#“hmm… it seems there’s a single handle to turn it on… does it move in one direction or swing hot one way and cold the other?” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

Your Favorite — Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: As the summer comes to a close, Spencer and Y/N start feeling a shift in their relationship. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Adults w/ age gap, thigh riding, exhibitionism, oral sex (male receiving), penetrative/unprotected sex, breeding kink, one line of daddy kink, Word Count: 4.3k exactly, love how that turned out lol

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | MASTERLIST

NOTE: Thank you all for sticking with me through this long wait, I feel so bad for having to keep putting it off. But I’m very proud of where this ended up, and I’m so glad you’ve all been so excited about it! I had so much fun writing this story, so again, thank you very much for reading and indulging me in this weird fantasy lolol ❤ Love you guys! And, as always, thank you to the lovely Em ( @boldlyvoid ) for being my beta for this series! Your feedback and support has been a big help from the start, ILY

———

AUGUST 12th

"I don't wanna hear a single word, understand?"

Not like I have a choice; As soon as the harsh whisper leaves Spencer's mouth, his hand is covering my own and my back is being pressed up against the wall of the storage closet.

But that's all he does. I wait for him to make a move, but instead he insists on being a tease.

"What? You've been trying to get my attention all night, and now that you have it, you're not gonna do anything with it?"

"I want you to do it for me," I mumble into his hand.

He shoves me harder into the wall and slots his knee in between my legs, spreading them apart and making me sigh.

"You wanted it so bad... So take it..."

Watching the amusement dance through his features as I grind down on his leg and whine into his mouth only excites me more, right next to the knowledge that downstairs the house is congested with people visiting to celebrate my mom's new promotion at work.

Needless to say, it doesn't take me very long to start feeling my stomach tense. My hips are wild as they roll over his leg, whines spewing from my mouth and into his hand. I look up into his eyes, doing my best to show him how much I could never grow tired of this, and he returns the favor by lifting his leg higher and giving me more friction.

In no time at all, I'm shuddering against him, feeling his hand press harder into my mouth to muffle the high-pitched whines that I can't help but expel.

"Nice and quick... Good girl..." Spencer muses, slowly peeling himself away from me. "You're really looking forward to being spoiled later, aren't you..."

The grin that spreads over my face is unwavering. "Definitely. Knowing Mom, she'll be passed out cold in like an hour."

I know I'm the one who brought her up, but it still stings a little when Spencer smiles fondly. "Yeah, she's a lightweight alright... You sure you can handle all this time without me until then?"

Despite the butterflies I get when he says it, mischievous and downright delectable, his hands reach out to grab my waist and pull me closer to him, I roll my eyes. "You underestimate me."

He studies my face for a moment, a pretty smile flashing before me in the dim light before he kisses my cheek. "Sure."

And when he leaves, I wait.

Minutes later, my skin still burns from his touch.

———

The moment my eyes open the next morning, it all comes back in flashes.

His lips are on my skin, travelling lower and lower...

His hands trail all over my body, featherlight in a way that leaves me with goosebumps.

His tongue starts slow, taking its time to taste me and savor every precious second.

His voice is like the sweetest prayer, whispering praises that leave my head dizzy and my heart pounding.

His lips languidly open and close around the most sensitive parts of my body, in tandem with that sweet, magnificent tongue as each action pulls sighs from the very depths of my soul.

His hands reach up and tangle with mine as he makes me come on his tongue, over and over again until I'm practically numb and the lull of sleep drags me under.

His hands now ghost over my bare skin, along my sides and down to my waist. I hum happily and push back against him when I feel it.

He's hard.

"How long before you think she wakes up?" he whispers in my ear.

"Not long... Maybe we... shouldn't risk i—"

The words fall off a cliff, never to be seen again when he slowly enters me, gripping my leg and forcing it over his own. "I'll be quick."

I can tell, though, that he doesn't want to be. It's present in the way he enters me, over and over with motions that feel rather stunted and definitely too rushed.

"Baby, no," I whine, reaching behind me to hold his hips still with one hand. "Fuck me slow... Don't rush..."

"But... Your mom..."

"Please..."

Spencer sighs, though not from exasperation. No, his breath is long and teeming with relief, hands gently roaming over the entirety of my body as his hips move slower. He's taking his time, relishing every second and feeling me gradually get more slick at his undoing.

His lips are on my neck, not providing marks to match the ones hidden on the inside of my thighs and my chest, but merely resting there. He kisses me in between gentle thrusts, letting out small whimpers of his own when I clench tightly around him.

This...

This is different.

We've had slow morning sex before, but never like this. Somehow, I find myself drifting, like I'm being carried away by his current. There's nothing but me, Spencer, and our breathing... Our bodies, our air, our souls...

This is what I imagine making love feels like.

Which is why I barely notice when it slips from my mouth— Three words that should feel more daunting due to the weight they hold and the way they ultimately change everything. And yet, whispering “I love you,” in a nearly breathless string of syllables feels incredibly natural. It’s more sincere than anything I think I’ve ever told him, so much so that I don’t even think about what it will mean in the long-run. Instead I let it fall from my lips again and again without regret or consequence.

He doesn't stop, either. Spencer continues to fuck me softly, like it's all he knows how to do. In fact, my confession only seems to make him relax more.

And that's what finally pushes me over the edge.

His name escapes my mouth in a whisper that sounds more like a plea not to leave, and he holds me closer to him. Our bodies are flush together, my back resting perfectly against his chest as he takes a few final thrusts and empties himself inside of me.

If we stayed like that forever, I could die happy.

And actually, that wouldn't be far from the truth, given that if we did stay here forever, my mom would certainly find us and kill us.

The thought makes me sigh.

"You have to leave..."

"I know..."

Spencer pulls me closer, squeezing me tight and giving me a long, bold kiss on the jaw before he rips himself away and takes my heart with him.

AUGUST 18th

Things are significantly different now.

After the morning I let slip that I love him, Spencer and I had been intimate once. We found ourselves alone while Mom was at the grocery store and instinctually came together.

It was quick, and it was fast and rough, and while it obviously felt good, something was off. But I knew it wasn't a physical problem. Like I said, it felt as good as any other time we'd been together, but it just wasn't right.

I hate it.

It hasn't even been a week since then, and I miss him. I miss our dynamic, and I miss the way I used to feel when he touched me.

So I stalk into the office and lean against the doorframe, watching Spencer as he goes through a large pile of paperwork. His hands and his eyes are moving at near light-speed, and the way he concentrates almost makes me feel bad for my intrusion—Honestly, I could have looked at him all damn day.

But there's a bigger plan in mind.

"What'cha up to?"

He looks up and greets me with a smile. "School starts in a few weeks. I'm just trying to get my coursework prepared."

"Oh... You... mind if I keep you company?"

"Not at all."

It's an innocent enough exchange, though I'm hoping I can change that. Mom doesn't get off work for another few hours, so it gives me ample time to do what I have planned.

I walk over and nudge his leg with my knee, and he lets me in. I climb on his lap, and after giving me a brief kiss on the cheek he returns to going through his paperwork.

My face turns and I nestle it into his neck. He hums softly when I kiss the skin under his jaw, once, and then twice, and then over and over in quick succession.

I can feel him smile. "What are you up to, princess?"

Hearing the nickname return in earnest makes me smile. I nip softly at his neck and run my tongue along it. "Mmm, trouble."

"Sounds like you," he mutters through a sultry sigh once I start going lower, kissing the top of his shoulder.

I slide my hands up the front of his chest and gently undo the top button, giving me access to more skin. "You love it when I make trouble..."

"Hmm, I'm not sure about that."

I slide off his lap then, crouching between his legs and looking up at him with a smile. "Really?"

All he does is look down at me, his pupils growing bigger by the second. So I continue my venture, sliding my hands up the insides of his legs until I reach the belt. "So you don't love when I do this?"

Spencer sighs, helping me by lifting his hips a little and letting me slide down layers of fabric until his dick is right in front of me.

I don't waste any time, taking him in my hand and bringing him to my mouth. He's still not entirely hard yet, but I don't mind at all. In fact, I let out a happy sigh just before I press kiss after kiss along the entire length of him. From base to tip, I take my time kissing and licking along the salty skin and giving him my full attention. I pull back and admire him, I smile, I kiss and I lick and I squeeze him with my hand... And when he's finally nice and hard, I take the head of his cock in my mouth and suck gently.

"Y/N..."

I hum around him, sinking further down until he hits the back of my throat, and then I come back up and repeat. It's slow. Maybe torturous even, but really I don't mean it to be.

Thankfully Spencer seems to be happy with my speed and technique; His eyes are on the verge of closing and his chest is heaving slowly, fingers gently caressing the sides of my face as I go down on him.

It's this same slow, steadying pace we'd taken before, and it's exactly what we needed.

I can feel his touch on my face, burning into my skin and marking me for all eternity. Likewise, the thick, throbbing weight of his cock sliding over my tongue and down my throat feels just like home— Like it's right where we're meant to be.

Once again, we fit together perfectly.

This epiphany sets a fire deep in the pits of my stomach, and just like that our spark is back again.

I look up and catch his eye, and he lets me keep it, forcing himself to keep his eyelids open to watch me. My pace remains consistent and slow, and and he brings both of his hands under my chin. The way he holds my face is so gentle, so loving and sensual that I nearly burst with tears at the sentiment alone, and it doesn't take long for him to start letting go.

He stutters my name when he comes, still using the pads of his nimble fingers to caress my throat. I take in and swallow each rope of cum until it's gone, and even then I keep him in my mouth, gently bobbing my head up and down just for the sake of feeling him inside me somehow.

But then he lifts me off of him and his dick falls limp in his lap. I sigh and lean down, kissing it a few times before just resting my head in his lap as he strokes my hair.

"You're right," Spencer says after a few moments.

"About what?"

"I do love when you make trouble."

We laugh, and I lift my head to look up at him.

"I know... It's your favorite."

"That it is, princess."

AUGUST 26th

I wish more than anything that this orientation would just end. My left foot is anxiously tapping the cool white tile of the floor as I wait to be next in line to grab my paperwork and get on my way— To home for what I'm sure will be a long weekend trying to find free minutes to steal with Spencer.

In another life it might have gotten tedious and painful sneaking around for so long, but I found it excited me. Sure, my feelings for Spencer were growing at an exponential rate, but ever since I visited him in our home office, we seemed to be getting back our groove— With an added flair I might add...

Each time we were together was more intense than the last. His hands got more possessive, his kisses got deeper and more passionate, and the way he looked at me?

I could swear I felt him falling just as deep as I was.

The smile it all brought to my face in that moment fell a little short when they called me next in line, and I fell into a joyful step forward to collect my things.

When I get home, though, things aren't as joyful.

The first thing I notice is that Spencer's car isn't in the driveway or even on the street. He's usually here on weekends, so I wonder if he's out for something, or even out with my mom on a lunch date or something.

I try not to think about that thought too much and step inside, hoping to at least enjoy the silence for a little while, lest they really are out together.

I think I'm out of the woods when I hear the television, a laugh track of some kind, but then it turns into the Friends theme blaring through the speakers, and my heart nearly falls into the pit of my stomach.

There's only one reason Mom would be watching Friends. She swears up and down that she hates it, but it always ends up on TV when there's one specific thing she's going through, because "Hearing them complain about their stupid problems make me feel better about my own!"

Her own problem being a breakup.

For a moment I wonder if maybe Spencer had told her about us. Or maybe she found something somehow that would give us away. I make my way slowly through the space until I reach the living room, my brain making up every possible horrendous outcome— Not even to prepare for the blow, because I know that absolutely nothing could prepare me for the wrath of my mother in any situation... I simply can't help myself from feeling guilty and heartbroken as my stomach churns and my heart beats so loud I can barely hear the TV anymore.

When I come into her view, Mom freezes and lets out a large breath of shaky air. The small tub of ice cream in her hands shakes just as much, and I can tell she's trying her hardest not to burst into tears.

I've never seen her this upset before. Normally it's just anger and annoyance, but this time she looks utterly broken.

"M—Mom?" I stutter, even though she probably can't even hear what I'm saying over the TV. I still don't know if she knows about my involvement with Spencer, but I feel like she'd be more angry with me than sad, so I figure it's safe to come closer.

The moment I take a step forward, she sets the ice cream on the floor and opens her arms to me, a choked sob forcing its way out. It almost makes me cry, just seeing her this heartbroken, and in an instant I'm running to her and snuggling into her side as she hugs me.

"What happened?" I will myself to ask, even though I still have no idea what it means for me. Maybe that's selfish, but if he's taking himself out of Mom's life, surely that has to mean he's removing himself from mine as well, right? And if he's just leaving without saying anything... God, that would ruin me, too.

Still, I wait to hear what Mom will say.

"He broke up with me," is all she says, through a long and tired sigh. She mutes the TV and then holds me tighter. I can feel that there's pure sadness controlling her every movement, and it crushes me.

"Why?"

"I don't know, he just... He said he didn't love me, and he wasn't feeling it anymore."

"That's all?"

"Uh huh... It was so sudden, too, like... I thought we were really getting along, and I just... I don't understand how he couldn't feel it... I felt all of it, and he just... He felt nothing. How could he feel nothing?"

I really don't know what to say anymore... It seems to me like Spencer really told her the truth and ended their relationship because he didn't feel anything for her anymore, but... I always knew he had to have felt something... I guess I just didn't realize someone could fall out of it so quickly.

The guilt overwhelms me then, when it dawns on me that I made him fall out of it so fast. I was there, taking up small moments of his time until, eventually, I'd taken up so much of it that it wasn't just his time I was stealing, but also his love. His fire, and his passion... Month by month, day by day, I was draining the love he had for my mom and distilling it to meet my own desires.

And now, here I am, in my mothers arms as she weeps over a man she truly loved, all because he and I were selfish and treasonous.

If Spencer decides he still wants to be with me after this, I really don't know if I could do it. Even after all this time... After all this trouble and guilt and glorious treason...

He could never really be mine.

———

Y/N,

I knew this day would come from the moment I met you. Of course, I didn't know how far my feelings would take me, but in the end I knew I would one day have to leave you and your mother behind.

Day by day my feelings for you grew stronger, and it wasn't until you told me you loved me that August Thirteenth that I realized I loved you, too. What we had was always dangerous, but by then my heart was focused solely on you, and I could feel your mother slipping from my grasp.

I pretended for as long as I could, but now you've taken up so much space in my brain that when Eve pulled me near, I almost sighed out your name instead. I knew then that no longer could I "keep up appearances," as I often like to tell you.

Maybe one day you and I can find our way back to each other, but for now, I think it's for the very best that we go our separate ways.

In my wildest dreams I will think of you fondly, and I can only hope that you might do the same.

Always Yours, Spencer

JUNE 19th, SEVEN YEARS LATER

There are so many things I'm thinking about when I come home tonight.

One: I'm a little tipsy and completely fucked out, which reminds me of that night I came home in the exact same state, only to find my mom's old boyfriend, Spencer, unable to sleep and to stop staring at my bare legs. The memory brings a smile to my face.

Two: My feet fucking hurt and I want to get these goddamned shoes off.

Three: The ghost of Spencer's smile when he saw me for the first time in seven years burns in the back of my mind, right next to the ghost of his hands caressing my skin like it had been the first time.

Four: How am I going to spend the rest of the summer back in town knowing what it feels like to have fucked him at all without an ounce of guilt attached to it?

Five: Am I going to tell my mom that I slept with her ex-boyfriend tonight?

Six: Fuck, I'm hungry...

My heels come off as soon as I step through the door.

The light is on, and I can hear Mom laughing in the kitchen with Adam from far away, which brings a fond smile to my face. I'm glad that she's finally happy, with someone who doesn't make me want to fall to my knees, thank you very much.

And truthfully, if I hadn't ran into Spencer at all tonight, I'm not sure I ever would have thought about that whole situation again— It was fucked up, he ended up leaving both of us, and Mom was so deeply devastated after their breakup that I didn't have the heart to tell her I missed him too. I just buried it deep down and tried to move on right alongside her, eventually erasing his memory from my mind, body, and soul.

Well, almost.

There were days, obviously, where his letter hummed inside my pillowcase where he left it, whether I brought it to college or kept it at home, or it sat soundly in my new apartment. His words were always there, spilling into my dreams and dancing with me through our memories; tangled tongues and limbs, wild nights and passionate mornings...

I'd wake up feeling hot to the touch and missing him completely.

Thankfully those days were few and far in between, and for a while I'd stopped thinking of him altogether.

But of course, it turns out that Spencer Reid is in fact, pretty damn inevitable.

That bar downtown was packed, so it was a wonder I'd even ran into him of all people in the first place. What he was doing there I didn't know. And neither do I now, because from the moment we laid eyes on each other, it was this constant state of shell-shock and fire, nothing else. He asked briefly about Mom, I told him she'd been married for four years, and then he joked about how he was surprised I hadn't tried to steal him from her.

Naturally, with that ever so playful look in his eye practically taunting me, I played to his joke and responded with a sultry smile, "The only one I ever wanted to steal was you, Doctor..."

The rest wasn't exactly a blur, but all I'm going to say is that we spent the rest of our time together at his apartment, "catching up on lost time"... And as much as I'd grown out of the submissive role sexually over the years, I found myself crawling back, submitting to him like I'd done it a million times over. And, really, I might as well have.

It's like we'd never stopped.

That being said, I declined his offer to stay the night and told him to give me a call some time before I left to go back to Seattle. Though, not without giving him a thousand goodbye kisses that were rather counterproductive.

Thinking about it makes my cheeks burn hot, though thankfully it's summer, and Mom won't have to question it. Though, if she does, I suppose I could keep it short and sweet and tell her the truth at the very least: that I met up with an old friend who showed me a good time.

"Hey'a, Sweetpea," she greets with a bright wave. She and Adam are obviously a little tipsy, more than me by the looks of it, but I pay it no mind. "How was you're night?"

"Great! Went to a few bars downtown, met up with some friends..."

"Oh, good, well we're glad you got back safe."

I snag a bottle of water and an apple from the fridge, then turn back around to see Mom and Adam snuggled in, sharing a smile that would make even the happiest person on the planet sick to their stomach.

Oddly enough, it reminds me of back then, when she was with Spencer, happier than ever and completely oblivious to what was going on in her daughter's life.

