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kingofbodyrolls · 5 months

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Stuck in a Snowstorm (m) | pjm

*Part of 'the winter collection'. Read part two. Part three coming soon!

Summary: You don’t know how you ended up here. Stuck with your mortal enemy, Park Jimin, in you car – in a fucking snowstorm.

Pairing: Jimin x female reader

AU + genres: enemies to lovers, pwp (very little plot – let me be honest, it’s just pure smut). Humor/crack, smut.

Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 - this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.

Word count: 6,1K

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Warnings (general) + triggers: Jimin is just a mean jerk and reader is a brat 😂 Lots of banter, crack and anger towards each other.

Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex, dirty talk, orgasm denial/delay, hair pulling, oral (female and male receiving), breasts and nipple play. Also, use of a tie 👀

Author’s note: This is actually a story that I planned to write all the way back in 2017 – better late than never, right? 😂 I had only made the plot with some outline, so I basically started from scrap. But it had been stuck in my mind since FOREVER and now I just miss Jimin a shit ton, so I made this. I hope you enjoy it! Also, it shouldn’t be taken too seriously, it’s just smut with minimal plot and don’t question the characters bad actions or some minor plot holes 😂 (Also, I did not proofread this, just because).

Also, merry Christmas / happy holidays – this is my gift to you wonderful people out there 💜

AND are you guys looking forward to Jimin’s ‘Closer than This’ tomorrow???? 💜

If you prefer to read on AO3 you can read it here 😀

“I can’t believe this…” in disbelief, you mutter, your voice tinged with uncertainty, while you desperately activate the windshield wiper, yearning for even a fleeting glimpse through the thick curtain of falling snow.

“I can,” Jimin declares from his spot beside you in the passenger seat. His playful critique follows swiftly, delivered with a pout and a firm voice, as he shakes his head in mock disbelief, “You're a terrible driver.”

“Am not!” you retort defiantly, your voice cutting through the air, even as your unwavering gaze remains fixed on the snowy expanse ahead.

A curtain of thick snow descends, veiling everything in an opaque white shroud. The road ahead is swallowed by the relentless onslaught, turning visibility into an elusive challenge.

Your hands clench the wheel with a vice-like grip, the strain evident as your knuckles whiten under the pressure. The tension in your entire body is so palpable that it hurts to fucking drive.

Exhaustion weighs on you heavily, a relentless burden, yet the realization hits that you're only halfway to your friends' Christmas party. Two more hours loom ahead, a daunting stretch of time spent in the company of Park Jimin, your sworn enemy.

The decision to share a car ride is a mystery even to yourself; perhaps it was a fleeting concern for the planet, a noble intention to save fuel by consolidating into one vehicle. Yet, as the journey unfolds, the real reasons behind your choice become an enigma.

Regret courses through you like a bitter undercurrent as you ponder the altruistic intentions behind considering the planet and the environment. The thought of advising Jimin to take his own car nags at you, a missed opportunity for a peaceful solo drive. In a self-cursing moment, you rue your own kindness.

“Let me drive; I’m a better driver than you anyway.” Jimin declares with casual confidence, his tone carrying an air of nonchalance.

“Fuck off, Jimin!” you hiss, frustration dripping from your words like venom.

You squint against the relentless assault of heavy snow, the world outside morphing into an indistinct blur as visibility dwindles.

Your pace is deliberate, a cautious dance with the road, but after several minutes, you relent, succumbing to the inevitable by slowing down even further.

“Fine!” you declare, seizing the steering wheel in a determined clench, bringing the car to an abrupt halt.

You pivot your gaze towards Jimin, the words cutting through the tension, “You fucking drive then.”

Shifting the car into park, you unclip your seatbelt with a determined click, swing the door open, and brave the biting embrace of the freezing snowstorm outside.

In synchronized movements, Jimin mirrors your actions, and together, you step out into the frigid air. The two of you converge outside, a silent agreement palpable in the crunch of snow beneath your feet, as you navigate around the car, preparing to swap seats.

“If you crash my car, I’ll kill you.” you menace, venom seeping through your words as you stride past him, positioning yourself in front of the vehicle.

He nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, a smug satisfaction evident in his demeanor, relishing the fact that you've conceded to let him take the wheel.

Jimin confidently eases his plump figure into the driver's seat, and you avert your gaze (definitely not looking!). With a self-assured demeanor, he expertly adjusts the seat to accommodate his frame.

You attempt to thaw your chilled hands under the blast of hot air from the air conditioner, the sour mood hanging heavy around you as you settle into the passenger seat, donning a visible pout.

“Relax, I’m not gonna crash your precious car,” he teases, the playfulness evident in his voice, just before smoothly shifting the car into gear and forging ahead.

In response, a huff escapes your lips, arms instinctively crossing in a silent declaration of your lingering displeasure.

You surrender to a sense of ease as Jimin takes the wheel, his deliberate pace aligning with caution. It's a mutual understanding — in this snow-laden terrain, slow and steady becomes a shared creed for safety.

The once teasing atmosphere now gives way to palpable tension, the air thick with the weight of swirling snow that has intensified. Jimin, too, struggles visibly against the heavier onslaught, the challenge of navigating through the snow turning the car into a place of shared unease.

Your gaze fixates on Jimin, observing as his fingers clench the steering wheel with a tension mirroring your own, and his shoulders stiffen in sync. A chuckle escapes you, unexpectedly audible, as you notice the ironic similarity between his reaction and your earlier demeanor.

“What’s so funny?” Jimin spits, the tension reverberating unmistakably in his voice, each word a note in the symphony of strained emotions.

“Your driving,” you start to chuckle, the amusement laced with a hint of mischief.

“You're not exactly outclassing my skills,” you declare, sinking into the seat with a self-assured smirk, relishing the satisfaction of your own driving prowess.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” he seethes, the words charged with anger, his gaze sharply turning towards you, locking onto your eyes.

Despite Jimin's cautious speed, the car subtly veers, casting doubt on whether you're still on the road or lost in the oblivion of the thick snow. The blinding white landscape offers no clarity, leaving you uncertain and immersed in a disorienting wintry haze.

“I can’t see fucking shit!” he exclaims, abruptly bringing the car to a halt and cutting the engine in an instant, plunging you both into an eerie silence amid the obscured surroundings.

Your gaze locks onto him, urgency etched across your face. “What are you doing? We've got Seokjin's Christmas party in less than an hour!” The frustration in your voice reverberates, a ticking clock amplifying the stakes of the impending deadline.

“It’s not safe to drive in this freaking snowstorm!” he bellows in response, frustration escalating in his voice, punctuated by the sharp flick of the hazard warning lights, signaling the urgency and danger of the situation.

“I just want to get there already. I'd rather not be stuck with you,” you seethe, teeth gritted, a visible huff escaping in a cloud of anger. The tension hangs heavy, fueled by the biting words that linger in the now frosty air.

“Like I'd willingly be stuck with your sour attitude,” he retorts, his gaze sweeping you from head to toe for some inscrutable reason. “I don't even like you,” he declares, the words loaded with an unspoken tension that hangs in the frosty air between you two.

You gape at him, the bitter truth resonating in the air—an unspoken agreement that neither of you harbors any liking for the other. The animosity between you has solidified into a hostile dynamic, despite the shared circle of friends that consistently throws you together, much to your enduring displeasure.

Jimin exudes an infuriating level of cockiness, ceaselessly pushing your buttons and expertly tapping into the art of annoyance until it feels like your nerves are unraveling at his mere presence.

You'd willingly brave the biting cold rather than endure the prospect of an unpredictable future confined with him inside the car. Fate seems to revel in mocking you, as the car rapidly succumbs to the encroaching chill, each passing minute intensifying the unwelcome cold that now permeates the confined space.

You clutch your arms tightly around your body, desperately running your hands up and down in a futile attempt to gather some warmth. A curse slips from your lips as you question your own sanity—why in the world did you take off your jacket for the drive? Now it's trapped in the damn trunk, and the thought of braving the freezing cold to retrieve it is utterly unappealing.

“Cold?” he chuckles, the sound carrying an edge of amusement that only amplifies the chill sinking into your bones.

You nod your head.

“Well, I’m not giving you my jacket,” he states matter-of-factly, cocooning himself in the evident warmth of his puffer jacket. Damn Park Jimin and his infuriating nonchalance, he's truly a master of being a jerk!

“Can't even manage a simple act of kindness,” you mutter with disdain, the words escaping in a sharp hiss, a low and almost grumbling tone, accompanied by a dismissive eye roll.

“What's that?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips, relishing the snug warmth of his jacket while you shiver in the cold.

“Fuck you, Park!” you shout directly in his face, your words laced with frustration. Instead of a retort, he just chuckles, the sound taking on a manic edge that lingers in the frosty air, leaving an unsettling resonance to your heated exchange.

An indeterminate amount of time slips away, lost in the relentless snowfall that shows no sign of relenting. Frustration building, you reach for your phone and decide to text Seokjin, realizing that this damn snow isn't planning on letting up anytime soon.

You [15.42]: Stuck in a snowstorm with fucking Park Jimin. I don’t know when we’ll arrive 🙄

Jin [15.48]: Just stay safe 😂

Fuck Seokjin! You’re convinced that he’s somewhere enjoying a good laugh at your misfortune.

A surge of realization hits you like a bolt of inspiration—there's a blanket tucked away in the backseat. Swiftly moving up, you make your way to the center console.

“What’re you doing?” Jimin questions, his curiosity evident in the quirk of his eyebrow as you navigate over the center console, leaving him bewildered by your sudden, mysterious movements.

“There's a blanket back here,” you announce triumphantly, finally laying hands on the sought-after comfort. With a satisfying plop into the seat, you tug the blanket snugly over your cold body, a gesture that transforms the atmosphere within the car from chilly discomfort to a brief oasis of warmth.

After a few contemplative minutes, Jimin breaks the silence with a question that hangs in the air, “Mind if I join you?”

