#how did they fumbled this twice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cbeargyu · 2 months ago

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the one he waited for

summary: when you’re finally forced to confront the simmering attraction between you and jungwon, your brother’s best friend, the result is unexpected. one late-night encounter, charged with tension, ends up crossing a line neither of you thought you’d dare. what started as a playful game turns into something deeper and more intense, and now there’s no going back.

pairing: jungwon x noona!reader

genre: smut, romance, age-gap, angst, forbidden love, emotional tension.

warnings: age gap (reader 4-5 years older), explicit content, sexual themes, dirty talk, masturbation, first-time sex, light power dynamics, vulnerability, emotional complexity.

wc: 5,3k

notes: heeeeey🩷 these days i’ve been feeling really attacked by jungwon😩 i can’t stop thinking about him, so i thought i’d write a fanfic with this theme because i saw a tiktok where he calls a fan "noona" and plays along with it😶‍🌫️

you met jungwon when he still had milk teeth and scabby knees.

you were in the third year of secondary school, hormonal and vaguely annoyed at the universe, when your little brother sunoo came home one day dragging behind him a skinny, quiet boy with a backpack twice the size of his torso.

“this is jungwon,” sunoo had said, already halfway to his room. “he’s new. his mom knows mom. we’re partners for the science project.”

you barely looked up from your textbook, muttering a polite hello. but he looked at you.

really looked.

his eyes lingered longer than they should’ve for a kid his age, wide and curious and—something else. like he wasn’t just seeing you, but memorizing you.

“hi,” he said softly, his voice still uncertain, his ears already turning pink.

you didn’t think much of it at first. boys were shy around you sometimes — older cousins’ friends, classmates, the occasional awkward neighbor. you thought it was just a phase of growing up. you didn’t realize that for jungwon, it wasn’t a phase. it was the beginning.

he started showing up more often after that. friday afternoons. saturdays. sometimes sundays if their homework was especially hard (or if he just needed an excuse to see your face again).

you'd come out of your room to grab water and find him sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, trying to focus on sunoo's babbling explanation of mitosis while accidentally glancing at you every ten seconds.

he never spoke to you much. when he did, his voice cracked. or he stumbled over his words. once, you asked him if he wanted juice, and he stared at you like you’d just proposed marriage.

“uh—um—y-yeah,” he stammered, hands fumbling with the hem of his hoodie, cheeks flushing deep scarlet. “please. i mean—if—it’s okay—if you’re not—like, busy.”

you almost laughed. but you didn’t.

because something about the way he looked at you made your heart ache a little. it wasn’t gross or inappropriate. it was… earnest. innocent.

like he genuinely thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

and the thing is — you noticed.

you noticed the way he’d sit up straighter when you entered the room. how his voice would drop an octave and crack embarrassingly. how he’d peek at you from behind sunoo’s head, then quickly look away when you caught him. how his hands would shake a little when you passed him a cup or brushed too close.

you never teased him for it. you never said anything.

because in some quiet, maybe slightly selfish part of your mind… you liked it.

you liked being admired. being seen. being felt that intensely, even if it was from the shy, blushing best friend of your little brother.

he was always respectful. always sweet. he never crossed a line. but his crush on you clung to the air like perfume. soft. warm. obvious.

years passed. you graduated. life got louder. messier. you dated. you worked. you kissed boys who didn’t love you and left

boys who didn’t deserve you.

jungwon grew taller. broader. his face sharpened. his voice deepened. but every time he came over — during holidays, birthdays, random reunions — he still had that same look when he saw you. like his chest couldn’t hold everything he felt at once.

you pretended not to notice.

but god, it was hard.

especially when he started looking at you like he wasn’t thirteen anymore. like he could actually handle everything he felt.

and one night, everything shifted.

you hadn’t heard from sunoo all day.

which wasn’t particularly rare — he was in his second year of university, constantly juggling late-night study sessions and social events, and had recently started going out more with his friends. you figured he was just having one of those wild friday nights. until your phone buzzed at 1:14 a.m.

sunoo [1:14 AM]: noonaaa pls come get us jungwon threw up i’m fine but he’s dead pls don’t tell mom

you sighed, rolled your eyes, grabbed your keys and slipped into the hoodie you always used for midnight emergencies — not that you were ever planning to see anyone during them.

you pulled up in front of a too-bright, too-loud, too-packed house on the edge of campus and texted sunoo to come out.

a few minutes later, the front door opened and there he was — clinging to the arm of someone taller, broader, effortlessly holding him upright. for a second, you didn’t recognize him.

then he looked up.

and there he was.

jungwon.

but not the jungwon you remembered.

this jungwon wasn’t a boy.

he wasn’t wearing baggy jeans and awkward energy and hope in his eyes.

this jungwon was all jawline and collarbone, his black t-shirt clinging to a chest that clearly spent time at the gym. his hair was longer, messier, falling in soft waves over his forehead. his eyes met yours — steady, quiet, focused — and for the first time, he didn’t look away.

he didn’t flinch. didn’t stammer.

he smiled.

“hey,” he said, voice deep and low, still warm but heavier now, mature. “sorry about this.”

you blinked.

that’s your voice? you wanted to ask. that’s how you talk now? that’s how you look at me?

sunoo groaned beside him. “i’m fine, but jungwon had like three shots too many. we tried to leave earlier but he threw up in the bushes.”

jungwon grimaced slightly. “traitor.”

“shut up, you begged me for water and called me ‘hyung.’”

“i was being polite.”

“you’re not polite, you’re pathetic.”

they bickered all the way to the car, sunoo practically collapsing in the back seat while jungwon climbed into the passenger side. you could still smell the alcohol on both of them, but jungwon didn’t reek. he smelled like a faint trace of expensive cologne and something else—soap? mint? you couldn’t place it, but it was… grown-up.

he glanced at you while you drove. quiet at first. but his eyes didn’t stray.

“thanks for coming,” he said after a moment, voice softer. “i told him not to call you.”

you shook your head. “it’s fine. better me than some drunk stranger.”

he chuckled under his breath. “you’ve always saved him. guess you’re still saving me, too.”

your hands tightened a little on the steering wheel. you tried not to look at him. you failed.

“you’re different,” you murmured. “you look…”

“older?” he offered.

you smirked. “yeah. and bigger. like—buffer. you work out?”

“a bit,” he said, smiling like he knew exactly what you were thinking. “i’m doing physical education. planning to specialize in rehabilitation and injury recovery. so, yeah. kind of have to stay in shape.”

you blinked. “you’re studying physio?”

he nodded. “yeah. i like the idea of helping people heal.”

and fuck, that sounded more attractive than it should’ve. something about his voice, his posture — he wasn’t trying to impress you. he was just being.

“you?” he asked after a pause.

“i’m freelancing right now,” you said, eyes back on the road. “graphic design. branding mostly. and some small business stuff. it’s boring.”

“no it’s not. it’s so you.”

you glanced at him.

he smiled again, but this time it was smaller. less polished. more personal. like it belonged to a memory — of juice in plastic cups and teenage crushes and the way your laugh used to make him drop his pencil.

“you remember a lot for someone who barely talked to me,” you teased.

“i didn’t talk because i knew i’d say something dumb,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “but i watched. a lot. i—used to like you. a lot.”

the air between you cracked. just a little. a thin fissure running through the quiet, letting in something hot and unspoken.

“used to?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

jungwon looked at you.

his eyes weren’t shy anymore. they were steady. unwavering. burning.

“no,” he said.

“not used to.”

the living room was still, dimly lit by the glow of the microwave clock from the kitchen. you had tossed extra blankets on the couch for both of them, with sunoo passed out flat and snoring softly on the floor, limbs sprawled like he'd been dropped from the ceiling.

jungwon had taken the couch without protest, pulling a hoodie over his t-shirt and curling into it like he thought it would keep him safe from the memories clinging to your home.

but he couldn’t sleep.

it wasn’t the couch. it wasn’t the faint buzz of the refrigerator or the thin light seeping in from the streetlamps outside.

it was you.

he could still smell your perfume on the blanket you'd handed him. he could still hear your voice from the car — the way you said he’d changed, how you looked at him like maybe you saw it, maybe you noticed it.

he stared at the ceiling for an hour. two.

and then quietly stood, careful not to step on sunoo as he padded toward the hallway.

he didn’t expect to run into you.

not like that.

you were just stepping out of the bathroom, your hand tugging lightly at the knot on your robe. it was short — too short. soft grey cotton, the hem brushing high on your thighs and clinging to your hips like it had something to prove. your hair was down, still slightly damp from a shower, curling a little at the ends. your legs were bare.

he froze.

you blinked, mildly startled, but your eyes flicked down his body before returning to his face, amused.

"couldn't sleep?" you asked, your voice low from sleep but edged with curiosity.

jungwon swallowed, gaze darting once to your thighs before he caught himself.

"yeah. uh—couch's kinda stiff."