The thought makes my stomach flutter, taking me back to earlier in the night when he had his hands tangled in my hair and his mouth attached to my skin, spewing filthy words and praises that had me begging for more...

"I missed you, princess," he whispers, holding himself deep inside me. His fingers brush the matted hair from my face, revealing more of my saccharine smile and eyes that swim with mischief.

"I missed you too," I whine, reaching out and grabbing handfuls of his ass, shoving him even farther inside me and wrapping my legs around him tighter. "...Daddy..."

Spencer loses all semblance of cool, pulling back and slamming into me with full force. I—

"Y/N?"

I blink away his memory, reminding myself of where I am and what I'm doing, finding Mom looking at me with a curious gleam in her eye.

"What are you thinking about?"

With a small smile, I nod in her direction. "Oh, uh... You'll never believe who I ran into tonight."

———

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out): @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @reidsconverse @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @ssacalumsg0lden @emilyprentisslittlewhore @takeyourleap-of-faith @reidyoulikeabook @spencerreid9 @b-a-utiful @jareauswifey @flipperpenguins @pansexualthing @donald4spiderman @awesomebooklover17 @shemarmooresfedora @izraahh1 @bakugouswh0r3 @singularityjc @xoxospencerreid @thatsonezesty13 @big-galaxy-chaos @mggskneescrews @youabitchhhh @spencersjello @moonlight-2-6 @starrylang @foreveryoungxx3 @spencerreidscoffeecup @morganwilliams @emilyprsntiss @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @gubswh0re @mrsobrien888 @loveeee2134 @umbreonwolfy @ayla-1605

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut

491 notes · View notes

iwaasfairy · 3 years

Note

Hmm... ok spooky thoughts! Just take w/e interests you or chuck this if you aren't feeling it! Reader getting bullied and the teacher being in on it tickles my pickle. Sukuna voring... what if a sorcerer who can use reverse cursed technique is kept as a sacrifice, can chop the gal up and feed her to sukuna forever :) manipulating your pregnant wife feels mean too. I don't have any kinks to suggest :( i find them all hot and not scary :((

bby i loved every single one of these and i'll probably write them all bc honestly, your brain,, you just see me and ...wow jHGUFDGEYID yes ty so much, but for now have this

𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂

tw student/teacher, noncon, manipulation, power abuse, victim blaming, bullying and sexual harassment mentions, reader is 18+

a/n. i feel like i shouldn't even have to say this but obviously i don't condone student/teacher relationships and gojo is absolutely being a creepy, manipulative asshole here

You hate him. You hate them more, of course, wish you could snap back and fight at their sneers and whispers until you’re finally free of the ridicule. But you hate him too, when he clicks his tongue and only glances your way briefly to smile.

He smiles pretty, he does, with that strange sheen of perfection that barely cracks at the edges and fills up entire days with jokes, jokes you’re much too tired to indulge in. You don’t understand how you could possibly enjoy it when it’s always the smile you get when you’re sitting in the chair before him with yet another complaint; sniffling and pathetic.

“Please, Sensei, can’t you ask to transfer me to the Kyoto school before the end of the year instead?” you ask once again as Gojo gets up from behind the desk, stretching his long arms above his head with a sigh as a sliver of skin peeks from under the jacket and you look away too quickly. He moves instead to sit on the side of the chair— your chair, radiating heat from his body too close to your own and leaving you fumbling over your words. “I- I just- don’t think I can do it anymore.” He used to be in charge of the first years.

Used to teach you the ropes, and even then you had to come in once every few weeks to tell him about an incident, however minimal it might’ve seemed at the time. Gojo gave you the feeling that you’d be understood here, safe here; he recommended you to the school in the first place. Shouldn’t he be the most understanding of all? When you got here you’d been a shivering mimic of a person, barely able to look him— or anyone- in the eye without getting wobbling lips. But then Gojo sensei moved on to the second years along with you, by chance, and the bullying only got worse.

Your clothes were ripped, your bag torn upside down. Your locker raided and room trampled over, at least once a week, and you were left coming into Gojo’s office with a pout way too often. But now, third year in a row and nearing the end of it, you’re sick of pretending like everything is fine. You’re sick of listening to him hush you when you cry, treading long fingers along your face like it’s meant to take away any of your pain, your stress. “You’re about to graduate,” he mumbles, puffing out his cheeks in a childlike, mocking manner when he turns over his shoulder.

“Can’t you handle it for a few more months?”

A thick line digs between your brows when you curl in on yourself more to escape his presence, staring out the window for a few seconds before you sigh. “That’s what you said last time, and you promised you’d transfer me at the start of the year too. I don’t feel like I have to handle anything, I shouldn’t have to take this.”

“You’re sure going hard on them, it’s just boys being boys,” he tutts his lips further, before blowing out a deep sigh. “A sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” Sensitive? Last time they snuck into your room when you were taking a shower and took pictures, leaving the doors open to match. There’s nothing left to be sensitive about. He was informed by the staff that found you crying hours later, and still— You hate him, clamping your hand down harder on the arm of the chair. Maybe he’s not wrong. You are sensitive, and Gojo sensei knows that.

Instead of responding to his never ending jabs, you just stare at the side of his face where the blindfold moves ever so slightly whenever he blinks under there. “I’m sick of it,” you finally sigh, pushing yourself from your chair. “If you won’t help me I’ll ask the principal instead.” Your steps are hard and loud as you get up and walk to the door, only to be cut off when he appears before you yet again, the same shit-eating grin splitting his cheeks as his large hand lands on your shoulder, feeling much too heavy.

“Okay, okay, no need to get so fussy on me.” His other hand scratches at the back of his neck for a few seconds, before he finally seems to come to a decision, squeezing your shoulder tighter. “I guess there’s a few options I haven’t tried yet. But that’ll take a bunch out of my schedule, sweetheart, and I don’t really have that kind of time to waste.” It stays quiet, giving you the words to process the words as he tilts his head, popping his jaw back and forward in thought. “Well, guess you’re lucky I’m this invested in my students. Consider it done, okay?”

Despite the wishy-washy nature of his previous promises you can’t help but feel a bit relieved, letting your tense, determined posture drop just long enough for Gojo sensei to notice, leaning down to meet you face to face. He does it almost comically easy, pouting along with you. “Aw, you poor thing, this has really been keeping you up, hasn’t it?” There’s a hand on your back that slides down to the small of your back, and another that pushes a knuckle under your chin, his mouth corners tugging up despite yourself. “Am I not your saving angel?”

“If you manage it,” you fake a chuckle, but your stomach drops when he straightens up and still keeps you caged between his arms, nodding along with your words.

“Always so distrusting, and even after all the work I’ve put in to make sure you got in here.” His one eyebrow raises, and you can almost imagine the smug grin that he holds back next. “Some would even say you’re ungrateful of all my help.”

“I’m- I’m not, Gojo sensei,” you backtrack, the pressure on your back keeping him too close almost making your lungs feel like they’re failing you. You might’ve been more assertive than usual just minutes earlier, but that was when he wasn’t keeping you so close, way too close for your liking, and the front you put up is quickly fading now. “I really appreciate your help, I do, but t-they -still haven’t stopped, and that’s- that’s just what I’m worried about. But you said you’ll do it so I’m very grateful,” your voice cracks a little when he walks you further away from the door now, face so near yours you have to lean into his touch to escape it.

“Right, and I plan to,” he hums, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “But I think it’d go a whole lot easier if you give me some more incentive to help, you know? I’m a very, very busy man.” As he lets go of you and you fall back onto your butt at the lack of support, wincing, he slowly shrugs his blindfold off, humming cheerfully as your lip trembles and you’re left staring at his crotch, right in front of your face. “Open up like a good girl and I’ll get your transfer application in as soon as I can, hm? That sounds fair to me.”

#jjk smut #gojo smut #tw.power abuse #tw.noncon #tw.manipulation #tw.bullying #💫ch.gojo #🍯honey.pot

614 notes · View notes

witch-hazels-musings · 3 years

Note

Hey there! I wasn't sure if this was something you're comfortable writing, so if not, feel free to skip! I couldn't find anything in your faq but I just wanted to make sure!

Can I request a reader who never really drinks getting a little tipsy after a particularly stressful day? Just acting kind of giggly and clingy to their s/o? Nothing dubious ofc just some fluff 🥰 for Diluc, Xiao and Kaeya?

^ This made me laugh. I am a LIGHTWEIGHT, so I tend to get drunk after like ... one beer - haha! Anyway - enjoy ;)

Tipsy, Touchy

Warning -> flirty, touching, fluff, mentions of alcohol, and getting drunk

Includes: Diluc, Xiao, Kaeya

Character x GN Reader | Anthology

Diluc

He’s a bit shocked when you go beyond your normal one drink, in fact, he’s a little surprised at your demeanor in general - normally you only had a drink if the event warranted it, but today, you seemed to be throwing them back all on your own

“Did something happen?” he asks you, his attention on the third glass you’ve begged him to pour.

“Today,” you groan, your words already slurring a little, “was … not. good.” He can see the alcohol already making an impression on your skin. Your cheeks were flushed and you kept fussing with your hair, little strands making their own decisions as if in defiance of your touch.

“Hmm, well don’t go overboard.”

Once you reach your fourth drink, we gotta cut you off, too drunky. And worse, you were starting to get a little handsy with the people around you. You’d already given a few of the female patrons a hug goodbye, telling them you were the designated “send-off committee”

In fact, you were having a hard time keeping your hands to yourself especially when it came to Diluc. When he forcibly switched you from wine to water you grabbed onto his arm, or tried to convince him to lean in close so you could share with him a secret - he wouldn’t

You thought everything was funny, and he often caught you giggling to yourself or chuckling after the small conversation you and he shared

He wasn’t really on board with your ostentatious behavior, but he did enjoy seeing you smile in the grandiose way you were - unreserved and relentless

As the evening beings to slow and patrons leave the bar, you were trying to work out a thought in your head. It had been floating around for a while and you weren’t doing a good job keeping it off your face.

“Hey,” you finally speak up. You wait to finish your thought until Diluc looks at you. He’s been gathering the final glasses from the tables so he takes a bit to react to you. “Come here.” You beckon, uneasily, with your finger for him to walk closer to you.

When he does, you wave him down so his face is close to yours.

“You.” You point your finger at him, “are my favorite person.” There is a smirk on your face and playful energy in your eyes.

He scoffs at you and tries to retreat but you grab his face in your hands, “Wait. Wait. Diluc Ragnvindr ... “ he’s so close to you, his face, his eyelashes, his lips … it’s too much and in defeat you let him go, dropping your head in your hands. “Ugh, you are much too attractive for me right now.”

“You are a lot of things right now.” You peek your eyes out from over your arms and see him rubbing the back of his neck, his head turned to the side. There is no doubt in your mind he is blushing.

“You’re blushing!” you shout. The excitement of his reaction is too much to handle.

“Shut up.” He tosses a towel your way and disappears into the back office.

Diluc makes a mental note to not let you drink that much in public again, not only is he worried you might do something dumb, but he worries how he will keep his composure

Xiao

Xiao would have no idea what to do with alcohol. He doesn’t touch the stuff, so he wouldn’t really know the common behaviors of inebriated people

He’d probably take whatever you were drinking and dump it out in front of you the drunker you became - he could barely handle normal humans, let alone a drunk one

“What are you drinking anyway?” He looks at the bottle, turning it over in his hands.

“I don’t know, I picked it up on the way out here.” You rub your hands over your face, the wine hasn’t fully hit you but you know with the amount you drank it’s only a matter of time.

“Is it normal for humans to drink so much, all at once?”

“Meh, maybe? Today was the worst though, so I’m giving myself permission.”

It’s hard to tell if he would have any reaction to your tipsy behavior other than being exhausted by it

The way you laugh at things, that to him, aren’t funny or how you try to ask him really silly questions about things he wouldn’t know anything about

Xiao is prickly, so you’d have to push through a lot of spikes to get to the gentle core he’s given you flashes of, so don’t get offended if he reacts to your clingy-ness in an irritating way

He just doesn’t let people in very easily, and even though you two are together, and you’ve been physical before, this level of touch might be overstimulating for him

You look at him from the floor of the inn. He is sitting on a pillow with his eyes closed. There were many nights you spent with him where you just fit yourselves into each other's space, like pieces of a puzzle nestled tightly together. He looked so regal, and you wondered how he would act if you poked at him.

Carefully, you crawled your way over to him with wobbly limbs. When you got close enough you whispered his name.

“Xiao…” He opened his eyes and is startled by how close your face is to him. His arms launched to his sides to steady himself as he leaned back away from your proximity. The reaction made you laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to get closer to you.” you desperately want to touch him: his cheeks, his forehead, his collarbone, his arms and hands, you wanted to touch them all. The alcohol emboldened you. You scoot closer to him, your sides practically touching, and, in an instant, you wrap your arms around his. The grip you have is possessive.

He sighs but doesn’t push you away. So you tread onward. You slide behind him and wrap your arms around his chest, each of your legs on either side of him Rubbing your face against his back you breathe him in, he smells like rain after a thunderstorm.

“I like you.” You place a kiss on his exposed shoulder before resting your cheek against him.

It’s quiet for a time, all you hear is his beating heart and slow breaths. You don’t expect him to answer you, or say anything, you know he likes you by the way he lets you cling to him like this. That’s all you’ll ever need him to say.

“Are you always going to be this clingy when you drink?” the question breaks the silence.

“Mm, possibly, I don’t normally drink this much. Why.” You return his question with your own, slightly tilting his body to the side so you can strain your head to look at his face.

“No reason.” Even in the dim lighting, you can see the blush on his face.

Kaeya

Kaeya finds your behavior hilarious. He’d be so enamored with the way you were acting and amazed it happens with only a few drinks of alcohol in you

“You’re putting those away,” he’d muse over his own beverage.

“Well,” you’d say as you empty yet another glass. “Today sucked! So i’m drowning my stress in sweet, sweet alcohol.”

“Cheers to that!”

When you laugh he melts, when you giggle he nearly passes out, and he’s having a hard time not fainting right now. Everything he says to you sends you into a fit of laughter and he just can’t stop himself - he’s obsessed with you and when he can see something new that he’s never noticed before he is filled with pride

For instance, he didn’t know that when you laugh when drinking that you shield your eyes and nose and let out breathless laughter. He didn’t know that when you had several drinks you started to get louder and louder - which may have annoyed others, but he found it endearing

“... and after finishing the bottle he passed out for three whole days. And that is why our aloof bar owner doesn’t drink.” You can’t help but laugh, you’ve heard this story already but it makes you chuckle every single time.

“Kaeya, how many times are you going to tell that story…” Diluc warns from behind the counter, his hands dangerously wrapped around the neck of a wine bottle.

“Oh, come on. Look at how happy it’s made them.”

“I’m cutting you both off.”

“Hey!” Even with the cap on your drinking for the night, you couldn’t stifle your laughter.

Normally, Kaeya is the overly touchy one. His hands cannot keep themselves from your tempting body. So when you cling to him he finds the action rather refreshing

Wrapping your arms around his, leaning your head on his shoulder or digging it into his arm. Scooting closer to him, practically sitting on his lap, he finds it all a riot - don’t be shocked if he helps you into a comfortable position on or between his legs

“Kaeya,” you look at him, your head bobbing around, your cheeks the color of pomegranates, and your hair falling out of place.

“Yes, lovely?” He helps steady you, a possessive hand wrapping around your lower back and his other moving from your shoulder or lower arm, whichever one needs the most support.

You giggle, and the sound pulls at his heart, “Do you know that you’re handsome? Like, really, really handsome.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“No, listen, it’s kinda ridiculous how attractive you are. LIKE … WhO do you think you are with this face?? hmmM?” You wave your hand in front of him as if to drive home your point. You aren’t sure what answer you wanted from him, but his laughter seems satisfactory enough and you join in shortly after.

He finds everything you do to be adorable, but multiplied by ten when you start drinking - he will always make sure you have a good time, and as long as you are safe and happy he will be there to join in on the fun

#genshin impact #genshin impact X reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #diluc X reader #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc #kaeya x reader #kaeya #kaeya alberich #genshin kaeya #xiao x reader #genshin xiao #xiao #genshin impact xiao #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact kaeya

1K notes · View notes

snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 9.1k / genre: smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you wouldn’t mind your cute neighbour being such a shameless fuckboy if a) the walls weren’t so thin and b) he didn’t seem intent on adding you as another notch in his bedpost.

but there’s only so much you can resist park jimin, especially once he gets that peach involved.

warnings: sexually explicit content, Jimin being completely shameless/a lowkey ho, messy peach eating, mentions of masturbation, oral sex (m + f receiving), overstimulation, protected sex, multiple orgasms (f), dirty talk and some cursing, hmm I think that’s it?

a/n: I was so close to calling this ‘jimin and the f*cking peach’ as some terrible homage to ‘james and the giant peach’ 😂🤧 as always I would like to thank @hobi-gif for beta reading this, putting up with me having a meltdown at her, and encouraging me to write smut at work rather than doing my job, ty queen xoxo

It’s official. Park Jimin is the neighbour from hell.

He’d tricked you, to start with. With those cherubic features, those doe eyes, and his cute little smile? He looks like an angel. A sweet, innocent angel, one who’d knocked shyly on your door and presented you with a small selection of chocolates when he’d moved into the apartment next to yours. Your heart had gone boom boom at the sight of that cute smile, the slip of teeth, the way his lovely face had scrunched up.

Nowadays, whenever you see that face, you want to punch it.

Well. Not punch it. Maybe slap it a little. Because Park Jimin is a fiend.

Your studio apartment is cheap for many reasons. The plumbing is creaky and the heating isn’t exactly great but those are small sacrifices for such low rent—ones you’re willing to make. Creaking doesn’t bother you and throw blankets exist for a reason, right? You get a balcony and a parking spot, which is more than you can say for a lot of other places in this price range, so you’ll take the negatives for these positives.

But you’d give up all the things you love about this cheap flat for some sound proofing.

Because Park Jimin fucks.

A lot.

He’d been nothing but lovely for the first few weeks. You’d barely been aware of his existence, minus when you could hear him in the bathroom—your flats are mirrored, rooms sharing walls, so you’d been washing your face when you’d heard his shower start up and then the sound of his dulcet tones drifting through the wall. That had actually been really nice; Jimin can hit some high notes, and it had been a pleasant backdrop as you’d cleansed your face. It had been another bullet point you’d added to the list of things you thought were cute about him (along with his face, his laugh, his smile), and you’d stupidly started to develop a tiny little crush on this boy-next-door, thinking him some soft, kind thing.