Your mouth falls agape, and your eyes widen in astonishment at his unexpected question. Collecting yourself, you respond with a hint of sarcasm, “You weren't keen on sharing your jacket with me. What makes you think I'd be willing to share my blanket with you?” The tension between you and Jimin escalates with each word, hanging palpably in the cold air.

Without a pause for your response, he defies the silence, navigating over the center console with the same determined crawl you had exhibited moments before. The unspoken tension between you both amplifies, turning the confined space into an arena of silent rivalry.

Seated beside you, he makes a grab for the blanket cocooning your shivering form. Resolute, you refuse to surrender it, your hands engaging in a tug of war with him.

“Share, you brat,” he hisses with a mix of irritation and amusement, his determination evident in the forceful tug at the blanket.

“No!” you hiss back defiantly, the word laced with a stubborn refusal as you hold your ground.

With a forceful yank, he wrenches the blanket from your grasp, and in the struggle, he ends up with it draped across his lap. The victorious outcome of the skirmish leaves a charged atmosphere between you and Jimin, the warmth of the blanket now a coveted prize in his possession.

A triumphant smirk plays on his lips as he envelops himself in the captured blanket. His eyes lock onto your moping expression before descending further, a mischievous gleam indicating that his victory goes beyond the simple conquest of the blanket.

“I can totally see your nipples,” he chuckles.

You glance down, and sure enough, your nipples stand out against the satin material of your dress. Swiftly, you react, pressing your hands over your breasts in a sudden move to conceal their visibility.

“Why the fuck are you look at my tits?” you yell at him, your frustration audible, but he merely chuckles in response.

“You must really be freezing, huh?” he observes, and you simply nod in agreement, a silent acknowledgment of the biting cold that permeates the confined space.

“I can warm you up,” he suggests with a playful wink, both eyes and eyebrows conspiring in unison. The underlying implication of his words hangs in the air, and you instantly grasp the nature of his playful proposition.

“I'm not that desperate, Park,” you scoff with a hint of disgust, the rejection laced with a prideful undertone. In response, he simply chuckles, finding amusement in your candid dismissal.

Following his suggestive remark, an electric charge seems to surge through the atmosphere in the car. Your mind involuntarily races, envisioning the prospect of warming up next to him, his hands tracing every contour of your body, his di—

Stop. You admonish yourself sternly, a mental command to cease the vivid thoughts involving him. He's your enemy, you remind yourself, emphasizing the intense dislike you harbor for Park Jimin. The internal conflict heightens, the struggle between attraction and animosity weaving a complex web within your mind.

His chuckle resonates beside you, a sound that grates on your nerves. Irritation mounts, and you sharply turn your head towards him, your annoyance evident in the flicker of your gaze.

“Need help?” he inquires, his gaze suddenly deepening, the darkness in his eyes unveiling a subtle intensity that lingers in the air.

“With what?” you spit back at him, the confusion evident in your tone.

“You're grinding against the seat,” he bluntly points out, his gaze fixed on your crotch. You glance down, discovering your unconscious movement against the fabric of the seat. A sudden realization dawns, and an expletive slips from your lips.

A wave of discomfort washes over you, an intense desire to squirm and disappear into the ground, engulfed by the embarrassment that now saturates the air. The profound sense of shame hangs heavy, making the moment so excruciatingly humiliating.

You inhale sharply, drawing in a breath that seems to shudder through you, and with a deliberate move, you roll your hips once more.

“No…” you murmur, the word escaping with a shaky uncertainty that even your own ears can detect.

Jimin scoots closer to you, the warmth radiating from his body sending sparks that seem to dance through yours.

He leans into you, his mouth dangerously close to your ear, and in a breathy whisper, he offers, “I can help you with that.”

His words alone send a jolt through your body, a sudden tightening that ignites a fiery sensation. Damn it. The internal conflict and desire entwine, creating a tumultuous storm within you in the presence of him. It's undeniable—your entire being yearns for the touch you never thought you'd crave.

His warm hand finds its way to your thigh, and a low moan escapes your lips at the contact. Fuck.

His hand ventures down to the hem of your dress, grabbing and pulling it back to expose more of your thighs. A shiver runs down your spine as the cold air embraces your newly exposed skin, and a hiss escapes your lips. However, the sensation is quickly replaced by a different kind of warmth as his hand cups your clothed core. A breathless expletive escapes your lips, leaving your mind in a blissful blank state.

Instantly, you feel the warmth of his hand intimately against you, and your head falls back against the seat involuntarily. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you respond to the touch, unable to resist rolling your hips into the sensation.

“You’re needy,” he breathes against your ear, the words carrying a provocative weight that reverberates through you.

His warm breath sends a cascade of shivers down your spine, clouding your thoughts in a haze of desire. The desire for release intensifies, eclipsing any reservations you may have about seeking it from your mortal enemy.

“Shut up and just touch me,” you utter in frustration, the words punctuated by the deliberate grind of your hips into his hand, a desperate quest for any kind of friction. You're acutely aware of the desperation seeping through your actions, but at this moment, you don’t give a fuck.

And touch you he does. His fingers begin to rub your clit over the fabric of your panties, and you don't hold back your moans.

Your hips gyrate, a rhythmic dance in pursuit of your impending orgasm. The sensation builds rapidly, a cascade of pleasure on the brink. The question lingers in your mind—why does your body respond so eagerly to his touch?

He tugs your panties to the side, his touch on your clit eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips. The warmth of his fingers against your skin amplifies the sensation, and you're already soaked.

“You're so wet already,” he chuckles against your ear, his lips teasingly grazing your skin. The desire to retaliate surges within you, but then, with a sudden and deliberate movement, one of his fingers enters your pussy, stealing your breath away.

He skillfully fingers you with one finger, the motion of his wrist simultaneously stroking against your clit, creating a sensation that's nothing short of delicious. The desire for more intensifies, an insatiable craving building within you.

“More,” you breathe, your voice escaping chapped and laden with a raw, lustful edge.

Jimin adds one more digit, and you relish in the precision with which he finds your soft spot, hitting it perfectly.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers?” he whispers in your ear, the suggestive question sending an instant jolt through your body, a yearning for more.

A throaty moan escapes your lips as you willingly spread your legs wider, granting him more space.

He deftly introduces a third finger into you, and you feel yourself losing control, swept away by the overwhelming pleasure. It's already so good—how is he so skilled with his fingers?

The way he skillfully uses his fingers inside you while simultaneously rubbing your clit with his wrist propels you relentlessly toward the precipice of climax. The knot in your stomach tightens, and you're on the verge of that intoxicating release.

“Jimin, fuck. I'm gonna come soon,” you pant, the urgency in your voice underscored by the rhythmic grind of your pussy against his hand.

He accelerates the pace of his fingers inside you, bringing you to the brink, but just as your body teeters on the edge of release, he abruptly withdraws his fingers and hand altogether.

His fingers and hand vanish, leaving you hanging on the precipice of your orgasm. The abrupt absence intensifies the frustration and desire you feel surge through your body. Fuck!

Your legs tremble beneath you, and a frustrated hiss escapes your lips as you pant for breath.

“You didn't want to share the blanket,” he spews, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your evident frustration.

You're on the verge of tears, overwhelmed with anger. The desperate desire for release compounds the emotional turmoil within you. The audacity of him! The frustration boils over, cementing Jimin as nothing short of a fucking jerk in your mind.

“I'm not letting you come unless you beg for it,” he adds in a smug voice, a smirk playing on his lips as he purposefully puts some distance between you.

You can't believe him. The brink of pleasure was within reach—just a few more rubs and you would have unraveled on his fingers. The yearning is palpable, a frustrating ache that intensifies with each passing moment.

You growl at him, caught in a heated internal debate about whether to plead with him or not.

Your pussy clenches around emptiness, a visceral reminder of your desperation.

“Please, Jimin. Please let me come,” you implore, locking eyes with him and turning your body toward him. The desperation in your gaze is palpable. Almost inadvertently, you press your chest closer, your stiff nipples drawing his gaze downward.

He licks his lips teasingly, a wicked glint in his eyes, before seizing your hips and drawing you irresistibly toward him. With a swift yet controlled motion, he manipulates your body, guiding you to lie on the seat. As you settle into the unexpected position, he chuckles at the genuine confusion etched across your face.

“Because you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and in a bold move, he shoves your dress up to your stomach. With swift precision, he snatches your panties, sliding them down your legs. “I'll give you what you want.”

He discards your panties with a deliberate flick, his focus unwavering as he plunges down to your throbbing pussy. There's no hesitation; he immediately delves into licking at your folds and clit with a hunger that matches your own.

Your body instinctively arches off the length of the seat, a wave of pleasure coursing through you. It feels unbelievably good. In the heat of the moment, your hands find his hair, fingers gripping and pulling at the strands, eliciting a guttural groan from him.

Your muscles tighten, and the echoes of the previous orgasm, forcefully ripped from you, return with an intensity that feels tenfold. Each breath is a furious pant as he continues to lap at your folds, the relentless pleasure building and intertwining with your gasps.

Then, with a skillful touch, he adds a finger to your clit, rubbing it in tantalizing circles. Your senses heighten, and just as you succumb to the pleasure, he skillfully continues to ravish your entrance with his tongue.

“Jimin!” you scream his name, a raw and unrestrained cry escaping your lips as you reach the peak of ecstasy on his tongue. Your body tightens, toes curling, and you involuntarily hitch your heels against his legs. In the throes of pleasure, your vision blurs, and you fight for air.

He chuckles, a throaty sound that reverberates in the aftermath of your high. Not giving you a moment to fully come down, he skillfully inserts two of his fingers inside you, drawing a hiss from your lips at the touch—your body rendered oversensitive.

He extends his fingers, proudly displaying them, glistening with your intimate juices. A wicked glint in his eyes, he issues a command, “Clean them.”

