#Cat Peeing Counter

[l3irdl3rain]

Has Duncan ever been able to use the litterbox or has he always been a little floor peeing boy? I’m just curious

He used to use the litter box pretty reliably at first, but when his condition / mobility worsened he just kind of gave up on it.

The main problem is he lays totally on his side to pee and lifts his leg. That means it shoots like straight out and it’s hard to judge where it’s gonna go. So even tho he pees in the same area it can have a long range.

I really don’t think he’ll mind being expressed either so I figure I might as well try. He’s so tolerant of everything I do to him.

[highvern]

Between the Titles

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, smut (mature/18+)

warnings: egregious caffeine consumption, yoongi smokes cigarettes, reader is about the same height as yoongi (its me hello im almost the same height as him), gay taehyung, volunteer jungkook, silver fox yoongi (he just has some gray hair bc hot) smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering, oral (f. receiving), semi-public sexual acts, bathroom sex, protected sex, praise kink

Length: ~9.5k

Note: no thoughts, just big brain yoongi in a sweater smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. btw almost all the books in this are real but i haven't read them so if you have lmk if they're worth the read lmao. thank u to my dearest @gyuswhore and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing this

Summary: Five days a week in the library means you're very familiar with the senior research librarian. It also means he has no qualms about making his own book recommendations either.

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This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

The sweet aroma of old books and strong coffee infiltrates your nose as the heavy doors into the library swing open, offering reprieve from the storm raging on outside. It’s far too early for anyone to be here beyond staff and a few other morning birds. You glide right to the circulation desk as if fatigue doesn’t pulse through your veins, barely quelled by the second cup of coffee you sip from.

As always, the same familiar head of dark hair with sparse silver streaks waits at the circulation desk. He’s the only person working this early despite being the senior research librarian but you never hear any complaints louder than muttered annoyance under his breath when he thinks no one is around to hear. Bent over his laptop, Yoongi doesn’t even bother to look up as he slides a heavy stack of books to the edge of the counter. 

Eleven total, ten heavy volumes on ancient fertility cults across the globe, and one book you know he’s mixed in for his own amusement. 

It’s become something of a game between you two. At first you thought he was mixing your materials with someone else’s, but every time you brought the additional copy back to his desk, Yoongi insisted he had no idea what you were talking about and questioned your reading choices. Each time the titles got more ridiculous: Castration: The Advantages and the Disadvantages, How to Enjoy Your Weeds, Amish Vampires in Space, the list goes on and on. But after he slipped Why Fish Don’t Exist into your stack a few weeks ago, you decided to start responding. 

You left the stack at his desk like usual, ears perked for his reaction to Fishes I Have Known. An amused snort rang out just as you opened the doors to leave for the afternoon. The sound was so unlike the stoic man you’d become accustomed to over months working on your thesis; not that you heard him talk much to begin with.

Since then you’ve made a point to match every book he leaves for you. Yesterday, Yoongi chose I Could Pee on This: and Other Poems by Cats. At the end of the day, you spent thirty minutes searching shelf after shelf for an appropriate response, every book failing to meet your expectations. It wasn’t fair he knew the expansive collection like the back of his hand but nevertheless you found something up to par.

Yoongi rolled his eyes when you passed your books over the counter, a copy of Staying Dry: A Practical Guide to Bladder Control, like a shining star on top. A brief pink of his tongue flashed across his lips, a feeble attempt to muffle an amused smile. It was the most obvious reaction since the first time you responded.

Smiling like the cat who ate the canary, you left on clouds last night.

But this morning you have notes to write.

Snagging the collection, you make your way deeper into the building. Your unassigned-assigned desk tucked away on the fifth floor, far enough away from any noise so you can fully immerse in work without the threat of distraction. An uninterrupted view of the courtyard below is an added bonus.

The wooden table top is covered in a neat collection of pens and sticky notes in minutes; your laptop and the foot tall collection of references you devour over the next eight hours taking up the other half.

A few titles you request over and over sit on top, too valuable to be checked out for long term use so you settle for keeping them in constant rotation since no one else bothers to read the dusty yellowing tombs. For now, you focus on the new pieces you hope hold the information you need.

Earth rites: fertility practices in pre-industrial Britain, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in the Ancient Mediterranean, Metamorphosis of Baubo: myths of woman's sexual energy— 

I’m in Love with Mothman…

Well there it is.

You thumb across the glossy cartoon cover, failing to bite back a smile. Yoongi has a penchant for tossing in the most outlandish romance books he can find. Maybe because he knows you spend just as much if not more time than he does between the stacks. The suggestion box at the desk was full of cards stained with your penmanship asking for longer hours; several of which you’ve seen Yoongi rip in half as he pointedly met your gaze.

Tossing it aside, you pull forward one of the more musty books and start reading.

When you finally manage to resurface from laborious tales on several cults of Aphrodite, the rain is long gone. Even the darkest corners of the old building seem to glow gold in the evening sunset filtering through the glass doors. They're the only thing standing between you and freedom in the form curling up on your couch with a glass of wine and a new episode of your favorite reality dating show. But first, Yoongi needs his books back. 

His desk chair is abandoned and the return cart is gone as well which means he could be anywhere in the building. Disappointment leaches into your spine at the fact you won’t be able to witness his reaction to the twelfth book in your pile; the one you spent an extra fifteen minutes looking for in the corner of the third floor. 

A thick piece of library paper lists the materials you’ll need for the next day lays atop the neon green cover of Pest Management Solutions: How to Manage Your Moth Problem. They decorate the corner of the desk until Yoongi returns to find them. Hopefully he appreciates your humor.

Yoongi isn’t at his desk the next morning when you come in either. Instead, a doe eyed man with a lip piercing occupies the chair, clearly playing some game on his laptop. 

Approaching the counter, you begin to ask, “Where’s Yoon–”

“Staff meeting,” he interjects like he’s already answered the question a million times despite the library opening only five minutes ago. The white of his teeth threaten to blind you. “But I can help you!”

His name tag isn’t the same engraved golden metal Yoongi’s is, it’s a plastic sleeve with a paper insert with barely legible handwriting you decipher as  “Jungkook” and below “Volunteer.” You’ve seen him before from a distance. Usually trudging through the shelves with the book return cart in tow, occasionally taking a quick read inside before putting them in their rightful place. 

“I need to pick up some books. I gave Yoongi the list yesterday.”

“Sure.” Jungkook jumps up, approaching the shelf lined with piles for other patrons. “What’s your last name?”

He combs through the list after you answer, finding your stack easily enough. 

“Alright so Yoongi left a note that the encyclopedias you wanted are on the usual desk you have upstairs. But other than that I’ve got: Historical Studies of Changing Fertility, Sacred Mushroom and The Cross, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in The Ancient Mediterranean…” Jungkook lists off the titles, checking to make sure they're all in order. “And, um, this one isn’t on the list.”

It must be Yoongi’s choice for the day.

“What is it?”

Jungkook looks like he’s trying to hide his own amusement as he slides it over for you to read.

If I Were a Bird, You'd be The First Person I'd Shit On.

“Huh,” you blush. “Wonder how that got in there.”

“He must have left it by mistake. I can put it ba–”

“No, I’ll take it.” You toss it on top of the other, less embarrassing books in your stack and gather it into your arms before Jungkook can get in another word. “Thanks for your help!”

Scurrying towards the hallway housing the elevators, you attempt to juggle the pile of books, your stuffed bag, and coffee without taking a spill. It’s one thing to have your silent battle with Yoongi, but having someone else witness it makes you feel downright silly. And for the first one witnessed by others to be such an absurd and downright passive aggressive selection sends embarrassment through your veins.

As promised, three encyclopedias sit neatly on your desk; the volumes so thick they protrude from the table top like a small mountain. No wonder he left them there instead of making you carry them up in individual trips. But Yoongi’s goodwill clearly ended there. A sticky note on top of the stack pens his discontent at your selection.

I had to spend 3 hours in the basement to find these. If you need them again, don’t.

Even though he hadn’t signed it, you know it’s from him. The tight script fits his personality; thin lines of annoyance bleeding through the ink, not just his words. A waft of musty old paper and dust breezes through your nose as you open the first copy. They must have been housed in a forgotten storage area. At least his bird book makes more sense now. 

You don’t dig into the heap until after the sun is halfway through the sky but when you do it only proves to unravel your wits. Reading on, the wrinkle in your eyebrows deepens further. Page after page of conflicting knowledge passes by, each sentence more confusing than the last; minutes negating months of research. The thick pages hardly provide a soft landing for your head as you allow it to thump forward in exasperation.

The scrap of chair legs alerts to a new presence watching your meltdown in real time.

“Something wrong?” Yoongi asks.

With a heavy sigh, you respond.“I want to die.”

“Get in line.”

Shifting in your seat, you peer in his direction. A different day but the same wardrobe: dark button up, glasses, same unapproachable facade. But what Yoongi is doing sitting next to you is new.

Yoongi makes himself comfortable, picking at his nails as he waits patiently for an explanation. 

“Everything in my thesis is either wrong or the world authority on fertility in Europe is full of it.”

“Bummer.”

“Your sincerity is overwhelming.” You snap.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Boredom seeps across his face but he doesn’t move to leave, just sinks deeper into the chair. “You’ve read almost half the collection since you started coming here, why are some old dusty books such a big deal?”

“Because all of those books cite these books which means those books are wrong and all my work is in the toilet.”

“Those books are from the seventies, the information is probably out of date.”

Slamming the copy serving as a pillow shut, you take a second glance at the title: Encyclopedia of Women and World Religion, Volume 7.

“Yoongi,” you sing.

Yoongi’s gaze flashes to yours, a trickle of confusion flashing across his eyes.“What?”

You stack up the books and push them across the desk with some effort. Just to savor the satisfaction of besting Yoongi, you indulge a long sip of now cold coffee before speaking again. No one else is around to witness your victory but that won’t dampen the high.

“Looks like you’ll be back in the basement because you brought me the wrong editions.”

He opens his mouth to argue, snatching one of the books to investigate but you beat him to the punch.

“I asked for the twenty-fifth edition, not the seventh.” You smirk. “I think you're losing your touch.”

He watches you over the rim of the cover. A fleeting glance in your direction but it makes your heart squeeze with need.

“Well, I guess you’re right,” Yoongi sighs, standing. “Do you still need them for anything or can I go ahead and take them?”

With your approval, he heaves the heavy tombs on to his cart. The strain of his forearms, bare from rolled up sleeves, catches your attention. Veins raised under creamy skin, lean muscles leading down to hands you’ve noticed since the first day you started visiting the library.

If you keep staring, you’re likely to start drooling. So you dive back into one of the useful books littering your desk and pretend to read until he’s disappearing down the hall.

On your way out, leaving much earlier than a typical day due to Yoongi’s mistake, you drop the remaining books off at the circulation desk. Along with a copy of Avian Hunting Techniques. He’s absent again but it doesn't matter.

You continue out the doors and down the sidewalk only to spot him leaning against the brick exterior further down the street. Even from a distance you can make out the natural scowl he’s constantly sporting. Except this time his lips pout around a cigarette. 

Of course he smokes.

The quasi-mysterious librarian who flirts with you through book titles, smokes cigarettes and looks hot doing it. 

“You know those things will kill you, right?” 

“That’s what the box says but they aren’t holding up their end of the deal,” Yoongi responds, flicking the ash before looking at his watch. “Wow, out before six. I’ll alert the press.”

“Well, if someone gave me the right books then maybe I’d stay longer. But I’m not about to wait around while you get the ones I need.”

Yoongi takes another drag of his cigarette before responding, “Are you trying to say I forced you to take a break?”

The realization dawns on you. Yoongi is the senior research librarian. He’s never given you the wrong books, even when you request the rare copies needed to be loaned from a different part of the country. The few times you’ve offered understanding if he couldn’t get them were met with a challenge in his gaze and smug satisfaction when handing them over a week later.

“You brought me the wrong copies on purpose!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He’s lying. You know it. Yoongi definitely knows you know by the way he smirks. But he’s already crushing the filter under his shoe and moving back towards the library by the time your brain catches up to your mouth.  “Have a good night, Y/N.”

With a scoff of indignation, you stalk towards your car.

The next morning, you march straight through the class doors to where Yoongi sits, fueled by snowballed annoyance from the previous day. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is an understatement. If there are any gods, Yoongi should pick one and pray.

Your free afternoon of yesterday was spent dealing with the chaos your apartment has become over the past few weeks. Unfolded laundry, stacks of random papers, out of place books, and errant dust bunnies all became new victims to energy usually reserved for a full day of research. Taehyung practically shit himself when he woke up before dinner and found you scrubbing the bathroom sink.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, hand to his chest like a flustered old woman.

Bleach curled in your nostrils. “I live here.” 

“Not between the hours of eight and seven.”

But after the mess was dealt with, aggravation set in. How dare Yoongi purposefully meddle in your work. Well meaning or not you were an adult and could decide when enough was enough. The purposeful mishap hadn’t set you back far, one afternoon but a drop in the bucket in comparison to the months you’ve already spent chasing new leads. But the principle of the matter is that it’s none of his business what you do and when you do it.

Yoongi slides a slimmer stack over when you stop in front of him.

“Encyclopedias are on your desk,” he announces through a sip of coffee. He continues to type away, feigning disinterest as you sort through your stack with measured annoyance.

“Are they the right copies this time?”

“Double checked them myself.”

You open your mouth to verbalize your doubts but Yoongi’s pick of the day catches your eye.

Surviving Your Stupid Stupid Decision to Go to Grad School.

Scoffing, you flip the book around and shoot daggers into his face with your eyes. “Do you think you’re funny?”

The corner of his mouth twitches then becomes a full blown smile. Leaning over the desk, he drops his voice, “I think I’m hilarious.”

Remembering you are, in fact, in a library, you manage to muffle a frustrated groan. You dump the supplementary reading back on the counter for Yoongi to deal with and head upstairs. 

Unlike the usual days where you put off finding a response to Yoongi’s extra copy until the waning hours of the afternoon, you drop your bags and head straight for the shelves. The fifth floor houses a collection of textbooks and other reference material. It’s why it's always deserted unless some poor fool stumbles on it by accident; the perfect place to work uninterrupted for hours.

You head down stairs, circling the fourth and then third floor like a shark in a feeding frenzy. A few covers spark interest but nothing captures what bubbles in your veins: annoyance, anger, confusion. A brief flutter of interest as to why Yoongi decided to mess with you but those feelings are more dangerous than the acidic ones.

Row after proves unfruitful in your quest for passive aggressive revenge. None have the same bite as his book, or seem to curb the homicidal thoughts raging in your head.

Until a little white book peeps back at you from the end of the aisle.

Yoongi jumps when you slam Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass in front of him. A feat in and of itself to sneak up on him given the loan desk has a perfect view of the entire first floor but whatever he’d been clicking away at on the computer was distraction enough.

“What's this?”

“Thought you might like some new reading.” You flash your teeth.

His chin jerks towards the glossy cover. “I already gave this two stars on Goodreads.”

Of course he has.

Face prickling in embarrassment, you turn back the way you came without a word.

Hours later, when half the day has ticked by and the ache for more caffeine burns your eyes, Yoongi stops by your desk. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try and gain the attention you pointedly withhold. He sets a paper coffee cup on the corner of the tabletop and leaves.

You snatch up the cup after he rounds the corner out of sight. The lack of sugar leaves much to be desired but free coffee is free coffee, especially to a PhD student with limited means. 

It isn’t much of an apology but guilt blooms down your spine anyway. He meant well. You aren’t known for giving yourself breaks; unable to quit while you’re ahead. A voluntary day off is less likely than winning the lottery. You’re a busy body and the constant work keeps you from dissolving into chaos.

You don’t see Yoongi again until every book at your desk is exhausted, begging for a break from your manhandling. Double and triple checking notes and citations are the poor excuse you implement to delay the inevitable. At some point you’ll have to go downstairs to face the music. 

He’s waiting like always, scanning the mountain of returns littering the counter from a long day. Each step closer withers something in your stomach. 

The copies in your hand shift onto the wooden surface, joining the stack for him to work through. Yoongi flashes a polite grimace when you catch his eye before immediately diving back into his work. Hopefully he understands why you chose Thank You for Smoking. And why you covered the second half of the title with a sticky note.

Jungkook’s smiling face greets you bright and early. His name tag has been upgraded from flimsy paper to a plastic one and a printed label with his name. 

Handing over your library card, he quickly scans it and grabs the books meant for today’s dissection. 

“Yoongi wanted me to tell you that if you want more coffee while you’re working, you can go to the staff lounge on the second floor.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook continues sifting through your requests, making sure each is correct.  “Between you and me, the coffee down the street is better. But don’t tell him I said that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a coffee snob and thinks his shit—sorry—stuff is the best.”

“Okay,” you say, grabbing your pile. “Thanks.”

You set up your station like always, sorting through each book and devising a mental to do list. The desk resembles a feast but instead of food it’s encyclopedias, printed articles, and dusty manuscripts Yoongi wrangled from who knows where. On the outer board of your work station rests the feature of the day: How to Beg for Cigarettes.

A few hours pass between the pages. Your previous research is confirmed by the significantly less dusty encyclopedias this time, corroborating the basis of your thesis. A new work you haven’t seen is cited in the back, piquing your interest for more evidence. 