"mm," you nodded, stepping past him. he stayed still, hyper-aware of the way your shoulder brushed his chest, the smell of your skin so close he could taste it. “or maybe something else is keeping you up.”

he didn’t answer.

you turned, leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed — and the movement made the robe ride up even higher. his eyes flicked to the exposed skin, then back up to yours. caught again.

you tilted your head. “jungwon…”

“yeah?” his voice cracked. once.

you smiled slowly, wickedly, like you were enjoying how nervous he looked.

“why do you always look at me like that?”

he tensed. “like what?”

“like i’m the only thing in the room.”

he stared at you, wide-eyed, lips parted, like you’d just spoken the deepest truth of his life. and maybe you had.

“i—i don’t—” he started, then stopped. sighed. “i didn’t mean to.”

“but you do.”

he dropped his gaze.

“you’ve been looking at me like that since you were fourteen,” you said softly, stepping closer. “don’t think i never noticed. the stares. the blushes. the way you used to stop talking mid-sentence if i walked into the room.”

he exhaled shakily. “you… knew?”

“of course i did.” you leaned in a little. “and now, you still do it. except you don’t blush anymore.”

he met your eyes. something flickered there — fear, maybe. frustration.

desire.

“you’re playing with me,” he said quietly.

you smiled, not denying it.

“you’re my brother’s friend, jungwon,” you said, tone playful, like that meant something. “you’re younger. i’m just—curious.”

his jaw tensed.

“is that what i am to you?” he said, voice sharper now, wounded. “just a curiosity? some dumb kid with a crush you can tease?”

you didn’t answer. not immediately.

but he stepped forward — two full strides — until he was right in front of you. taller now. broader. not afraid to get close.

“i’m not a kid anymore.”

his voice had dropped, rough at the edges. his gaze was steady. no hesitation now.

“i’m twenty,” he said. “i’ve lived on my own. i’ve seen things. i’ve felt things. i’m not that shy little boy who got nervous when you bent over to get something from the fridge.”

your breath caught.

“then who are you?” you asked, whispering.

he leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he replied.

“i’m a man who’s wanted you for years.”

goosebumps.

your knees nearly gave out.

he pulled back, watching your face, waiting to see if you’d laugh again — if you’d keep playing.

but you didn’t.

you just stared at him, lips parted, chest rising and falling a little too fast.

“show me,” you murmured.

he didn’t say anything.

he didn’t need to.

you turned without a word and walked to your room, knowing he would follow. his footsteps were quiet but quick behind you, like he was afraid you’d change your mind if he hesitated too long.

the moment you closed the door behind him, he stood still—eyes flickering over the space like it was holy, forbidden. like he was stepping into something he’d only ever imagined.

and you could feel it. the weight of his stare. the breath he held in his lungs.

your robe was still loose. still too short. your skin was warm and dewy from the shower, soft and smelling like lavender soap, and you knew the scent would drive him mad. it already was—he was staring at the curve of your collarbone, the hollow between your breasts, the smoothness of your thighs peeking out from under the edge of the fabric.

“sit,” you whispered.

he sat on the edge of your bed like he was being summoned to a throne.

you stood in front of him. close. close enough that your knees brushed his.

he looked up at you—eyes dark, lips parted, fingers gripping the mattress like he needed to hold on to something real.

“do you still want this?” you asked.

he nodded. fast.

“use your words, jungwon.”

“yes,” he said, voice hoarse. “yes. i want you.”

you climbed into his lap slowly, deliberately, straddling his thighs, your hands on his shoulders. he gasped softly at the contact, at the weight of you, at the way your robe parted slightly, revealing more of your thighs and a glimpse of black lace underneath.

“you’re not a kid anymore,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “you’re not just sunoo’s friend.”

he nodded again. “i want to be yours.”

your heart clenched.

you kissed him.

soft at first—just the press of lips, the taste of him, the trembling hesitation of years of longing finally touching skin. but he moaned, low and needy, and his hands flew to your waist, pulling you closer. you felt him hard against you already, pressed between your bodies.

“fuck,” you breathed against his mouth. “you’ve been holding this in a long time, haven’t you?”

“so long,” he whispered. “you have no idea.”

your fingers slid into his hair, tugging, and he gasped again. you kissed down his jaw, to his throat, sucking softly just below his ear, feeling his breath catch against your shoulder.

his hands slipped under your robe, palms hot and desperate against your thighs.

“can i…?” he asked, voice shaking.

“anything,” you said.

he pushed the robe off your shoulders slowly, reverently, like he was unwrapping something sacred. his eyes widened when it slipped down your arms and pooled at your waist, baring your chest to him. his breath caught—completely still for a second—just staring.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered.

you smiled, tugging his shirt up and over his head, revealing his lean, toned torso. his skin was golden, smooth, his shoulders broader than you remembered, his body hard from years of growing and becoming.

he wasn’t a boy anymore.

he kissed you again—deeper, hungrier. and when he pulled you down to the bed with him, the last thread of restraint snapped.

your robe came off completely.

he looked at you like you were everything.

and then he worshipped you like it.

“have you…?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper as your fingers trailed down the line of his abs.

he looked at you, cheeks already flushed, lips kiss-bitten and raw. he nodded slowly.

“yeah,” he said, swallowing thickly. “i’ve been with someone. once.”

you raised an eyebrow.

“but it wasn’t like this,” he added quickly, reaching up to touch your face. “it was nothing like this.”

you leaned into his palm. “what was it like?”

he hesitated, then let out a soft laugh. embarrassed. “fast. awkward. i couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

you blinked.

he looked away, like he wasn’t sure he should have said that out loud. “i mean… i used to—fuck, i used to jerk off to the thought of you. all the time. your voice. your thighs. the way you looked at me like you knew i was nervous. it was fucked up, i know. but i couldn’t help it.”

your lips parted.

your stomach clenched.

your thighs pressed together automatically at the confession, at the heat in his voice, the hunger. the honesty.

“how many times?” you whispered, voice low against his jaw.

he groaned. “so many. i’d get home from hanging out with sunoo and lock myself in my room. sometimes i couldn’t even make it through dinner.”

you let out a soft, breathy laugh. “god, jungwon…”

“i want to make it good for you,” he said then, serious again. “i want to make you feel everything. like you deserve.”

you kissed him before he could say anything else. kissed him hard. slow. deep. your tongue dragging over his, sucking softly on his bottom lip.

“show me,” you murmured against his mouth. “you’ve waited so long. show me how much.”

his hands shook slightly as he slid down between your legs, kissing down your throat, your collarbones, between your breasts, taking his time. his breath was warm against your skin. reverent. worshipful.

“you smell like heaven,” he murmured, nosing against your stomach. “like soap and heat and you.”

you arched up for him, and he pulled your panties down slowly, dragging them down your legs, eyes fixed on your pussy like it was something sacred.

“fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “you’re soaked.”

his fingers ghosted over your folds, trembling.

you caught his wrist gently, eyes on his. “you can touch me, jungwon. it’s okay. you’re allowed now.”

that seemed to snap something inside him. his mouth was on you seconds later, licking into you like he needed it to live. he groaned when you gasped, when you tangled your fingers in his hair and cried out his name.

he was eager. hungry. desperate to please.

and when you finally pulled him up, breathless, your thighs shaking, he looked at you like he was about to break.

“please,” he whispered. “please let me fuck you.”

you nodded. pulled him down. reached between you both and helped guide him to your entrance, feeling the weight of him—thick, hard, pulsing.

he slid in slow.

inch by inch.

his breath was ragged. yours was gone entirely.

you both gasped at the stretch, the warmth, the way your bodies fit like they’d been waiting all this time to do this.

he buried his face in your neck, panting, whispering your name over and over like a prayer.

“so tight,” he groaned. “so fucking wet. fuck—i’m not gonna last if you keep clenching like that.”

you moaned at his honesty, at the way his voice cracked, at the rawness in his tone. he started to move, slow at first, dragging his hips back and then forward again, pushing deep, grinding into you.

it was good. better than you expected. it wasn’t just sex—it was years of longing, of wanting, of watching each other from opposite sides of a line neither of you had dared to cross.

until now.

“you feel like everything,” he whispered, fucking into you harder now, deeper. “i dreamed about this. every night. every fucking night.”

“then don’t stop,” you gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “fuck me like you’ve waited for it.”

and he did.

he fucked you with devotion, with hunger, with shaking hands and eyes wide open so he wouldn’t miss a single expression on your face. something dark, something feral flickered in his gaze.

and just like that, the fear in his shoulders melted, replaced by heat.

he kissed you again, harder now, and without pulling out, he rolled you on top of him, hands gripping your thighs.

“ride me,” he whispered, voice low and broken. “please. i need to see you.”

you slid up slowly, his cock dragging along your walls, then sank back down, making both of you moan.

“fuck,” he gasped, fingers digging into your hips. “you feel—so fucking good. fuck—fuck—please don’t stop.”

you moved above him in reverse cowgirl, hands on his thighs for support as you rode him slow at first, then faster when you felt his cock twitch again inside. he sat up, chest against your back, mouth on your neck, groaning your name like it was a spell.