You meet his gaze defiantly, a spark of challenge in your eyes, before obediently rising to carry out his command. Taking hold of his hand, you sensually draw his slick digits into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them like a provocative dance. Your eyes lock onto his, witnessing the raw desire in his gaze as you release his fingers with an audible ‘pop’.

“I hate you,” you declare, breathless, the words carrying a mixture of frustration and desire. His response is a low chuckle, his perceptive gaze catching the teasing glint in your eyes.

He leans back, a provocative smirk playing on his lips, and starts palming himself through his dress pants. Your eyes involuntarily follow the movement of his hands, and a jolt of desire courses through you as you realize he's already rock hard. The unmistakable bulge strains against his pants, a visual testament to the arousal simmering between you two.

“I can help you with that,” you purr, a sultry promise lingering in your eyes, eager to reciprocate the pleasure.

He chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and smoothly turns his body to fully face you. With a teasing smirk, he unzips his pants, skillfully pulling down both his trousers and underwear enough to liberate his hardened dick.

His cock springs free, defiantly brushing against the bottom of his loosened tie, a sight that's undeniably tantalizing. Perfectly sculpted, it's veiny and slightly flushed at the tip, mirroring the allure of every inch of him. A surge of conflicting emotions overwhelms you – the hate, the desire, the acknowledgment of his undeniable appeal. You despise how effortlessly good-looking he is, from the tousled blonde locks to those lips you now crave to taste.

However, your gaze returns to his dick, noting its average size but with a satisfying girth that catches your attention. A subtle hint of anticipation flickers in your eyes, and your tongue instinctively darts out to moisten your lips.

“Then get to work,” he pants, a breathy command, as he sensually spreads his legs, creating an inviting space for you.

You descend eagerly, ensuring your mouth is generously coated with saliva before you engulf him, starting with just the tip.

He hisses the moment your lips meet his dick, his head instinctively colliding with the window behind him, an involuntary exclamation escaping, “Ah, fuck.”

You engulf more of him, your mouth descending entirely, and the sound of his primal moan reverberates in response. You add a sultry hum, a note of satisfaction coursing through you.

You initiate a slow, deliberate pace, skillfully sucking him off, and anything beyond your mouth's capacity, you sensually stroke with your hand.

His hands seek out your hair, effortlessly capturing the neatly arranged high ponytail that he grasps with a possessive confidence.

You revel in the subtle tension, accelerating your descent on him with a newfound urgency. Your tongue skillfully traces intricate patterns, dancing across his tip and the sensitive folds of his frenulum.

He moans in ecstasy as you withdraw with a satisfying ‘pop,’ only to treat the head of his throbbing dick like a tempting lollipop, your tongue swirling around it with deliberate sensuality.

As you glance up at him, he appears utterly lost in the moment. His eyes, once vibrant, are now dilated orbs of desire, his parted lips releasing audible breaths. The state of bliss enveloping him transforms his features into a breathtaking display of vulnerability and beauty.

You envelop him once more, relishing the subtle tremor that courses through him, a tangible response to the sensations you're skillfully orchestrating with your lips and tongue.

He yanks you away from him, his voice a raw whisper laden with desire, “I want to fuck you.”

You prop yourself up, captivated by the transformation before you. The usual arrogant Park Jimin is replaced by this vulnerable, needy version, and against your better judgment, a desperate craving for him builds inside you. You ache for him to consume you entirely.

A mischievous smirk plays on your lips as you echo his earlier taunts, “Beg for it,” you challenge, aware of the palpable tension between you, a shared desire pulsating in the charged air.

A low, throaty chuckle escapes him as his fingers glide through the tousled strands of his blonde hair, a mixture of frustration and amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re really a fucking brat,” he hisses, a smirk playing on his lips.

He sits up, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he sheds his open jacket, the confined warmth of the car now turning uncomfortably sweltering. You can't help but acknowledge the irony; at least you're not freezing anymore, which, after all, was the primary objective of this unexpected detour, wasn't it?

“Please let me fuck you,” his plea hangs in the air, a desperate echo of your own request, and you can't help but chuckle, slowly crawling closer to him.

“Turn around, let me straddle you. Leaning against the headrest will give us more space,” you suggest, and he shifts in an instant, his arousal evident in the casual sway of his dick with each movement.

Then you confidently straddle him, your hand instinctively reaching for his dick, guiding him to align perfectly with your eager entrance.

Before you lower yourself onto him, you sensually trail his dick through your wetness, relishing in the intimate friction. A moan escapes your lips as you then descend onto his lap in one smooth, sultry motion.

The exquisite stretch sends a shiver down your spine, and he effortlessly glides in, eliciting a breathless ‘Fuck!’ from your lips.

As your hands find their place on his shoulders for support, his eyes, now hooded, follow your every movement as you begin to ride him with a rhythm that echoes the passion pulsing between you.

You pant furiously, your breath hot against his face. The sensation of him inside you is nothing short of heavenly, an electrifying connection that feels as if every contour of him aligns perfectly with every curve of your pussy.

“Ah,” ecstasy courses through you with each fervent bounce on his throbbing length, a harmonious rhythm of pleasure escaping your lips in breathless gasps.

“You’re so tight,” his ragged breaths synchronize with the rhythmic clench of your walls, his hands anchoring to your hips, adding an electrifying intensity to each blissful plunge into your velvet warmth.

Between gasps, you manage to growl, “Fuck. I hate you,” only to be met with his deep, throaty chuckle as he continues the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, each one a tumultuous clash of conflicting desires.

Amidst heavy breaths, he accuses, “I know you're lying,” his words punctuated by the rhythmic tempo of his panting. Undeterred, he leans in for a searing kiss, his lips caressing yours with a softness akin to pillows. Your defenses crumble as you melt into his touch, tongues colliding in a fervent dance that defies the lingering tension.

“Why is it that you feel so damn good?” you gasp, interrupting the kiss only to plunge back into its intoxicating depths. Each moment spent in his embrace feels like a surrender to a passionate whirlwind. His every thrust reverberates through you, sending electrifying shivers down your spine, an exquisite dance of pleasure and desire that you find impossible to resist.

“Perhaps I should prolong your climax, just as you did to me?” you purr with a mischievous smirk playing on your lips, resurrecting the playful brat within you.

He chuckles, his hands leaving the curve of your hips to gracefully undo his tie at his neck. Your gaze fixates on him, observing each deliberate move as he frees himself from the constriction of the tie, all while you continue to ride him with an unabashed hunger.

“You really are a fucking brat,” he mutters, the corners of his lips quirking into a sly smile as he pulls off his tie. “Now, shut up,” he commands, silencing any potential retorts by expertly stuffing the tie into your open, protesting mouth.

You yield to the makeshift gag, sinking your teeth into the fabric, muffling the symphony of your own desperate moans.

A smirk plays on his lips as his hands reclaim your hips, commanding, “Now take it like the fucking brat that you are.”

His movements become a relentless rhythm, thrusting deep inside you. All you can do is cling to his shoulders, swept away by the force of his desire.

Ecstasy courses through you, and you can't help but moan into the fabric of his tie. It feels too damn good to contain.

His voice drips with satisfaction as he senses your walls tightening around him, and a smug grin plays on his lips. “You like that, huh?”

A guttural moan escapes your lips in response, the crescendo of pleasure building, and you sense the impending climax drawing near.

“Fuck yourself on my dick,” his command hangs in the air, thick with desire, as his hands abandon your hips, embarking on a journey down your back. With a swift motion, he unzips your dress, letting it cascade down your shoulders.

Your naked breasts dances to the rhythm of his powerful thrusts, an erotic ballet of passion and desire.

“Fuck. You’re not wearing a bra, just like I thought,” his eyes widen in delighted surprise, a devilish grin playing on his lips. His hands eagerly exploring the contours of your exposed tits.

His words hang in the air, sending a shiver down your spine. “Your tits are beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing delicate patterns around your stiffened nipples. Your body reacts instinctively, a primal moan escaping through the tie as desire courses through you.

Every grind and movement becomes a challenge as he expertly tweaks and pulls at your nipples, sending waves of pleasure and distraction through your body. You fight to maintain a rhythm, desperately trying to pleasure yourself on his dick amidst the electrifying sensations dancing across your chest.

As your walls clench around him, a whirlwind of sensations floods your body, signaling that the peak of pleasure is just a breath away. Every nerve is on edge, and the anticipation of an imminent climax tingles through you, a storm about to erupt.

As he skillfully massages your tits, he breathlessly teases, “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” his words send shivers down your spine, intensifying the pleasure that's building within you.

With a fervent nod, you surrender to the sensations, your muffled moans echoing through the tie as pleasure courses through every inch of your being.

As he plunges into you, he urges you with a guttural command, “Cream my cock, brat.” The raw desire in his voice fuels the intensity of your connection, igniting a blaze of passion.

Overwhelmed by desire, his dick finding every exquisite spot within you, you unleash a guttural moan, your pleasure echoing into the fabric of the tie as you climax on his pulsating cock.

Jimin's fingers twist around your hardened nipples, sending electric shocks of ecstasy through your body. A guttural exclamation escapes your lips, muffled by the tie, as pleasure courses through every fiber of your being.

He pounds into you relentlessly, the rhythm building towards an intense climax. His hands firmly grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he desperately seeks his own release.

He reaches the peak of ecstasy, his body shuddering with the force of his release as he spills into the warmth of your pussy.

Heaving for breath, the silence between you two speaks volumes, a shared understanding lingering in the air as you descend from the euphoric heights of your climaxes.

Collapsing onto his chest, you revel in the soothing aftermath, liberated from the restraint of his tie. As his body relaxes within you, the intimacy lingers, a tangible connection forged in the heat of passion.

His lips graze your neck with a gentle touch, igniting a cascade of thoughts about the significance behind this tender gesture.