Instead of bothering one of the staff, you use the library website and find it in their catalog. It’s somewhere on the second floor where Yoongi offers free coffee. Two birds, one stone; a new book and a new cup of coffee.

The layout resembles all the other floors. A collection of study tables in the center crowded by bookshelves on all sides. One person, an undergrad by the look of pure dread on their features, occupies a table but that's it. Glancing at the note with the call number, you start towards the stacks on the left.

You find the correct area, eyes scanning up and down the different shelves to no avail. Hundreds of books, different sizes in an array of colors, flash by but none are the one you need. You’re about to call it quits when you spot it on the top shelf, just out of reach.

Call it a moment of stupidity, a brief blight of recklessness, but the book sits only a few inches beyond your fingers. You look around to make sure no one is around to witness the brilliantly flawed idea crest in your brain. With the coast clear, you hoist yourself up the shelf.

A deadpan voice nearly makes you fall.

“Looking for something?” 

Yoongi stands a few feet away, head cocked to the side. Of course he’d find you in such a ridiculous position. Even through the blur of your peripheral vision, the harsh lines of his usual uniform clashes against the back drop of books. Dark jeans fitted over his thighs, dark button down rolled up his arms, and a pair of glasses that make him look hot. But you’re in no position to dwell when the risk of falling on your ass is so high.

“Nope, just getting in some exercise” you grunt, moving your foot to the shallow hold of the next shelf.

Yoongi moseys up behind you before continuing. “And climbing a decades old bookshelf is how you stretch your legs?”

“You smoke cigarettes, I climb old furniture. We all have our vices.”

Your foot slips from its perch, making you squeak before catching your balance. 

“Alright spider-monkey, that's enough.” His hands slide across your hip, fingers curved around the softest part of your waist as he helps you down. 

Distracted by the weight of him still on your hip, the heat of his chest a scorching across your back, you don’t even think to disparage him for the cheap Twilight reference. The few inches Yoongi has on you allows him to reach overhead to snag the copy you need with ease. But as you watch his hands close around the spine everything beyond fades to black; like the universe pinholes where you two stand.

“This one?” You feel the vibration of his words up and down your spine, warm breath tracing across the shell of your ear.

Body on autopilot, you turn to face Yoongi. His mouth moves, eyes scanning the book cover but every word deafens in a muddy haze. He doesn’t seem to realize his hand is still on your waist, or how he crowds you into the shelves; chest to chest, stomachs barely an inch apart.

“Huh?” you ask, tearing your eyes away from his mouth.

“I said, if you asked for this book earlier I could have gotten it for you.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?” he asks, stepping further into you. “You look a little flushed.”

The bastard smiles. A God’s honest smile like his thigh isn’t between your own, or he isn’t waiting for a reply while his fingers dig in beneath your ribs.

Just when you open your mouth to say something, Yoongi silences you with a firm squeeze of his hand. His head lowers until his breath ghosts along your chin. 

Then you’re kissing; lips sliding together easily like he anticipated it. The world shatters all around from just a few passes of his mouth across your own, the weight of his body flattening you against the bookshelf. 

The first hint of his tongue against the seam of your lips makes you gasp and Yoongi takes the opportunity to taste you. You melt under his attention. Head tipping back, shoulders bowing to take more, your senses flood with the remnants of coffee and something else; something so quintessential Yoongi your head spins. It lights a new flame in your veins, one burning with pure want.

A handful of his shirt pulls him closer. Yoongi follows easily but gets more than asked for when one of your hands tangles in the back of his hair, tugging until he’s tilting his chin the way you want. It’s a bad habit other dates have subtly complained about but a noise bubbles in his throat at the dig of your nails; responding with his own palm squeezing roughly across your ass until your hips meet his. 

The crash of the book near your feet is like a bucket of ice water.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Jumping back proves futile as the shelf digs further into your spine. “I–”

Puffy lips and lowered eyes stare back at you, clear evidence that you haven’t hallucinated what just happened. Yoongi dips down to kiss you again but you slither out of his grip.

Forgetting the book on the tiled floor, you mumble an apology and flee back upstairs, beelining to the vacant restroom.

To your own mortification, your features mirror Yoongi’s; lips swollen, eyes glazed. Your sweater twisted around your torso clearly betraying your rendezvous in the stacks. Beads of sweat cling to your forehead and neck.

A few splashes of cold water help clear the fog in your brain but as it dissipates embarrassment sets in. Making out with a handsome man is one thing. Making out with the librarian assisting in the most important work of your life is an entirely different ordeal; one that can only spell trouble.

Pacing back and forth, the cool paper towel on the back of your neck helps calm your racing heart enough to leave the safety of the ladies room.

Try as you might to drown under piles of books, it’s useless. You pretend to read the same passages over and over but none of the words register. The kiss replays over and over and over again. You kissed Yoongi. Yoongi kissed you back. He tried to kiss you again when you pulled away.

The end of the day inevitably comes which means you have to face him whether you want to or not. But you won’t allow a single lapse of judgment to affect your work; a moment of weakness propelled by months of abstinence that just so happened to coincide with a surly librarian’s entrance into your life. You just needed to get it out of your system. If it hadn’t been Yoongi it would have been someone else. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

A glance at your watch informs you that today is the second day you’ll leave the library early. Rather than give into the stubborn instinct to stay, you decide putting as much distance between yourself and Yoongi is far better for your mental health. With squared shoulders and a raised chin, you head downstairs. 

Yoongi’s waiting behind the counter. He isn’t typing on his computer or scanning books. He watches every step you take, arms crossed in front as he leans forward like he’s eager for a confrontation. 

“Yoongi,” you say.

“Y/N.”

You use every fiber of will to maintain eye contact as you pass your stack over the counter. “I’ll need these same ones tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He nods. “And the kiss?”

“What kiss?” you croak.

Yoongi’s eyes blaze like you’re a new puzzle to be solved, like he wants to take you apart and find exactly what makes you tick. You feel naked. “The one where you—”

“Must have been someone else. Sorry. Have a good night!” You rush for the door before he can say another word.

Another morning is another day in the library, but this time your roommate begs to tag along. 

“Look, I’m not getting anything done on my thesis so maybe you’ll rub off on me,” Taehyung says.

Rolling your eyes, you step through the door he holds open. “I think you’ve had plenty of people rub off on you.”

Gasping with fake indignation, he catches up easily. “Are you calling me a slut?” 

“Yes.”

“Good, I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Is that him?”

Yoongi and Jungkook are talking behind the counter. Jungkook’s hands wave wildly as he recounts whatever information to his boss while Yoongi listens with fake interest. Or that's what someone else might think. The subtle signs he cares are hidden in the details; the miniscule lift of shoulders, a cock of his head, and when Jungkook pouts in a way too ridiculous for a man his size, Yoongi hides a smile in the shake of his head.

“Yes.”

“And I’m the slut?” Taehyung scowls as you pinch his shoulder. “What? He’s a nerd’s walking wet dream.” 

“And he can hear you, so shut up.”

“Morning!” Jungkook calls on his way past with a cart full of books. 

He grins like he knows exactly what happened on the second floor yesterday but that can’t be true. Yoongi doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell. Only the type to kiss and tease you relentlessly for it when no one else is around to hear.

Taehyung’s attention immediately locks on him. You love your roommate, always have and, unfortunately, always will; but he is a slut and Jungkook is definitely his type. However, he’s on your turf and knows better than to fuck where you have to eat for the next few months. 

“Y/N, Y/N’s friend,” Yoongi says when you approach his desk. 

“Taehyung.” 

“Right,” Yoongi drawls, blinking lazily before sliding your books over and turning around to sort something on the opposite counter.

Taehyung, ever the gentleman, grabs the pile for you and follows upstairs. 

“Well he seems like a cup of sunshine,” Taehyung whispers. 

“Just because he isn’t fawning over you doesn’t mean he’s an asshole.”

“I’m very fawn-able, ask anyone,” your roommate argues as you approach the fifth floor. “Wait, what's this… How to Defeat Your Own Clone and Other Tips for Surviving the Biotech Revolution. This is the type of shit he’s giving you? You’re easier than I am.”

“Give me that.” You snatch the paperback out of his grip. “Stop being nosy.”

Taehyung lets you work in peace after that, disappearing to gather more of his own materials. Even in undergrad he’d never been one to sit still for long. But he still managed to get a spot doing an engineering thesis despite the constant changes in his attention.

After several hours of mind numbing typing you need a break, and another cup of coffee on someone else’s dime sounds perfect.

“I’m getting coffee.”

“Bring me some,” Taehyung says without looking up from his screen.

The staff lounge is nothing fancy. A couple small tables with plastic chairs tucked around, a cork board covered with fliers, and a white board stuck to the fridge scrawled upon with black dry erase marker. The coffee pot sits full in the machine, still hot to the touch. 

You pour two cups. Taehyung’s gets loaded with creamer cups until it’s closer to white than black while yours is sweetened to sickening perfection. When you try to take a sip, the liquid immediately burns your tongue. Too hot coffee is better than cold coffee but an ice cube would help make it more palatable.

Moving back to the fridge, you go to open the freeze but stop when the white board catches your attention again.

Most notes are chores or friendly reminders about time cards but almost half the board is dedicated to a back and forth.

‘Unofficial Employee of the Month: Jungkook’ 

A note in Yoongi’s tight script: ‘You don’t work here.’

‘That’s why it's unofficial!’ in what must be Jungkook’s messy handwriting.

‘You’re my official employee of the month. - Namjoon’

At the bottom is a crude drawing of stick figures, two tall smiling ones holding hands under a rainbow labeled ‘JK’ and ‘Joon’ and a comically shorter one with evil eyebrows surrounded by storm clouds and ‘yoongi :(’ overhead.

“Snooping for secrets?”

“Jesus Christ,” you jump, turning to face Yoongi. “Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?”

“You’re in the staff lounge, there’s gonna be staff here.” Yoongi crosses to the coffee pot on the counter and pours himself a cup. He doesn’t add cream or sugar or anything else to lessen the bitterness. Cliche. “So, was bringing your boyfriend here your subtle way of letting me down?”

“You think Taehyung is my boyfriend?” You whirl around in shock. Yoongi raises a brow, prompting you to continue. “Jungkook is more his type than I am.”

Yoongi releases a pleased hum, eyes shining. “So no boyfriend then?”

“Nope.”

You’re shaking but don’t look away from his hungry gaze. Yoongi takes a step closer, and another and one more until you're pinned to the countertop and his mouth is on yours. 

This time, you're more aware of everything. The smell of his cologne, the tickle of his bangs along your forehead, all the tiny details that were muffled before. Yoongi’s lips are firm against your own, a little chapped but it only makes you hotter with each pass.

His mouth is everywhere; your chin, your jaw, peppering down your throat until he pushes aside the hem of your shirt and sets to work on the jut of your collarbone like he’ll never get a chance again. 

“Yoongi,” you hum on the first rake of teeth. 

He takes it as an invitation to dig in harder, sucking the skin until your spine threatens to break and you say his name again. Desperate for some kind of anchor, you knot your fingers back in his hair and pull. 

A throaty noise responds and the need to hear more rears its head. Yoongi who always watches with measured fascination undone by some light petting. The power is addictive. 

Legs spread, he presses in flat. The heat of his cock, rigid beneath the fabric of his jeans, teases across the seam of your own. You're technically still in public but the consequences concern you less than the knowledge that you’ll go mad if you don’t feel him. His arms circle your back, pulling you firmer against him, right to the edge of the linoleum counter.

Wedging a hand between your bodies, you manage to get his zipper undone while your tongue traces along his jaw. Yoongi angles his hips to help, curling into your palm when you cup him over the fabric of his boxers. Every press has him swelling harder. 

His hands reach under your shirt. Skin on skin, the rough calluses of his fingers trace your ribs, thumbs following the cup of your bra in a tease. It’s a simple touch but your own hands falter when he brushes a nipple. You melt into each other.

“Hey, Yoongi, do you know where—HOLY SHIT!”

Jungkook stops at the door, eyes wide, mouth wider. 

“Get out!” Yoongi barks. He’s trying his best to keep your body covered from the younger man’s view but even if Jungkook isn’t getting a full frontal he isn’t dumb enough not to realize what’s going on.

Yoongi shudders a few breaths. Head hung low, he tucks himself back into his pants without moving away. You’re already slipping down from your perch when he looks back up.

“I’m just gonna…go,” you mumble, scurrying out the door.

Jungkook waits outside, eyes still bugging out of his head but at least has the decency to pretend he didn’t catch you in the act.

Tugging your shirt down, you avoid his gaze. How far would you have let Yoongi go if Jungkook hadn’t interrupted? 

“Coffee?” Taehyung asks as you approach the table.

You know what you look like without a mirror. The same as yesterday with glassy eyes and bruised lips, clothes wrinkled. Thankfully, Taehyung is more interested in his modeling software than where you’ve been. 

“They were out.” 

With a sigh like he is personally victimized by the lack of caffeine, Taehyung collapses on the table and plays dead. But he perks up at the sound of footsteps approaching behind you.

“You left this in the break room,” Yoongi says, dropping a cup of coffee by your side before disappearing. 

You turn to follow his retreating for until he’s hidden back between the shelves. The back of his hair is still messy despite his attempt to fix it, same with the wrinkles in his shirt from your hands.

“I thought they were out?” Taehyung eyes you suspiciously when you look back at him.

Cradling the still hot cup in your hands, you avoid his gaze. “Shut up.”

“So you do have to sleep with someone to get a cup of coffee.” 

“I’m not sleeping with him,” you spit in a harsh whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because…”

Because what exactly? There isn’t a good reason other than the fact Jungkook was the king of cockblocks. You would have let Yoongi do just about anything he wanted and he seemed to be in agreement. But you’d rather die than admit that out loud.

“You are so smart and so incredibly stupid.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, rising to pack his things. “I need to pee.”

You point him in the direction of the bathrooms and get back to work.

When Taehyung returns minutes later he starts shoving his things in his bag. “I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“This is like the epicenter of hot smart men and I refuse to suffer any longer.”

“You got Jungkook’s number,” you deadpan.

Taehyung can’t hide his own shit eating grin. “Yoongi gave it to me.”

“If you’re leaving, so am I.”

“Why?” your roommate whines. 

“Because I got you a hot date and that means you owe me dinner.”

“Technically it was Yoongi but I’ll concede.” Taehyung heaves his bag up. “Come now my dearest, we can still get happy hour if we hurry.” 

You reach in your own bag and toss him your keys. “Go wait in the car. I’ve gotta go grab another book real quick.”

“Whatever,” Taehyung says, mumbling something like ‘nerds’ under his breath as he heads downstairs.

You find Yoongi while on your way to his desk, already toting around the cart piled high with returns from the day. Several of the covers are Taehyung’s picks and somehow the knowledge they’ve spoken almost knocks you off kilter. Taehyung is a good wingman and that’s what worries you most.

“Hi,” he says, kneeling to put a book on a low shelf.

It shouldn’t have the effect it does but something about the way Yoongi looks up at you, on his knees, head tipped back, has your mind running wild with the image of him in the same position with both of you wearing far less clothing. Maybe if you weren’t interrupted in the staff lounge you’d have seen it in real life.

“Hi. Mind if I add these to the pile?” 

“Go ahead.”

The Stocking was Hung sits on top. You don’t wait around to see his reaction.

The temperature had steadily been increasing over the past weeks but this morning is the worst of all. That inescapable warmth fully seeded overnight and promised the comforting days of sweaters and pants are long gone.

Heat makes you lazy and fitful. In the early hours, long before you actually need to be awake, you stare up at the ceiling of your room. Not even a frigid shower helped the stickiness of your skin or laying still in your bed in nothing but one of Taehyung’s shirts and ratty shorts. It followed you everywhere until you left for the same brick building you spend more time at than at home.

Without thought, you throw on the first seasonally appropriate outfit in your closet; a thin dress that covers enough for the public but promises to keep you cool.

Yoongi seems to be taking the change in weather as well as you are. His usual attire is absent, nothing but a white shirt clinging to his torso. The pale skin of his forearms briefly catches your attention but you focus anywhere else to stop from rounding the desk and finishing what started upstairs.

You steel yourself and approach the desk, determined to act normal.

Familiar dark eyes flash up to greet you but Yoongi’s mouth doesn’t form any words. He just stares at you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulders, your neck, and then he pointedly keeps them trained on your eyes. Like he's willing to pretend yesterday didn’t happen. 

He doesn’t speak when he passes over the same pile of books as yesterday but you can feel him burn a hole in your back. Even after you climb up the stairs and out of sight, the prickling sensation you’re being watched follows.

You don’t get anything done. The words on the page might as well be another language as your mind races.

Yoongi didn’t give you an extra book today.

An endless list of potential explanations race through your mind. Maybe you’d been too forward with your choice. Maybe he’s gotten it out of his system, a quick tryst in the employee lounge enough to satiate his curiosity. Maybe because it’s the second time you’ve brushed him off. Even if it wasn’t your fault Jungkook stumbled in before anything worthwhile could happen. 

But he isn’t speaking to you and he isn’t giving you the random book you’ve come to look forward to every morning. 