“you’re so fucking hot like this,” he muttered, his hands gripping your ass, spreading you open so he could watch his cock slide in and out. “i dreamed about this. every fucking day.”

when you started to clench again, he lay you on your stomach gently, pulling your hips up, and slid into you from behind—deeper, harder.

doggie style hit different with jungwon.

he was more confident now, more vocal, panting above you, whispering how tight you were, how wet, how you were making him lose his mind.

you pushed your ass back on him greedily, and he groaned, one hand gripping your waist, the other on your shoulder to keep you steady as he fucked you harder.

“you like this?” he rasped, pounding into you. “you like being fucked like this? like you’re mine?”

you moaned something between yes and his name, your voice breaking with every thrust.

he leaned down, his chest against your back again, fucking you hard and deep.

“you’re mine now,” he whispered against your ear. “you’re not gonna fuck anyone else after this, right?”

“no,” you gasped. “just you. only you, jungwon.”

and then, after you both came again, shaking and breathless, he didn’t stop.

he took you in missionary one last time—slow, deep, eyes on yours the entire time, his forehead resting against yours as he kissed you between moans, whispering how beautiful you looked, how long he’d waited to love you like this.

“you’re everything,” he whispered, voice cracking as he pushed in deep one last time. “you’re everything i’ve ever wanted.”

he stilled with a broken gasp, arms trembling around your body as his hips jerked forward one final time, deeper than before, his breath hot against your neck. the way he moaned your name—desperate, shaky, reverent—sent a shiver through you that tangled with the warmth blooming low in your stomach.

you felt it when he came.

thick, pulsing inside you, filling you up so suddenly that his whole body tensed, and for a second he looked stricken—terrified even—his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "shit, i—i came inside. i didn’t mean to. fuck—"

your fingers combed through his hair gently, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of his breathing. you tilted your head to look at him, his flushed cheeks, his wide, guilty eyes.

"it’s okay. i’m on the pill. i’ve been on it for years." you murmured, your voice soft but sure.

he blinked at you, his brows furrowing. “really?”

you nodded, your thumb tracing his cheekbone, then the corner of his parted lips. “yeah. you’re fine, baby. you don’t have to panic.”

his shoulders slowly relaxed, and something shifted behind his eyes—like he was letting himself believe it was real. that this wasn’t a mistake. that you wanted him just as much.

then he kissed you again—slow, deep, grateful—still buried inside you, still catching his breath.

you didn’t move. neither of you did.

just stayed tangled like that, in your sheets, in your skin, in something that felt too big to name yet too fragile to let go of.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered after a pause. “i wanted to last longer. i thought i would.”

you smiled, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead.

“you did better than i expected,” you teased, lips grazing his jaw. “besides… we’re not done unless you are.”

he looked at you, eyes dark and hungry again.

“i’m not done.”

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, bodies pressed together, chests rising and falling in sync. his heartbeat was still racing beneath your palm, but it had softened now—steady, grounded. there was something so beautifully boyish in the way he clung to you even after, like he couldn’t believe he got to touch you like this. like you might disappear if he let go.

“you’re warm,” he mumbled sleepily against your collarbone.

you smiled, your hand sliding slowly down his back. “you wore yourself out.”

“i didn’t think…” he trailed off, his lips grazing your skin again. “i didn’t think it would feel like that.”

“like what?”

he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “like i belonged to you.”

your breath caught.

you didn’t answer right away. you just cupped his jaw, kissed him soft and deep, like a thank you and a promise rolled into one.

his hand brushed your side, then your thigh. tentative. reverent.

you felt him growing hard again, slow and unhurried, pressing against your hip with the same nervous need that had always burned quietly behind his eyes.

but there was no rush this time.

just heat, and quiet hunger, and the kind of tension that settles deep in your bones.

you shifted slightly, tilting your hips as you reached between you and wrapped your fingers around him, making him gasp softly against your mouth. his hips jerked into your palm, and he whined—high, breathy, desperate.

"you’re still so sensitive," you whispered, teasing your thumb over the head, slick and flushed.

he nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “but i want you again… i want to make you feel good.”

“you already did.”

“not enough.”

his voice cracked on the last word, and that was all it took.

you rolled him onto his back slowly, straddling his hips, your movements smooth and sure as you lined him up again. his hands gripped your thighs like he didn’t know where to touch first, overwhelmed, eyes wide and starry as you sank down onto him with a quiet moan.

he was deeper like this.

closer.

“fuck,” he choked, watching you like he was in awe, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

you rode him slowly at first, your hands on his chest, grounding yourself in the rise and fall of his breath. his mouth dropped open, fingers digging into your waist as he tried to hold back.

but you could tell he was unraveling.

every time you circled your hips, every roll forward, every clench around him made him twitch inside you, made him moan through gritted teeth.

"you’re doing so well," you murmured, leaning down to kiss his lips, his jaw, the hollow of his throat. “look at you. fucking me so good…”

he whimpered, bucking up into you.

“tell me you’re mine,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear.

“i’m yours,” he groaned, like it hurt. “i’ve always been yours.”

you shifted your angle, riding him harder now, chasing your own release as his hands scrambled to grab your ass, pulling you down with every thrust.

“i can’t—fuck—i’m gonna cum again—”

and when he came again—louder this time, broken and raw, with your name falling from his lips like a confession—you let go with him, your walls tightening around him, pulling him deeper until neither of you could breathe.

you collapsed against his chest, trembling, kissed his sweat-slick skin as his arms curled around you.

he held you like you were his.

because in some quiet, undeniable way—you were.

sunoo wakes up with a throbbing headache and the taste of cheap vodka in his mouth.

he groans dramatically, rolls over, and nearly falls off the couch. “i’m never drinking again,” he mumbles, as he always does, before drinking again next weekend.

after peeing for what feels like an eternity, he shuffles out into the hallway—barefoot, hoodie halfway on, hair looking like he fought a raccoon and lost.

and then he hears it.

a door creaking shut.

your door.

his eyes narrow.

he walks to the kitchen. there’s a coffee mug on the counter. another one in the sink. two mugs. okay. maybe you just wanted a second cup.

he turns around.

jungwon walks in, freshly showered, wearing one of your oversized t-shirts that says “girlboss energy” on the front.

sunoo blinks.

jungwon blinks back.

“morning,” jungwon says, casual. too casual. the shirt hangs halfway down his thighs like a nightgown and he has the audacity to stretch — arms over his head, shirt lifting just enough to show hip bone.

sunoo stares.

“...is that my sister’s shirt?”

jungwon pauses. “uh. laundry emergency?”

“we were only here for eight hours, what did you—never mind.” sunoo rubs his temples. “why do you smell like her shampoo?”

jungwon opens his mouth. closes it. shrugs.

“you two didn’t—” sunoo cuts himself off. “wait.”

his eyes go wide.

jungwon picks up a banana and starts peeling it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “you want some eggs?”

“don’t change the subject!” sunoo screeches, pointing an accusatory finger. “did you fuck my sister?!”

jungwon freezes. the banana droops sadly in his hand.

then, very quietly, he says: “define ‘fuck’.”

sunoo screams.

sunoo sits at the kitchen table, staring at the two of you like you’re both guilty of murder. well, not just murder—incestuous murder.

you and jungwon are trying to act as normal as possible, but neither of you are fooling him for a second.

you’re stirring your coffee like it’s the most casual thing in the world, and jungwon’s sitting there, still wearing your t-shirt and acting like this is just any ordinary morning.

“so,” sunoo starts slowly, trying to piece everything together like it’s a bad detective show. “you two didn’t—you know...”

you raise an eyebrow at him, innocently. “didn’t what?”

“You didn’t,” he waves his hand dramatically, “kiss or… touch… or—anything?”

you pause for a second, and then you smile. a sweet, innocent smile that screams “i know what you’re thinking but i’m not going to confirm it.”

“sunoo,” you say calmly, “that’s not what happened.”

jungwon chimes in, voice a little too smooth. “yeah, we were just—uh, talking. you know. bonding over childhood memories and stuff.”

“memories, huh?” sunoo squints suspiciously. “so that’s what you’re calling it now?”

“uh, yeah?” jungwon looks way too casual about this. “like how you and i used to play video games when we were little?”

sunoo shakes his head. “but you—you're wearing her shirt.”

“well, the other option was wearing your dirty laundry,” jungwon smirks. “you really want that?”

sunoo looks horrified. “okay, no. no. i’m done with you two. this is too much.”

but then, you—ever the calm, collected one—lean forward and say in that smooth voice of yours, “sunoo, it was an accident.”

jungwon nods. “accident. i slipped… into your sister’s bed.”

sunoo, completely done with everything, slowly places his face into his hands. “god, i’m going to need therapy after this.”

you grin, leaning back in your chair with a teasing glint in your eye. “don’t worry. we won’t make it a habit.”

jungwon’s eyes widen in panic. “wait—no, i—”

“too late, jungwon,” you tease, crossing your arms. “your secret’s safe with me... for now.”

sunoo’s head jerks up, horrified. “you two are going to keep doing this?!”

you and jungwon exchange a glance, smirking.