As laughter fills the air, shattering the lingering tension, your attention shifts to the foggy windows and the oppressive heaviness in the car, making each breath a deliberate act.

As you hastily redress, Jimin slips into his jacket and steps out of the car, retrieving your coat from the trunk. With a gentle handoff, he passes it to you, and you quickly slip into its comforting warmth.

“Thank you,” your gratitude escapes in a hushed whisper, laden with a touch of bewilderment. The encounter, while undeniably electrifying, leaves you grappling with conflicting emotions. It's Park Jimin, your sworn adversary, and the intensity of the shared moment hangs between you, a paradox of pleasure and rivalry.

“You’re welcome,” his response carries a self-assured smirk, echoing the lingering traces of the shared intimacy. As he confidently returns to the driver's seat, you mirror his actions, settling into the passenger's seat, both enveloped in a charged silence that speaks volumes.

The snowfall has eased, no longer as relentless as before. A subtle nostalgia creeps in as you reflect on his desire to keep you warm. The gentle flakes now fall, leaving you yearning for the lingering warmth of his touch.

As he revs the engine to life, a gust of chilly air sweeps through the car, causing you to emit an involuntary grunt. His chuckle fills the cabin, accompanied by a smirk and a teasing wink. “I can warm you up anytime,”

You shoot him a moping gaze, wondering if he has a knack for deciphering your thoughts. Can he sense the magnetic pull, the unspoken attraction that mirrors your own inner turmoil?

You return his smile, a silent agreement resonating between you as he steers the car forward, setting the wheels and unspoken possibilities in motion.

Three hours fashionably late, you finally arrive at Seokjin's Christmas party. The distant hum of music greets you as you step out of the car, signaling that the celebration is already in full swing.

As you rap your knuckles against the door, you steal a glance at Jimin who's busy adjusting his attire. His fingers deftly tighten the knot of his tie, and his pants get a quick, inconspicuous tug into place.

As Seokjin swings the door open, a tantalizing waft of mouthwatering aromas envelops your senses, instantly sparking a smile on your face.

Seokjin's laughter echoes as he playfully accuses, “You fucked Jimin!” and your jaw drops in disbelief to the floor.

#jimin x reader #pjm x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts smut #the winter collection series #reader: female #au: enemies to lovers #theme: winter #theme: christmas #vibe: comedy #vibe: smutty

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askarsjustsoswedish · 3 months

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Alexander Skarsgård and Omar Sy Co-presented the SAG Award for Female Actor Drama Series on 24 February 2024. Netflix Live.

#alexander skarsgård #alexander skarsgard #omar sy #saga '24 #ajss13 #netflix live #female actor drama series #24 feb '24 #saga24 #sag awards #my screen record #ajss gifs #it #westworld #dune #haha #long post #alex; please do more comedy

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lightdustchild · 6 months

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PLEASE MAKE AYANOKOJI TRYING TO TEACH TO HIS GF BUT SHE IS LIKE JUST FLIRTING WITH HIM AND HE IS LIKE "GIRL PLS FOCUS" (on respectful way like he is normal for once and like they have a good relationship, he loves her and SHE loves him) PLS I BEG U 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Focus

××××××××××××××××××××

"Focus..." Ayanokoji mumbled as you gripped his arm your pencil laid off to the side body pressed against his as he had a study guide out for you. You laughed softly and kissed his cheek then nose and then forehead but never kissed his mouth. "y/n" he said lifting your head up his finger under your chin. "You need to focus on studying unless you want to fail." He said and you huffed and giggled before nodding. When you face forward you layed your hand on his leg fingers creeping up. He caugh your fingers with his hand and gave you a pointed look as he sighed "I swear you are hopeless" he mumbled. "Hey whats that mean?" You said before grinning "Fine I'll pay attention!" You said and grabbed your pencil.

Your fingers then slowl-

"I give up. You can't focus."

"yes I can!"

"No you can't."

"....I love you"

Sigh "I love you too..."

#x reader #classroom of the elite #ayanokoji #ayanokoji x gender neutral reader #ayanokoji x reader #ayanokoji x you #fluff #comedy #ayanokoji x female reader

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piropoi · 3 months

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Perona behaving badly in Mihawks gay little castle

#fanart #anime #art #one piece #op #perona #perona op #perona one piece #usopp: PERONA GENTRIFIED LEAN #meme #comedy #funny #fan art #artist #female artist #artistontumblr #artists on tumblr

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pursuitseternal · 4 months

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“The Fourth Day” of Bats, Blood, and Mirror Smut in “Antics of the Newly Ascended”

Ascended Astarion x Reader |E| 2.3K of Batstarion and Self-indulgent mirror sex

Summary: He’s late to arrive back, and then you hear… scratching at your window. Bat nibbles and head scritches quickly shift into other sensual indulgences. Ones that allow him to experience other benefits to his ascension… and to your own pleasure.

CW: “Right Hand” puns, Batstarion bites, cunilingus, mirror sex, Extra Emphatic performance from the Ascendant cause he likes the way he looks, “oh yes, I see what all the fuss is about”

Previous Ch | Ao3 Link | Masterlist

A gift for @icybluepenguin

🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞

You lay in your bed, tossing and turning. Waiting for Astarion to return. The camp needed supplies—potions and scrolls and armor. And it was Astarion’s turn to go fetch, even as he had grumbled how beneath him it was as the Ascendant.

Of course, Wyll had only laughed all the harder, shoving the purse of coin in his pale hands and slamming the door on his ass. The goods had been sent ahead by a maid from the Elfsong’s tavern, the Ascendant adding in the message delivered along with the bundle that he would return anon, once he deemed his presence sufficiently missed.

That was hours ago… Now even sleep sounded good. Long, lonely sleep. With him somewhere out there in the dark of night.

Your stomach swirls, knowing he is powerful, knowing he is experienced in how to care for himself, but… you have so many enemies now. So many assassins and monsters and soldiers. The list of beings that wanted you dead seems to grow ever bigger.

He shouldn’t have gone alone.

Stupid, arrogant, exalted idiot.

Every sound in the tavern, every creak on every floor reaches your ears. And it’s not your heightened vampiric senses.

You’re worried. For as much as he preens and postures and bites and drinks, you can see it plainly with your eyes and your heart. You see what others can’t since his Ascension.

He’s still just the same, poor at planning, smooth brained rogue. Good with his hands, silken with his words, bad at anything to do with plots or logic or calculations or…

A soft scritch scratch at the window made you sit up from your good- humored, condescending musings.

Something… big… rests against the panes of glass. You look closer. Something largish and fluffy and… white.

“My dear consort, let me in…” he speaks in that way that caresses your mind with his own.

“You have got to be kidding, Astarion. Are you stuck again…”

“No, not stuck. I am positively famished. I need to rest, to feed, before I can use my magic to return to the handsome body you know and crave and worship….”

“Pfft,” you roll your eyes. “So you need help, is that it… mighty Vampire Ascendant?”

“You wound me, my darling…. My treasure…” he flaps against the glass again. His little claws scratch so hard as he grows clearly more and more agitated. “My right hand…” he purrs so silkenly.

You cross from the bed, your body naked as you stroll so slowly towards his blurred shadow on the other side of that pane. “It’s funny, my love, that night you offered me this…” you pause to flourish your hand the same way he had, “gift of immortality… I didn’t realize by your Right Hand, you meant things so literally.”

That made him flutter harder and bang his little bat feet against the window. “I swear when I do get in there… when I do finally feed and shift back… I’ll make that right hand do so much more for me than opening this fucking window….”

You laugh…. So adorable. So dramatic and ridiculous. So… him. “You should see yourself, my love. I suppose II would miss you if I should leave you so… indisposed.”

You cackle, reaching for that handle. The instant a gap was big enough, he flapped his way inside. Circling on his beautiful, membranous wings, you feel the wind brush your hair away before he lands on the back of your shoulder. His itty, bitty fingers hook onto the crest of your back, the only warning you get before you feel his small razor fangs bite into your neck.

So much smaller than normal, you gasp in surprise more at the sensation of warm fur on your skin. His little claws hook tightly, and his quiet breath snuffles beneath your ear as he drinks. You reach your hand around, his little ears twitching as you blindly brush them, scratching one finger in that small space at the top of his head. His mouth still contentedly suckles on your blood.

Tingles of magic wash down your back, and suddenly your hand raises with the top of his head, that silken mess of curls wrapped around your finger. Lips replace bat teeth, the wide span of his warm tongue swirls lazily over the teeny marks he’s left.

“Now… about that defiant, rebellious right hand of yours,” he rasps against the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Oh…. This little thing?” you taunt, wickedly, childishly, gripping that bulge between his legs from behind you. The “oof” that comes from his smirking mouth is music to your ears. You spin smoothly, pivoting your grip on his cock, and you give it just a few hard strokes to make it harden under your touch.

It doesn’t take much. It never has. He bucks against your palm. One of his elegant, long-fingered hands clutches underneath your chin, dragging your lips for him to consume. You taste the blood on his tongue, feel his hunger mixed with yearning. The way his tongue dances with yours hides nothing of the want you were so quick to incite in him.

You lose your breath as he shoves you against the wall. Moonlight floods from behind him, his sharpened face barely lit in the shadow. But those curls, ravaged by the winds of flying, mussed from his shifting, those silver-white curls sit like a halo in the pale light. Left hand closing around your right, he presses it against the wall, a silent command to hold still. Very still.

A single kiss on your lips, a rakish arch to his brow, and he drops to his knees. His hands force your leg over his shoulder so quickly, you have to grip that wall behind you, caught only by the way he shoves his shoulder under your thigh. His face already presses hard into your mound, fingers already prying your folds wide for his tongue to lap. Careful, you use your left hand to comb through his curls, riding the circling of his head as he licks through your seam.

The same sort of little noises come from between your thighs, little low hums of feeding, muffled grunts amidst the wet suck of his tongue on your clit. Your hips buck, catching on his nose, his hands keeping that new angle for him to push deeper into that wet.