Channeling the restless energy of overthinking, you take a lap around the floor. You pause to flip through random books as you zigzag through the stacks. Anything to take your mind off the unshakable tension sticking in the air like syrup.

Your laptop is in sleep mode by the time you reluctantly come back. Everything is as you left except a book you’ve never seen before sits on top of the open one you’d been reading.

There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom. 

A sticky note sticks up from the inside of the cover. A bolt of excitement shoots down your spine. When you flip it open a familiar handwriting stares back: ‘on the seventh floor’.

You hadn’t been gone too long but the fear of making him wait has you rushing up the stairs. Each step brings you closer to where he waits until you’re opening the bathroom door.

“Yoongi?” 

A hand wraps around your upper arm, yanking you in. Another hand silences a surprised shout before you realize it’s Yoongi and not a murderer pinning you to the interior of the door you just came through.

“Jesus, you scared me.” 

“Sorry,” he breathes. “It’s just not a good look for me to be up here.”

“Oh, really?” You smile. “And why is that?”

“This is my job.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you before.”

“Who says it’s stopping me now?”

He thumbs the strap of your dress, hooking under the thin material and dragging it down your arm. The heat and weight of Yoongi against you, touching you so simply, makes you vibrate. Yoongi moves into your neck, panting with a grind against your thigh. “I swear I don’t usually do this.”

You want to argue that you have two accounts that he does do this often, at least with you. But for someone who says they don’t, Yoongi is surprisingly natural. The tease prickling the end of your tongue fizzles out under his teeth across the curve of your shoulder, goosebumps blossoming along your back. 

A whimper unbecoming of an adult woman breaks the lullaby of summer air conditioner singing through the vents. You’re sweating under the cling of your dress, skin hot to the touch thanks to Yoongi’s attention; long fingers curved around your waist, thumbs skimming just under your breast.

“Could have fooled me.”

“This is a very nice dress.” His mouth bites down your neck, taking advantage of the new strips of skin the neckline unveils.

“That’s all it takes?” you pant from the wet of his tongue. “A pretty dress?”

“If you think,” he whispers into your ear. “I’m doing this because of your dress then you really haven’t been paying attention.”

The dark locks of his hair are too alluring to resist, tempting one of your own hands to scratch against the tip of his spine when Yoongi rolls against you again. A firm tug brings him to your mouth, lips molding to one another in a searing kiss. You can taste the coffee from the lounge and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke, like he thought to hide it before asking you to follow him.

“How long? How long have you wanted this?”

Yoongi hooks one of your thighs higher, savoring the heat of your core against the crotch of his pants with a slow thrust. “Since you came in and busted my balls over not having that archived manuscript when the website said we did.”

You remember that day. Patience thin from Taehyung’s loud overnight guest, you stormed into the library looking to take it out on a photocopy of the manuscript only for the only copy to be AWOL. Yoongi became the surrogate for your rage, his eyes burning into your skull as questioned how he could let it happen.

The next day was when he started adding books to your stack.

“That was months ago.”

“I’m a patient guy.”

You want him naked; ache to catalog what he’s hidden underneath bulky sweaters and loose button ups over the past few months. But that idea has to wait for somewhere less risky. You settle for dipping your hand under his shirt, tracing your fingers over the elastic of his boxers peeking from the waistband of his pants.

Attempting to hide the effect he has, you loop your fingers in his belt loops and pull him even closer so your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. “There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom? A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Like The Stocking was Hung is any better?” Yoongi sighs as your mouth ghosts over the rising vein webbing the side of his throat.

“Hey!” you object, rising to face him. “I thought you’d appreciate it after that mothman book.”

“I appreciate you complimenting my dick plenty.”

Yoongi doesn’t let you go, hands palming at the swell of your ass the entire way from the door to the counter. He’s got one hand curved along your jaw, thumb hooked around your chin and his teeth bruising your lower lip. The edge of granite digs in your spine but not for long as he lifts you and settles on his knees to dive under your skirt. 

He kisses up your calf, tongue snaking across the knob of your knee then the plush of your thigh. Just when you feel a puff of breath against the damp crotch of your panties, Yoongi falls to repeat the same path against your other leg. 

You don’t suffer for long. Pooling the excess fabric around your waist, Yoongi blinks up from between your thighs. The pink of his tongue follows the edge of your panties, wetting the fabric more until it clings obscenely. 

He pushes his glasses up to rest on the top of his head, keeping the mess of gray and black hair out of his eyes before diving back down.

His tongue lathers over your covered slit with a groan. “Taste better than I imagined.”

“You thought about this?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it. On my desk, yours, against that fucking bookshelf.” Yoongi punctures each word with more wet kisses against your core. “In my car, my bed. Everywhere.”

A cool breath has your thighs squeezing around his head thanks to the erotic combination of his spit and your own fluids drenching your panties. “Is this all you think about?”

“I had to come up here and jerk off yesterday because I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands.”

Your panties are pulled to the side before you can indulge in the new visual blooming on the edge of consciousness. “Yoongi.”

Eyes closed, his mouth circles your clit, tongue gently stroking you to life. Every pass against the sensitive bundle of nerves has your thighs squeezing around his head. 

The first prod of fingers makes Yoongi’s hold on the crook of your knee tighten. He stretches you back open, eyes following the way you suck him inside; coating his spindly digits with more arousal each time.

“A-ah,” you shake. “Please.”

Yoongi chances a glance up at your face, the needy sheen in your eyes, the way your mouth gapes, and decides to take mercy. 

He latches back onto your clit. Yoongi groans as you tug his hair, knocking his glasses to the ground. The pace he works your remains lethargic, savoring the kick of your hips until you grind against his mouth. 

Throaty groans vibrate against your cunt, tightening the muscles along the inside of your thighs. Neither of you are doing a good job muffling yourselves but if it’s between getting caught and having him stop then you’ll deal with the consequences when they come.

“Oh, Yoongi.” Your chest pulls tight; spurred on by the sounds of Yoongi bullying your insides, his mouth smacking against your folds. “I’m— oh, oh, oh!”

The rough crook of his fingers sends you flying. Only the pressure of his shoulders keep you from slipping off the counter as you explode against his mouth. Euphoria rushes your veins, licks of pleasure overwhelming. Every muscle quivers as Yoongi works you through until you use his hair to pull him away.

He’s quick on his feet. You’re still recovering as Yoongi pushes your bra down and draws one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking until you pull his hair again. Eyes cinched tight, face wet, you force his pants open then his underwear until Yoongi is almost as exposed as you are; pretty in your palm, sticky and hot to the touch.

But it’s not enough to feel him in your hand, you need to feel him inside. To fill you up where you sit hollow and aching without his fingers to provide a sliver of relief. “Fuck me.”

Yoongi doesn’t tease, has no quip about how needy you are. He keeps his mouth on your chest and uses his hands to grab something out of his pocket. It happens so fast you don’t even realize the condom is on until he nudges between your legs.

Your nails dig into his back, breathing through the initial stretch is the only way you stay quiet. Yoongi hides himself back in your neck, strained noises clawing out of his throat.

Yoongi isn’t gentle. Not caution or waiting. Months of push and pull destroy any desire for him to treat you as something fragile. He rushes into desperately, forcing your palm flat against the mirror behind you for some semblance of stability.

“God,” he grunts. “You’re incredible.”

You whimper a quiet acknowledgement, too fucked out to blush under his praise; pulling Yoongi closer until he’s scooping his hands underneath your ass, thrusting into you over and over. His mouth finds yours. Greedy. Hungry. 

It’s Yoongi who struggles to stay quiet. Even through the kiss he moans loud enough you feel it in your throat. You listen to them all, twisting the hand knotted in his hair to hear the whine you’ve quickly become obsessed with.

“Should have done this sooner,” your back arches and Yoongi’s mouth slips back down. 

“I tried. But you kept ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t—fuck—ignoring you.” Yoongi is everywhere. His taste on your mouth, cologne burned in your nose. The feel of him all over your body. “Shit.”

He fucks you harder to prove a point, hand slipping down to rub your clit. Your second orgasm glows on the edges. If Yoongi keeps playing with you, stretching you in half on his cock and biting a mark into your breast, you know you’ll come.

You focus on breathing. Letting it come to you instead of chasing it, overthinking it to the point it evades you. It’s easier than usual. Yoongi doesn't leave room for anything else beyond feeling good. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper as the cord tightens. 

Everything turns white hot, pleasure tearing through your muscles and ripping them to shreds. You convulse in Yoongi’s hold, only pinned down by his hips fucking you brutally. Nerves shot, Yoongi babbles praise in your ear but it's indecipherable from the headrush.

Yoongi follows you over the edge a few strokes later, twitching inside you until he stills. His hips give a few arrhythmic bucks as he fills the condom with his load. 

There's something nastier about clothed sex. The way sweat makes your clothes cling tighter, the rush of needing each other so badly you can’t be bothered to do more than pull things to the side. 

You feel dirty but in a good way. Yoongi kisses across the apples of your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, even your brows, but never returns to your lips. Each leaves you more frustrated than the last, muscles twitching beneath and head turning at the last second to try and meet his mouth. 

Tricking you with a brief connection, he laughs when you chase his lips as he dodgers back. But a pout and whine bring him back into your orbit.

He cleans you up with paper towels, wiping away the mess between your thighs with something akin to disappointment. But he doesn’t complain as he fixes your clothes and then his own. Muscles like jelly, you fall into his side when he helps you down from the counter. 

With a kiss to your temple, “Let's get out of here.”

“Morning, Yoongi.” You smile as you walk up to his desk.

A set of dark eyes rise to greet you, taking the cup of coffee you so graciously offer before smiling as well. “Good morning.”

Jungkook gawks like he’s never seen you two speak before. Round eyes bounce between you and Yoongi as if it’s a tennis match instead of a normal conversation. Probably because Yoongi was less than subtle when he pulled you out of the building yesterday, telling him to call Namjoon if anything came up.

Or maybe because you’re wearing one of Yoongi’s shirts.

You discovered much about the mysterious librarian overnight. He’d taken you back to his apartment; a perfect extension of himself decorated with dark furniture and more books than anyone could possibly read. Yoongi owned a collection of vinyl records that rivaled his book collection, he was a great cook, and he was studying to take the entrance exam for law school. 

After you were wined and dined, Yoongi dedicated hours between your legs. On his couch, against the massive bookcase in his living room, between the sheets of his bed. 

He also had a kink for eating you out while you explained your thesis in precise detail.

You’d only been allowed to leave when Yoongi was getting ready for work, not that you'd put up much argument. 

You make a scene of sorting through the stack he slides over. It’s not that you don’t trust Yoongi. But now that you’ve had a taste, you’re addicted to his presence. But he unfortunately can’t follow you upstairs so you savor the time now. 

“One of my books is missing,” you say.

“Oh, right.”

Yoongi passes over an unfamiliar copy.

Maybe He Just Likes You

And the blue sticky note attached, with his handwriting. ‘Dinner when you're done?’

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @dokyeomkyeom @yoonguurt

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[sadhours]

READING FOR PLEASURE

billy hargrove x f!reader

a/n: this was inspired by @billyhargrovetitties story Cruel Summer, if you haven’t read it… you must. I am obsessed with it.

summary: billy finds your romance novel and teases you about it

warnings; 18+ minors dni, pure smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, billy doesn’t pull out and he panics, oops 🙊

When you return to your bedroom, Billy’s laid out on the bed, on his stomach and propping his head up with his elbow. It’s a cute sight, makes your stomach flip and fill with butterflies as a dirty blonde curl falls in the center of his forehead. You smile warmly and then glance down to see he’s got the romance novel you’d hidden in your bedside table spread out before him and he’s reading it with this all too satisfied grin on his face. When he gazes towards you, the grin meets his eyes, crinkling them up.

“Found your porn stash,” he teases, closing the cover but keeping his fingers tucked into the page he was on. “A Gentle Feuding,” he reads the title out loud with this exaggerated wistfulness to his voice and you know your face is all kinds of shades of crimson. You hope Billy hadn’t noticed the man portrayed on the cover somewhat resembles him, blonde and tan, and that’s why you’d picked the novel in the first place.

“It’s historical,” you lamely reason, lunging forward to grab the book from him but Billy’s reflexes are as quick as a cats. He pulls it out of your fingertips and you attempt to snatch it again, but he pulls it back and you go toppling over him. Billy uses the leverage to flip the both of you over and he’s straddling your waist, holding the book over his head when you reach towards it.

“Historical filth,” he counters, cheeks a little flush from the shuffle of your bodies but that grin permanently smeared on his face.

“Billy,” you whine, “Give it here. It’s embarrassing…”

As you raise your hands to grab it again, Billy grabs your wrists with his right hand and holds them down against your chest. Your whole body feels tight with humiliation and you choke back the tears forming in your eyes. God, you could be such a baby sometimes.

That’s why Billy liked you, though. You acted like such a good girl all the time, he was relieved to find the raunchy book because it let him know that deep down, you were a little vixen and his attempts to draw it out of you had been mostly failures. You two had already slept together, just one time and whenever it came to fooling around, you were so shy.

“This thing is worn,” he comments, looking over the novel in his hand, “How many times have you read it?”

“None of your beeswax,” you huff, “Give it here, Billy. Seriously!”

As you plead, you squirm under his grip, trying to get your arms free so you can rip the book from his hand and maybe destroy it. You haven’t decided, you’re so incredibly embarrassed but it is one of your favorites.

Billy tilts his head ever so slightly, “Should I read some of it to you?”

“No!” you shriek, eyes widening up at him but a part of you is very intrigued. Billy’s voice is like honey, the timbre of it is deliciously low like it comes deep from his throat. You’re suddenly very interested in hearing him read it out loud but you’re still full of shame that he’s found the book. Your hiding place wasn’t very good but enough that your parents or siblings hadn’t found it. Of course, Billy is far snoopier than they are and you should’ve anticipated that when you went to pee, he would be going through your things.

Billy places the book down and moves your wrists to your sides, adjusting his legs so he can pin your arms underneath them. He smiles at you, retrieving the book again and flipping to the first page he’s dog-eared.

“Ya know, there’s a lot of like, bullshit in this book,” he muses, “They don’t even fuck until like almost the end of the book. And then after that it’s like more blah blah blah—“

“It’s called plot,” you argue, voice shakier than you meant for.

The blonde snorts, peering down at you, “I can get you some magazines, ya know? You don’t have to do any reading to get to the good part.”

“I don’t read it for the…” you can’t bring yourself to say the word.

“The filth? Really?” he hums, “I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s true,” you lie, wriggling beneath him.

Billy licks his lips, “Let’s see… oh, here’s where it starts getting good; ‘His hand goes somewhere unexpected. Lydia’s eyes widen as the duke’s warm, strong hand smoothes up her milky, white thighs.’.”

“Billy,” you warn, eyebrows knitting closer. It’s as sexy as you imagined but you didn’t entirely anticipate Billy would be so good at reading aloud, it’s almost like he’s practiced with it. He doesn’t stumble over any of the words like you do when you have to read aloud in class.

“Shh,” he shushes you around a smug smirk, “‘Her liquid desire seeps out as he ruffles her petticoat up to her waistline,’ Liquid desire. I like that. Clever way to say she’s wet.”

“Stop!” you protest but the words are purging your own ‘liquid desire’ and you’d rather Billy not have the satisfaction.

“Spicy stuff here. But then the dude only fingers her,” Billy complains with a disappointed frown and flips to the second page he’s dog-eared. “Ah, here we go, I really love this line: ‘Lydia writhes against Arthur but her body freezes as she feels his hardened cock pressed against her stomach.’” He lets out a short laugh, “They actually wrote cock. That’s hilarious.”

You raise an eyebrow, “What word would you use?”

“Cock, definitely, but it’s not a classy word. I thought they’d say like penis or something,” he retorts, biting his lip as he looks to your flushed face.

“Penis isn’t a sexy word,” you argue and feel yourself squirm against him, not because you want him to stop but you want to keep him under the impression you do.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Billy agrees and then asks, “Cock turns you on, though?”

Billy’s sorely mistaken if he thinks you’ll admit to that, no matter how true it is. You shoot him an annoyed look and he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He always does that so loud, you’re left impressed each time. You’d tried to do it as loud as he does on nights when you’re bored and alone but it’s never quite as good.

“Lemme see…” his eyes scan the worn pages, “Ooh, this I like: ‘She gyrated the softest part of her against the hardest of him.’”

You also liked that line, it made you think of Billy every time you read it.

“Also, do these chicks ever write about small dicks? They’ve mentioned how huge this duke is like twelve times,” he wonders aloud, lifting the book so he can look down at you.

“Sympathetic?” you bite back, wanting to tease Billy for how he’s teasing you.

“Oh, honey,” he chuckles, “you and I both know damn well I ain’t small.”

“Then they’re representing you,” you point out with a wavering smile.

Billy tsks, and then lets out a giggle, thumbing through the pages again. As he finds a particularly dirty passage and begins reading it, you can see his pants tightening over his crotch. You raise an eyebrow, flicking your eyes back up to his face but Billy is too distracted by the words he’s reading to notice.

“Well, well, well,” you say in a teasing tone.

He averts his eyes, seeing that his hard-on is pretty damn obvious in his jeans and you’ve got the perfect view of it. He actually blushes, the reddening hiding his freckles and he closes the book, tossing it behind him as he gazes down at you with his nose scrunched up.