“maybe,” you reply, a sly smile playing at your lips. “depends on how you feel about getting a new roommate.”

sunoo glares. “this is not happening.”

and just like that, you both vanish into the living room, leaving sunoo alone to spiral into a panic attack while jungwon pretends he’s completely unaware of the emotional damage he’s causing.

the sound of sunoo yelling from the kitchen echoes for a while.

but you and jungwon? you just laugh and relax. it’s been a long night, but the chaos has only just begun.

#jungwon smut #jungwon #enhypen #enha #engene #yang jungwon #jungwon x reader #jungwon enhypen #jungwon enha #jungwon fluff #ENHYPEN smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #kim sunoo #enha smut #enha x reader #enha imagines #enha fluff

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dksfml · 8 months ago

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LOVE 119 [PART II]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. masterlist.

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: enemies at work, lovers at home. secret dating. jungwon is hot when jealous, suggestive, fluff summary: your coworkers think that you and niki look cute together while jungwon, your boyfriend is literally standing next to you and it's driving him insane. word count: 3.5k author's note: hey everyone! as promised, i'm here to serve another paramedic jungwon brainrot because it's not fair to just devour this cutesy alone. enjoy and leave some notes <3 read part 1 first and reply if you want to get tagged for the next parts!

You’re midway through a lukewarm coffee in the hospital cafeteria when your coworker leans in, voice low and eyes gleaming with intrigue. “So…” she starts, drawing the word out slowly, “who’s the lucky guy?”

It takes you a second, but the question sinks in just as she tilts her head, nodding toward your neck with a smirk. Your hand instinctively rises to the spot Jungwon’s lips had claimed last night, right at the juncture of your neck and shoulder—a parting gift as you’d curled up together, something you didn’t think twice about until now.

A blush surges to your cheeks. “What? Oh, no, that’s… I scratched it too hard,” you say quickly, heat rising not only from the surprise but the memory of last night—Jungwon’s sleepy grin, the way he’d pulled you close, whispering in your ear as he pressed soft kisses down the curve of your neck.

“Sure you did,” she teases, crossing her arms as her smirk widens. “You’re going to need a better excuse than that. So… is it Niki?”

“What?” you laugh, the idea so out of the blue it’s almost comical. “Niki? Why would you even think that?”

She shrugs, the smugness on her face never faltering. “You always have a soft spot for him. You never scold him like the rest of us. Plus, everyone’s seen the way he hovers around you in the halls, he’s clearly smitten.”

Your eyes widen at the notion. Niki, your young, eager junior who fumbles his way through shifts and who you can’t help but look after because he’s new and a little too starry-eyed for his own good? It’s laughable. “It’s not like that,” you manage, shaking your head. “He’s just… young, that’s all.”

“Mhmm,” she says with a knowing chuckle. “Sure, if you say so.”

Before you can protest further, your phone vibrates. Glancing down, you find a message from Jungwon: a photo of his lunch, neatly arranged with a sweet message beneath it. “Eat well, ily.”

The casual intimacy of it makes your stomach flip, and you feel an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. You quickly swipe away the notification, hoping she didn’t see the smile or the faint hearts in your eyes.

The day unfolds in the usual rush of patient check-ins, chart updates, and emergency calls. You busy yourself to the point where the cafeteria conversation drifts from your mind—until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the break room mirror and spot the faint outline of that now-infamous hickey, the concealer having barely managed to mask it. You tug your collar higher, hoping to hide it through the rest of the shift.

The afternoon in the ER has been a blur of movement and urgency, leaving you barely a moment to breathe. Every time an ambulance pulls up, your heart skips a beat, half-hoping, half-dreading that it’ll be Jungwon walking through those doors.

But each time, it’s someone else, and you return to the steady rhythm of your work, instructing Niki at your side as he follows your lead. Despite the tense environment, he’s attentive and focused, learning from you as he manages each step of the patient’s treatment with remarkable ease.

Afterward, you and Niki head back to the department office, the adrenaline settling as you both chat lightly, unwinding from the chaotic pace. As you enter, you spot Jungwon down the corridor, heading the other way with a stack of documents.

It’s almost comical how, even amidst the bustling hospital, his presence stands out so starkly to you. For a split second, he glances your way, and the fleeting moment feels charged, pulling your attention and making it impossible to look away. But as soon as your eyes meet, you glance down, hoping no one notices how that brief connection leaves your pulse racing.

Once back at your desk, you feel your coworkers’ eyes on you, their curious glances flickering between you and Niki. You try to brush it off as nothing, settling into your usual seat, with Niki across from you. Just as you’re starting to sift through some files, Jungwon’s familiar stride enters the department office.

His easy confidence fills the room, and he greets everyone with that understated charm, heading to a nearby colleague to ask for specific documents. You’re not even looking at him, but his presence is impossible to ignore. You focus on your papers, hoping that looking busy might steady your nerves, but the pages blur in front of you, your mind too distracted by the fact that he’s just a few steps away.

Then, just as you’re juggling a pile of documents, you accidentally knock over your iced coffee. The mostly empty cup clatters over, spilling what’s left onto your coat. The moment the coffee splashes onto your coat, Niki and Jungwon are both at your side in an instant. Niki’s quick to pull out a box of tissues, while Jungwon silently holds out a pristine handkerchief, a touch of annoyance already flickering in his gaze.

Caught off-guard, you instinctively reach for Niki’s tissues, leaving Jungwon standing there with his handkerchief, his jaw tightening slightly as he watches you dab at the stain.

Your coworkers notice the scene and immediately latch onto it, their laughter filling the room. "Oh, come on, you two," one of them teases, grinning at the pair of you. "Why don’t you just date already?”

Another chimes in, "Yeah, it’s obvious there’s something going on. I mean, look how attentive Niki is—always ready to help you out."

You wave them off, laughing it away, but the teasing only grows louder. Someone else playfully nudges Niki. "What’s next, bringing her coffee in the morning?"

Niki laughs, scratching the back of his head, visibly flustered. "Come on, guys, we’re just… coworkers," he insists, though his blush only adds fuel to the fire.

Meanwhile, you can feel Jungwon’s gaze on you, sharper and more intense than ever. His silence speaks volumes; the usual relaxed confidence he carries seems to be tinged with something harder, a jealousy that simmers just beneath the surface. It unsettles you, tugging at something guilty inside as the teasing around you grows.

Suddenly, Jungwon steps forward to you, interrupting the chatter with a clipped tone. "Enough with the tissues,” he says, leveling his gaze at you, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Stop fussing with that coat—you’re only making it worse. Change into something clean, or the smell will stick with you all day.”

The room falls silent, your coworkers exchanging amused glances. You roll your eyes, unwilling to let him get the last word.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Practicality. I can handle a few drops of coffee,” you retort, folding your arms and meeting his gaze with a defiant tilt of your chin.

He raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk forming on his lips.

"Right, because dealing with a coffee stain is something you’re well-prepared for," he says dryly, folding his arms to match yours. "Clearly, practicality isn’t your strong suit."

You scoff, refusing to back down. "And since when did you become an expert in coffee stain management? It’s barely noticeable, and I’m perfectly fine with it."

Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t waver, the challenge sparking between you both as he leans in just a fraction, his voice lower. "Just because you’re fine with it doesn’t mean everyone else is." His eyes flick down to the stain and then back up to yours, a knowing glint in them.

Your coworkers are watching with raised brows, amused but also visibly intrigued by the tension between the two of you. "Are we interrupting something?” one of them jokes, breaking the silence. "Honestly, the way you two bicker is like a married couple."

The comment makes you blush, but Jungwon doesn’t flinch. Instead, he holds your gaze, his smirk deepening. "At least one of us knows how to handle these little emergencies,” he quips, voice steady, though there’s a hint of something raw behind his eyes—a hint of jealousy that only you can catch. The way he’s looking at you, there’s no mistaking it: he’s anything but amused by the teasing around Niki.

But before you can respond, Niki steps forward, awkwardly placing his coat over your chair. “Um, here,” he says, clearly trying to ease the tension. “You can wear mine for now if the coffee’s bothering you that much.”

The room erupts into more laughter, someone nudging Niki with a grin. "See? He’s a gentleman. Really, you two should just make it official."

Another coworker teases, "Or maybe they already have, and they’re just not telling us."

Jungwon’s expression hardens as he watches the exchange, his eyes narrowing. His gaze flickers from Niki to you, a frustration simmering beneath his calm facade.

You feel the tension growing, an almost tangible weight of jealousy in the way his jaw clenches, his fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh.

Finally, he speaks up, cutting through the laughter with a controlled but slightly irritated tone. "Enough of the matchmaking." His gaze falls pointedly on you, something possessive flickering there, though he masks it quickly. "And you should change. That coffee smell won’t just vanish."

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to back down. "If it bothers you so much, why don’t you bring me a change of clothes yourself?"

"Thanks," he says shortly, taking the stack of paperwork with a polite nod. He turns back to you and your coworkers, offering a quick, “See you all later. Take care, everyone.” His voice is casual, but as his gaze lingers on you for a fraction of a second longer, you feel the weight of everything left unsaid.