You pound your right hand into the wall, a closed fist, and your legs shake. He drives you closer and closer, pools of heat and lightning racing to your belly and down your nerves. He laughs into your cunt, fingers slipping into your channel from somewhere below your ass. You can’t see, can only feel that rhythmic lap and suck of his perfect tongue and thick smirking lips. But those fingers crook hard to catch your spot, that itch he knows how to scratch and make you shatter.

You pant, riding the brush of his nose on your clit and the suck of his tongue as he devours you even in climax.

“Fuck me…” you groan, head smacking against the wall as you raise your hips even higher. His hands hold you firm, even as your legs twitch and threaten to go boneless in your orgasm.

“Oh yes, darling, I am about to do just that,” he stands to rasp into your ear. “You did say… if only I could see myself… a delightful suggestion, my pet. Come now,” he purrs, “but you will only use those defiant hands of yours as I see fit. And…”

He flips you around, drags you across the room to the corner, until you’re staring at your own reflection. The simple wooden-framed mirror shows every pale line of your bodies as one. You can barely tell where your soft curves melt into the edges of every hardened rise of him behind you in the moonlight. “…you’re going to watch ever little way I fuck you…”

“You mean you’re going to watch every little way you fuck…”

His hand reaches from behind you, clawing around your mouth and twisting to bring your ear against his smirking lips. His crimson eyes lock into yours in that reflection, a matching color. “Well, it was your suggestion, my love, since we both have been given such a gift. And I haven’t yet seen how ruinous I am in this process…”

“Tch,” you suck your teeth, a humored and condescending shake of your head. “Fine… it is a sight to behold. And after all, these days are about you discovering yourself, indulging in your powers.”

“And I’m so grateful it’s you who enables my indulgences, my darling,” his silken voice croons. His tongue visibly sticks out to run that warm, wet pad up the curve of your ear.

His gaze watches yours flutter, your body shivering involuntarily as you want more. “Bend,” he growls into those little circles and folds of your ear. His grip fastens on your wrist, making you reach for the wall beside you, turning you sideways to that shimmering mirror glass. You look through the messy curtain of your hair, watching in that reflection as his hand smooths down the vertebrae of your spine, his other grips and pumps his cock. That hard, veined length dripping onto the floor, twitching relentlessly as he catches your eye with a wicked grin.

“You keep those insolent hands where I can see them, darling, and you… will… watch me.” His voice drops into a deep-throated growl, his head cocked back, hips bucking into his fist. Even as he clutches the cheek of your ass, his sharp nails finding purchase, drawing blood to the surface as he marks you.

His. Forever.

Fingers leave your skin, pulling back that long, tousled mess of your hair so you can obey him.

So you can watch.

Watch as he lines himself up with your entrance, watch as he drags that blunted tip, forcefully and slowly back and forth through your slick. Watch as his hand beats his shaft against your folds, smearing your arousal up and down his velvety smooth skin as he does so.

It’s… burning in your belly, the way he’s licking his lips, stare alternating between watching his body in the mirror and your eyes drinking in his every sensual stroke.

You can’t look away, watching him shut his eyes, head thrown back in pleasure, arching as he sheathes himself until you feel that brush of his balls against you. You want to shudder and hang your head, instantly filled and throbbing and so… very… full.

“Don’t you disobey me, pet,” he hisses. “Best keep watching, or else…” Eyes still shut, he groans in deep delight as he pulls out once more only to grip your hips and shove inside again.

Deeper. Harder. More punishing. Fangs bared, he smirks down to watch his perfect shaft entering you, a slow beating rhythm to the snaps of his hips. Every little ripple of muscles in his body, you get drunk on the sight of him. Even that slight gleaming slick on his cock that you see, that base of his shaft as it glistens before it disappears to ram you full again. It makes your mouth water.

He picks up the pace now, your body so warm and wet from how he pleasured you. He smiles at himself, tilting his head back towards the mirror. You can feel it, the extra undulations of his body, a little extra shove, a little harder buck of his hips to make your ass slap hard on his body.

A performance of pleasure just for him.

Deep, subtle pants leave his gaping mouth with each thrust, his eyes watching the way his own flawless, ruinous body clenches as he fucks. Every tweak of his abs, every clench of his ass, you can see his eyes dart in the mirror to savor the sight.

You laugh, well, barely laugh. As breathless as you are, riding every pummel into your cunt, you manage to speak. “Careful, or I’ll have to get a blindfold if you can’t stop watching yourself…”

“Oh darling, I finally see what all the fuss is about,” he pants between his words. And you hear it, that edge to his voice, reckless and uncontrolled. His words catch in his throat just as stilted as his thrusts become.

Hard and random and rough.

Your cervix grows numb, your channel walls so swollen, so hot. Pounded over and over again until he finally groans and folds over you. Arms yank you back against him by your hips, slamming your body against his wild bucks. You watch that magnificent reflection as he unravels, how his knees buckle as he comes.

How his seed spills so hard from his cock deep inside you, it’s already dripping to the floor at your feet. The sight of sweating pale skin and undulating muscles bent over for you… you shatter too. And it makes another groan, a whimper come from where he’s laid his head on your back, just below your shoulder blades. Your walls milk him of every last drop, your own arousal joining the mess on the floor beneath your feet.

Breathless, your arms shake, still extended towards the wall. A naughty grin on your mouth as he looks at your lust-hazed eyes and tousled hair. His face is a matching set of post-coital mess and beauty.

You reach that right hand of yours between your legs, slowly, delicately teasing over your own slick clit, drenched in both your cum. Stroking further to brush the soaked base of his cock that is still buried inside you, he nips into the skin of your back, not hard enough to break the skin.

Just enough to make you look again in that mirror.

“Your right hand is forgiven… I’ll allow it…” he purrs one more time.

His crimson gaze still looks hazy and dunk on that sight of you coupled. And you wonder if he will ever let you stand.

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introvertedx10 · 11 months

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#funny #lol #funny post #lolol #hilarious #comedy #funny pics #funny images #meme #dank memes #men #female

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iicheeze · 1 year

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THAT TIME I GOT REINCARNATED AS A MUSHROOM MAIDEN

SUMMARY || Congratulations, you're dead! You got hit by Taxi - kun and died from blood loss. Now, you're awoken at a dark cave that was only lit by a single, huge mushroom in the center. As many cute little.. mushrooms? surround you. Hold on, was your head always this heavy?

PAIRINGS || Genshin Impact Cast x Female Implied Reader

TW || mention of death, blood, isekai story shit that im sure yall know 💀, cussing.

TAGLIST || @raidenmylove @kokomisimpppp @glxssynarvi @iruiji @4leyvn3 @klementime @ayoharuko @lemonp1netree @fauxizs (BOLD MEANS I CAN'T TAG YOU, TAGLIST OPEN!!!)

TTIGRAAMM Masterlist (thats how lazy i am to re-type the title 💀)

PROLOGUE — Truck - kun? No, no. Taxi - kun.

Gasps and screams were heard as the blood splattered all over the once-crowded streets, the taxi that hit the person leaving tire marks near the now-dead body.

Who died, you ask?

You, obviously.

You were just trying to get home after a tiresome day of work. Your boss made you do overtime, the other staff lending their works to you with the reason of them already having plans.

Your boyfriend isn't doing any better comforting your shitty situation. He's probably banging another chick at YOUR apartment right now.

You never had any friends as many of them either forgot you existed, doesn't like you, uses you for their benefits, or just plays with your entire being.

A pet? You only consider it as a waste of money.

Family? Please. Your parents were emotionally unavailable when you were a child until now. Your siblings treat you like a stranger.

Your neighbors only consider as you as the intimidating workaholic of the apartment complex.

Even children avoid you, what the fuck.

You have absolutely zero rizz not even the mosquitoes would wanna have babies from your blood.

The only person you have is yourself.

Who cares, though. Your dead now.

What a shitty ass life you've been through.

So shitty and pathetic even the Gods of another world looked down upon you.

You seriously, seriously, deserve another chance.

So obviously, you'll be reborn in their world.

As what?

A mushroom maiden, obviously. That's what it says in the title. 😒

AUTHOR'S NOTE || I KNOW THIS SHIT SHORT ASF BUT THIS IS JUST A PROLOGUE OKAY 😭 i hope u enjoyed tho 🧍‍♀️

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lovelywetdreamer · 6 months

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Late Night Thought: Pro hero Deku, who is in his mid 20s, still get bullied from Pro hero Bakugo. Bakugo is also in his mid 20s. Bakugo and his girlfriend try to use a glory hole. Her kitty is pressed against the hole on the bathroom dripping and waiting for Bakugo to put his dick in. Sadly, Bakugo had to go to save some people downtown. He places a kiss on your kitty before he left. It his goal to get back to you quickly. You didn't realize Bakugo left because you felt a thicker and longer dick enter you. You wonder if your boyfriend's dick gotten bigger. Moanss immediately lefts your pretty mouth when this meaty dick slide in and out of you. Little did you know it was Deku that fucking you from behind. He needed to relax his mind from Bakugo's teasing and bullying. Deku became addicted to the sight of kitty swallowing his dick whole. He was basically balls deep inside you if the wall wasn't there. After a couple of more thrusts, you came and squirms on the All might fan's dick. Your kitty was sensitive and was going to be more sensitive because Deku is still going. Deku's dick was throbbing and leaking so much pre-cum inside you. He finally came in you. You slide off his dick and landed on the bathroom floor. Deku immediately came rushing to your aid. It was a huge shock to see Deku and not Bakugo. It was huger shock to Bakugo to see you dripping Shitty Deku's cum and not his. The one guy Bakugo kept bullying ends up fucking his girlfriend by accident. Yep, Karma was a bitch.