“What?”

“You seem to like it, Billy,” you purr, not trying to suppress the giggle rising from your throat.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, scooting back and releasing your arms. They’ve kind of gone numb from the position under his legs but you don’t mind, you enjoyed every second of it. “If I reach in your pants, you’re gonna be just as obnoxiously turned on.”

“I’m the one who owns the book, Billy,” you challenge with a pleased smirk.

“So you admit it then, you read it for the filth,” he quips.

“I’ll admit that if you admit it gave you a boner.”

“I think that’s pretty obvious,” he mumbles, positioning himself between your legs and hooking his fingers into the elastic band of your sweats. He pulls them down and you lift your legs to help expel them. Billy tosses them to the floor and spreads your thighs, biting his lip as he brushes his knuckles against your clothed heat. A raspy moan is ripped from you, back arching as his knuckle brushes against your aching clit.

“Oh, Billy…”

“I can just see that ‘liquid desire’ soaking through your panties,” he muses, voice rough but the term brings a laugh from the both of you. It also makes you that much wetter.

“Oh my god,” you mutter through the laugh, “You’re never gonna let that go.”

Billy hums, pushing his nose against where his knuckles just were, “Don’t think you really want me to.” His breath tickles the skin where your thigh meets your pelvis and you inhale sharply. Your thighs tingle, heat rising up them and it’s almost overwhelming. Then you feel Billy’s stubble against the flesh of your thigh and his teeth follow, biting at your skin lightly. Your body jolts at the touch and your thighs open even wider, urging Billy to return his movements to where you want him most. His lips curl up as he rests his cheek against your inner thigh, eyes peering up at you. His pupils are so dilated, you can barely see the ocean blue around them.

“I want you,” he admits, smoothing his palm over your core and resting his fingertips against your pubic bone.

The admission draws a deep moan from you because he looks so adorable between your legs but the palm on you and the words make you desire him so deeply it almost hurts. Billy wants you. The idea itself makes your thighs tremble and your hands shoot down to rake your fingers through his dirty blonde curls.

“You have me,” you breathe but wonder how you look at his perspective and it forces you to prop yourself up on your elbows, wanting to look as pretty for him as possible.

“Can I have you?” he asks, pushing his palm harder against your center.

“Yes, Billy,” you pant out.

He sits back up, peeling your underwear off of you and then settling back down between your legs. He kisses tenderly at your thighs, brushing the tip of his finger against your dripping hole. The noise that pushes from your lips is desperate yet a thankful noise, you’ve been wanting Billy to touch you like this since he straddled you earlier. He makes a surprised but happy sound in return, swiping his tongue against your labia experimentally. The warm, wetness of it is welcomed while it’s not distinctly pleasurable, it feels really nice. His single digit penetrates you slowly while he continues to lick your pussy lips. It’s excruciating, but you know he’s doing it with purpose. The first time Billy had touched you intimately, he done the same. Teasing you with touches that were close to where you wanted but not quite there. You’d come to learn that Billy wanted you to plead and beg for him. Which you weren’t exactly confident doing yet. You still felt reserved and a little shame in asking for what you wanted. That’s presumably what got your boyfriend off: pushing you out of your comfort zone and breaking down those societal expectations.

“Billy,” you whine out, tugging at his curls.

“What?” he asks like he knows exactly what you want, a smile present in his voice.

You flush, you weren’t going to get the relief unless you explicitly requested it. You knew this and it makes your throat tighten and your mouth feel dry, tongue heavy in your mouth. You chew on your lower lip as you muster up the courage to put your desire into words.

“Not enough,” you whisper, timidly, “I want more.”

“More?” he pouts up at you, “Tell me what more means.”

“Lick…” you flush, closing your eyes as you try to gain the confidence.

“Lick what?”

“My pussy,” you breathe out, pulling his hair gently.

“I am,” he smirks, “You want me to lick here?” He presses the tip of his tongue to your clit and your head falls back against the mattress,

“Yes!”

He hums and then flicks his tongue against the sensitive bud, the fingers of his left hand digging into your thigh. It’s warm and oh so wonderful as he puts his mouth entirely on you, licking through your folds before focusing on your clit and lapping against it, nose brushing against the curls above your center. You bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. The two of you are completely alone for at least another few hours but you’re accustomed to keeping quiet, trying to keep your pants and moans of pleasure at a reasonable volume. Billy’s tongue proves to make it difficult. It’s just as fit as the rest of his body.

“Lemme,” he grunts as he pulls away, pushing your top up your chest and he exhales when your chest is exposed. You’d intentionally skipped putting your bra on today, knowing Billy was coming over. He palms at your breasts, squeezing gently as he moves up to suck hour nipple into his mouth. It feels amazing, not nearly as great as his mouth on your pussy but this is a little more intimate. You can see him better up here, how pink and plump his lips are and the way his eyelashes curl. Billy is single handedly the most attractive person you’ve laid eyes on and here he is, mouthing at your chest.

“Baby…” you whimper as he adds a second finger inside of you.

It’s all a little overwhelming but feels too damn good to stop. You’re in too deep, you’d follow Billy like a lamb to slaughter. As his fingers curl up and drag against your spongy spot, you cry out. You don’t know how much more you can take, suddenly desperate to feel his cock filling you up and stretching you out in the most beautiful way. It’ll be your second time of what you hope to be a life full of.

“Want—“ you gasp, grabbing onto his sleeve. “Want you so bad, Billy.”

He smirks up at you before sitting back on his heels. He pulls his Henley over his head and placing it next to your body. You reach out and feel the contours of his muscular pecs, brushing the pads of your fingertips against his stiff nipple. He’s like one of those Greek statues, sculpted beautifully but unlike the marble, his skin is so soft. He bites the side of his lower lip as he smiles, his eyes squinting with the expression. He’s so damn beautiful, your heart swells.

“You’re…” the compliment dies on your tongue as you suddenly feel demure.

“I’m what?” he breathes, anticipation present in his drawl.

“Everything,” you admit, bashfully.

You think you see him blush, you can’t be sure because Billy’s leaning down to kiss you. It’s a dizzying kiss, you rock your hips up with it as he pulls desire out of you. You meant it, he’s everything to you, everything for you. He’s it for you and if he’s not, there’s gonna be a helluva heartbreak. No one has been so easy to be around. Billy’s like your best friend, he makes you laugh and cry and cum. What the hell else do you ever need besides this man above you?

“Fuck,” he curses, hand on your shoulder as he pulls away, “My dicks so fucking hard it hurts.”

The complaint is nothing but a masked compliment. You widen your legs, moving your hands down to his hips so you can grind up against his clothed erection. “Need you,” you inform him breathlessly.

“You have me,” he smirks, smoothing his thumb against your cheekbone. “Can I fuck you?”

You know he asks because it’s only the second time it’s happening, or could be. You decided long ago that you wanted it, but he doesn’t know that.

“Need you to,” you counter, the walls breaking down slowly. Billy is good at urging the desperation out of you. You're sure he could persuade you into murder, or something nearly as awful.

Billy grunts, pulling away long enough to rid himself of his jeans and boxers. His cock sprouts up and slaps against his abs, angrily hard and you notice his tip is leaking more than you’ve seen before. Your mouth waters at the sight but you’re too eager to blow him. You’re clenching simply at the sight and promise of him burying his cock inside your fluttering cunt. Billy crashes his lips against yours, the shaft of his cock rubs against your soaking pussy and it draws a mutual groan from the two of you. Perhaps you can write a letter to the author of the novel, express your gratitude for it being the source of this very charged moment between you and your stunning boyfriend. You even consider writing your own spicy story about him, he’s damn good inspiration. If you ever write a memoir, you hope and pray that Billy is a lasting role in it.

“Billy,” you plead against his bruising lips.

He grabs your jaw with his left hand while he grabs a hold of his cock with his right, hissing as he runs his tip through your folds. Your body shakes under his touch, hips rocking up ruthlessly from the electricity his movements bring. The romance you read is exciting but can’t compare to his in any way. You’d much rather have him in your bed every night instead of reading until you can’t handle it and hump against your pillow in search of relief. This is tenfold better.

“That feel good?” he inquires, voice hoarse. “You’re so fucking wet.”

He says the last bit like he can’t believe it and you reel from it, reveling in the fact that you can turn Billy on just by reacting to him naturally. The carnal desire in you evaporates every wall you’ve ever built up. There’s no shame left in you as you tell him, “S’all cause of you…”

“Yeah? Am I better than the book?” he asks, circling his tip against the rim of your aching entrance.

“Picture you when I’m reading it,” you pant out the confession, eyes falling shut as his hips jerk forward from your words, his tip penetrating you in an easy, fluid motion.

“Touch yourself at the thought of me?” his voice is so hoarse and the sound of it has you clenching around him. He obviously notices it but the whine that pushes passed his lips.

“Always…”

“Fuck,” he exhales, slipping deeper inside your tight cunt. His girth is a shock, but a good one. It’s only the second time. Your fingers and also his, don’t compare. But you’re thoroughly aroused and you swallow his length easily. The burn is dull and adds to the pleasure. He continues, “That’s so fucking hot.”

His face in contorted in concentration and arousal, “The thought of you fingering this tight pussy—“ he grunts, “Thinking about me fucking you.”

“This is better,” you moan, grabbing onto his bicep as he bottoms out, balls warm against your skin.

“I think about you too,” he says between clenched teeth, “When I jerk off…”

It makes your head feel heavy, you’re totally honored. The image of Billy in his bed, pulling at his cock while your name tumbles from his lips makes your hips rock forward repeatedly. He makes a whiny noise and your eyes open, wanting to see it happen again. He’s a goddamn vision, sweating above you with curls sticking to his forehead. Goddamn, he’s so intoxicatingly sexy. Sometimes you get this overwhelming urge to grab onto his face and you indulge in it now, hands pressed against his each side of his head while he pounds into you. His eyes are intense as he stares back at you, these delicious little grunts and moans leaving his lips. The room is spinning, Billy’s eyes are so consuming it feels like he’s devouring you. You’re entranced, bodies writhing against each other while you both chase a high only the other can guarantee.

“Billy—“ you choke out, “I’m.. I’m gonna…”

You can’t finish the thought as he drills into you, his hands grabbing your hips and angling them up so he drives against your g-spot with every thrust.

“Cum?” he offers, voice throaty and hoarse. “You gonna cum for me, babygirl?”

“Ahh…” you try to tell him yes but the waves of the orgasm make it impossible as it thrashes through you, your ankles crossing behind his back as he pounds into you.

The pistons of his hips are unrelenting, you’d be impressed with his stamina if you weren’t being dragged through the most demanding orgasm you’ve ever had. You’re loud, the sound of your voice is foreign, rough and guttural. Billy seems to like it, his eyebrows rising before furrowing as he pins your hips against the mattress and bucks into you brutally. His face is scrunched up and these high pitched, pretty and desperate noises he makes are so wonderfully delicious. His movements freeze and you feel his warm completion fill you up.

“Billy…” you moan at the sensation, it’s unlike anything you’ve felt and he collapses on top of you, a panting mess as his lips find yours. The kisses are frantic and sloppy. You’re not even certain they could classify as kisses. Then his eyes are wide and he’s lifting himself up.

“Fuck, oh shit,” his voice is full of panic, “Oh, god, I’m sorry.”

You’re close to passing out, but you manage to ask, “For what?”

“I came inside you,” he explains, eyes wide.

“Mhm… felt so good,” you mumble, not able to care about his terror in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“I didn’t mean to… fuck,” he breathes against your cheek, “Gonna have to.. get a plan B.”

“Billy,” you sigh happily as you wrap your arms around him, “Mmm… feels so good.”

He relaxes at the realization that you’re not pissed at him and for a second, he lets himself revels in the fact that he’s just cum inside you and how amazing it felt. He gasps softly, “So good…”

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

I WAS GONE FOR FIVE FUCKIN' MINUTES. ( HOTD x READER )

AUTHOR NOTE! This is short little drabble / thing cause I have the time during my finals. Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: Aemond Targaryen x GF! Reader prompt : A couple bonding moment ends with burnt cookies. word count: 500+ words

It was Helaena who had suggested bonding time. You and Aemond were a little distant. Not that it was a bad thing. You had your college classes and he was attempting to break into his family's company, attempting to make a name for himself. It was natural and to be expected. You would still see each other and interact, just not have too much 'couple time'.

So, with both of your weekend's cleared. Baking was going to be the way to 'bond'. It would be like the cute little scene from those romance movies. You'd smear frosting onto each other and kiss. It would cute, in theory. Of course, it was never going to be like that. He was a Targaryen. They did not do 'easy' or 'drama free'.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. You left him unattended for five minutes. You left him unattended for five fucking minutes. Five minutes. In the course of five minutes Aemond had managed to ruin the cookies you were baking. You did not know what he did or touched, but they were now as black as coal and on fire. Pressing down on the handle of the fire extinguisher, you narrow your eyes hard, the kitchen filling with smoke as the fire gets put out. 

Coughing softly at the stench of smoke in the air, you put the empty fire extinguisher onto the countertop, opening the window up for fresh air. Placing your hands on your hips, you slowly turn around to look at him, lips curled into a displeased line. There was an obvious guilty expression on his face, looking like a puppy who had just been caught chewing on a piece of furniture. A part of you wanted to scold him. Yet another part of you was worried about how damaged the oven was from whatever he had done.

“I go pee for five minutes.” You start, tapping your foot on the floor. 

“To be fair, I didn’t technically touch the oven⎯”

“No, no, no, nope,” You shake your head, “Nope, we are not doing that. No excuses.” 

“I love you.” He weakly smiles, attempting to smooth things over. 

Running your fingers through your messy hair, you shake your head in disapproval, the charred remains of the cookies sputtering out in its last attempt of life. Snatching the fire extinguisher off the counter in the blink of an eye, you press the fire extinguisher handle one last time, the burnt cookies sizzling out. A soft scowl tugging at your lips. This was not the ‘cute couple bonding’ moment you had envisioned. You were supposed to smear frosting on each other’s cheeks and laugh, not murder the remains of cookies with a fire extinguisher. 

“You messed with the oven.” You mutter, it comes out more as a statement than a question. 

“I thought I pressed the little light button, I didn’t know that it would turn up the heat.” He weakly rubs the back of his neck, “The little symbols are hard to see from a distance.” 

“Mm-hm, wonderful.” 

“Don’t be mad.” He pleas, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“I am not mad, just disappointed that this is what our night has come to.” You sigh, putting the fire extinguisher down. 

Staring at the charred crime scene sprawled out on the oven and countertop, you shake your head in pure disappointment, a soft pout on your lips. It was supposed to be cute. Not like this. Crossing your arms over your chest, you let out a pouty sigh, wanting to pout and sulk a little longer. Feeling him press gentle kisses on your neck and forehead, he softly sways you in place, like you're a grumpy cat. 

“Come on, let’s go order some take out. We’ll do those weird face masks that you have. Yeah?”

“Yeah..” You sigh, letting him drag you away from the kitchen.

---

[michibap]

caveman bf jschlatt 😔

-and you know it's true

-type to communicate exclusively in vaguely displeased groans

-chilling on the couch when all 6'3 of him decides to come and plant himself on top of you

-trying to squirm into a more comfortable position, stopping when you hear a dramatic, drawn out groan from where he has his face squished into your stomach

-realistically, you're not safe no matter where you're lounging around the apartment

-bc he'll be bored then remember he has a gf and materialize in the doorway of wherever you're hanging out and wrangle you back to wherever he came from

-it's really no use putting up any fight because if it comes down to it, he WILL just toss you over his shoulder if it makes for an easier relocation process (though that's not to say that he doesn't enjoy when you give him some trouble)

-not that you mind or anything, but i’m sure it doesn’t happen too often

-sometimes he’ll just want you in the same room as him, content to let you continue scrolling on your phone on the loveseat in his office while he does his own thing at the desk

-other times he’ll want you in his lap while he works, grumbling and pinching your thigh when you squirm too much

-caveman bf!schlatt who has decided that everything tastes better when it’s yours

-you could be eating the exact same thing and he still wants a bite of yours

-whether you offer him one or not he is taking that shit

-that nasty motherfucker would use his hands too

-grinning at you as he obnoxiously chews on the piece of food he just plucked off of your plate

-will offer you a bite of his too, cutting off a piece to feed you (he leaves it a little too big on purpose, grinning when your cheeks puff out as you chew)

-caveman bf! schlatt actually defo has a thing for making sure you're well fed, he's making sure you finish that damn plate.