But then he’d started to have people over.

You’ve lost count of how many days you’ve had to listen to the moans and gasps that echo through your walls. You can’t escape from it. As a freelance programmer, you’re pretty much always working from home, so it’s not like you can get away from the sounds of pleasure that shudder through Jimin’s flat and into your own.

It’s never consistent, either. There’s not a single hour of the day that’s off limits to Park Jimin. Morning, afternoon, night; the boy is always ready to go, apparently. And judging from the sounds through the walls? He never leaves anyone unsatisfied either.

Which, like, fine. People fuck. You get it. You’re not judging. You just wish it wasn’t so loud. You have to sleep, for God’s sake. But it’s not like you can knock on a new neighbour’s door and be like hey, I appreciate you have an incredibly active sex life, but can you keep it down, please?

So you’d bit your tongue. You’d gritted your teeth to bear it. You’d still smile at Jimin if you ever passed in the hallway, acknowledged him with a small nod, exchanged pleasantries, all the neighbourly stuff that you’d do with anyone. You’d just invested in some good earplugs and thought that was it.

And then Jimin had started doing his morning yoga routine outside.

You start each day with a cup of tea on your balcony, watering your hydrangeas and enjoying the dawn sun that lifts up over the horizon alongside your plants. It’s a small, singular moment of quiet in an otherwise dull day and you treasure that serenity.

Well. Treasured. Past tense. Because Jimin has invaded this part of your life, too.

The first time Jimin had unrolled his yoga mat on the balcony adjacent to yours, he’d been dressed in a deceptively unassuming outfit—a loose white t-shirt and leggings that hugged every inch of his calves and thighs and shapely ass, which you had pointedly Not Looked At. He’d tilted his head at you with a smug little smile flickering at the edge of his lips, and when he’d greeted you good morning, you’d responded in turn, even if you were still annoyed at how he’d interrupted your afternoon nap the day before with the sound of his headboard smacking into the wall repeatedly. You were still fairly new neighbours and you still felt like you had to be polite, even if he was starting to fray your nerves.

And then he’d started to bend.

Now, you’ll be the first to admit that you don’t know much about yoga. But you’d swear Jimin was choosing poses that did the utmost to display his flexibility, the flex of his muscles and twist of his limbs, balancing his body on his arms before easing into a pose that had him bent in two, head towards his toes—and with how he had his back to you this meant you got full glimpse of his ass, straining against his leggings, the way his loose shirt slipped up his body to reveal the lines of his stomach and chest, how his face was still twisted into that little smirk even if it was upside down.

Staring at you.

You’d promptly stopped watering your hydrangeas and walked inside your flat, shutting the sliding door behind you.

Jimin is relentless.

He’s pretty and he knows it. All that shy, new-kid-on-the-block innocence he’d had initially is completely gone, and all he does is flirt, flirt, flirt. He winks at you. Stands a little too close whenever you talk. Lets his eyes flicker down to your lips, trail over every inch of you, lashes fluttering when he catches you watching, unashamed and unabashed. He frequently just… hangs around on his balcony. Not topless, no, but he may as well be, his thotty muscle tees doing nothing to hide him from your eyes.

(The worst thing, though, is when you catch him unawares. When he’s tired and clearly not expecting you to be awake, too, his eyes sleepy and his hair ruffled; a little vulnerable, a lot softer than he usually presents himself. Curled up on the small seat on his balcony with a hot drink in his hand, phone in the other, his screen throwing blue-tinted light over the easing lines of his features.

You wish Jimin was like that all the time. But the second he sees you, his eyes flicker, and his brows lift, and his mouth curls, and once again you rue the day you had a fuckboy move in next door to you.)

It’s not that Jimin isn’t hot. It’s not that you wouldn’t fuck him, either. But you have no interest in being some sort of convenient hook-up for him, purely there by circumstance, fate, whatever you want to call it. You dread to think of him sending you haha wyd x texts whenever he feels like having sex and you just happen to be nearby. So you weather all of his obvious come-ons and swerve him something chronic, even if he seems intent on making his attraction to you obvious.

You’ve been managing it for months. But as time goes on, your patience wears thinner and thinner, an atom-thick layer of fortitude the only thing keeping you from grabbing Park Jimin and kissing him and/or killing him. It doesn’t help that you haven’t fucked for a while now, and you’re reminded of this every time you hear another pornstar moan through the wall (the people Jimin brings home seem to like hamming it up for effect), every time you see another mosaic of hickeys laid across the column of Jimin’s gorgeous throat, every time you see the way his yoga outfits do nothing to protect the delicious shape of his body from your eyes.

You dig your fingers into your palms. It’s fine. It’s okay. You can handle Park Jimin and his overt sexual energy, oozing out of him almost every second of every day.

It’s a little harder to handle how he still seems sweet despite his fuckboy nature. How he picks your parcels up for you. How he lets you use his laundry detergent when you run out. How he lets you keep food in his fridge when yours breaks down and you have to wait for a replacement. How he sheds that fuckboy facade whenever it seems like you genuinely need help, how you’ve heard his soft phone calls through the wall, to his friends, his family, sweet and kind and supportive.

Park Jimin is a multi-dimensional being, for sure, and maybe you sometimes wish he was actually genuinely interested in you as a person and not as a lay, so you could peel back those layers to the lovely core at the centre of his being.

But it’s fine. You can handle this stupid yearning and pining. You can handle the knowledge that Park Jimin is a genuine gentleman who just happens to like fucking, is open in his desire for it, and is apparently Very Good at it. It’s difficult, but you can do it.

You can do it.

The date you set up with someone from Tinder ends up being disappointing and lacklustre. You’d escaped before dessert, unable to put up with one more second of this asshole going on and on about stocks, and investments, and trading, or whatever, cursing the day you’d decided to swipe on him. You’re so sick of your luck (or lack thereof) with guys. (At least the food had been nice.)

Of course Jimin sees you schlepping your way back into your apartment, disappointment obvious in the line of your shoulders and lips; it doesn’t take a genius to clock your date outfit, cute as it is, makeup and hair soft. But the night has barely begun and here you are, stepping back into your flat. Alone.

“Bad date?” Jimin asks, voice gentle, and you just snort.

“Just like the rest of them,” you reply with a small sigh, before shutting your door quietly behind you, missing the look on your neighbour’s face.

Jimin, to his credit, eases off after this. You’re not sure if it’s due to a misplaced sense of pity or something, but even if he still smiles and flirts lightly with you, it’s less… salacious. Still there, still obvious, just a little softer. You hate how this has you feeling grateful towards him, because he’s still got so many fuckboy tendencies that it should outweigh this gentler side of his flirtation, but your traitorous heart still goes gooey every time Jimin smiles at you.

But then.

There’s that fucking peach.

You’re just chilling on your balcony, sipping at a glass of lemonade in the warmth of the afternoon when you hear Jimin’s door sliding open. You flick your eyes over at the sound, watching the way Jimin slips out onto his own balcony, how he throws something up in the air and catches it with ease, a flick of the wrist, a curl of the fingers each time he catches it again.

He hasn’t had any fuckbuddies over for a while. A few weeks, almost a month. It’s the longest Jimin’s gone without having sex for as long as he’s started having people over and you’d been sort of concerned. Which, yeah, you know it sounds super weird when you think about it, especially considering how much you complain about Jimin to your friends—help, my fuckboy neighbour hasn’t fucked anyone in nearly a month so I’m worried if his dick has fallen off or something.

(Well, actually, you know his dick is still attached, based off the little gasps and moans he lets out whenever he pleasures himself in lieu of fucking someone else. You’ll take this secret to the grave but those noises that Jimin lets out have been the melody you use to reach your own peaks, although you’re a lot quieter than he is whenever you touch yourself, biting your lip and muffling the wet sounds of your fingers thrusting into your cunt under layers of blankets. You’d never give Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that the mental image of him fucking into his fist and cumming over his stomach and chest is what throws you over your own edge, toe-curling orgasms that shake through your body in time with Jimin’s own.)

Anyway. He looks loose limbed and relaxed when he saunters into view, utterly unsurprised by your presence behind your window box of hydrangeas, giving you his usual, sultry smile.

He’s started to ramp up his flirtations again. This smirk is one which you’ve learned not to respond to. You just stare levelly back at him, unimpressed as you start to water your flowers, which does nothing to dissuade him. It never does. He clearly revels in the challenge.

Jimin keeps his eyes locked with yours as he lifts his hand to his lips. You catch a glimpse of what he was throwing and catching—a ripe, flush peach, tiny droplets of water shimmering on its fuzz, freshly washed.

And then he starts to eat it.

The peach yields immediately to the press of his teeth. Juice bursts out of its softness, running down his lips, his chin; he makes no moves to wipe it away, the lewd sound of his slurps as he curls his tongue into the fruit, messy and sweet.

It’s shameless. He’s shameless. His gaze is unwavering as he stares at you, his mouth glistening with the peach’s juices, the only sound the wet smack of his lips and tongue as he licks up the honeyed liquid that drips from his skin, curving around the fruit as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Water’s been trickling from your small can onto the hydrangeas, cascading over the plants; the soil is waterlogged now, but you haven’t noticed, fixated on the way Jimin is looking at you as he wantonly eats out this peach.

Drip drip, goes the watering can.

Drip drip, goes the peach.

By the time there’s nothing more than the pit in his hand, Jimin is a mess. His fingers and mouth and chin shine with peach juice, eyes dark and heavy as he watches the way you drink the sight of him in, the way his tongue slowly drags over his full lips, catching the sweetness that lingers.

The second he puts his tongue to his fingers to get the stickiness on them, that’s it. You watch the way he sucks his fingers into his mouth and promptly put the watering can down and turn on your heel to walk inside, slamming the balcony door shut behind you.

You’re done. You’re only human. You’ve spent months with Jimin parading himself in front of you, seen the way he contorts his body every morning in an unnecessarily complex sun salutation, listened to the way his voice rises when he cums; the peach is the metaphorical cherry on top, and you’re just. Over. It.

You hammer your palms against your neighbour's door, rap-rap-rapping on the wood, your blood rising and your heart thudding in your chest, every part of you tense, wound up, pent up. The door swings open to reveal Jimin, his chin still slick with sweet peach, lips curling up in a self-satisfied smile when he sees you.

“Park Jimin.” Your voice shakes and you hate yourself for it, hate the way Jimin’s eyes glitter at the sound, the little hitch in your breath. “You are a fucking menace, you know that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. He leans against the doorframe, effortlessly gorgeous, hip cocked, head tilted. He lifts his hand, and there’s a heavy moment of tension as you watch him slowly swipe a thumb over the last remnant of juice on his chin, before his tongue lolls out of his mouth and he licks the final taste of peach from his fingers.

When you grab hold of his collar his expression shifts from something coy into something far more self satisfied, months of his brazen come-ons finally culminating in this—you, shoving him backwards into his apartment, kicking the door shut behind you.

“I swear,” you say. “I swear to God—”

“You swear? I can think of better things you could be doing with your mouth,” Jimin says, and then laughs when you scowl at him. “Damn, you’re so hot when you’re mad.”

“You are infuriating,” you bite out, and Jimin just laughs again, his whole body shaking, every part of him still loose and relaxed even as you continue to tighten your grip on his clothing, feeling every motion of his body under your hands. You hate how pretty he is, even now, utterly unafraid of your frustration—the brightness of his eyes and his smile, that undercurrent to it all, the way his hands slide so smoothly around your waist, your hips, sliding down to grope at your ass.

“I know,” he agrees, still giggling, and then he kisses you.

Jimin dives straight in, no holds barred, and you immediately melt into putty under his touch. He lets out a hum of satisfaction into your mouth as your hands go lax and slide down his chest. You can still taste the peach on his lips, his tongue, licking into his mouth.

You’ve thought about this mouth more times than you’d like to admit: the full swell of his lips, the little curve of his cupid’s bow, how it’d feel pressed against your own, and honestly? It’s so much better than you’d let yourself imagine it to be.

He nips at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, and you bite off a gasp when he pulls you forward, grinding against you. You shudder. Jimin’s mouth is a pleased curve against your own before he pulls away, murmuring in your ear in a voice that’s equal parts sultry and sweet.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing the sensitive skin of your jaw just under your earlobe, making you shiver. “Just relax. You’re always so tense.”

“Maybe that’s because my neighbour keeps me up all night,” you say, but your voice is weak, no strength behind your words, breath stolen out of you at the way Jimin starts to trail his lips down your neck, across your throat. “I find that constantly getting my sleep interrupted—oh, oh—”

Jimin sucks at the hollow of your neck, the delicate skin there so sensitive to his touch, the warmth of his lips magnified, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Your hands have slid into his hair and you unintentionally tighten your grasp, fingers tugging at his dark locks, and Jimin bares his teeth against your skin.

It’s maybe a little embarrassing how wet you are just from a little making out. But after months of Jimin teasing you and putting you on edge, coupled with how long it’s been since you've had sex? You’re allowed to be a little desperate. All the small frustrations you were about to voice die on your tongue, slipping away from you as Jimin starts to walk you backwards with a confidence that shows just how often he’s done this—leading people to his bed, never taking his hands off you.

By the time Jimin eases you to lie down, you feel breathless. He hovers above you with that satisfied smile flickering at the edge of his lips, taking in the sight of you, finally underneath him—lips kiss swollen, exquisite, all the sharp words on your tongue softened and gone, goosebumps trailing down your skin. You tug at his collar, which catches him off guard; he sways forward and almost hits his face against yours, but before he can spend too long looking smug at your desperation you capture his lips again. You melt into the mattress, hooking a foot over his calf and revelling in the weight of him between your legs, your hips flush, and how hard he’s getting through those stupidly tight leggings of his.

When he grinds against you, the outline of his cock pressed up against your cunt, an embarrassing whine leaves your lips and trembles against Jimin’s own. Jimin goes still before pulling away from the open-mouthed kiss and when you see the expression on his face you slap a hand over your mouth, burning with shame.

“Oh.” He sounds delighted. “You’re noisy, huh?”

“Shut up,” you say, though your words are muffled against your palm. He grinds down again, a slow and deep roll of his hips that lets you feel how hard he is, and a noise shudders out the back of your throat, audible around your hand.

“It’s hot.” There’s that little smirk on Jimin’s lovely lips, every inch of him dripping self confidence. He knows how you’re entirely at his mercy, in spite of your words; your voice is weak. “You’re normally so quiet.”

“Some of us try to be considerate and think about our neighbours.”

Jimin just smiles, pulling your hand away from your mouth before gently kissing your palm, a motion that’s surprisingly tender and makes you pause.

“Trust me.” His voice is low. “I do think about my neighbour.”

Your breath hitches when he slides his free hand under your shirt, trailing his fingers over the softness of your stomach. He pulls the fabric up, letting his gaze rove over the bared skin. The way Jimin looks at you makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world, like he’s never seen anyone prettier.

You wonder if he looks at his other fuckbuddies like this.

The thought slides away from you as Jimin dips his head and starts to kiss your throat again. You tilt your head back as his lips trail across the soft skin, his hands coming to rest under your breasts, contained as they are by your bra; once he coaxes you to sit up, it only takes him a few moments to strip your upper body, kneeling between your spread legs as he starts to trail his hands over the parts of you that are now bared to him.

“Pretty,” he says. You’d roll your eyes if he didn’t sound so reverent, and also if you weren’t distracted by the way he flicks his thumbs over your hardening nipples, your core clenching as he does, biting your lip to stop yourself from making a sound. A frown flits across Jimin’s face and he lifts one of those thumbs away from your breast, dragging your lip away from your teeth, letting his grasp linger so your lips are parted. “Don’t do that. I've been waiting for months to hear you properly.”

Before you can reply, he kisses you again, licking into your mouth and swallowing down the noise you make when he drags his hand between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and settling between your legs, running his fingers over your cunt, the feeling dulled by layers of fabric even though he presses with intent. Your hips jolt at the sensation, and Jimin repeats the motion, dragging the fabric across your flushed lips.

“Jimin.” Your voice is a gasp against his mouth, and you can’t keep the pleading out of your tone, desperation bleeding into every letter of your words. “Please.”

He just hums, sounding pleased, and a breath of surprise escapes you as he pushes you back against the pillows. He wastes no time in getting to his prize, drawing a scattered constellation of kisses that trail across your chest, your nipples, your stomach, the line of your hip bones as you lift up so he can pull your shorts and underwear off. You’re entirely naked underneath him, bare and wet, cunt flushed and shining, and Jimin groans at the sight.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, fingers digging into your thighs as he pulls your legs wider. Your cheeks burn as Jimin stares at your pussy, but you can’t help but feel a pulse of self-satisfaction at the visible twitch of his cock in his stupid yoga leggings. “You’re so wet.”

You should probably feel embarrassed, but by now you’ve thrown all your previous inhibition to the winds. You’ve ended up somewhere you’d privately sworn you were never going to—in Park Jimin’s bed, leaned up against his pillows, laid out for him to touch and take and have, every inch of you desperate for it. There’s nothing in your brain or body but arousal and need. So instead of letting out a snip of a remark you just cant your hips towards him, another pleading sound slipping from your lips.

He gives you what you want. He dips his head and trails his lips and tongue down, down, down, wet and hot, until they press against your cunt. He looks at you with the same hooded eyes as earlier, motions of his mouth an echo of his peach eating, sloppy and messy; he’s unabashed in the way he slides his mouth over you, lips slick and tongue hot, sliding over every sensitive inch—sucking your clit, licking your folds, burying his face between your legs and drinking up every sweet drip of your juices.

You can’t help but make noise. Small gasps that slide into moans of pleasure, hitches in your breath that make your chest jump and your breasts shake; Jimin lets out noises too, muffled against your cunt, sounds that let you know he’s enjoying himself almost as much as you. It’s honestly pretty fucking hot, the way your own pleasure seems to turn him on, how he chases that feeling, eyes blown as he takes in every one of your reactions, repeating the motions that are affecting you the most.

The sight of him between your legs has you tensing. He continues to stare up at you, the curve of your stomach when you bow towards him, the fall of your breasts, which he slides his hands over, cupping them in his palms, pinching your hardened buds, layering sensation on sensation, never taking his mouth off you.