#mha deku #deku #deku smut #mha bakugou #Bakugo #mha #mha smut #female reader #female reader smut #deku x female reader smut #comedy

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captain-lessship · 1 year

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Random Haikyuu x Reader Head Cannons

Kuroo:

He actually doesn’t cuddle you in your sleep. Controversial, I know but given his sleeping position, he just can’t.

To every rule there is an exception: He will cuddle you til you fall asleep. After you’re asleep, he removes his arms from you.

You stay pressed to his side and he enjoys you being there

You almost always fall asleep before you. But you always wake up before him.

You peer your eye over the edge of the blanket, smile hidden as you admire his squished face he has in between pillows

Bokuto:

Surprisingly a good dancer. True he gets a little excited and spins you a little too much but he has great rhythm and timing

Loves dancing with you. Anywhere. Anytime.

Dances in public. There is so many videos of him and you that were trending do to his volleyball fame

Dances in the kitchen, til you complain that the food might burn.

He loves dipping and spinning you.

The giggles you let out are the reason he loves it.

Kenma:

no matter you cook for this man, he sees it a a five Michelin star meal

If he thinks really hard, he can almost taste the very first meal you cooked him.

You bring him hearty snacks when he’s gaming.

Has asked you to feed it to him so he can continue gaming. (you said no)

He jokes you’re a healer with your food. Stamina +10, Sadness -25

You sneak vegetables into every dish

On the *extremely* rare occasion he offers to help, you and him are quite the cooking duo

A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach

Sugawara:

Married old couple energy

You have matching chairs, they are also right next to each other

He loves to watch you do your hobbies even if he isn’t interested in them. He’s more focused on the joy that they bring you

You didn’t even confess. It was more of you spent everyday with each other and asked “Are we dating?” And he replied with “Yeah?”

Soulmates. Period.

All of your friends say your relationship goals even you just think you both are mature enough to be with each other

Even when problems do arise, it never lead to a screaming match. Instead you talk through the issue with terms like “I know you did this because of *blank*, but I did not like that/understand why because *blank*”. If you two can’t come to an agreement and are getting agitated: you both will go into separate rooms to calm down.

Healthy relationship baddies

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kingofbodyrolls · 8 months

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Friendcation (m) | myg | series masterlist

Summary: Going camping with your best friends seemed like a brilliant idea when you initially made the plans. But when you harbor secret feelings for one of them, what will become of you being close confined for three months? Trouble, that’s what.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female, “Y/N”) Other characters: Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin.

Genre/AU: friends to best friends with benefits to lovers, non idol!au, camping!au, roadtrip!au, mechanic!Yoongi, humor, slight angst, smut and fluff

Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (This is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.)

Word count: 110.5K (things got out of hand, lol and it's mainly smut 💀)

Warnings/tags: will be tagged for each individual chapter. But it does contain smut, almost in every chapter (not the first though).

Taglist: Closed. Status: Completed!

🍃 Chapter 1 Summary: As exhaustion and stress threaten to consume you and your friends at work, Yoongi comes to the rescue with an enticing proposal: a collective vacation—a friendcation. Amid the backdrop of breathtaking landscapes and shared adventures, your feelings for him only deepens more. Yet, his lingering gaze holds secrets you can't ignore, leaving you to wonder if it conceals something deeper—an unspoken connection that may forever alter your friendship. Word count: 11,9K | Read → chapter one 🍃Chapter 2 Summary: When you get a flat tire, you think it’s bad luck, but when you fall flat on your ass and Yoongi offers to massage the pain away, has your luck finally turned? 😜 Word count: 12.7K | Read → chapter two 🍃Chapter 3 Summary: When you and Yoongi visit his family in Daegu, and he introduces you as his friend, it rubs you all kind of wrong. But what are you even to each other, other than best friends with benefits? Word count: 11.9K | Read → chapter three 🍃Chapter 4 Summary: It’s the last weeks of the vacation being just you and Yoongi, and you’re going to savor every last bit of it. You do some hiking, relaxing and discover new sides to yourself that you didn’t know existed. Word count: 17.7K | Read → chapter four 🍃Chapter 5 Summary: Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin have finally joined you on your trip and it’s going great; you have a tremendous amount of fun (some at your expense), laughter and talks about life. Namjoon suddenly asks you where you think this thing with Yoongi is heading, and to be honest you don’t really know yourself – you just know that you love him. Word count: 23K | Read → chapter five 🍃Chapter 6 Summary: Your vacation is coming to an end but your thoughts are spiraling and filled with anxiety as a tiny mishap makes you question your future with Yoongi. Word count: 11.3K | Read → chapter six 🍃Chapter 7 [finale] Summary: Melancholy shrouds you and Yoongi in your last days of vacation – time to get back home to the daily grind. But when you can visit Yoongi in his garage, is it really so bad? Word count: 11.3K | Read → chapter seven

🍃Extras🍃

🍃Winter special Summary: You’re in labor and live outside of the city, and it just happens to be Christmas time, there’s a lot of snow. Will you and Yoongi be able to make it to the hospital before your baby arrives? OR– The one where Yoongi fucks you into labor and crashes the car. Word count: 10.3K | Read → the winter special

🍃TBA (wip) Summary: TBA Word count: TBA | Read → TBA

Author’s note: Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I appreciate every like, comment and reblog, and please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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theersatzcowboy · 3 months

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Mississippi Masala (1991)

Director: Mira Nair

Cinematographer: Edward Lachman

Production Designer: Mitch Epstein

Costume Designers: Ellen Lutter and Susan Lyall

Starring: Sarita Choudhury, Denzel Washington, Roshan Seth, Sharmila Tagore, Charles S. Dutton, Joe Seneca, Ranjit Chowdhry, Mohan Gokhale, Natalie Oliver-Atherton, Sahira Nair, and Konga Mbadu.

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aurorecinema · 9 months

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But I’m a Cheerleader (1999, Jamie Babbit)

#cinemetography #movies #but i’m a cheerleader #lgbtqiia+#lgbtq community #women in film #women in movies #female directors #female directed films #lgbtq movies #comedy #romance movies

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mangadore · 1 month

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#The Ice Guy and His Cool Female Colleague #The Ice Guy and the Cool Girl #Koori Zokusei Danshi to Cool na Douryou Joshi #氷属性男子とクールな同僚女子 #miyuki tonogaya #comedy #romance #slice of life #supernatural #manga #manga cap #mangacap

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cheezbites · 9 months

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Y/N: Can I tell you a secret, König?

König: Yeah, what is it?

Y/N: Um… actually, never mind.

Ghost: ???

Y/N: (whispers the ‘secret’ to Ghost)

Ghost: (audibly gasps) Oh gosh, there is no way. This is mind blowing news.

König: What? What is it?

Y/N: I don’t know if I can tell you, sorry dude.

König: (rolls eyes) I probably wouldn’t care anyways.

[8 hours pass]

König: TELL ME THE SECRET. I NEED TO KNOW.

Y/N: I thought you didn’t care?

König: Y/N, TELL ME.

Y/N: There was no secret, I was just bored. Ghost’s a really good actor though, huh?

König: …

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auteurdelabre · 3 months

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Window Dressing: Chapter 1 - Dave York x f!Reader

Window Dressing

pairing: Dave York x F!Reader (NO use of y/n)

Story summary: Resolving to achieve professional success within the CIA you embark on a ruthless game of one-upmanship against your work nemesis Dave York, a rivalry that is complicated by your growing attraction to him.

[AU - Dave is divorced and he still works for the CIA because I want our suburban murder daddy have a nice life. ]

Chapter summary: When the CIA director offers up an opportunity for field work you jump at the chance. Too bad your work nemesis and colleague is just as excited for the position.

Chapter Tags: Enemies to lovers, colleagues, work jargon, nicknames, mentions of divorce, disrespect.

a/n: I just finished my yearly rewatch of The Hating Game (y’all don’t come for me, my job is stressful and I like to decompress with something silly). And all I could think of was an MC and Dave in a similar situation and before I knew it the first chapter was already written. It’s gonna be cute and since its me there’s gonna be smut but unlike me, not a ton of angst. Don’t look to close at the CIA details because your girl don’t know shit about it. Just go with the romantic-comedy vibrations.

Chapter 1: CodeBook

Codebook: A list of plain language words opposite their codeword or codenumber.

Working at the CIA isn’t that much different from a normal day job as most people think.

You go to work in the subway along with everyone else. You read your paperback of the week sipping overpriced coffee and trying to ignore the stench of unwashed masses that dot the DC metro.

You wear comfortable shoes and pilled sweaters and your hair frizzes in the rain. You don’t look any different from anyone else that walks the terrain on their way to their Monday to Friday job. You start at eight am and end at five, unless a job requires you stay later.

Much like most offices with a lot of moving pieces, a majority of your job involves paperwork, worrying about schedules, IT problems, editing reports and more. It’s not as glamorous as the TV shows make it out to be. You are not Claire Danes in Homeland no matter how much you wish you were.

You wear a lanyard that holds a plastic square with your name and face on it that you scan at the entrance. Every morning you wave and say good morning to Dennis, the head of security at the front before slipping him a donut you got along with your coffee.

“You’re too good to me,” Dennis murmurs as you hand it to him.

You just smile. Dennis was one of the first people you met here at Headquarters and you have nothing but good things to say about him. He was kind and patient when everyone else rolled their eyes murmuring about the new hire.

The similarities to another corporate office might be that the coffee sucks and there are definitely cliques within workers. Considering you’re all in different departments this isn’t really much of a shock. Some of your departments overlap with one another, especially if there’s a potential high profile target.

You nod and smile at colleagues as you pass them on your way to the Operations department, ignoring the way many of them look more anxious than usual. This isn’t a surprise given what you saw on the news this morning.

You take the elevator down several floors before exiting and spotting a familiar slender figure perched on the edge of your desk. His hair is combed to either side of his pinched face and behind his thick framed glasses he looks like he’s analyzing something, as he always is.

“Hey Otis,” you say cheerfully as you lay down your purse at your desk.