With that, Jungwon strides toward the door, his usual self-assured calm back in place. You watch him leave, but just as he reaches the exit, your phone buzzes in your hand. You glance down, your pulse quickening as you read the message from him:

“I have something you can change into in the back of the car.”

It’s simple, yet there’s something about it that makes your stomach flip. You glance up just in time to catch Jungwon’s silhouette disappearing down the hallway, feeling the tension of the moment linger in the air long after he’s gone.

The rest of your shift rolls by with its usual demands, and you brush off the incident from earlier, deciding against getting the change of clothes Jungwon offered. By the time you finally clock out, the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the nearly empty parking lot. Just as you step out of the hospital doors, Jungwon’s car pulls up in front of the exit.

You feel a small smile tugging at your lips as you walk over and slip into the passenger seat. “Hey,” you greet him, but his focus remains straight ahead, his hands firm on the wheel, his paramedic uniform clinging to his form. The sight of him in that navy blue uniform, complete with the badge and patches, usually makes your heart race, but today his expression is unreadable. A flicker of surprise hits you. Jungwon, who is usually quick with a playful remark, doesn’t even turn his head as you settle in, leaving you feeling a bit deflated.

You tilt your head, watching him closely, noticing the slightest crease of annoyance in his brow. With a slight pout, you try breaking the ice, “So, how was your day?”

He answers, but his tone is clipped, barely more than a few words. "Busy. The usual."

You blink, feeling a hint of tension in the air. Normally, he’d be cracking jokes or filling the car with easy chatter, but now he’s focused on the road with a seriousness that feels almost uncharacteristic.

Leaning back in your seat, you give him a sideways glance. “Is this about the clothes?” you finally ask, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Are you upset I didn’t change into them?”

A quick denial. “No,” he says, a bit too fast, but still refusing to look your way.

You can’t help but smile a little, noticing his hands gripping the wheel tighter than usual. “Uh-huh. Doesn’t sound like you’re not upset,” you tease, leaning forward to get a better look at his face.

“I’m not upset,” he repeats, but he’s biting his lip, eyes fixed stubbornly ahead as if he’s hyper-focused on the road. His brow furrows, and he lets out a soft sigh.

“Come on, Jungwon, it’s cute when you sulk,” you say, your smile widening at the way his jaw clenches ever so slightly, revealing his irritation in the most subtle way.

This finally gets a reaction. He glances at you, his eyes narrowing just a little. “I’m not sulking,” he mumbles, but the denial lacks its usual conviction.

“You look pretty sulky to me,” you murmur, enjoying the rare moment of catching him off guard.

Just then, the car comes to a stop at a red light, and you glance over to find him holding a long breath, his expression somewhere between frustration and fondness. The tension in the air shifts slightly as he turns his gaze towards you, and in that moment, you feel the familiar flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

Without breaking eye contact, he places his right hand gently on your lap, rubbing small circles with his thumb. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, igniting that familiar spark between you two. It’s a simple gesture, yet it feels so intimate, especially with the way he’s staring at you as if he’s trying to convey everything he can’t say out loud.

He resumes driving as the light turns green, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but his voice softens, a hint of vulnerability slipping through the usual bravado. “I’m not upset,” he assures you, though the sincerity behind his words hints at something deeper, something he’s wrestling with beneath the surface.

You can’t help but smile at him, the weight of his earlier mood lifting slightly. “Then what’s with the whole silent treatment? You know you can just tell me, right?”

Jungwon shakes his head, a faint smile creeping onto his face despite his mood.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he says, his voice maintaining a lightness that’s undercut by an earnest edge. “I don’t want to be the guy who gets all worked up over people assuming you and Niki are a thing.”

You bite your lip, the realization sinking in that his jealousy is more about their perceptions than the spilled coffee earlier.

“Well, I’m definitely not dating Niki,” you reply softly, trying to ease his tension. “He’s just a good coworker. You know that.”

He glances at you briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile as he focuses back on the road.

“Good,” he mutters, his hand still gently rubbing your thigh, sending tingles coursing through you. The intimacy of the gesture makes your heart race.

He passes another intersection and accelerates, the car moving smoothly through the streets.

“But you know,” you continue, trying to keep the mood light, “if you were just a little quicker with your offer, I wouldn’t have to deal with all this teasing.”

Jungwon lets out a soft chuckle, the tension in the car easing slightly. “I thought I was quick enough,” he says, a playful tone returning to his voice. “How was I supposed to know you’d be so stubborn?”

“Stubborn? Me? Never,” you tease, rolling your eyes dramatically.

He shakes his head with a laugh, his grip tightening slightly on your thigh, a subtle reminder of the unspoken bond between you two. As he navigates the streets, the silence stretches comfortably, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of traffic.

“Hey, you should know,” you add after a moment, “if you want to make sure I’m not wearing Niki’s clothes, maybe you should just… keep me in yours.”

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Is that your way of saying you want me to dress you?”

“Maybe,” you reply coyly, biting your lip again, the playful banter making you feel bold.

He laughs, shaking his head as he pulls into a quiet parking lot. “You really know how to make me feel like I’m the jealous one, huh?”

“Just speaking the truth,” you say, leaning back into the seat, enjoying the rhythm of the moment.

As he turns off the engine, the atmosphere shifts slightly, the playful banter fading into a more intimate silence. Jungwon finally meets your gaze, his expression earnest. “Just so you know, it’s not about Niki. I just…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “I want to be the one you lean on, the one you trust.”

Your heart swells at his confession, a warmth spreading through you. “You are, Jungwon. You’re the one I always want to lean on.”

He smiles, a genuine light returning to his eyes, and in that moment, everything feels right.

When you arrive at your apartment, Jungwon opens the door for you, the familiar scent of your space washing over you. As soon as you step inside, he follows closely behind, and before you can even set your bag down, he closes the door and turns to face you.

In an instant, the air between you shifts. Jungwon steps forward, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you closer. You barely have time to react before he captures your lips with his in a deep, passionate kiss that takes your breath away. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you and the electric tension that crackles in the air.

His lips move against yours with a fervor that surprises you, and you feel your heart racing, responding instinctively as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, his mouth coaxing yours open as he explores the sweetness of your taste. It’s intoxicating, and you lose yourself in the moment, your worries and doubts melting away.

In the midst of the kiss, he breaks away for just a moment, breathless and looking down at you with those soft eyes. “I can still smell the coffee,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You giggle, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, the reminder of the earlier incident making you giddy. “Well, I didn’t exactly plan for that to happen,” you reply, your voice teasing but breathless.

“Maybe I should get you a proper change of clothes next time,” he quips, his eyes sparkling with mischief. But then he adds, more seriously, “You should probably take those off; the smell will cling to you.”

His suggestion sends a thrill through you, and you find yourself biting your lip in excitement. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you want me to take them off?” you tease, your heart racing as you lean closer, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

He chuckles softly, but there’s a glint of something deeper in his eyes. “Okay, maybe it’s a little selfish,” he admits, his breath ghosting over your skin as he moves in even closer.

With a playful grin, you decide to indulge him. “Fine, but only if you do too,” you say, your fingers finding the buttons of his uniform. You start to unbutton it, your hands trembling slightly with anticipation. Each button that comes undone reveals more of his toned physique, and your breath hitches as you take in the sight of him.

As your fingers glide over the fabric, Jungwon watches you, his expression a mixture of desire and admiration. “You know, this might be the best idea you’ve ever had,” he murmurs, his voice low and enticing.

You finally push the uniform off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. In that moment, the playful atmosphere shifts into something more intimate. He captures your lips again, and you feel the heat between you both intensify as you pull away the last barriers that had been keeping you apart.

Just when you think it can't get any more intense, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he admits, his breath mingling with yours, creating a palpable tension that thrums in the air.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, your voice teasing yet filled with warmth.

“You know I can’t let everyone find out I’m dating the hottest doctor in the hospital, or else…” he argues, a playful grin breaking through his earlier seriousness.

“Oh, please,” you bite back with a smirk, playfully nudging him. “Like they wouldn’t notice that the ‘sexiest and charming paramedic’ is completely smitten.”

With a smile that could light up the room, you lean in for another kiss, feeling the world around you fade away once again as you get lost in him.

masterlist.

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freshbakedbreadstick · 2 months ago

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Advantages and Disadvantages - Smoke x F! POC Coded! Reader x Stack BLURB - SINNERS (2025)

Smoke & Stack x F! POC coded! Reader

Summary: Thank goodness you got stuck with those two.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Reader uses she/her pronouns and is described to have a vagina. Reader's appearance is not mentioned, HOWEVER, I wrote this with women of color in mind!! NO SPOILERS! Mentions of vaginal fingering, dirty talk, probably out of character because I haven't seen the movie yet, dirty talk, reader is referenced to be a childhood friend of the twins, THREESOME, no incest between twins just sharing.