-thinks he’s entitled to your water bottle, gulping down most of your water like an ipad baby before padding off

-you could try buying him his own but it’ll just collect dust

-probably obsessed with the way you smell

-started as a bit when you caught him sniffing your hair and him playing it off as a joke

-until he starts doing it strangely often for it just being a “bit”

-evolves into him growing comfortable enough to randomly bury his face into your nearest area of exposed skin sucking in a deep inhale before casually going back about his business

-will use all of your shower products bc they smell like you and they make his hair soft and his skin always feels nice after

-rolling his eyes and telling you he’ll buy more when you whine about him using ur shit (he paid for it in the first place)

-100% sprays himself with your perfume before he leaves the house

-would not be surprised if he goes out of his way to find a bougie cologne that complements your own signature scent

-something about finding traces of you around the apartment sates something deep in his soul

-like your sweatshirt hung over the back of the couch

-or your favorite snacks in the pantry

-or all of your products littering his bathroom counter

-your hairties collecting around his gear stick

-lipstick stains on the cats lol

-forcibly trading sweaters with you if he sees that you're wearing one of his before he has to leave the house

-caveman! bf jschlatt who simply looms over you

-in public he'll stand just close enough that he's in his space but barely touching you

-his chest brushing against your back as he closely follows you through the grocery store

-sometimes he'll keep a hand wrapped around the back of your neck, like he's scruffing a dog, if he thinks you're wandering too much in public

-him groggily standing in the bathroom doorway after he followed you out of bed in the middle of the night because you abandoned him (had to pee)

[sagechanoafterdark]

Ransom and Marshmallow getting into a boop war with each other 🤣🤣🤣

"Boop."

Blinking a few times, Ransom watched as your finger withdrew from the tip of his nose and back across the kitchen island. You were standing there in your robe and slippers still in the late afternoon, clearly getting caught up in your day off by wasting time on the internet.

Ransom scrunched his nose slightly, wiggling it at the itch, "What was that?"

"I boop'd you."

You blinked up at him expectantly, but he didn't quite know what that meant.

"And?"

With a slight frown, you stared meaningfully into his eyes for a long moment and slowly raised your finger again. This time pressing with a little more force onto the end of his nose with a whispered, "Boop."

He blinked again as you withdrew your finger again, "Is this some stupid internet thing?"

"JUST BOOP ME BACK RANSOM!"

This time he rolled his eyes with a scoff, blue eyes watching you critically as you stood beside him at the counter. Ransom tentatively raised a finger, pushing before he made any contact with the tip of your adorable nose but that second was all you needed. With a flash of teeth and a cheeky grin, you lightly bit the tip of his finger with all the teasing mischievous mirth of an internet sensation cat.

"Hey," he exclaimed, hand dangling from between your teeth.

"Tha's wha hough get fo hot pahying," you mumbled around his digit.

Ransoms' lips pursed as he eyed you amusedly, "I'll show you what you get!"

Before he could get out of his seat you, spit out his finger and dashed out of the kitchen going for the stairs, "You'll never catch me!"

"Here I come pussy cat," he exclaimed taking the steps two at a time behind you. Grinning ear to ear as you giggled, dashing towards the bedroom where Ransom caught up to you and slammed the door shut behind him. "Got you trapped, Kitten."

"Oh no I'm so scared," you mocked from the rumpled bed, shuffling over the covers before Ransom tackled you with a heavy oof.

You laid still under him for a moment before trying to wiggle, "Christ you're heavy Ran."

"Must be all that Golden Retriever energy I've got," he growled into your ear.

"I was only teasing. It was girl's night with Lizzie, how was I supposed to know Grayson could hear me?"

Your excuses were short-lived as Ransom dug his fingers into your sides and all the little nooks and crannies he knew would have you squirming beneath him in no time.

Laughter and panic were hot in your chest as Ransom held you down, tears springing to your eyes and streaming as you wobbled back and forth at his mercilessness. "Ran. Please. Stop," you wheezed out. "Please! Oh no, I'm gonna pee Ransom! Stooooop!"

"It's what you get for teasing me," he shot back, mock rage in his voice. "Now take your punishment!"

A loud scream of laughter erupted from you as you managed to get the upper hand. Rolling him off of you and freeing yourself to the air of the room. You straddled him in the confusion, legs gripping his waist on either side.

"Ha," you exclaimed, sweaty and disheveled above him as your thighs pinned his hands to his sides. "Now who's got who?"

Ransom laughed a little, the rumble starting deep in his chest as he looked up at you, "Oh no, you got me. What do I do now?"

Narrowing your eyes you looked down at him before a very noticeable friend of his throbbed against your leg. With a smirk, you were sure to wiggle and settle your hips against him, just enough to tease and make him buck up against you just slightly.

"Close your eyes."

Instead of closing he narrowed his gaze at you as you began to lean down over him, "Trust me," you purred against him. "Close your eyes."

This time he did as asked, those impossibly long lashes touching his cheeks.

Ransom waited, feeling the heat of your breath and your weight shifting on top of him. Anticipating the feeling of your soft pillowy lips against his in that teasing brush he loved getting from you on playful days like this one. He waited patiently, eyes closed as he felt the ghost of your breath over his lips before...

"Boop."

"That's it!" Ransom shouted eyes shooting open as he flipped you over into the bed. You shrieked with laughter as he pinned you down kissing you as many times in a row as he pleased.

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Heaven is not fit to house a love (like you and I) | Part 2

Word Count: 4.8k

Genre: smut, angst

Summary: When you first met your boyfriend, it was love at first sight. No, more than that. It was love before you even met. It felt like you had known each other in another life and were meant to find each other again. 

But that's not actually true, is it? You and Beomgyu don't actually know each other from another life, and the dreams you've been having aren't memories of your past life either. That's ridiculous. 

But then why does Beomgyu get so defensive about them? And why does each dream feel more real than the one before? 

A/N: this is the sequel to my series YAMQN but I'm trying to write it in a way that it would be comprehensible to people who have never read YAMQN. The parts in italic are the dreams. 

Warnings: unhealthy relationships, jealousy, dom!reader, sub!beomgyu, riding, toys, orgasm denial.

If you want to commission me, click here.

Now that Taehyun is working with you, Beomgyu is not content to just drive you to work as he always does. No, now he has to walk you inside, arm wrapped tightly around you to make sure everyone, especially Taehyun, knows you’re claimed.

“Oh, hey.” Taehyun greets when he sees you. “You look beautiful today.” 

You don’t get the chance to properly glare at him for purposefully annoying your boyfriend before Beomgyu twists you around and smashes your lips together, pulling you into a kiss that is far too indecent for public.  

Yet another co-worker snorts. "We get it dude. She's yours. Are you gonna pee on her to claim your territory too?"

Your cheeks flame up and you shove Beomgyu away, absolutely mortified by the spectacle he has made of you. “Beomgyu!”

“What? Don’t want him to see who you belong to?” He asks, daring to sound upset at you.  

“Everyone knows we’re dating. Get your head out of your ass.” You smack his hands completely off you, livid at his underhanded accusation. 

“Wouldn’t hurt to remind him.” He mutters, and you roll your eyes, ushering him out of the cafe before you get fired for an indecent act in the workplace. “Leave. You’ve done enough.” 

You don’t give him the chance to respond before you step back into the restaurant and slam the door in his face, trying your best to avoid everyone’s gaze. You quickly get dressed then step behind the counter, getting the orders ready for the customers streaming in, trying to shake off the strong sense of deja-vu you felt at the way Beomgyu behaved. Those dream are really messing you up. 

“Your boyfriend really doesn’t like me, huh?” Taehyun comments, working alongside you. 

“Don’t take it personally. He gets jealous easily.” You sigh, brushing it off. 

“It sure feels personal though. It’s like I killed his cat in the past or something.” 

“Funny you should say that.” You snort, but don’t elaborate, not wanting to deal with another guy ridiculing you for your dreams.

But Taehyun is intrigued, and he doesn’t drop it. “What do you mean?”

“Forget about it.” You brush him off, handing a customer their drink with a forced smile, but that makes him even more curious. As you go to make another drink, he takes the coffee pot from your hand, forcing you to look at him. “No, tell me.”

“Taehyun, there are customers waiting.” You snap but he just shrugs. “So? They can survive five minutes without their morning lattes.” 

You give him a pointed look. “Yeah? Have you met our clientele? They’re mean when they’re low on caffeine.” 

“I can handle it. Just tell me.” He reassures you, but conspicuously starts making a new drink. 

“Okay fine, but don’t laugh. You asked for it.” He nods, waiting patiently for you to explain. “So I keep having these dreams about me and Beomgyu in another life, a past life. He’s a prince and I’m a lady of the court and we want to be together but we can’t because he’s betrothed to someone else and so everything is all fucked up but we love each other so much and want to be with each other anyway. It’s all very fanciful and silly but then again the dreams are so vivid, it’s like I’m really there. It feels more real than my actual memories, you know?”

He nods, a small smirk on his face that tells you that he doesn’t really buy what you’re saying–you don’t really buy what you’re saying either–but he’s kind enough to hold his tongue and not make fun of you like Beomgyu does.

“Anyway, you’ve been appearing in the dreams lately too.” That catches his interest, and he listens even more intently. “You’re this powerful lord from another city and we start getting close which dream Beomgyu really hates. He tries so hard to keep us apart that he even ends up locking me in my room so I wouldn’t see you but you sneak in to see me anyway, and then… Well, I don’t know what. That’s all I know so far. He basically wants to kill you because you won’t stay away from me. Dream him, I mean… though, I’m not too sure real Beomgyu doesn’t want to kill you too.”

“Oh, please, I can take him.” He says confidently and you look him over. Sure, he looks like he’d be able to take Beomgyu. Physically he appears stronger than your boyfriend, but there is just something about Beomgyu you don’t like to think about that causes the hairs at the back of your neck to stand up.  

“Anyway, that is all very intense.” He finally says, “You have quite the imagination.” 

“I knew it. You think it’s stupid.” You flush, embarrassed that you revealed all of this to him. 

“No, no. It’s not stupid. It’s not real, but it’s not stupid.” He reassures you, or at least he tries to. “Maybe these dreams are your brain’s way of working through issues you’re having with your boyfriend? I mean, I didn’t show up in your dreams before you saw me, right? And it was only after seeing how Beomgyu got so aggressive with me that you had the dreams about him trying to keep us away from each other, right?”

“I guess…” What he’s saying makes sense. Maybe it’s just your brain trying to make sense of the whirlwind that is your romantic life with Beomgyu. 

“Well, there you go.” He proclaims, “Maybe the way to stop these dreams is to work out the issues you’re having with Beomgyu.” 

“Easier said than done.” You snort, and once again Taehyun is not letting your little passive-aggressive comments pass by. “What do you mean?”

You sigh. “He’s impossible to talk to about these things. He either gets so defensive you can never fault him for his behavior or he freaks out about us breaking up that I end up needing to comfort him for his own bad behavior.” 

Taehyun wears a frown on his face. “That doesn’t sound too healthy. If you can’t even talk things through then how can you expect your relationship to survive?” 

“Don’t say that. Beomgyu is a wonderful guy and a loving boyfriend. He just gets insecure and needs reassurance. It’s because his ex fucked him up or something.” You mutter the last part bitterly. If she hadn’t messed him up so much, Beomgyu would have literally been the perfect boyfriend. 

“But that’s not your fault. What she did to him has nothing to do with you. If he can’t separate the two then he doesn’t deserve to be with you.” 

You shake your head. “You’re being too harsh on him.” Yes, Beomgyu is acting like an ass right now but that doesn’t take away from all the wonderful things he is. 

“Am I? If you let this go then he’ll only get worse.” 

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you should stand up more to Beomgyu. Things can get really bad when he gets into his head, but when he’s good, he’s really good and that always brings you right back into his arms. 

________________

As if he could read your thoughts, Beomgyu takes you out on a much needed date at the local arcade, seemingly aiming to make you forget about the erratic way he has been acting lately. 

You’re both video game fans, especially those old games you used to play growing up, and so this is like Disneyland for you. You have so much fun recalling all the good times you had playing these classic games, only you get to enjoy them with the person you love this time around, and damn does it feel ten times more fun with Beomgyu. 

“Oh my god, oh my god!” Beomgyu screams, trying to keep up with you but failing miserably, messing up his steps on the dance dance revolution game, and allowing you to take the lead. “No, this is too fast–ahhhh!”

You laugh at his exclamations, messing up a few steps of your own as you sneak glances at him, enjoying the way he makes such a show of it, always aiming to entertain and get a laugh out of you and everyone else. You know he doesn’t actually care about losing. He just wants to make it fun for you. 

The machine makes a noise that indicates the game is over and that you’ve won, and the small crowd that has gathered to watch you because of your boyfriend's antics cheers for you. 

“Thank you, thank you.” You give a gracious bow, before pulling your stupid boyfriend into a kiss that receives a couple of woohoos. 

“I know. I know. I can’t believe she’s dating me too.” He says and you smack his shoulder shyly. “Shut up. You’re such a simp.” 

 “No, I’m not. I’m just appreciating my beautiful, wonderful girlfriend who–”

“Get a room! Some of us actually want to play.” A teen shouts out at you, and his friends jeer in agreement, forcing you off the game with embarrassed giggles. 

“Wow, kids are mean.” Beomgyu exclaims and you laugh. “Kids? We’re barely a couple of years older than them.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” Beomgyu comments, not seeming to share your laughter. 

“Hey, are you okay? They were jerks but they’re just teens, you know?” You try to comfort him. You know how mean teens can be, but Beomgyu just shakes his head and gives you a big smile. “Oh no, I’m not thinking about that at all. I just remembered something… doesn’t matter. Let’s go play another game.” 

“Okay…” You trail off uncertainly, unsure if he’s really okay. But then you spot something that takes your attention away. “Oh, let’s go play that shooter game! There is a toy there that I really want!” 

You step towards it, but as soon as you do, you’re being pulled back by your boyfriend. “I don’t really like shooter games. Too violent, you know?”

“It’s an air gun.” You explain slowly as if he doesn’t grasp the concept, and he shrugs.  “Well, it still teaches violence to kids. Today an air gun, tomorrow a school shooting.” 

You roll your eyes at his silly dramatics. “Too bad we aren’t kids then. We’re a whole couple of years older than kids. Now come on.” You drag him behind you, sights already set on a teddy bear that reminds you of Beomgyu. 

“I wanna win that one! Add it to my beargyu collection at home.” You clap excitedly, and the man at the stand hands you a gun to use.

“She’s got a good eye. She picked the best prize.” The man tells Beomgyu then turns back to you. “You have to shoot all the cans down to be able to win that one.”

“Yeah. She has expensive taste, that one.” Beomgyu comments and you pout, playfully shoving him. “Gyu!” 

“Is it not true?” He cocks an eyebrow at you and you push your head up defiantly. “I just have high standards, that’s all.” 

“I know, baby. And you deserve the best.” He says, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it, making you blush. 

“Are you going to shoot?” The man asks impatiently, bored with you and Beomgyu’s public displays of affection. You don’t care though, sending Beomgyu a kiss and a wink.. 

Still, it’s gonna be challenging winning that bear, and you have to concentrate. 

“Okay…” You take a deep breath and get into position, turning towards again Beomgyu and squeaking a quick ‘pray for me’ before you look back and start shooting. 

And damn, you’re a lousy shot. 

At the start, the cans are all lined up next to each other so you manage to fell a lot of them just by generally shooting in their direction, but as their numbers dwindle, you start completely missing them. 

“Baby, you’re trying to shoot the cans, not the other patrons.” Beomgyu quips and you glare at him, almost shooting him too, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Just saying.” 

“Well, don’t say.” You grit, missing even more shots. 

“Damn it!” You exclaim in frustration, seeing your chances go down with each missed shot, and eventually running out of ammo. “Ughhhhh.” 

“Cheer up, baby. You tried your best.” Beomgyu tries to comfort you, “You just–”

“I wanna try again.” You proclaim, smacking more tickets down on the counter and gesturing for the worker to reload your gun before trying again. 

And again. And again. And again. Each time failing more miserably than the last, the frustration getting to you. 

“Baby, we’re running out of money here. Soon, I’m gonna have to sell my kidney to give you arcade money.” Beomgyu appeals to you once more, urging you to give up.

“Fine!” You give a huge sigh, finally handing over the gun sadly. “I just really wanted it.” 

“Why? We have a million teddy bears at home.” 

“I know but I wanted that one.” You pout, moving a finger across his chest coyly. “Can you try to win it for me?”

“Babe–”

“Pretty, please.” You turn on the puppy-dog eyes that you know have been very effective on him in the past.

He sighs, looking defeated. “You know I would do anything for you.” 

“Yes! Works every time.” You congratulate yourself, preparing to watch your pacifist boyfriend flounder just like you did, but planning to enjoy anyway. 

Except he doesn’t. To your absolute shock, Beomgyu clears the game on the first try. 

“Wow, you’re really good at this.” You clap, amazed, and give him a big hug. “When did you learn this?”

“Oh. I used to play this game a lot as a kid.” Funnily enough, you feel like you’ve watched him do this before. Maybe it was in one of your prince dreams…

“See? And you didn’t become a violent psychopath. You were worrying for nothing.” You tease him, holding your hard-earned teddy bear up and giddily spinning around with it. 

“Excuse me.” A small voice calls out, halting your merriment and you look down to see the most adorable child tugging at your skirt. Well, you see a blurry, double vision of an adorable child as your poor brain tries to recover from the celebratory spinning. 

“Oh, hello. Aren’t you just the cutest thing?” You gush. “What’s your name?” 

“Ben.” He says, and Beomgyu gasps, equally as dramatic as you. “Well, that is just the cutest name ever.” 

“Thank you.” Ben plays with his fingers and swings shyly from one foot to the other. 

“Are you lost, Ben?” Beomgyu asks, getting down to his knees in front of the child. “Where is your mommy?” 

The child points off somewhere.

