a popcorn bowl, and watched a movie. Shouto is so exhausted and jealous, he buries himself in Izuku's chest and makes him hold him all night, lol.

4. I don't think Soba would be jealous! In my mind, most cats naturally like Izuku for one reason or another. He's very respectful of boundaries, due to his own bad experiences, and that applies to cats too. I think cats naturally feel very safe with him, Soba included. His chest is also a nice pillow. It probably does help though that Izuku likes to sleep on Shouto's right and Soba on the left. Izuku is also gullible, so Soba appreciates that he can sometimes trick him into giving him a second dinner after Shouto already fed him. Eventually they buy one of those "cat has been fed" boards.

As for Banjo and Kazooie, Ochako has a much harder time! It's not that they dislike her, but they miss Izuku, so there's a long sulking period. She feels like they're always disappointed to see her, because when she puts her key in the door, they think it's Izuku. Unlike Izuku, I don't think she's a natural with cats, but she won their affection eventually. It took a lot of treats, lol.

Thanks for the questions! I enjoyed answering these! I hope my answers were satisfying and not just rambling nonsense.

#from the ask box #tododeku #tddk #tdiz #like comment and romance

[theharrowing]

White Lies 🤍 0: Introductions

Yoongi is everything you could ask for. He is attractive, confident, and smart. And his partner Taehyung is as possessive as he is beautiful. Too bad a relationship would be a major conflict of interest.

You need to have them at all costs.

🤍 Yoongi x Female Reader x Taehyung

🤍 word count: 0; screencaps of twitter feeds & text messages.

🤍 college au, cop au, partial social media au with a lot of written story, strangers to lovers & established relationship, yandere, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, angst, slash, poly, minor character injury & death, graphic violence, nsfw, 21+.

🤍 warnings: ACAB includes our MC, sorry you found out this way.

🤍 this is a sequel to Boy Blue! i highly recommend that you start at the beginning to fully understand the the dynamic & history between Yoongi & Taehyung. there will be a lot of references to Boy Blue; this fic will spoil the shit out of it. this MC/reader character is not the same MC/reader character from Boy Blue.

🤍 for full notes & warnings, see the master list.

🤍 note: those of you who read Boy Blue...you finally get to meet one of the characters for the first time. are you excited??? this is the first of several surprises hehe.

🤍 posted nov. 2023 | read on ao3

INDEX | NEXT

Profiles of starting characters:

reader/mc:

Yoongi & Taehyug:

Seokjin:

note: time stamps & dates are important but also a bit loose. if you see a mistake just pretend you don't! more profiles are likely to be added, and i may or may not remember to edit this post so just vibe with it. 🤍

also note: the image for mc is a statue of medusa, and it is not meant to suggest that she is white. her physical description is going to be kept as vague as possible.

* * *

Teaser for Chapter 1 because i love you:

😈😈😈 HELLO, MY LOVES!!! ARE WE READYYY??? i am still trying to wrap up Collateral before i get too far into this fic, but the muse has been wanting to work on this and nothing else, so here is a teaser. and yes, you are not mistaken, Kim Seokjin is alive. 😈😈😈

i cannot thank you enough for keeping the hype for Boy Blue alive. it was such a wild ride that i thought people would hate me for, and it became somewhat of a cult classic. this fic will have all the twists and turns that you have come to expect from Boy Blue, with some wild new additions because my writing style has changed a bit in the last two years.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! 🤍🤍🤍 BUCKLE UP BECAUSE THIS IS GOING TO BE A WILD RIDE!!!

tag list: @bangtan-tee-86 @ffion451 @fluffybuns69 @here4kpopfics @iloverubberduckiez-blog @lovemeforeternity @mgthecat @moonleeai @oceansmerchild @unsureofwhathappens 🤍 visit the master post to read the warnings & request to be tagged!

INDEX | NEXT

White Lies is copyright 2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved. No translations or reposts allowed!

#taehyung x reader #yoongi x reader #tagei x reader #bts smut #bts angst #bts yandere #social media au #undescribed images #undescribed #fic: white lies