Word Count: 914 words (only a blurb sorryyy)

A/N: Wrote this while waiting for my delayed ass bus 😭 anyways it's unedited so I hope it's not so bad ! ! ! Anyways I need to watch this movie BADLY but I'm swamped in work rn 🙃 need the lord to throw me a bone and let me watch this movie ASAP I need it ! Enjoy !

Being childhood best friends to twins had its advantages and disadvantages, as all things do. But lately it seems like it's advantages were outweighing it's disadvantages...

It's disadvantages included always having two people teasing you whenever you knocked something over or fumbled your words when ranting about your day. It included being scared not once but twice in a day, the same familiar face yelling out "BOO!" as you rounded the corner, making your heart fall down to your toes. It also included having not one but two people to constantly worry for, including both in your nightly prayers and under your breath curses.

It's advantages included having four hands, two mouths, two dicks, and two very beautiful sights.

You don't know who to thank or praise for sending you these two, for borderline attaching them to you since you were a child, making you the three musketeers in every situation. Their names were synonymous with your own, constantly being seen as Smoke and Stack and You.

You were never alone, no, not since those two came into your life. It was hard to ignore them, you definitely tried in your teen years after vicious hormone infused arguments. It only ended with brown eyed gazes, soft touches, and gentle cooes being uttered, buttering you up until you couldn't ignore them any longer.

It was unbearable.

It was like, at this point, they knew everything about you and exactly what buttons to press to get you to do what they wanted. Like how to sweet talk you into giving them another dessert after helping make dinner with their mama, how to get you to avoid lecturing them after they came clean about something stupid they did, and how to make you cum the hardest.

You made a mental note to come back to this thought, whether them knowing you so well was an advantage or disadvantage, you could care less right now. All you could think about was how good it felt to have a large hand gripping both your wrists behind your back, the other hooked under your right leg, holding you up with firm arms. Another pair of hands was on you too, one hook under your left leg, holding you firmly against his body, as his other hand worked your pussy just right.

"Ohhhh fuckkkk," you garbled, eyes screwed shut and skin shiny under the light of the candles in the room. The feel of his thumb pressing right up against your clit, rubbing messy circles as his middle and index fingers plunged into your drooling cunt made your mind start to go blank.

"There she goes," Smoke cooed, voice rough with need as his hand worked you.

Stack groaned from behind you, rutting his hips gently into you, "I want a turn..."

Smoke bit his bottom lip, eyes moving from watching the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head down to where his hand moved between your shaking thighs.

"Not yet, brother," he purred, "Gotta make her cum at least one more time, then you can play with her all that you want..."

Stack chuckled, lips pressed against your ear, his hot breath making you shiver.

"Shit..." you hissed when Smoke's fingers curled at just the right spot.

"Ohhh," They said in unison, eyes widening, sporting matching grins.

Your hips bucked, chest heaving as you let your head fall back against Stack's shoulder. He cooed, pressing his lips against your skin. He bit you gently, sucking before pulling back to kitten lick an apology onto the growing mark.

"Shit baby," Smoke murmured, admiring your cunt, "This pussy squeezes my fingers so well..."

Forget replying, the words couldn't even find your tongue with how foggy your head was. The only thing keeping you grounded was the slick, wet noises echoing the room as Smoke's fingers worked you closer and closer to coming.

"Oh babydoll, you close?" Stack whispered into your ear, eye gazing down to where your cunt drooled over his twin's fingers.

"Mmm look good enough to eat..."

You couldn't even tell who said that at this point, too lost in the feeling of the swelling in your belly, the pleasure climbing to its peak.

"Wanna cum," you managed to slur out between gasps, sweet sweet oxygen barely making it into your lungs with every quick breath.

"Oh she wants to cum...?" Stack chuckled, "You hear that? She wants it so bad..."

His teasing tone made you buck your hips, feeling his hand splayed against your thigh grip a little harder. Smoke was quiet, focused as his brother whispered teases into your ear, your head lolling to the side.

"Need it bad, baby? Can't handle a couple more minutes? Wanna cum all over my brother's fingers? Gonna let me lick that pussy up after?" you hated how smug he sounded.

Your bleary eyes managed to open to see Smoke in front of you, brows furrowed and lips parted as his hand moved. His gaze slowly swept up over you, locking with your own. It made you gasp the way you saw his pupils blown so large, eyes dark as his own chest rose and fell quickly.

"Let go for me baby," he muttered, "Need to feel you cum for me, need to see you..."

Stack continued his whispers between chuckles and bites of your neck, taking the sensitive skin between his teeth to mark his spot.

Okay so there definitely was more advantages than disadvantages to this "friendship".

#smoke and stack #sinners #sinners movie #sinners 2025 #michael b jordan #smoke x reader #stack x reader #michael b jordan x reader #smoke and stack x reader #smoke & stack x reader #smoke & stack #elijah moore #elias moore #stack sinners #smoke sinners

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mariasont · 5 months ago

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Older, Wiser, Off-Limits - A.H

summary: sweetheart!reader is the newest member of the team, bright eyed and full of question she doesnt realize she shouldnt be asking. hotch is twice her age, has known her father longer than she's been alive, and when a case discussion turns into a conversation about age gaps, hotch is the one to explain exactly why they're so dangerous

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader

warnings: dbf aaron hotchner (he never met the reader before she came to the BAU), reader has major daddy issues, age gap, suggestive discussion about the power imbalance of age gap relationships, pre-relationship pining but hotch has far too much restraint

wc: 1.2k

Hotch's sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and for the first time, the cabin lighting caught on a scar of his left hand, a thin, pale line etched across his knuckles. You hadn't noticed it before. Not in all the weeks since you joined the team — when he passed you case files, when he handed you a cup of coffee, somehow, the imperfection had eluded you. Some profiler you are. It wasn't fresh, not jagged or angry. How hadn't you noticed it before? You wondered how he got it. An old case? An accident in his childhood?

You blinked, ripping your gaze away and staring down at the case file as if sheer willpower could force the words to make sense. But they didn't. They blurred together, unreadable, because your thoughts had strayed elsewhere. Across from you, your boss sat reclined against the leather seat, one arm draped loosely on the armrest. His tie hung unevenly, just a little off-center, his shirt slightly untucked from a long day of work, the kind of disheveled that came only after a successful case. You should look away, really, but the longer your stared, the harder it became.

It wasn't like you hadn't noticed Hotch before, he was hard not to notice. But this pull, this godforsaken gravitational force that seized you every time he was near, that stole the air from your lungs and replaced it with static. It was all-consuming. Debilitating, one might say. You weren't like this, not with anyone. Not with either of the boyfriends you'd had, not even during those early, naive moments when you were first discovering what it meant to be in love.

Now you were thinking maybe you’d never actually been in love. Maybe every so-called relationship before this had been nothing more than placeholders, distractions. The idea gnawed at you, and you shoved it down, locked it away before it could fester.

Because this was absurd. Illogical. He was nearly twice your age. Your father's college roommate. A man who should be off-limits in every conceivable way and yet —

"Let's go over the case file again."

His voice startled you. You snapped your eyes back to him, pulse kicking up a notch when you realized he was watching you. How long had he been watching? How long had you been staring?

"Uh, right," you said, fumbling for the paper. "The case."

Your fingers brushed over the wrong paper first, and you muttered a half-formed apology as you shuffled through the file. When you finally found the right one, you risked a glance up to find him still looking at you. It wasn't the stern, I'm in charge look you recognized at briefings to your immediate relief, but it softer, a little more patient.

He did this after every case and at this point, you were starting to think he enjoyed this, making you go over every case in excruciating detail, combing through victim statements and behavioral patterns like it was a final exam. If it were anyone else, you might have teased him for it, might have joked about him being a tough grader or something equally harmless. But this was Hotch, and he wasn't exactly being critical, but he was definitely measuring you, gauging just how quickly you were learning.

You cleared your throat.

"Um, okay. The whole case kind of revolved around their relationship, right? The age difference?"

Hotch nodded, flipping to another page in his report. "It was a contributing factor, yes."

You hesitated, pressing your teeth into your lip before speaking again. "I guess I just don't really get it."

Hotch glanced up at you, brow raised. "What don't you get?"

"The way everyone kept saying it like it was inevitable, like, just because there was an age gap, the relationship had to be unhealthy." You frowned, tapping your pen against the margin of the paper. "I get that it's a pattern in a lot of cases, but that doesn't mean every older guy dating a younger woman is some kind of predator, right?"

Hotch didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he set his report aside, lacing his fingers together in front of him.

"It's not always malicious," he said slowly, like he was choosing each word with care. “But even when there’s no bad intent, those relationships can slip into something unbalanced, sometimes without either person realizing it’s happening.”

"Because one person has more experience?" You tilted your head to the side.

"That, and because experience changes what you want."

You hesitated, his certainty catching you off guard. He didn’t say it like an opinion, he said it like a fact. Like something he knew firsthand.

"What do you mean?"

Hotch leaned back, fingers drumming on the table as if he was turning the thought over in his mind before speaking it aloud.