“Do you want us to take you to her?” You ask, but he shakes his head. “No. I just wanted to say that… that I like your bear and and–can we trade? You can have my toy instead!” He presents you with a small bright orange and yellow toy truck.  

“Aw, you cheeky little thing.” Beomgyu tuts, “That is very generous, but I just won this for the pretty lady and I think she wants to keep itt.” 

You do. You really want to keep it. But Ben looks so disappointed at hearing that, that you don’t have the heart to refuse him for long. 

“That’s okay, Gyu. He can have it.” You intervene, and Beomgyu raises an eyebrow at you skeptically. “Are you sure? You made such a fuss about it.” 

You shoot him a glare. “I know but he’s a kid and he wants it.” 

“The way you were acting earlier, one could’ve easily mistaken you for a kid too.” He mumbles and you smack the back of his head in indignation. “Hey!” 

The sound of Ben’s purely ecstatic laughter at what you did grabs both your attention and prevents you from further squabbling. 

“You like seeing me smack the stupid man?” You raise your hand towards Beomgyu threateningly and he cowers dramatically. “I stand corrected. I shouldn’t have been worrying about kids learning violence from games when they can just learn it from people like you.” 

“Aw, you wound me, baby.” You let your hand down to smooth down his hair affectionately. “This is just a tried and true discipline technique. I’ll show you more when we get home.” You give him a wink and he blushes. 

“Alright, let’s take you to your mum.” You announce to the kid, handing him the toy bear and giggling at the way he struggles to walk while holding the giant thing. 

When you’re within sight of his mother, she calls out, relieved. “Ben! There you are!” She runs to hug him. Or tries to hug him but she can’t really with the stuffed animal in the way. “Where did you get that teddy bear from?”

“We gave it to him.” You explained happily and she gasps, turning to scold him. “Did you ask them to give it to you? You know I told you you to stop doing that. It’s not polite��He’s always asking strangers for things, pretending to be all cute and innocent to swindle people out of their belongings. It’s really not nice… or safe!” She explains to you, before turning back to her son. “Now give the bear back to the nice couple.” 

“But I don’t wanna!” He throws a tantrum, and you and Beomgyu exchange an amused look. 

So the little rascal was playing you. Well done. 

“That’s fine. He can keep it.” You tell his mum, but she won’t hear it. “Not, it’s not. You don’t have to–”

“We want to.” You reassure her, and Ben looks at his mother expectantly, his little face praying that she’d allow him to keep the bear and she sighs. “Fine. Though you’re only enforcing bad habits.” She gives you both a stern look and Beomgyu gives a small apologetic bow. “We’re sorry, ma’am.” 

You fight to contain your giggles as she turns to her son. “What do we say, Ben?”

“Thank you!” He chirps happily. 

“You’re welcome.” You both laugh. “Enjoy it.”

“I will!”  

“See you, Ben.” Beomgyu crouches down to say goodbye to him, raising his hand up so Ben can give him a high five, which he does enthusiastically.  

“Bye.” You wave goodbye to Ben and his mum, walking away with Beomgyu. 

Seeing how sweet Beomgyu was with Ben… how naturally he acted and how at ease the kid was with him… it made you yearn for things you can’t have. It made you want to have that–to have a child that is yours and Beomgyu’s. But you can’t ask him that of him, not after what he told you, not for a while, at least. 

Too preoccupied with the thoughts, you don’t think to hide them from Beomgyu, and he quickly notices the shift in your mood. 

“What?” Beomgyy asks, and you look at him in confusion, so he explains, “You’ve been quiet for a while.”

“Oh.” You blink away the tears from your eyes, not even having realized they had gathered there, silently fighting against the weird emptiness that seeing him interacting with the child has opened up in you. “Nothing. I'm just suddenly really tired. Let's go home."

You can tell he doesn’t buy your excuse. “Did you want the bear? You know you could’ve said–”

“No. No. It’s not that, really. I just…” You trail off and a look of realization comes over his face. You quickly add on, “Beomgyu, it’s really nothing. Let’s just go home, okay?” 

Still, he doesn’t believe it. But he gathers you in his arms anyway and gives you a sweet peck on the lips. “Okay.”

He’ll always give you what you want. 

_________________________________

“You can be so good to me. Why do you have to be such an ass sometimes?” You murmur against his lips.

“I just can’t afford to lose you–ah–” He trails off in a moan as you continue to ride him. 

"You really will do anything to keep me, huh?" You clench around him, making him automatically buck under you. “Ah-ah-ah, I said no moving, baby.” 

"Yes, darling.” His hands fist at the sheets in an effort to keep his body from reacting to the way you’re fucking him so tortuously. 

“Call me princess. I liked it when you did that.” 

“Baby…” He protests, and you move your hands up his torso to brush your thumbs across his nipples before you bend down and lick one. “Come on, my prince, you said you’ll do anything for me.” 

“Yes, princess.” You could practically feel his cock twitching inside you as you let go of his nipple with a pop to sit back and properly ride him, really quickening your pace to reward him for his compliance. 

It’s so easy to get Beomgyu to do what you want. He’ll bend over backwards to keep you happy. He just gets too in his head sometimes and starts getting paranoid so you need to shut his brain down. 

And shut down it is, right now. He’s entirely under your mercy, laying down for you to ravage him and loving every second of it. “Oh god. Close, princess. So close.” 

“Don’t cum yet.” 

“Please, I can’t.” He croaks. Oh, how you love to see him struggle. It’s like a drug to you, seeing how much he needs you. 

“Hold it.” You pant, bouncing on top of him, intent to push him right to the edge, and when you feel like he’s about to fall over it, you quickly get off him, his red cock smacking against his tummy, dribbling precum as it twitches from the denial. 

“Fuck… fuck…” Beomgyu curses, his body entirely wound up from the pent up frustration and lust. 

"Shhh." You hush him with a kiss that he hungrily reciprocates, the wet sounds of lips and tongues meeting echoing around the room. When you pull back his lips are shiny with spit and his eyes are drowning with need. But he never reaches out for you, never tries to take what he wants. Your pretty prince. 

You lean forward to open up the bedside table, taking out your vibrator. Beomgyu stares, wide-eyed, as you grab his cock and sink down on it once again. But this time instead of riding him, you swivel your hips around and turn on the vibrator, pressing it to your clit.

“Oh, you’re going to kill me.” He groans, squirming under you as the vibrations and the way your cunt is clenching around him build his high up once again..

"No cumming until I do." You order, and he’s unable to keep his hands to himself anymore, choosing instead to grab at your thighs, his body needing to latch onto yours–just holding onto you to keep him tethered, never forcing you to give him more no matter how much he wants it. 

"I don’t know if I can hold it.” 

"You will. Or do you need me to put a cock ring on you?" You threaten, but the small involuntary thrust of his hips surprise you. “Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I like anything you do to me.” He confesses, making your skin tingle. 

You grind on him faster, moving the vibrator up and down your slit, feeling your release looming near. 

“Oh my fucking god, princess, please.” 

"What is it, baby?” You gasp, thighs starting to spasm from the impending orgasm. “You wanna cum?"

"Uh-huh." He whimpers pitifully like a dog begging for his master to reward him. “You know, I do.” 

Of course, you do. It’s so obvious, he’s practically on the verge of crying, but it’s always so fun to tease him about it. 

"But I thought you said you'd let me do whatever I wanted to you, and I like keeping you on the edge. Love seeing you go all dumb for my pussy." You pout, acting like you’re upset and he eats it all up. 

"I’m sorry… I just need it." He cries, head thrown back and his nails digging into your skin. "Close–so close–please–oh god, please—"

“Cum for me, gyu. Fill me up.” You finally have mercy on him, taking the vibrator away as your pussy clenches around him, milking him of his seed as you hurl over the edge. 

“Yes—oh, princess–ahhh–” He holds your hips and ruts up into you, releasing his cum inside you and filling you up just like you wanted. 

It takes you both a while to come down from your orgasms, the delayed gratification bringing out a very intense high. But when you do, he pulls you down to him, wrapping you safely in his arms. 

“I’m sorry for being so crazy lately. I just love you so much.” He presses a kiss against your damp forehead. 

“I know, baby. I love you too.” You reciprocate fully, but as the high wears off, doubt starts to set back in. “But you can’t keep acting that way. I am not going to cheat on you with Taehyun and it hurts me that you would even doubt that.” 

“I’m sorry, it’s just… my ex. She–”

“Let me guess, cheated on you.” You roll your eyes, not meaning to diminish his pain but you just hate his ex so much. “But baby, I’m not her. I love you. Only you.” 

“I know, but… it would just make me feel better if you didn’t talk to him.” 

“He’s my co-worker, I have to talk to him.” 

“Plenty of people don’t talk to their co-workers. In fact plenty of people maintain a very healthy mutual animosity with their coworkers. I think you should try that.” 

“Beomgyu.” You deadpan, exasperation clear in your tone. 

“Fine. I’ll try to tone it down.” 

“Thank you. I really don’t want to… lose you.” 

He frowns, pushing you back so he can fully see your face. “You won’t. You will never lose me.” He says it with absolute certainty, and maybe his promise was meant to sound reassuring, but something about the way he said it makes you shiver. 

“Are you cold, baby?” He asks, concerned. 

“I… I guess.” 

“Come here.” He pulls you down into his arms, wrapping you up in that warm embrace that seems to always make you forget about all the wrong he’s done. When you’re in his arms, it’s like the world slips away and it’s just you and him and the love you have for each other. None of those troubling thoughts can reach you here, none of the doubts. 

Just you and him. Forever. 

_____________________________________

“Don’t talk to her that way.” Beomgyu snarls at Taehyun, looking like he is going to spring forward and attack him but you hold onto him tightly.  

“Beomgyu, stay. Let me talk to him alone.” You whisper to him but he shakes his head. “No.” 

You lean closer to him so only he can hear you. “Come on, Beomgyu, we had a deal. Anything you want after, just let me talk to him.” 

He throws a hateful look towards Taehyun, obviously not happy with what’s happening, before he looks back at you and pulls you into a sudden kiss. Your hands shoot up to his chest, trying to push him away but his own hands hold onto you, one grabbing the back of your head and the other squeezing your ass. 

“My lord, this is not proper.” You hear someone reprimand, making you flush with humiliation and reminding you that you have more than one witness to Beomgyu’s mortifying display of ownership over you. 

“I can still taste my cock on your tongue, princess.” Beomgyu says loudly enough for Taehyun to hear before finally letting you pull away, ignoring your incensed look in favor of smirking at Taehyun. You follow his gaze to find that Taehyun looks to be seconds away from exploding. 

“Fucking stay here.” You grit out at Beomgyu, your outrage giving you the strength you need to make your way towards Taehyun without trembling anymore. 

“Is this what you left me for? Just to go back to being treated like a piece of meat?” Taehyun denounces in disgust once you’re standing in front of him. 

Left him for? What?

It is at that moment that you wake up from your dream, filled with feelings of shame, disgust and guilt. 

Now what could this mean? If Taehyun is right and your dreams are meant to express your discomfort with the way Beomgyu is treating you, then why are you dreaming that you and Taehyun were together? Are you completely overthinking this? Is it just weird dream happenstance? 

You mean, it did mirror what happened earlier with Beomgyu kissing you in front of everyone so maybe that’s what your mind was going for and it just started acting wonky the way brains on dreams do. 

But why, as always, does it feel so devastatingly real? Why do you still feel like you’ve betrayed Taehyun somehow? 

_________________________________________

A/N: our dear old crazy possessive beomgyu ❤️😂

[the-stage-manager]

5 Headcanons of Astarion's Most Gremlin Behaviors

1. When he wants physical affection, instead of asking for it, he "hints" at it: Dramatic sighing that gets louder the more you ignore it; Tossing and turning in bed claiming he "can't get comfortable" until you finally give in and physically restrain hold him; sometimes he will simply sit in your lap, usually at the most inconvenient times, blocking whatever it is that you are doing until he receives the desired amount of affection. And he wants a lot of affection. Or rather, he wants body heat. Which you have and he does not. He's a leech. A cold, cold leech.

2. Your belongings are conveniently also his belongings: He will steal your clothes, and your makeup, and your jewelry and wear them himself. If there's an outfit that he's particularly fond of, he will abscond with it, and stick it in his closet. It's his now, unfortunately.

3. Astarion is going to get blood on everything you own. For fucks sake, who lets food dribble out of their mouth and get all over their hands like that? Astarion's a messy eater—he probably wears the blood all over his face like a badge of honor. He's going to drip blood all over the floor, and leave bloody handprints all over the counter, the table, and anything else he touches.

4. Watching you sleep/waking you up in the middle of the day when he's bored. He only needs to trance for four hours minimum. What is he supposed to do with himself for those other four hours while he waits for you to wake up? Do something productive? Unlikely. God help you if you wake up in the middle of the night to pee: "Thank the gods, you're finally awake! I was just thinking..." Good luck trying to get back to sleep while he talks your ear off. If he gets really bored, he'll wake you up, either intentionally or because he's getting into something he shouldn't. This is cat behavior, right here.

5. Astarion is messy. Have you seen his tent? He doesn't put things back where they belong—he doesn't put books back on bookshelves or dishes in the sink. He leaves his dirty socks everywhere. He's also a bit of a hoarder, collecting (stealing) anything that catches his eye and stashing it away in your home the way a squirrel stashes nuts. He's not used to being allowed to have things, so he often hides his trinkets away in places he thinks no one will look—you find rings in your shoes and necklaces in your coat pockets and gold coins tucked away in the cereal box.

[lefaystrent]

Friendly Neighborhood Criminals

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic Patton/Dark Sides

Summary: Sweet, adorable, mild-tempered Patton who's just beginning to come out of his shell and learn that the world maybe does not in fact hate him for being born... has now been taken under the wings of some well-meaning criminals.

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

Patton can't quite figure out how he ended up here.

Well, he knows he's in his apartment. He had saved up for months just to afford the deposit. And the landlord had been so sweet to take a chance on him with his credit, or lack thereof. Now he has a space of his own, a one bedroom with hardwood floors he can slip and slide on socked feet. He can go to the fridge when he wants and not be yelled at for eating the food or drinking the water.

And sometimes! Sometimes a black and white kitty cat roams the front steps. Patton's fairly certain it belongs to one of the neighbors, and she wears a collar. He's not supposed to pet cats because of his allergies, but he likes to let her rub her sides against his pants leg while he talks to her. It's nice because she doesn't tell him to shut up or tell him he's stupid or call him ungrateful.

This apartment is his new chance at life. A slice of freedom. And he's proud of it.

But then one night, three men break into his apartment. They probably think he isn't there because there is no vehicle parked in his one assigned spot. Owning a car seems light-years away in terms of money. It's not like he really needs one either! He has a bus pass and two legs to walk on!

Regardless, the three men break into his apartment, picking the locked front door, and they come in uninvited to see his apartment that he is very proud of.

His apartment that has no furniture.

"What the fuck?" Patton hears one of them say. As soon as he heard them picking the lock, he panicked and cowered behind the bedroom door. He huddles now on the other side, peeking out the crack and scared that closing it will make too much noise.

"Is this one empty?" another asks. They walk into the center of the small living area. It's an open space that melds into the kitchen, separated only by a short island counter.

"No, I've seen a guy coming in and out. Someone's been living here."

"Maybe they just moved out?"

"No, I just saw him earlier today. There haven't been any moving vans."

"Uh, bedroom then?"

"Oh God," Patton shudders in fright. He knows he's not supposed to think the worst in people, but these guys came in without permission with clearly bad intentions. What if they are looking for him? What if they want to hurt him? Or kidnap him? They had obviously been watching him for some time.

"Maybe. Let's check it out."

Terror slams into him. He throws himself away from the door and spins in the middle of the bedroom, searching for any place to hide. But there isn't one. There are no curtains, no bed to crawl under. There is a blanket on the floor with a pillow. He's been saving up for an air mattress as his next goal. He's been looking forward to sleeping on something somewhat soft.

The tiny closet has no room to hold him, and the window jams up nine times out of ten. They'll hear him if he attempts pushing the pane up and–

The door creaks as it sways open. Three men stare at a scattered-brain mess.

"Oh shit, he's here!"

"I thought you said he left!"

"I thought he did!"

Patton can't take it anymore. He throws up his hands and screams, "Please don't kill me! I can give you my wallet. There's not much in there, I'm sorry. Just please don't kill me!"

"Dude, is that where you sleep?" one of them gestures to the blanket pile on the floor.

Sniffling back tears, Patton responds, "Do you want my blankets? You can have them."

"Do you seriously live here, or are you squatting?" another says. He's wearing a hat. It's a very nice hat and Patton would tell him so if he wasn't about to pee his pants.

"I live here....it's my apartment."

"There's no shame if you're squatting. We won't tell anyone. Do what you gotta do."

A hysterical giggle tumbles out his lips. Patton shakes his head hard enough to give himself whiplash. "No, it's my place, I pay for it, I swear."

"You mean you live like this?" This one wears a dark hooded jacket, hood up.

"Y-yeah?" Patton stammers. He can't understand why they're so hung up on where he lives.

"This is..." the third one strokes his mustache, "Yeah, I can't even make fun of this. This is just sad."