When he presses one finger inside, and then another, both thrusting firm and deep as he mouths at your clit, you tangle a hand into his hair. He watches the way your hips jump from the sensation of his tongue directly on your clit, and does it again, and again, your voice crescendoing from the explosion of sensation, how it’s too much, before he circles his lips around it and sucks messily. Your brain registering nothing but his lips and tongue against you, the hands that are trailing up and down your sides and still skimming across your breasts.

You’re not even aware of the words that are falling from your lips, oh fuck, yes, Jimin, there, oh, the way your grasp tightens in his dark hair, your hips bucking against his mouth as you can feel your orgasm approaching. The pleasure keeps building, flames fanning brighter and brighter as Jimin buries his mouth even further in between your legs, fingers speeding up as you gasp.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you chant, voice getting higher. “I’m gonna cum, I’m cumming, oh—”

Your words slide into a moan as your back arches and your thighs tighten around Jimin’s head and you cum. Jimin continues to finger fuck you through it, your cunt pulsating around him as he keeps licking and sucking at your clit, his gaze fixed on your face as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth falls open and every line of your body sings of the pleasure that Jimin has given to you. Even when your legs and hips start to jolt from oversensitivity and you cry out at each ripple of his tongue against you, he’s relentless, almost cruel in how he watches you writhe from a mixture of pain and overextended pleasure.

You're sobbing by the time Jimin pulls his mouth away from your cunt, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes, body shaking as you try to suck in air. He thrusts his fingers into you one more time, slow and deep, watching the way you turn your head into the pillow and muffle a gasp against it.

“I knew you'd look and sound gorgeous when you cum,” he says, and though you feel boneless from your post-orgasm high, you can’t help a little huff escaping your lips. Jimin clearly catches the sound, quiet as it is against the linen of his pillowcase, and takes your chin in his hand to turn his face towards you. His fingers are slick with your arousal, wet against your skin.

“You sound like you’re reading off the script to a porno,” you murmur.

One of his eyebrows arches. “Oh? You don’t think I’m just speaking my mind?” Those fingers move away from your chin and trace over the swell of your bottom lip; you let your mouth fall open and swallow them down, licking the taste of yourself off Jimin’s skin. “You don’t think that I’ve been thinking about how pretty you’d look as I fucked into you, begging for me to let you cum again and again?”

Your tongue stutters against his fingers and your core clenches at his words, the dark undercurrent underneath them, and Jimin’s expression shifts as he notices.

“You really have no idea, do you?” He runs his fingertips over your tastebuds, saliva starting to pool in your mouth, the slide so wet and messy. “Who do you think I picture whenever I touch myself? Who do you think I was wishing was in my bed every time I took someone else home?”

You nip at his fingers, running the edge of your teeth along his knuckles from equal parts surprise and disbelief at his words. You find it impossible to believe that he really means that, but then you realise—recently, on the few occasions you’d bumped into Jimin in the hall when he’d had one of his lays trailing behind him, for as different and unique each of them was, each one of them had shared some sort of trait with you. Hair colour, eyes, the set of their lips, the shape of their face; once, you’d heard a girl giggling through the wall before it had trailed off into a moan, and you’d done a literal double take at how much she’d sounded like you. Similar, but not exactly the same, a slightly off-tone echo of the sound that spills from your own lips whenever you laugh.

And the emptiness in his bed had only started after the night that he’d seen the way you’d trailed into your apartment with discontent heavy around your shoulders, disappointed at that awful Tinder date.

Oh, fuck.

“You’re shameless,” you say, words a little garbled around Jimin’s fingers, but you know he understands.

“No, I’m not,” he replies, a small smirk curling up the corner of his lips. It should be illegal: the way he has such soft features that can turn so quickly into something sharper and entirely sensual, eyes hooded, lips flushed, the column of his throat so lovely and graceful as he tilts his head to one side. “I just know what I want and don’t try to hide it. What’s shameless about that? I know you want me too, but you always deny yourself the things you want. Don’t you?”

You hate that you’ve been so transparent in your attraction to him. Because the truth of the matter is that for as much as Jimin frustrates you with his entire existence, you do want him. After all—you wouldn’t be naked underneath him, still trembling from the aftershocks of a deep orgasm, if you didn’t.

“You’re not always as quiet as you think, you know,” he adds, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and enjoying the way your eyes widen at his words. You thought he couldn’t hear you through the wall, but it seems like you were wrong.

Before you can say anything in reply, though, he grinds down. Without your clothes in the way you can feel the drag of his yoga pants against your cunt, how the wetness of your cum and Jimin’s spit soaks into the fabric, his hard cock hot, and you let out a whine. He still has yet to remove any of his clothes and you want to see them off so he’s finally naked. You’ve seen enough of his bare skin over the months to have a pretty good idea of what that looks like, but you want to see the real thing.

Jimin seems just as eager to shed his clothes, yielding to your grasping hands and carelessly throwing his top aside; you end up straddling his waist and kissing down his chest in an imitation of his motions earlier, letting your fingers trail over the lean muscle from his yoga and dance. When you tongue at one of his nipples and he gasps, you feel euphoric. He’s unfairly beautiful, from the lovely collarbones to the flex of his shoulders and arms and the line of his chest and stomach, delicate and somehow entirely masculine. You still sort of want to slap him, but settle with kissing the hollow of his neck instead, digging your fingers into his ribs as you roll your hips down against him.

His own hips buck up. You can tell that he’s desperate to be inside you, but you want to taste him first.

When you slide down his body and settle between his legs, you hook your fingers into the tight waistband of those stupid leggings and tug them down. Jimin hisses through his teeth as you let the material settle just under his hips, baring the top of his briefs to you, how his cock strains against them, the patch of wetness at the head, darkening the fabric.

You don’t strip him. Not completely. You just hook your fingers into those dark blue briefs and pull them down just enough to reveal the flushed head of his cock, wet with precum. You let your tongue flick out to catch that salty bitterness, and Jimin bites off a curse at the almost shy licks you start to lave across his slit, circling around the weeping head.

Hearing Jimin’s gasps without the wall in the way is honestly an experience. Before, whenever he had people over, they usually drowned him out, theatrical wails and groans overpowering his far more natural noises, but now there’s nothing to prevent you from hearing the way his breath hitches in his throat or the way he moans. Even the smallest things have him letting slip sounds, a noise escaping him as you coax him to lift his hips so you can finally, finally peel those leggings and briefs off, dragging over the hardness of his cock as you do. You want to take in the sight of him fully naked, give it the proper attention it deserves, but then you feel his cock throb in your hand and you can’t stop yourself from immediately lowering your mouth to it again.

His whole body shudders. You let your jaw fall open as you take him in, tongue curling around him, hands touching every part of him that isn’t in your mouth, making sure there’s no part of him that isn’t receiving attention. His eyes are wide under the mess of his fringe, hair falling over his forehead as he watches the way you run your lips down the side of his cock before sucking one of his balls into your mouth, circling his length with your hands, a twisting rise and fall in the motion as you drink down the noise of surprised pleasure that drops from his lips.

Jimin’s fingers have been tangled in your hair but he lets you control the flow. The sounds of you swallowing him down into your mouth as you bob your head are obscene, wet and messy, but you can still hear how his voice starts to rise, how his fingers tighten against your scalp, and you know he’s close when he tugs you upwards and drags your lips away from his cock.

Jimin pulls you towards him and you settle against his chest as you start to kiss again, shivering at the way he rolls his tongue in your mouth. This time when Jimin rolls his hips, there’s nothing between your skin and his, dragging the underside of his cock across your flushed lower lips, the slide between your folds and against your clit making you shiver.

“Condoms?”

You’re breathless, and Jimin quirks a smile at you.

“Top drawer,” he answers. Of course they would be, in easy reach whenever he needs them.

You lean forwards to reach for the bedside table and Jimin takes the opportunity to circle a hand around your breast and capture a nipple in his mouth, ignoring the way you bite back a surprised noise, staring up at you with almost innocent eyes as he sucks at your skin in the way he’s worked out that you like best. Your hands are a fumble as you pull a condom out of the pack, ripping the sachet away from the others, a bottle of lube rolling into your grasp. You try to focus on your task and not the sensation of Jimin switching attention to your other breast, cupping the swell of flesh in his hand and drawing his teeth gently across your skin.

“You’re insatiable,” you mutter, and Jimin laughs before he kisses between your breasts.

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you since we first met,” he says, utterly unrepentant. “I don't want to take my mouth off you.”

“Insatiable,” you repeat, but you’re flustered. Even if you know he’s not lying, and you’re naked and straddling his hips, the taste of his lips and cock now familiar on your tongue, it’s… kind of incredible to think that the gorgeous Park Jimin has been lusting after you for that long.

Or lusting after you at all, really.

But as you tear the foil of the condom, the look he levels at you is burning with desire, roaming over you, every inch of your nakedness, every movement of your body. His hands rest at your waist, thumbs rubbing over your skin as you hold his cock in one hand and roll the condom down with the other, letting your fingers circle his length, dragging your touch over the heat of him and revelling in the way he twitches. As much as you’ve thought of Jimin as a fuckboy, you know that he wouldn’t lie just to get someone in his bed, so as unbelievable as his words are, every single one of his actions backs up what he’s said: he wants you.

You don't notice how soft his gaze is as you take time to warm the lube in your hands, even though you’re desperate to feel him finally slide home. You've always been so considerate, even when he knows you've been frustrated at him, and that's evident now, in this small thing.

You spread the warmed lube over his covered cock, pumping it in your hand to get him slick and ready, loving the way he hisses though his teeth. He has to stop his hips from bucking up as you line his cockhead up with your entrance, his fingers digging into your sides as you hover in place.

“Come on,” Jimin urges. “Give it to me.”

“Insatiable,” you repeat, one last time, then you bend your knees.

You finally ease yourself down and onto his cock. You both let out moans; Jimin, finally feeling the wet heat of you around him, and you, falling into the sensation of him stretching you open, snug inside you, slowly splitting you open as you take him in, inch by inch, until you’re sitting on his hips and he’s fully buried in your cunt.

It’s been a while since you’ve had someone inside you. You grind downwards, rolling your hips, biting your lip at the sensation. Jimin’s chest expands as he sucks in a sharp breath, and you roll your hips again, a hand bracing on one of his lovely, thick thighs, the other resting just under his stomach as you lean back and arch your spine. You lift your hips, easy and slow, and then fall, Jimin’s cock dragging and pressing against your inner walls, a gasp shuddering out of your lips at the electric feeling.

Again and again, noises of pleasure drip from your mouth as you ride him, head tilting back at the sensations rippling through your body and across your skin, the apartment full of the sounds of your sex—the moans, the wet thrust of Jimin’s cock into your cunt, the praise that falls from his lips, months of feeling pouring from his lips. How pretty you are, how gorgeous, how well you’re taking his cock, how wet and tight you are around him; all the things he’s been thinking about, come to life, his hips snapping into yours as a sharp cry cuts through your lips at the sudden change of pace.

The pleasure’s been steadily building between your legs again, warm and unrushed, but then Jimin flips you without warning, fluid and graceful. Your eyes are wide as you end up on your back, Jimin’s hands braced either side of your head as he looks down at you with those dark, dark eyes of his. He thrusts forwards and your hands fly up to grab at him, your entire body shifting up the mattress at the force of his movements. His eyebrows are drawn together as he starts to drive himself into you, unapologetic in how aggressive he’s being, each thrust pushing the air out of your lungs in harried little gasps that shake the air between you.

The sound of his headboard slamming into the wall, a noise that’s been haunting you each time you’ve been trying to sleep or relax, is one you don’t even register. All you can think about is Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, caught up in the way there’s sweat beading across his forehead, strands of his dark hair sticking to it, the intense look in his eyes, the way his full lips are parted, small ah-ah-ahs falling from his lips in time with his thrusts, your body tightening around him each time he slides home.

You can’t remember the last time you were fucked this good. Jimin reads the language of your body with ease, knowing exactly when to lean back and trail a hand over your hips, circling his thumb over your swollen clit, the slide over that bundle of nerves messy from the mix of cum and lube and spit that’s laid slick across you. Each fluid roll of his hips is perfectly timed with the press of his thumb, your thighs going tense and your pussy clenching around Jimin’s hot cock as you start to reach another peak of pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby.” Jimin sounds breathless. “Let me see how pretty you are when you cum around my cock.”

Normally dirty talk seems so ham-handed and stuttering, but the words fall out of Jimin’s lips as natural as breathing, thoughtless. Stirring your arousal even further. He’s gripping your hips, pulling you down each time he presses up, and you circle your fingers around his wrist as his other hand is occupied with rubbing at your most sensitive part, tightening your hold as you feel another orgasm approaching.

“Jimin.” Your voice is a keen. “I'm so close, please, there, right there, theretherethere—”

You can't blame Jimin's other partners for being so noisy. The sound you let out is just as loud, maybe even louder, Jimin continuing to snap his hip forwards as you cum hard, a drawn out moan that crescendos as you pulsate around Jimin's cock, still hard inside you. He watches the way you writhe beneath him, tangling his fingers with yours when you reach for him and swallowing the end of your moan in a surprisingly sweet kiss, his lips gentle against yours as he slows to a stop before you become too sensitive.

Your voice is a quiet murmur against his lips. “How have you not cum yet?”

His eyes squeeze into a smile as he laughs, light and bright, the sound so sweet. “I've got stamina for days, darling,” he says, oozing that trademark arrogance you’ve gotten used to.

You clench as hard as you can around him and feel smug when he bites off a shocked curse, his smug facade broken. You can’t help but laugh at his expression, scandalised at it is, though your giggle cuts into a gasp when he pinches one of your nipples and then soothes it with his thumb. He seems amused by the look on your face and then laughs in turn, the two of you dissolving into laughter that’s edged with pleasure, your motions shifting his length inside you.

When the laughter trails off, Jimin stays smiling down at you. You draw your hands over his body, tracing all that smooth skin, and he touches the back of your hands with gentle fingers. There's a beat of silence but it's not an uncomfortable one, the air light after your shared giggles. It's… really nice. It's nice and soft and sweet, just like the expression on Jimin's face, tender, even if he's still buried inside you.

You feel so empty when he slips out, already missing the thickness of his cock when it seems as though he’s about to coax you to roll onto your front. Your hands are still linked with his and you tighten your fingers, making him pause.

“I want to see your face,” you confess quietly. It’s probably too much to ask of him but you feel like if you’re turned away from each other then you’ll feel like nothing more than a fucktoy. Just another warm body in Jimin’s bed. You don’t want that.

Jimin stares at you, surprise written across his features before his expression softens.

"Okay, baby," he murmurs indulgently. The small pet name sounds so sweet in his mouth. "We can stay like this."

He lets your hands go so that he can reach for a pillow that ends settled under your ass, tilting your hips up towards him. You’re not as flexible as he is—maybe you should start doing yoga too—but Jimin doesn’t push you far, hitching your legs up and draping your calves over his shoulders, leaning towards you so that the back of your thighs are warm against his chest. He's bent forward, face hovering above yours, so much skin-on-skin contact that your entire body feels warmed by him.

When he slides back in, you can feel the change in angle immediately. The head of his cock brushes over your g-spot and you suck in a sharp breath; Jimin notices, of course, aiming to hit it again, and again.

It feels good, of course. Amazing. But as much as you’d be happy for Jimin to make you cum again, you’d rather see him fall apart.

You dig your nails into his shoulder blades, turning your head so you can press kisses along the line of his jaw, murmuring into his ear.

“Are you going to let me see you cum?”

Jimin’s hips stutter as your words curl out of your mouth, warm against his skin. You’ve been picturing Park Jimin’s o-face for an endless amount of weeks and you’re ready to finally see the real thing.

“Cum on me,” you say, and then choke in a sob of air as Jimin responds with a sharp snap of his hips. “I want you to cum on me, Jimin, please.”

Your begging is shameless and you know it. Jimin’s face is so close to yours in this position and you can see how blown his pupils are, how his mouth is flushed from your kisses and how he’s been biting at them, his teeth digging into his lip as he starts to get faster, sloppier in his thrusts. It feels so good to know that you’re making him feel like this, that he’s reaching the peak of his pleasure with his body against yours, inside you, above you; he might have had other people in this position in the past, but right now it’s you who’s making Park Jimin come apart.

You urge him onwards with large, pleading eyes, rocking down on his cock each time he thrusts forward, begging the whole time. Pleading for him to cum, to give it to you, to cover you. Jimin obviously likes you loud and desperate, and you're more than willing to give him what he wants.

He slips out of you, fumbling with the condom and carelessly tossing it aside before he starts to pump his cock, hungry to reach his peak as he fucks into his fist. You let your legs fall open as you watch the way his body tenses, his brows drawn together and little breaths falling out of his mouth, barely audible over the wet slide of his cock in his hand. You run your hands over your body, across the swell of your breasts, down your stomach, dipping between your legs, trying to look as arousing as possible, anything to throw Jimin over the edge.

"I've imagined you cumming for months," you confess, words thoughtlessly falling from your lips. "On me, inside me, in my mouth—"

Park Jimin’s o-face is just as gorgeous as the rest of him.

You love how noisy he is. He paints your stomach with his cum, ropes of white spattering across the soft skin of your stomach and hips as he rides out his orgasm, moaning as he continues to milk his twitching cock. It’s so fucking hot, honestly, as is the expression on his face when you swipe your fingers through his cum and lift it to your lips, mouth filled with salt and warm.

“Fuck.” He’s breathless, panting. “You’re unbelievable.”

You let out a small scoff, but it’s edged with affection. “Says the man who was ready to fuck me six ways to Sunday,” you say. “If anyone’s the unbelievable one here, it’s you.”

“I can last longer, but you’re just so hot,” Jimin says. You respond by curling your fingers at him, beckoning him towards you, and you end up sharing a series of messy kisses.

You were, honestly, genuinely angry when you'd stepped into his apartment earlier, even if that irritation had been rounded out with arousal and desire. Now, though, you feel thoroughly boneless and content, loose limbed on Jimin's mattress, his lips and tongue moving against your own.

He leans too far forwards and smears his own cooling cum against his stomach. He doesn’t seem bothered, though. You’re the one who has to coax him to clean up, though with the way he looks at your still naked body, you know he would happily launch straight into a second round of fucking so he can add more cum to the canvas of your skin.

He really is insatiable, apparently, when it comes to you.