Your desk is one of the few places in the world that feels uniquely you. You’ve decorated it with a pink stapler, purple and blue paper clips. Your folders are gold striped. Your desk itself is littered with a collection of tchotchkes from over the years, none more impressive than your rubber duck collection.

Otis pats one of your rubber ducks swiftly before standing and giving you a formal nod.

“Morning. I was just dropping some papers off and couldn’t help but notice you’ve added to your collection.”

You smile, nodding as you motion to your latest acquisition; a rubber duck playing the saxophone and wearing sunglasses. All the way from New Orleans and from a very competitive bidder on Ebay. But it was worth it to have your little jazz quacker sitting proudly with the others that line your desk.

Otis is one of the few people at work that doesn’t seem to be bothered by much. He does his job well and he always has an interesting fact to share. Well, interesting to him anyway.

Otis also likes to hover around your desk in the mornings for a chance to interact with your co-worker Priya. The prettiest girl at the CIA and the nicest. She brings in cupcakes for your entire team during holidays. She loves to laugh at everything you say, which makes you like her even more. She’s also wickedly smart and even faster than you at translation (which is saying something). As if on cue, you see her stumbling into the office with a coffee stain on her pale blue blouse.

“Damn potholes,” she mutters angrily, throwing her bag and onto her desk and giving her version of a frown, which is the equivalent to a kitten mewling for the first time.

“Morning Priya,” Otis says, his pale cheekbones pinking. You smirk, trying not to watch as their awkward flirtation commences.

“Morning Otis,” she replies cheerfully before organizing her desk for the day. “You have a good weekend?”

“Very,” Otis nods. You watch one of his long fingers tap along the head of your police officer duck nervously. “Uh, was watching a documentary on Jack the Ripper. Very intriguing.”

“Oh yeah,” Priya nods politely, her eyes on her computer as she boots it up for the day. You’re saved from the uncomfortable interaction by the sound of a female voice ringing out behind you. A voice that makes you sit straighter in your seat as you swivel your chair to face her.

She’s a fierce-looking Asian woman with short cropped hair and deep plum lipstick. All of her black blazers are tailored perfectly to her slender body and despite her diminutive stature you know she could kick anyone’s ass here.

“Meeting in five in Boardroom B,” Mina says to the crowd of arriving staff. “Don’t be late.”

She strides from you all, heels clicking against the tiled floor and the room seems to exhale in tandem. She’s terrifying. She’s amazing.

Mina Crawford is the Director for field officers and counter intelligence. She’s a former Clandestine Service officer and one of the few living recipients of the Intelligence Star. Basically, she’s your hero. And you want to follow in her footsteps because from what you’ve gathered she used to be in your exact position as a Languages Officer.

“She’s so cool,” you practically swoon.

“Ask her to be your mentor,” Priya insists for the fiftieth time.

“That would be humiliating,” you reply, as you always do. “I’m too old for a mentor.”

“No one is too old for a mentor,” Priya insists.

“You see that stuff on the news last night?”

“The parliament member in Lebanon?” Priya nods, dropping her voice quietly.

“I think they’re going to send someone into the field,” you say trying not to sound excited. “Someone with language experience.”

“You think?”

“Think about it,” you reason. “All the higher profile killings have been in places with very little English. Stands to reason they would send a Language Officer out.”

“Even with no field experience?” Otis asks. He looks doubtful which makes you frustrated. If Otis doesn’t think it’s gonna happen there’s a good chance it won’t. Brenda, a cheerful-looking woman in her fifties takes her seat in the desk next to you.

“Gotta learn somehow,” you shrug. “But maybe they’d team them up with a senior Agent or something.”

Priya is about to reply when her large eyes go over your shoulder and she grimaces.

“Here they come.”

You, Priya and Otis glance over to see eyes the crowd of suited men and women murmuring gently to themselves.

The Protective Officers.

If this was highschool they’d be the popular kids. Getting to go on glamorous field missions, being right in the heart of the action. All are good with their weapons, all look like they stepped off the pages of some high end catalogue because their paycheques far outweigh your own. Several of the younger men chuckle loudly, giving off the energy of an American Psycho Fraternity.

“Assholes like that get to go to foreign countries, to experience life all over the globe and we’re stuck here,” you grimace, typing your Algeria field notes later that day. “I can’t stand it.”

“I would hate to be in the field,” Brenda says with a theatrical shudder from beside you. “I like the safety of the desk.”

“That’s not why I went through basic training with an emphasis on stalk training,” you insist. You worked your ass off in training, making sure that you were as prepared as anyone else. While officers are rarely trained in weaponry or hand-to-hand combat you’d requested it. Worked earlier and stayed later if it meant a chance to learn more.

And now these chuckle-fucks come in with swinging dicks and they get all the glory. Two of them walk by you towards the coffee maker.

“And she was high key the best I’ve ever had,” one says to a man with perfect teeth.

“You have no rizz,” the younger man replies with a boisterous laugh. “How the fuck you pull that off?”

Jesus.

“You know I speak Russian, Spanish, Arabic and a handful of others and I will never be able to unravel the elusive bro code of the Protective Officers,” you muse dryly as you roll back in your chair. Otis smirks and Priya laughs behind her coffee mug, drawing the attention of several of the agents including your bitter work rival: Dave York.

Dave York is the most annoying man you know at the CIA. He is a senior agent well-liked in the office and he gets along with almost everyone. You’re quite the same within your department. But the two of you? There’s no love lost there.

Dave saunters over to your desk and you spin back around to face your computer. You have no desire to be caught up in a verbal sparring match today. You have to be focused for the meeting in case there is the offer of putting newbies into the field. It’s something you’ve dreamed about since you started here five years ago.

“Been to any fun graveyards lately, Parsons?” Dave offers with a touch of humor in his deep, rasping voice. A voice that you find impossibly grating. It’s like having your ears run over by a gravel truck.

“Actually yes,” Otis says with a bracing smile. “One in New Orleans just proved very useful.”

Otis Parsons is a Ghoul which means he parses obits and graveyards for deceased individuals agents can use for aliases. He enjoys his job more than most and with his severe eye contact and strangely chilling manner of speaking you can see why some are put off. You happen to think he’s hilarious in an eerie, Crispin Glover sort of way.

“Parker, I need these tapes from Algeria parsed,” Dave says flatly, tossing a file onto your desk without so much as a hello.

Your name isn’t Parker, neither first nor last. It’s a nickname given to you (unwillingly) by the tall man with dark eyes who looks down at you with a trace of amusement along his full mouth.

It’s what started this whole antagonistic relationship if you’re honest. Your first day on the job being introduced to the agency. Meeting every department head, learning names, faces. When you met Dave you’d been charmed by his winning smile, shaking his hand politely and even thinking distantly that if he weren’t wearing a wedding ring he’d be just your type with his soulful brown eyes and pouty mouth.

But then your eyes had slid to the large board on the wall, the one covered in newspaper clippings and strings and you’d started asking questions about the case. Your excitement had been evident; the questions pelted at a bemused looking Dave who scanned you from head to toe and announced that you were a Nosy Parker before excusing himself.

You hadn’t known what that meant and had offered a weak shrug in return before being whisked into the next department. When you’d returned home that evening and were able to use your phone you saw the definition pulled up on Google and you winced.

noun derogatory•informal noun: nosy parker; plural noun: nosy parkers; noun: nosey parker; plural noun: nosey parkers an overly inquisitive person.

You’d been embarrassed at being called that during your first day on the job in front of your superior. It made the following months tense as you navigated your position, learning from the woman Brenda whose job you were taking over. It made you second guess yourself every time you wanted to ask a question. It wasn’t until Priya started and she’d asked all the same questions and been answered with level kindness that you’d realized asking questions wasn’t nosy or annoying, it was how everyone learned.

Dave York has called you Parker ever since that day and you have hated him every time.

And now he stands beside your desk looking like some glorified accountant in his tailored suit shooting a supercilious look your way. He always wears shades of blue; navy, cobalt, baby blue and iceberg just to name a few. The worst part is it’s usually paired with a burgundy tie that clashes hideously. You know he’s not color blind, (you can’t be if you’re an agent), so you can only assume the choice is masculine ambivalence.

You open the file with a weary sigh. “Where in Algeria specifically?”

“Isn’t that your job, Parker?”

“You have nothing else to go on?” you sneer up at him, opening the folder. “Some agent.”

“Officer,” Dave corrects with a smirk before resting his hands on either side of your desk, bent over so he can capture your eyes with his. You blink rapidly, noting that today he’s missed shaving a small spot on his sharp jaw. It’s barely noticeable and if he wasn’t this close you’d never have known. But he is this close and suddenly that’s all you can focus on.

“You’re right,” Dave says, voice dropping an octave. “It’s much better that I use my considerable talents sitting on my ass going through hours of audio that rarely ever turns out to be useful. My mistake.”

You’re not stupid. You know that those of you in the Language department are seen as lesser agents. Your knowledge in languages makes you an asset in the office, not necessarily in the field. And yet they would be nowhere without you.

“Considerable talents?” you scoff before glaring up at him. “Is that what your wife tells you? Spoiler alert, York, she has to say that since her lapse in judgment at the altar.”

The benign amusement flees from Dave’s face immediately. You wait for the biting retort, the angry reply, but are instead greeted with the sight of Dave clenching his jaw tightly. You see the muscle in his face tic angrily before he turns; broad shoulders rolling as he pushes from your desk and rejoins the other Protective Agents.

What the fuck was that?

You frown at his back, confused before looking back down at the folder. Otis has excused himself as well, likely heading back down to his department. He won’t be needed for the meeting this morning. You feel Priya’s eyes on you and your tilt your head to face her.

“What?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Priya says with a concerned look on her beautiful face. “Him and his wife divorced last year.”

What the fuck? Since when?

For as long as you’ve known Dave York he has worn the same simple gold band on his left hand. You’ve even heard him talking about her in passing with other officers: Catherine or Carol? You know they’ve been married a while.