"Do you have food in your fridge?" the hat guy demands. "Please tell me you at least have food in your fridge."

"Uh....uh... yes? Are you hungry?"

In answer, the hat guy strides with angry purpose into the kitchen. Patton can't see him from this angle anymore, but he hears the fridge open.

"There's literally only spaghetti in here!"

"It's...it's cheap to make." Patton doesn't know why he's explaining himself. Had he known that three men were going to break into his apartment, should he have prepared better meals for them?

"Can I have some?" the guy with the mustache asks, only to be cuffed by the hoodie guy.

"Dude, not the issue here."

"Why is there only pasta?!! Why don't you have any tables or TVs or a fucking bed?!!!"

The hat guy had gone past the boiling point. He hollers and slams cabinet doors like no tomorrow. Patton flinches and remembers too vividly of the atmosphere before the apartment. Before he was safe.

"I'm sorry," Patton defaults to how he's supposed to respond. He has been bad and he has to make amends. The tears overflow now and he can't get his shaking hands to wipe the wet streaks away. "I'm so sorry!"

"Oh shit, he's breaking. Virge, do something?"

"What the hell am I supposed to do?! I am not mentally equipped for this!"

"Janny!!"

The hat guy comes whirling back with all the fury of a storm. His shoulders heave. A gloved finger points straight at Patton.

"You!" he roars. Well, it's more like a hiss, but it sounds like a roar to Patton's sensitive ears.

"I'm sorry!"

"You have nothing to apologize for! Obviously, society has let you down. This is unforgivable. Deplorable! You deserve better than this."

"I do?" Patton questions, glasses askew and eyes wide.

"Yes. Come boys, we're leaving."

"Wait, why? Where?" Virge exclaims, waving his hands back and forth at everything and nothing at all. "What are we doing? This isn't the plan."

"New plan! Operation Do-It-Ourselves commences now."

And that is how Patton finds himself standing outside his apartment the next morning watching the three theives from last night moving furniture into his apartment.

He doesn't question if the furniture is stolen. He doesn't ask why they're going through so much trouble. He doesn't ever call the police.

He watches them bicker as they wedge a sofa through the door. He mumbles an answer when they politely ask him which wall he wants it pushed against. He eats the breakfast sandwiches that they brought him, and he feels like he's having an out of body experience.

Janus, the hat guy, directs the other two with confident authority. Virgil, the hoodie-clad one, fills up the fridge with groceries. Remus, the man with the mustache, shoves a mattress into the bedroom.

"What's happening?" Patton mutters to himself later. He thinks he's being quiet enough, but Remus hears him and throws an arm over his shoulder.

"Janus has adopted you. This is how it starts. It's best to just go with it."

Sweet, adorable, mild-tempered Patton who's just beginning to come out of his shell and learn that the world maybe does not in fact hate him for being born... has now been taken under the wings of some well-meaning criminals.

[thornsnvultures]

eddie is so cat-coded

nsft under the cut 18+

• sits on your strap and "makes biscuits" on your titties

• sleeps all day but when he wants love he's clingy and grinding on you and whining for attention

• brings you dead things he found outside

• gets bitey when he's excited/overstimmulated/in a playful mood

• likes to climb up on tables and is always sitting on the counter even though you tell him not to

• easily distracted by chip bags or cans opening because he thinks he's getting a special treat (esp when he has the munchies which is almost always

• sits in the bathroom with you when you shower or pee (he's not a perv he just misses you)

• doesn't like to swim and get wet but is very meticulous about grooming

• general mischief making and tomfoolery

• gets sick on long car rides

• is lactose intolerant

• isn't afraid of dogs but doesn't trust them, takes a long time to warm up to them (doesn't like to be licked and slobered on)

• hisses at strangers

• practically purrs when you show him any kind of gentle love and/or affection

[wolfawaycamp]

Rylan gets together during camp. After finding out, Chris gives Dylan a (very light) shovel talk.

🐰 turns out that I CANNOT be brief talking about these two but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. :3

The green rectangle of the swimming pool glowed like an emerald in the night, its undisturbed surface both tranquil and tantalizingly forbidden, as Dylan and Ryan made their way to the low brick wall surrounding it, to the the torn panel of the chainlink fence. It had taken Dylan the better part of three weeks to convince Ryan to give him a shot, but now that he finally had, Dylan was working on convincing him to bend a rule or two in the name of some harmless fun.

It was a sweltering July night, stuffy even at this elevation in the Catskills, and Dylan had floated the idea of a night swim without really expecting his new boyfriend to take him up on it. Ryan rarely did anything he thought might displease their boss. But even the camp-leader’s pet struggled to sleep in this heat, and perhaps Ryan was finding it difficult to resist the temptation of a little one-on-one time between the two of them. Dylan could flatter himself by thinking so, anyway.

He climbed easily onto the top of the low wall and held a hand out to Ryan, hauling his boyfriend up next to him. “Mr. H should really get this fixed,” Dylan said, grinning like a Cheshire Cat in the moonlight, “seems like an insurance liability for the pool to be this accessible. An attractive nuisance, I think they call it.”

“You’re an attractive nuisance,” Ryan teased, shoving Dylan off the edge of the wall and jumping down after him.

“Hmm, all I hear is that you think I’m attractive.” Dylan preened, winking over his shoulder at Ryan, who shoved him again, playfully, closer to the pool.

“The emphasis was on the ‘nuisance’ part,” Ryan countered, and Dylan shot him a fake pout. Ryan grabbed Dylan by his shirt, pulled him in for a kiss that was soft and warm and perfect—albeit entirely too short—and, fuck, he could really get used to that. “Of course I think you’re attractive, you massive dork. I’m dating you, aren’t I?”

Ryan could be pretty direct. Dylan was pretty into that. “Well, every time you say that, I end up pinching myself to see if I’m dreaming and, unbelievably, I’ve been awake every time, so I think the answer is yes.”

Ryan shook his head, but one of those cute little half-smiles tugged upwards at the corner of his mouth, even as he turned away in a failed attempt to hide it.

“So, how long d’you think it takes for the pool to cycle through enough fresh water so that it’s less than one third urine?” Dylan asked, staring into the deep end.

Ryan’s nose crinkled in disgust. “Okay, gross, you talked me into getting in there with you and now you’re talking about urine.”

“I’m just stating facts, man. You know the kids pee in there. They just do. That’s why the chlorine smell is so strong. Pure chlorine doesn’t even smell like that. It’s a chemical reaction between the chlorine and the ammonia in urine and sweat and stuff, gives off these chemicals called chloramines and that’s what you smell in the pool.”

“That’s enough professor, you’re ruining chlorine smell with your chemistry bullshit and it’s one of my favorite smells! Stop saying the word ‘urine’ and take your shirt off.” Ryan emphasized this by taking his shirt off and Dylan didn’t think he’d ever get tired of gazing at a shirtless Ryan for as long as he lived.

“Okay, yeah, I hear you, less chemistry,” Dylan pulled his own t-shirt off over his head, “more, uh, chemistry.” He waggled his eyebrows, hoping the feigned swagger was convincing enough.

Ryan ignored the quip and dove into the pool. Dylan followed, hurling himself gracelessly into the water with a laugh. The pool was still warm from the day’s sunlight, but getting wet made the air feel cooler when they back came up, at least.

“Keep your voice down,” Ryan shout-whispered, “Chris’ll freak if he catches us out here.”

“Oh, come on, what’s he gonna do, fire us?” Dylan flicked water at Ryan who splashed a little back at him. “We’re already understaffed. I’d like to see the old boy try to work the PA system, do all the scheduling, and teach all those sailing classes himself.”

“He probably could do the sailing,” Ryan reasoned, “he’s the one who taught me when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, but now he’s like 100, no way he could haul kids out of that lake like you do.” Dylan put a hand on Ryan’s upper arm and even this chaste contact sent a thrill running through his entire body. They hadn’t been together long and they’d barely ever been alone together. Getting to touch Ryan at all still felt like a privilege. “No way he has the upper body strength.”

“Stop talking about Mr. H,” Ryan said, “stop talking, period,” and Dylan might have taken offense if it hadn’t been clear from his tone and the look in his eyes, the way he’d come closer and angled his face upward towards Dylan’s, that Ryan had other plans for their mouths—better plans.

Dylan nodded, leaning in close, and then… a beam of blinding light landed on them from the other side of the fence. Ryan jumped away from Dylan as though he’d been electrocuted and Dylan ducked his head under the surface of the water as if he could hide, as if they hadn’t already been seen.

He surfaced to the sound of Mr. Hackett shouting, “Ryan, Dylan, out of the pool, please.”

Dylan risked a glance at his boyfriend and had to stifle a laugh at Ryan’s wide-eyed expression. As the chastened boys exited the pool and tried to quickly towel dry and wring out their trunks while still wearing them, Ryan whispered, “I told you we were gonna get caught!”

“Yeah, yeah, save it. You can gloat later.” Dylan whispered back, pulling on his shirt and cringing a little at how it stuck to his damp torso.

“I am not gloating! It’s not like I wanted us to get in trouble!”

Dylan clambered onto the wall and helped Ryan over again and Ryan immediately fell all over himself to apologize to their boss, who was standing there in his usual head-to-toe khaki ensemble as the two boys dripped miserably in front of him.

“I’m really sorry Chris, I…” Ryan began, and Mr. Hackett, flashlight in one hand, held the other up to silence him.

“I don’t wanna hear it. Ryan, you go straight back to your cabin right now, I’d like to have a word with Dylan.”

“Hey, no, it was my idea,” Ryan lied, and Dylan immediately corrected him, doing his best to ignore the warmth that spread through him at Ryan’s attempt to take the blame.

“It was definitely not his idea,” he said simply.

“Look, I don’t care whose idea it was, you both broke a rule and you’re in the same amount of trouble. And we will talk about it in the morning. Ryan, go to bed.”

Dylan and Ryan gave each other a nod, resigned to their fates, and Ryan headed back to his cabin. Dylan turned to face the camp leader, who had begun walking toward Dylan’s cabin on the far end of the circle near the radio hut. He wasn’t speaking now, so Dylan broke the silence.

“So, uh, am I… fired?”

“No, god no. Dylan, nobody’s fired! I haven’t fired Jacob or Emma for any of their antics yet, why would I start with you?” Mr. H asked and Dylan had to admit this was a fair point. “I wouldn’t even care about you two being in the pool,” he went on, “if I didn’t have to worry about the kids in your cabins needing something while you were distracted.”

“Oh, right. Okay. Then, uh, what did you wanna talk about?”

“You and Ryan, you’re obviously involved and I just… I want you to be careful, okay?”

Oh. Oh no. Oh no. Was Dylan’s boss trying to have a safe sex talk with him right now? Had he had it with Ryan already? Well, this was mortifying. He thought he might rather have been fired. Plus, what was the point if they kept getting interrupted before anything worth getting a lecture over could even happen?

“We’re not, I mean, we haven’t, y’know, not yet anyway…” Dylan floundered, his cheeks flushing, “we haven’t really had time, but if we ever did, I mean I’m sure we will and, when we do, then we’ll definitely be…”

“No, that’s,” Mr H. chuckled awkwardly, “that’s not what I meant, although you definitely should, uh, use protection. And, please don’t do… that when you’re on the clock. But what I meant was, be careful with his feelings.”

“His… feelings?”

Dylan blinked at him blankly. Of all the outcomes he’d imagined for this relationship, him hurting Ryan’s feelings had never even occurred to him. In fact, Dylan had thought the most likely scenario would involve his own heart getting pulverized in the end.

“I’ve known Ryan for years. He’s like a… close family friend at this point,” Mr. H said, and Dylan only realized when he finished the statement that he’d been expecting him to say Ryan was like a son to him, but he hadn’t. “I don’t know how much he’s told you about his family life.”

“Not a lot, actually,” Dylan admitted.

“Well that’s his decision, but I don’t think he’d mind me saying that it hasn’t always been easy for him. Feels like he’s maybe looking for some kind of stability. And that’s not always something you can get out of a relationship when you’re this young. I remember being your age, everything feels really intense. I just… don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“Mr. H., I—I really like Ryan,” Dylan said, feeling awkward as hell but being very earnest, “I’m trying my best not to fu—uh fumble this, okay? And you’re kind of… well you’re sorta freaking me out, actually, but I, um, appreciate the sentiment, anyway. I don’t want Ryan to get hurt either.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Because I think Ryan really likes you too.”

“You do?” Dylan swallowed. “What, uhh, what makes you think that?”

“Because,” Mr. H smiled, “he just lied to my face trying to keep you out of trouble. That kid never lies. He’s… really bad at it.”

“Oh. Yeah, he really is,” Dylan agreed. “Wait, Mr. H, is this the part where you tell me you know a guy who can make me disappear if I do anything to hurt him?” Dylan laughed, softly, at his own joke, but Mr. Hackett didn’t.

The camp leader let out a long-suffering sigh instead, clapping the young man on his damp shoulder. “Let’s just both hope it doesn’t come to that, Dylan, hm?”

[tired-biscuit]

hockey player kiba you say?!?!

can we maybe get some nsfw headcanons about him…

saige, my love, of course!! <3

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 18+ mdni, fem!reader/hockey player!kiba, modern AU // dacryphilia, mentions of a spit kink (barely), lots of feral action, kiba being a robust, horny man™️ and you being his #1 girly (established relationship)

is usually rough and greedy more often than not, but definitely has his sweet moments in bed; especially when he’s super tired and wants to be babied a little

is very fond of sexting and phone sex when he’s out of town for matches. he always misses you very much, and shows his yearning for you in his own peculiar, horny way

asks for a ‘lucky nude’ or whatever he calls it before an especially important game. the happier he is, the better he plays, so you oblige like the good little girlfriend you are and wish him the best of luck just the way he wants it

sleeps naked (and prefers it if you sleep naked, too)

gets extremely frustrated if his team loses a game, and thus pours his frustrations upon you

that means he spanks you. a lot. (especially when you’re on top, riding him)

squeezes your booty so harshly with both hands that the skin starts to burn during that time as well. he basically guides you to a faster tempo and makes you endure it until he’s satisfied and entirely spent, and you’re nothing but a hot mess, clinging onto him for dear life

awakens your size kink. being a hockey player means he’s burly and powerful; so much bigger than you. broad shoulders, strong back, arms that could scoop you up and throw you around however he wants (and anytime he wants) with absolutely no trouble

the size difference drives him crazy, too; especially when you have to step onto your tippy-toes whenever he bends you over a table or counter; skirt already hiked up just for him

if you go to his matches, he fucks you in his car hours later, relishing the rush of adrenaline that you bring by bouncing on his cock

likes it when you suck on his fingers because they’re thick and your mouth becomes full even before he finishes stuffing just two of ‘em in

wants to finger you all the time because of that as well. his hand is literally always trying to slip into your underwear. even when you’re just watching movies on the couch, or you’re cooking dinner, before you fall asleep... he likes keeping it there and that’s final, it’s his favourite playtime place

tears the cutesy stockings and lingerie right off of you whenever you try to be a little slutty and dress up for him

your cute little pussy is the first thing on his mind after every win

texts you, “home soon. don’t forget to put the cat out, baby ;)” when he’s on his way home from the rink and is feeling smug

also immediately makes you regret the decision of texting him back a witty, “wow dogs sure love cats, don’t they?”

absolutely loses his shit if you drag your lips over the face paint on his cheeks. the fang markings are barely there, red paint smeared all over his tan skin by the time he finishes fucking you into the mattress

if his team wins, he’s slamming you all night long so that the high of triumph lasts as long as possible

however, he gets very sleepy after an intense fuckfest like that. if it’s late at night, he’s dozing off the moment after he cums for the final time, but not before pulling you close and throwing his heavy arm over you to provide at least some form of aftercare (which you have to end sooner or later anyway, in order to go clean up and pee)

likes it if you play with his hair or drag your nails up and down his back and the nape of his neck after he’s done drilling the soul out of your body

whispers the most foul shit into your ear when he’s going at it. you’re his pretty slut; his little groupie that is just endlessly thirsty for his cock, and aren’t you oh, so fucking lucky that he’s willing to give it to you?

definitely has screwed you in the locker room a bunch of times before (he feeds off of the thrill the risk of someone walking in brings, even more so if his teammates see your funny walk and his sex hair when you try sneaking out the door together)

is very much into dacryphilia. seeing the tears on your face, hearing you sob for him to give you what you so desperately need makes him so hot and bothered it hurts

tugs on your hair a lot. something about seeing it tightly wrapped around his busted knuckles just does it for him (and because he can guide you where he wants your mouth to go that way)

loves it when he fucks you so hard that it turns you dumb in a way. when you’re all dazed and ditzy, just blabbering out his name over and over again, whining like a little kitty in heat

chokes you and spits into your mouth if he’s on top and you’re being a brat about it. it’s this tenacious kind of grip that adds the pressure and makes you part your lips wide enough so that he can degrade you into submission with his drool coating your tongue

gets you a golden necklace with his name as the pendant, so that he can see it bounce atop his knuckles whenever he wraps his hand around your throat and starts pounding into you

expresses his feelings by actions instead of words

whenever you give him backrubs to ease the pain in his strained muscles, it ends with him giving you his all while keeping you in a mating press instead

may not look like it, but is actually extremely loyal

still, seeing you jealous turns him on. he gets lots of DMs (which he never responds to, of course) but watching you pout and attempt to hide your jealousy just makes him tease you all the more, because he’s happiest when you sink to your knees in front of him, put his fat dick in your mouth and start making sure he knows who he belongs to by spoiling him just the same

goes feral when you don’t see each other for weeks at a time because he has to go away for matches and you finally get to caress his face and sigh out that little, “i missed you.” the moment he bottoms out. feeling desired does it for him, he’s ready to marry you at that point

definitely uses the, “i know, baby. i know.”