Even so, you wonder if Jimin’s going to kick you out now that he’s finally had a taste of you. He doesn't. He keeps you close, your body pressed against his side in a way that feels far more intimate than you would have expected.

“Are you hungry?” Jimin breaks the soft silence.

You’ve been trailing nonsensical patterns over his chest but pause when he says this. “Hm?”

“Are you hungry?” Jimin repeats, and there’s a cheeky smile flickering at the edge of his lips. “I have some more peaches in the fridge, if you’d like one.”

“That peach.” Your voice is an embarrassed hiss and your cheeks burn, but Jimin just laughs, boyish and bright as you slap halfheartedly at him. “That was just unfair. Who eats fruit like that?”

“Someone who’s trying to make it obvious that he’s imagining the peach is his neighbour’s pussy instead.” He’s so brazen. “And it clearly worked, didn’t it?”

It had worked. It's annoyingly effective, actually; thinking about the way Jimin had been staring at you as he tongue fucked that peach has arousal shooting through you, even after being so thoroughly fucked by him.

“Yeah, now you’ve had me,” you say. “What do you plan to do next?”

Jimin goes quiet. You wonder if you’ve misstepped, but then he sweeps his hand down the curve of your spine, goosebumps appearing in the wake of his touch.

“I was planning on asking if you wanted to go out for lunch,” he says, his voice so sweet, miles away from the fuckboy persona he usually puts on. This is the softer Park Jimin that you’ve caught glimpses of when he’s unaware, the side of him you wished he’d show more often—revealed to you, now. “Then, if you said yes, I was going to take you out on a date. If that date went well, then I was going to ask if you’d like to go on another one with me. And then another.”

One thing you know about Park Jimin is this: he doesn’t do dates. Each of his lays are one time affairs, no attachments made, no real connection beyond the physical act of sex. Your heart rate picks up.

“Obviously we’d fuck between dates,” he adds, raising his eyebrows at you in a way that’s so exaggerated that it makes you laugh. Of course. Jimin likes to fuck. “Unless you didn’t want to, but there are only so many peaches I can eat, you know?”

“So if I said I didn't want to fuck, and you ran out of peaches, what would you do?”

Your question seems casual and light but Jimin isn't stupid. He knows what you're really asking. Is he genuinely interested in something more exclusive, or would you just become another notch in his bedpost if he grew tired of waiting for you to spread your legs again?

"I can always buy more peaches."

You stare at him. He's looking at you levelly, a small smile on his face that's a little cocky but mostly warm. And, well, you know he's already gone without other partners for you, even before he'd gotten you in his bed. Park Jimin is serious about you, it seems. He'll wait.

You mouth at his collarbones, tasting the salt of sweat as you kiss and lick at his skin.

"After lunch, we can go back to my apartment, if you want," you whisper against his throat.

Just because Jimin's willing to wait doesn't mean you're going to force him to, especially as you're still as hungry for him as he is for you.

His hands squeeze your sides as you end up kissing again. You feel soft and ripe and sweet, easing under the touch of Jimin's hands and mouth.

"I still think you're a fucking menace, though," you add, and Jimin laughs so hard the bed shakes, still utterly unrepentant and entirely yours.

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

#btswritingcafe #jimin smut #jimin oneshot #jimin x reader #bts #bts au #bts smut #jimin fanfic #jimin #jimin x oc #bts oneshot #park jimin #jimin imagine #jimin scenario #bts fic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist

4K notes · View notes

omgreally · 2 years

Text

Sleight of Hand - Chapter One

aka, the fic I really wanted to write all along

Din Djarin/Thief!OFC Eventual E Summary: It starts with a job - don’t they all? - one that forces the Mandalorian to acknowledge that he did not emerge from his encounter with the Jedi unchanged. It is too easy to let his guard down now, and a certain thief bounty intends to take full advantage in her attempts to escape before she realises she would much rather stay.Or, Din Djarin finally meets his match for sheer stubbornness. Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, (brief) reference to implied sexual assault, hunter!Mando doing what he does best, some enemies to lovers shenanigans, smut to follow (of course)

Read on AO3

Series Masterlist

A Mandalorian walks into a bar.

The man serving at the cantina looks up as the walking wall of Beskar looms over the threshold a moment before making his way inside. The silver helm scans from side to side, taking in the early-evening crowd, taking in the spaceport day workers just starting to get drunk and the nightshift beginning to sober. He doesn’t fixate on any of them, just strides on past, but he leaves the impression he has already weighed everyone up and devised several hundred ways to kill them even as he ambles casually by.

The bartender continues to pretend to clean the dirty glass he’s been ‘cleaning’ for some time now. He doesn’t say anything as the Mandalorian picks a spot at the bar, laying a forearm against the counter.

The bounty hunter has been at the cantina every other night, looking for work. The bartender hears he works for Boba Fett, which means he’s dangerous - even more dangerous than a regular Mandalorian.

The spear he carries at his shoulder is like a flag of warning. Most people in the cantina avoid him. The bartender wishes he could do the same.

Instead he pulls out two bottles of spotchka and slams them atop the bar - One for Boba, one for Boba’s mistress.

The silver helm inclines in a parody of respect, and the serving man snorts, moving away - all without a single word.

Mando leans back slightly and half-turns to survey the cantina again. The background chatter that ceased as he entered has now picked up again, and there seem to be less eyes on him now - which is just how he likes it.

Then a pair of hands slam down on the bar next to him, and a loud, grating voice assaults his ears:

“Hey, barkeep, get over here and make it snappy!”

The woman has short, bright hair and big, bright eyes. She barely even glances at Mando, far too occupied with the bottles behind the bar. When the barman is too slow to return, she vaults over and starts to help herself.

“Mm-hmm, a little of this for me, a little of that also for me. What about you? What’s your poison?” she asks as she turns back, facing Mando with a bottle of something red in one hand and something green in the other. “Oh. You’ve already gotten started,” she observes, taking in the two jugs of spotchka.

Mando feels his eyebrow hike so high up in his helmet it nearly touches his hairline. “They’re not for me,” he says simply.

“Uh-huh,” the woman replies, clearly not buying it. She doesn’t have time to say much more before the bartender comes back around, swearing and waving his arms at her. She grins wildly at Mando, looks between the red and the green bottles for a moment before leaving the green behind and vaulting back over the bar, losing herself quickly in the crowd.

“Little harlot,” the irate barman snarls. He begins tidying the bottles the woman had shuffled into disarray. "She-devil."

“She comes here a lot?” Mando asks, tilting his head.

“More than you. Bigger tab, too.”

Mando pushes away from the counter and grabs the handles of both spotchka jugs in one large hand. “See you later.”

“Hey - Mando!” The stunned man calls after him as the armored warrior makes his way to the door. “You haven’t even asked if there were any jobs going!”

Mando didn’t need to. He had his job already.

It’s been tough - building up again from nothing. Starting again with the little jobs, the petty jobs, for a handful of credits here and there. Sometimes, something good falls in the Mandalorian’s lap, but not often.

This time he thinks he’s got something good.

Petty theft, public nuisances, sabotage, assault with a deadly weapon - an interesting resume that warranted closer attention. And, as it turned out, a couple of people on the receiving end of that resume had a vested interest in bringing it to a full stop.

The bounty wasn’t large, but it was substantial enough for a down payment on a second-hand ship. A ticket off Tatooine. So the Mandalorian took the job.

He’s been following her for a week. Learning her routine, as fractious and chaotic as it is. Learning where she sleeps, where she eats, where she works. The streets of Tatooine are her playground, her realm from the ground to the rooftops, and she rarely sticks to just one. Tracking her has been...a challenge, but a welcome one.

Din Djarin hasn’t felt like a real bounty hunter for a long time.

He waits for her outside her current crash pad - a nondescript door in a wall down an alley. Mando leans up next to it, a foot up against the stone sandwork, arms folded across his chest. And he waits.

She appears vaulting down from a nearby roof, landing in a roll that brings her springing up to her feet, holding her prize aloft - the bottle of ruby-red liquid. She laughs as she uncaps it with her teeth and throws her head back for a deep swig. It’s as she’s wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve that she realizes she’s got an audience. Her eyes fall across him and her grin fades like blood draining from from a punctured lung.

“It’s you,” she says at last, finally taking the Mandalorian in for more than a second, from the spear at his shoulder to the blaster and the strange, weaponless hilt at his belt. “From the bar.”

“Me. From the bar,” Mando agrees, pushing himself to his feet, to his full height. He looms a full head above her, eclipsing the slow setting of the twin suns behind his shoulder. “I’m surprised you noticed anything except those bottles,” he adds, inclining his head to the one still clenched in her fist.

She takes a step back and hides the bottle behind her body, but by the look in her eyes she knows it’s far too late to deny anything. She settles on defiance, lifting her chin, and for a moment Mando marvels at the complete lack of fear in her eyes.

“So?” she demands, holding her ground. He knows that underneath her jacket she carries a small blaster in a holster on her outer thigh. He’s seen her use it on an unfortunately handsy man outside the cantina, once. But she's not reaching for it just yet, so he keeps his hands by his sides. For now. “I wasn’t being served. I helped myself. The bartender will put it on my tab.”

“You owe more on your tab than you could pay off in years,” the Mandalorian replies evenly. “And the cantina’s not the only place you owe.”

She swallows and takes another step back. The gravity of the situation has finally hit her, he can tell. He can also tell she’s about to run.

“Don’t do it, kid…” he mutters to himself, even as she’s cocking her arm back to throw the full bottle at him.

Mando ducks to the side and it smashes against the wall by his head, spraying him with glass and pungent, berry-scented alcohol. He doesn’t pause before taking off in a dead sprint after the fleeing woman.

He turns a corner and catches a blur of movement as she vaults up a trash receptacle and kicks off a wall, propelling herself onto the roof without losing speed. Mando swears, clambering up after her in a considerably less graceful fashion.

His legs are longer and he can move just as fast when he wants to, but with the zig-zagging, round-about route she leads him on, Mando soon finds himself panting, losing wind as he scrambles up onto yet another rooftop of a larger building.

He follows the woman around the curve of its dome and she spots him at the same time as her foot slips. There are no handholds up here and it's a taller building with a longer way to the groud.

With this realization in mind, her mouth and eyes forming horrified O’s, she begins to fall.

A gloved hand catches the woman by the wrist. She gasps, hanging suspended above the street meters below. The Mandalorian holds her up by her arm as if she weighs nothing, and for the first time, he sees that she is afraid.

Not of him - of her own mortality.

He can’t blame her.

“You’ve got two options,” he tells her. “Either you come with me....or I let go.”

She glares up at him with bright, angry eyes.

“Let me go. ”

#din djarin/ofc #din djarin/reader #din djarin/female oc #din djarin x original character #mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #sleight of hand

136 notes · View notes

souichioneshots · 3 years

Text

Grim Reaper 【Souichi x Reader】 (Fluff)

Souichi claims he's been cursed. Now everything he touches dies! However, that doesn't stop him from spending time with you. Can you hold back from touching the boy and dying? Let's find out~~~!! ahahaha

(I think this counts as affectionate!reader but idk lol)

Souichi carefully held onto the drink in his hand as he sat back down in between your legs.

Resting his body against your soft chest, you wrapped your arms around his waist. He was completely engulfed by your love. Although he was a bit embarrassed at first by how affectionate you could be, it had become a habit for him to want to be so close to you all the time.

【And now back to ‘DEATH’S ASSISTANT’】

Souichi took a sip of his drink as the show you two had been hooked on recently started back up.

It was a Japanese drama about a Grim Reaper who had been assigned a foreign assistant. Apparently, they fell for one another as soon as their eyes met. Every day they tell each other how much they love one another, but because of Death’s curse, he is unable to touch his love. The show depicts their everyday work lives. Showing how far they would go for one another to prove their love, but never being able to be truly affectionate. Souichi wasn’t really into these types of lovey-dovey dramas, but the supernatural antics that it included drew him in deeper and deeper.

【Assistant, we cant! You know if we touch, you’ll die!】

【I would risk dying a million times just to feel your lips pressed against mine even just once, Death~.】

“Guuuuu!!!!!!!!!!!”

Souichi laughed as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. The scene was so cheesy and overdone, but you loved it. For a morbid girl, you really were a sucker for love stories.

“You’re gonna miss the show if you don’t look up.” Souichi chuckle and patted your head.

Resting your chin on his shoulder, you continued to watch the last few minutes left of the drama.

“Death really outdid it with his outfit today, huh?” Souichi commented.

In today’s episode, Death had been wearing a bright red suit with a black suit-shirt instead of his usual black suit and black tie.

“I think it really suits him.”

“You think everything suits him.”

“Of course. If you’re handsome, then anything and everything looks good on you.”

Souichi lifted his shoulder up towards his head, squishing your face against him.

“Owwww Owowowow!!”

“What’s so handsome about that old actor?”

Souichi finally released the pressure, allowing you to relax.

Pulling your head away from his body, you rubbed your cheeks.

“Hmm…Well, for one his eyes are absolutely beautiful. Thin, sharp, and the dark circles around them make him look so mysterious. And his dark, wavy hair looks so soft! I just want to run my hands through it as mess it up even more.”

Souichi couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as you described what you found attractive about the ‘dreamy man’ on the television. He honestly felt like you were just describing him. He knew you must have a type, but he didn’t think it would be this similar to him every time. You must have felt like you won the jackpot with him.

“But what I really like is the fact that he’s always wearing a suit.” Wrapping your arms back around his waist, you squeezed him a bit “You can tell his assistant also thinks the same thing because she's always staring at him. She just wants to touch him soooo much. But she knows she'll die if she does! Haa~~ I love it!”

Souichi hummed in amusement as he listened to you speak.

Seeing that he fit all the other conditions you looked for in a guy, Souichi thought of a perfect way he could use this little fantasy you love so much for his amusement.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

When the next night came, Souichi quickly got to preparing himself. He had asked if he could go over to watch a movie tonight.

He usually didn’t pay much attention to what he wore whenever he hung out alone with you. But tonight, he decided to mix things up a bit.

Making sure he had everything he needed in his pockets, Souichi set off to your house.

Creepily excited laughter slipped from the boy’s lips as he walked down the street by himself. He couldn’t wait to see your reaction when you laid your eyes upon him.

Finally reaching your front door, he knocked.

“Good evening~” Souichi greeted as you opened the door.

Before you could greet the boy back, you froze. Your mouth gaped open and your eyes widened as you looked upon your boyfriend.

“S…SS..S-Suit..Suitsuitsuit…” You brought your hands up to your face, unsure where to place them. This was the first time you had ever seen him wearing such an outfit before.

Finally bringing your hands out towards Souichi, you tried to touch him.

“Ah!” Souichi quickly jumped back. “You can’t.”

A look of worry and confusion grew on your face as the boy rejected your touch.

“Remember when I called you this morning and said I might have messed up a curse?”

You shook your head yes.

“Well, it turns out that as a side effect, whatever I touch now dies almost immediately.”

Leaning against the doorframe, you looked at the boy with a smile of disbelief.

“You’re just copying ‘Death’s Assistant’ aren’t you.”

Souichi hated how well you could read him. But that didn’t mean he was going to admit that you were right. At least not right now.

“No! I swear.” Sliding one hand into his suit pocket, he leaned down onto the grass that covered your front yard. “Every time I touch something as delicate as a flower…” Pulling out his hand from his pocket, he placed it over a daisy that had been growing for some time. “Well... This happens.” Moving back up, Souichi revealed that the flower he touched had shriveled up and died.

“No way…” You whispered as he allowed the dead flower to trickle onto the palm on your hands.

“Yeah…It’s a bummer.” Placing his foot over the real flower still planted in the ground, he tried to hide the evidence. “But I’m sure this curse will wear off by next week. 2 weeks at most.”

You quickly moved to the side as Souichi let himself into your home.

“What are you doing? Wouldn’t it be dangerous for us to be together right now?”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. As long as we don’t touch that is.” Giving you a smile, Souichi kicked off his shoes and made his way down to your bedroom.

As the raven-haired boy walked down the hall, he moved his hands close to the wall, just barely coming into contact with the wallpaper. He honestly thought it would be really cool if he could make the wallpaper roll up and crumble into pieces just from touching it. Just like in the drama. Perhaps there really was a curse out there that would give him that ability.

Finally reaching your room, he took ahold of the door handle and gestured for you to go in first. Being in a suit really did make him feel like more of a gentleman. It was kind of fun.

Sitting on your bed, Souichi watched as you set up the DVD player.

He tried to hold back his foolish laughter as he thought about how miserable you were going to be all night from not being able to touch him.

You. The girl who could barely go 5 minutes without at least leaning against his shoulder, was now being forced to keep her hands to herself in order to avoid never waking up again.

This was gonna be hilarious.

“So, lemme ask you.” You pulled the boy out of his own little world as you sat on the bed with him. “Why the suit?”

“The suit? Oh. Umm…” Souichi’s mind froze for a second. He was going to say an excuse that all his other clothes suddenly turn to dust when he touched them, but now that sounded extremely stupid and unbelievable. Especially since he was able to touch your bedsheets with no problem. “…To match the whole ‘death’ theme...”

“Oh~ That makes sense. Always gotta be prepared for a funeral when everything you touch dies, right?”

“Exactly!”

Souichi let out a small sigh of relief as you commented an equally believable reason for the suit. He was glad you were almost always on the same level as him.

Finally dropping the subject, you pressed the button on the remote for the movie to play.

Souichi tapped his finger against the bed in annoyance as you kept a good amount of distance from him. It didn’t seem like you would try to touch him any time soon.

Looks like he needed to take things up a notch if he wanted to have some real fun.

Leaning forward, he swiftly took off his black jacket. You quickly ducked as his hand almost came in contact with your head.

Leaning his arm on your pillow, he relaxed his body. A single nail stayed poking out from between his lips, making it look like he was smoking.

Souichi couldn't help but smile as he saw you take quick glances at him. Your eyes kept moving from his pants to his white suit shirt, and finally to his face. He could see a blush spread across your cheeks as you quickly turned away from him, avoiding his gaze. You looked completely head over heels for him.

Sliding to the side, you leaned ever so close to the boy.

“Does the ‘being killed on the spot’ rule apply even over clothes~?” A blush spread across his pale face as you whispered in his ear, making sure not to come into direct contact with his shoulder. He could see your hand hovering over his suit pants, craving to touch the expensive-looking material.