“When you’re younger, your idea of love, of what a relationship should be, is still evolving. You’re figuring out who you are, what you need, what you’re willing to give.” His eyes flicked to yours. "Someone older already knows these things. Which means they know how to steer the relationship in a direction that benefits them.”

"So you think that people in relationships like that are...what? Being manipulated?"

"Not always." His tone was even. "But the dynamic can be hard to navigate. If one person holds more control, whether that's financial, emotional, or just in life experience, it's easy for the other to fall into place around them without realizing it."

That sat uncomfortably in your chest. You didn't think you disagreed with him. But something about it felt... personal.

You weren't naive, you knew how people saw these kinds of relationships. You'd seen it in cases before, in books, in the way people whispered about couples like that. And sure, you understood the bad versions of it. But Hotch was making it sound like an inherent flaw.

"I don't know," you admitted, shaking your head. "I just...I guess I don't see the problem if both people want to be there."

The words felt uncertain, even as you said them. You weren’t sure what you were defending anymore. You’d never been in a relationship with that kind of imbalance, both of your boyfriends had been your age, on equal footing. You’d never had to think about who held more control.

But then there was Hotch. And now, you were thinking about it all the time.

"That's the thing, they might think they do."

Your brows knit together. "And you don't think they actually do?"

He hesitated. Just for a second. But it was the first time in the entire conversation that he did.

"Sometimes," he said, “when you don’t have enough life behind you, it’s easy to mistake infatuation for certainty. To want something before you understand what wanting really means.”

Infatuation.

The word lodged itself in your mind, demanding to be examined. Was that what this was? A temporary fascination wrapped in the illusion of something deeper? Or maybe it was something darker, something tied to the way he made you feel untouchable, safe.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with him it all. Maybe it was about absence. About the gaps in your life, he seemed to fill. The things your father never gave you. And maybe that was the real problem.

"You talk about it like it's a foregone conclusion."

Hotch tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Wouldn't you say most patterns are?"

You didn’t know how to answer that. There was something too final in the way he said it, something that made your throat feel tight. You felt a little warm again.

"So, what do you think happens when the younger person does know what they want."

Hotch’s fingers flexed against the armrest, a barely-there movement, but you caught it. His jaw tightened. "Then it's up to the older one to know better."

You were overthinking this. Reading into nothing. He was just explaining the case, same as always. Same as he would with anyone. Just answering a question, one that you asked. There was no weight to his words beyond the conversation itself. This wasn’t something you needed to think about later. This wasn’t something that meant anything.

Still, you shifted in your seat, stretching your legs out, crossing them at the ankle, uncrossing them again, suddenly restless in a way you couldn’t quite name.

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moonsaver · 1 month ago

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tw; yandere Phainon, obsessive feelings/tendencies, arranged/forced marriage au. Phainon x reader (gender neutral). One sided yearning. Different setting from that of Amphoreus, kind of a royal au?

Also extremely ooc probably. Idk anything much about amphoreus <3

———

Phainon is perfect. Without flaws. A hero. A lover.

So why can't you love him?

Sure, he never expected an arranged union to go anywhere he wanted. It was an obvious rocky start. Stilted conversations, withheld words, occasional stiffness from your side. Of course he was patient. Titans above, how could he not be? It was unutterably obvious how in love he was growing with you – the perfect hero fumbling over his words and blushing like a swan over his supposed "lover".

But it was equally, and painfully obvious, you didn't return his feelings.

And he was fine with it. So frustratingly understandable. So kind. So patient. So soft. Just for you. Just because he loved you.

Until he wasn't.

Polishing his sword was a double edged knife – the clear Sunny sky a reflection of the peace under his rule, and the burgeoning of his own heart on the other edge when your mirage of a reflection appears, vanishing in an instant behind the cloth as he slides it over the sleek metal, stopping just once as his mind processes the glimpse.

It was like you haunted him. Made him obsessed.

Like seeing the past and the future reflected in countless mirrors; he saw you everywhere.

The echo of your shoes as he follows, just a corner behind, his own creaking silently, hurried steps as he grows closer, and as he rounds the corner, winded, you vanish. Signs you were in rooms – your hairbrush splayed on your mattress, adornments scattered over your dressing table, candles burnt and melted, the wax imprinting on your other furniture, the hint of your perfume snaking into his senses, penetrating his weak resistance.

You were everywhere but in his arms.

And he never dared to encapsulate you without your will.

He stares down at your golden-lit face, eyes half lidded and silently swirling with the haze of wine and exotics. His arm wraps around your propped up knees, his cheek resting on your kneecap, looking down at you. Your hair splays perfectly on the silk pillows, your slip twisted and folded around your figure makes it easier to see the rise and fall of your chest. Even, and deep. Your arm thrown over your stomach.

His eyes don't dare peer directly into the Sun, but he swears he can touch it.

So he allowed himself an exception. Once. Curiously entering your room when you weren't present, noting the way you liked to keep your curtains, the candles you burned often, whistling quietly to himself as he picked up your hairbrush, casually inspecting the insignia of your family on its broad back. The wedding gift you were so devastated to recieve.

Once turned to twice.

As the Sun sets, did he leave. And as the Moon rises, he returned.

Quietly, he sat, the mattress dipping under his weight as he watched your back. The pillows remained untouched on his side, the side he would traditionally occupy, and of course, under your displeasure, did he never breach the film of stillness over it. It was still the same as the night the servants fixed it for your arrival, for both of you to unite. And of course, that never happened.

His eyes follow the curve and the ridges of your back, down to your hips and your legs.

He had seen the Moon, and he swears he'll feel it. One day he will.

Twice turned to thrice.

But there was no excuse this time.

What does the Sun think, when it sets it's eyes upon the Moon twice a cycle? No more, no less.

Sunrise, he approaches you, insisting on helping you dress for the day. Despite the awkward resistance of the servants, an amicable smile and a reassurance is all they need to scurry away and leave him in your silent presence.

You want to speak, force the whistling pot to boil over and burst, bright hot and red. But all that's reminiscent of your anger now, are the flickering candles in your room. An unwanted union long done. Phainon is nothing like you. He watches the pot boil, the water sizzle from it's edges and evaporate into fumes. Tampering with the flame, increasing, decreasing, always stabilizing the simmering until it's impossible to go further. Right before it boils over, does he snuff out the fire.

It's always the small things. The purposeful grazing of his fingers over the skin of your back as he "helps" you. The slow movement as he covers your shoulders with fabric. The eye contact he tries to bridge through the mirror facing you. The barely restrained, quiet breathing of his hot breath on the curve of your neck, as he reaches over to your front from behind, fixing the folded fabrics around your waist. He swears he can admire every speck of you like stars blurring an ink stained night.

You don't say anything – what can you? a man reputed to be of his people, high standing, without flaws. A lover yearning endlessly for the scornful. It's not like you haven't heard what the others whisper and mutter about you. You bite your lip, and unfortunately attract the attention of your "lover's" peculiar blue eyes, an unreadable expression on his face.

He's done. But he doesn't move. You feel the faint heat buzzing from his front to your back.

Phainon ponders what the Moon dreams of.

——

Jealousy was a laughable thing.

Phainon's familiar voice echoes through the gathering, unfortunately for you. Learning to avoid someone is simply the other face of the coin, the same as learning to find someone. Perhaps Zagreus laughs at you.

You sigh, observing the golden coin in the palm of your hand. It's insignia is foreign to the land Phainon rules over.

Rather, it's more familiar to you than was Phainon's.

The insignia of Castrum Kremnos.

Jealousy, yearning, devastation. Laughable, silly feelings under the various Titans' watchful gazes. A minor inconvenience easy to dissolve under plethoras of problems. Except perhaps Mnestia.

But trivial feelings matter most to those who have nothing else filling their vessel.

Unfortunately, that was you.

For once, you may understand Phainon's yearning, your gaze sweeping hazily across the gathering and subtly landing on the Prince clad in red.

Fiery, restrained, straightforward. An equal standing to Phainon.

Your eyes, swirling more with the champagne and wines you've drank throughout the night, admire the man he could have been. Admire the man that could've belonged to you. The red markings over his body moving with his muscles as he raises his cup to the other man. You avert your eyes before someone catches on, but your imagination is more than enough to envision the intensity of his golden gaze.

You think you realise what it's like to stare at the Sun.

There's a reason people don't do it. There's a reason Phainon always jokes in silence about it. There's always a reason his eyes follow yours everywhere you look.

You place your empty glass on the table, and move to leave. Phainon decides to cut his meeting short.

He thinks the Sun burns the Moon.

——

He slumps down into your bed.

The soft sheets of the mattress, cool against his skin, sticky with sweat. The crumble of your soft quilts framing the edge of your bed. The lingering of your scent so unquestionably you.

He looks rabid – he's sure of it. You were his undoing the entire evening. His eyes are blown wide open, his breathing uneven, erratic, but restrained. He stares at your ceiling, countless obsessive thoughts warring so loudly in his head that it renders him motionless, stiff. His hands clench into fists at his sides, crumbling the soft silk, thrust into by his fingers and threads snapping in his palm.