spends a lot of the money he earns to spoil you in any way he can. buys you toys and other lewd gifts so you don’t miss him too much when he’s away from home, but you have to send him the links because his attention span is simply too short to remember it all (you still end up missing him either way, though)

usually the one that deepens the kisses shared between you. he’s way more forceful with them than you are, but you like having his tongue roam your mouth when things get really hot

loves to slam you while you have nothing but his jacket on, because it’s his last name that you have plastered all over you. his lucky number. it’s like you’re his in a way as a result

drags an ice cube between your tits and down your stomach when he feels like being patient and thus wants to mess with you a little bit. he thinks the usage of ice makes him so fucking funny considering his profession; especially when he sucks the damn cube into his mouth and proceeds to eat you out so good that you can feel the chill of his lips and tongue a long while after that

he loves you so much, and he kisses you everywhere so you know how much he actually cherishes you underneath all that gruff exterior he flaunts around

fucks your face so hard your jaw hurts like a motherfucker later. he’s all kisses and sweetly murmured words when he’s done, trying to tame the chuckles that keep slipping out because you sound like you have a sore throat whenever you speak. he thinks it’s hilarious

might have given you a sweat kink of sorts, because he just looks so hot when he pulls his helmet off and his hair sticks to his flushed face because of the salt. you want to lick him clean; to taste him all over

wants to hear you moan, squeal, scream. will make you do all of that, too (even if he has to drag it out of you by force)

manhandles you into position all the time. he knows exactly how he wants you and those big, calloused hands are a joy to have on you, honestly

is so messy. he likes cumming right between your legs and then just kind of lingering there; letting you leak all over his sheets while the glimmering, milky strings bridge the gap of emptiness between you. he even lifts his hips slightly now and then just to see it better

head pusher

his cock throbs in his pants when you take care of his bruises and kiss his busted knuckles. he’s ready to jump you and swallow you whole at those special little moments

always keeps an eye on you even when he’s just training with his teammates. you swear that you can feel him undressing you with his gaze alone no matter the teasing he gets for it in the rink. he gets aggressive if someone were to bother his eye fucking, and it’s usually naruto or shino (the poor souls)

overstimulates the fuck out of you because his stamina is off the charts and he can’t ever get enough

but it’s all right, because you can’t get enough of him either

you’re like two little bunny rabbits: always fucking, fucking, fucking

[wherethefireliliesgrow]

Feelings

Shin Ryujin x F reader

GENRE: fluff

TAGS: college love, friends to lovers

TYPE: One Shot

Inspired by: Feelings - Lauv

Ryujin was on a mission. She had grown tired of waiting for you to realize on your own that she was the one meant for you. After patiently biding her time for two years, hoping you would end things with the boyfriend who seemed to never make time for you, Ryujin finally saw her chance. However, it seemed that the universe was determined to see her fail. She had attempted to confess her feelings to you three times before, each time ending in failure. But they say the fourth time's the charm.

As cliché as it may sound, it was love at first sight for her.

During her first year in college, on one of her drunken escapades, she stumbled into a small coffee shop near her university. And there you were, greeting her with a warm smile despite the early hour and her embarrassing entrance of nearly breaking the glass doors with her head. You made her the most delicious cinnamon latte she had ever tasted. She joked that it was the sole reason she kept returning, but deep down, she knew she couldn't bear a day without seeing your beautiful face.

To her delight, she discovered that you were a fellow student at the same university and of the same age as her. She was desperate to get your phone number, even willing to give up her reckless drinking habits in favor of coffee, especially the coffee you made. It took her 17 visits to the coffee shop before she finally mustered the courage to ask for your number, although it didn't come from her own lips. Every time she tried to speak, the words would get stuck in her throat, leaving her gaping at you like a fish. It was her best friend and roommate, Yeji, who managed to obtain your number.

Yeji, with her eyes sharp like a cat, noticed the sudden change in Ryujin's behavior early on. Instead of dealing with broken-hearted girls leaving their shared room after one-night stands, she now witnessed a giggly and infatuated Ryujin. Yeji suspected that someone special had captured Ryujin's heart, and to her surprise, it was you, one of her group members in the economics class. On the 17th visit, Yeji dragged Ryujin to the coffee shop counter and boldly asked for your number.

You agreed, thinking it wouldn't hurt to make a new friend. After all, you were quite lonely, spending your days working at the shop and struggling through your studies. Little did you know that this was the beginning of two long years of Ryujin secretly pining over you.

Ryujin adored everything about you. She loved your gentle nature, your patience, and even your dad jokes. She even grew to love your pet guinea pig, Cough Drops, despite its weird name and tendency to pee on her hand. The only thing she couldn't stand was your toxic on-and-off relationship with your jerk of a boyfriend. For the past two years, whenever you broke up with him, she would try her best to sweep you off your feet. However, her efforts often went unnoticed as you mistook her genuine kindness for her naturally flirtatious personality, considering her just a close friend.

But that didn't mean you didn't feel the butterflies whenever she appeared at your apartment door, her hair tousled from riding her motorcycle, dressed in a leather jacket, and wearing a charming smile. There was definitely something more between you two when she kissed the top of your head before bidding farewell. Still, you always dismissed those feelings, attributing them to her reputation as a player. Ryujin had dated many girls and was known as the biggest flirt on campus, a fact you were well aware of.

Time and again, Ryujin patiently waited for you to end things with your boyfriend, hoping that you would finally grasp her true intentions. The first two times she mustered the courage to ask you out, you brushed it off as a joke, hiding your own flustered state. Deep down, you feared that she had noticed the way you looked at her with longing, just like your friends always teased you about.

"Love knows only broken ends," you told her, trying to convince yourself as much as her. "We're the best versions of ourselves as friends."

And so, you returned to your boyfriend, unknowingly shattering Ryujin's delicate heart even further. She was never one to give up so easily, and she knew that the best version of her was when she was with you. 

On that fateful third attempt, Ryujin had everything planned out to finally express her feelings to you. With a bottle of champagne in hand, she intended to celebrate the last day of class before winter break and confess her love to you sincerely and without hesitation. She even bought a bouquet of sunflowers, knowing they held a special place in your heart. However, when you opened the door, she was taken aback as you pulled her into a tight embrace, your tears soaking into the fabric of her shirt.

“Cough Drops died.” You had managed to muster out between sobs. 

Ryujin had closed her eyes and cursed at the Fates from above, they really didn’t want her to find happiness. Even though she had dreamt of being with you for years, she still prioritized your feelings over anything. The timing wasn’t right, and that was okay. She could wait for you forever. 

Ryujin, determined to give Cough Drops a proper farewell, embarked on the task of arranging a small funeral for your guinea pig. Finding a suitable burial place proved challenging, but eventually, she settled on utilizing one of Yeji's large potted plants. Fortunately, Yeji had already returned to her hometown for Christmas, sparing her from witnessing Ryujin's unconventional handling of her precious plant babies (she had received a huge scolding telling Yeji after, and had to clean the dorm for two months straight). She held you close as you sniffled and cried, laying the sunflowers she had bought for you on top of Cough Drops before covering them with dirt. She even sang to the guinea pig, per your request.

Oh, the things she would do for love.

Which brings us to the final and fourth attempt. Ryujin was beyond nervous, meticulously arranging a romantic picnic at the park and even persuading Yeji to make her special spaghetti, knowing it was your favorite. She had made up a sorry excuse of wanting to take a walk after class, and you gladly accompanied her without any hesitation. 

"Something on your mind?" you asked, gently tapping her arm with your fingers.

Ryujin shook her head, offering you an unconvincing smile. "Nothing. I'm just glad you're here."

You leaned against her shoulder, interlocking your hands with her clammy ones. "I'm glad you're here too, Ryujinnie. I'm lucky to have you as my best friend."

The word "friend" made Ryujin flinch, but she held onto hope that she could change that today. However, before she could take you to the location she had everything set up, a downpour along with thunder ruined her plans. 

Drenched and frustrated, she walked you back to the door of your room, feeling defeated. 

"It's okay, Ryujinnie. I still had fun," you tried to cheer her up. "It's always fun when I'm with you."

She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and sighed in defeat. 

"Do you want to dry off in my room and watch a movie?"

Ryujin shook her head, running her hands through her dripping hair. "I've ruined my chance."

"What chance?" Confusion filled your voice. When she brought you to the park, you thought she simply wanted to change your usual Friday movie nights for something different.

Ryujin took a deep breath, looking into your eyes. It was now or never. "I have feelings for you," she blurted out. "I always have."

"Ryujin..." You were taken aback. You too had feelings for her, but the fear of losing her if things didn't work out had held you back.

"We're better off as friends."

Ryujin stepped closer, grasping your warm hands in hers. "Why?"

"Because love only knows broken ends."

"You don't know that." Ryujin pulled you closer, their breath brushing against your face. She was warm, so close. All it took was leaning forward a few centimeters, and your relationship would be forever changed. 

“Tell me, do you feel anything for me too?”

“I-” You looked everywhere but at her. “I don’t.”

“Are you sure?” Her lips softly caressed  your cheeks, making your heart go in a frenzy.

You gulped, struggling to maintain self-control. "Yes."

"If you're sure, I can leave," she murmured, her breath mingling with your hair, a slight smile forming on her lips. She could feel your defenses breaking down.

"Don't go." Your hand tightened around her jacket.

"Then give me a chance." Ryujin gave you that smile capable of winning countless hearts, the smile she reserved only for you. "Let me change your mind."

"Okay." Unable to resist any longer, overwhelmed by her scent and proximity, you pulled on the collar of her jacket and brought her lips to yours.

She smiled, finally having you like this in her arms and getting the chance to kiss you after years of waiting. The kiss started off slow but quickly became passionate. Both of you had too many unspoken feelings hidden beneath the facade of friendship, and now they rushed to the surface. It was a kiss unlike any you had experienced before, making your head spin. You yearned to explore more of Ryujin, wanting to mold yourself into her and be enveloped by her warmth every second of the day.

As your tongue traced the outline of her lips, she pulled back, panting and blushing. Her heart raced, and the sight of you—lips swollen, hair disheveled, and dazed—made her feel even more.

Ryujin laughed contentedly, knowing that all the waiting had finally paid off. 

"I'll change your mind," she whispered in your ear before gently pushing you into your room for another long-awaited makeout session.

And she did.

[myloveforhergoeson]

minnesota

a non-exhaustive list (trust me i have way more) of hcs about the btrtv boys' lives pre-canon as inspired by @partiallypearl 's post here. mostly a mix of things i think fit them, wrote about in my fic, or are briefly touched upon in the show's true canon and never expanded on :)

carlos is super into animals; has a feeder outside his window so he can watch all the different birds from the forest each morning before he goes to school! his family has a large, playful dalmatian puppy named missy he walks in the mornings at the local park

james and carlos were the only two to participate in a sport other than hockey during the summer time - the two of them played flag football in the park ^

the boys all met at a pee wee hockey meet when they were four and they were placed by chance on the same team; they've played every position + have settled into their roles by the time they make the varsity team in high school

kendall is the youngest varsity hockey captain their school has ever had

on top of hockey, logan is in nearly every club imaginable to make sure his med school applications look good - he's running from AV club to chess club to the future doctors of america club to dnd club . his afterschool days are fully booked up, making it hard to spend time with his friends outside of hockey

james participates in local + high school theater as a way to curb his wannabe ways and not annoy his friends about it too much. started with strictly wanting to be an actor until his voice dropped + he realized he could sing in his last year of middle school

^ carlos, kendall, and logan helped him break into the musical world by joining freshman choir. everyone but james hated it.

^^ the choir and drama clubs teamed up that year and all four of them had to be in a production of grease :)

if he's not at hockey, kendall can usually be found either at work or watching his little sister <3

the knight's house is the unofficial official hang out spot for all of the guys. it's littered with remanence of all four boys from logan's med school fliers on the counter, james' beauty products in the guest bathroom, kendall's family photos from his best games + katie's big achievements, and carlos' sports equipment hung up by the backdoor

one of the other guys on the hockey team teaches james how to drive but his mother won't let him take the test to get his license

logan's moms don't call him hortense. they also call him logan.

the mitchell family has a cat named hippocrates <3

carlos + logan would always hunt for crawdads in the local rivers during the summer; carlos thought they were cool and logan wanted to study them

despite being only children, logan and james never actually felt that they were

carlos has three older sisters!!!!!!

of the four, carlos is the oldest, than james, then kendall, with logan being the "baby"

winning hockey games is usually celebrated by the team at a local pizza place, but the boys go out of their way to go there if another one of them succeeds in an area outside of sports to celebrate, like scoring well on a super hard test or getting a major role in a theater production!

that's all for now, but if you liked these, this is a not so cheeky spon for my fic that's all the wrote... if you don't want to read the whole thing, chapter 28 takes place in Minnesota + can be read as a one shot with sections special for each of the guys <3 lmk what you think if you read <3

[aonokumura]

left my fast food on the counter for like 1 minute to go pee and came back to my cat eating my french fries 😭

[astroboots]

omg im sorry you’re not feeling too well! i hope you heal fast! and also i’m glad your back! may i please request joel x f!reader, maybe a moment for joel realized the domestic moment between him and the love of his life? could be she’s making him dinner after him being out all day? he gets all flustered n shit and shows his affection to her? 🧚🏼‍♀️

What's in a Name?

Author's name: Thank you for the well wishes nonny that's so kind of you!!!! Sorry that this is a little bit different from what you requested. My concentration today is all over the place and this did its own thing.

Content: Pre-breakout Joel! Fluff, baby naming. This is not my normal repertoire for those who tune in regularly.

Astroboot’s Masterlist

"What about Jessica?"

The image of a shiny pearl teethed smile, framed by blonde curls, chewing her gum as she twirls her hair with her index finger flashes before his eyes as Joel is standing before the sink, elbows deep in dishwasher.

Jessica-- a girl he dated back in his high school, dumped him a week before prom and Joel ended up having to take his and Tommy's cousin to save face. Yeah... not Jessica.

Joel bites down on his jaw, resisting the urge to grind his teeth. If he keeps going at it at his molars are going to grind to dust in the near future, and he'll be damned if Tommy gets to gloat about the state of his teeth when he's barely in his mid twenties.

"No," he answers curtly, and he hands you the scrubbed plate that you gracefully accept and dry with the damp towel.

"Crystal?" you ask.

"Hell no."

You tuck away the plate into its rightful place in the cupboard, tip-toeing to reach the highest shelf and he reminds himself that he will have to call in Tommy to help adjust the shelf to lower them by a handful of inches so it'll easier for you to reach before you're too far along.

"What's wrong with Crystal?"

"That's a stripper's name. We're not naming our daughter that. A name is supposed to be aspirational, I don't want my daughter to aspire to be shaking her ass on a stage for cash."

You grumble and mutter something indecipherable under your breath that rhymes with seabass.

"Fine, what about Melody."

Joel sighs, he swears you're doing this on purpose. "No. Not Melody. Melody is my hoarder aunt who permanently smells like cat pee. That's not the name of my future daughter."

"You're being very difficult, Joel Miller." You huff, turning away from him and back to the counter. He watches you from the corner of your eye as you flip through a book, nose scrunching up as your eyes flit over the the page in scrutiny.

You hum considerately, and flip another page, finger dragging down the page before you finally stop and tap the paper. "Oh," you say matter-of-factly, "what about Sarah?".

Joel wants to laugh. Has to bite down the grin that's starting to curve on his lip. You think you're so slick. You think he hasn't seen the name scribbled down in notebooks left open on the kitchen table. That he hasn't spotted even from this distance that it's the only name that you had circled in with think pencil in the name book. That he doesn't know from the very start that this had been your first and only choice for the name, and he plays dumb to the fact that all these other questionable names were thrown at him as decoy to tactically position your actual choice as the most reasonable and optimal option.

He drags his eyes over your form. The way you're trying to stand still and not give your excitement away. The way your shoulders practically vibrate with eagerness. The way your eyes are glittering in the dim amber light of the kitchen. Your fingers still resting on the page of the book, your little finger curling around the edge of the hardcover. The same finger you've got him wrapped around and do your every bidding, even if he pretends otherwise.

Pulling his arms from the water, he flicks off the water before he grabs a towel to dry his hands. "Hmmm." He tips his head, feigning complete ignorance. "What does the name mean?"

"It's from the bible. Means princess. That's beautiful isn't it? No exes, no strippers, no crazy cat aunts. What do you say?"

You put down the book, smiling brightly at him, clearly knowing what his answer is going to be already.

He's not even going to point out how you've completely given yourself away by mentioning that you knew Jessica is an ex without him telling you so. Because yeah, you got him entirely, wrapped around your little finger.

"Sure honey. Sarah sounds good."

Request a Joel Miller Mini Drabble

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