Did you really not believe him or were you just begging to die?

Moving a bit away from you, he replied. “Probably not a good idea. Haven’t tested that out yet…” He let out a little laugh as he mentioned how awkward it would be for him to have to wake up your family and tell them that he killed you by accident.

Souichi looked from the corner of his eyes as you let out a small sigh and moved back into your own little space. This sudden rule of no touching looked like it was taking a toll on you.

Honestly, he was expecting you to be a bit more excited by this situation. After all, this was one of your favorite fantasies. To love one another, but never be able to touch unless you were willing to die on the spot. You should be spewing cheesy lines like in the drama, not sulking.

Moving the nails against his teeth, he tried to think of a way to fix things. After all, this wouldn’t be fun if you got too sad and decided to stop acting like your usual self halfway through the night.

Moving his arm out towards you, he pulled on the edge of his suit jacket.

“I think it’d be fine if you held onto this though…” He turned his face to the side, trying to hide his blush as you smiled once again.

Throughout the movie, Souichi kept his arm up in the air as you happily held onto his jacket. His body felt oddly unsatisfied from not being properly touched by you. But, this was his own fault for deciding to go through with such a cold prank.

You both stayed surprisingly calm and silent as the movie played on.

Souichi kept the nails in his mouth pressed tightly against his teeth as he kept his eyes on the screen. The movie you chose wasn’t half bad at all. The effects, the props, the acting. All very realistic. To be expected from new foreign movies.

However, this feeling of calmness didn’t last long as an unnecessarily long make-out scene between the main characters had started up again. Another specialty of foreign horror movies. The acting for these scenes just had to be extremely believable as well…

Souichi tensed up a bit as he felt you let go of his jacket, finally allowing him to rest his hand back down near his body.

It wasn’t that he disliked these types of scenes. But something about watching them alone with you always made him feel a bit restless.

Souichi moved his legs closer to his body, trying to get in a more comfortable position. He really regretted starting this whole ‘touch me and you’ll die’ prank now.

Pulling on the black-tie wrapped around his neck, he tried to calm himself down.

“People get really horny right before they die, huh?…”

Souichi noticed you jolt a bit at the sound of his voice. All he got in response from you was a little ‘yeah’ and an awkward laugh.

As the teens on the screen started to undress, Souichi noticed you also start to fidget around in your spot. You looked like you wanted to sit closer to him, but you knew you couldn’t.

Shakily bringing your hand over his leg again, you whispered. “Are you sure I’ll die if I touch you over your clothes?...”

This time he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just moved his leg closer to you, giving you an okay to try and touch him.

He watched as you cautiously placed the tips of your fingers on his knee. You let out a sigh of relief as you realized you were going to die from touching him over his clothes.

Careful not to accidentally touch any part of his body not covered by his clothes, you turned towards his.

Pinching the fabric of his suit jacket, you pulled his hand up. Souichi’s heartbeat sped up as you moved his bare hand to touch your clothed breast.

“Looks like it works both ways. As long as your skin doesn’t come into direct contact with mine, I’ll be just fine.”

Souichi’s eyes followed your hands as they moved back towards his pants once more.

You were really pushing the envelope.

But, if you were gonna play like that, then he saw no harm in playing along as well.

Sliding his hand down from your chest to your waist, he pulled you to come closer to him.

“That means we can’t do anything more than this though…” Souichi whisper as he inched his face closer to yours. “We should stop now before we do something that can’t be undone.” He teased you with lies, practically ordering you to go further.

“You don’t wanna die from one of my curses, do you?”

“It’d be a blessing to die from one of your curses…”

Something within Souichi switched on as he heard you whisper your confession to him. That felt like the most romantic thing you'd ever said to him.

Without saying another word, Souichi pressed his lips against yours. To think he was the one who ended up not being able to hold back from you this time.

Suddenly, pressing your hands against his shoulder, you pushed yourself away from the kiss.

“Agk! My heart!” Holding your hand against your chest, you threw yourself back to lay on the bed. “I…I!!! Gah…”

Souichi couldn’t help but laugh as you pretended to die in an over-exaggerated manner.

You opened one of your eyes, looked at the boy, and then closed it again. Souichi could see you trying your best to hold back a smile as you laid perfectly still.

“You knew I wasn’t cursed the entire time, didn’t you?”

“...Was it that obvious?” You laughed a bit as you finally sat back up.

“When did you figure out I was lying?”

“Hmm~”

You just hummed and swayed your head side to side. Not telling him when you knew for a fact he was not actually cursed.

“If I can be honest, you should have said something more believable for the suit. Then maybe I would have believed you completely." Leaning up against the boy you thought for a second. "Like umm... All your other clothes disintegrated the second you touched them. But because you've worn this suit to a funeral before, it was the only thing that stayed intact."

"Ahh!! I swear I was gonna say that!!"

You let out a hum and looked at the boy once again with a smile of disbelief.

"I swear!"

Getting up from the bed, he put on his suit jacket again.

"Let's restart." He sat back down on the edge of your bed. "Ask me why I'm wearing a suit."

"Okay." You also moved to sit on the edge, next to him. "Hey, Souichi. Why are you--" Unconsciously, your hand brushed up against his. "AGK!" You threw your body back and pretended to die again.

"No!! Y/N!!" He picked you up by your shoulders and forced you to sit back up. "Again."

As his hands moved away from your shoulders, he accidentally touched your neck. Making you jump back again.

"Agggkk!!"

"Stop dying!!" He yelled as you held your hand up to your neck and pretended to choke and die.

Souichi let out a loud groan as you continued to laugh at his frustrated expression.

This prank wasn't as funny as he thought it would be.

#souichi x reader #souichi tsujii x reader #fluff #this is stupid #but oh well #lots of misspells for sure #but i tried man #10 pages of work is a pain to check

261 notes · View notes

the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Slumbering Hearts (Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 3

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Rating: T for language, implied cannibalism (because Vampires)

Warnings: Aforementioned implied cannibalism

Summary: In a wicked twist of fate, you find out your soulmate is none other than your employer, Lady Dimitrescu. To your misery, she (at first) seems equally displeased, her heart already belonging to another. But in time, the two of you find yourselves wondering… could the universe be right, after all? Soulmate AU in which every person has a unique “soul mark”, which they share with their soulmate.

Notes: Features a cameo of sorts for my OC, Avaskian Caldwell. Not beta read.

Previous Chapters: 1: In The Shadow Of Giants, 2: Uncertain Destinations

3: Eat Your Heart

“Well,” Bela says, only moderately sounding hostile, “I do believe that marks the end of our tour. Unless you would like to see the dungeons? Perhaps get a proper look at where you might end up, hmm?” Resisting the urge to roll your eyes is more difficult than you would have preferred. Somehow you manage, though, and reply in a relatively relaxed tone.

“I think I’ll have to pass. After all, I wouldn’t want to be late for dinner, now would I?” You incline your head towards a nearby clock to emphasize your point. For a split second Bela seems surprised, as if she hadn’t been keeping track of time at all. But the look vanishes as quickly as it came about, soon replaced with a calculating gaze, and she gives a short nod. “Is it safe to assume that you eat together, as a family?” Another nod, this time accompanied by a small look of confusion. “Mmm, sounds wonderful. It’s been far too long since I’ve shared a nice family meal.”

That certainly wasn’t what Bela had expected you to say.

“Oh? I do hope that you can stomach the sight of blood, then. Otherwise it might not feel so nice,” she replies, after a slight pause. Her earlier confidence had returned, further bolstered by the resulting giggles from her sisters. They were a chaotic bunch. Regardless, Bela soon takes your wrist in her hand, pulling you towards the dining room, grip only tight enough to be slightly uncomfortable. Both of her siblings followed closely behind, occasionally whispering unintelligible jokes to one another. One in particular leaves Daniela pausing in the hallway, hunched over laughing, with an unnerving edge of something else you couldn’t quite place. A backwards glance in her direction leads you to make eye contact with Cassandra, who gives you a knowing smirk. Deciding that you didn’t want to know what she had said, you turned back towards Bela, and stayed facing that way until you reached the dining hall.

Inside, Alcina was already sitting at the head of the table, in a chair that would have seemed a throne to anyone else. On either side of her are two more seats, far less ornate than her own. For a moment the sisters and you hesitate in the entranceway. Evidently they weren’t accustomed to this particular arrangement, unsure where to sit. It’s not until Bela clears her throat that Alcina speaks up.

“On my left, dear,” she says, eying her eldest daughter, before turning to you. “You may sit to my right. I trust that you’ll find this agreeable?” Well, you weren’t exactly about to argue with her, so yes, you found it agreeable. Even if it meant sitting across from the more ‘direct’ member of your opposition. Though perhaps ‘judge’ and/or ‘jury’ was a better word for the Dimitrescu daughters. Regardless, you were going to have to sit with them, and in the end it hardly mattered who was where. As such, you semi-awkwardly made your way to your seat, hoping that you’d eventually feel less out of place. Soon enough Cassandra takes the spot next to you, giving you a concerning smirk as she does. What did she have planned? Before you can even contemplate her intentions, her mother is talking again, drawing both of your attention towards herself. “Splendid. I’m glad to see that you’re already finding your place here.”

It’s not hard, you think, when you’re directing my every step. Despite your biting internal commentary, you do not speak out loud, merely giving a polite smile and nod. Across from you, Bela gives her mother an affectionate expression before fixing you with a subtle disapproving look. Taking some small comfort in the fact that she wasn’t being openly hostile, you forced yourself to keep smiling, meeting her gaze with as much confidence as you can muster. Within moments both of you have your attention drawn elsewhere, thankfully, as servants begin carrying in various food platters. Most of the dishes appeared to be perfectly normal. But looks could be deceiving, and you knew that at least a handful had to contain less “traditional” ingredients. They remembered to cook something normal for me, right?

Soon enough your fears are somewhat alleviated, as one of the servants places an already filled plate in front of you. Admittedly you don’t recognize xer, despite xer oddly silver hair, or the red bandana xe wore. Something told you that xe wasn’t just another maiden, however, especially with the way xe brazenly made eye contact with each of the Dimitrescus. Before you could inquire about xer, you’re distracted by the arrival of Juniper, who instantly smiles when she sees you. In her arms she carries the last two side dishes and several empty plates, which the unknown servant gently takes from her. Together the two of them set the final items into place. Wordlessly, the grey-haired person removes a notebook from xer back pocket, handing it to Juniper with the barest sliver of a smile. Clearly having done this more than once, she accepts it readily, opening it to a bookmarked page.

“My Ladies, and our dearest, most esteemed guest, I present to you another fine selection of traditional Romanian dishes, for your sincere enjoyment. Today we will be drinking one of our more popular styles of wine, known as Febris Amatoria, meaning ‘fever of love’ in Latin,” she reads, only somewhat shakily. Next to her, the stranger inclines xer head to your employers, then does the same to you. At this point you have to assume that xe doesn’t speak, and that Juniper was serving as a translator of sorts. “Due to the unexpected nature of our guest, the dishes are not clearly marked in regards to their ingredients. You have my- as in Mx Caldwell- assurance that this will be handled by the next standard mealtime, where the shared dishes will be color coded. In the meantime, I- again, Mx Caldwell- will remain here, in order to prevent any… unintentional ingestion of human remains.” Gulping, Juniper returns the notebook to the stranger (Caldwell, apparently), then exits the room alongside the other servants.

“Isn’t Febris Amatoria also another name for a type of anemia?” Bela asks, slowly swirling the contents of her glass as she does. Caldwell, who had moved to stand several feet behind Alcina, gives a nod in response, and appears mildly amused.

“A clever allusion to our family’s nature, isn’t it? I know Daniela has certainly drained a number of ‘lovers’ over the years, perhaps causing a case or two,” Cassandra teases, much to her younger sister’s irritation. Personally you were surprised that she was willing to admit such a thing in front of her mother. Unless you were reading too much into the word ‘lovers’, due to the rumors you had heard regarding Lady Daniela. Nonetheless, the Lady in question is aggravated enough to sit up, looking ready to lunge across the table at Cassandra. As soon as Daniela moves (with frightening speed), her sister easily catches her wrist, using her other hand to wave a finger back and forth. “Ah, ah, ah, Dani, we have a guest. Do try to behave yourself.”

“Oh, because you’re the epitome of table manners? I’m amazed you haven’t already managed to spill wine all over your dress,” Daniela counters, before ripping her arm away from Cassandra. They both huff, but are quick to quiet down when their mother sends them a look. “Dinner looks delectable, as usual, Ava,” Daniela continues, after clearing her throat, accentuating the end of her sentence with a gesture of her wine glass. Then she takes a long drink from it, perhaps thinking that a little intoxication might make the evening easier to get through. Deciding that maybe she had the right idea, you take a sip from your own glass, relishing the subtle hint of lavender.

In the minutes that follow, things slide into easy comfort. Caldwell once more moves closer to the table, helping pass along side-dishes from person to person, quietly pointing out which ones you could safely consume, occasionally chuckling in response to the jokes that the daughters shared. A strange warmth built itself up within the center of your chest, heart yearning for age-old memories of your own family. Three months had passed since the last time you felt this way. Really, it felt so much like family that you didn’t catch the way Cassandra’s lips twitched into a smirk, or the way she met Bela’s gaze, or the way she pushed a dish just a tad further towards you than necessary. All it had taken was a single second of your gaze turned elsewhere… then you were reaching for the castle’s special variety of forbidden fruit.

“Ayye, nyet, nyet!” Caldwell snaps, voice oddly strained, hand wrapping around your wrist in an instant. All eyes are on you now, though Alcina’s soon flicker over to the servant. “Cass. Bad girl,” xe continues, going so far as to shake xer finger disapprovingly. Understandably, you’re rather shocked to see a butler be so bold with someone so dangerous. Even more shocking is the way that Cassandra backs down without a hint of a fight, refusing to meet her mother’s steely gaze, not even pretending that she hadn’t attempted to trick you. Satisfied with this outcome, Caldwell wordlessly fades back into the background.

Although you had almost committed an unwilling act of cannibalism, you managed to slowly relax again, content to listen in on (but not participate in) the conversations around you. ‘Twas somewhat awkward, admittedly, to be the odd one out in a family so close. Yet a part of you had gained a new sense of hope by meeting Caldwell. After all, if a human such as xerself could become so close as to chastise Cassandra of all people, why couldn’t you?

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

“Once again, I would like to… apologize, on behalf of my daughters,” Alcina says, rather softly, still keeping a gentle hand on your back to guide you along. “I must admit, I do not wish to dwell on what might have happened if not for Avaskian.”

“Believe it or not, I think I actually understand where they’re coming from. Though, of course, I am also grateful for Caldwell’s intervention. But really… your family has been together for several decades now, right? Any addition is guaranteed to stir things up,” you respond with a shrug. “Besides, I’m more than aware that I don’t exactly stand at the same level as your other romantic interest.” Suddenly both of you are halting in the middle of the hallway, unable to meet each other’s gaze, regret rumbling like butterflies in your stomach. You hadn’t intended to bring up your soulmate’s somewhat obvious affections for Mother Miranda.

“Hmm. So you are… aware of that,” Alcina murmurs, finally turning her head to look down at you. There’s no small amount of pain in her eyes, though you can tell she’s holding as much of it in as possible. “I would prefer it if we did not speak of this. I do hope you have no qualms with that.” For once, there is no hint of force or commanding edge to her tone. For once, she is letting you act as an equal, the first step towards actually accepting your role as her soulmate. It’s enough to make the corners of your lips turn up, if only for a moment.

“Alcina… I understand. I merely want to say that it won’t affect how I feel, or how I act. Love is a blessing, even when it ends in pain. I… have loved before. People whom I will never see again, people who never felt the same way, and maybe people who I really only thought that I loved. I’m trying to think of those experiences as lessons. Situations that taught me something about myself, or about what love is, that I can keep in mind and use going forward. Just as I promised to your daughters, I will try to love you. I will give you an honest chance, regardless of our past circumstances. Because we’re soulmates. Because this is the world offering us a shot at something amazing, and I’m not about to give that up,” you explain, placing one of your hands in Alcina’s. For a moment there’s silence, but you see both surprise and happiness in her expression. Still, there’s a hint of tension remaining in the air, so you do your best to dispel it. “Also your daughters threatened to kill me if I didn’t, and I’d hate to perish before lasting a full year here. I heard a rumor that one of the senior staff members makes cards to celebrate.”

Next thing you know, you’re hearing a beautiful sound, a light, genuine laugh from Alcina, who all at once releases the tension in her shoulders.

“Yes, I do believe Ava, or Caldwell as you said, still makes those. Always with strange little drawings of felines…” She trails off, voice fading into another chuckle, before at last resuming her walk, never letting go of your hand. “As much as I have enjoyed our chat, I do believe it is about time that I retire for the night. We will see each other once more in the morning. For now, I bid you goodnight. Sleep well, my dear.” With that, the two of you arrive at the entrance to the servants’ quarters, and you find just enough courage to bring her hand to your lips, for a brief kiss.

“Goodnight, Lady Alcina. May your dreams be as sweet as your company.”

#alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #j has ocs #avaskian caldwell

172 notes · View notes

tommybaholland · 3 years

Text

how they deal with spiders/bugs

featuring: kenma, bokuto, nishinoya, yamaguchi, and suna

thought i’d try a different style this time and i liked how it came out! hope you enjoy it too :)

kenma

he usually doesn’t notice until you say something

when he does spot the spider, he isn’t fazed by it either

but he’s still disgusted that there’s a spider in the house

grimaces as he kills it, especially if it makes a crunching noise

“ken, there’s a spider right there.”

“really? oh. i didn’t notice it.”

“how could you not notice when it’s practically dangling right in front of your face?”

typical kenma, too engrossed in his new game that he can’t even see the spider crawling down the wall in front of him. he could catch the hint that you didn’t want to take care of it though. or rather, he wants it gone just as much as you do.

“ew. okay. i’ll get it.”

he grabs a tissue and plucks it off the wall like it’s nothing. you see the disgusted look on his face as he turns back around, tongue poking out as he looks into the tissue to confirm the dead spider corpse. he goes into the bathroom to flush it before returning to continue his game.

once he’s back in bed and comfy next to you, you lean over to give him a lingering kiss on the cheek. the gesture makes his cheeks flush with pink, effectively grabbing his attention.