He couldn't find you. Upon return to the gathering, Mydeimos had mentioned the agitated and restless demeanor of the Hero. It was as though watching the Sun swallow the Moon. But Phainon could barely pay attention, barely laugh.

The gathering ended early. He returned to your empty room. The moon poured in through your shifted curtains, wind knocking gently at your windows. No candles were lit. It was as though the room was holding it's breath in his presence.

He takes a deep breath, feeling the air cloggy and sodden in his chest. His fist relaxes, the distressed fabric released from his grip.

he wonders if you spoke to Mydei. If you smiled at him.

Something quiet rose in his chest. White hot. Trodden and ugly.

he wonders if your hand grazed against his. If you allowed him the luxury of feeling your gentle breath fan his shoulder.

A creak resounds in the silent room, stirring Phainon from his impossibly swirling thoughts.

You stand there, clad in thin nightwear, like the gentle film over a still pond. Phainon sits at the edge of your bed, observing you for a moment.

You stay silent, disturbed.

He doesn't break the silence – rather he immobilizes it.

He gets up, walking towards you. You take equal measures back, an unsure hand stretching behind as if to reach for the door. Phainon is faster. He corners you, right against the door.

The moon shadows his face.

You must be on the wrong side of an eclipse.

This time – it feels as though the Moon swallows the Sun.

——

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wendichester · 7 days ago

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hi i’ve never requested before so i hope this is okay?

I was wondering if you could please do something where the reader is bobbys daughter and basically she and dean had their first time together as teens but then he left and later on maybe season four they meet again and there’s angst because he left but fluff and romance and maybe smut ? like teen lovers who meet again as adults

i love your writing and i look forward to all of your future works!!

₊˚⊹⋆ crave,

summary. dean and you share a past. and it feels like no time has passed when you see each other again.

pairing. dean winchester x bobby's daughter!reader genre. angsty smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 1365

notes / warnings. nsfw, unprotected sex (emotional, impulsive, not recommended irl lol), dirty talk, angsty vibes (past abandonment, unresolved feelings), first love, first time mentions, rough-ish in some moments, extra soft in others. messy. reunion. cursing. drinking.

Bobby’s voice carries from the kitchen—gruff, irritated, familiar. Something about salvage yard keys and you always leaving ‘em in your damn coat pocket.

Dean's boots scuff across the threshold, the old wooden floor creaking like it’s groaning at the weight of unfinished business. He’s barely slept. He’s lost Sam twice this month. And he sure as hell didn’t come here for a warm welcome or a trip down memory lane.

But then?

You come into view.

And fuck.

You’re barefoot. Hair thrown up in one of those messy, unfairly sexy things. Tank top loose and soft from years of washing, jeans low on your hips. A little oil on your wrist, probably from the truck you’re working on.

You're not a girl anymore.

But you’re still his first time.

Dean’s whole body freezes. It's not dramatic—it’s just complete. Like something inside him pulls the emergency brake and says: That. That’s her.

Your eyes meet his. You stop mid-step. You were carrying a glass, but you put it down so carefully, like you need both hands free in case this becomes a fight.

“Dean.” Your voice is older now. Deeper. But it still slices clean through him.

He can’t find anything smart to say. Not a joke. Not a line. Just: “Hey.”

You cross your arms, and it’s not even defensive—it’s muscle memory. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Well. I didn’t think you’d be here either,” he mutters. Then realizes how stupid that sounds. “I mean—I figured you’d be off, I dunno, married. Job. Something.”

“I was sixteen,” you say dryly. “I didn’t pause my whole life because you ran off to be the Lone Ranger.”

Ouch. Fair.

He scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere but your face. “I didn’t run. I—”

You cock a brow.

“Okay. I did.” His jaw tenses. “I was scared, alright? It was one night and… a hundred feelings and—I didn’t know what the hell to do with any of it.”

“Yeah. That makes two of us.”

Bobby steps in, mid-awkward silence, tossing keys on the table. “You two already throwin’ knives or should I get the real ones?”

You both laugh. A little. You won’t look directly at Dean.

But later that night, when Bobby goes to bed and you’re still in the kitchen, elbows on the counter and eyes half-lidded from the whiskey he brought, the air changes.

“Why’d you come back?” you ask, voice soft. Vulnerable.

Dean sits across from you, arms crossed, stare unreadable. “I needed home.”

“And you thought Bobby’s house would still be that.”

He lifts his eyes. “No. I thought you might be.”

You blink.

He lets the silence hang. For once, doesn’t try to fill it with wisecracks or movie quotes. He just watches you. And you look back, like you're seeing him again—not the Dean you knew in flannel and fumbling hands, but the one who’s lived. Bled. Broken. Hardened. Still so heartbreakingly him underneath it all.

“I waited for you, you know,” you whisper.

“I know.”

You reach across the counter. Fingers brush his knuckles.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just—leans forward, slowly, like he's trying not to spook a memory. His forehead touches yours.

“I missed you like hell,” he breathes.

“Then prove it.”

And oh, baby. He does.

He kisses you like it’s ten years haven't passed and he’s still learning how. Like it hurts. Like he wants to crawl into your skin and stay there. And when he lifts you up onto the kitchen counter and you wrap your legs around his hips, every old ache turns into heat. Every unanswered question becomes something deeper—something raw and molten and full of teeth.

His mouth is hot and possessive on yours, hands everywhere all at once—palming your waist, tugging your shirt up, gripping the backs of your thighs like he doesn’t know what he wants first.

You’re still on the kitchen counter. The whiskey bottle sits forgotten a few inches away, the house quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the sharp sounds of breathing getting heavier.

“You still taste the same,” he mutters against your lips. “Goddamn.”

You huff a laugh, trying not to lose your mind as he presses his hips closer, grinding just enough to make your spine arch. “Still a sweet talker, huh?”

“I’m tryin’ not to be,” he growls. “You got any idea how hard it is—seeing you like this? Touching you again? Feels like I’m chasing after you again like a lost puppy, about to lose my mind in the back of the goddamn junkyard.”

You tug him closer by the belt loops, voice low and teasing. “Wasn’t the junkyard. It was the shed.”

“Right,” he says, lips curving. “The shed. That place smelled like motor oil and teenage regret.”

“And we did it three times in there,” you murmur, fingers slipping under his shirt, grazing warm skin.

He exhales sharply through his nose. “Yeah. Like I could ever forget.”

His hand snakes up your back and pulls you to him, mouth rough this time—teeth scraping, tongue deep, desperate. It’s not a first kiss. It’s a claim. Years of not touching you condensed into one searing press of mouths that makes your whole body tighten.

Your legs wrap tighter around his waist. You roll your hips against the hard length of him pressing through his jeans and it’s like flipping a switch—he grunts, deep and rough, and lifts you right off the counter like you weigh nothing.

“Dean—”

“Bedroom?” he pants.

You nod, breathless.

“Which one?”

“Mine’s still—”

He doesn’t wait. Just hauls you down the hallway like a man on a mission, kissing your throat, your cheek, the hinge of your jaw as you cling to him.

When he kicks the door open and sets you down, it’s with a kind of urgency that makes you feel dizzy. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again if he doesn’t get his hands on you now.

“I'm not leavin' this time,” he says, voice thick. “Not until I’ve made you come so many times you forget every year I wasn’t here.”

You moan—open, high-pitched, thighs squeezing. “You talk a big game for someone who used to come in two minutes.”

Dean laughs—actually laughs, full and wicked—and pins you to the bed.

“Oh sweetheart,” he breathes, dragging his mouth along your collarbone, “I’ve learned a few things since then.”

His hands are already working your jeans off, kissing down your stomach, biting lightly at your hip. And when he gets you naked under him, stretched out and flushed and glaring up with those god, where the hell have you been eyes?

He just stares.

Doesn’t move. Doesn’t kiss.

Just… looks.

And says, very softly:

“Fuck, I missed you.”

It guts you. The way he says it. Like it’s not just about the sex. Like he’s been carrying you inside him all these years, tucked away somewhere private. Untouched. Sacred.

You reach up, thread your fingers into his hair, and pull him down into a kiss that says me too. That says don’t stop. That says please, Dean, I want this—I want you.

And he gives. All of him.

When he fucks you, it’s with a slow, deliberate rhythm that drives you crazy. He wants you to feel every second. Every inch. His hands never stop moving—palming your breast, curling under your thigh, brushing your cheek like he’s memorizing you again.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, forehead to yours. “Still so tight. You feel like—like fuckin’ heaven.”

You gasp, nails digging into his back. “Dean—oh my god—don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growls. “Not again.”

You come first. Hard. Shaking, crying out his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever known. He comes second, with a groan so low and wrecked it sounds like it’s been clawing its way out of him for years.

And afterward, when you're curled up against his chest, sweaty and sore and so full of feeling you could burst—he presses a kiss to your hair and whispers: “I should’ve come back a long time ago.”

You kiss the hollow of his throat and whisper back: “You’re here now.”

And for the first time in a long damn while—that’s enough.

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