Since when is he divorced?

“What?” Your eyes blow wide at this, turning to your friend. “B-but he’s still wearing his ring!”

“Yeah,” Priya nods with a wince.

Fuck.

You don’t feel good about that. Dave is an asshole but you both know better than to get personal. You’ve never mentioned his wife until today and it turns out that was a good instinct on your part. Dave never mocks the fact that you go home every night to an empty apartment because even a goldfish was too much commitment for you, too much of a distraction from your work.

When the large group heads into the conference room you try to catch Dave’s eye and mouth an apology. But he’s already at the far side of the room with his agent buddies murmuring something and tapping away at his phone.

Mina stands at the podium waiting for everyone to take a seat and quiet down. Then she does and the briefing is similar to how it is most days lately. The assassin taking down members of parliament all over the world. The team doesn’t know if it’s an individual or an organization based on its sporadic movement.

“He’s targeting all higher profile members of senate across the globe,” Crawford says with a tired roll of her shoulders. “And from what I’ve seen they are extremely organized. Meticulous in knowing how far they can push without being caught.”

You scribble notes into your notebook while most of the group either types away on their phones or laptops. You’ve always found handwritten notes to be the best – they are less likely to be intercepted and written in your shorthand means that only you understand them.

You have a small code book included at the front, code names with numbers attached for people you work with. Priya is FFC0CB because she wears pink lipstick every Friday and that’s the hex code for pink. CG01 is Otis for his resemblance to a paler Crispin Glover. 00DH is Dave York and it stands for Double O Dick Head. You’d been particularly amused when you’d come up with that one.

You catch a pair of eyes on you and glance up down the table to see Dave watching your frenzied writing before giving the smallest shake of his head before he looks back at Mina.

“We’re putting together a team,” Mina says and this makes your head jerk up. “No details as of yet but there will be extensive travel involved so please let that influence your dedication and decision.”

Priya shoots you a look, one that says how did you know? And you try to tamp down the smile building there. It pays to pay attention, that’s how. You watch the patterns, you listen to the important silences that come between what’s said and you watch the news religiously.

“Considering the details on this we encourage individuals from all departments to apply,” Mina says eyes sailing over the crowd. You feel your stomach tighten pleasurably. This is just what you wanted. You just know you’d be an asset on this division.

“Deadline to submit is this Friday at five. That’s all. Good luck.”

The group dissolves and you and Priya make your way back to your desks. You’re on cloud nine, already formatting your CV in your head. Priya is yammering on about something but all you can focus on for that morning is the thought that you are going to be going into the field. You’re sure of it.

Its somewhere after lunch when the earlier conversation with Dave suddenly creeps back into your mind. It makes you feel uncomfortable and distracted. You don’t enjoy being cruel, it’s not in your nature.

It’s this which takes you to the elevator and down two floors to the department Dave works for. You walk through the fairly empty space with ease, jealous at how quiet it is with most of the officers out on jobs or doing field work.

Dave’s office is at the far end of the department and you see the door is ajar which means he’s in. Part of you is relieved, the other half disappointed. You’d half been hoping the room would stand empty and you’d be able to scribble some sad excuse for a note by way of apology. Writing an email would never be an option – too many eyes surveying everything that goes in and out of the office communication hubs.

. Dave is sitting behind his desk with a folder sat in front of him. His dark eyes jot to you as you enter. Unlike you, Dave has an entire office. It’s not massive, but it’s enough. However where you would have taken advantage to brighten up the space, it seems Dave is content enough to leave it looking like an empty shoe box. No family photos line his desk, no colorful knick knacks that give any indication about his personality. Nothing. Just flat, and dark and intimidating like his gaze.

There are two other officers sitting in the chairs across from him and they chat quietly, something you shouldn’t be overhearing and so you give a short knock before stepping into his office. The conversation is immediately dead and they swivel to glance over at you.

“Hey Dave,” you say grimacing. “I just wanted to-“

“You have the Algeria notes yet?”

“No,” you say holding in an eye roll. How did he expect you to have that information so quickly? He’s staring at you now, a file opened on his desk that he closes when you enter more fully into the office. Suddenly you feel wrong-footed, unsure of how to broach what you wanted to say since he’s surrounded by the other agents. He tilts back in his chair, arms crossed. Any mirth he usually reserves for you is gone.

“What do you want then?”

“It’s just… uh,” you say, suddenly aware of all the eyes of the other Protective Officers on you and you falter. You don’t want to have this conversation in front of everyone. “Do you have a sec? To talk in private?”

Dave rights his chair before fixing you with a dark look.

“How about you stop flitting around from department to department distracting people from trying to do real work?” He says sharply, his dark eyes narrowed. “Pretty sure Google translate could do your job and it would be a helluva lot less annoying.”

The other agents sitting near Dave exchange uncomfortable looks as you blink back at him. Irritation floods you, searing heat down the center of your chest. As he continues to glare at you there is the unmistakable sensation of your teeth grinding together angrily.

“You know what York? You can get Priya to do your translating from now on,” you spit, turning from him and heading into the empty hallway. Your cheeks are burning and you feet a pit in your stomach opening up.

Fuck you hate Dave sometimes.

You make your way to the elevator almost spitting. You wish for nothing more than to scrub Dave York from the face of the planet.

“Hey.”

Dave’s voice is a low rumble behind you. You can feel the warmth of his body inches from your back. But you pretend you haven’t heard him. The two of you load onto the elevator.

“Priya doesn’t speak Arabic,” Dave tells you like you’re not already very aware.

You continue to turn from him, not bothering to engage. You don’t have time to fight with Dave, you need to remember the name of your basic training officer to see if he’ll give you a letter of recommendation.

“You better be nice to me, Parker,” Dave says airily when you don’t reply. “Since everyone knows I’m going to be chosen for the mission.”

“You’re not going to be chosen for this one,” you snipe back at him, thankful there’s no one else in the confines of the elevator to witness how petulant you sound. “You have to be a team player for that. Everyone knows you like to fly solo.”

“Maybe I’ve changed,” he taunts, large eyes fixed on the rising numbers glowing above the buttons. “And besides, who do you think Crawford likes better? Me; the decorated field officer? Or you, the Language Officer with too many yellow sweaters?”

You want to snap back at him but you have a moment of concern at his words. You’d never considered this entire thing would be a popularity contest. Dave gets way more face-to-face with Mina than you ever will just by virtue of his job.

And hey, what the fuck? You like your yellow sweaters. In a job that can be dull or depressing having a color like yellow popping around the office makes you happy. It makes you wish more of the officers stopped dressed in drab neutrals.

Without warning your hand reaches out, slapping the emergency stop button. The elevator jerks to a halt with Dave eyeing you from across the small space. He’s a trained officer and you wonder if his instinct to pull a gun is kicking in when you see his fingers twitch at his side.

“I’m tired of you calling me Parker and making fun of my sweaters and my job and everything else,” you snap.

“I’m tired of you pretending like you’re better than everyone in the entire operations department because you can speak a handful of languages.”

“More than a handful,” you bite back, offended. “I’m a goddam polyglot.”

“How amazing for you,” Dave replies dryly. He crosses his muscled arms over his broad chest and you can’t help but observe how wide his shoulders are when they strain under his suit jacket. He fixes you with a look halfway between irritation and amusement.

Everything with Dave is a game of chicken; who will get closest without giving up? He does the same thing with inter office politics, pushing you past your limit until you run off with your tail between your legs, just like earlier in his office.

“I want to make a deal.”

Dave’s interested in this immediately indicated by the small curl of his mouth. “Go on.”

“If I get chosen for this elite squad you need to stop calling me Parker,” you tell him. “You leave off about my clothes and you start treating me with respect.”

“I do respect you,” Dave insists, brows furrowed. “You think I’d let anyone else do my translations?”

“You just said Google Translate would do a better job than me in a room full of other officers.”

Dave gives a crooked smile and a careless half shrug. “Was a joke.”

“Wasn’t funny.”

You bite the inside of your cheek when you feel your eyes getting glossy. You don’t want him to mistake your angry tears for sad ones. It’ll make you look weak when in reality it’s your barely contained rage that boils over, making your face hot and your eyes misty.

Dave’s smile dims and he gives a nod. “Yeah. Fair. Sorry.”

The apology is new though, that’s a nice manipulative touch on his part.

You don’t say anything more, and even though you want to apologize for the joke about his wife something in your stubborn attitude forbids it. Makes it impossible to apologize to Dave’s smug face staring at you.

“Everything okay in there?”

It’s the elevator repair team. Dave gives you a look with a raised brow, almost like he’s letting you know that you’re inconveniencing a lot of people today, not just him. You shoulder past him, getting closer to the speakerbox.

“Sorry about that,” you say into it. “I hit the button by accident. All good here.”

The elevator starts up again and the two of you lapse into silence. Soon enough you’re at the right floor and you prepare to exit, your mind still stuck on how to get an edge over your competition when all you have is a CV.

“So what do I get if I win, Parker?” Dave asks, dark eyes scanning your face with bemusement clearly written there. “What if I’m chosen for the team?”

“We don’t need to worry about that,” you say as the elevator dings to a stop. “You won’t be.”

“If I win you get rid of those ridiculous rubber ducks on your desk,” Dave insists watching you exit the elevator. “And you have to do all my translations without complaint for an entire year. Even the boring shit your department makes the grunts do.”

You frown at the possibility of doing all of Dave’s interpretations and translations. That could easily pile up and make your long days even longer. But there is a challenge in his eyes, one that you find you can’t back down from. So as the elevators slowly close on his smirking face you nod.

“Fine. Deal.”

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#dave york fanfiction #dave york x you #dave york x reader #dave york smut #dave york x female reader #rom com #romantic comedy #the hating game #enemies to lovers #Window Dressing #Valentine #Happy Valentines #valentines gifts

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