“thank you, ken.” you lean your head against his shoulder, snuggling up to him.

he returns the affection with a small kiss to your head. “of course, cutie.”

bokuto

he’s the type to act tough when taking care of a bug

but then it’ll move like .01 millimeters and he’ll freak out

needs a super long broom to swat at it

you usually end up being the one to deal with it

after about five minutes of consecutive, “i’m going” declarations, he finally gets up from his seat next to you to go inspect the wall behind you.

“this thing’s gonna regret ever stepping foot into this-- oh my god, BABE!”

“what is it?”

“this isn’t ‘mid-size.’ it might as well be paying rent-- oh my god, and it has all these legs. ew ew ew. why are you making me do this?”

you laughed a little. “you said you wanted to do it!”

“ughhhh, okay. i did say that. alright. let me just get this--oh my god, it just moved. babe please, can you come help me?”

you turn around in your seat to see your defeated boyfriend holding up his weapon of choice: a broom. he held it out in front of him like the bug was suddenly going to grow a thousand times its size and attack. you get up and take the broom from him and swat at the wall, making the small intruder fall. he stands behind you, his hands on your shoulders as he shields himself away.

you make sure it’s dead and everything before using a tissue to pick it up and dispose of it where he won’t find it.

“it’s gone, right? yay! great job, babe!” he praises, wrapping you in a bear hug and hugging you tight. “i have the best s/o ever and no bug will ever come between us!”

nishinoya

he’s admitted that he used to be scared of many things as a kid

but he’s passed all that now and bugs are no exception

you’re the one to encourage him NOT to kill it, especially if it’s harmless

he just wants to protect you at all costs

“where is it, babe? i’ll get it,” your boyfriend declares, holding up a shoe.

“over there, but noya you don’t have to--”

“okay, bug. you don’t mess with my beautiful, gorgeous, sweet s/o!”

he gets all amped up over this tiny thing and puts all his power into launching the shoe right at it. you kinda felt bad for the bug, wincing at the sound of impact.

“you didn’t have to kill it, you know,” you stated.

“but sweetheart, i just wanted to take care of it for you,” he pouts. it seemed he thought you would have the opposite reaction.

“i know but it wasn’t any threat to me at all.”

“it’s just a bug,” he retorts. “get over it.”

you stay silent after that and it makes him immediately regret what he said. it’s not uncommon that he’ll take something over the top. for the most part, you’ve accepted that he’s not perfect. but you have your own sensitivities and the last thing he wants is for you to be upset with him. he’s willing to swallow his pride for your sake.

“i’m sorry, baby. i didn’t think it would make you upset. it was stupid and i’ll try not to go crazy next time.”

you hear apologies from him quite often but you’re never stone-cold about it.

“it’s okay, yu. i know you didn’t mean for it to be like that. but i can get the bug next time, okay?”

he laughs, wrapping his arms around your neck and kissing your cheek. “okay. that’s my tough s/o. i love you.”

yamaguchi

not a fan of dealing with bugs nor killing them

would rather you or someone else take care of it

but if he has to, he’ll muster up the courage to do it himself

talks to the culprit in question to hype himself up, and will not accept any help from you

“okay, mr. spider, don’t jump out and bite me--”

“are you sure you don’t need any help, tadashi?”

“no, no. i got it. it’s almost gone. don’t worry-- AH.”

you hear a few thumps and are about to get up to go investigate until your boyfriend stumbles into the room. his cheeks were flushed and the cowlick stood comically tall on his head.

“it’s gone.”

“wow, you seemed to have put up a fight,” you joked, getting up to go hug him.

he takes you in his arms, laughing softly as he wraps his arms around you. “well, you should’ve seen him. but maybe i should’ve let it bite me. then maybe i’d have cool spider powers.”

“hmm, no. i like you just the way you are. so tough...tough tadashi.”

you lean up to kiss his freckled cheek before resting your head on his chest. “thank you.”

he grins softly at your affection. he will definitely be taking care of all the bugs now.

suna

will want you to take care of it bc he can be kinda lazy :P

and if you’re willing, he’ll encourage you not to kill it and take it outside

you’ll receive a lot of praise and kisses after the fact

but if it really bothers you, he’ll get up and take care of it

“oh, you scared me,” he replies, walking up closer to you. “i thought this was something serious.”

“this is serious, rin,” you frown as he rubs a comforting hand over your shoulder.

“baby, it’s just a little bug. i think you can handle it.”

you hug him from the side, holding him closer to you.

“can’t you do it?”

“he obviously chose you to help him get back outside so i think you should do it,” he beams, patting you gently on the head.

“you just don’t want to do it, do you?” you reply, unamused.

“if it really, really bothers you, then i’ll take care of it,” he compromises. “but i’ll give you a reward if you do it.”

“and i can’t kill it?”

“no. it’s close enough to the door that you can get a cup and some paper to put him back outside. now, go ahead,” he encourages with a soft push on your back.

he coaches you through the entire operation of getting the bug back outside and once it’s gone, he makes sure you get all the praise and attention.

“see? i knew you could do it,” he reassures, his arms wrapped around your waist. “now for your reward...you get all my kisses and hugs.”

he makes you giggle as he kisses all over your face, not missing a single spot.

“you get that anyway but i’ll give you extra this time.”

hope we’re having a lovely haikyuu night! send a request for more..

417 notes · View notes

stopeatingwhales · 3 years

Text

"you're still blushing," x damon albarn

I haven't written something for damon in ages so here you all go <333

Pairing: 90s damon albarn x reader

Warnings: nothing :)

Word count: 2.214

༉‧₊˚✧

Having a roommate was always helpful for when you needed to cut the cost of rent, and to have company with someone that you got along with since you either were not far into relationships to be able to move in with a significant other, or you weren’t in a one - in which by having a roommate, made things less lonely. Me and Damon had known each other for quite some time now as Graham introduced us since Damon was looking for a flatmate at a time where, for some reason everybody seemed as though they were already occupied with people they were living with and sharing rent. Perhaps he was a little too late looking into it, but when Damon and I met, it was practically a match made in heaven. Though he wasn’t the first person I’d want to share a flat with, as I had no idea who he even was, just that he was best friends with somebody I was also friends with, he was perhaps, as oddly as it sounds, the best choice for a stranger to share a flat with. We had been living together since his band was working on their debut album, Leisure, and since then we had developed a very close relationship with one another. We both shared love for the same music, read the same books, and he had a personality which formed out of pure ardor and benevolence, which made it very easy to be able to form a strong bond together. It was very enjoyable living with him, as we wouldn’t avoid each other at all. Whenever both of us were present, there was nothing we would rather do than just spend time with one another. When nothing was going for us on weekends, we tended to just sit there on the couch in the living room, drinking warm, hot mugs of tea made by Damon at his advance, simply chatting about anything and everything. We would talk until the sun had gone down, until one of us had practically fallen asleep on the other, which was usually me, giving Damon the chore of putting me into bed, which I would constantly be thanking him for the following morning. At certain points in our friendship it was hard to distinguish whether we had feelings for each other, or if it was just a strong platonic relationship; other people had consistently pointed out our relationship together, and how we supposedly acted as if we were the happiest couple in the world.

After being asked whether me and him were together or not countless times, I had begun thinking about our relationship from an outsider's perspective, and over time I had realised that I was gaining feelings for Damon as I started to take notice of the little things that he would do. The warm smiles that he would give me; his plump, soft lips curving in a philanthropic manner, almost child-like, filled with pure love and adoration for you that you would instantly urge yourself to reciprocate. The unneeded care that would ensue once he realised that I was sick and needed a day off, bringing me a warm cup of tea in the morning, also mentioning that he wasn’t attending his band session later on in the day because I was his main priority, and that music could wait. The way he would rush into my room whilst I was organising my laundry, his lyric book gripped in his hand with a pen in the other, practically begging me to hear the new verse he had surprisingly conjured up in a couple of seconds - my opinion meaning so much to him that he would force me to read his finished songs, changing whatever I thought didn’t suit. And not to mention his features. His angelic, ocean-like orbs, where your eyes would get lost in them instantaneously; causing you to wonder what sort of resplendent alchemy went forth in creating such adoring pools of blue; his foolproof nose, sculpted in everlasting beauty, locked in the middle of his face, showing there was no flaw in his features, that he was the definition of true excellence, and though not a part of his face, the hair from his fringe that would coat over his forehead ever so softly, so elegantly, the strands, though roughly brushed through, looked as if they had been done professionally by his hairdresser. You were unable to pinpoint a flaw on him - he was the embodiment of elegance. You’d simply wonder whether this kind of beauty exists, and to have it living with me, was unequivocally something my heart was unable to handle.

Stepping into the flat that we both shared, I quickly took my shoes off before locking the door. As I wandered around the apartment, the aroma of smoke was easily identifiable, implying that Damon was inside, and smoking. Once I reached the living space, I saw Damon was sitting on the couch, flicking through the channels on the TV. “You alright?” I asked him, leaving the shopping bags on the countertops of the kitchen. He turned to look at me, a sweet smile painted on his lips before he took another drag from his cigarette. Oh, to be that cancer stick.

“I’m alright.” He replied, putting out his cigarette on the glass ashtray in front of him, then getting up to help me with the groceries. “How are you, love?”

“I’m okay. I managed to get everything we needed before we both died from starvation.” I laughed, folding up the now-empty bags that were once brimmed to the full of things we needed.

My gaze was fixed on him as he shut the fridge door as I leaned my tired body on the counter, him making his way after shutting the door to stand as close to me as he could. There was practically no empty space between us as he held me in an embrace, his face hidden into my neck as he played with strands of my hair gently. “I missed you,” He uttered, my heart now swelled in adoration for the man that was holding me, unaware if my body was able to handle more of his tauntings. Once he pulled out of the embrace, he clung onto my hands whilst staring deeply into my eyes. I couldn’t help but blush deeply as I looked into his eyes, getting lost in the essence of his handsomeness. I noticed his warm smile form into a cheeky grin as I realised that he knew I was going red. “You’re blushing.”

Slightly embarrassed, I scrunched my face together and looked down to the ground. There was no way out of it, one day he was going to find out just how much I had grown a liking for him. Instead of responding, I moved away from the situation and headed to sit on the couch, knowing that he would follow suit. Once we sat together, I grabbed the cigar pack that was left open on the table and put a cigarette between my lips, looking at Damon as a form of asking where the lighter was. He immediately grabbed the lighter from his pocket and pressed it, causing a flame to come out. I leaned closer to him to allow him to light the roll of tobacco, my eyes not daring to move away from the sight of the flame. I felt his eyes staring intently at my features, the tension in the air being more prominent than it had ever been before. When it was lit, I instantly inhaled, exhaling sharply to expose the smoke that had quickly built up in my throat.

“What did you do today, Dames?” I asked him, attempting to instigate a conversation. His eyes were still lingering on me whilst my eyes tried everything they could to avoid embarrassing myself again, with another blush.

“Well I went in to do some recording, today was mainly for Graham’s guitar solo so we finished up early,” he answered, walking to the fridge to grab himself a beer, then coming back to sit right next to me. “Graham tells me you’ve got a crush on someone.”

After almost choking on the smoke created in my lungs, I felt the blood rush to my cheeks yet again, the action moving so fast I could feel my cheeks begin to sting. “Ehm- He told you that?”

“So it’s true…” Damon began, placing his drink on the coffee table, a smirk evident on his features. “I thought he was lying, since we usually tell each other everything, but your face says otherwise.” He added, my heart panging slightly as I felt bad that he thought that I didn’t want to tell him. Oh if only he knew it was about him. If only he knew that what I haven’t been able to keep my mind off for weeks on end was him. If only he knew that he’s all that engulfs my mind.

“Who’s the guy?” He asked, as I felt his body shift ever so slightly closer to mine, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as he noticed my stiffness.

“You don’t know him.” I mumbled, staring down at my feet as I felt his breath fan my face slightly, the redness of my cheeks still prominent though I tried to ignore the heat radiating out of them.

“Describe him to me then.” He said, in a teasing manner. Part of me felt that Graham told Damon that it was him, and knowing Graham he probably would’ve done that since he was one of the many who believed that we would’ve been good together since we acted like it. But I wasn’t planning on jumping to any conclusions just yet.

“Uhh well…” I felt my cheeks heat up a bright red again as I looked in Damon’s direction, quickly snatching his beer off the coffee table and taking a sip of it to calm my nerves. “He’s got blond hair, blue eyes…” At this point I was staring deeply into Damon’s eyes, full-well knowing I was redder than ever, hell, I was a tomato. However, as I stared at him, I thought of all the possibilities and chances I would be able to mention to him that I developed feelings for him, and chances that would be handed to me easily. At most, I would probably be forced to go up to him and tell him myself that I liked him, which I had no courage in doing so in fear of absolute rejection. Though the fear of rejection still resonated in my mind deeply, there was definitely no way out of Damon and his questioning - he wanted to know everything, and he wanted to know it all now.

“Hmm… Sounds familiar,” he began, the smirk on his face not leaving any second. “Don’t suppose this crush has a name, does he?”

The next few seconds felt as if they had been stilled. Every single thought that I could have ever mustered in my mind joined themselves together, making my mind and body feel as if the moment we were living in was not real, at all. I felt breathless, ironic to the fact that I had been exhaling large clouds of smoke in the room, but I suppose even when breathing, you can still have your breath taken away from the sight before you. It felt as if I was in a haze, a drunken stupor, a lucid dream that felt far too realistic, but I had never thought that this moment would ever occur in mine and Damon’s time living together, or even in a child-like fantasy, or ever. Our faces were inches apart, my eyes constantly flicking through his bountiful orbs and smooth lips, his eyes fixated on mine, as if he was searching for something. Something to tell him that his suspicions were correct.

“It’s you for god’s sake.” I mumbled before eagerly conjoining my lips with his. I felt as if I rushed myself into it, the feeling enrapturing my mind, my body, and especially my heart. There was no other moment I had felt equated to this as our bodies embraced one another’s, the pair of us slowly allowing what was happening to melt into our minds. My heart was pounding as if my life had depended on it, my mind raced with thoughts so anxious but elated as both our bodies allowed our mouths to brush past one another’s until we were at a loss for breath. Love had never felt so strong, love had never carried this much emotion, this much integrity. I felt as if there was nothing else I had needed other than this moment to characterise its virtue, the intimacy shared overstimulated my emotions, for I felt like balling into tears at this juncture - not out of sadness, but out of pure admiration and alleviation that all this tension over the past couple months was real, that the love we had for each other was real, and not some fantasy that I invoked in my mind. Parting away from him, my eyes were fixated on his features - there was nobody else on this planet that could make me feel such emotion than him.

“You’re still blushing, love.”

#damon albarn x reader #damon albarn #blur #blur band #britpop #my writing #band imagines #90s #90s music #nineties #fluff

166 notes · View notes

xjoonchildx · 4 years

Text

greedy | myg x reader | chapter one: you like milkshakes?

summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now. until you.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.3K

notes: confession, i am struggling these days with my insane attraction to min yoongi. this guy has it all. looks and talent and mystery and sweetness -- he’s the total package. so i really wanted to give him a story in this AU that i’ve come to love so much and i truly hope you guys enjoy it.

i also hope you guys know how much i appreciate every single one of you. i see your reblogs and comments and likes and i try to answer every one because it truly makes my day. you guys make my day.

i could not post this fic without shouting out the amazing @hobi-gif because honestly, if hope didn’t read it, did i even write it? and i’m sending major love to three people who are such a source of laughter and support for me, @ladyartemesia @ppersonna @taetaewonderland. you guys keep me in stitches.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece! Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

*************************

Yoongi had fucked up.

He’d misread the massive man’s approach, tracking him in one direction when the guy was actually headed in another. That’s how the asshole managed to catch Yoongi off guard with one meaty fist to the face.

It didn’t matter that it was hundreds of pounds of fat -- not muscle -- behind that punch. It was wielding more than enough momentum to blow up the side of Yoongi’s face like a bomb.

That’s the night he landed in the ER at Songdo at nearly two in the morning, pressing gauze to his bleeding face.

That’s the night he found himself chuckling inside an empty exam room, reading triage paperwork that made him sound like some kind of war hero instead of just an idiot who got caught looking the wrong way.

That’s the night he met you.

“Rough evening, Mister Yun?”

Yoongi had looked up from the floor just as you’d breezed into the room, tablet in hand. That moment marked the second time he’d been caught off guard that night.

“That looks like it hurts,” you’d murmured sympathetically, eyes raking over the bloody mess on his face. Your gaze was clinical -- professional -- as you assessed his grossly swollen eye and the half dozen bleeding cuts that surrounded it.

But then you’d stopped looking at him -- and stepped back to really look at him.

Yoongi had taken one look at your enormous, dark eyes and your soft, sweet face and he was dumbstruck. He’d blinked back at you with the only eye that could still move.

“You’re a doctor?”

“Nope,” you’d replied casually, turning to reach for a pair of latex gloves. “I’m a janitor. But I’ve always wanted to give this medicine thing a try. You don’t mind, right?”

Your eyes had sparkled then, bright with humor -- and Yoongi couldn’t help but grin despite the pain pulsing from the left side of his face.

“Here’s the deal, Mister Yun,” you’d said, pulling on your gloves. “I’m a resident. And I’m more than qualified to handle the -- situation -- on your face, but if you feel more comfortable waiting for the attending, I’m happy to step back. Good luck seeing him before sunrise, though.”

“Nah,” Yoongi had chuckled. “I think I’ll take my chances with you.”

“Good call.”

You’d leaned in close after that, gloved fingers firm under his chin as you turned his face from side to side. You’d smelled fucking amazing. The light, fresh scent that lingered on your skin sure as hell beat the disinfectant odor in this place.

“What happened to you tonight, Mister Yun?”

“It’s a funny story, actually.”

“Oh, great,” you’d said dryly. “‘Cause it turns out, I love funny stories.”

Yoongi had flinched when you’d peeled the gauze back, exposing the angry wounds to the air. But he’d forced himself to sit dutifully still as you got to work cleaning the caked blood off his face and eye.

“Thing is, I work for the circus,” he’d started, hissing under his breath when you swiped across an open cut above his eye. “One of the elephants got rowdy while we were practicing a number tonight and just kicked me right in the face.”

You’d stopped dabbing at his eye then, one brow raised and a cynical slant to your mouth.

Yoongi liked that you knew he was full of shit right away.

He liked that you’d played along anyway.

“God, I hate when that happens,” you’d said with feigned outrage, cutting your eyes at him as you dropped a piece of bloody gauze on the tray at his side.

“I know, right?”

That’s when Yoongi had won a real smile from you, wide and genuine. That's when Yoongi made the mistake of looking at you for just a moment too long.

He knew it by the way your smile fell away as you cleared your throat and turned your focus back to his damaged face.

“Well, I have good news for you Mister Yun,” you’d said after a while, eyes scanning the freshly cleaned wounds. You’d run your gloved fingers gently over one particularly deep slash over his eye and Yoongi felt a shudder run up his back. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to live.”

“Well, that is good news.”

There was that smile again.

It seemed like no time at all before you had him all patched up -- cuts sanitized and sealed with skin adhesive; swollen eye cleaned and medicated. Yoongi had felt a strange kind of disappointment as he’d watched you gather your supplies, pull your gloves off and drop them in the trash can near the door.

“You’re all set, Mister Yun,” you’d murmured. “Watch out for those elephants, okay? I’d hate for them to ruin a perfectly nice face.”

Then you were gone.

***************************

Thing is -- Kim Namjoon is a rules guy.

It doesn’t matter that he runs a criminal organization -- or that the men in his employ are gangsters in custom ties and suits. He expects dirty work done clean because that’s what sets the Gajog apart.

Rotate hospitals. Use fake names. Pay in cash.

All of those protocols are in place to keep any one of the Gajog from drawing unwanted attention. Truthfully, Namjoon’s operations usually run so neatly his men rarely have to seek treatment for anything beyond the occasional black eye or broken bone. That’s why he’d rather trust his men to legitimate doctors in legitimate hospitals than hand them over to some back-alley hack.

Thing is -- shit has gotten a lot more heated of late.

An audit of the Gajog books has turned up millions in missing won, stolen over time by street-level guys all over the city. Yoongi and Hoseok are the ones on the front lines, tasked with confronting those men -- getting them to pay and getting them back in line.

Sometimes they play ball. Sometimes they don’t.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Yoongi knew the moment they arrived at the crumbling warehouse in the Nowon district that shit was probably going to get messy. Their contact was fucked up -- sloppy drunk -- and belligerent from the jump.

After that, everything was a blur.

At some point during the scuffle, Yoongi heard his hand crunch under the heavy weight of the man’s steel-toed boot. The pain was still flaring hot from his knuckles when Hoseok finally took the guy down.

Right now Yoongi should be at Asan or Gachon or any of the other half-dozen hospitals in the city. He should have dragged his tired ass and bloody hand across town because those are the rules.

But instead -- for the second time in a month -- he’s sitting under the sickly fluorescent lights in an empty exam room at Songdo at nearly three in the morning.

Hoping to see you.

*************************

Yoongi is gingerly flexing his aching fingers when a light knock sounds at the door.

It was a long shot that you’d be here tonight -- and an even longer shot that you’d be the one treating him. But when the door to the exam room opens, it’s you on the other side.

Yoongi’s pulse picks up in response.

“Sorry to keep you waiting tonight Mister -- ” you stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide on his before darting back down the tablet in your hand. You scan the screen slowly then look back up, gaze critical.

“ -- Mister Woo.”

“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi replies casually. “It’s no problem.”

You approach him slowly then, disbelief etched into your delicate features and Yoongi takes in every detail.

It’s like he’d forgotten how pretty you are since the last time he saw you.

You’re nothing like the flashy women who like to hang around the usual Gajog haunts. You’re the kind of pretty that doesn’t cost hundreds of thousands of won a month to maintain. The kind of pretty that doesn’t come off at the end of the night.

Yoongi swallows thickly as you eye him, lips parted like you’re about to fire off a hundred different questions. But you don’t.

You play along.

Again.

“Right. Let’s get to it then, Mister Woo,” you say carefully, slipping on your gloves. “What happened to your hand?”

“Well, you see, I’m a hot air balloon operator.”

His mouth quirks into a smile and your eyes flash in response.

“Wind was nuts today and the basket came down on my hand. I think I might have broken something.”

“Hmm,” you murmur. “Hot air balloon operator, huh?”

Yoongi winces when you take his hand between your gloved ones, gently applying pressure to each knuckle.

“Yeah.”

“That’s an interesting way to make a living, Mister Woo.”

Yoongi chokes down a groan when you press against one particularly sore spot. You back off the pressure, turning to make a note on your chart.

“Well, I’m an interesting guy,” he whispers.

You look up at him then, dark eyes focused and intense.

“That you are.”

You’re looking at Yoongi like you can see inside him and the scrutiny makes him squirm. He lowers his eyes to the floor and keeps quiet while you clean his hand and apply ointment to his cuts.

“Mister Woo, it looks like most of these are surface abrasions, but the knuckles concern me. I’m going to have to send you for an X-ray.”

“Yeah, okay. It hurts like hell.”

“I bet it does,” you say quietly, typing into your tablet. “Someone is going to come and take you back when they’re ready. I have to go check on some other patients, but I’ll be back when we have some images to go over.”

“Sure,” Yoongi breathes.

You take another long look at him before standing to leave and Yoongi wonders for a moment if he’s made a mistake. Maybe he’s misread you like he misread that brawler who caught him with the nasty punch all those weeks ago.

You could be off to flag a security guard. Or leaving to call the police.

He really should have just followed protocol.

Yoongi sits in the quiet of that exam room waiting -- ready -- for trouble that never comes. Because when a knock finally sounds at the door, it’s not the Korean National Police.

It’s the X-ray technician.

Maybe he didn’t misread you after all.

*********************

It takes hours for you to come back.

“Mixed news tonight, Mister Woo,” you say upon your return. “You have hairline fractures in three of your knuckles, which explains the pain. Unfortunately, that means I’m not going to be able to do much for you beyond wrapping your hand.”

Yoongi nods. “Got it.”

“And you should probably lay off the ballooning for a while,” you say under your breath as you lay out your bandages. “Just a suggestion.”

“Good idea,” Yoongi chuckles. “Safety first.”

You fix him with another one of those long, indecipherable looks before getting to work on his hand. But you don’t say anything and the longer the silence stretches on, the antsier Yoongi feels.

“So…” he exhales, clearing his throat, “... you like milkshakes?”

“Everyone likes milkshakes,” you return evenly. You don’t take your eyes off his hand or the flexible material you’re carefully wrapping around his sore knuckles.

“Lactose intolerant people don’t like milkshakes.”

“Lactose intolerant people like milkshakes as much as the rest of us,” you argue. “They just can’t tolerate them.”

“What are you, some kind of doctor?”

Your lips quirk with the threat of a laugh you manage to suppress but Yoongi catches the expression before it disappears. You seem to relax after that. He does, too.

“Dijeoteu has the best milkshakes in the city. Ever been there?”

“Can’t say that I have,” you admit, taping off a bandage.

“It’s not far from here. Open twenty-four hours. I hang out there sometimes.”

“So you’re a milkshake-drinking hot-air balloon enthusiast,” you murmur, inspecting your handiwork closely. “Anything else I should know about you, Mister Woo?’

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Not really. That about covers it.”

You hum thoughtfully under your breath as you finish wrapping the bruised knuckles.

“All done. How does it feel?”

“Better,” Yoongi admits. “Thanks.”

You gaze at him then, thoughtful -- expression soft with something that looks almost like concern. Yoongi drops his gaze down to his bandaged hand.

This is the part where you’ve finished -- the part where you leave.

This is the part where he should say something to you but he has no idea what or how.

“I would say come back soon, but this is a hospital and that seems wildly inappropriate,” you announce, voice breaking clear through his stupor.

You turn back to him just as you’re walking towards the door, and for a moment Yoongi thinks you’re going to give in and ask him any one of the dozens of questions that must be swirling around your mind.

But you don’t.

“Try to take care of that hand, Mister Woo.”

Yoongi nods.

“Thanks, Doc.”

**********************

YOU

Doctor Lee is on his Houdini shit tonight, apparently.

The ER is packed -- waiting room crowded with crabby patients -- and you are, once again, running yourself ragged to get to every last one. Lee is, once again, nowhere to be found.

“Page him again,” you call out as you pass the charge nurse outside an exam room.

A quick scan of your tablet confirms the toddler behind this magic door has been vomiting all night. You shut your eyes and wish a slow, violent death on your absent attending. Vomit is the single worst phenomenon in medicine.

“I’ve paged him three times,” Nurse Ko calls back.

“Page him again,” you repeat, forcing a smile and pushing into the room.

Thirty minutes and one change of scrubs later you are checking charts on the next patient in line. You pat the pocket of your new scrubs and realize you’ve left a half-eaten energy bar around here somewhere.

No chance you’ll get that back.

Lee picks this moment to reappear, back from doing God knows what. He strolls down the hallway like a man with nothing on his to-do list.

“You paged for me?” he inquires casually.

“A few times, actually,” you mutter. “I’m getting killed out here.”

“Relax,” Lee purrs, condescension dripping from his tone. “We’ll get it done.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from firing back the half-dozen nasty responses that spring to mind. There is no we when it comes to Doctor Lee. He’s always been flighty and inconsistent, but these days he’s practically a missing person. You’re still not sure how hospital management hasn’t figured out that he’s making his resident run the overnight ER.

“There’s a guy down the hall who says he swallowed a magnet,” you say, waving a hand in that direction. “If you can pick him up I can get to this head trauma.”

Lee sighs like it’s a major inconvenience that you’ve asked him to do his job.

“Yeah, I’ll grab it.”

***********************

It’s nearly four in the morning by the time you have a chance to catch your breath.

You walk out to scan the waiting area and to your relief, there are only a handful of patients yet to be seen. Then your eyes land on one young man -- slumped into a chair in an oversized coat, hat pulled low over his eyes.

You freeze.

The man in the chair must feel your stare from across the room because he straightens, giving you a better look at the face hidden under the brim of his hat. You let go of a breath you don’t realize you’ve been holding.

It’s not him.

It’s not the mysterious man with the fake names and the bogus stories and the insanely handsome face. You shake your head as you look back down at your tablet, silently chastising yourself for even entertaining the thought.

You shouldn’t still be thinking about this guy and you know it.

But it’s driving you nuts that you can’t figure him out.

He’s never tried to play you for pills and that seems to be the only thing people lie about these days. But if his problem isn’t drugs it’s certainly something because no one lands in the hospital that many times, with that many phoney stories unless they’re up to no good.

So you ignore the nonsensical disappointment you feel when the guy in that chair is not the guy.

Because deep down you know he’s either in trouble -- or he is trouble.

***********************

Your pager goes off for a second time and you silence the alert, tossing it onto a nearby blanket.

It’s not like you’re hiding out in here -- not really.

It’s just that you’ve already had one patient cough up blood on your sneakers and another swing at you when you refused to give him narcotics, so this night is off to a spectacularly bad start.

Besides, Doctor Lee could use a taste of his own medicine.

This week has been the worst, by far. You’ve been seeing at least three patients to his every one and you’re exhausted. If there’s any justice, he’s walking into the exam room where the infant with explosive diarrhea is waiting to be seen -- you check your watch -- right about now.

The door to the linen closet cracks open and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

“What, you thought I didn’t know about your little hiding place?” Nurse Ko asks with a grin. “I find everyone’s hiding place, eventually.”

“Haven’t found Lee’s yet,” you gripe.

“Yeah, well he’s sneakier,” she laughs. “Here, I brought you something.”

She tosses a granola bar at you and it lands in your lap.

“Thanks,” you sigh, ripping it open. You take a bite and Ko leans against the doorframe.

“I don’t page you for my health, you know.”

“I know,” you whine around a mouthful of dried oats. “I just needed five minutes.”

“Well, I’ve got a guy out here who says he’ll only see you. Doesn’t want Doctor Lee and says he’ll wait as long as it takes.”

A piece of the granola bar lodges in your throat and you cough around it, spluttering while Ko looks on, amused. She waits for you to collect yourself.

“Is he -- ”

“ -- hot? Yes. Very,” Ko smiles.

Your cheeks flame with embarrassment at both the observation and the fact that it’s coming from a woman in her sixties.

“I was going to say young,” you grumble, standing and dusting your hands off with a towel.

“That, too. Come to think of it, I know I’ve seen him here before. You have some kind of admirer, jagiya?”

You flush.

**************************

“Good evening, Mister Kim.”

You hope the air of nonchalance you affect when you enter the exam room is enough to mask your jitters.

Your mystery patient looks back at you with those dark eyes and a half-smirk that makes your heart trip in your chest. You take a steadying breath as you look down at your tablet.

Get it together, girl.

“What brings you in tonight?” you inquire lightly. “Sword-swallowing accident? Lose a fist fight with a bear?”

Your mysterious patient chuckles under his breath.

“Where would you get a couple of outlandish ideas like that, Doc?”

You look up at him just as the teasing smirk on his face becomes a full smile and heat blooms in your chest and face. You force yourself to tear your gaze away.

“I dislocated my shoulder. Did you know I work air traffic control at Incheon?”

You shake your head with amused weariness as you make notes on your tablet.

“Crazy night. One of the planes nearly slid off the runway and I threw my shoulder out trying to get it back on track.”

“Did you save it?”

“Saved it and all 227 people on board.”

“Bravo, Mister Kim.”

“Just doing my job,” he shrugs.

You set your tablet down on the exam table with a thump, eyeing him as you reach for a pair of gloves.

“The charge nurse says you asked for me.”

“I did,” he admits. “You never told me what your favorite kind of milkshake is.”

You cock your head to the side as you look at him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mister Kim,” you murmur, feigning ignorance. “According to my records this is the first time I’ve ever seen you.”

“Oh, yeah. Right,” he chuckles.

“You need some help getting undressed?”

“Yeah,” he admits, slipping one arm out of his leather jacket. You lean in to help him pull the other side off, compelling yourself to ignore the way he smells like soap and sweat and man when you’re this close.

“It’s strawberry.”

You blurt the words out, anxious to give your brain a task that doesn’t involve analyzing this man’s smell. Something about the mischievous twist to his mouth tells you he knows you’re flustered by his nearness.

“I would have guessed chocolate,” he muses, reaching one hand down to grab the hem of his shirt. He drags it up his abdomen and you will your eyes to stay on his face -- refusing to give him any indication that you have more than a clinical interest in what lies underneath.

“Everyone likes chocolate,” you argue, taking over when he can’t get the shirt up any higher. You push it over his head and carefully work it off his shoulder. “I don’t want to be like everyone else.”

“Mission accomplished, Doc.”

He gazes at you then -- chest bare and eyes sharp beneath those inky lashes -- and you feel a bolt of awareness run the length of your spine. You pray the heat you suddenly feel all over your body is not manifesting in damning spots of color on your face.

You remind yourself to get back to work.

He sucks a breath between his teeth when you press gently against the inflamed muscle and tissue.

“My shoulder’s been shit for years,” he confesses. “I screwed it up when I was a kid and it hasn’t been the same since.”

“So this happens to you from time to time?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then I’m going to have to refer you for an MRI,” you say, and he groans when you press into his shoulder again. “There could be a lot of scar tissue in here, but I won’t be able to know what’s going on until we get some clear scans.”

Your eyes flick back to his.

Every word that’s ever come out of this man’s mouth is a lie -- but there’s something that feels honest about the way he’s looking at you right now. Something that makes you feel seasick, unsteady.

“Turn to the side for me,” you say quietly, and the thin paper that lines the exam table rustles as he complies. The relief you feel when he pivots away from you with those eyes and that look is whole-bodied.

“For now, the best I can do is probably pop -- “

Your words trail off as your eyes lock on a wound that sits just a few inches from his spine, just above the line of his jeans. The edges are white and soft with age -- the area long-healed -- but the trauma is unmistakable.

Textbook.

The anger you feel as you stare at the wound doesn’t make any sense.

But you feel it anyway.

“Is it still inside of you, or did they pull it out?”

“What -- ”

“-- The bullet Mister Kim,” you interrupt sharply. “If it’s still in you, I promise it will come out the second they load you into an MRI machine. The hard way.”

The muscles of his back flex as he stiffens. Tension bleeds into the lines of his body and into his voice when he finally speaks.

“It’s out.”

Neither of you says another word.

The room feels hollow now, painfully quiet without talk of elephants or hot air balloons or milkshakes. The two of you work together silently to crack his abused shoulder back into place. Somehow he manages to endure that pain without making a sound.

In the end, it’s you that has to speak first.

“That should hold you for now,” you say tightly, standing to toss your gloves in the trash. You grab your tablet to make notes.

“You mad at me, Doc?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you mutter, fingers flying over your screen. “I don’t even know you.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re mad at me?”

You tear your eyes away from the screen to find his.

There’s no teasing or humor there anymore. He looks boyish and unsure like this, peering back at you with somber eyes from beneath long black bangs that have fallen into his face.

“No more stories, no more bullshit. Tell me who you are.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can think better of them -- before you can consider how stupid it is to interrogate a complete stranger with a now confirmed history of violence. Before you can consider that you have no right to the anger that now streaks white-hot through your veins.

“I can’t,” he breathes quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head in disgust.

“Are you dangerous?”

Before he even speaks, you get your answer. You get it in the way color erupts across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. The way he looks away from you and down to his hands.

“I guess that depends on who you ask,” he whispers.

“I’m asking you,” you fire back.

He doesn’t answer.

You stand there for what feels like an eternity, waiting for him to say something in his defense. Waiting for him to pull another gag and tell just one more ridiculous story. But the seconds tick by and he says nothing.

“A nurse is going to come by with a sling. She’ll help you get dressed, too,” you say tightly, walking to the door.

You don’t know why your heart feels like it seizes in your chest when you turn to give him one more look.

“Take care of yourself, Mister Kim,” you say quietly. “And don’t come back.”

*****************************

Glossary:

Dijeoteu: dessert

Jagiya: sweetie, sweetheart

*****************************

Tag List!

@heroesfan101 @kpop-saved-ruinedme @mono-kookie @ctvrty @bluewhale52 @thenopekid @uhgood-dooghu @youwannabelostandnotbefound @yiyi4657 @daydreambrliever @mstbeautifulmmt @darktsuki0 @mademysongtakeflight @fireflyinsummer @paperpurple @btseditsworld @outrofenty @taestannie @yeojaa @sahmfanficbts @snackhobi

#yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi mafia #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet

2K notes · View notes